Leaning closer to the field of pink flowers, Eiran studied the petals carefully. They looked different from the ones he usually saw in the mansion’s garden.

"Uncle, these roses look weird," he said, looking up at Soren and lightly tapping his shoulder to catch his attention. They came on a stroll in the garden pavilion after breakfast but Soren hadn’t said a word until now, lost in thoughts.

Soren blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He turned toward the flowers the boy was pointing at. A quiet chuckle escaped him as his fingers brushed against the soft petals.

"They are not roses, Eiran. They are peonies."

A hint of red spread across Eiran’s cheeks instantly. He ducked his head a little, pretending to inspect the flowers again. He’d been studying so hard lately, but there was still so much he didn’t know.

Even if Zayden said he was his son, they both knew the truth. And lately, his Dad had been spending more time with that strange man. The way that man looked at him and Ren... it was obvious—he wanted to steal his Papa’s place.

Eiran’s fingers curled around the hem of his sleeve. What if he wasn’t smart enough or good enough? What if Zayden decided to have a real child of his own and forget about Papa and him, abandoning them?

His stomach tightened just thinking about it.

If that ever happened... what would they do?

Those worries wouldn’t leave him alone, no matter how hard he tried to chase them away.

Eiran kicked a pebble as he walked beside Soren, his thoughts drifting far from the flowers.

If his Papa couldn’t protect himself, then someone had to do it for him. That someone had to be him. After all, his real father was gone now. And even if no one said it out loud, Eiran knew it. That his Papa masked his pain with a smile and why his eyes sometimes looked so empty and distant.

He tightened his small fists.

Ren couldn’t even use magic —but Eiran could. He could swing a sword, too. He had been practicing secretly every night when everyone else was asleep. If anyone tried to hurt his father, he wouldn’t let it happen.

Never.

His jaw tightened.

A faint breeze stirred the peonies behind him. For a moment, Eiran glanced back at them, the cold air brushing through his hair as their pink petals swayed gently in the sunlight.

Soren noticed the unease in Eiran’s demeanour, though he couldn’t quite understand the reason behind it.

"You know," he began, pausing for a moment as if debating whether to say it or not. He hesitated for another second before continuing, "When I was younger, I used to mistake peonies for roses all the time." He admitted it with a small smile, trying to cheer up the child.

Eiran’s jaw dropped in surprise.

"W-What? But you’re the Imperial Crown Prince! Doesn’t that mean you’re perfect?"

Soren let out a quiet, dry laugh at the word perfect, shaking his head. He was far from it—but he had to appear that way. As if being an omega wasn’t already enough of a reason for so many people to wish he weren’t their crown prince.

"No one is perfect, Eiran. You learn as time passes," he said softly. "You’re still young. Don’t rush to grow up."

They were words he wished he had heard himself—back when he kept failing to meet everyone’s expectations from the moment he was born.

Eiran smiled brightly and gave his uncle two quick nods, though the words didn’t change his determination to grow stronger and protect his Papa.

***

Enzo rose from the bed, the sunlight slipping through the curtains and brushing against his skin.

He shifted to the left only to realize he was half-covered by the blanket, his body heavy with fatigue. When he tried to get up, a quiet groan left his lips—his muscles ached as if they’d been pushed past their limits.

Then, the memories of last night flooded his mind like heavy rain during autumn.

"Are you alright, sir?" A maid asked carefully, her hands hovering near his shoulders but not daring to touch. She was ordered to come and stay here until Enzo woke up by the High Priest. Yet, she was strictly restricted from laying a finger on him.

Enzo gave a small nod, though his expression betrayed him.

"Yes... I just didn’t sleep well," he murmured, voice hoarse.

She hesitated, glancing at the scattered clothes on the floor before bowing her head and retreating toward the door. That was all she was asked to do.

Enzo sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He grimaced once he sensed semen slipping from his back hole, the uncomfortable stickiness irking him.

The silence of the room pressed down on him. Memories of last night flickered in fragments.

"You think you can tell me what to do?!"

A sharp slap followed Charles’s words, pressing against his skin that made him tremble.

Even though he wanted to fight back, he couldn’t. The disgusting pheromones pressed him like a rock heavier than his own weight.

And the usual routine continued until he couldn’t remember anymore.

The only thought that kept him going was one hope—in the form of Zayden. He, and he alone, could help him break this curse called the bond. The Emperor had entrusted him with the duty of overseeing it.

The door creaked open, followed by slow footsteps.

Enzo looked up, frowning. However, his expression eased when he spotted the same maid who had been standing there when he awoke just a few minutes ago.

"Did you forget something?" he asked, pulling the blanket up to hide his body. His pale skin was covered with red handprints and bite marks.

The maid’s eyes reflected pity—and Enzo already knew why she had come. She felt too bad to leave him in this state.

"I can handle it. You can leave."

The servant parted her lips to speak but shut them quickly. She bowed, closing her eyes tightly as if she couldn’t bear the sight any longer.

"I-I shall take my leave."

Having said so, she rushed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Enzo let out a sarcastic laugh.

"Even the servants pity me now," he scoffed, slicking his hair back.