Chapter 61: A Dose of Care

"Oh, good. I haven’t missed the show."

Lioren pushed open the apothecary door and strolled inside, his attention immediately drawn to the bubbling pots.

Jorah, the young assistant, nearly dropped his pestle.

"Y-Your Grace!"

"M-my lord!" he stammered, quickly setting down the pestle before attempting a rather awkward bow. His elbow knocked against a nearby jar, making him scramble to catch it before it fell. "I wasn’t expecting you tonight. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong. I’m here for the tonic." Lioren walked over to the counter, leaning against its edge as he peered into the bubbling pot. "My fiancé’s tonic, remember?"

"Of course, my lord. It’s for Prince Xavion." Jorah glanced nervously at the pot before looking back at him. "We’d have tonight’s dose ready shortly."

"Excellent. Carry on."

Jorah blinked. "You... want to wait here, my lord?"

"Naturally."

The young assistant looked at him, then at the pot, seemingly unsure which one was more likely to cause him trouble.

Lioren simply smiled.

"Don’t mind me. I just want to see how it’s made. With my own eyes. Understand the mechanics of what’s going into the cup before I hand it over to him."

Jorah paused, the pestle frozen halfway down into the ceramic bowl. He slowly lowered his arms, leaning back against the shelf behind him with a look of profound exhaustion. "With all due respect, Your Grace... do you really need to be standing right here?"

"I am entirely harmless," Lioren said. "I know my reputation in domestic quarters isn’t exactly stellar, yes, I once melted a kettle, thank you for remembering, but I am not going to burn your precious dispensary down. I am merely here to observe."

Jorah let out a long, shuddering sigh that practically carried the weight of a decade’s worth of anxiety, then turned back to his mortar. He scooped a pinch of grey powder from a small clay dish and sprinkled it into the simmering pot.

The mixture darkened into a muddy, greenish-brown mess, bubbling noisily as a cloud of bitter-smelling steam rose from the pot.

Lioren leaned so far over the counter that Jorah might as well have started worrying about him falling into the pot.

"Careful!" Jorah yelped, slapping a hand out to catch Lioren’s sleeve and yank him backward.

Lioren blinked, blinking away the stinging vapors as he straightened up, coughing once into his fist. "Ahaha. A bit lively, isn’t it?"

"It’s medicine, My Lord, not wine," Jorah muttered.

Lioren watched every movement closely, his blue eyes following Jorah’s hands as he measured, stirred, and added each ingredient. He looked less like a curious visitor and more like a commander inspecting preparations before a major battle. One wrong measurement, and apparently the entire operation would be doomed.

For the next twenty minutes, Jorah answered question after question from Lioren. What was this ingredient? Why did it need to be mixed with that one? What happened if they added too much? Too little? Could it be eaten raw? How hot was the mixture supposed to be?

And that was only the beginning.

Every time Lioren leaned too close to a jar or reached out to touch something that was clearly still hot, Jorah had to stop him. At this point, the young assistant wasn’t sure whether he was preparing medicine or babysitting a very curious, very expensive disaster.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of rigorous cross-examination, Jorah poured the steaming liquid into a small, lidded porcelain cup, sliding it across the counter with a look of profound relief.

"There," Jorah said, wiping his brow. "Finished, strained, balanced, and verified. It will ease the deep-socket throbbing His Highness has been dealing with, and it helps relax the tense nerve pathways along the temple. But Master Fane was very clear: it only treats the symptoms. It won’t heal his eye. Nothing short of high-tier divine intervention is fixing that."

Lioren’s expression tightened just a fraction at the mention of the permanent damage. He reached out and picked up the warm porcelain cup, testing its weight in his hand.

"I know," Lioren said quietly, his voice losing its teasing edge. "I just want him to sleep through the night without clenching his teeth until his jaw bleeds."

He pulled a small silver coin from his vest pocket and flipped it effortlessly across the counter, where it landed with a sharp clink right next to the mortar. Jorah looked down at the coin, easily enough to buy a dozen new pots, and then up at the Duke, his expression softening from pure terror into something resembling reluctant respect.

"Thank you for your patience, Jorah," Lioren added, giving the lad a quick, genuine nod. "Keep the change. And if anyone asks why the dispensary smelled like a boiling bog at midnight, tell them I was testing the fire-safety protocols."

Before the assistant could formulate a response, Lioren turned on his heel and walked out, carrying the porcelain cup as carefully as if it were carved from fragile glass.

