The dinner hall smelled of roasted meat, freshly baked potatoes, and cooked vegetables. Rain pattered softly against the windows, the chandelier glowing warmly while thunder roared occasionally outside, the sound chilling one’s bones.
"Why is the storm so strong tonight?" a maid whispered as she stood among the row of servants lining against the wall while others served the food.
"I wonder... I’ve never seen rain fall this heavily here before."
"It almost feels like the Gods are furious about something."
"What Gods?" another servant scoffed. "You still believe in them? After what they did with that Temple?"
"...I was just saying! I don’t actually believe—"
"Shh, both of you! Don’t be rude in front of the Lord and His Imperial Highness."
The whispers died instantly, the servants’ hands folding neatly in front of them, their gazes dropping to the floor.
Eiran sat at the edge of the table, beside his father, eyes darting between Zayden and Soren, who sat across from each other at the head of the table. His small fingers twisted the edge of his napkin, waiting for one of them to break the silence.
Are they not on good terms?
After all, adults didn’t fight like children. They simply ignored each other—or so he had read in a book. He lowered his gaze to his plate, staring at the piece of carrot.
"Where is Papa?" he whispered, but his voice nearly echoed in the silent hall.
The earthy smell wafting from the carrot turned his stomach. If he told his Dad about it, he knew only scoldings awaited.
"Don’t be picky," he always said.
But his Papa was different. Instead of scolding him, he would quietly eat it in his stead, careful never to catch Zayden’s eyes.
The General glanced around, searching for his attendant.
"He should have returned already..." he muttered under his breath. "Where is he?" he asked James.
"I haven’t seen him since we returned from the training ground," James replied.
Soren’s fingers curled around the fork a little tighter. He wanted to ask who Zayden’s partner, Ren, whom everyone mentioned, was but held back. Now wasn’t the time.
The storm had passed, leaving the terrace damp, the night air heavy with the scent of rain and a cold breeze. From there, the town stretched below, a few scattered lights flickering faintly in the distance. The servants brought in a small table, setting a bottle of wine and two glasses upon it. A pen and a stack of papers followed, along with two chairs. Once everything was arranged, they bowed and withdrew, leaving the brothers alone in silence.
"You haven’t told me who your partner is yet," Soren said at last, his voice quiet, almost casual, though his golden eyes never left Zayden. "You adopted his child and accepted them both, I assume?"
As Zayden’s gaze lingered on the darkened town, his shoulders stiffened.
"My partner? You are mistaken. I adopted a child. That’s all."
Soren tilted his head.
"Then you brought the child and the father together? And decided to keep only one?"
"No." A sigh slipped through Zayden’s lips, heavy and reluctant.
Soren narrowed his eyes.
After a pause, Zayden finally spoke.
"The child imprinted on my attendant. That is why I asked him to take care of Eiran. But... he started thinking of him as his father as well."
"Your attendant," Soren repeated, his smile faint. "You do realize dragons imprint the moment they hatch, don’t you? If you didn’t want this to happen, you should have kept the egg hidden somewhere safe."
"Ren, wasn’t it? That servant’s name. Eiran wouldn’t have imprinted on him by mistake." The candlelight flashed against his glasses as he adjusted them with a touch to the temple.
Zayden’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t spoken that name once, yet his brother dragged it out as though daring him to react. His hand curled against the armrest, then stilled.
"Names are irrelevant," he said finally. "He is my attendant. Nothing more."
Soren’s lips curved. He could sense something had shifted in his brother. The way he stiffened whenever the attendant was mentioned—it was evident the man meant more than Zayden let on. However, now wasn’t the moment to press further.
"Talking about a partner... Father wants me to choose a candidate for marriage," he sighed.
"Huh?" Zayden blinked. "I thought it was already decided?"
Soren shook his head.
"Why did you think that? Father sent you a letter with the names of all the candidates, right? Did you not receive it?"
Zayden averted his eyes, looking away. He must have overlooked the rest, too focused on the first name he saw.
"I shortlisted five of them. However—"
"Brother," Zayden interrupted.
Soren tilted his head.
"Are you sure you want to marry for politics? I can speak to His Imperial Majesty and I know he would not refuse—"
"And what?" Soren forced a soft laugh. "You can marry the love of your life, even if it is a slave—someone at the bottom of the hierarchy. But I, as the heir of the throne, do not have such a luxury."
Zayden bit the inside of his cheek.
"Do you not hate me?"
Soren frowned, hitting Zayden’s head instantly. Not too hard, not too light. Just enough pressure to lower his head slightly.
"Say that again and you will have to fight me in a duel."
Zayden chuckled, gently shaking his brother’s hand off.
"What if my son saw this? He already considers my attendant his father. He might lose even more respect for me," he grumbled.
"Of course, of course, my brother is all grown up," Soren teased, taking a sip of wine, only to grimace.
"I truly cannot understand why you like drinking this earthy stuff."
"It is not for the taste."
Their eyes met for a moment before Zayden leaned back.
"Who are the candidates you think could possibly become your partner?"
"Hmm... There’s the third prince of Gyuin, the twelfth princess of Eveland, the Crown Prince of Danshin," he paused, trying to recall the remaining two.
"Forget that. I just remember one from the list, and it’s the Crown Prince of Danshin. Was he not residing in the palace for some time a few years back?"
"You remember that? You hardly recall your servants’ names."
"Yes. He was one of a kind. How could I forget him?" Zayden snapped his fingers, one by one. "He challenged me to a duel and ran away."
"He did not," Soren sighed. "He had to leave, and you were on the battlefield at the time."
"Yes, but... I was wondering, why not choose him?"
Soren raised an eyebrow, looking at his brother.
"Crown Prince Rihan Divraat?"