A few days had passed since that heated confrontation in front of his house, and Rin had begun to think that perhaps—just perhaps—Prince Alaric had finally given up. The days returned to their calm rhythm: the twins helping in the garden, the scent of drying herbs filling the air, and the gentle bustle of villagers visiting the small apothecary for tonics and poultices.
That morning was quiet. The sun was warm, the air smelled faintly of mint and soil - Or so he thought.
Because standing by the apothecary's door, even before he'd turned the sign to open, was Alaric.
Rin froze, teacup halfway to his lips.
The prince — still in his travel cloak, dust clinging to the hem, gold eyes bright despite the fatigue — looked utterly out of place in this humble village corner.
For a long heartbeat, neither spoke. Rin's brows twitched ever so slightly before he sighed inwardly. I should have known he wouldn't give up… He looked for me for four years; he won't stop just because of one rejection.
Alaric stepped forward, his golden eyes fixed on Rin. "Rin—"
But Rin simply turned away, his tone clipped but polite. "We don't serve tea here, Your Highness."
He brushed past him , began arranging jars along the shelf, and completely ignored the prince's presence. He'd learned long ago that silence disarmed Alaric far better than anger. He thought if he ignored him long enough, the man would eventually leave.
Except he didn't.
By the time the clock struck noon, Alaric was still standing outside. His tall figure had drawn quite a bit of attention—villagers whispered, some curious, others cautious. A few of Rin's patients couldn't help but ask who the mysterious man was that refused to move from his doorway.
Rin massaged his temples, exhaling a long, tired sigh. This man will ruin my reputation before lunch even starts.
He opened the door and said curtly, "If you insist on standing there like a statue, you might as well come in. People are starting to talk."
Alaric stepped inside silently. Rin gestured toward a small sofa. "Sit."
Alaric obeyed. He looked strangely out of place in the humble shop, surrounded by shelves of herbs and jars instead of marble pillars and silk tapestries.
"So," Rin began, folding his arms. "What is it this time, Your Highness? I already made it clear that I will not go back with you."
Alaric's gaze softened, his voice low but steady. "I came to apologize. For what happened that day. But I'll be honest, Rin—I still have no intention of giving up."
Rin arched a brow, his tone polite yet edged. "Persistence is admirable when used wisely, but in your case, it borders on stubbornness."
Unfazed, Alaric continued, "Where are the twins? I need to apologize to them as well."
"There's no need," Rin replied shortly. "They're—"
Before he could finish, his stomach gave a low, unmistakable growl.
The silence that followed was painfully awkward. Rin blinked, his composure cracking just enough for a faint blush to creep across his face.
Alaric's lips curved into a small, amused smirk.
Rin cleared his throat and countered quickly, "You haven't eaten either, I assume?"
Alaric admitted, "No. I came here first. I wanted to apologize before anything else."
Rin sighed. "How noble. Very well, I'm not heartless enough to let a man starve."
He gestured for Alaric to follow him into the small kitchen connected to the shop. The space was humble—an old wooden table, mismatched bowls, and the faint aroma of rice and broth. Rin ladled the stew into two bowls, placing one in front of Alaric.
"Apologies, Your Highness," he said dryly. "The meal is humble—nothing like the palace banquets you're used to."
"I've eaten worse on the battlefield," Alaric said with a faint grin.
They began eating quietly. Alaric, wanting to start a conversation, opened his mouth—but then froze when he heard faint whispers.
Two small heads peeked from behind the doorway, their eyes wide and curious.
Rin's eyes flicked sideways — the twins, peeking through the bead curtain, their faces half-hidden but their giggles barely contained.
"Papa," the older one whispered, "why is that man here again?"
"I told you to stop spying," Rin said evenly, though the faint color rising to his cheeks betrayed his irritation. "Have you eaten?"
"Yes," the younger replied proudly. "Aunt said we could have more bread if we didn't fight!"
"Good. Then stop hiding and greet—"
Before he could finish, the twins rushed in, eyes wide and curious as they stared up at Alaric. The prince, for his part, blinked — uncertain — then slowly set down his spoon.
Rin sighed, muttering under his breath, "So much for a quiet lunch."
But before he could usher them out, the younger twin whispered (loudly enough for Alaric to hear), "Papa, why is the bad man here again?"
Rin groaned softly. "Riven."
Alaric blinked, startled — then, to Rin's surprise, chuckled quietly. "The bad man, hm?" He leaned forward, voice gentle. "Then I suppose I must apologize to you, too."
The twins looked at him warily. "You'll promise not to hurt Papa again?"
"I promise," Alaric said solemnly, extending a pinky finger.
After a moment's hesitation, two small pinkies linked with his. "Then you can play with us!"
"Play?" Alaric blinked.
"Outside," the older twin insisted. "Papa said you shouldn't bother him when he's busy."
Rin pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between irritation and amusement. "I never said—"
But Alaric only gave a small smile. "If that's what they wish, then I suppose I have no choice."
The twins cheered, dragging the prince toward the door before Rin could protest.
Just then, Thomas entered, carrying a basket of herbs. "Ah, Master Rin," he greeted warmly, "I brought the supplies you asked for."
He smiled easily—too easily—and Rin couldn't help but notice Alaric's brief glance back before stepping outside with the twins.
For some reason, that glance lingered.
Meanwhile, back in the capital, Alaric's trusted aide ,Sir Darius was pacing restlessly in the prince's office. "It's been nearly a week," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "His Highness still hasn't returned. The court is beginning to question his absence!"
The secretary ,Sir Lucas sighed heavily. "We can only use the excuse of 'illness' for so long…"
Across the palace, the queen consort sat gracefully, her jeweled fingers tapping against the armrest of her chair.
"So," she murmured, her tone deceptively soft, "the first prince is… sick, they say?"
Her lips curved into a cold smile. "How convenient."
Turning to her attendants, she added, "Prepare for the envoy's arrival. If my dear son cannot manage his own image, we shall use this opportunity wisely."
Her eyes glinted, sharp and dangerous. "It's time the court remembers which side truly holds power."