Aspen's eyes close for a brief moment as he contemplates the merits of committing murder in the emperor's palace - as though he truly believes he will as of now.
But then, Ignacia's words reverberate in his mind, and he scowls down at the ground, reigning in his instincts before he can act on his impulsiveness.
Cutting into his thoughts is a voice that he wishes he could block out from his ear canals.
"Aspen, my son!"
Emperor Sigmund's face lights up with joy from afar at the sight of Aspen walking up to him.
Aspen clicks his tongue silently, making sure no one hears his distaste as he makes his way down the flight of stone steps that elevate the entrance on higher ground.
To get to the centre of the garden, Aspen passes by many a patch of nerines, and each step he takes seems to get heavier and heavier the closer he gets.
It's always like this.
The horrible weight of guilt, resentment at himself, and hatred. It all comes clawing its way to the top, fighting to emerge the winner as he walks the path leading to a small, circular pavilion.
It's an intimate location by anyone's standards, fit for a rendezvous between two lovers.
But its daintiness fails to mask the true intention behind its function - it is practically a personal picnic location for the emperor to lounge in and bask shamelessly in the feeling of a smidgen of success, as though he has finally gotten a part of the late empress within his grasp.
The pillars of the pavilion are painted light gray, and the decorative accents lining the roof and the ceiling are blush pink.
Too much pink, Aspen thinks to himself.
It is when he's closed the distance that he finds himself submerged in the off-putting scent of wet leather. It never ceases to amaze Aspen how revolting that smell is to his sensitive nose.
As an alpha, Emperor Sigmund might have smelled alluring to others when he was still a young prince looking for a bride. But during the sixteen years after the late empress faked her death, he had fallen into the habit of drinking heavily to forget the pain of loosing her.
Even now, that habit remains, and all the alcohol must have affected his hormones somehow and produced a staleness to his scent that most wouldn't pick up on.
However, Aspen's senses as an alpha are more remarkable than others, and it resulted in him being able to sniff out the rancid quality to that scent.
Not that it's been of any good to him.
Aspen's nose twitches involuntarily as he draws closer, and he struggles not to cease breathing altogether.
Duke Sieren is hot on his heels, taking care to be several paces behind in the case that his temper flares up like it has before. Aspen ignores him, and instead steps over the threshold, planting his feet firmly onto the marbled floor in the pavilion.
"You called for me, Your Majesty?" he bows politely, falsifying his smile and fabricating the respectful tone he layers on thick.
Emperor Sigmund, whose face is lined with shallow wrinkles, but otherwise seems to have hardly aged since the day he turned forty, stands to greet him.
"Welcome, my son. I have not seen you in some time. You've lost some weight from the campaigns, have you not?"
He moves towards Aspen, his arms out like he intends to hug him, but Aspen simply dodges his attempt. His stomach churns at the thought of being touched by any part of the emperor.
"It is quite unbefitting of an emperor to show affection in front of others. Please restrain yourself, Your Majesty." he advices, keeping his tone neutral and reproachful, one that a truly devoted and dutiful son would take on.
Emperor Sigmund falters slightly, his delighted expression falling from his face, replaced by disappointment. He lowers his hands to his sides, his voice subdued.
"Oh. Yes. You're quite right. My apologies. My excitement must have overwhelmed me for a moment. It has been far too long since I've seen your face."
Aspen feels his facial muscles protest. Reflexively, his features try to twist into a scowl, but he rearranges them with great effort, knowing that throwing a tantrum now would lead him nowhere.
"I have been informed by Duke Sieren that you wished to see me. Pray tell, for what reason have you summoned me here when you would normally be enjoying a lovely tea break?"
Duke Sieren, who has taken his place slightly behind the emperor's left, blinks in surprise.
Aspen knows that his flippant words often leave the vassals of the royal family confused or downright horrified, but as always, he makes sure to deliver them in such a tone that they can find no fault with his rather sarcastic way of speaking.
Emperor Sigmund, to his credit, makes no indication that he is offended. He never does.
To him, any words that Aspen, his favourite son and the one who resembles his beloved, speaks to him is a miracle in and of itself.
If not for his desire to ascend to the throne with as little bloodshed and conflict as possible, Aspen would never have entertained the idea of pandering to the emperor's huge ego.
His blood boils in his veins silently as he watches the emperor's face brighten once more at the mere notion of striking up a conversation with him.
He almost wants to hurl.
"Ah, yes, I did. Please, come and sit. I shall tell you all about why you're here today. I have prepared some of your favourite pastries. I was informed that the chefs in your palace often serve you sweets. These past few months must have exhausted you. You need some energy before we can proceed with-"
"I'm afraid I must decline, Your Majesty. I already stuffed myself sick with various snacks before this. I would like to avoid ingesting excessive amounts of sugar in a single day, though I appreciate your thoughtfulness." Aspen interjects, his gaze fixed solely on the the pillar opposite him.
His hands, folded behind his back, fidget a little from impatience. His teeth grit together, his jaw a tense, sharp line.
Emperor Sigmund's face seems to crumple like a tin can, but Aspen is resolute in his stance. He will not be sitting down, and neither will he be enjoying food with someone he can't even bear to be around.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, there are many other things I have left to attend to. The council meeting today did not go exactly smoothly, as I am sure you already know. My secretary has already sent you an official report."
Emperor Sigmund stares at him, his crestfallen features dimming the happiness present in his scent. He simply sits upright in his chair, silent and glum.
He does that a lot. But no matter how many times Aspen shoots his requests down, he never seems to give up trying to play the part of an affectionate and loving father.
Every time his efforts are rejected, it is as though he is a ball bouncing off a wall. He keeps coming back, and in the exact same way as before, with the exact same smile, words and methods.
It's sickening - the fact that each time the emperor's hopes are dashed only adds to his stubbornness in trying to win his favour.
There is a period of awkward, tense silence among the three of them present, until Duke Sieren decides to speak up on behalf of the emperor.
"Your Highness, I understand that your schedule may be full, but it would only take a moment of your time to enjoy a break with His Majesty. He has been missing you a great deal these past few months. I am concerned about his health, as he has not gotten much sleep from worrying about you."
It's evident that he's trying to tread lightly around the matter of Aspen's insolent words.
This wouldn't be the first time that the duke has witnessed Aspen rejecting the emperor's acts of goodwill right to his face. But he usually lets things slide, whether out of respect for the emperor's dignity, or a sense of pity for Aspen.
Duke Sieren is one of the few people who knows about Aspen's strained relationship with the emperor.
He was there the first time Aspen was pushed into the Magenta Garden to accompany the emperor for lunch, and he certainly knows about his origin, and how he came to be a permanent fixture in the imperial palace.
As the emperor's aide, it is only natural for Duke Sieren to be at the very centre of all matters relating to royalty. Aspen is sure that that particular afternoon in the garden did not leave an amicable impression of him at all, if his constipated expression is anything to go by.
However, Aspen deflects his plea with a well-practiced excuse.
"Your Grace, I am afraid that I am simply swamped with work at this moment. If I were to push back my well-planned schedule for a mere break, it would be the equivalent of giving my siblings a boost in this race. As His Majesty's aide, surely, you realise what an important time this is for me, as the future crown prince? What kind of leader would I be if I left all the work to my subordinates?"
Duke Sieren's face pinches with concern as he considers Aspen's rebuttal. The fine lines on his face make him look older than he actually is as he glances down at the emperor.
With a soft sigh, Duke Sieren bends down to speak to the emperor. "Your Majesty, perhaps it would be wiser to leave the small talk for another day. I believe the matter of importance would be a fine conversation topic."