Chapter 378: The Overbearing Concern

Technically, Cherion wasn’t even surprised.

This was the Royal Palace, after all. Yerel lived here. Expecting not to bump into the Crown Prince in his own back garden was like standing in a swamp and being shocked when you got bit by a mosquito. It was statistically bound to happen eventually.

Still... did it have to happen right now?

Cherion’s boots ground to a subtle halt on the polished marble as he spotted the pristine, golden-haired figure standing near a bed of rare orchids, gracefully holding a porcelain teacup.

Ah, Cherion thought, his chest letting out a long, silent, weary sigh. Wonderful. My morning is complete.

Beside him, Elios instantly wiped the lazy smirk off his face, his posture snapping into a sharp, lethal guard stance, while Flio went completely rigid...

"My apologies, Your Highness," Cherion said, his voice smooth and measured. "We didn’t mean to disturb your quiet morning. We had no idea you were using the garden."

As the words left his mouth, a spark flickered in Cherion’s mind. Wait. The King’s aide had personally directed them toward the conservatory while Zarius was pulled into his audience. In a palace as strictly managed as this, an aide wouldn’t direct high-profile northern guests into a space occupied by the Crown Prince without prior knowledge.

Or was Yerel simply the type of royal who paid so little mind to palace staff that he showed up wherever he pleased, leaving aides to scramble and guests to stumble right into his path?

Which meant this wasn’t a coincidental stroll. Yerel had either orchestrated this "accidental" encounter or knew precisely where Cherion was being directed, and positioned himself accordingly.

No, stop. Shoo, overthinking, shoo. I am not doing this today. Flio was right. If I keep manifesting wild conspiracy theories, the universe is going to send them right at my head.

"Relax a little, gentlemen. It’s not as if you’re committing high treason just by stepping into a public garden."

Elios didn’t relax a single muscle. His boots remained planted firmly on the stone, his posture straight as an iron spear. His broad hands rested casually near his leather belt, though his fingers hovered mere inches from his sword hilt. "We are simply mindful of royal protocol, Your Highness," Elios offered in a dry, low growl that sounded far more like a warning than a compliment.

"Protocol is such a dreary thing on a sunny morning, don’t you think?" Yerel replied lightly. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, his sharp gaze sliding past the two northern officers to settle directly onto Cherion. The gentle, casual smile remained on his lips, but there was an unsettling focus behind his eyes that made Cherion’s skin prickle.

"More importantly..." Yerel murmured, setting his teacup down onto a nearby wrought-iron table with a soft, metallic clink. "How are you holding up, Cherion? Are you feeling quite alright this morning?"

Cherion blinked in genuine confusion, his eyebrows pulling together slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"All that dreadful slander," Yerel elaborated, taking a casual step forward along the tiled path, his dark blue silk coat sweeping gracefully around his boots. His tone dropped into a sweet, almost intimate murmur laced with deeply convincing concern. "Those wretched rumors the capital nobles were spreading after the banquet... claiming you had something to do with Princess Iryna’s poison incident. It must have been immensely draining for a man of your gentle disposition."

Flio took a quiet, half-step forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he interjected with flawless diplomatic composure. "The Duke’s retinue was entirely cleared of suspicion during last night’s proceedings, Your Highness. Lord Cherion’s name requires no further vindication."

"Of course it doesn’t, Flio. I know that better than anyone," Yerel said smoothly, not even turning his head to look at the aide. His pale eyes remained locked onto Cherion. "I was absolutely furious when I heard what those snakes were whispering behind your back in the grand hall. To accuse an innocent man like you of such a foul act is utterly absurd. But thankfully, the truth came out during the trial last night. Everyone in court knows you are completely innocent now."

Yerel paused, stopping just a few paces away from Cherion. He tilted his head, offering a soft, reassuring smile that felt entirely manufactured. "Though... if anyone in court ever dares to whisper those vile accusations at you again, please come directly to me. Do not suffer in silence. I will personally see to it that their tongues are silenced before the sun sets."

What on earth is wrong with this man? Cherion thought, his stomach turning a sharp, violent somersault inside his chest.

It was utterly baffling. Just days ago, Yerel had put on that bizarre, performative "defense", framing his protection of Cherion in a way that felt deeply unsettling, calculated, and heavy with hidden motives. And now here he was, acting like a caring, protective benefactor, offering sweet, comforting words as if they were old friends sharing a quiet secret. It was a terrifyingly smooth act, and it made Cherion want to scrub his skin raw.

Cherion forced his expression to stay polite and completely neutral. He wasn’t about to play into whatever sick, manipulative mind game the Crown Prince was running today.

"Your Highness is far too generous," Cherion replied, his tone noticeably cool and clipped. "However, such deep concern is entirely unnecessary. I never paid any attention to silly rumors in the first place. People will always talk when they have nothing better to do."

"You are surprisingly resilient," Yerel observed softly, a dark, curious glint passing through his eyes. "Or perhaps simply fearless under Duke Valtrane’s shadow?"

"I am simply pragmatic, Your Highness," Cherion answered flatly, keeping his answer sharp, polite, and brief.

Wanting to cut this uncomfortable interaction short before it dragged them into dangerous political waters, Cherion stepped back, giving a small bow. "In any case, we have already taken up far too much of Your Highness’s valuable morning time. We wouldn’t want to disturb your quiet solitude in the garden any longer. Please excuse us."

He turned on his heel, motioning with a subtle flick of his hand for Flio and Elios to fall back with him so they could exit the agrden and head back toward the main palace wing.

A sudden, firm warmth wrapped tightly around Cherion’s wrist.

Cherion’s steps ground to a dead halt. He froze in place, staring down in absolute disbelief at the long, pale fingers clamped securely around his forearm, pulling him backward just enough to completely break his momentum.

The air in the glass garden instantly went dead cold, the light ambient sound of water trickling from the central fountain suddenly feeling muted and distant.

Beside him, Elios’s right hand twitched violently, his fingers clamping tightly onto the leather hilt of his sword, his eyes turning into razor-sharp slits as his shoulders squared for a fight. Flio went entirely rigid, taking a sharp half-step forward, his mouth opening to interject and demand the Prince release his hold on the Duke’s consort.

Yerel didn’t look at either of the northern officers. He didn’t even drop his polite, saintly smile. He simply kept his firm, unyielding grip on Cherion’s wrist, the heat of his fingers burning through the thin fabric of Cherion’s sleeve like an iron shackle.

Slowly, Cherion lifted his head, his eyes meeting Yerel’s gaze.

"I insisted you wouldn’t be disturbing me, Cherion," Yerel said softly, his voice echoing smoothly off the glass walls of the greenhouse. He didn’t let go. His thumb shifted slightly, resting lightly against the pulse point in Cherion’s wrist, feeling the sudden, rapid thrumming beneath the skin.

Yerel smiled, his eyes narrowing into a quiet, inescapable trap.

"In fact... I would be immensely pleased if you stayed and kept me company for a while."