Chapter 65: A Bitter Mug and a Sweet Mistake

The porcelain mug sat in the middle of the table, a thin trail of steam rising from the liquid inside. Whatever was in it, it smelled awful.

Xavion stared at the mug, his thumb slowly rubbing against its rough rim. He was so lost in thought that he barely noticed what he was doing. His mind had wandered far from the dining hall, drifting back to his old life in Ostharia

"Your Highness?"

A hand waved vaguely in his vision.

"Prince Xavion!"

Xavion blinked and looked up, finally realizing he’d been staring at the mug for who knew how long. Across the table, Lioren leaned closer, tapping his knuckles against the polished wood. His blue eyes held a hint of amusement, though there was also some concern in them.

"Your Highness?" Lioren called again, leaning slightly closer. "You’ve been staring at that tonic for quite some time. Is something troubling you? I do hope you haven’t changed your mind about taking it."

Xavion let out a low breath, looking down at the foul-looking brew. "Nothing. Just... thinking."

"Well, stop it. I notice you haven’t touched it yet. It’s been sitting there getting cold while you stare at it like it’s a primed explosive."

"It essentially is."

"Oh, come on, it can’t be that terrifying," Lioren groaned, though he didn’t look entirely convinced himself. He winced sympathetically, pulling a face. "Alright, fine. I agree, it looks like ditch water, and I’m told it smells like a wet dog rolled up in old parchment. But you know you have to drink it."

Lioren suddenly brightened, a triumphant grin splitting his face as he sat up straight. "However! I anticipated this exact crisis. I learned my lesson from last night’s amateur hour."

At a sharp snap of the Grand Duke’s fingers, a young maid appeared beside the sideboard with the silent efficiency of a phantom, carrying a small silver tray piled high with glazed honey drops and honey-dusted almond cakes. She set it gently between them before darting away again.

"Observe," Lioren announced, tapping the rim of the silver dish with immense pride. "The antidote. The Great Equalizer. The moment you choke down the bitter root juice, you pop one of these into your mouth, and boom, oblivion. All the misery vanishes. And," he added, his voice dropping into a slightly defensive register, "for the record, I formally apologize for being completely inconsiderate yesterday and not thinking to provide sugar backups. But today? Today I am prepared."

Xavion looked at Lioren’s expression. It was almost ridiculous how nervous the Grand Duke seemed about making the awful medicine easier to drink. He looked more worried about Xavion swallowing the tonic than Xavion himself was.

The truth was, Xavion hadn’t been stalling because of the taste. His mind had simply slipped its moorings for a moment, wandering back to that campaign tent where death was always just three steps behind the canvas. But looking at Lioren, waiting like an eager puppy for validation over a plate of pastries, he felt the phantom chill of the northern barrows recede just a fraction.

"You take this very seriously."

"Someone has to," Lioren shot back, gesturing toward him. "You treat your body like an abandoned fortress that’s survived one battering ram after another. Now, drink before I drink it for you." He paused, then glanced down at the tonic. "Actually, never mind. I don’t want it either."

Xavion gave a slow, resigned sigh. He picked up the warm porcelain mug, bypassed his own better judgment, and tilted it back, swallowing the bitter, tongue-numbing draught in two quick gulps.

It tasted every bit as awful as it looked, bitter and overwhelmingly herbal, like chewing on wet tree bark soaked in vinegar. He set the empty mug down with a sharp clack, his jaw tightening as he tried to get rid of the lingering aftertaste.

Before he could even blink, Lioren sprang into action.

"Quick, take this..." Lioren snatched a honey drop from the silver tray, his hand darting across the table with the speed of a striking falcon as he thrust the confection straight toward Xavion’s face.

Caught off guard by the sudden lunge and still fighting the violent rebellion of his taste buds, Xavion didn’t reach out to take it. Instead, operating purely on instinct and the sheer shock of the honey drops hovering inches from his lips, he simply leaned forward and bit down directly off Lioren’s fingertips.

