Disclaimer: If only there was a way where I can keep Izana Wistalia forever. But nope.. He just hates me for toying with him. :(

Many thanks to the brilliant Talye Kendrin for doing such an awesome job on beta-ing my attempts. Please check out her profile and support this fandom. :)

Characters: Izana Wistalia, Shirayuki

Pairing: Possible one-sided Izana

Wordcount: 1032

Rating: General, Romance

Timeline: Between Chapter 41 and Chapter 49

Quotes: "Don't wear perfume in the garden, unless you want to be pollinated by bees"
― Anne Raver, The New York Times Garden Writer

His eyes came to rest on her green ones.

"Were you expecting someone else?" He tilted his head in a somewhat testy manner. Honestly, this girl should be more aware of her surroundings. He practically made a loud ruckus just entering her room, enough to wake an army into action, and she did not even notice he was practically breathing down her neck!

"N-no." She stood up from the stool where she was sitting and carefully placed the pipette down on one of the silver trays holding various instruments. "To what do I owe the pleasure of thy presence, Prince Izana?"

Pleasure indeed. He raised his eyebrows. Shirayuki had manners; he'd give her that. Despite being bold at managing to counter his opinions during their first meeting, she knew how to act accordingly.

He shrugged, a little bored. He was just beginning to enjoy watching her work, but he just had to interrupt her before he could stop himself. And despite that smile plastered on her face, he knew she was wary about his presence. He should know, he was invading her privacy inside this room. But technically, he owns this castle, anyway. He could enter any room he liked.

"I was passing by when I heard some sounds. Like breaking glass."

Her eyes clouded for a moment. And then it cleared. "Oh."

Oh?

She stepped back a little and showed him a couple of broken flasks on the floor.

His gaze trailed down, following the shards. They glistened like crystals when the sunlight hit them. He could almost taste the tangy iron in his mouth, noting the droplets of crimson marring the white, marble floor. His eyes narrowed into slits.

She scooted away, but not before he noticed the way she tugged at the sleeves of her lab coat and the smear of blood at the cuffs. As if on cue, blood ran down in rivulets from her arms to the very tips of her fingers. It glistened like ruby tears.

"You are injured."

Grabbing suddenly, he lifted her arm up, pushing the edges of her sleeve down to reveal the extent of the cut. Their gazes meet for a moment or two; he could see the golden depths of her irises, circling the green color of her eyes, making them appear larger than he remembered.

"This is nothing. I accidentally pushed the flasks with my elbow." She replied in reassurance. "I was too preoccupied by mixing the concoction that I did not wish to stop midway." Her expression turned thoughtful. Izana was suddenly reminded of an intricate clock with wheels whose cogs began to turn again. He could almost hear her thinking processes; like clockwork with its gears springing to life.

Stubborn as a mule, he decided. It was a wonder Zen was taken with her. How he could manage to control this sprite, he could only imagine.

Spying a first aid kit at one corner of the table nearby, he went and snatched the box.

"Sit!" he commanded, pointing at the stool beside her.

She obeyed without protest, a little surprise by his tone, but she continued to stare into space, glancing at the table where the bottles she was mixing lay waiting for her.

Izana took her wrist and slid the sleeve up, folding it haphazardly until the full extent of the wound was revealed. The cut on her skin was thin, shallow, not enough to cause alarm, but she was careless with it, letting the wound bleed like so and not immediately taking measures to stop the blood from flowing. Izana took a brown bottle from the box, poured a healthy measure of antiseptic from the balled up cotton he took from a smaller box and began to apply into the wound.

"Tea roses, almond blossoms…" she mumbled, more to herself, causing him to pause a little and pressing the soaked cotton to the wound.

Shirayuki winced slightly from the sting the antiseptic generated. She tried to pull her wrist away from his grip, but he tightened his hold on her, tutting like a schoolteacher. As he carefully cleaned the fine line of the cut on her skin, he noted a few scars on her hands and arms- the results of her work as a royal pharmacist. He knew some of the medicinal plants and herbs had thorns, tough vines and even burning sap that could injure when it was not properly harvested. Many of the healers and pharmacists in the Ward also sport similar scars. But this caught his attention in particular. It made him truly understand that Shirayuki didn't live a sheltered life like other well-bred ladies of his country. She had worked hard to earn the position she was holding now. Even now, she reeked of medicinal herbs, except he could smell an underlying note of apple blossoms beneath the strong medicinal plants she normally handled.

Unlike Altheaia, where she was somewhat spoiled and dotted on by her merchant parents. Often she looked prettily adorned by the hairpins and colorful scarves tied on her hair. It was what caught his eye in the first place as she went about the town markets, shopping for accessories to enhance her beauty more.

Shirayuki was different. And gazing at the scars up close, it didn't feel right to be displeased about the way they looked. They were like battle scars, and she earned them with the many services she had given his injured and sick soldiers. Still, the scars would be obvious if she wore anything suitable for a future princess.

Zen's future princess. He thought to himself, knowing that the gowns, furs and cloaks that ladies of fashion wore would expose more of the tiny scars on her skin.

This too shall be another. For a second, he felt a little pity for her, frowning as he wound the bandage over and covered the cut as neatly as he could. He took a small pair of scissors and snipped the end, tucking it securely. There.

He held her wrist between his fingers, feeling the steady pulse of her young veins. Looking up, he saw her still lost in thought, her gaze concentrated on the scrap parchment she was scribbling on earlier.

A formula.

Author's Notes

Flower meanings:

Apple blossoms – preference, good fortune