Chapter 87: 87 — How Did He Find it?
"Did I wake you?" Zayden’s voice was soft, almost like a greeting—something Ren wasn’t used to.
"...My Lord?"
With a snap of his fingers, Zayden lit the candle on the night table beside the bed. The flickering flame cast light across the young man’s face.
Having barely seen him before, Ren couldn’t help but stare. A thin white robe clung loosely to his frame, the fabric doing little to hide the contours of muscle beneath. Even in the dim glow, with so little light to catch on, his features were undeniably beautiful.
But can a man be beautiful?
"May I sit?"
Ren looked up—the question was unexpected. Hesitantly, he nodded. He should have been the one to stand, greet him.
But... Why is he here?
Did the General want to discuss something? Was he going to dismiss him for disturbing the banquet earlier? Or for neglecting his duties because he was too consumed by the question of how Zayden had come to possess his anklet?
His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t leave the mansion now. Curling his fingers, he clutched the bedsheets.
"Certainly."
"Your face says otherwise," Zayden chuckled, dragging the nearest chair and sitting in it.
"My face?"
The General shook his head.
"Forget that. How about you tell me what happened, hmm?" His lips curled into a grin, but his eyes searched for answers in Ren’s.
After all, even a strong human wouldn’t have survived all those wounds. Mostly when monsters usually lose their minds when it rains.
The servant didn’t give in. He hid everything too well, even when someone locked eyes with him. He wasn’t one to flinch under such pressure.
"I was attacked by some monsters in the forest."
Zayden’s gaze narrowed.
Those damned monsters... But how did he, of all people, make it out alive?
Now, Ren couldn’t escape his suspicious stare. And—
"My Lord, where did you find that anklet?"
The question caught Zayden off guard. He frowned.
Did Ren need to know Eiran was a half-dragon? That he was found in the lair of one he had killed by mistake? Was he curious about Eiran’s origins? Or was he trying to find Zayden’s weakness? The unclear motives only fueled his doubts about him.
"Why do you ask?"
"Please tell me. Where did you find it?" His voice rose despite himself. The candle reflected a fire in his eyes—one Zayden had never seen before.
However, that didn’t ease his worry that his attendant might be a spy. Rather, it made it more evident to him. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to grab him, drag him to the dungeon, or even place his blade against his pale neck.
"Should I tell you the truth, or a lie?"
"The truth." The answer came immediately; Ren didn’t hesitate. It was about his child, and it didn’t matter if he sounded suspicious right now.
"Well... it belongs to my son," he grinned.
Ren lowered his gaze to the floor. It was idiotic of him to expect a clear answer from the General. A man who found ways to torment him in strange ways wouldn’t let go of this chance—a chance to confuse him about something he desperately needed to know.
However, Ren couldn’t give up. Not yet. Determined, he looked up once again, locking eyes with Zayden.
"Where did you find him?"
Zayden furrowed his brows. The chair screeched against the floor as he rose abruptly from his seat.
"Why do you ask?"
"Can I not know? Miss Hannah knows."
"Are you telling me you are the same as her?" His voice was louder this time, shattering the quietness in the room. He leaned closer, the candle flickering a soft orange light between them, barely casting light on their faces. All they could see were each other’s red eyes, glimmering in the dark.
"I never said so. I am your attendant and the Young Master’s father."
Zayden scoffed.
"Wait, are you starting to believe you are his father because he calls you that? Do not fool yourself, Ren."
Ren parted his lips to answer but stopped. He blinked, perplexed. Did the General just... call him by his name?
"You..."
"Do not look at me like that," he whispered. "It makes me want to do things," he mumbled under his breath, making sure Ren couldn’t hear.
"Look at you like what, My Lord?"
Zayden shook his head.
"Good night."
He said simply, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.
Ren stared at the wooden door as if it would once again swing open and the General would return to answer his question. But that was only wishful thinking. He simply needed to connect the dots himself.
He stepped on the ground, pushing away his blankets.
Outside, the cold wind flew stronger after the rain. The soil was damp, marked with the imprints of the carriages’ wheels.
He bent down, pulling out the diary he had hidden beneath the bed before leaving.
"It’s good I did not bring this... I would have forgotten, like everything else," he sighed, retrieving the pen he had tucked inside its pages.
Staring at the blank paper, he tried to remember where he had dropped his bag. Was it during the fight with the monsters? Or when he discovered his child missing from the dragon’s lair—
He froze.
A memory stirred. Hannah had mentioned something once. But the words came back only faintly, blurred voices and fractured images. Back then, with Eiran and Zayden weighing on his mind, he hadn’t cared to listen.
His grip on the pen tightened. He should have listened carefully and attentively.
Ren lowered the pen to the paper, his hand trembling as the first lines took shape. A rough sketch of the anklet. Then, beside it, another of Eiran’s small figure, the way he held Zayden’s arm.
First, Zayden isn’t Eiran’s real father. That much was certain. He had confirmed it not long ago.
So who were Eiran’s parents?
Ren’s jaw tightened. Zayden had said the anklet belonged to Eiran.
But how?
That was impossible. It was his. He could never mistake that. Every detail was carved into his memory, the shapes, the carefully crafted light green gems. There could not be another like this.
Then... how did Zayden come to have it? How did he find it?
He wrote the question down, but his hand froze halfway through.
He said it’s Eiran’s—
Ren’s breath hitched. The pen slipped slightly, blotting the page with ink. His gaze softened as the words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.
"My... child?" he murmured, the syllables sounding fragile, almost unreal. Too good to be real.