During lunch, Ren didn’t speak a word. It was easy not to. The conversation was mainly between Zayden, Soren, and Eiran. As he stared at them, he couldn’t help but think: a perfect family—a place where he wasn’t needed.
The words twisted his stomach, making him feel as though he would throw up everything he had managed to swallow so far.
His hand slipped onto his stomach, a blurred memory replaying as his gaze lingered on Eiran. He tried to push it aside, but the resemblance clung to him. He knew—his child would have been the same, just boy: smiling, laughing.
But would he have been happy?
Ren clenched his fist and rose from his chair abruptly. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NovᴇlFire(.)nᴇt
Everyone’s eyes snapped toward him.
That wasn’t how one should behave during lunch with the Imperial Crown Prince.
"What is going on?" Zayden asked.
"I..." Ren’s gaze flicked toward Soren.
It seemed the man hadn’t recognized him.
Maybe he never saw the poster.
"S-Spicy." He flapped his hand twice, flat and awkward.
His acting was pitiful, too fake. Yet Zayden slid a glass of cold water in front of him.
Ren sat down again, drained the glass, and lowered his gaze to the floor. He had been staring at the Crown Prince too long. Any longer, and he would notice—just like the servants. Their gazes lingered on him as if he had committed a crime.
"James, you are leaving tomorrow, right?" Zayden asked.
The young man nodded, but his gaze drifted toward Ren instead of meeting the General’s eyes.
"Did you prepare your luggage?"
"I apologize, Sir, but I think you forgot—all these clothes were given to me by the butler."
"I did not. I was simply confirming in case you believed they belonged to you now." Zayden smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
Ren froze. He remembered putting away some of the clothes he had been given. Should he not have?
Was the General so stingy that he wouldn’t even spare a few servants’ clothing?
His gaze fixed on Zayden, who felt it—the intense eyes drilling into him.
Zayden turned, his grin widening.
"Attendant, am I handsome?"
Upon hearing that, Soren burst into laughter, catching Zayden off guard. The young man glanced at his brother, who barely managed to conceal his amusement.
"Why are you laughing?" Zayden asked.
"You are such a narcissist. For a moment, I thought fatherhood had changed you, but..." Soren paused midway, simply smiling.
His gaze fell on Ren, sitting in silence as he shoved down everything on his plate.
"You should chew properly, or your stomach will hurt," he said.
Ren looked up, almost in disbelief.
Was he eating too fast? But did it matter? All he wanted was to leave. He didn’t belong here—in this place filled with laughter and banter. Where he came from, it was dark, like the depth of the abyss.
He tried to speak, trying not to be too rude only to end up nodding. The words simply clung to his throat, refusing to make a sound.
"He really hates talking," James cracked up.
Ren didn’t look at anyone during the remaining time he stayed seated at the table. His mind drifted off to things he needed to focus on when he left the mansion.
For example, how would he arrange food in the forest? He could kill some wild animals, find some woods, rocks and use fire spells to light them.
Perhaps, he could find some fruits like the last time he visited the border with the General. Maybe, he could use the money he saved to buy himself some food if he came across a shop during his journey. But how long could he maintain that until he would finally find the egg?
Or where would he sleep? He could only stay at an inn after crossing the woods. However, the season was drastically changing. It would soon be winter, and the banquet approached with huge steps.
Whatever he planned, he needed to do them all soon if he wanted a successful, peaceful departure.
James observed Ren carefully throughout the day. He wasn’t acting particularly strange—he was simply being himself.
But what was Ren’s normal self?
Not talk. The less, the better.
Observe people and things as if they were books, each holding a thousand pages of descriptions to be dissected, analyzed. Although today, he didn’t seem interested in learning what these people thought or wanted.
And lastly, tremble like a leaf every now and then, as if he had been thrown into Chiasm—the northern region of Revhara, where only creatures of ice lived.
James couldn’t decide if it was fear or simply Ren’s nature. His face gave nothing away. His voice, when he spoke, carried no weight, no emotions—only words strung together out of necessity.
It was unsettling. Like speaking to someone who wasn’t fully there.
At times, Ren’s gaze fixed on something—or someone—for too long.
A fork left on the table, as if he was deciding the outcome of picking it up or leaving it there.
A shadow moving across the wall, enough to make him flinch like it carried a past only he could see.
His eyes lingered on the General, measuring him, but the moment their gazes met, his head dropped quickly. Almost ashamed. Almost guilty.
James clenched his jaw.
No one should look like that just because they were alive—a commoner—a servant—a human.
Ren appeared like a ghost, his presence almost unnoticed. He breathed, yet wasn’t living. Almost as if someone had taken away his soul.
Although he never opened up, James had heard a few rumors about him before they grew closer.
The only one that seemed to make sense was that he might have been a slave. He never exposed his skin, even in the burning heat as if hiding scars. He never tied his long silver hair, as if something was laid beneath it.
Whenever asked, Ren would simply change the subject, so smoothly that one would think he was taught the art of being eloquent—far too much for a mere servant.
James never dared to pry—it wasn’t his concern. Yet now, as the day of his departure drew near, worry clung to his chest.
The murderer of his mate had carved a place in his life. A bond that looked like friendship from his side, but on Ren’s end... it felt more like a wall. One James feared he would never be able to cross.