028

028
Sarang chose the guard to accompany him. He wasn’t in the mood to chatter with familiar faces, so he settled for a stranger.
The man—a tall, hefty beta—kept a respectful distance, trailing behind Sarang like a silent shadow. Sarang appreciated that. Even with someone in tow, it felt no different from walking the streets of Linfield alone.
The post office was a small, run-down of a building, but it was clean. A few children above puberty sat in a corner, laughing and eating before heading back to their domestic deliveries —a common job for children from poor families.
At least this one in Linfield had the decency to feed the children. Sarang found it dangerous otherwise. With unknown locations, unfamiliar recipients, and flexible delivery times, anything could happen. No one cares when a child from a humble background goes missing—or worse.
When it was Sarang’s turn at the counter, he placed three letters on the desk and looked at the middle-aged woman behind it.
“To New Borough, Nordovia, and Hanmin.” He instructed.
“New Borough and Nordovia are fair,” she replied, “but a country overseas will be very expensive.”
Sarang slid a gold coin across the table. “Will this cover it?”
She picked the coin and held it up to the window. It shimmered under the light, and she grinned, wiping it before slotting it into a narrow slit in a metal box.
“More than suffice, sir.” She said.
“Also, have someone older and faster to deliver my letters.”
“Of course. Please come again. Our services are the best in Eldoria—and affordable.”
Sarang stepped aside for the next customer, hoping the letters would arrive quickly and bring a reply just as swiftly.
The next stop was a stationery shop. The display was elegant: quills, pens, notes, inks, and paper in neatly arranged sections.
An omega, a few years older than him and dressed in a knee-length orange gown, approached with a smile.
“How can I help you?”
Sarang looked at her. “I want to buy a gift.”
“Do you have anything in mind?”
“A calligraphy pen. He has a decent handwriting… it will suit him well.”
The shopkeeper nodded and excused herself briefly. When she returned, she carried several boxes, arranging them in tidy rows before opening each one.
“Our best and finest pens.” She said with glee. “If you don’t like these, I can bring more but these designs are uncommon. Perfect for someone who appreciates unique styles.”
Sarang ran his fingers over the pens, examining each carefully, until his eyes caught on the last one—a striking cobalt blue with a silver tip. He imagined Nathan’s face lighting up as he used it, and his chest warmed at the thought.
“This one. I want it engraved.” He said, tapping on the pen. “Can it be done today?”
“Sadly, no. If you can wait three days, my father will engrave it when he returns.”
“I will wait.”
“You’ll need to pay a deposit and write out the engraving.”
She laid out a paper and pen before him. Sarang thought for a moment, then smiled and wrote carefully in calligraphy.
Flos Solis Meus (My sunflower).
He slid the paper over and placed a gold coin beside it. “I’m paying in full.”
The shopkeeper read the note and beamed.
“Here’s your change.” She said, handing over a few pieces of silver coins.
Sarang picked out two and pressed them back into her palm. “Keep it.”
Her smile widened, and she closed her fist gently around the coins. “Thank you so much. I promise it will be as beautiful as your writing.”
“Wonderful.”
“If you or anyone you know ever need stationeries, please come again.” She bowed, and Sarang nodded.
Everything he had set out to do was done. Sarang let out a soft sigh—he could finally relax. He could return to the mansion, wander the gardens, and wait for Nathan. But Sarang changed his mind. He still had money left, and it was tiresome staying cooped in the Linfield mansion with each passing day.
The seasons were changing as well. The air had begun to cool as autumn crept in, and with it came another reminder.
Lucian’s birthday was approaching.
“I should get him a gift. What would he want this year?” Sarang murmured, slumping his shoulders.
After hours of wandering and pondering, he found himself inside a perfume shop—alone. A few other customers were there, giggling and sampling scents. Sarang recognized some from Nathan’s birthday, but they minded their own business.
A tall, sinewy man approached him with a broad smile and a perfume bottle in hand.
“May I interest you in this? It’s perfect for omegas and attracts passionate alphas. It’s the most popular this season. We also have something for masking pheromones or awakening inner desires.”
Sarang waved a dismissive hand. “I want a regular perfume. For an alpha.”
The man cooed and placed a hand on his chest. “An admirer… or your lover?”
“Family.” Sarang blurted. “He’s family.”
The perfumer pouted. “How disappointing.” He snapped his fingers.
Another man shorter, darker, and chubby, appeared beside the perfumer.
