Following the sound of laughter, Ren stopped in front of the general’s audience room. It was rare for anyone to visit the general here. In all his time at the mansion, Ren had counted no more than two people crossing that threshold—always for matters urgent enough to drag the general away from his endless duties.
The door stood ajar, a narrow slice of space as if inviting him to look inside. The warm murmur of voices spilled through the gap, edged with amusement, so different from the silence that usually haunted these halls.
Ren shifted his weight, fingers curling against his side. He should turn away. It wasn’t his business.
He did. His heel scraped softly against the polished floor as he turned, ready to vanish back into the quiet.
And yet—his steps faltered. Curiosity coiled in his chest, stubborn and restless like a child who recently discovered a new interest. For reasons he couldn’t explain, his gaze lingered on that small amount of light spilling through the small opening.
"Attendant, is that you?"
Ren flinched. His spine stiffened as though he had been caught in the act of stealing, though his hands were empty. Slowly, he turned his head. The corridor behind him was empty. No silhouettes in sight. No one could have spoken.
The general had sensed him from within.
Ren hadn’t said a word. His steps had been cautious, softer than a whisper, not nearly loud enough to reach past the thick walls. A shiver traced the back of his neck, the kind that came from standing too close to a beast who knew you were there before you even entered its cave.
"Come in." Zayden’s voice was steady, leaving no room for refusal. He was certain Ren was here.
Ren swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He lowered his head, his expression calm, unreadable as always, and pushed the door open wider.
The room was warmer than the hall, lit with afternoon sun spilling over the large polished wood table and maps strewn across it. Laughter still lingered in the air, though it dimmed at his entrance.
Beside the general sat a young woman.
Ren’s gaze flickered toward her, recognizing her like a half-forgotten dream.
He had seen her before—months ago, handing the general a piece of parchment whose contents he had never learned.
And now, here she was again, paper in hand.
"Are you his new attendant?" Eyes curious, she walked his way.
Ren bowed without answering her.
Diana chuckled, turning to Zayden.
"I thought you were joking when you said your servant doesn’t talk but this is another level!"
Zayden shrugged, his lips tugging a smile.
"Right," James added, chuckling.
"You all?" Ren hesitantly asked, looking at the three, confused. He had noticed James. Perhaps it was because his shirt blended him perfectly with the pale painted walls.
"We are preparing for the banquet," Zayden replied. "I forgot to notify you."
"No, I understand that you can’t trust me with–"
"What nonsense?" Zayden frowned, stepping closer, gaze locked with Ren.
The young man subconsciously took a step back.
"It’s not about trust. I entrusted Eiran to you, did I not? If I didn’t trust you, do you think I would allow you by my son’s side?"
The room fell silent, the air heavy enough to press against Ren’s skin.
Zayden leaned back, his expression unreadable. He would not voice his suspicions about the servant—at least not now. But the very act of withholding them left Ren staring with a perplexed frown, as if caught in a game whose rules he didn’t understand.
With deliberate calm, the general stepped back and lowered himself into his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He lifted his gaze, sharp as a blade.
"Join us," he said at last, tone even. "Because you will be the one accompanying Eiran during the banquet."
The words struck harder than any blade. Ren’s eyes widened, breath stuttering.
"W-What?" His voice cracked, betraying him.
Panic slipped into his veins. He had been planning his leave for weeks, waiting for the perfect chance. The banquet preparations were supposed to be his shield—everyone would be too busy, too distracted for anyone to notice his absence. He had only to slip away quietly, vanish into the crowd like smoke.
Now, the general had bound him to the very event he meant to use as his escape.
Ren’s thoughts spun. He could resign—say he was unfit, fall back into the darkness—but that would only draw attention. Especially when the general was not a man easily swayed by excuses. To this day, Ren could not fathom why Zayden allowed him to remain by his side and serve him at all.
He remembered their first encounter, branding him as a demon the moment he saw the red strings surrounding him.
Was he truly one? A being that fed on power and blood?
But demons could never laugh like that.
"Just sit down," Zayden sighed, leaning his head against the back of his chair, as though weary of the resistance.
"Come on," Diana added with a disarming smile, her skirts rustling softly as she returned to her seat.
James followed suit, settling into his chair with quiet composure.
Left standing, Ren’s pulse drummed against his temples. He searched for an excuse—any excuse—but the weight of three pairs of eyes bore down on him, leaving no gap to slip through. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.
At last, stiff and reluctant, he dragged a chair closer.
The scrape of wood against the floor echoed too loudly in the room, betraying his hesitation, drawing more attention than he wanted. He lowered himself onto the seat, his posture tense, head bowed as if the very act of sitting among them was a trap closing in.
"Don’t be nervous!" James exclaimed, trying to reassure the young servant.
Ren looked at him as if he had said something ridiculous.
"We were talking about the duke’s plan earlier until you came," Zayden said before Ren could say anything.
"Right, before you sensed his presence like some wizard," Diana laughed, teasingly.
Zayden frowned, almost glaring at her.
The three looked at him, waiting for his reply.