Elian watched in confusion as Rowan strode into his room, holding the white hyacinth in his hand.

​"How are you?" Rowan asked, standing beside Elian’s bed.

​Elian shut the door and faced Rowan, still short of words.

​"I’m... better," he replied, slowly walking over to Rowan.

​Rowan hummed. "I spoke with Soren. My cousin won’t tell me anything; I had to ask Soren myself... why did you not tell Rowena it was I who offered the food?" he asked slowly.

​Elian sighed. "I did. She didn’t believe me."

​Rowan stared at Elian for a moment and nodded. "I’m sorry," he said.

​Elian snapped his head to Rowan, eyes widened in shock. "No, no, you don’t have to apologize. You did nothing—"

​"On behalf of my cousin and his fiancée, I’m apologizing, because I know they’re never going to—" He approached Elian, his brown eyes softening.

​"I know you hate us... nobles, and I get why. But I wish you could see me as a friend, your very good friend." Rowan spoke gently.

​Elian chuckled. "Really?" His tone was unconvinced; his eyes, too.

​Rowan nodded. "That’s why I brought flowers. Can I put them down? At least I’ll know you accept them."

​Elian sighed and nodded.

​Rowan smiled and went over to set the bundle of white hyacinths carefully on the table beside Elian’s bed, their pale petals almost glowing beneath the morning light spilling through the windows.

​"They reminded me of you," Rowan said lightly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. "Delicate and always frowning."

​Elian rolled his eyes faintly. "I am not delicate."

​"Mm," Rowan hummed, unconvinced as he settled comfortably into the chair beside the bed. "You look delicate."

​Elian scoffed softly, though the corner of his lips twitched despite himself.

​The room slowly filled with the sweet scent of the flowers.

​"Can you sit? Or is it still sore?" Rowan asked, his eyes lowering to Elian’s waist.

​Elian cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. "I’m fine... The doctor gave me some healing oil... it works great." he said, trying his best to keep his mind away from how the oil was applied to him.

​"That’s good, then. Next time, don’t let anyone accuse you wrongly," Rowan said.

​Elian scoffed. "Wow, you speak like you’re from another world. Wrong accusations are what rule our world, Lord Rowan. It’s unending..."

​"Not everyone is evil, Elian," Rowan murmured.

​At first, Elian paid no attention to it. He leaned against the headboard while Rowan talked about how there were still a bunch of good people around the world. But after a few minutes, a strange itch crept across his skin.

​He frowned.

​His fingers brushed lightly beneath his jaw.

​Warm.

​Another itch spread across his cheek.

​"Elian?" Rowan paused mid-sentence. "Why are you scratching yourself like that?"

​Elian blinked slowly. "I... don’t know."

​The itching worsened.

​He rubbed at his cheek again before wincing softly.

​Rowan’s teasing expression disappeared. "Hold on." He leaned closer, brown eyes narrowing. "Your face..."

​Elian frowned. "What about it?"

​"You’re getting rashes."

​"What?" Elian immediately touched his cheek again.

​His skin felt hot and uneven beneath his fingertips.

​Before Rowan could say another word, the chamber door opened.

​Lucien stepped inside.

​His sharp green eyes swept across the room once before settling on Elian.

​He froze.

​A dangerous look darkened his face almost instantly as he strode forward.

​"What happened to him?"

​Rowan stood. "I don’t know. He just started reacting a moment ago—"

​Lucien’s gaze snapped toward the flowers.

​The sweet scent hung heavily in the room.

​His jaw clenched.

​"The flowers," he said coldly.

​Rowan blinked. "The hyacinths?"

​Lucien moved closer to Elian, tilting his chin upward with gloved fingers. Angry pink rashes had spread faintly across Elian’s cheeks and along the side of his neck.

​Elian looked both confused and uncomfortable.

​"It itches," he muttered quietly.

​Lucien’s eyes darkened further.

​"Take them out," he ordered sharply.

​Rowan stared for a second before quickly grabbing the flowers from the table.

