The physician finally composed himself, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
"My Lord," he said with a gentle smile, his wrinkles deepening, "if every man who thought of someone too often were bewitched, the world would be nothing but curses and spells. Although Revhara is..." He didn’t continue.
In Revhara, since magic was common, such cases were not entirely rare. However, someone couldn’t possibly bewitch a strong demon such as the General. It had to be something else.
Zayden’s frown deepened.
"Do not mock me. You know what I am. My mind has never been this... clouded." His voice dropped, rough, almost strained. "I cannot focus. I cannot rest. He is always in my mind."
The physician leaned back, studying him carefully. The firelight cast deep shadows across Zayden’s sharp features, his jaw visibly clenched.
"What you describe," he said at last, "is no curse, my Lord. It is desire."
"Desire?" Zayden scoffed, the word tasting bitter. "For an omega?" His chair scraped against the floor as he leaned forward, voice low, as if it were a secret no one should know of. "I... How could I?"
"It seems," the physician replied calmly, "your heart betrays you. You seek explanations in witchcraft because you cannot accept the truth." He held back his laughter. Demons were too prideful to admit they liked someone. Much less than someone had enough control over them to ’bewitch’ them.
Zayden’s hands curled into fists. His pulse was loud enough to reach his ears. "You think I... desire that person?"
"Not think," the physician corrected softly. "I am certain."
Zayden’s fingers trembled against the table.
He had never been swayed by anyone. Not by the noble ladies who tried to cling to him, not by the alphas who looked at him with envy or challenge, and certainly not by omegas, with their cloying sweetness.
"I am not so weak," he growled. "I would never fall for something as pitiful as—" He stopped himself, the words choking in his throat. Ren wasn’t pitiful. If anything, he was...
The physician’s smile faded. He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"My Lord... has it never crossed your mind? Perhaps this omega is not ordinary. Perhaps he is your fated mate."
The words slammed into him like a heavy rock.
Zayden froze, his breath caught. His blood ran hot, then cold within a few seconds.
"My... fated mate?" his voice echoed, as if the phrase itself were the guillotine.
The physician nodded, his expression serious.
"It would explain why you, who have never been stirred by any before, now find yourself restless, sleepless, consumed by thoughts you cannot banish. No spell can bind a heart so strongly. Only your fated mate can."
Zayden laughed—harsh, humorless.
"Fate? Don’t jest with me, old man. Demons do not... mate with omegas. And a fated mate is a myth. There is no way this can be true."
"And yet," the physician said gently, "your body and soul know what your pride will not admit." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel•fire.net
Zayden pursed his lips.
The most prideful being there could be, despite himself. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried, he would still end up behaving like a damned demon despite himself.
He remembered Ren’s steady eyes, his silence, his scent—subtle, but enough to unravel him. He slammed a hand on the table, rising abruptly.
"No. I refuse to believe it." His voice shook with anger, but beneath it was something far more dangerous: fear.
The thought of someone being able to control him shook something within him. Control his ruts, his pheromones, his body—and for it to be Ren, a servant, a human, someone with mysterious origins... He couldn’t accept it. At least not until he was proven innocent.
At the banquet, music played once more, the mansion feeling more alive than on the first night.
The guests began to forget about the murder and resumed their ways of fun. Some flirted with omegas, others with alphas, each trying to lure the most attractive ones.
Zayden twirled the glass of alcohol in his hand, staring blankly at his own reflection within it.
A fated mate? My attendant? How could this be? Surely, crossing paths with one’s fated mate in a lifetime was no less than a myth.
Most people marked each other out of necessity or lust, not because their souls were bound by fate.
"My Lord, may I have a dance with you?" a young lady bowed, smiling brightly at him.
He studied her—blonde hair, green eyes, thin yet with curves. However, as always, nothing stirred within him.
"My son needs me," he forced a smile and turned toward Eiran.
The child stood near a table, surrounded by other kids, some taller, some shorter.
"Did you make friends?" Zayden asked, gently patting his head.
Eiran nodded quickly.
"When Papa comes, I will tell him I made new friends. He will be proud of me, right?"
Zayden smiled faintly, unsure what to reply. He wasn’t even certain if Ren would return—after all, he had sent a few knights after him, and they had returned two days later, unable to find him. Now, it had been five days since he left. Eiran talked about him enough to drive someone mad, yet Zayden silently listened to everything he didn’t know about his servant.
"P-Papa?" Eiran whispered, his voice loud enough for Zayden to hear.
"He will come at some point..." Zayden sighed. Despite having promised the child that he would bring him, he feared he would fail.
"Papa!" Eiran’s loud scream stopped the musicians from playing their instruments. He rushed toward the entrance, his footsteps echoing against the marbled floor.
Zayden’s eyes followed the small figure barreling toward the entrance, his pulse quickening. Is he back?..
The hall fell into uneasy silence, guests frozen mid-conversation, their gazes drawn to the child’s sudden urgency. What was going on?
Through the large doors, a figure emerged. Damp silver hair hid his face, clothes torn, exposing parts of his pale skin and darkened with blood.
Eiran didn’t hesitate.
"PAPA!" he shouted again, running faster, arms outstretched.
Whispers spread like wildfire through the hall.
Papa? Him? The General’s... partner?
Guests recoiled, unsure whether to stare in awe or disgust—the General chose someone like him? A human?
Ren knelt as Eiran reached him, lifting the child into his arms carefully, as if too much pressure could break him. Blood and rain streaked his features, but his eyes were steady, scanning the room as if daring anyone to approach him. His fingers trembled. The emptiness he had felt in his chest when he couldn’t find his child seemed to have vanished.
Zayden’s breath caught. His mind refused to process the storm of emotions—fear, relief, worry, and something he refused to name.
With slow steps, he approached Ren.
"How did you get hurt?" he asked, his voice trembling despite himself.
The sight of this man, trembling and covered in blood, unsettled him. He wanted to pull him into his arms, to promise him everything would be alright, that he was safe now. But he couldn’t. Something held him back—something deep inside him whispering that he shouldn’t.