The Royal Study was usually a place of quiet contemplation and war strategies. Today, however, it looked like a florist shop had exploded inside it.
Elian followed Cassian through the doors and immediately sneezed.
"Bless you," Cassian muttered, stopping dead in his tracks.
Every surface—the desk, the bookshelves, the window sills—was covered in white lilies. The scent was suffocatingly sweet, thick enough to chew on.
Standing in the center of this botanical nightmare was Ambrose. He held a clipboard and was beaming with an expression of beatific, practiced innocence.
[System Alert: Player 1 has activated Field Effect: 'Garden of Purity'.][Effect: Increases Target's romantic inclination by 5%. Side Effect: Triggers allergies in 20% of the population.]
"Ambrose," Cassian said, his voice flat. "Why is my study a meadow?"
"It's for the Solstice Festival preparations, Your Highness!" Ambrose chirped, gliding forward. "White lilies symbolize the renewal of the sun. I thought we could review the guest list in a proper atmosphere."
He gestured to the desk, where he had laid out a scroll tied with a silk ribbon.
Elian checked his vision.
[Live Rankings]1. Ambrose: 322. Rowena: 263. Elian: 7
'He's trying to farm an event,' Elian realized. 'The Solstice Planning Event. Classic romance trope. They look at the list, their hands brush, they talk about the future...'
Cassian looked at the flowers with disdain. "I cannot work in this. It smells like a funeral."
Ambrose's smile faltered. "But... it's romantic. The book said—I mean, the tradition says lilies bring good fortune."
"They bring headaches," Cassian corrected. He looked at Elian. "Valet. Clear this."
"With pleasure, Sire," Elian said, stepping forward.
He didn't just move the flowers; he evicted them. He grabbed vases two at a time, marching them to the hallway and depositing them unceremoniously on the floor.
"Hey!" Ambrose hissed when Cassian turned his back to sit at the desk. "Stop ruining my ambiance. I spent 40 LP on these flowers!"
"You wasted your money," Elian whispered back, grabbing a particularly large bouquet. "He hates strong scents. Didn't you read his bio? 'Hypersensitive to Pheromones' implies he has a sensitive nose, genius."
Ambrose flushed. "The book said he secretly longs for beauty!"
"The book lied. He longs for oxygen."
Elian dumped the last vase outside and shut the door firmly. The air in the study began to clear.
Cassian let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Better. Now, Ambrose. The list. Make it quick."
Ambrose hurried to the desk, unrolling the scroll. "Yes! So, for the opening dance, tradition dictates you choose a partner who embodies the spirit of the season. I was thinking—"
"I am not dancing," Cassian cut in.
"But you have to!" Ambrose cried, clutching his chest. " The Solstice Ball is the highlight of the social season! If the Prince doesn't dance, the crops will... uh... wither?"
Elian snorted from his post by the bookshelf. "The crops rely on irrigation, not the Prince doing the waltz."
Cassian smirked. "Exactly. No dancing."
Ambrose looked desperate. He clearly had a specific 'Dance Event' queued up in his System. He pivoted strategies.
"If not dancing, then perhaps the Lighting of the Lantern?" Ambrose suggested, batting his eyelashes. "We could light the first lantern together on the balcony. Just the two of us. Watching it float into the night sky..."
[System Alert: Player 1 attempting 'Romantic Solitude' Event. Success Rate: 30%.]
Cassian looked bored. He picked up a quill. "The High Priest lights the lantern. Not me."
"But—"
"Ambrose," Cassian said, his tone sharpening. "I have military budgets to review. Unless there is a security threat regarding the guest list, I do not care who attends or what lanterns are lit."
Ambrose looked ready to cry. Real tears this time, not the skill-based ones. He was failing.
Elian felt a tiny pang of sympathy. Just a tiny one. It was hard being a gamer when the NPC refused to follow the script.
But then Elian remembered the 72-hour timer ticking down in his own vision.
'Survival of the fittest, Goldilocks.'
"Actually, Sire," Elian spoke up, stepping into the 'WiFi Zone' near the desk. "There is a security concern."
Cassian looked up. "Oh?"
