Rowan's POV
"Now," he said lazily, his voice steeped in bored amusement, "leave my sight and let me finish what I came here to do. Or—" his lips curved into something predatory, almost pleased, "—we can do this the hard way. Kneel before me and call me your lord."
The audacity made my blood burn.
I lunged without warning, kicking my boot toward him—but he was already moving, gliding back just enough for my strike to carve nothing but empty air.
"You don't get to order me," I snapped, fixing him with a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "You're nothing but a lowly commoner thief."
He laughed softly, as if I had offered him a private joke.
"Oh? Look at that. You're not trembling?" His gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate, like a hand tracing skin. "I thought a cowardly son of a duke would cry the moment he was cornered."
"Tell me your name," I demanded, tightening my grip on my sword. "I will have you captured and imprisoned. Do you even understand what you're stealing? Those luggages belong to the prince and princess of Ardentia."
He paused.
Then, amused, he turned his back on me.
"Oh?" he said lightly. "Then I suppose they're worth stealing even more."
My vision went red.
"Don't you dare turn your back on me while I'm talking!"
Before I could move, he kicked open one of the luggage chests.
Clothes spilled across the forest floor.
And then I saw them.
Female undergarments.
My stomach twisted.
The thief crouched, picked one up between two fingers, and slowly lifted it to his nose.
He inhaled deeply as if savoring the scent of a rare flower he picked up on the ground.
Something cold settled in my chest.
This man wasn't merely a criminal.
There was something wrong with him—something predatory—and whatever he intended to do next promised to be worse.
"Bastard!" I shouted, pointing my sword straight at him. "That belongs to the princess!"
He didn't even glance at the blade.
"Mmm," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. "Smells sweet."
Horror crawled up my spine.
"What are you?" I spat. "Some perverted thief?"
He turned his head slightly, still holding the fabric beneath his nose, and finally looked at me.
"I order you to drop that," I said, forcing steel into my voice. "And face the consequences of what you've done."
He scoffed.
"So loud. So noble." He waved the garment lazily. "You want to smell it too? Strawberry."
Then—without warning—he tossed it straight at me.
It struck my face with a sharp, humiliating impact, and I tore it away at once, more startled than hurt.
My breath hitched.
"No—!" I recoiled. "Enough! I will arrest you myself!"
I charged.
Steel flashed—
—and pain exploded in my gut.
His fist slammed into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs. My sword slipped from my fingers as I dropped to my knees, choking, vision blurring.
"Oh? Did you get hurt?" he asked casually.
I glared up at him, teeth clenched.
Then I saw it.
My sword—now resting in his hand.
"Don't touch that," I growled, fighting for breath.
He answered with a kick.
My back slammed into the earth. I tried to force myself upright, to kneel, to fight—but the forest spun violently around me. And in that dizzy, sickening moment of clarity, I understood the truth.
I had never been the hunter in this encounter.
I had been the prey.
He approached me slowly, his boots crunching against the dirt, amusement curling at his lips as if he were admiring a prize already won.
Then the cold edge of my own blade slid beneath my chin.
He tilted my head up.
My pulse thundered in my ears. This man was unpredictable—unhinged—and that made him far more terrifying than any ordinary criminal.
"I like that look," he murmured. "That anger. It suits you." His eyes gleamed darkly. "Now give me another amusing expression."
I swallowed.
"The look where a royalty like you begs in front of a commoner like me."
"I'd rather die," I hissed.
"Ah," he said softly.
The blade shifted.
A sharp sting blossomed against my the skin beneath my chin.
Blood slid down the steel.
He wasn't bluffing.
Still—I refused.
"Or," he said in a low voice, "you could say... please spare me, my lord. My master."
"Never."
He chuckled.
And then—
Slash.
Pain tore through my chest as fabric ripped apart. My upper garment split open, warm blood spilling over white cloth, staining it red. I gasped, my body shaking, lungs burning as if fire had been poured into them.
