The gates of the Royal Greenhouse opened, and winter vanished.

  The bone-chilling cold of the palace corridors was instantly replaced by a warm, heavy humidity. The scent of wet soil, thick sweet nectar, and water vapor filled Mira's lungs.

  This was an artificial tropical rainforest enclosed within a massive glass dome the size of a football field. Above, hexagonal glass panels refracted the pale winter sunlight into a warm golden glow, aided by magical orbs of light lazily floating among the branches of giant trees.

  Prince Arlen walked ahead, his steps unhurried. He had already removed his heavy cloak at the entrance, leaving only a white silk shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing arms that were strong but relaxed, unlike when wielding a sword.

  Mira walked two steps behind him. Her pale yellow dress brushed against the path made of smooth river stones.

  "Feeling hot?" Arlen asked without turning, as if he could sense Mira's body temperature.

  "A little," Mira replied, waving her hand in front of her neck. "The temperature change is drastic. It feels like crossing continents in a single step."

  Arlen stopped in front of a giant fern tree whose leaves hung down like enormous fans. He turned, looking at Mira with a faint smile. A smile he did not show in public—not the smile of an arrogant prince, but the smile of a boy proud of his collection of toys.

  "That's the point," Arlen said. He reached out and touched the tip of the fern leaf. The leaf curled slowly in response to his touch. "Out there, the world is harsh, Rhea. Cold, merciless, and full of demands. But here… here time stops. Here, I determine the season."

  Mira gazed at Arlen's facial profile. The sunlight refracted through the glass fell on his golden hair, making it glow softly, not glaringly. In this moment, Arlen didn’t look like a monster who wanted to drain other people's energy. He looked like... a lonely gardener.

  "Are you the one taking care of all this?" Mira asked, stepping closer.

  "The gardener did it. But I chose the seeds," Arlen pointed to the row of black orchids growing on a dead tree trunk. "That’s the Midnight Orchid from the southern forest. It needs 90% humidity to survive. My father wanted to throw it away because he thought it was ugly and gloomy. But I kept it."

  "Why?"

  "Because it grew up in a place it shouldn’t have," Arlen stared at the black flower. "It survived only because of her stubbornness. I appreciate that."

  Mira was silent. She grew up in a place she shouldn’t have. That sentence was ironic. Arlen himself was an anomaly—a false 'god' sitting on the human throne, surviving because of lies he himself knew.

  "Come on," Arlen reached out his hand. "There’s a part I want to show you. A part I’ve never shown to Elodie or Iva."

  Mira hesitated for a moment. Every time she touched Arlen, she felt like she was betraying Kars. But this was her role. Mira accepted the hand.

  This time, there was no painful electric shock. There was only a subtle vibration, like a distant hum of bees. Arlen restrained his power. He tried hard to be 'safe' for Mira.

  They walked hand in hand along the small wooden bridge that crossed the artificial river. The water was clear, filled with silver and golden koi fish swimming lazily.

  The atmosphere was quiet, with only the sound of trickling water and the chirping of tropical birds hiding somewhere.

  "Rhea," Arlen called softly.

  "Yes, Arlen?" Mira replied without a title, just as requested.

  "Tell me about your village," Arlen asked. They didn’t stop walking, but Arlen’s pace slowed. "Not the diplomatic answer you give at the dining table. Tell me the truth. What it feels like... to live without the palace walls?"

  Mira swallowed. She had to lie. But the best lies are always wrapped in truth. She thought about her life before meeting Kars. The beautiful days in the South, then the adventures with Kars.

  "It feels... free, but scary," Mira answered honestly. "We don't have a glass roof to control the weather. If a storm comes, we get wet. If the waves are high, we don't eat. But..."

  Mira unconsciously squeezed Arlen's hand tighter.

  "...but we have each other. On cold nights, we don't turn on magic heaters. We sit close to the campfire. We share blankets. The warmth comes from skin, not Intian."

