Florian stared down at the food.

The honey bread looked exactly the way it always did, even though it had been prepared by a different kitchen, by hands that were not familiar to him.

Soft. Warm. Sweet.

Everything about it was inviting.

His eyes told him it was perfect.

The soup beside it shimmered gently, steam rising in slow, delicate curls that carried the faint floral scent of frumpkin flowers.

So why did his stomach twist tighter the longer he looked at it?

’I don’t understand,’ Florian thought, his brows knitting together. ’I’ve eaten this so many times before.’

He had grown up with this food.

He knew it.

Trusted it.

Carefully, he lifted the spoon. The metal felt heavier than it should have as he dipped it into the soup and brought up a small amount.

Just that simple motion made his throat tighten.

Then the scent hit him properly.

Not rotten.

Not sour.

Nothing that should have raised an alarm.

And yet.

It was just... wrong.

His hand froze halfway to his mouth.

A sharp wave of nausea surged through him without warning.

His chest tightened painfully, his breath catching as his stomach lurched.

Florian swallowed hard, forcing the feeling down before it could turn into something worse.

’No. No, no,’ he thought, panic prickling along his spine. ’I can’t. I really can’t.’

Slowly, he lowered the spoon back to the table.

His fingers trembled despite his efforts to steady them, and he pulled his hand away as if the bowl itself might make him sick.

Across the table, Eldrick noticed.

He leaned forward slightly, concern flickering across his face. "Prince Florian?" he asked gently. "Is everything alright? You haven’t touched your food."

Florian forced himself to look up. His expression was calm and composed, but it took effort to keep it that way.

"I’m... fine," he said after a moment. "I just don’t feel very well all of a sudden."

Hendrix frowned immediately, his gaze snapping to the untouched dishes. "Is something wrong with the food?"

The way he said it made the air shift.

Not loud. Not accusing.

But alert.

The dining hall seemed to tighten around them.

Lancelot was on his feet in an instant.

"Let me see that, Your Highness."

His chair scraped sharply against the floor as he stood, one hand already moving to the hilt of his sword.

His posture was rigid, protective, eyes sweeping the table and then the servants.

"What?" Eldrick said, startled. "Sir Lancelot, please. Prince Hendrix, there is nothing wrong. We would never do something to Prince Florian."

"Can’t be too sure," Lancelot replied curtly, not taking his eyes off the table.

Juno stepped forward at once, her hands clenched at her sides, her expression firm and offended.

The old maid shook her head as she scrambled to write on paper what she wanted to say.

"Nothing wrong with food," she wrote quickly. "Personally oversaw prep. I assure."

But Florian didn’t feel safe.

The nausea still churned in his stomach, heavier now, as if his body were trying to warn him of something his mind couldn’t see.

’I’m not imagining this,’ he thought, breathing slowly through his nose. ’Something is wrong. It has to be.’

"I apologize if we’re suspecting, but...I’ve eaten this exact dish before," Florian said quietly, his voice steady despite the discomfort. "Many times. It has never made me feel like this."

Lancelot’s gaze snapped back to him immediately.

That was all he needed.

Without another word, he reached out and lifted the bowl of soup from the table.

The movement was controlled, deliberate.

He brought it close and inhaled deeply, eyes narrowing as he focused on the scent.

Florian watched him closely, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lancelot lowered the bowl slowly, his movements measured.

"I don’t smell anything unusual," he said at last.

The words should have eased the tension.

They didn’t.

Eldrick let out a breath that sounded more strained than relieved. "You see?" he said quickly, glancing between them. "I told you. I would never dare harm the king’s favorite."

His gaze shifted pointedly. "And even if you doubt me, we are in the presence of the king’s brother."

He gestured toward Hendrix, then to Lancelot himself. "And the king’s head of knights."

Hendrix didn’t look convinced.

"Poison is often scentless," he said calmly.

The reminder settled heavily over the table.

Lancelot’s eyes hardened as he turned back to Juno.

"Did you put poison in this?" he asked bluntly.

Juno stiffened.

True shock crossed her face, sharp and unguarded.

Juno shook her head again; it was obvious she was starting to get slowly frustrated by the accusations, especially since she was having a hard time writing.

"I WOULD NEVER!"

Juno showed them all her notes. Her note was all-capitalized, and she wrote it so fast that the handwriting wasn’t as legible as the others.

The dining hall fell into silence.

Florian pressed a hand lightly against his stomach, breathing shallowly as the nausea churned without mercy.

’Are they telling the truth?’ he wondered.

Logically, it made no sense.

Poisoning him here, in front of Hendrix and Lancelot, with so many eyes watching. It would have been reckless. Stupid.

And yet.

His body was still screaming at him.

’Something isn’t right,’ Florian thought. ’And I don’t think I’m wrong.’

But Juno seemed like she was telling the truth.

Lancelot broke the silence, his voice quieter now as he turned back to Florian.

"How does it feel to you, Your Highness?" he asked. "What exactly are you experiencing?"

Florian lifted his gaze to meet his.

"I can’t eat it," he said honestly, his voice low. "I don’t know how to explain it. But the thought of putting it in my mouth makes me feel sick. That’s all I know."

Lancelot didn’t argue.

He didn’t push.

Instead, he placed the bowl farther away from Florian and stepped closer, positioning himself subtly at his side.

Not enough to draw attention, but enough to make his presence clear.

Protective.

His hand remained near the hilt of his sword.

"Then don’t," Lancelot said simply. "That’s enough for me."

Before anyone else could react—

Juno raised a hand, stopping Lancelot.

She stepped forward, her hands clenched tightly in front of her as she pointed at the food.

"What are you saying?" Lancelot asks.

"I think..." Athene says, her eyes wide. "...she’s saying she wants to eat the food."

Florian blinked.

Lancelot’s head snapped toward her.

"What?" they asked in unison.

"That makes sense. If you truly believe that my maids would dare poison His Highness," Eldrick continued, his voice almost amused than alarmed, "My dear Juno is willing to taste it just to prove you wrong. I say, let her."