Fredrick adjusted his cuffs, his sharp eyes scanning the common kitchen as the servants bustled about. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and simmering broths filled the air, yet none of it put him at ease. For days now, he had been subtly questioning the cooks, watching the herbal batches that arrived each morning, and even checking the ledgers where the castle's supplies were recorded.
But nothing seemed out of place.
The herbs were collected from trusted sources, brewed daily, and given to those in need. There were no foreign or unknown ingredients—just the usual assortments of ginger, chamomile, and other common healing plants.
Leaning against a wooden pillar, sighing and pulling on his collar to loosen his shirt so he could breath better he closed his eyes in disappointment.
