The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden rays over the serene stillness of the imperial pool chamber. The air was thick with the scent of warm stone and jasmine oil—usually mingled with something less innocent: wine, sex, music. But today?
Silence.
Prince Raelth entered, his boots echoing against the polished obsidian floor, and stopped at the threshold. For a moment, he thought he had walked into the wrong hall.
No dancers.
No wine.
No women.
Only his brothers—scattered like lounging gods—but eerily subdued.
Vaelor floated on his back in the pool, eyes closed, arms relaxed. Zairen sat in front of a chessboard, alone, his brows furrowed in deep concentration. Darian leaned against the open archway, staring into the distance like a man trying to remember a dream.
Raelth blinked once. Twice.
"Did someone die and forget to inform me?" he finally drawled, stepping into the hall. Immediately, his personal servants rushed to meet him, undressing him with practiced hands—removing his embroidered shirt, his royal mantle, leaving him only in fitted black pants. He waved them off before they could fuss more.
Sprawling on a nearby velvet-lined sofa, he turned to the room. "I know the yapping nobles are hard to bear, but all of you look like you've just returned from your own funerals." He paused. "Shall I summon dancers? Or maybe call in some of Zairen's favorite singing whores?"
Before anyone could answer, Zairen—Zairen, of all people—jerked upright as if stung.
"No," he said, eyes wild. "Please, no singers.... "
Raelth raised a brow. "You look like you've been personally haunted by a soprano."
Zairen only rubbed his temples. "It's… it's complicated."
Darian shook his head with a rare ghost of a smile. "I second the vote. No noise today."
"Same," Vaelor murmured from the water without opening his eyes. "Let the world burn quietly today."
Now genuinely confused, Raelth sat forward, examining each of them more closely. His gaze swept over Vaelor's serene form, then paused on a new anomaly: Louis.
The ever-rigid, hawk-eyed commander stood oddly still near the pool, far too close to Vaelor—his eyes locked not on the prince, but on his own hands. And... was he blushing?
Raelth blinked. No, that couldn't be right.
Louis? Blushing?
Surely he was having a stroke. That made more sense. Or perhaps some bizarre illness—though even that seemed unlikely. Louis didn't get sick. And that look… it was the kind of dazed confusion Raelth had only ever seen on men in love.
Love?
Raelth shook his head. Ridiculous. The idea of Louis falling in love was almost laughable. As his most loyal guards, both Ray and Louis had been offered women countless times—despite not being of noble birth. Their rank, in Raelth's eyes, far surpassed any noble; they were his brothers, comrades who had bled beside him in every war. He had even personally sent women as rewards more than once. Neither had ever accepted.
So no, love couldn't possibly be the reason.
Still… something was off. He'd have to ask Ray if anything strange had happened in the palace.
His confused gaze slid to Louis's twin, Ray, who stood nearby with a similar rigid posture—but clearly had no idea what was going on either.
Something was off. Very off.
Still lounging like a lion among sleeping wolves, Raelth tilted his head. "Care to explain this little bout of melancholy? Did someone curse us while I wasn't looking?"
No answer.
"Fine," he muttered. "Be cryptic. I'll just sit here and pretend none of you are acting possessed."
---
Meanwhile, in the simmering warmth of the palace kitchens, Kael let the scent of freshly baked bread, sweet herbs, and smoke wash over him. It was oddly soothing—familiar.
The old chef, grizzled with bushy brows and flour dust in his hair, noticed him immediately.
"There you are," he said, crossing his arms. "I haven't seen you in over a week."
Kael bowed his head guiltily. "I've been assigned to upper quarters recently."
The chef squinted at him, eyes sharp despite his age. "Mmhm. You in love?"
Kael choked on air. "W-what? No! Why would you—what makes you say that?!"
The chef grunted and turned back to stirring a thick stew. "You've changed. Cloud around your head is gone."
Kael frowned. "Is it because I'm getting fat?" He touched his face in panic.
The chef let out a rough bark of laughter. "If you ate the entire palace pantry, you'd still look like a starving deer. No. I meant... your eyes. You're less haunted."
Kael blinked. "Ohhh...."
A strange warmth bloomed in his chest. Someone noticed.
"Whatever the reason," the chef continued, "I like it. Even if you're lowborn and life is full of dung, there are still moments worth breathing for. It's good to see you living. Not just surviving."
Kael stood in stunned silence, unsure how to respond.
Then, the chef handed him a small pouch. "Here."
Kael opened it—and his eyes widened in delight. Inside were glossy, colorful candies. Dozens.
He clutched the pouch to his chest. "T-Thank you! You didn't have to—"
"Don't get mushy on me," the chef grumbled, turning back to the pot. "Now get out of here. You're a terrible help in the kitchen anyway."
Kael laughed, a soft, real sound. "Yes, chef. Again thanks for these candies. "
He turned to leave, the pouch pressed against his chest, warmth lingering in his bones. For the first time in days, his smile didn't feel like a mask.