​The moment Rowan lifted them, Elian sneezed softly and groaned, rubbing at his nose.

​Lucien caught his wrist immediately.

​"Stop touching your face."

​Elian looked up at him in annoyance. "It burns."

​For a brief second, something tense crossed Lucien’s expression before it vanished beneath cold control.

​"You’re allergic," he muttered.

​Rowan sighed from the doorway, flowers still in hand. "Well... this is unfortunate."

​Lucien did not even look at him.

​"Get rid of them."

​"Come," he said and turned away, leaving the room.

​Elian hesitated for a while, sitting on the bed and frowning at Lucien’s back.

​Why was he here?

​Was he done kissing the Princess?

​He suddenly leaned off the headboard when Lucien snapped his dark gaze toward him from the door.

​He followed, scratching the itching spot under his jaw.

​He hesitated for a second before entering Lucien’s chamber, memories of earlier that day swimming freely around his mind.

​"Sit," Lucien pointed to the chair beside his desk as he walked into his washroom.

​Reluctantly, Elian obeyed.

​Soon, Lucien walked out carrying a small basin of water.

​Elian held his breath as Lucien paused right in front of him, his scent and warmth flooding his senses as Lucien leaned over to drop the basin on the desk beside Elian.

​"Lift your face," Lucien ordered.

​Swallowing hard, Elian lifted his face but never looked into those green eyes. He focused on the ceiling, his chest slowly rising and falling.

​Lucien ignored the obvious way Elian tried to avoid his eyes and dipped the cloth in his hand into the basin of cool water before pressing it carefully against Elian’s cheek.

​Elian hissed softly, shoulders relaxing a little as the burning sensation eased, but the spot under his jaw was still itching.

​"Stop scratching," Lucien murmured.

​"It itches," Elian muttered.

​"And you’ll make it worse," Lucien stated sternly.

​He held the cloth there a moment longer before reaching for the small jar left behind Elian. A faint herbal scent filled the air as Lucien rubbed a thin layer of salve over the angry pink rash spreading beneath Elian’s jaw.

​Elian blinked slowly. "It’s cold."

​"Good," Lucien replied calmly. "That means it’s working."

​Lucien finished applying it and stepped away from Elian, jaws tight.

​Elian sighed in relief, his face not feeling so uncomfortable anymore.

​"I was wrong," he found himself saying.

​Lucien simply arched a questioning brow, not speaking.

​Elian took a deep breath and straightened. "I... I should never have assumed that you... you touched me. After all, I’m a traitor, you’re a Duke; it’s impossible. Also, you have a fiancée, and most importantly, we are both males. I was out of line and will ask questions before jumping to conclusions in the future." He cast his gaze down, feeling weird for apologizing to Lucien... his enemy.

​Lucien stared at him, not speaking. He carried the basin back into the washroom and came out with a bottle of oil.

​"You are not allowed to have visitors; do not forget you’re in captivity... not free," Lucien said, passing the oil to Elian.

​Elian’s face fell, his chest tightening. "I understand."

​He stood from the chair, staring at the bottle in Lucien’s hand. "What do I do with this?" he asked quietly.

​"Before you sleep tonight, use it on your face—"

​"Actually, may I refuse?" he cautiously asked, lowering his gaze.

​Lucien’s eyes hardened, his hand lowering. "Why?"

​"You’re right, I’m your captive, but circumstances have forced you to act like my caregiver, which I’m terribly sorry for. From now on, I beg you to let me—"

​"Are you refusing an order?" Lucien hissed, stepping closer.

​For some reason, Elian’s heart squeezed so painfully that he had to move a few steps back to get away from Lucien. He couldn’t say why the image of Lucien and Rowena in the orchid was taunting him mercilessly.

​Lucien paused, watching Elian for a moment.

​It almost felt like Elian was repulsed by him, not his regular ’I’ll kill you’ repulsion, but a different kind. And this one felt... deeper.

​"It’s an order, Young Morel. Take it," Lucien stated coldly.

