Ren watched Zayden lower his head in front of someone for the first time. He stood far enough that he couldn’t hear their conversation. However, he could still sense the strange, unexpected calm and respect in the young man’s demeanor.
Who is this man? For the General to speak to him ...
He glanced around. Most of the servants seemed more accustomed to this than he was. It wasn’t the first time they had seen this man.
"What brings you here, Your Royal Highness?" Zayden bowed before the red-haired man.
"What can I do when my brother forgets me after leaving the palace?" The man smiled softly. "But why so formal?" He asked, fixing his glasses.
"Well..." Zayden glanced behind.
The servants were still lined up, eyes sharp, weighing every gesture.
"I wouldn’t want them to think I don’t respect the Crown Prince," he whispered with a bright smile. "After all, they read the papers. And you are there every day on the front page," he chuckled.
Soren nodded without saying a word. He turned and walked forward, the faint echo of his boots stretching down the corridor. His dark cloak draped over him, stirring in the warm breeze.
Zayden’s jaw tightened.
He knew this gesture too well. Since childhood, when Soren wished to speak privately, he walked away in silence, and Zayden was expected to follow. Like always, without a word, he did.
As they approached the garden, Zayden noticed the red rose field. A flower was still missing from its stem among the plenty of others.
Perhaps it was because his sight had always been heightened; however, this time, his ability didn’t puff his chest from pride but shrank in dislike.
His heart stung, the vivid image of Eiran’s bleeding fingers playing on the screen of his mind.
At least he won’t repeat it now that I explained. I still need to find a tutor to teach him basic morals. Otherwise—
"Have you heard what I said?"
Zayden blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.
"What are you so preoccupied with? You’ve never been so absent-minded before," Soren said, eyes fixed on the green stretch of grass.
From afar, a small figure came running toward them. The wind tugged at his clothes as the boy dashed past Soren and jumped into his younger brother’s arms.
"Dad!" Eiran exclaimed, clinging to him.
"Oh, that’s the child you—"
"My son," Zayden cut him off, unwilling to let Eiran know the truth.
"Right..." Soren examined the child closely. "But where is the mother?"
As if to answer, Eiran asked, "Where is Papa? Why isn’t he with you, Dad?"
"He is..." Zayden faltered.
He didn’t know where Ren was. He had left him in the corridor, but surely he had wandered off. He was not the kind of man to stand still for long.
"Papa?" Soren’s brow arched, his gaze sharp with curiosity. "So the child’s father is here?"
"Who’s this?" Eiran pointed at the Crown Prince, still clinging to his father’s arms
Zayden set him down gently, giving his back a small push.
"Why don’t you go have some snacks? Your Papa will join you when he can."
The child puffed out his cheeks. Without replying, he ran back to where he had been, taking a seat at the table beneath the gazebo.
Its roof shielded him from the burning sunlight, while the breeze occasionally stirred through his silver hair.
The table before him was crowded with cookies, cakes, and chilled juices, with a few colored pencils and scattered papers spread across its surface.
"The child’s mother—" Zayden broke off as footsteps rang against the marble floor.
He didn’t need to turn. The air itself told him—Ren was here, his sweet pheromones unmistakable.
"I apologize for interrupting you, My Lord. However, there is an issue in the dungeon... That man—"
Zayden turned instantly, eyes narrowing.
"I am unsure... The guards rushed into the mansion, requesting an audience," Ren glanced at the red-haired man before darting his eyes back to Zayden.
"I—" The General hesitated, glancing at his brother.
"I understand. It can’t be helped. Go ahead," Soren smiled brightly. "Meanwhile, I will accompany my nephew. You haven’t introduced me to him, after all."
Zayden nodded. Without waiting another second, he grabbed Ren by the wrist before he could even process the conversation, dragging him along.
Perplexed, Ren stumbled to keep up. His pulse quickened—not just from the pace, but from the force of Zayden’s grip.
"M-My Lord? Why are you bringing me—?"
"Are you not training under me from now on?" He demanded.
"Yes?" Ren blinked, then nodded quickly although Zayden looked ahead. "Yes, I am."
"Then you should accompany me to dangerous places to practice everything I teach you." He paced through the corridors with unyielding determination.
Every servant followed them, eyes wide and curious. It was the first time they had seen the General drag someone around the mansion .
"Why is the Lord dragging him ?"
"Did Ren do something wrong?"
"I hope it’s nothing bad."
The servants whispered among themselves, forgetting their duties.
Ren’s free hand tugged at his own sleeve, a futile attempt to break free.
"M-My Lord, people are watching. You can let go of my hand. It is my duty to follow you regardless of the situation—unless you request otherwise."
But Zayden’s grip only tightened.
"What if you stop following me? You don’t walk fast enough."
Ren groaned inwardly.
Nonsense. I kept up with you while you rode a horse. You expect me to believe I walk slowly now?
He frowned, jaw clenched, words caught in his throat. He wouldn’t speak up—it wasn’t necessary. Soon, he would leave this stubborn man, his mansion and never see his face again.
The corridors blurred around him as Zayden led on, unwavering.
Ren’s thoughts spiraled.
How is he so determined... so stubborn?
Every step only sharpened the tension. None of them spoke a word. The corridors stretched longer than ever, their footsteps echoing in the silence.
Zayden halted once they reached the group of guards standing at the entrance of the mansion, sweat dripping down their faces. They wiped at it with their handkerchiefs, but in vain—the liquid only increased as seconds passed.
"My Lord!" one exclaimed, rushing toward Zayden. "Please come see this!" Without explaining further, he exited the mansion, followed by his colleagues.
Ren took the chance to pull his hand from Zayden’s grip. He rubbed his skin harshly, as if it were stained by mud.
"Attendant," Zayden turned, glaring at him. "Why are you standing there?"
"Yes!" Ren simply replied, walking behind the General.