A new day began.
The inn was still asleep, wrapped in the hush of early morning. Outside, the sky was a pale lavender, the kind that hinted at sunrise but hadn't yet committed. Inside, the room was warm, quiet, and tangled in soft blankets.
Colden stirred first.
He blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light, and turned his head to the side.
Marco lay beside him, sound asleep.
His hair — a tousled cascade of dark auburn curls — spilled across the pillow like ink in water. It had a natural wave to it, soft and unruly, with a few strands clinging to his cheek. Colden reached out, gently brushing them back with the back of his hand, fingers lingering in the curls.
He smiled.
There was something peaceful about Marco when he slept. Something unguarded.
Colden stared for a while, eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly with each breath.
Then Marco stirred.
His eyes fluttered open, and when he saw Colden already awake — already smiling — he blushed, a soft pink blooming across his cheeks.
"You're staring," Marco whispered.
"I'm admiring," Colden replied.
Marco turned his face into the pillow for a moment, then sat up, rubbing his eyes. "You always wake up first."
"Only when I'm next to you."
They got out of bed together, the floorboards creaking beneath their bare feet. Colden reached for his coat while Marco stretched, yawning into his sleeve. Downstairs, the inn was still quiet — the hearth cold, the kitchen untouched.
Across town, Carmine was already awake.
She always rose at 4:30 sharp — no exceptions.
Her routine was precise.
She stepped into the cold shower without flinching, letting the icy water sharpen her senses. After drying off, she wrapped herself in a soft robe and brewed her morning tea — mist wildflower, steeped exactly four minutes.
She sipped it slowly by the window, watching the sky shift from indigo to gold.
Then she dressed — black trousers, a fitted tunic, boots laced tight. Her knives were checked, her braid tied high, and her mind already calculating the day ahead.
As the sun crested the rooftops, she stepped out and walked toward Elaine's room.
The door had a crooked sign that read "Elaine" in glittery letters, and a paper taped below it — a chaotic drawing of a flower and a stick figure that looked like it had been drawn by a two-year-old with a sugar rush.
Carmine smiled.
She opened the door gently.
Elaine lay curled under a blanket, her hair fanned out like a halo. Carmine leaned down and whispered softly in her ear.
"Good morning, darling."
Elaine stirred, eyes fluttering open. When she saw Carmine, she smiled — a soft, sleepy smile that felt like sunlight.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
It was the same every morning — as if she waited for Carmine's whisper to begin her day.
Elsewhere in the palace, the concubines were already stirring — sweet, quiet, and graceful.
Except Viremont.
She refused help from maids. She woke up at 9 a.m. sharp and took a full hour just to leave her bed. Her room was a jungle of jewel boxes and perfume bottles, and she chose a different set of gems every day — not to match her dress, but to match the king's mood.
Somehow, she always knew what color he liked.
Even though she'd only met him once.
She didn't care for dresses. She wore whatever was closest. But her jewels? Immaculate.
As the town came alive — carts rolling, bells ringing, voices rising — Colden returned to the palace.
On the way, he passed a dandelion shop.
He paused.
The scent was fresh, earthy, and sweet. He stepped inside and selected a small bouquet with a soft fragrance — something Marco would like.
Next door, an artifact shop caught his eye.
He wandered in, fingers trailing over old brooches and carved stones. One brooch — silver with a deep blue gem — caught his attention. It would look perfect on his daily suit. And maybe… a surprise for Marco.
He was blushing when a voice interrupted him.
"Well, well," said a woman behind the counter.
She looked like Mother Gothel if she'd gotten Korean botox — smooth skin, sharp cheekbones, and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You're the crowned prince, aren't you?"
Colden froze.
She reached under the counter and pulled out a small vial.
"This," she said, "is a potion. It makes anyone… fully like you."
Colden raised an eyebrow. "Fully?"
She smirked. "Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. All of it."
He hesitated. "How much?"
"Oh," she said, eyes gleaming. "You'll pay."
Colden felt a chill.
He took the vial anyway.
And left.
Back at the palace, he tucked it into his coat pocket.
Unaware of what he'd just set in motion.
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To be continued…