The Quillucsia domain offered little in the way of diversion.
The knights, after several days of enforced idleness, were growing restless.
While scouting a nearby forest in the drizzling rain, they discovered a massive beehive and brought it back.
The faces of the several men who had been stung in the process were a sight to behold, but their sacrifice meant everyone enjoyed a rare taste of sweetness.
The honeycomb was so large that even after every person received a dripping slice, an entire slab remained.
“We can make mead with this!” Iris declared with a smile, placing the honeycomb in a large clay jar.
At the mention of liquor, Etienne’s interest was immediately piqued.
“Mead?
Does that not take ages to brew?”
“Not at all.
Mead is very simple to make,” Iris assured him.
True to her word, the process was straightforward.
The only real mishap occurred when Henry, who had developed a taste for nibbling on bits of honeycomb, tripped while carrying a barrel of rainwater, causing quite a commotion.
They placed the honey in a clean jar and poured in warmed rainwater.
Iris explained that while they normally used river water, the recent downpour had left it too murky.
She then asked Ezekiel to put his hands into the jar and crush the honeycomb, dissolving it into the water.
“Did you know the flavor of mead changes depending on who makes it?” she asked.
“Hmph, is that not obvious?
The proportions and skill will be different,” Felicia scoffed.
Iris smiled gently.
“That is true, but we call it a personal touch.
The flavor changes subtly depending on whose hands knead the honey.”
“This batch will taste like His Highness!” Henry piped up.
Ezekiel glanced down at his hands, a faint blush rising on his cheeks, which made everyone else laugh.
The sensation of kneading the honeycomb was strange—the soft, sticky feeling of honey blooming between his fingers as he broke apart the waxy structure.
He was still working awkwardly when Iris let out a sigh of resignation and plunged her own hands into the jar, her warm fingers firmly gripping his.
“You can just squeeze it tight like this, then let go.” Her hand enveloped his for a brief, startling moment.
Before he could react, she withdrew, rinsed her hands, and said, “I am going to chop some herbs to add.
Please finish crushing the rest by then!”
Only Etienne noticed the deep crimson that spread from Ezekiel’s face to the tips of his ears.
It did not take long to add the herbs.
Iris sealed the jar with a bright smile.
“Mead ferments quickly.
It should be ready to drink in four days!”
“Should you not be praying that we are gone in four days?” Felicia snapped.
But when Etienne asked, “Are you not curious to taste a vintage brewed by a prince?” her tone shifted immediately.
“Would you like to make some too, Sir Etienne?”
Iris looked momentarily flustered, then her eyes met Ezekiel’s.
A silent, shared laugh passed between them.
“Isn’t she just so adorable?” Etienne commented as they walked down the corridor.
Ezekiel knew exactly who he meant but feigned ignorance.
“Are you referring to Lady Felicia?”
“Ez, be serious.
I am talking about Miss Iris.”
“Ah…” Ezekiel let his voice trail off.
Etienne shrugged, gazing out the window.
In the rain-slicked courtyard below, Iris and Henry were splashing in puddles.
A pregnant dog waddled past, letting out a few lazy barks in their direction.
Etienne watched them, a look of distinct pleasure on his face.
“The way she scurries about… it is utterly charming.”
Ezekiel remained silent, never one for such pronouncements.
“I envy the man who will have her for a wife.
He will never have a dull day.”
That was a step too far.
Ezekiel’s expression hardened.
“Brother.
Someone could easily misunderstand you.”
Only then did Etienne turn, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“I was merely making an observation.”
Ezekiel held his gaze, refusing to back down.
Finally, Etienne sighed and shook his head, his tone placating.
“You know Felicia is the only one for me.
Do not entertain such strange ideas.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
But Etienne’s mischief was not finished.
He turned the question back on his brother.
“What about you?
Do you not find Miss Iris charming?”
Ezekiel flinched, taking a half-step back.
“It is… improper to pass judgment on a lady’s character.”
“Judgment!” Etienne roared with laughter.
“I am only asking if you find her likable as a person.
Ezekiel, why are you being so sensitive?”
“I am to enter the clergy,” Ezekiel replied, his face flushing as he realized he might have overreacted.
“Yes, of course you are,” Etienne murmured, a private smile on his lips.
“Master Henry!
You are frail!
What are you doing playing in the rain?
Both of you, inside at once!” Mrs.
Babin’s scolding voice echoed up from the courtyard, followed by the sound of the siblings grumbling as they obeyed.
Ezekiel felt an inexplicable wave of relief that Etienne could no longer watch them.
One thing, however, was painfully clear: the strange, possessive way his brother’s eyes followed Iris was deeply unsettling.
A strange unease settled in his gut.
‘I was merely making an observation.’ Etienne’s words echoed in his mind, refusing to fade.
Ezekiel was summoned to Felicia’s room after dinner.
He assumed she had merely contrived a way for him to spend more time with Etienne, but the scene that greeted him was entirely unexpected.
“Oh!
His Highness has arrived!
Come, look.
Is our young lady not just lovely?”
Ezekiel froze in the doorway.
The room was bustling with Felicia, her maids, Etienne, and even Iris and Mrs.
Babin.
In the center of it all stood Iris, looking awkward and radiant in a deep blue gown, dressed as if for a royal ball.
“What is…” he stammered.
Mrs.
Babin clapped her hands in delight.
“Lady Arbois gave it to her!”
“Oh, it was nothing.
It is an old dress I never wear anyway,” Felicia said with a dismissive wave, though her pride was evident.
She had, it seemed, gifted several of her gowns to Iris.
“A small token of my apology.”
Iris, examining the fine fabric, looked troubled.
“But I doubt you would pack dresses you do not wear for a journey with His Highness… You really should not have.
This is too much.
It looks far too expensive…”
“Well, of course it is,” Felicia scoffed.
“I am the daughter of Duke Arbois.
Do you imagine I wear rags?” Despite her sharp tone, she seemed pleased.
There are those who are merely grateful for a gift, and those who understand the heart behind it.
Iris had already discerned that these were not cast-offs but cherished garments, packed specifically for a trip with the prince she adored.
Felicia, in turn, seemed to delight in Iris’s considerate protest, using it as an excuse to press more gifts upon her.
Felicia, for all her spoiled and arrogant ways, was keenly sensitive to kindness.
Perhaps her initial gesture had been to protect her reputation in Etienne’s eyes—after all, he had taken a liking to Iris and chided Felicia for mistaking her for a maid.
But watching her now, eagerly bestowing her treasured gowns upon Iris, it was clear her goodwill had become genuine.
“I am truly grateful for your kindness, Lady Arbois, but…”
“Oh, my dear!
This must be the first time you have worn such a beautiful dress!
You look absolutely stunning!”
Iris continued to protest, but she was no match for Mrs.
Babin, who, fearing Iris would refuse the gift, praised her all the more loudly while cinching the sash at her waist.
Iris let out a choked gasp, her body arching.
Mrs.
Babin paid her no mind, turning instead to Ezekiel for his verdict.
“What do you think, Your Highness?
How does our young lady look?”
Ezekiel unconsciously bit his lip.
Dressed so elegantly, so unlike her usual self, Iris was… breathtaking.
She was only fifteen, her face still youthful, but he could already see the woman she would become—a beauty capable of capturing the hearts of countless men.
Her silver hair, usually tied back, was brushed smooth and cascaded down her back in shimmering waves.
The blue gown, with its elegantly cut shoulders, highlighted the fresh delicacy of her slender frame and perfectly complemented her deep blue eyes.
With great effort, he found his voice.