"The guest list," Elian pointed at the scroll Ambrose was holding. "I noticed it includes the delegation from the Southern Isles. Didn't they have an outbreak of... 'Scale Rot' recently?"
He made that up completely. He had no idea where the Southern Isles were.
Cassian frowned. "Scale Rot?"
"Highly contagious," Elian lied earnestly. "Causes itching. Flaking. Very un-royal. If Ambrose here stands too close to them during the lantern lighting... well, his complexion might suffer."
Ambrose recoiled, dropping the scroll. "Scale Rot? Eww!"
"Exactly," Elian nodded. "We should probably trim the guest list. And minimize close contact. For safety."
Cassian looked at Elian. He knew Elian was lying. The glint of amusement in his eyes gave it away. But he also saw the exit strategy Elian was offering.
"A valid concern," Cassian deadpanned. "Ambrose, take the list to the Royal Physician. Have him screen every guest for... Scale Rot."
"But the lantern—" Ambrose stammered.
"Go," Cassian commanded. "We cannot risk an epidemic."
Ambrose looked between them. He realized he'd been played. He snatched up the scroll, glaring at Elian with pure venom.
"This isn't over, Player Three," Ambrose hissed as he stomped past Elian. "The Solstice isn't just a party. It's a Checkpoint. You'll see."
The door slammed shut.
Silence returned to the study.
Cassian dropped the quill and rubbed his face. "Scale Rot? Really?"
"I panicked," Elian admitted, moving to pour Cassian a fresh cup of coffee. "It was the first disgusting thing I could think of."
"There is no such thing as Scale Rot in the Southern Isles," Cassian said, accepting the cup. His fingers brushed Elian's.
[Contact: +2 Seconds.]
"There is now," Elian grinned. "Rumors spread fast."
Cassian took a sip, watching Elian over the rim of the cup. "You are a terrible liar, Valet. And a ruthless buffer."
"I exist to serve, Your Highness."
"Tell me, Elian," Cassian lowered the cup. "Do you know what the Solstice Festival actually is?"
Elian paused. He didn't. He assumed it was just a generic fantasy Christmas.
"A party?" Elian guessed. "Food? Booze? Pretty lights?"
"It is a mating season ritual," Cassian said bluntly.
Elian choked on his own spit. "Excuse me?"
"The Solstice marks the peak of the pheromone cycle for Alphas and Omegas," Cassian explained, his voice clinical but his eyes intense. "The 'dancing' Ambrose mentioned? It is traditionally a courting ritual. The lantern lighting? A pledge of intent to bond."
He leaned forward. "Every unmated Omega in the capital will be there, pumped full of suppressants and hope, trying to catch my eye. Ambrose knows this. Rowena knows this."
Cassian's gaze dropped to Elian's neck, where his scent gland was hidden beneath his collar.
"And you, Valet? Did you know you were walking into a mating ground?"
Elian swallowed hard. 'No. I did not know that. I thought it was just fireworks.'
[System Notification: New Event Unlocked - The Solstice Mating Run.][Survival Difficulty: Extreme.][Warning: Omega Heat probability increases by 50% during the Solstice.]
"I... I am just there to hold your coat, Sire," Elian squeaked.
Cassian smirked. "We shall see. The pheromones at the ball are thick enough to intoxicate a Beta. An unbonded Omega like you..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
"You might find yourself needing more than just a towel to survive the night, Elian."
Elian felt his face heat up. He patted the pocket where the stolen towel was hidden.
"I'll be fine," Elian said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "I have... strong willpower."
"Good," Cassian said, turning back to his papers. "Because I do not intend to bond with anyone. I plan to spend the evening on the balcony, alone. Drinking."
"And I will be right there," Elian promised. "Guarding the door against Scale Rot."
Cassian chuckled.
[System Notification: Elian +1 Heart.][Current Hearts: 8 / 1000]
Elian breathed a sigh of relief.
But as he stood there in the WiFi Zone, watching the Prince work, the warning echoed in his mind.
Mating Season.
He checked his timer. [Time Until Death: 66 Hours, 10 Minutes.]
He had time. But if the Solstice was going to mess with his biology... he needed to prepare.
'System,' Elian thought grimly. 'How much is that Fertility Blocker again?'