Chapter 380: The Garden That Smelled Too Sweet

Philia didn’t even bother looking back as Cherion’s footsteps faded into the distance, mostly because he was too busy pretending Cherion didn’t just stage a tactical retreat right in front of him.

The sharp, mocking little remark about controlling his man was precisely the sort of coarse, unrefined behavior one expected from someone who had spent months rotting away in the northern wilderness. It was beneath a response. Philia simply smoothed the front of his embroidered coat, kept his chin lifted, and continued on his way.

Yet as he stepped through the heavy glass doors into the imperial conservatory, his calm facade began to fray around the edges.

The heat hit him first, thick, humid, and heavy with the cloying scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine. Philia’s mind raced behind his serene expression. He had only just received word from the outer gates that Duke Zarius and his retinue had returned to the palace grounds. Naturally, Philia had set out immediately to find his fiancé, only to be informed by Karson near the council chambers that the Crown Prince was currently occupying the glass garden.

That detail alone had set off a quiet alarm in Philia’s chest. Yerel detested the glass garden. He found the muggy air oppressive and often complained that the concentrated perfume of the tropical flowers gave him a headache. The only time Yerel ever set foot in this place was when Philia explicitly asked him to accompany him for a private tea.

And now, finding Cherion sweeping out of this exact garden moments before? Philia felt a cold, subtle twist in his stomach. He forced his breathing to remain steady as he navigated the winding paths.

He spotted Yerel chilling by a grand, wrought-iron archway that was practically choking under a massive flex of white orchids. The prince was leaning casually against the work, a lazy, deeply amused expression lingering on his fine features. He looked like a man who had just watched a thoroughly entertaining play.

Philia didn’t hesitate. Smoothing away every trace of doubt, he let his lips curve into his most radiant, polished smile and glided smoothly over the flagstones.

"Your Highness," Philia called softly, his voice a melody of effortless warmth.

Yerel turned. Instantly, the distant amusement in his bright eyes melted into a gentle, doting gaze. He took a half-step forward, reaching out to catch Philia’s fingers in his own, lifting the back of his knuckles to press a lingering, practiced kiss against his skin.

"Ah, Philia. There you are," Yerel hummed smoothly, his tone low and affectionate as he pulled him a fraction closer, settling a hand lightly at the small of Philia’s back.

It was a classic display of royal intimacy, the exact picture of a devoted fiancé. Philia leaned into the familiar touch, keeping his tone light, sweet, and playfully curious.

"I was searching everywhere for you," Philia said, tilting his head up with a soft laugh. "Whatever are you doing all the way out here? I certainly didn’t expect to find you hiding among the plants."

Yerel chuckled, his thumb lightly stroking Philia’s waist through the fine fabric of his robe. "Why? Is the Crown Prince forbidden from taking a quiet breath in the gardens?"

"Of course not," Philia replied, his tone remaining smooth, though his eyes carefully searched Yerel’s face. "It’s simply rare to see you choose this place on your own. You’ve always complained about the heat."

"Well, a little bit of change is nice every now and then," Yerel murmured, gazing up at the arch of white blossoms above them. "It really isn’t so bad after all. No wonder you like spending your afternoons here so much."

Philia’s heart gave a slight, uncomfortable thud, but his smile never faltered. "If you felt like visiting the garden, you should have sent a page to fetch me. I would have gladly accompanied you."

Yerel offered an apologetic, almost boyish smile, giving Philia’s hand a gentle squeeze. "Forgive me, Philia. It was entirely on impulse. I didn’t think to disturb your schedule."

Philia let out a quiet, understanding hum, as though accepting the excuse completely. Then, as if the thought had only just crossed his mind, he added casually, "Ah... I actually ran into Lord Cherion near the entrance on my way in."

Yerel didn’t flinch. His expression remained utterly tranquil. "Ah, yes. Him."

A faint, wistful sigh escaped the prince’s lips as he looked down at Philia, his fingers lightly brushing a stray lock of hair away from Philia’s temple. "What a shame you arrived so late, my dear. We could have all sat down together for a lovely cup of tea."

The thought of sitting down for tea with Cherion, under Yerel’s gaze, no less, made Philia’s stomach churn with dark distaste. But before he could even frame a lighthearted dismissal, Yerel’s fingers stilled against his cheek.

Without breaking his sweet, attentive smile, the prince’s voice shifted, dropping into a tone dripping with an eerie, fascinated curiosity.

"You know, Philia... I was genuinely surprised today," Yerel said softly, his eyes sparkling with a bright, unnatural intensity. "Cherion has grown so fierce. The dull, desperate boy who used to weep for my attention is completely gone."

Philia’s radiant smile stiffened. The muscles in his face felt suddenly rigid, though he forced his eyes to stay soft, straining to maintain his flawless composure.

"Hhhmm," Philia murmured, keeping his voice carefully airy, as if discussing nothing more significant than the afternoon weather. "I suppose living in the harsh North changes a person. Surviving in the middle of nowhere leaves little room for delicate manners. It’s likely just simple arrogance he picked up from the Duke’s court."

Yerel didn’t agree. He didn’t even seem to hear Philia’s rationalization.

Instead, a low, quiet chuckle vibrated in the prince’s chest. Yerel tightened his arm around Philia’s waist, pulling him flush against his side in an embrace that was meant to look possessive and loving to anyone watching. He rested his chin lightly against Philia’s temple, his breath warm against Philia’s skin as he continued to stare blankly at the path where Cherion had stood only minutes prior.

Yerel was holding him. Yerel was calling him dear. Yerel was showering him with all the tender, royal affection a fiancé could ever ask for.

And yet, every word out of the prince’s mouth, every thrum of his heartbeat, was entirely consumed by the memory of the man he was supposed to have thrown away.

Philia stood silently in the suffocating, sweet-smelling heat of the greenhouse, his face pressed gently against Yerel’s shoulder. His smile was totally gone, replaced by a cold, deadpan silence.

Please. Please don’t tell me it’s what I think it is. I don’t want to bear any more sin.