The Prince Who Refuses to Kneel
The dawn breaks over Alavadia like a struck bell, gold light pouring across the terraced gardens and setting the dew-heavy roses ablaze. Prince Rikaru walks the gravel path with his hands folded behind his back, chin lifted in the manner his tutors once beat into him through years of correction, though he has long since claimed the posture as his own rebellion rather than their lesson. The air smells of turned earth and crushed petals, of the citrus trees that line the eastern wall, and beneath it all, faintly, the mineral tang of the fountain water that never quite warms even in high summer.
He likes this hour best. Before the court wakes. Before the weight of a hundred watching eyes settles onto his shoulders like a mantle he never asked to wear.
Ahead of him, three omega gardeners kneel among the rosebeds, their fingers stained green, their heads already bowing before he draws near enough for courtesy to demand it. He recognizes the eldest, a woman named Sorin who has tended these grounds since before his birth, her spine curved now from decades of stooping, her hands trembling slightly as she sets down her shears.
"Your Highness." She lowers her eyes to the soil. "You honor…
