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Plants had always known that Kalian could be… different.
Not in the loud, dramatic way others were. Kalian rarely shouted, rarely lost control. Instead, he laughed at times when others grew tense, smiled when things turned dangerous, and walked through problems as if none of them had the power to hurt him.
Sometimes, Plants thought that was simply how his younger brother survived.
Sometimes… he wondered.
There were moments when a faint metallic scent drifted from Kalian’s clothes. Plants would wrinkle his nose slightly, trying to place the scents.
Iron.
Wet earth.
…Blood.
The older murmured without thinking, “You smell like blood.”
Kalian turned his head, smile widening, voice light. “Do I? I helped with something earlier. It must have lingered a little.” His tone stayed cheerful, as if talking about rain on his sleeve. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
Plants nodded and let it go. Kalian did crazy things sometimes, yes, but that had become part of daily life. Part of him. If Kalian said he was fine, Plants didn’t push. That was their quiet rule.
Days passed like that. Sometimes Plants caught it again—faint, metallic, almost gone. Kalian laughed, changed the topic, took his arm, talked about food or music or anything else, and the conversation moved on.
Then the day came when it didn’t.
It happened near the woods behind the palace, where trees grew closer together and shadows stayed even when the sun was high. Plants had gone there for air, for silence. The wind was cool, leaves whispering softly, yet something felt wrong the moment he stepped deeper between the trees.
The smell hit him.
It wasn’t faint this time. It rolled in like a wave—thick, metallic, suffocating. His throat tightened instantly, his stomach twisting. He stopped walking, one hand bracing against a tree as the odor surrounded him, seeped into his lungs, filled his head until it drowned everything else.
He should have turned back.
Instead, he walked forward.
The trees opened into a small clearing, and the world narrowed into one unbearable scene.
Bodies.
They were sprawled in disordered shapes across the ground, clothes darkened and stiffened where life had once flowed. The earth beneath them had drunk deeply and could take no more; it had turned black and tacky, clinging to boots and grass alike. Flies hovered in slow, dizzy spirals. The smell was so strong it became almost tangible, pressing against Plants’s tongue, crawling into his skin.
His vision swam for a moment, and he struggled not to retch. He forced his eyes to focus, then wished immediately that he hadn’t.
He knew those faces.
Not all, but enough.
He remembered their words.
“…opportunist.”
“Acting loyal now that everything has changed.”
“Clinging to the third prince because it’s convenient.”
They had laughed like it was all harmless. They never thought he heard.
Plants pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. The world seemed to sway. The thick smell crawled into his nose again, and nausea surged.
He turned away quickly, swallowing down the rising sickness. He needed air. He needed distance.
He retraced his steps, almost stumbling as he tried to get back to the path.
And then he collided with someone.
A hand caught his arm, steadying him gently.
“Careful.”
That voice.
Plants lifted his eyes.
Kalian stood there, smiling easily, as if they had simply bumped into each other in a hallway rather than at the edge of a nightmare.
“Why in such a hurry, older brother?” the third prince asked, voice light and almost playful, as if they had bumped into each other in a hallway rather than at the edge of a nightmare. "You look pale."
Plants froze.
The scent was stronger up close. It clung to Kalian like a second skin. Even beneath the faint trace of soap and sunlight, the iron tang bled through. There, near the hem of his trousers, something darker stained the fabric—small but unmistakable.
The pieces slid together soundlessly.
The men who had mocked him. The lingering scents. Those nights when Kalian returned later than usual, humming softly to himself. The smile whenever blood was mentioned. The clearing behind them, heavy with death.
His chest tightened.
Kalian watched his face shift and understood the moment the realization settled.
“You figured it out,” he said softly, admiration coloring his tone. His smile widened, not sharp, not cold—simply happy. “I thought it might take longer. You really are amazing, older brother.”
He took a small step closer.
Plants stepped back.
The reaction made something flicker in Kalian’s eyes. Not anger—something closer to hurt curiosity.
“…You’re avoiding me?”
He tilted his head. “Did I scare you?”
The younger lifted his hand as if to touch Plants cheek, then paused when his brother’s shoulders tensed. His smile didn’t fade; it only softened in a way that made it worse.
“Older brother,” Kalian continued in a low voice, “it troubles me when you avoid me. I only removed people who dirty your name. They kept saying ugly things… touching your life with filthy hands. How could I leave that alone?”
Plants’s eyes darted, searching for an open path around him. The clearing, the trees, the narrow trail out—calculations flashed through him on instinct.
His gaze flicked left, then right, searching for an opening, a path, anything that would put space between them long enough for him to think. The clearing spun at the edge of his vision, nausea rising again. He took another step back.
Kalian’s gaze followed that movement of his eyes. His smile brightened again, almost delighted. “You’re thinking of escaping. So fast. I really do love how quick your mind is.”
He spoke as if praising a child’s drawing.
Plants shifted his weight.
Kalian moved.
There was no warning beyond the faint exhale of breath. The world blurred for a heartbeat. Kalian closed the distance in one fluid motion and caught Plants’s wrist, then his shoulder, pulling him forward before he could react. His vision tilted. A quiet voice brushed his ear.
“You found it,” his little brother whispered. “But it was sooner than I planned.”
