Eiran sat on the chair, swinging his legs. Ren left the room briefly to fetch them lunch after Zayden refused to go to the dining table.
The pair of father and son sat across from each other in silence for a few minutes already, and the servants were all sent outside by Zayden.
Eiran didn’t question it, telling himself: Maybe dad wants to spend some time alone.
"Why did you do that?" Zayden finally broke the quietness in the room, arms folded, legs crossed as he sat on the chair facing him.
"Do what?" Eiran blinked, trying his best to act clueless.
He probably didn’t mean that, right?
"You know very well what I am talking about, Eiran," Zayden said, his voice sharp. "Why did you hurt yourself on purpose?"
The boy’s gaze dropped to the floor. His lips trembled before he whispered, "I... heard the maids say that when someone’s hurt, people want to stay with them. I thought... maybe then Papa wouldn’t leave me." His voice cracked. He picked at his nail, tears sliding down his cheeks, his head lowered in a futile attempt to hide his face.
Zayden’s finger rubbed at an eyebrow in disbelief. "Unbelievable..." he mumbled.
Eiran looked up, startled.
"Did I... do something wrong?" He dropped his hand on his knees, his wide green eyes damp and terrified, as if he expected rejection—a harsh scolding befalling him soon.
Zayden exhaled slowly.
He had forgotten—Eiran might look eight, but inside, he was still so young. It had been barely a few months since he hatched from his egg.
Dragons grew unnaturally fast. Faster even than demons. And this one... was his responsibility.
If I hadn’t killed his mother, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Now I have to raise a dragon right—or disaster might fall on the whole empire.
Zayden leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. His voice came softer now.
The boy tilted his head, perplexed, trying to understand.
"You didn’t do wrong for wanting someone to stay," Zayden said slowly, watching his son’s small fists tighten on his knees. "But hurting yourself for that—" his jaw clenched, "—that is wrong."
After meeting his mother, the Empress, he explained the situation with Eiran and Ren’s relationship. He couldn’t accept it.
But when the Empress said, "A dragon chooses his parents. And you don’t have the right to determine who he will call father, or not," suddenly, his behavior in the past appeared childish. He had always been possessive, unwilling to share what was his.
However, the child wasn’t someone he could control. He had his own free will, and Zayden now knew he had to accept it. Hence, he allowed Ren to remain by his son’s side, to the point of declaring the servant Eiran’s father, his second parent, for the first time, despite denying it all these months.
Eiran swallowed hard. "But... I didn’t know how else to keep Papa close... He didn’t even come to see me today."
Zayden closed his eyes briefly. He remembered blood on the boy’s skin, remembered his own fury at the sight. When he opened them again, his voice was firm.
"Listen to me, Eiran. You don’t need to bleed to be cared for. If your Papa knew this—he would be hurt too. Didn’t you see how anxious he became when he saw your hands stained with blood? Do you want to hurt him like that?"
Eiran’s lips trembled, voice low. "No..."
"Then don’t ever do it again." His tone sharpened, leaving no room for argument. "If you are afraid of being left behind, you speak. You ask. You hold on. But you do not wound yourself. Do you understand?"
The boy nodded quickly, tears dripping onto his hands.
Zayden studied him for a long moment before finally reaching out, patting the boy’s head gently.
"I’m not mad," he said. "Now, hurry and fix your face before he returns. Or else he’ll think I was the one who made you cry."
He chuckled, and to his relief—it worked.
Eiran burst into laughter, back to his usual, innocent, angelic self.
"Are you feeling better, Young Master?" Just then, Ren entered the room, pushing the food trolley.
Zayden and Eiran exchanged a glance before smiling.
"How could he not feel better when he is with his Dad?" The general returned to his seat.
Ren didn’t pay attention, carefully placing the plates on the table at the corner of the room.
"Food is ready," he announced.
The pair of father and son rose from their seats, heading towards the table. They pulled the chair, sitting on it.
Ren stood by the side, watching them eat.
"Papa! Eat with us!" Eiran said, with a bright smile on his face.
Ren looked at Zayden who didn’t even spare him a glance.
Should I listen to the young master or not?—
The servant stood still, his body stiff, heart pounding as he thought of the consequences of his actions.
The first time, the general had treated him with a cold rudeness that left him perplexed.
The second time, he hadn’t lifted a hand—but instead asked strange, prying questions, as if peeling back his skin just to see what hid beneath.
So what about this time?
What would he do, sitting across from him again? Punish him? Mock him? Strip him bare with those sharp eyes?
The servant’s palms grew damp. He almost wished the man would shout, strike, do anything, instead of leaving him guessing as he quietly enjoyed the meal.
"Papa!" Eiran shouted again. "Dad! Tell him to sit!" The boy gently pulled on the general’s sleeve.
Zayden finally looked up, chewing his food before speaking, "What are you waiting for? Sit down."
After he received the approval, Ren sat on the chair, letting out a soft relief. Perhaps this time, he wouldn’t mind? Last night, he also told Ren that he was Eiran’s father because the boy chose him as such. That status, bloodline, none of it mattered.
General Zayden is the second person who told me this.
Taking a bite of the steak, Ren tried to study the man.
However, unable to see anything apart from his eyes made it harder to examine him closely.
"You must truly love my face," Zayden’s voice came too unexpectedly.
Ren paused, averting his gaze.
"It is not like that," he replied, his voice low.
"Hmmmm?" Zayden grinned, glancing at Ren.
The brief conversation was interrupted by a servant who knocked at the door, holding a piece of paper in his hands.
"What is it?" The general asked.
The maid stepped closer to the dining table, head low.
"Duke Danman has sent a letter. The knight who brought this said he will return with your reply."
"Haah..." Zayden clenched his jaw. "How dare you.... On my day off, at that?" He grumbled under his breath.
"Duke Daman? Who’s that?" Eiran asked, eyes curious.
The general snorted, patting the child’s head before rising from the chair with a low thud.
"I will see you when I finish looking into this, son. Meanwhile, why don’t you enjoy your meal with your Papa?" He grinned, eyes darting from the boy to the servant who instantly looked away as if caught stealing.
"Alright!" The child excitedly swung his legs.
"Now then... let’s see what Duke Danman wants from me." Zayden took the letter from the maid and stepped out of his room, his gaze sharp and glowing red.