Cenric is surprised by his own words. However, he decides that his own mouth is doing more work than his brain to conclude things this time. If his dream indeed depicted what happened in the past between Daniil and Nicola, he has no reason to object to his own deduction. 

“Thank you for listening as always.” 

Cenric stands up and folds his blanket. He concludes that his time is up as the darkness in his surroundings starts to fade. He does not want anyone to notice he went out, anyway. 

Alas, the worst man possible, whom Cenric wants to avoid at all cost at the moment, is waiting for him in front of the royal graveyard with his warmest, familiar smile.

“Was it a nightmare?” asks Nicola, offering his hands to help Cenric carry the thick blanket. Cenric lets out a sigh before passing it to Nicola.

“Sort of, but it was rather hazy. Nothing to worry about.” 

Cenric tries to shrug the matter off, acting as if Nicola has nothing to do with it. He turns his head towards Nicola who gives him a concerned look, eyes laden with worries, seeming so genuine that it is almost impossible to question the sincerity behind it. Those eyes are the eyes that Cenric knows well, the eyes of someone who does not view him with contempt for hating military and politics, for having mediocre scores in his studies, yet worries about his future as the king. Nicola is one of the most reliable people he knows in the castle. Cenric begins to wonder whether it is alright to doubt Nicola because of this one dream.  

‘Has history been altered? If I was Daniil in that dream, why would Daniil fight Nicola and get killed, while everyone is always ecstatic to tell how deep the friendship between Daniil and Nicola?’

“Please do not stay too long in this cold weather, Your Highness. We have the Celebration this noon and we can’t afford you to lie in bed while everyone is having a blast,” says Nicola.

“I know. Ah, how about the gift?”

“Done, perfectly. It's a perfume, ordered directly from Augent. Sweet, elegant fragrance of caramela flowers from the West. They are not a native species in Valria.”

Cenric nods in satisfaction. Each year after he turned nineteen, he always asks Nicola to get him gifts for the Queen’s birthday. This is a preventive method he and Nicola agreed upon, as he messed up when he was eighteen by giving the Queen a bright yellow shawl. The Queen hates the colour yellow, and as explosive as her temper always is, threw the shawl in front of Cenric. This memory is forever etched in his mind, and from that day onwards he swore he would never repeat such incident. 

“Thank you,” says Cenric. Again, no matter how much he wants to doubt Nicola, he really has no reason to. For several years, their agreement has remained a secret, and the gift is one from many. To Cenric, Nicola is more like a father figure than the King who is always away to attend to his royal duties.

“Thank me by returning to your room and getting prepared for the celebration,” Nicola replies with a warm, yet commanding smile, marking the end of their conversation. 

Cenric obediently walks back to his room. Although Nicola smiles kindly most of the time, he recognizes perfectly that one particular smile — a smile which demands ‘yes’ as the only answer. The smile Nicola occasionally uses no matter how kind he is to Cenric.

Cenric opens the door to his room, finding Benetta, The Royal Herbalist, already waiting inside. He sighs in dismay. As if some kind of ritual, everytime he gets caught having nightmares, Benetta is always summoned to bring in some kind of hellish concoction he needs to consume under Nicola’s order. He hates it to the guts, but Benetta is one persistent old woman, always referring to her deadly concoction as medicine. On top of that, Nicola keeps insisting that it can at least help soothe his mind, although to Cenric, the concoction does nothing other than giving a painful bitter sensation on his tongue. However, he has learnt that drinking the concoction without giving much resistance would make Benetta get out faster, so he chugs the liquid while cursing quietly in his mind. 

Unfortunately, this morning’s concoction is way worse than usual and Benetta remains in his room even after he has finished the concoction to the last drop.

“What’s this?” asks Cenric, shooting a death stare to Benetta who sits quietly watching him suffer from such bitter concoction made by her.

“The Minister said you were exposed to the cold weather for some time, so I slightly changed the formula,” answers Benetta calmly.

Cenric gives a questioning stare saying, ‘How did you know? I left the graveyard and just arrived earlier than Nicola?’ that is perfectly captured by Benetta. 

“The temperature has plummeted since last week and Nicola said you were outside.”

‘Fair enough,’ accepts Cenric reluctantly, almost labeling her as a witch rather than herbalist.

“Is there anything you’re feeling at this moment, Your Highness? Nicola asked me to ensure that you’re in your top condition for this afternoon,” asks Benetta as she picks up the empty cup.

“Nothing in particular. You may go,” answers Cenric curtly. He turns his head away, gazing out of the window, where he can clearly see the royal graveyard he recently visited.