"I told you," he said calmly, watching my blood drip to the ground. "Your status means nothing to me. I could kill you and leave you rotting somewhere no one would ever find you."
He leaned closer.
"But killing you would be boring."
His voice dropped, intimate—almost tender.
"I want you to remember me. To know that somewhere out there exists someone who can end you anytime." His smile sharpened. "Someone lower than you."
The wound didn't hurt the way I expected it to.
It burned—sharp and persistent—like it demanded to be remembered.
"That wound," he said evenly, watching the blood seep into my torn clothes, "will turn into a scar. And every time you see it..."
His eyes lifted to mine.
"You will remember my face, Rowan."
Rage surged through me, hot and violent.
"I swear," I snarled, teeth clenched, "if I ever catch you, I will make you pay. I will give you the punishment you deserve."
His lips curved upward.
"I'll be waiting."
Before I could react, his fingers tangled into my hair, gripping just tight enough to force my head up. His face was close—too close—his gaze piercing and unblinking.
"I can see it," he murmured, satisfaction lacing his voice. "Fear. You can't hide it. It's all over your eyes."
"Get your hands off me," I hissed as I held his hand firmly.
He didn't let go immediately.
Instead, his grip loosened—slowly—and his fingers slid through my hair, almost gentle. Almost mocking.
"Should I treat you like my pet?" he asked softly. "I think you'd look better that way."
A pause.
"Maybe I should make you my dog."
My stomach churned.
"Insolent commoner!" I shouted, swatting his hand away.
He laughed—low, delighted.
"Oh?" he said. "My dog is a bit aggressive."
Then his smile sharpened.
"Next time," he continued lightly, "I'll bring a leash. So you remember who you belong to." His eyes flicked down to my wound. "Once I do, you won't bark like that anymore."
I trembled with fury.
"For now, consider that wound that I etched upon your chest," he said softly, "Is a mark from your owner."
"You're not just a thief," I spat. "You're sick."
He laughed harder, as if I had complimented him.
"Want me to add another mark?" he asked suddenly, eyes darkening. "One more scar. Somewhere you'll see every time you look in the mirror."
Before I could answer—
"Rowan!"
A familiar voice tore through the clearing.
We both froze.
His head turned toward the sound, irritation flashing across his face.
"Looks like your friends are here," he said, straightening. Then his gaze returned to me—slow, deliberate. "We will meet again. Next time..."
His lips curved cruelly.
"...I won't forget your leash."
Then he ran—taking my sword with him.
"Give that back!" I shouted, forcing myself up despite the pain. "A—argh!"
He didn't look back.
Only the echo of his laughter remained—along with the burn on my chest and the chilling certainty that this wasn't over.
Not even close.
"Rowan! What happened?" Aurein said when he reached me, immediately kneeling at my side. General Voltaire was with him.
"I met a dangerous thief who tried to steal your luggage," I said, my voice tight.
"You were right, General Voltaire," Aurein said anxiously. "Something was wrong when Rowan didn't return to the farmland right away." His eyes fell to my torn clothes and the wound on my chest. "Thank the gods he didn't kill you."
"He said he didn't want me dead yet," I said, fury surging anew. "He wanted to torment me—to leave a scar so I wouldn't forget him." My fists clenched. "I swear, the moment I see him again, I won't let this happen. He doesn't know the power I hold in this region. I will have him hunted down and imprisoned."
"Don't worry," Aurein said firmly. "I will help you. He will face severe punishment. This will reach my father."
As Aurein spoke, I stared at the blood staining my clothes—and all I could see was that man's smile.
Predatory.
Patient.
Waiting.
"I saw him from a far," General Voltaire said. "Brown hair. Long. Tied back. I was about to chase him, but he ran immediately."
"Don't bother following him," I said, staring blankly at the dirt as I sat on the ground. My voice came out flat, irritated. "It's just... annoying."
"Come," Aurein said gently. "Let's go back to the farmland so I can treat your wounds."
"Alright. Thank you," I replied, then frowned. "But what about Serena's belongings? She's definitely going to be furious when she finds out they got dirty."
