Chapter 411: A Morning Like Any Other

The morning air inside the orphanage kitchen was thick with the scent of toasted flour, boiled root vegetables, and sweet woodsmoke.

Philia stood near the heavy wooden prep table, his sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows as he chopped dried herbs into a small clay bowl. Beside him, Nora was bustling between the stove and the counter, her worn apron smudged with flour as she stirred a large pot of morning porridge. The fire crackled softly in the brick hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the low-ceilinged room.

It was quiet, a mundane, peaceful kind of quiet that simply didn’t exist within the walls of the imperial palace.

"Pass me that salt pinch, child," Nora murmured, her voice rough from the morning cold but warm with familiarity.

Philia reached for the small wooden container, sliding it across the flour-dusted table with a soft, gentle smile. "Here you go, Nora."

Nora sprinkled the salt into the bubbling pot, wiping her hands on her apron before turning her full attention toward him. Her sharp, experienced eyes scanned his face, taking in the faint dark circles under his eyes and the slight sharpness in his jawline. She picked up a wooden spoon, resting her hip against the counter.

"So," Nora started, keeping her tone light, though her brow furrowed slightly. "How are things... over there? At the palace?"

Philia’s hand paused over the herb bowl for a fraction of a second before continuing his rhythmic chopping. "They are fine. It is quiet."

"Quiet," Nora repeated with a faint, skeptical huff. She took a step closer, lowering her voice so it wouldn’t carry toward the dining hall down the corridor. "And the crown prince? How is he treating you? Is he keeping his promises?"

"His Highness is very kind to me," Philia answered softly, his voice smooth, clear, and perfectly composed. He offered her a small, reassuring nod. "He makes sure I have everything I need. I am well cared for, Nora. You don’t need to worry about me."

Nora watched him in silence for a long moment, her eyes searching his calm expression for any sign of a lie.

Nora watched him in silence for a long moment, her eyes searching his calm expression for any sign of a lie. "I suppose life is a bit easier for you at the palace now that Lord Cherion isn’t around," she said, her tone sharpening slightly at the name. "Now that he’s been sent off to the North with Duke Valtrane, at least you don’t have to walk on eggshells around him."

Philia let out a quiet, soft laugh, a gentle sound that seemed to brush the concern right out of the air.

"Things are much quieter now," Philia said, looking up from his herbs to meet her eyes. His expression was open, soft, and entirely serene. "With Lord Cherion away in the North, and His Highness... His Highness is managing everything smoothly. Everything is going to be fine."

Nora sighed, reaching out with a warm hand to lightly pat his shoulder. "You always say that, Philia. Ever since you were a little boy running around this floor, you’ve had this bad habit of burying your pain where nobody can see it. You smile, you say everything is fine, and you swallow every bit of hurt all by yourself."

Philia’s smile softened, though his eyes remained steady. "Not anymore, Nora. I promise you."

Nora searched his face a second longer before giving his shoulder a final, affectionate squeeze. "Good. Because if those royals make you cry, you come right back here. A fancy crown doesn’t give anyone the right to step on you."

"I know," Philia murmured quietly. "Thank you, Nora."

A few minutes later, the kitchen doors swung open, and the quiet atmosphere dissolved into a noisy, chaotic morning rush.

Philia helped carry the heavy wooden platters out into the main dining hall, where two dozen children were already seated at the long benches. The room filled with the clatter of wooden spoons against bowls, bright giggles, and the chatter of kids waking up to the chilly morning. Philia sat at the edge of one of the middle tables, ladle in hand, serving porridge to the younger children while listening patiently to their endless stories.

"Philia! Philia!" a little boy named Alen piped up from across the table, his mouth half-full of bread. "When are you gonna take us to the palace?"

A few other children instantly perked up, their eyes lighting up with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Yeah! Is the palace really made of gold?" a younger girl asked, leaning over her bowl. "Does the prince wear a giant sparkling crown every day?"

Philia laughed, setting the ladle down on the tray. "The palace is mostly made of heavy stone and marble, so it isn’t quite as bright as you think," he explained wisely, his voice patient and warm as he leaned forward. "And the prince only wears his heavy crown on very special occasions. Most of the time, he just wears long coats and spends his day writing on big stacks of paper."

"Sounds boring," Alen declared with a dramatic scowl, making the girls at the end of the table giggle.

"It can be," Philia agreed lightly, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s messy brown hair. "That’s why I like coming back here much more. The food tastes better when I’m sitting with all of you."

The children cheered, satisfied with the answer, and quickly went back to devouring their breakfast.

Philia picked up a basket of fresh rolls, reaching across the bench to hand one to a small girl sitting beside him. As he extended his arm, his sleeve pulled back slightly, exposing the thick white linen bandage wrapped tightly around the palm of his left hand.

A sharp-eyed little girl sitting nearby caught sight of the cloth and gasped softly, pointing her wooden spoon at his wrist.

"Philia, what happened to your hand?" she asked, her voice carrying over the noisy chatter of the table. "Did you get hurt?"

Nora, who was walking past the table carrying a pitcher of warm milk, froze for a split second, her eyes immediately darting toward Philia’s wrapped hand.

Philia didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull his hand back, nor did his soft, warm smile flicker for even a second.

He simply pulled his sleeve back down over his wrist with his other hand, smoothing the fabric out with a gentle, casual motion before looking up at the little girl with bright, innocent eyes.

"Oh, it’s nothing," Philia said smoothly, his voice dropping into a playful, conspiratorial whisper. "I was just helping Nora chop vegetables in the dark earlier, and I slipped with the knife. It was entirely my own carelessness."

"You need to be more careful!" the girl warned sternly, puffing out her cheeks. "Knives are dangerous!"

"I will," Philia promised gently, leaning back with a soft, affectionate smile that completely put the table at ease.

Hidden beneath the table and the thick folds of his clothes, his fingers lightly flexed against the bandage.