Under the bright chandelier, Zayden and Eiran sat at the dining table. Countless additional candles had been placed along its length, even though daylight still streamed through the windows.

Although he wanted to return to his own palace, Zayden had decided to remain in the main one in case something went wrong with the delegation.

Folding their hands neatly in front of them, the servants kept their heads lowered. The men wore dark red shirts and pants, while the women wore white shirts paired with dark red skirts.

"Eiran, where is your anklet?" Zayden finally asked, breaking the silence.

Tilting his head to the side, Eiran blinked, confused. "In my room."

Zayden’s gaze narrowed slightly. "In your room?" he repeated.

Eiran nodded, still chewing his food, unaware of the reason behind the question.

Zayden didn’t reply. His thoughts drifted back to the morning—when he had gone to fetch clothes for Ren himself rather than call the servants. He didn’t want anyone else rummaging through the omega’s belongings. But inside the small bag lying by the bed, he had found it.

The anklet.

The same silver anklet he had gifted Eiran. If he hadn’t seen this one, he wouldn’t have realized that the one he gave Eiran was missing a gem.

He gripped his glass, the faint clink of metal against the table drawing a few curious glances from the servants. Yet none dared to speak.

Why was Eiran’s anklet in Ren’s possession? Or was it... the other one’s pair?

As if to answer all his questions, Ren’s sweet orange-blossom scent drifted through the air, announcing his presence. Zayden looked up, finding the man standing before him, wearing the clothes he had left in that room—a light blue shirt and darker blue pants. The buttons were done up to his collar, the neatness of his attire only making his slender figure more noticeable.

Despite himself, Zayden recalled the glimpses of his body from yesterday. His cheeks flushed faintly as he averted his gaze, a trace of his pheromones slipping into the air.

The moment that musky scent reached Ren, everything came rushing back.

"You are my fated mate."

Zayden’s deep voice echoed in his mind, freezing him on the spot. Had he remembered earlier, he would have come better prepared.

"Papa! Come and eat!" Eiran waved the moment he saw him.

Ren forced a small smile and took a seat beside his son. He needed to keep his composure around the child. He couldn’t let Eiran get caught up in whatever was happening between him and Zayden.

Although... Why had the General said such a thing?

He saw the mark, didn’t he? He knows I’m already marked. He even said so himself.

Ren’s teeth sank into his lower lip, guilt burning in his chest.

Across the table, Zayden’s eyes never left the anklet. Questions kept rising, but he held them in. He couldn’t ask—not here, not in front of Eiran or the servants. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

"Ren," he finally said.

The omega flinched, lifting his head slowly. He blinked, wary, bracing himself for whatever nonsense the man would say next.

As if telling me I was his fated mate wasn’t already enough...

"Yes?" His voice came out softer than usual.

"We need to talk." Zayden’s lips curved into a faint, almost awkward smile.

Even if Ren wanted to ask about what, he held himself back. His pulse quickened, but he forced his expression to remain calm.

"Papa, this cake is so good! Taste it!" Eiran cut a small piece with his fork and held it out toward him, smiling brightly.

Ren blinked, then leaned forward. Closing his eyes, he accepted the bite, covering his mouth as he chewed. The sweetness filled his tongue, but he barely tasted it.

"It’s good," he managed softly, smiling faintly for his son’s sake.

When he looked up again, his smile faltered. Zayden was watching him.

That gaze—steady, unreadable—made Ren’s chest tighten. It wasn’t cold or distant like before. Instead, there was something in it he didn’t want to name. Something that made the air feel too warm, his throat too dry.

He quickly averted his eyes, pretending to reach for the napkin. His fingers trembled slightly.

"Are you alright?" Zayden asked, noticing the servant’s shaky hands.

Ren nodded quickly, though he barely heard the question. Whatever it was, nodding seemed the safest answer.

Once Eiran finished eating, he hopped off his chair.

"Dad, Uncle said I could go to the garden today. Can I?" His bright eyes looked up eagerly.

Zayden’s gaze softened, a faint smile touching his lips.

"Of course. And call him His Imperial Highness. You," he pointed to one of the maids, "lead the way. And nothing better happen to him."

The child dashed out of the room, excitement clung to his steps. The maid bowed nervously to Zayden before following after the boy.

"We should head out as well," the General’s voice came unexpectedly.

Startled, Ren jolted, the glass slipping in his hand and spilling water across the table. He gasped quietly and reached for the napkins in a rush.

"Leave it," Zayden said calmly. "Someone else will clean it." He rose from his seat, his tone too even to read.

Ren froze, then stood quickly as well. His heart pounded against his ribs, and he couldn’t understand why he was making so many mistakes today. Was it because of yesterday?

No—he shook his head. Why did it even matter? He wasn’t the kind to be rattled by such things.

Nothing happened.

He repeated to himself.

Zayden led the way, taking a path Ren didn’t recognize. The hallway’s décor changed with every step they took—the furniture, the paintings, even the scent of the air felt different. Perhaps they were heading toward another palace, not the main one. Only the Crown Prince’s residence stood apart from it.

All other royal family members, including Zayden, had their own wings within the main palace.

Yet Ren couldn’t help but wonder if these dark halls—furnished in deep wood, grey walls, and paintings framed in black instead of gold—belonged to the General himself. It felt too different from the mansion where he had lived for the past few years.

Suddenly, the General’s steps halted. He turned slightly, as if to make sure Ren was following. But he knew the servant would follow—he always did. Without question.

Zayden slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of what he’d hidden there before leaving his old house. Slowly, he drew it out. The anklet. Its silver chain glinted faintly in the light as it hung from his hand, swinging left and right for a few seconds.

"Why do you have this?" His voice was low, his jaw tight.