It had only been a day since James left, yet the mansion suddenly felt quiet. Or perhaps it had always been this way, and Ren had simply forgotten what it felt like without him around.
He stood beside Zayden in the forest near the mansion.
The dark-blue-haired man sat under the parasol tree, his back colliding against its trunk, his arm resting on his knee.
The General hadn’t gone to the training grounds, leaving his subordinates to handle missions and training while he spent time with the Crown Prince. No one dared object—the Crown Prince was a priority that could never be questioned.
Soren held a book in his hands, reading attentively under the large oak tree’s shade, completely absorbed. It was a romantic love story between a commoner and a noble, something he could never experience, bound by duty and responsibility. As the story progressed, he found himself smiling only for his stomach to twist at the horrors the main character experienced—his dark past.
A few meters away, Eiran practiced wielding a sword. Ren hadn’t known swordsmanship was part of his classes—he only knew of the basic subjects and magic lessons. Sword training was scheduled for noon, the time when Zayden and Ren would usually be outside. Although the thought of the child learning to use an arm at a young age repulsed him, he didn’t dare ask Zayden about it. After all, it wasn’t as if he were Eiran’s real father.
The child swung the wooden sword once more, hitting his mentor’s, hard enough to startle him, then turned toward Ren.
"Did I do it right?!" he asked with bright green eyes, hands gripping the hilt tightly.
Ren glanced at him, expression neutral, before giving a faint nod. He stepped closer for a proper look, studying Eiran’s movements.
His posture was alright; however, he could work on his strength—
He thought, only to shake his head. It was his teacher who should tell him these things.
"Yes, well enough," he murmured, his voice soft but loud enough to be heard.
Eiran’s face lit up, and he trained harder, sweat running down his face, eager for praise.
Zayden’s dark-blue hair shimmered in the sunlight as he watched the interaction from beneath the tree. His red eyes—sharp and observant—narrowed ever so slightly. He had expected Ren to be attentive, but the way the servant’s crimson gaze followed every movement of Eiran’s body, lingering on the small details, unsettled him. Those eyes never lingered on him for a moment too long with such care.
Ren’s back was straight, hands folded neatly on his knees like any other servant, yet there was something about him that Zayden couldn’t place.
It made his chest tighten. He had never thought he’d feel this watching someone else care for a child. Something about it pricked at him, like the edge of a sharp blade, unnameable.
The breeze blew through the branches, carrying the faint scent of the grass and Eiran’s laughter. Sunlight bounced off Zayden’s hair, catching strands of deep sapphire that seemed darker against the shadow of the tree. Ren’s crimson eyes reflected the light for a brief moment, catching it like fire against water, and Zaydne simply stared as if a ghost had possessed him.
The servant noticed the movement of Zayden’s figure from the corner of his eye but kept his gaze on Eiran. He couldn’t let his attention slip; he couldn’t afford for the General to read anything from him. Much less the secrets he hid all these months.
However, the thought of being observed so closely, of even the faintest flicker of reaction betraying him, quickened his pulse.
Eiran giggled, spinning the sword once and nearly losing his balance. Ren’s hand shot out, steadying him before the boy toppled over.
"Careful," Ren said quietly, lowering his hand after Eiran was safe.
Zayden rose from the shade and stepped closer to check the child’s stance, but his gaze focused on Ren despite himself.
Ren stiffened, just enough for Zayden to notice, though he tried to hide it.
"Enough training for today," he said, glancing at the teacher, who bowed before leaving the forest.
"I will go shower!" Eiran shouted, running back to the mansion, his feet stomping on the pavement, leaving Zayden and Ren alone under the burning sunlight. Rhys followed his master, steps quick. Google seaʀᴄh NoveI(F)ire.net
The General and the servant looked at each other without exchanging a word. Their last conversation still left a bitter taste in both mouths. Neither could understand the other. Perhaps it had something to do with what each of them experienced in their respective lives.
Soren called, and Zayden turned his heels, walking back beside his brother.
Ren stood still, hands folded, unsure whether to return to Zayden or follow Eiran. He froze, watching Zayden from a distance.
"What have you thought about my partner?" Soren asked, shutting his book with a soft thud.
"Danshin will be the best choice."
Hearing that, Soren’s gaze dropped.
"Is there no other kingdom better than that?"
Zayden tilted his head, studying his brother’s expression. Soren was clearly not pleased.
"Unfortunately. The other kingdoms do not have any children your age. And I am sure you do not want a partner at the age of our parents," he chuckled, hoping to coax even a small smile, but it didn’t work.
"Alright. I will return to the palace."
Zayden blinked, perplexed.
"W-What?! Already? You do know the banquet where I will announce Eiran as my son is approaching, right? Why not stay?"
Soren stood, and Zayden followed. The red-haired young man gently patted his brother’s shoulder.
"I will try to be here. Even if I cannot, I will send Mother at the very least," he smiled.
Zayden inhaled deeply.
"I will not force you. Duty comes first. You did not even bring a proper pair of clothing, so surely you planned on only staying one night."
"You know me very well," Soren chuckled.
"I have lived at least a century with you."
The brothers stayed silent for a moment before laughing.
"Thank you for coming. I will write to you."
"You, writing letters? I look forward to that," Soren said, picking up his book and walking back toward the mansion.
"You are staying the night, at the very least, right?"
"No. I shall depart in the afternoon."
"I should have delayed my answer!"
Soren shook his head, chuckling at his brother’s silly words.
"Then you might have needed to write your answer."
Zayden’s gaze shifted to Ren, still standing there like a statue.
"You should go ahead. I will join you shortly."
Glancing back, Soren seemed to understand but pretended not to. He grinned and walked away.
Zayden rushed back to Ren, arms folded.
"Why are you standing here?"
"I did not know if I was allowed to follow you... Or if I should have followed Ei—I mean, Young Master," his thumb brushed against his bottom lip, his gaze on the grass.
"Haah... Come," he said, his tone low, unlike the angry one Ren had expected.
Silently, he followed the tall figure before him. For the first time, he wondered what hid beneath those twirling, demonic strings. Was it an ugly, hideous man—or a handsome, captivating one?