The prince chamber smelled of smoke and steel. Even with the windows wide, the air clung heavy, saturated with the First Prince's pheromones—sharp, oppressive, like storm air before lightning. The guards kept their distance, wary, eyes flicking nervously to their master's restless posture.
Rin, however, stepped forward without hesitation. His satchel clicked softly as he set it on a low table, unfolding bundles of parchment, small vials, and a bronze mortar.
"Your Highness," Rin said evenly, his hands moving with calm precision. "I will prepare the Tempest's Respite here. If it fails, you may order my execution before your men. Does that satisfy your mistrust?"
Alaric's eyes narrowed, predator-bright. "You wear defiance like a badge, herbalist. Most would grovel for their lives."
Rin bowed his head politely, though the faint curve of his mouth suggested something sharper. "Perhaps I have no taste for groveling. Besides, a healer who quivers cannot be trusted to steady another's storms."
Darius shifted, uncomfortable, but the prince's lips twisted into a dangerous grin. "Very well. Brew, then. Show me if your arrogance has any merit."
---
The bronze pestle ground down herbs with steady rhythm. Ironleaf Bark – strong, grounding, gives bitterness that "anchors" unstable pheromones.
Silver Sage – aromatic herb that clears the head and reduces aggression.
Starlit Orchid Petals – rare blossoms that soothe the heart, slightly sweet scent masks strong pheromones.
Crushed Frost-Mint Seeds – cooling effect on the body, slows down overproduction of pheromones.
Amber Resin – sticky resin burned or brewed; helps bind scents and prolongs the suppressant's effect.
A metallic tang rising as Rin coaxed the mixture into paste.
He whispered under his breath, naming each ingredient, binding intention with precision. The liquid that pooled was a pale, silver-tinged blue, faintly glowing beneath the light.
"Tempest's Respite," Rin murmured, pouring it carefully into a glass vial. "A tether for the wild. It will not chain you, Your Highness—but it will keep you from breaking your own vessel."
He held the vial out, steady and unflinching.
The guards tensed as Alaric took it, suspicion in his eyes. For a moment, the prince seemed poised to hurl it across the room. Then, with a low growl, he lifted it to his lips and drank.
The effect was not instant. His body stiffened, a tremor running through his frame as the tonic coursed through him. The scent in the air faltered—then ebbed, the oppressive weight loosening. His shoulders lowered by a fraction, the heat in his gaze cooling, though not extinguished.
Alaric exhaled, his jaw clenching. "…It works."
A ripple of shock ran through the chamber. Darius blinked as if he'd seen a miracle. Even the guards straightened, breaths coming easier.
Rin inclined his head, his tone mild, though his eyes gleamed with quiet triumph. "I am pleased the storm has chosen to rest, if only briefly."
Alaric's gaze pinned him, sharp as a blade. "Do not think this makes you safe, herbalist. You've bought yourself an hour. Nothing more."
Rin allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "An hour is all I need."
---
The place where the sky thistle is planted in the deepest part of Royal Apothecary Garden was no ordinary plot of greenery. It sprawled within glass domes, their panes catching moonlight like crystalline towers. Exotic plants glistened in the still air, each bed tended with reverence and guarded by enchantments.
The moment Alaric entered, silence fell among the keepers and guards who patrolled the perimeters. Even muted, his pheromones carried, sharp and wild, though restrained enough not to suffocate. He walked with a predator's gait, one hand resting lightly on his sword hilt, the other brushing against his coat.
Rin trailed at his side, expression composed, though his sharp eyes flicked over the beds of rare herbs with a healer's hunger. He stopped at last before the Sky Thistle, its silver leaves shimmering like coins beneath moonlight, its core glowing faintly blue.
He bowed once to Alaric. "With Your Highness's permission."
Alaric folded his arms, leaning lazily against a stone arch. "Do it. But if this plant so much as wilts at your touch, I'll see your head mounted before sunrise."
Rin ignored the threat with polite detachment. Kneeling, he drew out a silver blade etched with tiny sigils, whispering as he cut just beneath the volatile core. The blue flame flickered, then settled, allowing him to catch it in a crystal vial lined with sealing wax.
Gasps echoed from a few onlookers—no one had dared harvest the Sky Thistle since the late Empress's death.
Rin stood, the vial glowing faintly in his palm. He turned to Alaric with a graceful bow. "Your Highness's garden bears fruit once more."
The prince's eyes lingered on him, a dangerous heat beneath the restraint of the tonic. "You tread a narrow path, healer. One misstep, and it leads straight to ruin."
"Then I shall simply tread carefully," Rin replied, voice smooth, sharp-edged, but polite.
---
That next morning , in a secluded chamber of the apothecary wing, Rin woke up early. The mortar sang beneath his pestle, powders rising, liquids blending. Ashthorn Root,golden honey drops,Sky Thistle core, a dozen lesser herbs—all folded into one another with ritual precision. The Sovereign's Calm shimmered into being, a vial of luminous blue, steady and potent.
He held it up, watching the liquid swirl like captured moonlight. His heart beat fast, though his face betrayed nothing.
"If this fails," he whispered to himself, "then so does everything."
Behind him, a voice cut through the quiet.
"You risk much," Alaric said, stepping into the chamber unannounced, his presence heavy despite the tonic's restraint.
Rin turned, bowing, though his words carried their subtle bite. "Healing is always a gamble, Your Highness. The difference is whether the patient has the courage to see it through."
For the first time, Alaric's smile curved without cruelty—sharp, but faintly amused. "You are either a fool or the only man in this palace with a spine."
Rin's eyes flickered with quiet fire. "Perhaps both, Your Highness. Though in the end, the outcome is what matters."
The vial between them glowed like a captured star, fragile yet fierce—much like the bond neither dared name.