The Queen Consort's garden was a marvel in itself — a living tapestry of roses, moon lilies, and jeweled peacocks strutting beneath the pale afternoon sun. The air was heavy with the scent of blossoms and faint traces of power — the kind that came not from pheromones, but from the people who wielded influence as easily as they breathed.
Rin walked behind the attendant who led him toward the pavilion, his hands folded neatly before him. His steps were soundless on the white stone path, his expression calm — though beneath that serenity, his mind was alert.
An invitation from the Queen Consort herself,he thought. That alone should set alarms ringing.
It wasn't every day that someone of his station — a commoner beta and a palace outsider — was called to dine with nobles who ruled this kingdom's inner court. Whatever awaited him in that garden, it was unlikely to be as simple as tea.
When he arrived, every head turned.
The Queen Consort sat at the head of the marble table, her poise perfect, a smile faintly gracing her lips. At her side was the Second Prince, Caelum, dressed impeccably, his expression polite but eyes dull, as though his thoughts were elsewhere. Around them gathered the noblewomen of her faction — delicate and dangerous as the roses surrounding them.
"Ah, you must be the famed herbalist," the Queen Consort greeted, her voice warm yet edged. "Do come closer. I have long wished to meet the one responsible for my son's remarkable recovery."
Rin bowed deeply, lowering his gaze. "Your Majesty is too kind. I've only done my duty as instructed."
The ladies tittered softly, exchanging glances. One of them — a Marchioness — spoke sweetly, "Oh, such modesty. They say the First Prince can finally control his condition after years of failure. Surely that's no ordinary feat?"
Rin smiled faintly. "Perhaps the gods favored me that day, my lady."
The Queen tilted her head slightly, studying him. "And yet, the gods do not favor just anyone. Tell me, Herbalist — is it true that your concoctions can change even the nature of one's scent? Or perhaps… their temperament?"
The air grew still. Her words were casual on the surface, but her meaning cut deeper — a test, a provocation.
Rin met her gaze calmly. "Nature and temperament, Your Majesty, are not matters of herbs but of one's heart. Even the rarest flower will not bloom where the soil is poisoned."
A soft murmur rippled among the nobles. The Queen's smile didn't falter, though her fan snapped open, the sharp flick of it echoing like a warning. "You speak well for a commoner."
"I've learned that even commoners must speak carefully in the presence of royalty," Rin replied, tone polite but edged with quiet defiance.
For a heartbeat, the garden was silent — the kind of silence that balanced between amusement and offense. Then the Queen laughed lightly, breaking it with elegance.
"How refreshing. No wonder my son finds your company useful," she said. "Perhaps we might benefit from it as well."
Caelum set down his cup, glancing toward Rin. "Mother, you mean to recruit him?"
The Queen's eyes glinted faintly. "Would it be so strange, my dear? Talent should not be left unguided." Her gaze returned to Rin. "You've shown remarkable skill in tending to alphas. I wonder — could you do the same for those of… less favored temperament?"
Rin inclined his head, a practiced, emotionless gesture. "Healing knows no rank, Your Majesty. If there's something I can do, I shall do it — so long as the patient allows themselves to be healed."
Caelum frowned faintly at that phrasing, while the Queen's smile turned razor-thin.
"Such honesty," she murmured. "It's rare in the palace."
The conversation danced like a blade — each word measured, each smile concealing intent. Rin's calm refusal to bow entirely to their rhythm only made the nobles exchange looks. It was subtle, but a silent understanding spread among them: the Queen Consort's attempt to draw him in had failed.
At length, the Queen leaned back. "Then perhaps, at least, you might allow my son to escort you back to your quarters. It's improper for a guest to walk alone through palace corridors."
Caelum blinked in surprise, setting his teacup aside. "Of course, Mother. If the herbalist will allow—"
Before Rin could reply, a voice cut through the garden, deep and steady.
"That won't be necessary."
The atmosphere stilled. Heads turned.
At the edge of the marble path stood Alaric, his golden eyes calm yet unwavering, his presence immediately filling the space. His uniform was immaculate, but his expression — though composed — carried the faintest flicker of irritation.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing just enough to meet propriety. "Forgive the intrusion. I was unaware this gathering concerned matters of state — otherwise, I'd have waited."
The Queen Consort's eyes sharpened behind her smile. "My, my… what an unexpected visit. Shouldn't you be attending your guests, Your Highness?"
"The gathering has concluded," Alaric replied smoothly. "I merely came to retrieve what belongs to me."
The statement hung in the air like thunder.
Rin froze where he stood, pulse quickening.
Caelum's expression hardened, while several noblewomen exchanged startled glances.
Alaric stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Rin. "Herbalist," he said evenly, "I believe we still have unfinished matters to discuss regarding your latest tonic."
Rin bowed, his tone neutral. "Of course, Your Highness."
The Queen Consort's smile strained, her knuckles whitening subtly around her fan. "How dutiful of you, my son," she said softly. "Always so concerned about your healer's work."
But Alaric only inclined his head. "Someone must be."
He turned sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Come."
Rin followed without another word. Behind them, the garden's hum returned — whispers, speculation, and the Queen's soft, venomous voice.
Her gaze lingered on Rin's retreating figure before she murmured, low enough only for her ladies to hear,
"That one is dangerous. And dangers, my dear," she said, folding her fan closed with a snap, "must be removed before they take root."
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