"Don't worry about that," Aurein said. "She'll understand." Then he turned to General Voltaire. "Can you carry Rowan?"
"Okay," General Voltaire said.
Before I could even process what was happening, he stepped toward me—and the next thing I knew, the ground vanished beneath my feet.
He lifted me as if I weighed nothing.
One arm slid firmly under my legs, the other braced my back, cradling me in a way that felt utterly humiliating and—worse—unfairly secure. Like some fragile maiden in a storybook.
My brain completely shut down.
I didn't know how to react. I didn't know where to look. I didn't know how to exist.
"Just like you said, you really are heavy," General Voltaire said, a hint of mockery in his voice.
Strangely enough, I wasn't even annoyed.
"S-Sorry..." I muttered, unable to meet his eyes.
"Put one arm around my shoulder," he ordered.
"Oh. O-Okay," I said quietly.
I hesitated. But I did it anyway.
My fingers curled into the fabric of his garment, and I swallowed hard.
This was the first time someone had ever carried me like this.
I didn't know what I was supposed to feel—but I felt awkward. Unsettled. Alarmed. I was supposed to be the one protecting others, carrying them if needed. And yet here I was—being carried, being shielded.
By General Voltaire of all people.
That fact alone made it ten—no, a hundred times more dangerous.
"I'll just ask one of my servants to bring our things back to the—" I started, but General Voltaire cut me off.
"No need. I'll do it myself," he said calmly. "I'll return here after I bring you to the farmland. And if I happen to run into that thief..." His voice hardened. "I'll take care of him. I'll avenge you, Rowan."
Heat rushed straight to my face.
My chest tightened, fluttering stupidly at his words.
I pressed a hand to my chest—
"Ah!" I hissed, accidentally touching my wound.
The sharp pain snapped me back to reality, as if my body itself was scolding me.
Don't fall in love.
Don't get attached.
"Let's go, Aurein," General Voltaire said. "Stay close to me.
They began walking.
"Do you remember the thief's face, Rowan?" Aurein asked.
"Of course," I said grimly. "Even if I wanted to forget it, I couldn't. He'll pay for what he did." I clenched my jaw. "And he stole my sword. Damn it."
"At least he only took your sword," General Voltaire said suddenly, his gaze fixed forward. "And not your life."
I looked up at him.
Then he glanced down at me.
"If he had killed you," he said quietly, "it would've been my fault. You're under my responsibility as well."
My throat went dry.
I couldn't speak.
I turned my eyes away, because if I didn't, my heart really might burst. I wanted to tell him not to look at me like that. That it wasn't fair.
I didn't want to feel this.
This was too much.
It wasn't appropriate.
And I shouldn't dwell on these feelings—I knew that. The General wouldn't ever like me that way. His focus had always been on Aurein. And Aurein... Aurein was hopelessly in love with him.
No matter how tangled my emotions became, I couldn't wedge myself between them. I couldn't tear them apart.
"Rowan," Aurein said, pulling me back from my thoughts, "I think we should inform Duke Kristoff—your father—about this. It'll help us catch the thief."
"No," I said immediately. "I'll handle him myself." My voice hardened. "If I go to my father, that thief will mock me—say I still need my father to clean up my messes. If anyone catches him, it'll be me. With my own hands."
"You had the chance earlier," General Voltaire said. "Why didn't you take it?"
"Well..." I hesitated. "He caught me off guard."
"Hm?" General Voltaire said teasingly. "Don't tell me you were distracted because you found him attractive."
"What? Are you insane?" I snapped. "No! Never! He's a lowly commoner—" I stopped abruptly when I saw his gaze shift. "I mean—no offense. I was talking about him. Not you. You're... different. Honestly, I don't even see you as a commoner anymore."
The embarrassment burned worse than my wound.
"Do you want my help finding him?" General Voltaire asked.
"No," I said quickly. "You have other missions. This doesn't concern you. I'll handle it myself—while still assisting you, of course." I hesitated. "But... thank you for the offer, General Voltaire."
