Boka felt his head splitting with pain. He tried to get up several times but couldn’t open his heavy eyes. The world spun violently around him. During this time, he vomited repeatedly, emptying nearly everything from his stomach. Strangely, this made him feel much better.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for a long while before finally catching his breath.

*That woman… utterly despicable. Poisoning the scarf like that. Truly rotten.*

Just as he thought of Aria, her face suddenly swam into his blurred vision.

"AAAHHH!!"

Boka screamed, leaping out of bed and scrambling into the corner against the wall. His eyes widened with terror like a child’s. His chest heaved violently. Still shaken, he hadn’t even noticed the others watching him—Alva’s group, and Aisha.

"Seems energetic enough. Probably fine," Aisha remarked from the bed beside Aria, her tone bored.

"W-what happened?"

"Cynthia fed you spoiled meat soup," Aisha explained. "Intense exercise plus full absorption."

"B-but wasn’t it poison? You ate it too!"

"My digestion’s stronger."

Boka had to admit that part was true. Her digestion *was* unnaturally efficient. And she never gained weight, no matter what.

Boka recovered quickly. With Alva present, he’d been helped to vomit and given special Dragonfolk medicine. This spared him the indignity of incontinence. He couldn’t imagine how much rot had been in that spoiled meat—enough to nearly kill him.

"You vomited all over Miss Aria," Lola chimed in from the side, her voice laced with mockery.

*Huh?*

Only then did Boka notice the damp stains on Aria’s sleeve where her gauntlet had been removed. His heart clenched. His vomit had soiled the wrist of the Agnes Family’s young mistress.

"It’s fine," she said.

"A-ah… okay…"

"How are you feeling?" she asked again.

Was she asking about *him*? Boka hesitated before answering.

"S-still okay, I guess."

"Mm."

She gave a soft reply, but her gaze remained fixed on him.

"Why are you staring?"

"Nothing."

"Oh…"

*So it wasn’t poison on the scarf after all. Maybe… maybe she helped me because I actually take good care of the plants?* Boka thought. *The potted flowers had thrived under Gna and him.*

"Where is this place?"

He realized he didn’t recognize his surroundings. The room smelled of herbs and had an old-fashioned decor. People occasionally passed in the hallway outside but never entered. Moonlight spilled through the window—the eerie, dual-colored glow of Albion’s twin moons carried an indescribable chill.

"The palace," Aisha stated flatly.

"Huh? What?!"

Boka finally saw it—the castle stood clearly visible outside the window. Wind-rippled lawns stretched as far as the eye could see, bordered by towering walls radiating royal grandeur. He’d only glimpsed such palaces from the Duke’s estate near the capital. Ordinary citizens who’d lived in the main city their whole lives rarely set foot inside.

"Why are we here? How did we get in?"

"Alva needed to prepare medicine for you," Lola said. "The palace holds Albion’s most complete herbal repository."

"Is it safe to stay?"

Boka panicked. This was the royal seat. Entering just for medicine—if caught, the consequences would be dire.

"We have the King’s permission," Alva added.

"Really…"

Boka couldn’t fathom it. Someone like him receiving King Gil’s approval? Even more baffling was allowing Dragonfolk inside. Public opinion on Dragonfolk was split: many revered their healing skills, but zealous believers often slandered them as heretics for daring to speak Amir’s name. Kings tread carefully on religious matters to protect their image. Yet here they were—Boka and Dragonfolk—granted entry.

"Alva," Boka whispered, "does the King know you were part of the pharmaceutical project seven years ago?"

*Could King Gil be aware of the Dragonfolk’s involvement?*

"No," Alva shook his head. "Few know. It’s a secret between Baird and me."

Hearing Baird’s name, Boka suddenly remembered Cynthia.

*Oh no!* How late was it? He *had* to get back, or Cynthia would tear him and Aisha apart!

"Cynthia must be worried sick!"

"Don’t rush," Alva said. "I sent Andrew to explain. You’re staying with us."

"Oh…" Boka relaxed. "Good."

Truthfully, Boka wasn’t afraid of Cynthia’s anger. It was her tears. Once, after he and Gna returned late from a brothel—delayed by other matters—Cynthia had waited for him until she fell into a river and caught a severe fever.

Before passing out, Aria had asked who Cynthia was. *Didn’t she already know?* At the harbor, after he took an arrow meant for her, Aria had suspected his true identity and investigated thoroughly. If he hadn’t taken that arrow… who knew what fate awaited him? Being near her always brought trouble.

