"Why are we preparing food without adding seasoning?" Dydra asked quietly, keeping her voice low as she sliced a lemon into neat halves. The sharp scent of citrus lingered in the air, mixing with the warmth of the hearth and the faint aroma of boiling broth. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as though even the sound of the knife against the board might draw unwanted attention.
Oryen stood beside her, sleeves rolled up as she kneaded dough with steady, experienced hands. She did not look up immediately, her focus fixed on the pale mass beneath her palms. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a murmur.
"The crown prince is allergic."
Dydra paused mid-slice, her fingers tightening slightly around the knife. Allergic? Her brows knitted together in confusion. She had heard of people being allergic to certain herbs or rare plants, but seasoning as a whole? How then did such a man eat? How did one survive on food stripped of flavor entirely? The thought unsettled her, but she quickly pushed it aside. Questions had a way of leading to trouble, especially in a place like the palace.
She resumed her work without another word.
Soon, the kitchen filled with the quiet efficiency of maids completing their tasks. Plates were wiped clean at the edges, bowls aligned carefully, and trays arranged with precision. Once finished, the food was handed over to another group of maids—those responsible for serving the royal family. They moved with practiced grace, disappearing through the kitchen doors without delay.
Dydra wiped her hands on her apron, her shoulders loosening slightly. She assumed that was the end of their duties for the day. But before she could step away, Oryen leaned closer and spoke again.
"We're heading into town," she said. "To get foodstuffs."
Dydra blinked, surprised. Town?
Three other maids were quickly called over, and Sandra began handing out lists, her voice firm and commanding as she instructed them on what to buy. Dydra accepted her parchment silently, scanning it though many of the items were unfamiliar to her.
Like a little puppy, she followed closely behind Oryen as they left the kitchen. Her eyes darted about, memorizing every corridor and turn, every archway and stairwell. She wanted to remember the route, wanted to understand the palace beyond the confines of the servants' quarters.
They soon found themselves outside, where a carriage waited. Without speaking, the five maids climbed inside. The coachman did not ask questions; he already knew their destination. The carriage rolled forward, the palace slowly fading from view.
At the West Wing of the castle, the atmosphere was markedly different.
A pair of clean, polished boots stepped onto the smooth marble floor, the sound echoing softly through the corridor. Nearby maids immediately bowed, murmuring hurried greetings as they scurried out of the way.
With his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, Prince Leonard made his way toward the royal dining hall. His expression was unreadable, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Dullness swam in his midnight eyes, as though the weight of many things rested behind them.
He reached the grand doors.
Two servants moved at once, pulling them open.
The chatter inside ceased instantly.
Every head turned.
Leonard stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room with sharp efficiency. No one had been informed of his arrival that day. Surprise lingered thickly in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. The entire royal family sat frozen, stunned into silence.
"Brother Leo!"
The excited voice cut through the stillness.
A fair-skinned maiden rose to her feet, lilac fabric flowing as she rushed toward him. White pearls adorned her neck and ears, catching the light as she threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. For the briefest moment, warmth flickered in Leonard's eyes. He pulled one hand from his pocket and tapped her back lightly before returning it.
After a moment, she pulled away, beaming. "I'm so glad you're home," she said, her smile unwavering.
"How have you been, Lannae?" Leonard asked. His voice sounded cold, but beneath it lay a faint spark of warmth, noticeable only to those who listened closely.
"I've been doing well," she replied eagerly. "How was the war? I heard you killed more men than the last war we—"
"Lannae!"
Queen Maye's sharp voice cut her off.
Lannae pouted, offering her brother a quick bow before stepping back. Queen Maye rose from her seat, smoothing her gown as she fixed a strained smile on her face.
"Leonard, I'm glad to see you're home in one piece," she said, carefully avoiding his gaze.
"Are you?" Leonard replied lazily.
Her lips pressed together. Irritation flashed across her face. This boy and his mouth. She drew breath to respond, but Leonard spoke first.
"Where is father?"
His eyes flicked to the head of the table. The king's seat was empty.
"He's in his chambers," Lannae answered softly. "He's not feeling… too good."
Sadness clouded her eyes, and something about it tightened Leonard's expression.
Queen Maye shot her daughter a sharp glare, but Leonard had already turned away. He left the dining hall without another word.
"Mannerless child," Queen Maye muttered.
Leonard crossed into the other side of the West Wing, where the architecture grew more extravagant. He turned left, stopping before another grand door, its surface carved with intricate patterns. Golden lion heads served as its handles.
Two guards straightened immediately.
"Your Highness," they greeted in unison.
"Open the door," Leonard ordered.
They obeyed without hesitation.
The king's chamber was draped in gold and red. Heavy curtains dimmed the light, and at the center stood a massive bed. The king lay upon it, his body slick with sweat as two maids dabbed him gently with damp cloths.
Leonard frowned and stepped closer.
"Get a physician," he ordered quietly.
The maids froze.
"Your Highness, the royal physician just—"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
The heat in his gaze silenced her. The maids bowed and hurried toward the door, nearly colliding with Queen Maye as they exited.
Leonard's eyes returned to his father. That was when he saw it.
A deep bite mark on the king's right arm.
Leonard leaned closer, his jaw tightening.
That was a werewolf bite.
"How did his father get bitten by a werewolf?" he muttered.
"He went hunting," Queen Maye said from behind him. "Only Ser Weene accompanied him."
Leonard stiffened.
There were no werewolves left in the kingdom. He had seen to that personally. He had chased them out, ensured none crossed the border without his knowledge.
Which meant only one thing.
The werewolf had been planted.
But by who?