PRANG

The shattering of fine porcelain against the polished marble floor echoed through the palace greenhouse.

The steam rose in lazy, mocking curls from the shards, and Philia let out a sharp, strangled cry that sounded like the breaking of a bird’s wing. He remained frozen in his seat, his left hand clutching his chest while the scalding tea spread through the intricate lace of his sleeve. The liquid was a dark, ugly stain against the pristine white of his attire.

"My Lord!"

Valen was at Philia’s side almost instantly, dropping to one knee beside the chair with none of his usual composure. His face had gone pale beneath the warm sunlight spilling through the greenhouse glass.

"Oh, dear. My hand must have slipped," Cherion said, his voice flat and lacking even the faintest shadow of remorse.

He stood over Philia like a vengeful specter, his fingers still curled as though they remembered the weight of the teapot. There was no warmth in his gaze, no trace of the desperate, clinging boy who usually begged for a scrap of attention in the palace hallways. Instead, his eyes were narrowed into cold, jagged slits, radiating a hostility so pure it seemed to lower the temperature of the sun-drenched room.

"Cherion! What in the gods’ name are you doing?"

The doors to the garden house were thrown open with such force that the glass panes rattled in their frames. Yerel burst into the room, moving so quickly his cloak flared behind him. He didn’t spare a glance for the broken ceramic or the wasted tea, his entire focus was a singular line of motion directed straight toward Philia.

Yerel dropped to one knee beside Philia’s chair, his large hands hovering tentatively over the other man’s reddening skin. The sight of the blisters already beginning to form beneath the lace made Yerel’s jaw tighten until the bone threatened to break through the skin.

"Your Highness... it’s fine... I’m sure he didn’t mean it," Philia said. "It was just an accident, really. Please, don’t be mad at him. It was my fault for sitting so close."

"An accident?" Yerel’s voice boomed, the sound vibrating through the small, enclosed space. He looked at Cherion, his face tight with barely restrained fury. He looked at Cherion, not as a fiancé, but as a monster that had dared to crawl out from the shadows.

Cherion didn’t offer a word of defense. He didn’t flinch at the roar of Yerel’s voice or the accusation in his eyes. He didn’t even look at the damage he had caused. Instead, he let out a sharp, dismissive "Hmph," and turned his head toward the garden, his chin lifted in a gesture of icy defiance. He refused to grant them the satisfaction of a reaction, his stubborn silence acting as a jagged wall between them.

"Valen, take Philia to his room and call the royal physician immediately," Yerel ordered, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Ensure his hand is treated with the finest salves. If a single scar remains, I will hold the entire medical staff accountable."

"But Your..." Philia started to protest, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch Yerel’s sleeve.

"Go, Philia. Now," Yerel ordered.

As Valen helped Philia out of the room, the silence that rushed back in was heavier than the noise that had preceded it. Cherion waited until the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance before he finally moved. The icy mask of defiance cracked just enough for a desperate, frantic energy to leak through. His fingers trembled as he reached out, his hand closing around Yerel’s armored arm.

"You’ve become unbearable," Yerel said, closing the distance between them until he was looming over Cherion, his shadow swallowing the smaller man whole. "I look at you and I don’t see a noble. I don’t even see a human being. If it weren’t for Philia’s kindness and his constant pleas for your mercy, I would have thrown you into the palace dungeons. Do you have any idea how much of a disgrace you are becoming? Every time you open your mouth, you stain my name."

"I don’t need his pity!" Cherion shouted, the dam finally breaking as his voice rose into a ragged, desperate scream. "Why is he even here, Your Highness? Why do you bring him into our private gardens, to our dinners, to every hunt? I am your fiancé! I am the one who is supposed to stand by your side, yet I am forced to watch you look at him with the eyes that were promised to me! I have the right to know why you are so close to him when you swore there was nothing between you!"

"Being my fiancé doesn’t give you the right to act like a monster," Yerel snapped. "It doesn’t give you the right to harm an innocent man because you cannot control your own rotting heart."

Yerel turned to leave, his heavy cloak swirling behind him, ready to abandon Cherion to the mess he had made. But Cherion couldn’t let him go. The thought of the silence that would follow was more terrifying than Yerel’s rage. He lunged forward, throwing his arms around Yerel’s waist and hugging him from behind with a strength born of pure terror. He buried his face in the coarse, dark fabric of Yerel’s tunic, his tears finally spilling over and hot against the knight’s back.

"What is it that I don’t have?" Cherion whispered, his voice muffled and broken. "Tell me what isn’t enough. I will do anything for you. Just say the word. I’ll change. I’ll be the quiet, obedient doll you want. I’ll stop the shouting, I’ll be whoever you need me to be. Just... don’t leave me for him."

Yerel didn’t reach back. He didn’t even move to loosen Cherion’s grip. He simply stood there, a stone statue of a man, and let out a harsh, dry chuckle that felt like a blade twisting in Cherion’s chest. "You’ll do anything? It’s so easy for you to say that when you’re desperate, Cherion. But words are the only thing you have ever been good at."

"I’m serious," Cherion insisted, his grip tightening until his knuckles ached. "I never joke when it comes to you. I can get rid of anyone. Your enemies in the council, the people who block your path to the throne, the ones who whisper behind your back... just name them. I will remove them so you never have to see them again."

Yerel finally turned around, slowly disentangling himself from Cherion’s hold. He looked down at the younger man, his eyes filled with a cruel, mocking curiosity that was worse than his anger. "Really? Anyone? You’d commit a sin for me? Even if it’s, let’s say... Zarius?"

The name hung in the air like a poisoned mist. The room went deathly silent, the only sound the distant chirping of birds that knew nothing of the darkness unfolding within the glass walls.

Cherion didn’t flinch. Instead, his expression turned frighteningly serious. The frantic, crying boy from moments ago disappeared, leaving behind something cold and deeply obsessive. His eyes became vacant of everything but the man standing in front of him, reflecting a devotion that had long since crossed the line into madness.

"Yes," Cherion whispered, his voice as steady and cold as the grave he was already digging.

"I will kill Zarius Valtrane for you."