The palace of Eldraeven loomed like a fortress gilded in stone. High windows glimmered with torchlight, but Rinwell was not led through the grand gates where courtiers flocked. Instead, Sir Darius guided him through a side entrance, where shadows clung to the walls and guards did not speak.
"Discretion," Lord Percival murmured, his pace quick and clipped. "Her Majesty the Queen Consort must not know of your arrival. The King alone called for you."
Rin only inclined his head, his tone light, respectful. "A pity, my lord. I had heard palace corridors were meant to dazzle. Instead, I find myself skulking through back halls like a smuggler. Should I be honored… or insulted?"
Darius shot him a warning glance, but Rin's expression remained perfectly pleasant.
At last, they entered a modest chamber—modest only by royal standards, which meant walls paneled in dark oak and curtains of deep blue silk. The King of Eldraeven sat at a heavy desk, lamplight etching the hard lines of his face. His crown was absent, but authority hung about him like armor.
Rin bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."
The King studied him in silence, then gestured for the others to withdraw. Even Percival hesitated before obeying. The door shut with a weighty click.
"You are the son of Halden Althier," the King said. It was not a question.
Rin raised his head, voice mild. "Indeed, sire. Though I fear you have summoned the echo rather than the bell. My father is long gone, and I remain."
The King's brows drew together. "Your father was a man of great skill."
Rin smiled faintly, the kind that bowed without bending. "So he was, Your Majesty. And yet here you sit before me, not him. Perhaps skill is a fleeting thing—or perhaps the desperate will grasp even the substitute."
The King's eyes narrowed at the audacity, but Rin's voice had been courteous, soft-spoken, almost deferential. Almost.
"You speak boldly for one so young," the King remarked.
Rin placed a hand over his heart and bowed again. "Forgive me. I was taught that honesty was the purest medicine. Though in palaces, I suspect it is also the rarest."
A dry chuckle escaped the King before he could stop it. He waved a hand. "Enough. I did not summon you for word games. You know why you are here?"
"I was told only that a condition confounds the palace physicians." Rin let his gaze linger a heartbeat too long, then added smoothly, "I admit I am curious. The capital boasts of its learned men, yet it turns to a forgotten village for aid. The malady must be… remarkable."
The King's expression hardened, but there was calculation in his eyes now. "It is my eldest son. His pheromones are unstable—overpowering even for alphas. He cannot control them. He suffers, and those around him suffer more. Do you understand what that means?"
Rin inclined his head. Of course I understand, he thought. An alpha prince who poisons the very air he breathes. What irony.
Aloud, he said, "Then it is fortunate, Your Majesty, that suffering has always been my trade. I would be honored to examine His Highness."
The King studied him long, as if weighing more than words. At last, he nodded. "Very well. You will be taken to his chambers at once. And mark this, healer—if you fail, no one must know of it. Especially not the Queen."
Rin bowed once more, his voice a silken blade: "Your Majesty, failure is rarely mine. But secrecy? That I wear as naturally as my skin."
---
That night, Rin was escorted through yet more hidden corridors, toward the rooms of the infamous First Prince—whose presence was already rumored to choke the air like wildfire.
And Rin, walking steadily, thought:
So, the beast awaits. Let us see if the cage is worthy of him—or of me.
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