But Boka’s fear of Aria ran deeper than her actions. Seeing her stirred memories of Trena—the girl he’d buried deep in his heart. Aria had killed Trena. Yet he had no right to blame her. Without Aria, his own head would likely have been chopped off long ago.

Aria tangled his emotions beyond words. He instinctively avoided her. Only then could his heart find peace.

"Is she your cousin?"

Aria’s voice cut through his thoughts, as if reading his mind.

"Yeah… why?"

"Mm."

She gave another noncommittal hum.

"Boka! How are you?"

A voice called from the doorway. Boka turned to see Mia standing there in a white lace-trimmed gown, as if fresh from a banquet. The Dragonfolk immediately rose to bow.

Aisha Lascelle, ever haughty, ignored the formality.

"No need to be so stiff," Mia said, peering around. "Aria sister, I knew I’d find you here. You vanished from the banquet."

As Mia’s elder and in private, Aria saw no need for ceremony.

"Percy’s been demanding to see you, Teacher Boka," Mia leaned in. "Pity he’s being watched too closely to wander off."

"Thanks. I’m better now."

"Dueling Arlast? Truly impressive. Your arrows… almost like magic."

"I-I don’t understand it either."

Boka had been as shocked as anyone when his arrow shattered the stone statue and stopped Lupin cold.

"Percy wasn’t lying about you hitting plates in the harbor wind, then."

"That?" Boka shrugged. "Easier than shattering statues."

"Mia pointed at them one by one: "Boka, Aria sister, and the little one sitting there—walk with me outside?"

"Huh? Why?"

Boka’s stomach still churned. He had no desire to face the night air.

"Someone wishes to speak with them." Mia’s gaze settled on Alva’s group.

*With the Dragonfolk?*

They exchanged uneasy glances.

"Don’t worry," Aria said suddenly. "It’s fine."

"Come, Mr. Boka."

Mia grabbed the hesitant Boka and pulled him out. Aisha and Lola shared a look—a silent understanding passing between them in an instant.

"Mm." Aisha followed.

Outside, Boka saw figures waiting in the dim corridor. Two looked familiar.

Ian. And King Gil.

On the palace’s vast lawn, music drifted from the distant castle on the breeze. The banquet continued, likely until dawn. The Birth Festival was only two weeks away. In the days before it began, all entertainment would be banned. Everyone must pray and confess sins at designated sites. Grand banquets welcoming foreign envoys could only happen now.

Boka’s eyesight was poor, but the moving shadows suggested dancing had begun.

Their group on the lawn was oddly arranged. Mia and Boka stood together, while Aisha and Aria lingered several feet behind.

But Boka’s hearing was sharper than most—a hunter’s necessity. The dance music seemed to escape the castle, dancing across the wind-tossed grass.

"Will you dance with me?"

Mia lifted her skirts slightly, dipped her knees, and offered her hand.

"M-me?!"

"Yes. Do you dislike me?"

"N-no! O-okay…" He glanced back. Aisha’s glare was icy. Aria’s presence pressed on him like a physical weight.

"I’ll teach you. Hehe."

Mia placed Boka’s hand on her waist and guided his clumsy steps. The grassy ground softened any falls. Boka focused entirely on not stepping on her feet.

"My father summoned them to heal me," she said softly.

*So it really was Hero King Gil.* Boka hadn’t misseen. Aisha must have recognized him too.

"Is His Majesty unwell?"

"No," she smiled faintly. "It’s for me."

"...Huh?"

"See?" Mia guided Boka’s hand to the back of her head. Beneath her long hair, a lump protruded. Boka felt it easily.

"This grew inside me," she said. "That’s why I’m always weak. Nosebleeds… Father sought them for this."

"Don’t worry. Uncle Alva’s amazing. He’ll fix it." Boka reassured her.

*After all, it was Alva and the Dragonfolk who ended Albion’s plague seven years ago. Their skill was unmatched.*

"Hah. Hope so." She winked. "Seeing Father humble himself? That’s rarer than a blue moon."

Dancing with the princess in the palace gardens made Boka’s head spin pleasantly. He might have kept enjoying it—if Aisha hadn’t thrown her shoe at him.

Yet high on the castle wall, another pair of hate-filled eyes watched them, unblinking.