Chapter 379: A Waste of a Good Morning

Cherion glanced down at his wrist. Yerel wasn’t exactly trying to snap his bone or anything, but the grip had a distinct "you belong to me, actually" vibe that was hard to miss.

For a solid second, Cherion just stared at those pale knuckles like he was waiting for a punchline. Then, he slowly looked up, meeting the Crown Prince’s eyes with a look that plainly said, Really? We’re doing this now?

"Your Highness," Cherion said, voice flatter than a week-old soda. "I must ask you to let go. I apologize, but I will have to decline your offer. I have other matters requiring my attention."

Yerel didn’t release him right away. Instead, a low chuckle escaped his lips, his bright eyes crinkling with easy amusement as if Cherion had just delivered a particularly funny punchline.

"Why so stiff, Cherion?" Yerel asked, his thumb lightly brushing the side of Cherion’s wrist before finally loosening his fingers. "It’s just a harmless walk through the greenhouse. Why turn down a simple request so dramatically?"

Yerel gestured casually to the quiet glass corridor around them, his mouth curving into that perfectly royal smile. "If you’re worrying about the nobles whispering behind your back, given our... unique history, you can set your mind at ease. I assure you, no noble in this capital would dare breathe a single rumor against us. I’ll make sure of that personally. Besides, we aren’t even alone." He tilted his head toward the entrance, where Flio and Elios stood like watchful sentinels. "Elios and Flio are right here. What could anyone possibly say?"

Cherion smoothly pulled his hand back, sliding his arm behind his waist to adjust his cuff. The skin where Yerel had held him felt uncomfortably warm, but his face remained a mask of serene composure. He offered the prince a faint smile.

"You misunderstand me, Prince Yerel," Cherion replied calmly. "I have never cared about gossip, nor do I waste my sleep on what strangers think or say about me. People will talk regardless of what I do."

He paused, letting his gaze rest steadily on the Crown Prince. "What I do care about, however, is respect. Respect for my fiance. For my mate. For Zarius."

Cherion adjusted his stance, his shoulders set with absolute certainty. "Entertaining an unnecessary private stroll with you, regardless of who is standing ten feet away, is simply wrong. I have no interest in crossing boundaries that should remain firm."

Yerel blinked once, his amused smile wavering for a fraction of a second before expanding into something sharper. "Oh? I certainly didn’t realize the Duke was so remarkably insecure," Yerel said smoothly, tilting his head with mock pity. "Is he truly so jealous that he cannot trust his own fiance to walk down a hallway? That seems rather exhausting for you."

Before Cherion could answer, Yerel took a half-step closer, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous, probing glint. He subtly leaned in, lowering his voice into a confidant’s murmur. "Or... is it actually the other way around? Is this sudden reluctance really about Zarius’s trust, Cherion? Or are you simply uncomfortable being near me because of everything we used to be?"

Cherion almost laughed aloud at the sheer audacity. He looked at the Crown Prince as if Yerel were speaking a foreign language.

"It seems you weren’t paying attention to a single word I said earlier, Your Highness," Cherion replied. "I just told you that my decision is about respecting my relationship and my partner’s feelings, especially considering our past. But..." Cherion let out a soft sigh, giving a small, indifferent shrug. "...if that grand, tragic narrative is what you need to tell yourself to sleep better at night, then far be it from me to break your delusion. There is certainly nothing I can say to change your mind."

Giving a brief, polite nod, Cherion turned on his heel, ready to put an end to the entire ridiculous encounter.

He didn’t make it two steps.

"Or are you just terrified that if you stay near me," Yerel’s voice cut through the air, "you won’t be able to hide your real feelings for me anymore?"

Cherion actually flinched. He stopped dead in his tracks, instantly mortified for the both of them.

He slowly turned around, looking at the Crown Prince with the exact face of a guy whose friend just tried to use a cringey, outdated pick-up line on a waitress in broad daylight.

"What an utterly disturbing theory you’ve constructed there," Cherion said flatly.

Before Cherion could process the movement, Yerel closed the distance between them in a flash. The prince stepped right into Cherion’s personal space, his face coming so close that Cherion could feel the faint warmth of his breath. Yerel’s eyes were bright, almost obsessive in their absolute certainty, convinced that the man standing before him was still the heartbroken fiancé who used to look at him with desperate adoration.

"There is no shame in admitting it, Cherion," Yerel purred, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper right near Cherion’s ear. "A love you harbored for years doesn’t just vanish into thin air because you signed a new contract. You can’t erase it that easily."

Yerel’s eyes flicked over Cherion’s shoulder toward the silent aides. A sly, knowing smile stretched across the prince’s lips as he stepped back, giving Cherion room to breathe again.

"If you don’t believe me, ask Flio," Yerel added softly, his gaze locking onto the silent, rigid aide behind Cherion. "Ask him if he has managed to completely destroy his feelings for Karson yet."

The air in the garden instantly turned dead silent and awkward.

Cherion glanced over his shoulder. Flio stood completely frozen, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle twitched beneath his skin. His eyes were fixed on the marble floor, his hands gripped white-knuckled around his belt, refusing to utter a single word in response to the prince’s cruel provocation. Elios looked ready to draw his blade right then and there.

Cherion didn’t bother wasting another second on Yerel’s mind games. He didn’t argue, he didn’t defend himself, and he certainly didn’t give Yerel the satisfaction of a dramatic scene.

"Yep, we’re out," Cherion muttered, practically dragging his aides down the hall at a speed that screamed I am walking, not running, but we are absolutely escaping this conversation.

Yerel didn’t pursue them. He merely stood among the blooming glasshouse flowers, watching them retreat with a smug, satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

As Cherion rounded the corner toward the grand arched exit, he nearly collided with a figure stepping into the hall. Dark velvet robes, an immaculate posture, and a sharp, calculating gaze, Philia stood right at the threshold, clearly on his way to join the Crown Prince.

Cherion brought his group to an abrupt halt. He looked at Philia, taking in the man’s quiet, composed expression, and felt a sudden spike of dark amusement.

"Ah, Lord Philia," Cherion called out, his voice carrying clearly down the archway without a single trace of courtly polish. "Good timing. Please, do go inside and control your man."

Philia’s eyebrows twitched upward in surprise, but Cherion didn’t wait for a response. He leaned in just enough to deliver his parting shot with a sweet, mocking smile.

"Accompany him quickly, won’t you? He seems terribly lonely in there, and his thoughts are getting downright disturbing."

Without waiting to see the look on Philia’s face, Cherion turned and swept out of the garden, pulling his aides right along with him.