— Sometimes, I’m petrified by the lies I say. What if I am not deceiving them, but myself? —
"Picked up? And... from where?" Zayden arched an eyebrow.
A speech like that... it had vanished from the world. No one should have known about it. No one but the Temple of Hianshu—and those who had lived long enough to witness every book that once taught it burned to ashes.
Ren shifted slightly, as if weighing his answer—should he speak or not?
Finally, he muttered, "I met a very, very old demon in the forest once. He used to sing that song."
It was a lie. Another one he had to remember, so that his deception wouldn’t be exposed altogether one day. He had never met any demons. He only knew saints all his life.
Zayden didn’t break eye contact, narrowing his gaze, letting the silence hang like a guillotine’s blade over a criminal awaiting execution.
A demon that old—to know this forbidden language? Who could it be...? Hadn’t my father taught me this language, even I wouldn’t have known of its existence.
"You said you lived in the forest before coming here. Since when?" Zayden asked.
He studied Ren’s face, searching for a crack in his mask. The more freedom he gave this attendant, the more secrets slipped through his fingers. Perhaps it was time to stop letting him slip away. Maybe it was time to force some answers.
Ren’s cold demeanor activated. He didn’t want to answer this question, yet he was lost in deep thought, once again weighing whether he should or not.
Zayden wondered before pressing.
"Answer my question." His voice sounded soft, but carried a commanding tone.
Ren snapped out of his thoughts, caught off guard. It was rare for the general to speak in such a manner.
"Since I was a child, My Lord," he answered, voice barely above a whisper, careful not to wake Eiran.
"Alone?" Zayden raised an eyebrow.
Ren lowered his gaze, breaking eye contact with the general.
"With all due respect, that falls outside of your concern," he replied, his eyes flickering upward.
Zayden’s eyes widened, then narrowed, curiosity stirring in his bones. He should have been angry—but his blood refused to obey, and he didn’t know why.
With clenched fists, Zayden replied in a dry tone, "Fine, keep your secrets."
Because I will discover them anyway.
He kept himself from uttering the latter sentence, unwilling to put the servant on his guard more than he already was.
Silence crept into the room for a few minutes.
For the first time, Ren knowingly replied rudely to the man lying on the bed. He expected to be struck harshly, abused, or thrown out of the house—but, to his surprise, none of it happened.
He kept his eyes lowered, waiting for the general to dismiss him. He still had to make sure the money he’d received from the lord all these months was safely hidden.
Shockingly, Zayden said quietly, "Stay here tonight."
Ren’s head lifted, startled.
"My Lord?" He frowned almost instantly.
"If you leave, Eiran might wake and grow upset." Zayden’s tone was even, almost indifferent. "What if he thinks I’m the one who asked you to go?"
Ren bit the inside of his cheek, uncertain. He glanced at Eiran—the boy’s breathing was steady, deep in sleep. There was no risk of his waking.
The excuse was obvious; he knew it, and perhaps Zayden did too. But he couldn’t point it out.
Hence, he bowed his head slightly. "As you command."
Ren turned off the lights before lying down stiffly, careful not to disturb Eiran, though the child’s small hand reached instinctively toward him in sleep.
His body froze, breath caught. No matter how many times the boy did this, he still couldn’t get used to it.
And why did the general insist I stay when he is with the young master? Usually, he would ask me to leave the moment he stepped into the room.
He was becoming... overly nice. That could only mean one thing—there was something he wanted from him.
No one is ever kind without a reason.
However, what could a mere servant offer him, a man who possessed everything?
Ren swallowed, forcing his face calm while his thoughts spiraled.
Did Zayden catch on to his scent? Yesterday, when he welded the sword, he used too much stamina.
Surely, he could have—No... it can’t be.
He had sprayed rose perfume earlier, sharp enough to cover anything. Still, he discreetly lowered his nose, breathing in against his sleeve. Nothing. No trace of pheromones.
He turned slightly away, clutching the blanket tighter around himself.
The moonlight through the window caught the faint curve of Zayden’s jaw, his eyes still open, still fixed. Ren forced his own shut, forcing himself to sleep, even as unease gnawed at his chest.
It doesn’t matter. I will leave soon...
He repeated it like a secret mantra that could safeguard him from any harm the general could cause him if he discovered the truth.
Zayden let out a soft sigh, almost relieved. He folded his arms, staring at the ceiling as Ren turned off the lights, the room dimming until only the moonlight remained.
His reasons tangled within him, half-formed. Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was something else. Whatever it was, he refused to name it. Yet knowing Ren was lying beside him placed his body in an unfamiliar ease.
Normally, whenever he slept with an omega, he left the instant his rut was over. But Ren’s pheromones—or even his demeanor—didn’t match any omega he had met until now.
Haah... You’ve got to be kidding me.
Facing the ceiling, he sighed, palms resting on his face. He shook his head, denying the thought that just crossed his mind. Even if it was for a fleeting moment, that shouldn’t be—that couldn’t be it.
Zayden shifted slightly, though he didn’t move away from where Ren lay. The faint rise and fall of his chest, the careful way he tucked himself under the blanket—it made something twist inside him he wasn’t used to feeling.
Curiosity? Perhaps. Or something else entirely, unnamed and unwanted.
He couldn’t point it out—wouldn’t do it. That was dangerous.
Omegas were always... predictable. Desire came, it went, and it never lingered. But this—this quiet, absent-like presence left him unsettled.
He caught himself staring at Ren’s hands, the way they rested near Eiran. Nothing about this should matter. He should leave the room, shut the door, and forget the servant until morning. Yet a small, irrational part of him refused.
A part of him that didn’t care to reason.
He turned, exhaling slowly, palms brushing his face again, trying to shake the heat from his cheeks.
Even the air that slipped through the open window couldn’t cool it. He wasn’t supposed to want this closeness—not yet. Not until whatever secret this man hid was exposed, forcing him to work under him.
And yet... Zayden wanted to stay.