"Sure," he said easily. "Just let me know if you need my help."
"I will..." I said softly.
Then I felt it.
His breath brushed against my bare chest—warm, steady, grounding.
I wanted to tell him to put me down, so I wouldn't sense the warmth of his breath, so I wouldn't feel a thing.
But, I hated that I also wanted him not to.
I glanced at Aurein. He noticed me immediately, and when our eyes met, he smiled.
That smile comforted me.
And that was the problem.
It was infuriating—because I felt good. Both of them made my heart flutter, but in completely different ways.
With Aurein, my feelings made me want to protect him. To shield him. To stand in front of danger for him. To be the man that he needs.
But when I looked at General Voltaire...
I wanted to be protected.
To be carried. To be safe. I wanted to be his woman.
I hated this feeling—this confusion, this uncertainty about where I belonged.
Why did I have to feel this way?
What was I even feeling?
What did I really want?
But one thing was painfully clear.
No matter how many feelings I carried, no matter how full my heart felt—
I was still the one who wasn't chosen.
* * *
When we finally reached the farmland, Serena, Elric, Zen, and Elder Henderson rushed toward us at once.
"Lord Rowan, what happened?" Elder Henderson asked anxiously. "Why is there a wound on your chest?"
"It's a long story," I said, offering a faint smile.
"Come inside my hut," Elder Henderson said, coughing lightly as he gestured. "Lay Lord Rowan down. I have medicinal herbs that may be used."
For a moment, I wasn't sure whether I should be worried about myself—or about his condition.
General Voltaire lowered me carefully onto a woven mat, handling me as though I might shatter if he moved too quickly. Every motion was deliberate, controlled, gentle.
"I'll take care of Rowan," Aurein said. "You can fetch our baggage, General Voltaire."
"Are you sure you'll be alright here, Aurein?" General Voltaire asked.
"Yes. Don't worry," Aurein replied.
"Alright. I'll be quick," the General said. "I can't afford to lose sight of you for too long. Danger has a habit of finding you whenever I'm not around."
Aurein offered a faint smile.
"Don't worry about me," he said gently. "Just make sure you come back safely."
"I will," General Voltaire said, gently patting Aurein's head before turning away.
I felt it then—something uncomfortable twisting in my chest.
Jealousy.
Before, it had only been one person. Now, it was two.
And yet, it wasn't the kind of jealousy that made me want to tear them apart.
It was simply that quiet longing—to be cared for the way they cared for each other. To belong in that warmth.
Once General Voltaire left, Elder Henderson set down a basin of water, clean cloth, and bundles of medicinal herbs.
"Thank you, Elder Henderson," Aurein said sincerely. "Thank you for bringing all of this."
"It is nothing, dear prince," Elder Henderson replied. "Elric and I will prepare the meal. By the time you're finished—and when General Voltaire returns—everything will be ready."
"I'll help you," Serena said, and the three of them soon left the hut together.
That left only Aurein and me.
I removed my upper garment and sat upright as Aurein began cleaning my wound.
"It's a good thing General Voltaire and I arrived just in time," Aurein said softly. "That thief could have killed you."
"Yes," I replied quietly. "Thank you, Aurein."
I looked at him.
He was completely focused on my wound, his movements careful and practiced.
I found myself staring at the person I had been longing for since we were children.
"Does it hurt, Rowan?" Aurein asked gently as he cleaned the wound.
"It does," I said.
But I wasn't talking about the physical pain. It was the emotional pain that was tearing me apart.
"I'm sorry," he said, smiling faintly. "I'll be more gentle."
"Aurein..." I murmured.
"Yes?" He glanced at me briefly, then returned his attention to my wound.
"How are you and General Voltaire?" I asked. "Is your relationship... going well?"
His hand stilled.
"You already know, don't you?" he asked, meeting my gaze.