  Arlen suddenly stopped in the middle of the bridge. He stared at their reflection in the river. "Sharing a blanket," he murmured, as if the concept was foreign to him. "In this palace, my room is as big as a hall. My bed can fit five people. But I always sleep in the middle, alone. Guards stand outside the door, not beside me."

  Arlen lifted his face, looking at Mira. His blue eyes dimmed, losing the flash of arrogance.

  "They say a Runerre should not feel cold. That our blood is fire and lightning," Arlen chuckled softly, a hollow sound. "But somehow... in winter, my bones ache. And that silk blanket feels like ice."

  Mira felt her chest tighten. Guilt crept up. Arlen was not a monster. He was a product of isolation. He was a little boy forced to become a god, forbidden to feel human weakness, even though—if Arlene's theory was correct—he was just an ordinary human whose lineage and history had been altered. The cold... it was proof of his humanity rebelling against the false destiny in his blood.

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  Mira slowly let go of Arlen's hand, then did something bold. She touched Arlen's arm with both of her hands, gently rubbing the silk sleeve, as if trying to warm him up.

  "Humans can get cold, Arlen," Mira whispered softly. "It's a sign that you're alive. That your body feels the world."

  Arlen stared at Mira's hands moving on his arm. He was frozen. No one had ever done this to him before. No one dared touch him without permission, let alone with the intention of warming the Prince of Lightning.

  "You..." Arlen's voice choked. He swallowed hard. "You really aren't afraid of me, are you?"

  "I'm afraid of your lightning," Mira said, looking into Arlen's eyes. "But I'm not afraid of the man."

  It was a final, decisive statement. Arlen's walls of defense completely crumbled.

  That prince let out a long sigh, and his tense shoulders dropped. He turned his body fully toward Mira, cornering her between himself and the wooden bridge railing. But this time, there was no intimidation. He just wanted to be close.

  "Come with me," Arlen whispered.

  He pulled Mira along again, this time a little faster, toward the center of the greenhouse.

  In the middle of the artificial forest, there was a white gazebo surrounded by a lotus pond. Inside the gazebo, there was no throne. There was only a simple long wooden bench, filled with soft cushions.

  Arlen sat there. He patted the empty spot next to him. "Sit. This is the best view."

  Mira sat down. The distance between them was only ten centimeters. Their thighs nearly touched. In front of them, the view of the lotus pond spread out widely.

  "Elodie would never want to sit here," Arlen said suddenly. "She’d be afraid of getting her dress dirty. Iva would sit, but she would shiver with fear."

  Arlen turned to Mira. "But you... You sit as if you truly belong here."

  Arlen moved. His hand rose toward Mira’s face. Mira held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? Ah, it’s wrong. Arlen’s hand passed by her face, reaching for the climbing plants on the gazebo post behind her head.

  Arlen plucked a small white flower with a yellow center. Star Jasmine.

  With a very careful motion—as if he were defusing a bomb, not holding a flower—Arlen tucked the flower into Mira’s hair, right above her ear.

  His fingers brushed the skin of Mira’s temple. This time, Mira felt the electricity. But it wasn’t a shock. It was a warm, comforting flow, like holding a cup of tea on a cold morning. Resonance. The Intian within Mira’s body vibrated in response to Arlen’s energy.

  "Beautiful," Arlen whispered. His eyes weren't on the flower. His eyes were on Mira.

  Mira felt her cheeks heat up. Not makeup. This was a biological reaction. Ah, shit. She was 'working.' She was a spy. She shouldn't be blushing at her target.

  "Just an ordinary wildflower," Mira deflected, looking down.

  "Wild ones are rare here," Arlen leaned back on the bench, stretching one arm along the backrest behind Mira (without touching her). A protective yet relaxed gesture.

  Silence fell between them. A silence that wasn't awkward. A companionable silence. Only the sound of the fountain and their steady breaths.

  Mira looked at the pond. She saw their reflections in the water. A golden prince and a brown-haired girl. They looked harmonious. And it scared Mira.

  "Arlen," Mira broke the silence, her voice soft.

