Bian sat comfortably on Dican's lap, one arm draped around the prince's shoulders as he carefully applied a little of the leftover purple sap to Dican's cracked lips. His movements were gentle, almost tender, as though he were caring for someone he truly loved.
"How was your day, dear?" he asked sweetly.
Dican's clear eyes, which had been focused on him only moments ago, slowly turned cloudy. The confusion vanished beneath that familiar, unnatural haze, and his expression softened into a loving smile.
"It was very good, dear," he replied. "I met with the councilmen and my father. Since the entrance to the other world will be closing today, the council has decided that I will become the Crown Prince until then. Fifty years later, a squad will be sent to retrieve my brothers."
As he spoke, Dican's rough hands rose to gently caress Bian's cheeks. His touch was warm and careful, filled with the kind of affection that should have made Bian feel cherished.