​Elian realized that he wouldn’t leave if he didn’t take the oil from Lucien, so he moved with his gaze cast down, took the oil, and walked out of the room without looking once at Lucien.

​Lucien stood there staring at the door and wondering what just happened.

​Why was he feeling like he’d done something wrong? Did it have something to do with that sudden guilt he felt when he looked at Elian through his window?

​Impossible.

​He was just worn out from having Elian around. The sooner he started his plans, the faster he’d get rid of Elian.

​He just needed to find a way to get invited to the palace.

​Sighing, he left his chambers and went over to find Rowan.

​"He went to the stables," a guard at the door told Lucien when he asked about Rowan.

​Wondering what Rowan was doing at the stable that afternoon, he went over to look for him.

​"What are you doing?" Lucien asked as he paused in front of the stables, staring at Rowan who was leading a brown horse out of the stall.

​"Fancy seeing you here, cousin. Want to step out with me?" Rowan asked, easily mounting the horse.

​"No. You shouldn’t bring flowers to Elian anymore. You don’t know what he’s allergic to—"

​"You came all the way here to ask me not to bring flowers to Elian?" Rowan halted the horse, leaning over to smirk at Lucien.

​"Easy, cousin... you’re engaged," he whispered.

​"I will not allow you to spew more nonsense, Rowan!" Lucien snapped, glaring at his cousin.

​Rowan straightened on top of the horse, his face serious. "I’m heading into the village. I miss the local tavern," he said and trudged away on his horse.

​Lucien watched Rowan make his way to the gates, his fists balled beside him.

​Angry, he marched back into the house and straight to Elian’s room.

​"Your Grace, do you need something—"

​"Up," Lucien didn’t let him finish and pulled him up by his arm.

​"Ugh, did I do something wrong?" Elian asked, trying to stand firm on the ground.

​Lucien held his collar, breathing hard as he stared into his eyes.

​"Do you think I fancy you?" His low voice vibrated the air between them.

​Elian gasped, gulping loudly. "N‐no! I never said that, never thought that. It’s impossible, Your Grace. You can never fancy me—"

​"You?" Lucien’s hand tightened on Elian’s collar.

​Elian choked slightly, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of Lucien’s words and actions.

​"Me?" he asked Lucien slowly.

​"Do you like me, Young Morel?!" Lucien growled, eyes blazing.

​Finally, he let Rowan’s words get to him. He knew he was acting rash, but he couldn’t stop himself, not even when he tried to release Elian and storm out of his room.

​He couldn’t.

​Elian suddenly laughed, finding Lucien’s question very ridiculous.

​"Me?" He pointed to himself. "Like you?" He laughed again, his head falling back as tears fell from the corners of his eyes. "I’d rather go up in flames than like you, Your Grace. I hate you; never question my feelings—they’re true as can be," he whispered, chuckling still.

​Lucien expected it, but why did he not seem to like that answer?

​Slowly, he released Elian but didn’t step away, his face dark and unreadable.

​"Then why?" he murmured.

​Elian narrowed his eyes at Lucien. "Why what?" He peered at Lucien’s face.

​"Why does he think I like you?" Lucien turned away from Elian, staring at the door.

​"Um, I don’t know who ’he’ is, but if he did think that, then he must be mistaking your obsessive hatred for me for another thing. He might think you’re keeping me close and caring for me because you care. You just have to make it clear to him and tell him that everything is purely transactional and evil... on your part—"

​"Silence!" Lucien snapped his head back, glaring dangerously.

​Elian shut his mouth, waiting...

​He could feel the tension rolling off Lucien’s body from miles away. Whoever thought the Duke liked him must be in immediate need of an asylum.

​"To prove to him that you are nothing but a dirt bag, you will stay in the stables for the rest of today... no food, no water—"

​"Your Grace, please think again. You don’t have to listen to him. I hate you, I promise. Don’t make me go back there, please—"

​"Leave, Elian. Now." Lucien ordered coldly.