Kiss the Stranger

I sighed.

I rubbed my stiff muscles and straightened my back. I must have been hunched over for a long time while concentrating, because every part of me ached and tingled as I came back to myself. After a deep breath, I rose to my feet. As I often did in moments like this, I began to walk slowly around the studio to loosen my body.
My footsteps echoed softly in the quiet room. At this hour the workshop was nearly always empty. No one would be leisurely weaving carpets in the midday heat. That was exactly why I had this chance.
Securing a workspace in the royal atelier had not been easy. Steward and I had overlooked one thing: it was officially a women’s space.

‘This country is so hopelessly stuck in its old ways,’ I thought with a wry smile, remembering Steward’s furious protests. Men and women could only share space if they were family, and the palace enforced those rules strictly. Just when I thought I’d hit an impassable obstacle, Zahara had come to my aid—petitioning Princess Najima, who’d personally obtained the crown prince’s permission for me.
‘As long as I’m alone here during work hours, it’s fine.’
Zahara had praised the princess fervently as she relayed the news, and I felt both gratitude and guilt—for I’d even suspected her father.

But there was no turning back now. All I could hope was that her father was innocent, and that we’d find the real culprit—or at least a strong suspect—quickly.
Yet despite my resolve, hearing palace gossip wasn’t easy. Meeting anyone while I wove was nearly impossible, and the few faces I saw only in passing at morning and evening duty would unlikely share secrets. I’d expected it to take time, but that didn’t stop my impatience. At least the air no longer felt hostile. The poison that had afflicted the crown prince remained unidentified—but that was another worry.
As I walked slowly between the scattered looms, my body eased. I went to the window and looked down. It was guard shift change. Usually spread around the palace, the soldiers now gathered at the main gate and took new posts one by one. I watched them, standing there with no purpose, until I remembered that a month had passed since the crown prince’s poisoning.

“Hello, Yohan. I’ve come to fetch you.”
Steward appeared at the workshop around the usual time, looking more worn than usual. I hurried to clear my bench and stood as he entered.
“Steward, what’s happened? You don’t look well.”
“Well, something happened or it didn’t…”

He answered ambiguously, then scratched his head with a grimace.
“Yohan, would you help me with my research tomorrow? There’s no rush on your work, right?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. I’ll do whatever you need.”

When I agreed immediately, Steward slumped his shoulders and sighed. Something was clearly wrong. We walked side by side down the hallway as I asked cautiously,
“Um, Steward. Is your research going poorly? You seem troubled…”
“Huh? Oh, no. It’s nothing like that.”

He fell silent for a moment, wearing a serious expression that made me think of Kamar—and my heart fluttered with worry. Had something happened to him?
I hadn’t seen Kamar since that incident. All I’d heard was secondhand that he was fulfilling his busy schedule as crown prince without issue. But perhaps something had gone wrong behind the scenes—and if it had, Steward would know better than anyone.
As soon as we entered the lab and were alone, I couldn’t hold back.

“Steward, has something happened to the pr—crown prince?”
My desperate anxiety soaked my words. Steward seemed to expect my question; he met my gaze calmly.
“If it had, I’d say so. If not, then no… I’m not sure how to put it.”

“Please, just tell me if it’s a secret whether it’s true or not.”
I begged. He paused to choose his words.
“I don’t think it’s a aftereffect of the poisoning. The prince has always been like this. That’s why I’ve been here.”

One thought struck me.
“Insomnia?”
Steward nodded.
“He’s struggled with it constantly, but that one deep sleep after the poisoning led us to suspect the toxin induced something like sleep. We can’t give him poison every time, though—and we still don’t know what it was. So now he’s on edge, and we need to do something to relieve it.”

“How—how do we do that?”
My mouth felt parched. I pictured Kamar writhing in pain from his headache and almost couldn’t stay calm. Steward looked down at me and said,
“The safest method I can think of is to induce a rut.”

“A rut?”
I felt foolish for asking, but he answered serenely,
“Extreme alphas, after a rut, fall into a deep sleep for anywhere from a day to three days—almost ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) coma-like. So I thought if we could trigger a rut, the prince might finally rest.”

“That—that might work…! That’s brilliant, Steward!”
I exclaimed, but his face remained troubled. Puzzled by his sour expression, I looked at him, and he said,
“If he ruts, we have to contain his pheromones—but then his scent will permeate the entire lab for a day. Do you understand?”

“Oh.”
I realized why he’d asked me to assist with research.
“So I just stay here in the lab until he ruts?”

“Yes.”
It wasn’t difficult, so I was surprised he still looked so embarrassed.
“Does the rut have some deeper significance…?”

I asked anxiously, and he turned away.
“I don’t know.”
His quick answer sounded like a lie. As someone researching extreme alphas, he should know—and if he didn’t, he’d have found out. His behavior was unusual. Yet I refrained from pressing him. He must have reasons for not telling me. Still, I knew it wasn’t the whole story, and my heart pounded in fear.

I don’t want to know.
I thought.
There’s no need to find out.

I rubbed the cold sweat from my palm on my robe and withdrew my hand at the last moment. Soon Steward brought up another topic as if nothing had happened, and I went along with it—but I’m sure we both knew we were avoiding the real issue.
That night, when sleep had deepened, I was jolted awake by the phone ringing. Steward, asleep in the spare bed, answered groggily—and then his voice snapped sharp.
“They’ve been caught? Really?”

His tone was so tense that I sprang upright. I crept to the doorway and peered out to see him pacing the lab, brushing back his hair and speaking rapidly—half in English, half in Arabic, too fast for me to follow. All I understood was that the situation was urgent.
I sighed.
After ending the call, Steward collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. I, only more anxious, finally asked,

“Steward, what’s happened?”
He flinched at my words, then lifted his head. His expression—one I’d never seen before—stunned me. Steward, always composed, was bare-faced with shock. I swallowed dryly, and he spoke.
“Yohan.”

He cleared his throat and made a bombshell announcement.
“I have to return to America.”