The workstation smelled of smoke and resin. Vials cluttered the worktable, herbs strewn like fallen soldiers. Rin moved with sharp precision, his hands steady even as his eyes betrayed a flicker of exhaustion. The Sovereign's Calm glimmered faintly in its half-finished state, still unstable. Each attempt brought him closer, each failure leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
"This is the third batch." He exhaled, jotting quick notes in his neat script. "Sky Thistle dampens, but destabilizes quickly…IronLeaf Bark , but not enough. The balance is elusive."
A voice stirred behind him.
"You always were stubborn."
Rin looked up to find Lys, leaning against the doorframe. His old friend's grin was easy, familiar, a welcome crack of sunlight against the chill of palace stone.
"Stubbornness keeps me alive," Rin answered dryly, setting aside his tools. "What brings you here, Lys? I thought the palace would have you running errands for weeks."
"I wriggled free," Lys said with a shrug. "Thought I'd see how the famed 'capital herbalist' was faring. Or should I say—still the same Rin who used to scowl at me for stepping on chamomile in the village fields?"
Rin's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Some habits deserve to be scowled at forever."
Lys chuckled, and for a moment, the room softened. The two drifted into easy chatter—recalling the village of Eryden Hollow, its winding paths and old well, gossiping lightly about the stern apothecary masters of the capital. Rin found himself relaxing, the weight of the palace briefly forgotten.
When Lys suggested a walk, Rin agreed. Together they wandered the Apothecary Garden, glass walls arching high overhead. Rows of herbs glistened beneath sunlight filtered through enchanted panes, their scents mingling into a cool, living perfume.
"It's beautiful here," Lys murmured, running a hand over a row of lavender. "I never thought you'd end up in a place like this."
Rin's eyes lingered on the shimmering Sky Thistle, still unplucked in its warded bed. His voice was low, almost thoughtful. "Nor did I. But beauty has thorns, Lys. Especially in the capital."
They laughed quietly, their words a gentle undercurrent. To anyone looking in, they seemed like two old friends, comfortably weaving through the rows.
But not everyone saw it that way.
From the shadow beyond the glass wall, Alaric watched.
His steps had brought him here without thought, drawn by the faint traces of Rin's metallic-sweet veil lingering in the air. He had intended only to observe, perhaps to ensure the herbalist wasn't wasting time. Yet when his gaze found Rin walking beside another woman, the laughter—the ease—something sharp twisted in his chest.
He could not name it, nor would he admit it. But his jaw tightened. His fingers curled against the hilt of his sword as though anchoring himself.
The stranger leaned too close when he spoke. Rin's eyes softened too much when he replied. Alaric's lips thinned, his teeth grinding against words unspoken.
At last, he moved. The heavy doors of the conservatory swung wide as he strode in, his presence like a storm cutting through stillness. The keepers bowed hastily and scurried away, leaving the prince's shadow to fall across Rin and Lys.
Rin turned, startled but quickly masking it with a polite bow. "Your Highness."
Alaric's gaze flicked once over Lys, sharp as a blade. "And who is this?"
Lys straightened, offering a respectful nod. "Lysa, sire. I serve among the palace staff—"
"That much is obvious," Alaric cut him off, voice low and edged. "Yet you seem to have ample leisure to loiter with my… herbalist."
Rin's brows twitched, but his voice remained calm, sharp-tongued beneath the courtesy. "Your Highness speaks as though plants resent companionship. I assure you, they grow quite as well whether or not I converse with an old acquaintance."
Alaric's jaw flexed. His eyes lingered on Rin, then shifted back to Lys with a predator's weight. "Acquaintance, is it? Curious how easily you forget your duties, herbalist."
The words struck with deliberate cruelty, though his tone was deceptively smooth. The guards hovering near the archway exchanged wary glances, recognizing the prince's mood.
Rin bowed slightly, but his words were precise, double-edged. "My apologies, Your Highness. Perhaps next time I should chain myself to the workbench, lest you believe I am in dereliction of service."
The air crackled. For a moment, even Lys felt the storm that pressed against glass. But Rin's poise, his refusal to waver, only seemed to stoke something volatile in the prince's chest.
Finally, Alaric turned, voice curt. "Enough wandering. You have work to finish, herbalist. Return to it. Now."
Rin's gaze held his for the briefest moment—defiant, unreadable—before he inclined his head. "As Your Highness commands."
He gathered his satchel, murmured a quiet farewell to Lys, and followed the prince's stride out of the conservatory.
The silence between them stretched down the corridor. At last, Rin spoke softly, though the edge was unmistakable.
"Your Highness seems troubled. Surely you don't begrudge me a few words with an old friend?"
Alaric did not slow, his voice sharp. "You are mine to command while you serve here. Your time, your skill, your presence. Do not squander it on trifles."
Rin's lips curved faintly, though his tone was light as steel. "How controlling, Your Highness. One might think I am your posession."
Alaric's steps faltered, just for a fraction. His fists clenched, the storm in his veins surging. Yet he said nothing, only strode on with harsher resolve, as though silence itself could deny what smoldered beneath.
Rin followed, his eyes lowered—but behind them flickered quiet amusement.
He had seen enough storms to know when one was not aimed at him, but at the prince himself.