Chapter 71: A Garden Full of Vipers

"Lord Philia, you’ve truly outdone yourself this time. I’ve never seen the White Lilies bloom with such... aggressive perfection."

The Marquis Volte’s daughter had a bright, lilting voice that drifted gently through the Rose Pavilion. Philia didn’t look up immediately. Instead, he maintained his focus on the delicate task of pouring tea, the golden liquid falling in a flawless, silent stream from a spout of hand-painted porcelain. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make the other Omegas and noblewomen lean in, a subtle gravity he exerted without ever having to raise his voice.

The Pavilion was an architectural boast of glass and white iron, nestled in the warmest corner of the Royal Gardens where the sun felt like a constant, adoring embrace. It was stiflingly elegant. Every surface was covered in silk that probably cost more than an entire northern village, and the air smelled of sugar, roses, and tense gossip.

At the head of the table, Philia sat like a young god in repose. He was a vision of calculated modesty, dressed in layers of gossamer-fine silk in shades of pale cream and celadon, colors that whispered of purity and peace. It was a costume, of course. Someday, these would be the power players once Yerel officially took the throne, and Philia was already domesticating them.

"The lilies are a bit much, aren’t they?" Philia finally replied, his voice a smooth, melodic baritone that made the young Omegas around the table flutter. He offered a small, humble smile. "But His Highness mentioned he liked the scent. I couldn’t very well disappoint him."

A chorus of giggles and envious sighs followed. It was the perfect opening. Mentioning Yerel, his Yerel now, was the ultimate territorial marker.

"Oh, Lord Philia, you are far too indulgent," chirped a young male Omega, the second son of a Count Morcant, who spent most of his time trying to mimic Philia’s graceful tilt of the head. "But then again, after the... unpleasantness of the last few months, the palace deserves a bit of beauty."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The noblewomen and Omegas morphed from guests into hunters, their eyes glittering with the predatory hunger of the bored.

"I still can’t believe the audacity," a Duchess’s daughter whispered, leaning forward so far her corset creaked. "To be cast aside so publicly by His Highness and then... what? To be handed over to the North like a sack of unwanted grain? I heard Cherion didn’t even pack his own trunks. He just fled to hide his tears in the snow before the ink on the broken engagement was even dry."

"The North," another boy scoffed, daintily biting into a macaron. "I hear it’s so cold there that the water freezes in your throat. Can you imagine someone like him surviving a week there? The ’Monster of the North’ has probably turned him into a frozen garden statue by now. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? A cold end for a cold person."

The laughter that moved around the table wasn’t kind.

"Or perhaps," the Marquis’s daughter added with a wicked glint, "he’s not a statue at all. Perhaps he’s realized that a Monster Duke is better than no Duke at all. Can you imagine the desperation? Trying to seduce a man who is more beast than human just to regain a shred of dignity? From the Crown Prince’s arm to a monster’s hug... it’s a tragic fall, truly."

Philia watched them. He saw the way they tore at Cherion’s reputation, their words like dull knives. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, yet his face remained a mask of serene, troubled concern. He waited until the mockery reached a fever pitch, until the air was thick with the ugly delight of their shared cruelty.

Clack.

The sound of his teacup hitting the saucer was soft, but in the sudden silence of the pavilion, it sounded like a gavel. Philia let out a long, trembling sigh, his shoulders dropping just a fraction as he looked down at his lap. It was a masterpiece of a performance.

"Please," Philia murmured, his voice thick with a pained, false sympathy that made everyone feel immediately ashamed. "Let us not speak of him that way. It breaks my heart to hear such things."

He looked up, his eyes wide and shimmering with a deceptive kindness. "Cherion was... he was my dear friend. Once. And while things became difficult between us toward the end, I cannot bear to hear him mocked while he is so far away and unable to defend himself."

The noblewomen exchanged uncertain glances. "But Lord Philia," the Count’s son stammered, "he was so hostile to you! Everyone saw the way he looked at you. He was practically spitting venom, and you were nothing but patient!"

Philia offered a sad, saintly smile. "He was hurting. We must be the bigger people. Cherion was always so... sensitive. Too fragile, I fear, for the rigors of court life here. When the man he loved so much didn’t return his feelings, his heart simply shattered. It’s only natural he bore such resentment toward me."

He paused before looking at them one by one with a smile.

"We should pray for his safety," Philia continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Given the Duke’s... reputation. It must be terrifying for someone as weak as Cherion to be trapped in such a violent place. I only hope he hasn’t provoked the Duke. We all know what happens to those who catch the Monster’s ire."

Soft praises floated from all of them. "Your mercy knows no bounds, Lord Philia."

"And your grace is unparalleled," added another.

Philia’s smile remained gentle, almost sorrowful. "In that case, perhaps we should... extend our kindness further. We should ensure Cherion is invited to our next gathering. I am certain no one would have any objection to such a gracious gesture."

"Of course, Lord Philia. How could we refuse?"

The party continued for another hour, a haze of flattering words and sweet deceit. Philia played the perfect host until the very last carriage rolled away from the palace gates.

As evening settled over the Rose Pavilion, painting it in deep purples and burning oranges, the smile on Philia’s face vanished.

He stood alone among the half-empty teacups and crumbled pastries, the silence of the garden finally settling around him. He walked to the edge of the pavilion, staring out toward the horizon. He was thinking about the silence.

He whispered to the darkening sky. "Still breathing, are you, Cherion?"