The salon was dimly lit, firelight painting long shadows against embroidered walls. Nobles gathered in quiet clusters, voices lowered though each word was barbed.
The Queen Consort reclined gracefully, her wine untouched, her every gesture measured. Around her, loyal allies filled the chamber-Marquis Dareth, Lady Selwynn, and most notably, her father, Duke Armand Valenne, whose presence alone was enough to silence whispers when he stirred.
The Marquis leaned forward, brows furrowed. "Your Grace, I tell you-men swore on their lives. The First Prince walked the apothecary gardens without once faltering. No fits, no collapsing, no guards and palace staff struck down by his pheromones. He even tolerated the herbalist's presence at his side."
Lady Selwynn's fan snapped open, her lips curving with disbelief. "Absurd. That boy reeks of instability. No physician in a decade has steadied him for more than a night. And now some wandering herbalist-who knows from where-achieves it? It is nothing but a trick."
The Queen Consort's voice slipped in, low and cool, cutting through their mutters.
"No need to worry. This is how it has always been. The First Prince calms, he rages, he calms again. He has never known stability, only passing lulls. If this boy offers a draught that soothes for a day, let him. It will not last."
Her serenity was unshaken, as though the first prince's rumored improvement was no more than a flicker of candlelight in a draft.
But Duke Armand's hand tightened against his cane. His sharp eyes-cold, iron-gray-studied his daughter. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of decades in court.
"You are careless, child."
The salon stilled. Even the crackle of the fire seemed to falter.
The Queen Consort turned her gaze toward him, unflinching. "Careless? I am merely realistic. No remedy exists for the prince's affliction. Every man of medicine has failed. Why should this one succeed?"
"Because," the Duke said, his tone like stone grinding, "something has shifted. A boy appears from nowhere, claiming to be a mere herbalist, and within days your son walks as if the storm has passed. Do you call that chance?"
The Marquis shifted uneasily. Lady Selwynn's fan trembled ever so slightly, though she hid it behind a scoff.
"It is too convenient," the Duke pressed on, voice heavy. "Too precise. He is not to be dismissed. If his methods hold, he upends years of careful balance. The First Prince steadied means the factions shift. The throne itself shakes."
The Queen Consort's smile remained faint, but her father's words made the air tighten around them. Her people watched, uncertain whether to side with her calm dismissal or with the Duke's stern warning.
At last, she set her goblet down, fingers light on its rim. "You suspect plots in shadows where there are none. If the prince is calmed, so be it. The storm will rise again soon enough. I refuse to waste worry on a boy who crushes flowers and calls it medicine."
Duke Armand's jaw clenched, but he said nothing more. Instead, he leaned back, his silence carrying more weight than anger. His gaze lingered on his daughter, measuring, judging, as though reminding her that even she could miscalculate.
The Marquis cleared his throat, eager to ease the tension. "Shall we not simply observe? If the prince falters again, then we are proven right. If not-"
"-then we act," the Duke finished grimly.
The firelight flared, and for a moment the Queen Consort's shadow stretched long across the chamber wall. She smiled, calm as ever, but beneath the quiet clink of wine and the rustle of fans, unease lingered, like thunder waiting behind distant clouds.
---
Meanwhile, in the far wing of the palace, Rin bent over his workbench, hands stained faintly green and silver from crushed herbs. At last, the shimmering mixture in the vial stilled, neither smoking nor shattering. The glow held, blue and silver braided like a captured star.
"The Sovereign's Calm," he whispered, breath shaking with the relief he refused to show anyone else.
And though Rin smiled faintly, he knew that outside these walls, powerful eyes were already weighing whether his success was salvation-or threat.