The palace had grown too quiet.
Without the First Prince's presence, the air itself felt restrained — no sharp trace of wild pheromones, no low murmurs of soldiers or aides hurrying through the halls. Only silence, broken by the faint scratch of quills and the sigh of the evening breeze against the glass.
Rin sat by the window of the apothecary chamber, sorting dried petals when the messenger arrived. The seal on the letter stopped his hands mid-motion — the wax mark of Eryden, his home. His father's handwriting was unmistakable: firm, slanted slightly to the right, the strokes sharp with impatience.
He broke the seal carefully and unfolded the parchment.
Rin,
I was surprised when I returned to Eryden and found you gone — and even more so when I heard that you are now in the Capital, working within the palace walls.
You must come back at once before something happens to you… or before they find out your secret. This is not a place for someone like you, my son. I fear what might follow if you remain there too long.
Your Father.
The words bled into the air, heavy as lead.
Rin let out a slow breath, folding the letter with trembling fingers.
His father must have discovered what he had long concealed — or at least suspected.
And perhaps… he was right to worry.
Lately, Rin's control had begun to slip. The aether veil, once flawless, no longer held its metallic neutrality. Instead, faint traces of sweetness lingered when he passed — soft, fruit-like, betraying the mask he wore as a beta.
He had heard the whispers:
"Did you notice? The herbalist smells different lately…"
"He must be experimenting with perfumes."
He had smiled through them all, pretending it was deliberate.
But the truth pulsed beneath his skin — subtle, undeniable. When he pressed his fingers to his wrist, his pulse no longer held a single rhythm. There was another heartbeat within him, faint but insistent, alive.
The world blurred for a moment as he steadied himself on the table's edge.
He could no longer pretend ignorance.
Even without a physician, a herbalist could read the language of his own body — and his body now spoke clearly.
---
That night, under the pale glow of the lantern, Rin wrote a letter to the king requesting an audience.
When he was summoned the next day, the king received him with mild surprise.
"Herbalist Rin," the monarch said kindly. "You've been invaluable to this palace. Is there some new matter concerning the prince's condition?"
Rin bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, I am pleased to report that His Highness's pheromone instability has been fully stabilized through the use of the Sovereign's Calm. With continued administration of the tonic for a year, he will recover completely."
"That is excellent news," the king said, visibly relieved. "You've done what even the Royal Physicians could not."
"I am honored, Your Majesty," Rin replied, voice steady though his hands trembled faintly at his sides. "However, I must request permission to return to Eryden. My father has came back and he urge me to return immediately."
The king regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. "You have served the Crown well. If duty calls you home, I shall not hold you back. You leave with the gratitude of the throne."
Rin bowed again, his expression calm though his chest felt unbearably tight.
"Your Majesty's kindness humbles me."
---
As he left the royal study, the corridors stretched long and empty before him. He paused once by the tall arched window, watching the sun sink behind the distant mountains — the same direction the prince had gone.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," he whispered, touching his abdomen briefly, his eyes soft with something like sorrow. "But I cannot stay here any longer."
By dawn, the next day, a simple carriage left the palace gates.
No insignia. No escort.
Only a quiet herbalist returning home — carrying both a secret and the lingering scent of peach and steel.
---
END OF SEASON 1. -------