"I've known for a while," I said. "Ever since the night of the celebration—when the king introduced you and Serena as the future king and queen, and I saw you and General Voltaire kissed at the forest."
"What?" Aurein said, startled. "That was so long ago. You've known since then?"
"Yes, and the first time I witnessed it," I answered honestly. "It hurts."
Aurein exhaled slowly.
"You know how I feel romantically about you," I continued. "You've always known."
I saw him swallow.
"But you didn't want to dwell on it," I said softly. "Because you only see me as your younger brother. Isn't that right? You don't feel the same way I do."
He closed his eyes briefly, as if steadying himself.
"Yes," Aurein said. "I only see you as my brother. I'm sorry, Rowan. I can't go beyond that."
I nodded, even though my chest felt tight.
"I just want to understand," I said. "What's the difference between me and General Voltaire? What did you see in him that I don't have?"
He opened his eyes slowly, but didn't answer right away. He took one of the medicinal herbs and crushed it in his palm, letting its juice seep out.
"This might sting, it will hurt you," he said quietly. "Just so you know."
"Which part?" I asked. "The herb—or what you're about to say?"
He let out a soft laugh.
"Maybe both."
"Thanks for the warning," I said with a small smirk.
"But, I don't want to make you feel bad," Aurein said gently.
"Say it anyway," I replied.
Aurein's voice was calm when he finally spoke.
"With you," he said, "I am always seen."
My breath caught—until he continued.
"With General Voltaire," Aurein went on, "I am allowed to disappear."
The words struck harder than I expected.
"What do you mean... disappear?" I asked.
"When I'm with you," Aurein said, "I am Aurein the prince. Aurein the hope. Aurein the one who must be admired,to be perfect in every way." He paused. "You see me as royalty."
Then, quietly—
"With General Voltaire, I am just... Aurein."
He finally met my eyes.
"He doesn't love the version of me the world needs," Aurein said. "He loves the version of me that would still exist even if the crown was taken away."
Silence settled between us.
Then, gently but decisively—
"You love me for who I am becoming," Aurein said.
"He loves me even if I become nothing."
He dipped the herb into my wound.
I hissed. "That hurts."
"What hurts more?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice. "What I said—or how I'm applying the medicine?"
"Both," I said.
He looked worried, but I smiled faintly, and that seemed to calm him.
"Now," I added quietly, "I finally understand what I was lacking."
"I hope I didn't offend you or make you feel worse," Aurein said, concern softening his voice. "I only wanted to be honest."
"No, I'm not offended," I replied lightly. "If anything, you made me realize how stupid I was."
"What? No!" he said in alarm—and pressed the herb down harder than necessary.
"Ah!" I flailed.
"I'm sorry! That's your fault!" he blurted out, panicking. "I didn't mean for you to feel stupid!"
"I'm kidding," I said, laughing softly. "But... thank you. Thank you for telling me what I was lacking. At least now I understand why you never saw me the way you see General Voltaire."
He smiled at me then—gentle, reassuring, unmistakably kind.
"We grew up together," I said. "So I was raised to respect you as a prince—someone older, someone above me. That's what I learned growing up. I didn't even realize that, all this time, I should've treated you as an equal. As just... a normal person."
"That isn't your fault, Rowan," Aurein said calmly. "And my feelings for the General were unexpected. I never imagined I'd fall for him so deeply." He paused, then added softly, "What about you?"
I stared at him, eyes widening.
"What about me?" I said, mortified.
He smiled—knowing, patient.
"I can tell," he said gently. "The way your expression changes. The way you fluster. The way you talk around him. I can feel it." He tilted his head slightly. "You like General Voltaire, don't you?"
"Aurein..." I said, worried now.
"I'm not angry," he assured me. "I was just surprised. Of all people, I never expected you to fall for him. You didn't even like him at first." He chuckled. "But what can we do? Everyone falls for him. I suppose now I can say it's not only women who do—but men as well."
"Please don't misunderstand me," I said quickly. "It just... happened. I didn't even want to feel this way. But the way he speaks, the way he moves, the way he handles people, the way he commands, the way he instills inspiration—it all made me admire him."
