Adhitya stood at the edge of the gathering, his posture deceptively at ease, his obsidian eyes fixed on the scene before him. His men were scattered throughout—some observing curiously, others feigning disinterest—but he alone stood unmoving, his fingers lightly brushing the hilt of his sword as if tethering himself to reality.

  Soori, the young man whose voice had sliced through the murmuring crowd like a blade, stood rigid, his arms crossed in defiance.

  "There’s no measurement of suffering—only the measurement of money when choosing a customer, right, doctor?"

  There was bitterness in his voice. A resentment nurtured by years of watching his people struggle.

  Adhitya had heard such accusations before—whispered in the dark alleys of the third zone, where suspicion was second nature. But here, among the very people who bore those whispers in their flesh and bones, the weight of Soori’s words landed differently.

  His fingers curled into his palm, his wrist tightening until his veins stood out against his skin. He forced himself to relax. Reacting wouldn’t serve him here. He needed to listen. To understand.

  But the doctor did not react as expected.

  She neither flinched nor countered with sharp words. Instead, she regarded Soori with an unreadable calm. Not the artificial, disciplined rigidity of higher officials in court, but something deeper—something built from experience.

  Adhitya felt a strange sense of intrigue. A pull toward deciphering the layers in her composed expression.

  At first, it was careful listening. Then understanding. And then, admiration.

  But what was there to admire in someone who was being shouted at?

  Could it be because of him that she was here, camping in this forsaken place without his father’s knowledge? Could it be the start of a legendary love story that would overturn the kingdom’s rigid traditions?

  The thought irritated him in a way nothing else ever had.

  Soori’s outbursts had never mattered before—not when he hurled accusations at their family’s governance, not when he stood on makeshift platforms stirring unrest. But now?

  Now, Adhitya found himself watching—not Soori, but her. Watching for the flicker of admiration in her eyes, watching for the possibility that another man’s words might mean something to her.

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  His jaw tightened.

  Then, the unexpected happened.

  One of the doctor’s attendants—fierce and unyielding—spoke up, fire burning in her voice as she defended her lady. The sharpness in her words, the undeniable truth in her argument, momentarily silenced Soori.

  Loyalty like that was not something easily earned. And for the first time, the doctor’s expression shifted—just slightly. A flicker of gratitude toward her attendant.

  And then, she spoke.

  "Knowing politics is important. But knowing health is even more important."

  Her voice was neither loud nor low, neither sharp nor placating. It was steady, well-articulated. A voice that commanded attention without demanding submission. It had the precision of a scalpel—cutting, but never reckless.

  There was no attempt to pacify Soori’s resentment, only a simple, undeniable truth.

  Adhitya felt something shift inside him.

  "She isn’t without hope."

  A small smile lingered at the edge of his lips.

  And then, she moved.

  She wove through the gathered people with an ease that made it seem as if she belonged there. The shift in her demeanor was subtle yet profound. She was no longer just a figure of quiet strength—she became something more. Something seamless.

  His eyes followed her movements—the way she carried herself through the crowd, effortlessly adapting between individuals and groups. Then, they focused on the smaller things:

  The way she tucked in an unruly strand of hair without a second thought.

  The way her eyes softened with empathy one moment, then sharpened with strictness the next.

  The way her lips pressed together when she was genuinely angry about the people's self-destructive habits.

  The way she laughed with children, a rare lightness breaking through the weight of her responsibilities.

  She never lost composure, yet she was never distant.

  She knew when to divert gossip into meaningful discussions and when to let it be.

  She knew what to pick and process from the outpouring of grievances.

  She knew how to listen.

  And Adhitya found himself unable to look away.

  Meanwhile, his men were far less captivated. Some had wandered off to rest, while others engaged in idle teasing.

  "So? How’s your heart, Bhaskar?" One of them smirked, nudging a sulking subordinate.

  "Broken," Bhaskar grumbled. "I was prepared to fight for her heart, but how does one fight the sun itself? The gods are cruel, my friends."

  The group erupted into laughter. Even though they laughed and eased the pain of their brother they couldn't help but sympathiesed him.

  In the Solar Kingdom, one did not simply take an interest in another. There were no fleeting affections, no temporary companionships. If one's heart was claimed, it was for life. If their Sun was out of reach, they were expected to remain in the shadows—alone.

  There were no second loves.

  No alternatives.

  No exceptions.

  It was why many remained single, why their kingdom’s population dwindled despite its vast lands.

  They could just ask, clarify, help even tease because it was their buddy Bhaskar but no one, however, dared to direct such questions toward Adhitya himself.

  They knew better.

  Even those tempted to fake an illness just to be treated by the doctor hesitated. The prince had strictly prohibited it.

  And besides—he was certain that even if they tried, she would see through them in an instant.

  While the others found rest, their young prince did not. His curiosity refused to settle. Love which is truly injurious to every one.

  Tch.

  As the saying goes, even if love remains silent, the rival never does.

  Something far more troublesome unfolded before their eyes.

  That damned Soori—clearly harboring a death wish—had the audacity to interrupt the lady while she was tending to her patient. And with nothing but a mere glass of water, he had somehow managed to reconcile with her.

  They spoke with ease, their conversation flowing naturally, the tension from before seemingly forgotten. And then, to make matters worse, they laughed—together.

  The prince’s men shifted uncomfortably.

  Comparing their own prince—who had yet to even show his face to the lady—to this boy, Soori was undeniably scoring points.

  None of them dared to turn around to gauge their prince’s reaction. There was no need.

  The heat radiating from where he stood was enough to tell them everything.

  They sighed in unison.