Chapter 400: The Wrong Kind of Worry

The dining hall emptied into the high-arched corridors of the inner palace. The lunch had officially drawn to a close, leaving a lingering atmosphere of quiet tension in its wake.

Cherion walked side-by-side with Zarius down the wide hallway, the rhythmic clink of Zarius’s ceremonial saber against his hip matching their slow pace.

Inside his head, Cherion’s mind was spinning through novel plotlines like an overloaded archivist. The border dispute in the South, he thought, adjusting the high collar of his coat. I remember this exact arc.

In the novel, the conflict down south was never meant to be a grand, world-ending crisis. It was a classic narrative buffer, a neat little subplot written purely to ship Yerel off to the southern front for a few months. It gave the readers a break from the constant, suffocating romantic angst and endless bedroom scenes between Yerel and Philia, while simultaneously giving Philia room to breathe and navigate the palace without the male lead instantly solving every problem for him. It also left Philia vulnerable enough to deal with the OG Cherion’s constant sabotage and tragic, pathetic antics.

So Yerel goes south, crushes some generic border disturbance to look like a heroic conqueror, and comes back just in time for the next big dramatic arc, Cherion concluded silently. It’s completely routine.

Beside him, Zarius noticed the quiet, distant look in Cherion’s eyes. Misreading the contemplative silence entirely, Zarius softened his posture slightly, bringing his broad hand to rest against the small of Cherion’s back as they walked.

"The South will be fine, Cherion," Zarius murmured, his deep voice carrying a rare, gentle warmth. "The Crown won’t let a minor border squabble turn into anything that threatens the region. You don’t have to be so worry."

Cherion blinked, turning to look up at Zarius’s deadpan, intensely serious face. A sudden, suppressed chuckle bubbled up in his throat.

Aw, wasn’t he adorable? Cherion thought, smiling sweetly while internally screaming into the void. Surely Zarius didn’t know what he was really worried about.

"Thank you, Zarius," Cherion said aloud, keeping his tone soft and appropriately touched. "I appreciate it."

"There is no need to worry yourself at all, Cherion," a voice chimed from behind them.

Cherion and Zarius stopped, turning to see Yerel approaching with long, measured strides. Gillian walked a few paces behind him, chatting casually with Iryna, but Yerel’s sharp focus was entirely fixed forward.

Yerel stopped near Cherion, offering a smile. "I will personally ensure the southern border is secured before any real harm can touch the surrounding provinces. You have my word."

"Uumm, yes, of course, Your Highness," Cherion replied smoothly, giving a graceful nod. "As long as the Crown handles it swiftly, I am certain everything will remain peaceful."

Please go to the South as fast as possible, Cherion added in his head with absolute sincerity. Take your military campaign, and please let there be no unnecessary changes that lead to another disaster.

Zarius stepped slightly in front of Cherion, his towering frame imposing as he stared down at the Crown Prince. "I am sure His Highness has plenty of military strategy to review before making such bold promises," Zarius said, his tone dry and dripping with polite contempt. "We wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties."

Yerel didn’t flinch. A thin, dangerous smile touched the Crown Prince’s lips as he met the Duke’s gaze. "A good leader always finds time to reassure his people, Duke Valtrane. Though I suppose a military man like yourself prefers brutal efficiency over courtesy."

"True efficiency is knowing when not to draw a blade, Your Highness," Zarius replied flatly. "Reassurances ring hollow when they are only used to mask impatience."

"How wonderfully inspiring," High Priest interjected, gliding up to the group with his hands tucked into his golden sleeves. The old man looked between Zarius and Yerel with a warm, serene smile, entirely blind to the invisible swords clashing in the air. "It warms my heart to see the Crown Prince and the Grand Duke conferring so closely. It is always a blessing when our leaders get along so remarkably well."

Cherion had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from making a face. Which part of this looks like getting along to you?! They are practically measuring each other for coffins!

Gillian laughed softly, stepping up beside Iryna. "Are you heading straight back to the your estate, Duke?"

"Yes," Zarius said, breaking eye contact with Yerel to look around the high corridor. "Assuming I can collect my guard and aide. They seem to have wandered off."

Cherion looked around as well. The grand hallway was empty save for the court nobles filtering out toward the outer courtyards. "Maybe they stepped outside to get some air?"

"Let us check the front courtyard," Zarius said.

They bid a brief, formal farewell to Gillian, Iryna, and Yerel, stepping out toward the grand marble steps leading down to the courtyards. Cherion kept his eyes peeled, scanning the wide stone paths and decorative arches, but neither Flio’s broad, unmistakable uniform nor Elios’s bright, energetic presence was anywhere in sight.

"That’s strange," Cherion muttered. "Elios usually sticks to the entrance like glue when he’s waiting for us."

Before Zarius could send a nearby palace guard to fetch them, heavy footsteps hurried up the wide stone stairs.

Elios came running up, out of breath, his cheeks flushed red and his hair slightly disheveled. He stopped abruptly in front of Zarius and Cherion, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"Oh! You’re done, Your Grace! Lord Cherion!" Elios gasped out, looking up with wide, anxious eyes.

Zarius frowned, his brow furrowing sternly. "Where have you been, Elios? And where is Flio?"

Elios winced slightly, straightening his back. "Ah, Flio is still out there! We... well, we were looking for something I dropped. Flio was helping me search it!"

Zarius exhaled a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Honestly..."

Cherion covered his mouth with a quiet smile, amused by the guard’s usual chaos.

Before they could turn back toward the glass gardens to retrieve Flio, the soft rustle of silk robes sounded behind them. High Priest had followed them out, his serene expression illuminated by the bright afternoon sun.

"Duke Valtrane, Lord Cherion," the High Priest called out gently, stepping forward and folding his hands against his chest. "If your schedules permit, the Grand Temple’s doors are always open to you both. The heavens favor quiet reflection, and I would be honored to host you."

Zarius offered a polite nod. "Your Holiness is most generous. We shall keep the invitation in mind."