  "Hmm?" Arlen closed his eyes, enjoying the tranquility.

  "What would happen if... if you found out that this world is not what you think it is?"

  A dangerous question.

  Arlen slowly opened his eyes. He stared at the glass ceiling. "You mean, if it turns out I'm nobody? If I'm not the Prince?"

  "Yes. If tomorrow you wake up and there’s no crown, no magic, no palace."

  Arlen chuckled softly. A laugh that sounded tired. "Honestly? Part of me might feel relieved."

  Mira turned quickly, surprised by the answer.

  "Relieved?"

  "Being a 'Symbol' is exhausting, Rhea," Arlen stared at his own hands, watching tiny sparks of electricity dance at his fingertips. "Every day I have to be a storm. I have to be strong, ruthless, and untouchable. If all of that is gone..."

  Arlen looked at Mira, a sad smile etched on his lips.

  "...maybe I can finally learn how to be the human you were talking about earlier. A human who can feel cold. A human who shares a blanket."

  Mira felt as if her chest had been struck by a hammer. Arlen didn't want that power for the sake of power. He held onto it because he thought it was his destiny—the only thing he had. His identity was built on the lie that he was 'chosen.' If Mira took that truth away from him... If Mira revealed that he was a 'failed product' or a 'false king'... it wouldn't set him free. It would destroy the only reason he was alive.

  "But that's impossible," Arlen continued, his voice hardening again, his mask slightly back in place. "My blood is proof. My power is proof. I am Stormborn. I am a Runerre. And I have a duty to lead the Asnaven, whether they like it or not."

  Arlen straightened in his seat, becoming a Prince once more. That moment of vulnerability had passed, tucked back into its box.

  "We need to go back," Arlen said. He stood up, extending his hand to Mira. "The sun is already high. And I have a boring council meeting about wheat taxes."

  Mira took his hand. As Arlen pulled her to her feet, Mira stumbled slightly (this time accidentally, her legs tingling from sitting too long).

  Arlen caught her swiftly. His arms wrapped around Mira’s waist, holding her so she wouldn’t fall. Their faces were very close. Arlen’s breath brushed Mira’s face—a scent of citrus and mango.

  Those blue eyes stared at Mira's lips. There was a two-second pause where time seemed to stop. The desire was there. Clear and naked. Arlen wanted to kiss her.

  Mira did not pull away. She was frozen, caught between duty and the strange feeling growing in her stomach.

  But Arlen didn't do it. He slowly released Mira's waist and stepped back to give a respectful distance. He didn't take the opportunity. He respected her.

  "Be careful," Arlen said softly, his voice hoarse. "I don't want my Wildflower to get hurt."

  He turned and started walking out of the gazebo.

  Mira stood still, clutching her chest. Her heart was racing, erratic. This wasn’t acting. Bastard. This stupid prince was making her feel something.

  "Miss Rhea," a voice whispered from behind the rose bushes beside the gazebo.

  This time, Mira wasn’t surprised. She turned. Anna was crouched there, holding pruning shears. She had been there the whole time. Watching every touch, every word, every glance.

  "Did you see it?" Mira asked flatly.

  "I saw it," Anna replied, her face no longer joking. "He didn’t kiss you. Even though he could have, and you wouldn’t have refused."

  "I would have refused," Mira quickly argued.

  "Your eyes say otherwise," Anna stood up, brushing leaves off her clothes. "Be careful, Miss. This mission is about uncovering the truth about the fake king. Not falling in love with him."

  "I'm not in love," Mira hissed, touching the jasmine in her hair that Arlen had given her. "I just... pity him."

  "Pity is the closest cousin to love," Anna grinned sideways, then disappeared behind the thick ferns, becoming a ghost again.

  Mira took a deep breath, trying to chase Arlen's scent from her nose. She walked after the Prince. Her steps were heavy. Destroying that monster was easy. You just stabbed its heart. But destroying a man who just slipped a flower into your hair and confessed that he's lonely? That is the kind of murder that would kill a part of you too.