The corridors were dead quiet by the time Lioren reached his destination. Most of the guards had rotated off to the night watch, leaving the high stone hallways bathed in the pale, silver wash of moonlight filtering through the tall arched windows.

Lioren stopped outside Xavion’s chambers and knocked lightly on the door. When no immediate answer came, he gently pushed it open and peeked inside.

"I hope I haven’t bothered you."

Xavion, who had been standing near the window looking out into the night, turned at the sound of his voice. His expression softened slightly when he saw who it was.

"Oh, Grand Duke." He stepped away from the window. "Please, come in."

Lioren smiled a little before slipping inside with an almost eager step. He closed the door behind him, then turned back to Xavion.

"You’re still awake."

Xavion gave a small nod, his attention shifting to the steaming porcelain cup in Lioren’s hands. "Is that the tonic?"

"Yes," Lioren answered, making his way over to the small table near the hearth. He took a seat and carefully placed the steaming cup on the table. "Drink it while it’s hot, or it’ll turn into something that tastes roughly like boiled marsh-mud."

Xavion stared at the cup for a long moment, catching the faint, bitter steam curling off the surface. Then, slowly, his eye lifted to meet Lioren’s face, a subtle, knowing amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Xavion glanced down at the steaming cup, then back at Lioren. "Did you make this yourself?"

Lioren nearly choked on his own breath.

"Oh, no. Absolutely not." He shook his head with such conviction that one might have thought Xavion had just accused him of attempting to burn down the royal palace. "Please, I wouldn’t trust myself with something that important. I have no confidence in my ability to make medicine, and I would very much like you to keep all your functioning organs."

A faint smile tugged at Xavion’s lips.

"I only became the little helper," Lioren continued, settling more comfortably into his seat

"Your role was to help?"

"Exactly."

Xavion raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for him to elaborate.

"Well, not the actual brewing part." Lioren leaned forward, looking rather pleased with himself. "I was in charge of the praying department."

For a moment, Xavion simply stared at him.

"The praying department?"

"Yes. Very important work, I assure you. I prayed that the tonic would turn out properly, that Jorah wouldn’t make any mistakes, and that you’d finally get a decent night’s sleep after drinking it." Lioren gave the cup a little nod. "So, you see, I contributed quite a lot."

A low chuckle escaped Xavion. It was brief, but genuine enough to make Lioren’s smile widen.

"That’s certainly a unique way of helping," Xavion remarked.

"I’m glad you appreciate my contribution."

Xavion finally reached for the cup. He lifted it carefully, inspecting the contents for a moment as the steam rose against his face. The tonic had a rather unappealing appearance, but that was hardly surprising considering the ingredients involved.

Lioren watched him, then quickly added, "And before you start wondering, no, nothing strange went into it."

Xavion glanced at him.

"I mean it. I watched Jorah prepare everything. Master Fane had already measured the ingredients beforehand, and the boy followed the instructions properly." Lioren paused, then added with a little frown, "I even asked him to explain every single thing he put in there. Twice, in some cases."

"Twice?"

"I wanted to be certain."

Xavion’s smile lingered as he looked down at the cup again.

"Anyway, it’s perfectly fine," Lioren assured him. "You don’t have to worry about what’s inside. Just drink it before it gets cold."

Xavion gave a small nod. Bringing the cup to his lips, he took his first sip.

Lioren immediately leaned forward, watching him with the sort of anticipation usually reserved for someone waiting for a verdict.

"Well?" Lioren asked, watching him closely. "How is it? Does it taste like despair?"

"It tastes like ginger and silver-leaf," Xavion replied dryly. "Not particularly pleasant, but I suppose that’s a good sign when it comes to medicine."

He took another, longer swallow, though a faint grimace crossed his features as the bitterness settled on his tongue. Despite that, he didn’t pull away.

Lioren let out a long, contented breath, sinking his weight into the back of his seat. The lingering tension from day’s endless paperwork, reports about Marquess Gardner’s pathetic spying ring, finally seemed to dissolve into the warm, crackling silence of the hearth fire.

He had spent the entire day putting out fires, dodging traps, and managing chaos from every possible angle. Yet, sitting here in the quiet glow of the embers, watching an Ostharian prince grimace over a cup of foul-tasting root tea, Lioren felt a strange, profound sense of accomplishment settle deep in his chest.

He had actually managed to do something useful today. Something practical, something that might genuinely make Xavion feel better. And best of all, he hadn’t accidentally set anything on fire.

A small, rather proud smile spread across Lioren’s face.

"See?" Lioren declared. "Who says I can’t take care of people?"