The corridors beyond the Queen's garden were silent — too silent. Only the faint sound of their boots echoed against the polished marble, a steady rhythm between distance and tension.
Rin walked a step behind, his hands folded neatly behind his back, eyes fixed on the gold-trimmed carpet. He could still feel the Queen's lingering perfume — heavy, sweet, suffocating.
When they turned into a secluded hallway lined with old portraits, Rin finally spoke, his tone light but edged as always.
"You shouldn't have done that, Your Highness."
Alaric didn't stop walking. "Done what?"
"Walked into the lion's den without invitation." Rin's words were crisp, yet soft enough not to echo. "Even kings tread carefully in the Consort's territory. For a man who claims to hate politics, you seem eager to provoke them."
Alaric halted then, glancing over his shoulder. "I didn't provoke. I interrupted."
"That is... the polite word for it, yes," Rin replied smoothly. "But interruptions, in the palace, can kill as effectively as a blade."
A muscle ticked in Alaric's jaw, but when he turned fully, his expression wasn't angry — it was weary.
"Then so be it," he said quietly. "If it means keeping her away from you."
Rin blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. "From me, Your Highness?"
"Yes." His voice deepened, stripped of the usual regal distance. "You may not realize it, but the Consort doesn't summon people for tea — she summons them to measure their worth, or to destroy it. And I've seen enough of her ways to recognize the difference."
He stepped closer, and though his tone remained steady, there was something beneath it — something fragile, burning.
"I won't let what happened before happen again."
Rin's brows furrowed. "Before?"
Alaric's gaze shifted, distant. "My mother," he said softly. "The late Empress. She was gentle… too gentle for this palace. The Consort smiled at her, dined with her, praised her every breath — until the day she was gone."
Silence stretched. Only the faint rustle of silk and the flicker of torchlight filled the hall.
Alaric's eyes glimmered like molten gold in the dim light, his voice lowering. "I was young then, but not blind. I remember the whispers — how her tonic was tampered with, how no one dared to speak after her passing. My father called it fate." His lip curled slightly. "But I call it cowardice."
Rin's chest tightened at the rawness of it.
"I will not repeat their mistakes," Alaric continued, his tone low but firm. "Not with my people. Not with those I care about."
Something in those words — *those I care about* — struck deeper than either of them expected.
Rin averted his gaze, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. "Your Highness speaks as though I fall into that category."
Alaric's gaze didn't waver. "Perhaps you do."
The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, the air too heavy.
Rin forced a small, polite smile — one that trembled at the edges. "Careful, Your Highness. Words like that can be mistaken for sentiment. And sentiment, in a palace like this, is more dangerous than poison."
"Then let it poison me," Alaric said simply.
Rin froze.
It wasn't a challenge, nor a declaration — just quiet, aching honesty. The kind Rin didn't know how to respond to.
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them pulsed with something unspoken — something that wasn't hatred, nor mere gratitude, but a fragile thread neither dared to name.
Finally, Rin bowed slightly, hiding the turmoil behind his calm tone. "You are reckless, Your Highness."
"I've been told," Alaric murmured.
"Recklessness may win a battle," Rin continued softly, "but not a war. You should remember that, if you intend to protect your people."
Alaric gave a faint smile — the first genuine one Rin had seen on him. "I'll remember. But sometimes, you fight not to win — you fight because you refuse to lose the same way twice."
Rin's heart ached, unexpectedly.
As he turned to leave, his hand brushed against the vial inside his sleeve — the one he always carried to mask his scent. The faintest trace of peach and earth clung to his skin despite the veil of herbs.
For the first time, he found himself unsure whether he wanted the prince to recognize it… or forget it forever.
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