"Crown Prince Rihan Divraat?"
"But answer this first. Do you have someone you love—or even think you could love? I can talk to Mother and Father—"
"Zayden!" Soren snapped, his voice sharper than usual. "Not everything is a joke. I came this far to personally ask for your advice because I want you to help me choose the one who will rule by my side. You will have to respect them, and I do not want it to be someone you might despise. If I am the ruler, you are the guardian of this empire."
Zayden stared at him, startled. His brother rarely raised his voice at him.
"After all, in our family, you are the one who causes the most trouble," Soren muttered.
"I am sorry..." Zayden lowered his head. "I just do not want you to be trapped in a political marriage without love."
"I do not love anyone. So set aside your worries. It is unlikely you believe in any of these either. Otherwise, you would not have adopted a child instead of having one of your own."
Zayden exhaled and leaned back.
"I adopted him because—" he paused, chills running down his spine. He had almost forgotten that he was the one who orphaned the child he had begun cherishing.
"I am not mad. Eiran is an adorable child. He will be my nephew regardless of his bloodline."
Zayden smiled softly, clenching his fists to keep his composure.
"So... For your partner, choose the Crown Prince of Danshin."
Soren nodded, pulling the pen and paper he had ordered the servants to set on the table earlier.
"Why?" Zayden furrowed his brows, perplexed.
"Why should I choose him and not the others?"
"Well, they own Firestone Mines. In winter, Revhara gets unbearably cold, and the stones can be used to build better fireplaces. And, compared to Revhara or Hianshu, Danshin’s political situation is stable. Choosing a kingdom too close to the enemy would be risky."
Soren scribbled on the paper, nodding in agreement.
"But Eveland also has firestone and magic."
"They have magic, yes—but when I visited their lands, I saw their soldiers struggled to control it efficiently. Danshin’s system is stronger, more organized. I wanted to die just watching them try to handle it!" Zayden groaned.
"You’re so spoiled," Soren said, writing that down too.
For the next few minutes, Zayden listed reasons why Danshin was the safest and strongest choice—and he wasn’t wrong. Compared to all the others, it suited the empire’s political needs best.
"Even if they are enemies, the Temple is reputed to take great care of children," Soren added, setting the pen and paper aside. "They feed them, clothe them, and arrange families to adopt them."
Zayden didn’t answer. He had been there once, but the memories were blurred, softened by time.
Soren’s voice cut through the quiet, his golden eyes narrowing at the sight below.
From the edge of the forest, a figure emerged. A young man with long silver hair stepped onto the marble floor of the courtyard, heading toward the mansion.
Zayden’s gaze followed—Ren.
Though the storm had already passed, his clothes still clung to him, soaked through. Water dripped from his hair, tracing his pale skin, falling in steady trails onto the marble. His steps were slow, almost mechanical, as if he were unaware of his own body. His red eyes seemed vacant, swallowing the light, his face hollow and unreadable. The dirt on his hand stuck to his skin, already dried.
Zayden’s chest tightened.
"Brother," he muttered, rising from his chair so abruptly its legs scraped against the floor. "We will continue this in two days. I need some time to think." Without waiting for Soren’s reply, he strode toward the stairs, his expression unreadable.
Soren’s gaze lingered on the figure below, strangely unsettled. His fingers curled against the armrest.
Is that... the attendant Zayden spoke of? For him to get this anxious...
As soon as Ren stepped inside the mansion, a hand caught his wrist. He followed the hold, finding Zayden before him. It was easy to recognize him despite not seeing his face—the demonic strings alone were enough.
"Where have you been?" His voice was sharp, his face closer to Ren’s.
Ren lifted his gaze, meeting only the scarlet in his eyes. He didn’t bother to imagine the expression behind them. The tone was enough—Zayden was upset.
"Did you need something?" His voice low, he asked.
Zayden’s brows knit together, his grip tightening. Ren’s skin flushed red under the pressure, yet he stayed still, unbothered.
"Eiran was looking for you," Zayden said, his words pressed against his breath. The indifference in Ren’s reply gnawed at him more than it ever had before. Maybe because Ren was drenched, shivering, yet still asked if he needed something—when clearly, Ren was the one who did.
When he spotted a maid walking by, he stopped her.
The maid bowed quickly and returned with one within a few minutes. Zayden took it from her and placed it over Ren’s damp hair himself.
Ren looked up at the white cloth covering his view. He lifted the towel off his head, eyes meeting Zayden’s—empty.
"...Is the Young Master asleep? Did he want me to stay by his side until he fell asleep?" His voice was flat, stripped of concern.
Zayden stilled. The coldness in that tone pressed heavier against him than the storm outside had, but he said nothing.
"What is wrong with you?" he muttered, low.
Ren didn’t answer. He stood there, unmoving, like a statue.
"Hah... Forget it. Go to your room." Zayden placed his hands on Ren’s shoulders, turning him toward the servants’ quarters with a gentle push.
Ren didn’t look back. He simply walked down the familiar corridor. Turning wouldn’t have changed anything—he wouldn’t have seen the General’s face either way.
Zayden watched him go, hands still hovering where he had pushed him, chest tight. The quiet of the mansion pressed in, heavier than the storm outside.
He exhaled slowly, though it did little to ease the tightness in his chest. Ren’s indifference, his emptiness—it weighed more than words could carry.
"What the hell is wrong with him—?" He paused. "Or me?—" He grumbled.