For some reason, Ren hadn't spoken to Zayden all day. It was as if he had retreated behind the same cold wall that once separated them—polite, distant, unreadable. He still performed his duties flawlessly, tending to Eiran and him, handling their meals and clothes, making sure everything ran smoothly. Yet, Zayden could tell something was wrong.
Every word Ren uttered was curt—every fleeting glance.
He didn't smile. He didn't talk.
Surely, something must have happened for him to act this way. But what?
Zayden couldn't bring himself to ask at dinner—not with Eiran there, joyfully chatting about the day's adventures. The boy had adapted far better to palace life than either of them expected. But Zayden's thoughts remained elsewhere, tangled in confusion and unease.
Once dinner ended, he sent a maid to summon Ren to his chambers.
Now, alone, he paced restlessly across the room, biting the tip of his thumb as anxious thoughts consumed him.