Lioren froze, his hand still raised near Xavion’s mouth. For a moment, he didn’t seem to know what to do. Then his cheeks slowly turned red, the color spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

Xavion continued chewing the honey drops, seemingly unaware of the silence around them. It took him a few seconds before he finally realized what he had just done.

His eye widened. He leaned back abruptly, coughing once into his fist as the sweet confection mixed horribly with the bitter medicinal sludge on his tongue.

"You..." Lioren squeaked, his voice cracking on the syllable. He snatched his hand back as if he’d been branded with red-hot iron, clutching his wrist against his chest while staring at Xavion with eyes the size of dinner plates. "You didn’t... you weren’t supposed to..."

"I thought," Xavion muttered, staring intensely at a particularly fascinating knot in the mahogany grain of the table while his own face burned hot enough to fry an egg, "you were handing it to me to take with my fingers."

"Why would I hold it like a mother feeding a toddler?!" Lioren hissed. "I was just... I was presenting the tray! I was pointing! I was gesturing with illustrative flair!"

"You thrust it directly at me, Grand Duke."

"Well, perhaps I should have said that I meant for you to take one yourself! I wasn’t trying to feed you! And besides, you got that in the end, so what’s the problem?"

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence stretched on as they sat across from each other, both seemingly unsure of what to do next. One was a former military commander who had faced countless enemies on the battlefield. The other was a powerful northern Grand Duke who managed an entire territory. And yet, somehow, neither of them knew how to recover from the awkwardness of a single honey drop.

Xavion kept his eyes on his empty mug, unable to bring himself to look at Lioren. How could I be so thoroughly dim?

Before either of them could think of something to say, the dining hall doors opened.

"My lord," he called, completely unaware of the awkward atmosphere at the table.

Lioren jumped in his seat as if he’d been struck by lightning. He snatched up a cloth napkin, violently dabbing at his mouth, even though he hadn’t eaten anything, and straightened his spine with a jerk so violent his neck cracked.

"Caldrin!" Lioren squawked, his voice sounding like a rusted gate hinge. He cleared his throat furiously, trying to force his vocal cords back down into their normal register. "Yes. Caldrin. Good morning. What is... what is the state of the realm? Are the stables on fire? Is the east wing collapsing?"

Caldrin slowed to a stop as he approached the table. His gaze lingered on Lioren’s unusually red face before dropping to the torn pieces of napkin scattered in front of him. Something was clearly going on.

"Uhm. No, My Lord. The stables are perfectly fine," Caldrin replied cautiously. "I just came to report that... well, your unconventional little warning regarding Marquess Gardner has officially been set into motion."

Lioren immediately perked up, all traces of embarrassment forgotten. A pleased smile spread across his face at the mention of Marquess Gardner. Clearly, he was much more interested in this than he had been in the previous conversation.

"Ah, excellent!" Lioren crowed, leaning back in his chair with a broad, dangerous smile, entirely forgetting his red ears. "Wonderful work, Caldrin. Absolutely stellar execution. We shall simply sit back, relax, and observe how the good Marquess handles the consequences of his own snooping."

Xavion, who had finally managed to swallow the cursed honey drops and recover a semblance of his usual composure, turned his head sideways. He narrowed his eye at the Grand Duke, his curiosity finally piercing through the lingering fog of embarrassment.

"Marquess Gardner," Xavion repeated slowly, his deep voice carrying a quiet, probing edge. He looked between Caldrin and Lioren. "You mentioned about this yesterday, but you didn’t elaborate. What, precisely, did you do to him?"

Lioren turned his head toward Xavion, his smile widening into something that looked distinctly like a cat guarding a canary cage. He leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands as his eyes danced with absolute, sparkling mischief.

"Oh, nothing serious, Your Highness," Lioren replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He leaned a little closer.

"I merely treated him the same way he treated you."