"I will bring Eiran with me," Soren stated, holding the child’s hand.
Zayden folded his arms, looking at Rihan, eyes narrowed.
"Isn’t that Crown Prince Rihan?"
Soren nodded, following his brother’s gaze.
The man was digging at the snow with his boots as he kept staring at the shop in front of him through the glass window.
"Why is he here? Isn’t he supposed to meet with the Emperor?"
Soren didn’t answer, coughing.
"I will bring him to the palace. Meanwhile, both of you stay back," he paused, trying to find an excuse for why the two should stay behind.
"Why?" Ren asked, blinking. "We can return right away, Your Imperial Highness."
"No," the Imperial Crown Prince shook his head almost immediately. "I—" he looked around, trying to find a reason. "I need a new outfit. Zayden knows my size, and I trust your fashion sense," he smiled brightly. "Eiran, let’s go," he said quickly, walking away from the two men who simply looked at him, confused.
"Why is he rushing like that?" Zayden mumbled, scratching his neck.
He watched Rihan follow his brother. From the way he dragged his feet on the snow-covered road, it couldn’t be more evident that he didn’t want to go. But why?
"My lord?"
Ren’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked beside him—at the young man’s flushed red cheeks. Although a muffler was wrapped around his neck, covering his mouth slightly, his face still seemed soaked with cherry juice.
He chuckled at the thought. Ren would never make a mess while eating, would he?
"Let’s go. There’s a shop in the next alley that he loves," Zayden said, smiling brightly.
When was the last time he felt this much happiness? He couldn’t recall. The snow crunched softly under their boots as they walked side by side, the cold air turning their breaths into faint smoke in the cold wind.
Ren followed quietly, his hands tucked in his sleeves. He didn’t question whether Zayden knew the way—after all, of course he did. He was the great Imperial General, confident and sure in every path he took.
Or so Ren thought.
After the fifth turn around the same street corner, realization began to hit the servant.
The same pastry stand. The same cat sleeping atop the barrel. The same bewildered merchant staring at them for the third time, his expression clearly stating: Country bumpkins.
Ren slowed his pace, looking around and blinking.
"My lord... didn’t we pass this shop already?" He tilted his head toward the store.
Zayden froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned.
"Did we?" he asked, forcing a soft laugh and feigning ignorance a little too obviously.
Ren gave him a look—the kind of polite, skeptical stare that could silence a hundred soldiers.
Zayden coughed, averting his gaze.
"I know the way," he said defensively. "It’s just... the roads all look similar in the snow. Easy to mistake one turn for another."
"So... we are lost?"
"Lost is a strong word," Zayden said quickly. "I prefer... temporarily redirected." He nodded in agreement with himself, his thumb rubbing his bottom lip.
Ren sighed, though a small laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it. Zayden looked at him—and for the first time that day, Ren’s laughter felt like sunlight breaking through winter’s grey clouds.
"You look pretty while laughing but... don’t laugh at me," Zayden muttered, half embarrassed, half amused. "You are supposed to trust your lord."
"Lord? Not master?" Ren asked teasingly. For some reason, this was fun.
Zayden clicked his tongue, not answering.
"So, I am not allowed to laugh even when my lord loses his way in the middle of a market street?"
"Especially then," he said, grinning.
Their eyes met—just briefly—but the air between them softened. Snowflakes landed on Ren’s hair, melting against his silver strands like tiny pearls. Zayden’s gloved hand twitched slightly, as if tempted to brush them away.
Ren tilted his head.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," Zayden said quickly, tearing his gaze away. "We will... find the shop. Eventually. I promise."
Ren smiled faintly. "Even if we don’t... this isn’t bad either."
Zayden blinked, startled—and then, slowly, he smiled too.
"No... it isn’t." His hands flew to his face, trying to cover his flushed cheeks. His heart raced like there was no tomorrow.
Thankfully I can control my pheromones... or else—
He shook his head, imagining the worst that could happen.
He shook his head quickly, forcing his thoughts back in order. When he looked up, he found Ren already walking ahead, eyes fixed on something beyond the crowd.
"Ren?" Zayden called, following his gaze.
Ren stopped in front of a small jewelry shop, the kind that looked almost hidden between larger stores. Too small to even catch one’s eye.
The servant’s gaze softened, a strange, wistful look crossing his face.
"My Lord," he said quietly, "could we go in for a moment?"
Zayden blinked in surprise. It was rare for Ren to ask for something for himself.
"...Of course," he said in a heartbeat.
Finally, I’ll get to know what he likes.
Inside, the scent of polished wood and lavender filled the air. Ren’s attention immediately went to a glass display near the back. A delicate necklace rested inside—a silver chain with a lavender-shaped pendant, shimmering faintly under the golden light hung in the ceiling.
"Do you want it?" Zayden asked.
Ren flinched slightly, as though caught doing something he shouldn’t. Then he turned toward Zayden, his voice barely above a whisper.
"May I? I did not bring any money, but I will pay you back once we leave the capital."
Zayden chuckled, shaking his head.
"Do I still appear poor to you? I can afford a few shirings to buy you something." He laughed, recalling the time when this man called him poor because he thought his salary was too low.
Ren didn’t answer—he only looked away, embarrassed.
He sure holds grudges... He didn’t forget that time.
Zayden knew Ren wasn’t ungrateful. The servant simply didn’t understand that generosity came naturally to him.
As the General handed the necklace to the shopkeeper, he asked casually,
"But why this one?"
Ren hesitated, his gaze lingering on the pendant. Then, gathering courage, he said softly,
"It resembles Ilyan’s hair colour."
A faint, almost nostalgic smile curved his lips at the mention of that name.
Zayden’s fingers faltered—he nearly dropped the necklace before catching it again.
"O–Oh," he managed.
He still thinks about him...
The thought itself pierced deep in his chest, sharp. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
When the shopkeeper handed the necklace back, Zayden gently held it out toward Ren.
"You should wear it," he said.
Ren blinked in surprise.
"Now?"
"Yes," Zayden replied. "It suits you."
Ren hesitated before taking it. His fingers brushed Zayden’s as he did, sending an unexpected spark through both of them.
Zayden swallowed hard, pretending not to notice the warmth creeping up his neck again.
Don’t be ridiculous, Zayden. That man is not even alive.
He clenched his fists, his jaw tight.