"How long are you going to stand there?"
Ren blinked. Zayden was already lying on the bed, head propped against his palm, eyes on the book Eiran held.
"Hurry, Papa!" Eiran patted the unoccupied side of the mattress.
The servant sat carefully beside him, glancing at the pair of father and son. Both exhausted him in different ways. But the only one he didn’t feel uneasy around was Eiran.
"Read with me," Eiran insisted, pushing the book into Ren’s hands.
Ren exhaled, lowering his gaze to the page. The child clung closer, his small shoulder leaning against him. When he reached to turn the page, another hand brushed his—Zayden’s.
Ren stiffened, quickly pulling back.
"I will do it," Zayden said casually, though his gaze lingered on Ren’s face.
A flicker of worry ran through him—was he too rough? Had he startled him? He wasn’t used to seeing the servant flinch, and the sight of him behaving pricked at him more than he expected.
Eiran was too absorbed in the story to notice, but Ren felt the air tighten around him, as if he were forbidden from breathing the same air as the two.
"Papa! Keep reading," Eiran wrapped his arms around Ren’s waist, holding onto him tight, his eyes slowly closing.
"I think you should sleep, Young Master."
"Eiran," the child clung to him tighter this time.
Ren’s chest stung. This child triggered something within him—something he felt when his own child was—
Subconsciously, Ren brushed his hand over his stomach, gaze unfocused on the letters inscribed on the paper.
A soft weight against his lap caught his attention. Eiran had fallen asleep. He hadn’t realized when Zayden began narrating the story, but it worked.
"It seems you will be staying here tonight," Zayden said with a faint grin, gently lifting Eiran from Ren’s lap.
Ren wanted to refuse but bit his lips. Soon, he would be gone. Perhaps he could enjoy the brief moment he spent beside Eiran. After all, the reason he stayed here this long was him—and the money he needed to cover his travel expenses.
"It seems so," he replied, his voice low.
"Lay down," Zayden turned toward him, unlike last time, looking at him.
Ren obeyed as if it were a command, his body stiff.
"Why are you always ?"
The question caught him off guard. He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand. How was he?
Zayden smiled, his hand slowly reaching for the corner of Ren’s eyes. But as his fingers neared him, Ren shut his eyes tightly, lips quivering as if scared.
An ache of worry twisted in his chest. Had he gone too far? Would the servant pull away entirely?
He withdrew his hand, letting out a soft laugh, though his heartbeat quickened slightly.
"This is what I meant."
Having said so, he turned his back once again. Was Ren scared of him? Although he wasn’t the kind to flinch, even after witnessing Zayden kill someone mercilessly. But why now? What did he do to scare him ?
The next morning, James went down the line of attendants, giving each a parting word in the General’s audience hall.
Zayden called every staff member so that the farewell wouldn’t take too long.
Some were delighted—the traitor would be leaving. While others, who had become good friends with James over the past five years shed a few tears.
"At least you get to say goodbye this time," a servant teased.
"Right," another blew her nose with a handkerchief.
James chuckled, unsure if he was happy because they cared enough to cry or because he would be joining his mother soon.
After meeting everyone, James leaned in front of Eiran.
The boy shed tears, wiping them with a handkerchief.
"Aww, Young Master. Why are you crying? I thought you didn’t like me."
"Shut up," Eiran sniffled. He was certain he didn’t like James yet, his tears wouldn’t stop flowing down his cheeks. "Are you a witch? Did you put a spell on me?"
James laughed, along with a few servants who found their young master adorable for not understanding that he had grown attached to the servant.
"It’s ’wizard’ for men. And it’s natural to cry when someone you have grown familiar with leaves."
Instantly, Eiran’s eyes shifted to Ren, his chest tightening. The tears ran down his chin even more.
"Come here," James said, hugging the boy until he had calmed down.
"I will write you letters so make sure you learn how to write."
Eiran nodded, wiping away his tears.
Finally, James stopped in front of Ren. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he was mad at him for everything he said yesterday.
Yet, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Ren.
"Take care of yourself, alright?" His voice was quiet, almost strained.
Ren stiffened, caught off guard, eyes wide but didn’t pull away. He let the embrace linger just long enough before stepping back.
James was a friend he didn’t know he needed. Even if rude, sometimes mean, sometimes mischievous, Ren learned a lot from him. Things he couldn’t have known from Hannah or the General.
"I will." His tone was flat, but his crimson eyes softened, just barely noticeable.
From a distance, Zayden’s hand froze on the armrest of his chair. His jaw clenched, his chest tightening as if the room itself had shrunk. He told himself it was because James was being improper, touching a servant so casually in front of others.
But when James laughed, brushing Ren’s hair back as if they were close, Zayden’s stomach twisted. His mind betrayed him for a split second—why does it matter to me so much?—before he forced it away.
"Enough," he muttered under his breath, though no one had asked him. "Liam, make sure he doesn’t escape."
Zayden hadn’t mentioned the horse to Liam, who kept it to investigate further, yet. He needed to make sure James was sent away without trouble and guarded until the banquet in case he betrayed him.
James finally stepped away from Ren with a smile before turning to the General.
"I told you I won’t."
"And who said I trusted you?" Zayden forced a smile.
"Enough," Soren sighed. "Take it as they will make sure you arrive at your mother’s safety." His voice was calm and reassuring.
James nodded, a bright smile before bowing.
As Liam escorted him out, the other servants scattered back to their duties. Ren, however, followed James a few steps past the door, his head bowed as he whispered something only James could hear.
James laughed softly in reply, resting a hand on Ren’s shoulder before finally leaving.
At the window, Zayden’s eyes tracked them. His fingers gripped the curtain tightly, white at the knuckles, and his chest pressed against the back of the chair. He couldn’t explain why, but the sight of Ren—so soft, so deferential, yet so alive with someone else—pinched at him.
When Ren returned, his expression was unreadable. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
Zayden didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t. He pressed the documents flat against the table, as though the paper itself were the problem.