Dizziness surged with sudden force. The trees bent, the ground rolled, shadows swam. The last thing he saw was Kalian’s face close to his, smiling gently, as if nothing in the world was wrong.
Blackness closed in.
Kalian caught him when his body went limp, pulling him against his chest as if this were a slow, planned embrace. He brushed hair away from Plants's sleeping face, fingers tender, almost reverent. He leaned in, nuzzling his older brother’s cheek, breathing in his scent deeply like it calmed something wild inside him.
“You always smell like rain after it stops,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “It makes me calm. It makes everything quiet.”
His thumb traced the line of Plants’s cheekbone. The clearing around them was still filled with red and silence, but Kalian’s expression softened with contentment.
“Older brother, you always push yourself,” Kalian murmured softly. “Always get hurt because people don’t know their place.”
Blood stained his sleeve. It touched Plants' shoulder faintly where they pressed together. Kalian didn’t mind. He held Plants tighter.
“I won’t let anyone talk about you like that again,” he whispered. “They don’t get to look at you. They don’t get to judge you. They don’t get to speak your name.” His voice stayed warm, almost happy. “You’re mine to protect. Mine to stay beside. If anyone tries to stand between us, I’ll erase them again and again.”
He pressed a light touch to Plants’s hair, almost like a kiss without closing the distance. “Sleep for now. I’ll fix the rest.”
The younger breathed in deeply. Plants’s scent steadied him, cooled something restless in his chest. His arms tightened in an embrace that would not be broken until he decided to let go.
“You belong where I can see you,” he murmured against the skin of his brother’s cheek, words meant for no one else. “With me.”
Then he lifted the unconscious prince, carrying him quietly away from the clearing — leaving behind the mess that still glistened dark and sticky between the roots.
There would be time to clean.
There was always time to clean.
When Plants woke, he was lying in his bed.
The ceiling swayed slightly until his eyes adjusted. A dull ache pulsed at the back of his head. His body felt heavy, as if he had slept too deeply. He blinked slowly.
“Ah — you’re awake.”
Kalian’s voice came from beside the bed.
He turned his head. The third prince sat in a chair, smiling in relief, as if he’d been there for hours. He lifted a cup of water and offered it.
“Drink a little first.”
Plants accepted it and drank carefully. The cool water steadied him, though his thoughts still felt cloudy, pieces sliding around without fitting.
“What…” he asked. “Why are you here?”
“I found you near the woods,” the dark-haired male said, tone touched with concern. “You collapsed. Were you pushing yourself again? Not eating properly?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Older brother, you do this too often.”
The words slid into place so neatly they almost seemed obvious. Woods. Fatigue. Collapse. Plants frowned faintly, searching backward through his thoughts, but the stretch of time before waking was hazy and slippery.
Why couldn’t he remember? What had he seen? Why did his heart race when he tried to recall it?
He closed his eyes and forced himself to think harder.
Trees. Wind.
Something red.
Faces? Or was that a dream?
The harder he chased it, the faster it scattered. It left only dizziness behind, a pulsing dull pain. His fingers curled slightly in the blanket.
Kalian watched every small reaction, every twitch of confusion. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes, quickly covered by concern. He reached out and pressed his palm to Plants’s forehead.
The older startled slightly at the touch.
“No fever,” Kalian said lightly, smiling again. “But you should rest. I’ll ask Ian to bring something light for you to eat. You don’t get to run around until you’re better.”
“I’m fine,” Plants muttered, turning his head away more to hide the unease than anything else.
“You always say that,” came a soft reply. “Rest anyway, older brother.”
He stood, smoothed the blanket once, let his fingers linger at Plants’s wrist for a heartbeat longer than needed, then headed for the door. Just before he stepped out, he looked back, eyes shining with something bright and secret.
“Sleep a bit more,” he added. “I’ll take care of things.”
The door closed with a quiet click.
Outside, the hallway was empty.
Kalian’s smile changed the second the door closed. It sharpened. Grew satisfied. He tilted his head a little, listening to the quiet inside the room, then exhaled in content relief.
Red eyes gleamed with quiet delight as he replayed the conversation in his mind — the emptiness in Plants's gaze where memory had once sat, the absence of suspicion.
Perfect.
He had nudged deeper than he’d planned, but it had been necessary. His older brother didn’t remember the clearing, the bodies, the look of realization. All of it buried, folded away neatly.
“He doesn’t remember,” he murmured under his breath.
There had been no flicker of recognition, no flash of fear returning. The memories he had gently tangled were gone, buried where they wouldn’t trouble him again.
Kalian hummed as he walked, light-footed. There was still work to do. The mess in the trees, the people who would ask questions, the small details that needed smoothing so his brother would never again stumble into something meant for Kalian alone.
He paused mid-step and glanced down.
A dark speck marred the fabric near his knee, almost dry now. He clicked his tongue softly.
“Troublesome,” he murmured, brushing it with his thumb. The stain only smeared darker. “I should burn this.”
He pictured the flames eating away the fabric, the last trace of tonight turning to ash, and his smile returned.
Then he continued down the corridor, humming the same gentle tune, already thinking of how best to clean up before anyone else came near his “little project” again.