Rin's Pov
Evening descended over the palace in heavy silence, lanterns flickering in the corridors like watchful eyes. I sat at the small desk provided in my guest chamber, my satchel spread open, herbs laid neatly across the polished surface.
From one pouch, I drew the pale, silvery petals of moonpetal—rare, fragile things that released a resin as faint as starlight. Crushed gently with mugwort and cloves, the mixture darkened to a dull gray paste.
I lifted the vial and studied the way it caught the lamplight.
The Aether Veil
A creation not for healing, but for survival. Applied to the pulse points, it released a neutral, heavy scent—metallic, cold, utterly without character. The perfect mimicry of a beta's absent pheromones.
My aunt's words lingered in the back of my mind as I dabbed the mixture at my throat, wrists, and chest.
"Do not let them suspect. One slip, and you are no longer Rinwell the herbalist, but a possession."
I smoothed my sleeves, letting the veil settle into my skin. The faint sweetness that sometimes betrayed me—pear-like, as the Prince had so keenly noticed—faded beneath the metallic cover.
Satisfied, I exhaled. "There. Dull as stone, unremarkable as dust. Just as a beta should be."
I turned my attention to the parchment before me, where I had scrawled the formula for a tonic. The remedy would need the right herbs, balanced delicately to tame the storm of pheromones without dulling an alpha's vigor entirely. And at the heart of it, one ingredient impossible to replace:
Sky Thistle.
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Morning light found me already striding through the palace halls, my cloak drawn tight. Lord Percival had reluctantly arranged for my access to the Royal Apothecary Gardens—a place rarely seen by those without title or crown. The gardens were more fortress than sanctuary, guarded as jealously as a treasury vault.
They sprawled across a glass-domed conservatory, where every leaf glittered with dew under shafts of sunlight. Exotic plants curled against iron trellises, their scents mingling into a heady perfume that nearly overwhelmed the air.
And there, within a ring of iron and etched wards, grew the prize I sought: Sky Thistle.
Its leaves shimmered silver, like coins turned beneath the moon. At the heart of each plant pulsed a volatile core, blue as a flame. It could only be harvested at midnight, when its energy dipped—an herb both sacred and dangerous, a keystone in the formula of Sovereign's Calm.
With this, I thought, the First Prince's fury could be tempered. With this… I would hold the leash to his stability.
I was still staring when a voice startled me.
"Rin?"
I turned sharply. Standing a few steps away, dressed in the livery of a garden attendant, was a familiar face—taller now, shoulders broader, but unmistakable.
"Lys?" I asked, incredulous.
Her smile broke across her face, warm and incredulous. "I thought it was you! I didn't believe my eyes at first and thought its playing a trick on me , but—look at you."
I inclined my head politely, though my lips curved in a faint smile. "So the palace collects more than rare herbs. I see it has taken our villagers, too."
She laughed softly. "I tend the gardens now. Safer than tending goats, I suppose."
Her words were light, but her eyes searched mine, as if trying to piece together why I was here.
I shifted my gaze back to the Sky Thistle, speaking carefully, politely. "Then perhaps fortune favors me, to find a familiar gardener in this strange glass cage. Tell me, Lys… how carefully does the palace guard its midnight blooms?"
The double meaning was deliberate. I watched her blink, then chuckle nervously.
"Carefully enough that even I can't touch them without a seal," she murmured. "Careful, Rin. Some herbs here are worth more than gold."
I smiled faintly, bowing my head. "Then perhaps I ought to tread more softly. I would hate to bruise something so precious."
The words were innocent on the surface, but the edge lingered. I was not speaking only of plants.