The sun was already setting before he realized it. Some servants came, offering lunch or a snack, but he refused them—sending them away the moment they stepped too close to the door.
He didn’t want anyone to notice Ren’s state. They would spread rumours, cause him harm like before—like in his mansion when he first arrived. And palace rumours were the worst; they travelled like the wind, impossible to trace back to the one who started them.
Zayden inhaled slowly, peeking through the cracked door. Ren had finally drifted into a shallow sleep, blankets tangled around him. The discarded clothes on the floor caught his eye.
A small frown formed on Zayden’s face.
He hates mess...
He debated stepping in, but paused right away.
If he wakes now and sees this, he’ll be upset.
As soon as the man’s scent drifted into his nostrils, Zayden bit his hand again, bleeding slightly, forcing himself to stay still.
He could wait.
Let Ren wake on his own terms.
Inside, the servant stirred slightly, murmuring in his sleep. Zayden’s eyes softened. He closed the door, leaning against the wall and slowly sinking to the floor. His shoulders trembled, and a quiet laugh escaped him.
If anyone had heard, they would have yelled, "Demon!" in a heartbeat—just like Ren had on their first meeting.
That memory had once piqued Zayden’s curiosity. But back then, he hadn’t known that such feelings could shift to love so quickly. He had heard of such emotions over the years but never truly believed in them. He realized their weight only when Eiran went missing—and even amidst that chaos, Ren’s presence had been enough to soothe his fears and worries.
"Zayden, when love finds you, don’t forget to tell me. I will share some tips," a familiar voice echoed in his mind, and the smile on his lips vanished immediately.
He sprang to his feet, adjusting his messy hair. Inhaling deeply, he stepped into the room. His lungs filled with Ren’s scent, and the stirrings of his urges awoke again—but he forced them down, pressing his lips hard together.
Walking toward the windows, he opened them to clear the air in the room.
Zayden’s gaze swept over the room again—the area where Ren slept.
Blankets half-tangled, clothes scattered, the faint sound of the silver-haired young man’s steady breathing. He stepped closer, carefully folding a corner of the blanket over him, his fingers brushing the soft fabric without touching skin. He didn’t dare to. The past few years, he tried to touch him, subtly. But now, he couldn’t. And he didn’t know why.
Ren stirred, a low murmur escaping him.
Zayden froze, heart racing, every instinct screaming to move closer. He pressed his lips together, biting the inside of his cheek until the disgusting taste of blood filled his mouth.
The pheromones—Ren’s scent—hung thick in the air, sweet and maddening.
Zayden inhaled slowly, forcing his body to obey, forcing himself to remain calm like the decor in the corner of the room. He would not touch him. Not yet. Not without permission.
Ren shifted again, soft whimpers caught in his throat. Zayden’s hand hovered near the blankets, fighting against his darkest desires, until he finally stepped back. He leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, eyes never leaving him.
"You can do this, Zayden. You are not insane," he whispered to the empty room. "Not like those alphas. You promised yourself."
***
When Ren woke up, he found himself naked. He gasped, the memory of earlier flooding back—his own body betraying him, the heat overwhelming, the trembling, the scent he couldn’t control. His face burned red, hands flying to cover himself as if that could erase what had happened. He had shown yet another vulnerable side in front of the General!
He must think I am weak...
Looking around, Ren exhaled deeply. He was in his own room, unlike last time.
Coughing to clear his throat, he realized his throat was burning. Although his body felt weak, he reached for the glass of water beside the bed. The glass slipped from his hands, crashing against the floor.
The door swung open, causing Ren to flinch. He was prepared for someone to enter the room. What if it was High Priest Charles? Did he recognize him? But he didn’t hear the person enter yet. He swallowed hard, slowly turning to face whoever stood at the entrance.
A soft, low chuckle echoed in the quiet room.
"Why are you looking at me as if I have wronged you?" Zayden said. "Don’t tell me you wish to kill whoever helps you."
Ren gasped, eyes wide. He quickly pulled the blanket over himself, which had slipped down, exposing his chest and stomach.
"For a man who barely practices swordsmanship, you are well built," the General smiled, standing there. He wanted to rush in, to embrace him.
Why does he have to look so beautiful?... If he wore a wedding suit, wouldn’t he look even more handsome?
He shook his head.
Ugh, shut up. What am I even thinking? Must be because Father wants me to get married.
Zayden told himself.
"My Lord? Why are you here?" Ren asked, narrowing his eyes, confused.
He hadn’t expected Zayden to be the first person he saw upon waking. After all, he had a few meetings planned today... he should’ve stayed in his own room.
What if he thinks I’m... weak? Or worse, disgusting, spreading my pheromones every now and then like an animal in heat?
The thought alone left a sour taste in his mouth. His stomach twisted, making him want to puke—disgusted at himself for being like this. He was never this weak. He had never lost control of his pheromones like this.
"Why? Can I not visit my new friend?" Zayden asked, forcing a bitter smile. He had spent the entire day waiting for Ren to feel better, and this was how he was greeted.
Ren’s heart raced. He wanted to say something—anything—but his mouth felt dry. His body still felt... exposed, and he could feel the remnants of his earlier heat pulsing through him. But being called a friend settled his inner turmoil, even if only briefly.
"I-Of course you can. I simply didn’t know we were ’friends.’"