“He will help you. Silas, show him plain for alphas.” The perfumer said, then flitted away to attend to another customer.
“Your employer is… eccentric.” Sarang whispered as Silas offered him a chair.
“You don’t need to be polite,” Silas replied dryly. “He’s a selfish gossip, obsessed with romance, and money—but he’s also the best perfumer in Eldoria.” He glanced at Sarang. “I’ve never met a foreign lunari before. Your English is quite polished, like a native.”
“I was raised here.”
“Wow. Your family must be very well-off. I am from Auburn, you?”
“Wynthorpe.”
“Never been there, but I hear it’s a beautiful rural town—mostly farmers. About the alpha—any preferences? Scents he already uses?”
“He doesn’t wear perfume much. His pheromones smell like coffee which is pleasant and strong enough on their own. He dislikes overpowering scents. Says they latch to clothes and irritate his sensitive nose. Something mild and sweet would be ideal. It’s for his birthday.”
“He’s lucky to have someone so thoughtful,” Silas said, casting a quick glance at his employer, who was now flirting shamelessly, kissing a woman’s hand as she blushed and giggled.
Sarang noticed the flicker of jealousy in Silas’ eyes.
“Do you work here because you like your employer?” He asked quietly.
Silas paused, then continued gathering perfumes and setting them down before Sarang.
“These are mild and spicy. These are sweet and gentle. This one”—He tapped a bottle—“is my personal recommendation. Gentle and mature, suitable for sensitive noses. Also, my employer only fancies women. Thin, beautiful women.”
Sarang’s expression softened.
“Yet you stay. You could find someone who truly loves you.”
“I could,” Silas said softly, then after a pause, smiled faintly. “But I know I’d only hurt them.”
“Why? That sounds… lonely. And foolish.”
Silas let out a quiet laugh. “Devotion? Love? Who knows. I need him, even if he doesn’t need me. Everything I am now; I owe it to him. That won’t change… just like my feelings for him. I know he’ll never be mine... but is it wrong to want to stay by his side, hoping he might love me, even if it makes me selfish or foolish?”
“Are you not mistaking gratitude for love?”
Silas hummed and his eyes softened. “Love is strange… but that’s what makes it beautiful. The journey. You can fool your mind and others, but your heart always knows what it wants. I wouldn’t want to be intimate—emotionally or physically—with someone I’m simply grateful to.” He paused, then smiled gently. “I hope you find answers to your own questions too.”
Sarang blinked and smiled nervously, his voice low. “It was just simple curiosity.”
He pointed to the gentle and mature scent labelled Éclat Boisé, a blend of citrus and wood that reminded him of early morning sunlight through old trees. “I’ll take this one.”
“Excellent choice,” Silas said warmly and proceeded to wrap the bottle. He packaged it carefully in soft blue paper and sealed it with a silver ribbon before handing it over. “Also, this is the only place that would hire someone like me with decent pay. I love creating perfumes… it brings me peace. And well, Monsieur Étienne is just one of the many charms."

Sarang lingered for a moment, watching Silas. His gentle voice, those affectionate eyes, the ease with which he spoke from the heart… Sarang admired him—and envied him. That kind of self-awareness, that certainty without fear or doubt, was something he hadn’t yet grasped for himself.
As he stepped outside, a variety of perfumes clung to his clothes, forming an aromatic mosaic that made his head swim. He’d need a thorough wash once he got home.
He glanced at the guard who’d been silently escorting him all day. The man had kept his distance, respectful and unintrusive. Sarang wanted to show his gratitude somehow.
He paused and turned.
“Would you like to have lunch with me?”
The guard blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me?”
Sarang nodded.
They made their way toward a nearby restaurant, only to stop short when Sarang caught sight of two familiar figures through the window.
Nathan and the princess, sat across from one another, laughing softly over shared dishes. They looked relaxed, friendly. Intimate in a way that wasn’t necessarily romantic but carried the ease of companionship.
Nathan hadn’t mentioned this to him, but Sarang didn’t blame him. After what had happened the night before, Nathan was likely frustrated and in need of space. They were in the capital, after all—the princess’ presence in his circle was to be expected.
Sarang stepped away from the window, only to bump into the guard behind him.
“Sorry.” The guard said immediately.
“Let’s go somewhere else.” Sarang muttered, already walking off.
The guard gave the window a long look, his expression unreadable, before silently following after him.