Aurein nodded, thoughtful. "Now you understand why I fell for him." Then he smiled teasingly. "So it's not just Serena who admires him now—but you too. Should I be terrified that you'll steal him from me? Or should we all share him instead?"
"No," I said immediately. "I wouldn't do that. We both know General Voltaire is hopelessly devoted to you." I shrugged, forcing a laugh. "But honestly... I like you. And I like him too. It's confusing, Aurein. I feel like I have two hearts inside me—one changes when I look at you, and the other when I look at the General." I hesitated. "Has your view of me changed?"
"No," he said without hesitation. "But now that you've admitted this to me, I feel like I understand you better. I trust you more."
"I get jealous," I admitted. "I get jealous of how much you love the General. And I get jealous of how much the General cares for you." I laughed weakly. "My heart and my mind are a mess. I don't even know what I truly want. I wish I could find someone else—someone who would be only mine, someone I wouldn't have to share."
"You will, Rowan," Aurein said with certainty. "I know you will."
"When?" I sighed. "I don't know. Until then, I'll just have to live with these feelings—toward both of you. I hope you don't mind."
He didn't answer. He only smiled.
I felt like I was drowning—waiting for something, or someone, to pull me back to the surface.
"Aurein," I said quietly, "if General Voltaire ever hurts you... let me know. I'll deal with him."
"Why?" Aurein teased. "If he hurts me, will you steal him away?"
"No! That's not what I meant!" I said, scratching my head. "I mean... I don't know."
He finished wrapping the bandage around my chest, his movements careful and gentle. As he did, he leaned close—almost like he was hugging me.
"Aurein," I whispered, the sadness finally catching up to me, "may I... ask for a hug? If that is okay."
He didn't answer.
He simply hugged me.
"It's going to be alright, Rowan," he said softly. "I'm sorry if we made you feel this way. We never intended for this to happen. But please—let's remain friends. Brothers. I don't want our bond to break because of love."
I closed my eyes and hugged him back.
"Yes," I murmured. "It will be okay."
Then he pulled away.
"I'm back," General Voltaire said, entering the hut.
"You want to hug the General too?" Aurein whispered mischievously.
"What? No!" I hissed. "That's embarrassing! What if he gets the wrong idea?"
Aurein turned to the General with a bright smile. "Rowan has a request for you, General Voltaire."
"Aurein," I warned through clenched teeth.
"What is it?" the General asked, brows knitting.
Aurein looked at me, clearly enjoying this far too much.
"Don't you dare," I said.
"Could you give Rowan a hug?" Aurein asked sweetly. "He's feeling sad and says he needs more hugs."
I stared at the General, who looked unsure whether this was a joke—or a trap.
I wanted it.
But I also knew my place.
"Stand up," he ordered.
"Huh?"
"You want a hug? Stand up," he repeated.
"No!" I shook my head violently—but Aurein nodded even faster, urging me to rise.
"Hurry," the General said. "So I can hug you. We're about to eat. I'm getting hungry."
"Aurein was just joking," I protested. "I don't need hugs."
The General sighed. "Alright. If that's what you say." Then he added flatly, "I was already prepared to give you one. Aurein asked me to. I don't usually hug any man besides him."
"Wait," I said.
My mind screamed at me to stop—but my body betrayed me.
I stood.
The General walked over and pulled me into a hug.
It wasn't like Aurein's.
It wasn't soft or lingering.
It was solid. Brief. Brotherly—like a comrade embracing another before battle.
He patted my back and said in calm tone, "Be a good boy. Alright?"
"I will, General Voltaire," I said, my laughter light but sincere. "And I'm sorry if I ever hurt you with my words before. That was never my intention.
And knowing this might be the last hug I would ever have from him, I let myself stay there a little longer—memorizing the way General Voltaire's warmth wrapped around me, like a quiet paradise I never wished to leave.
But he was never mine to begin with. So I pulled away first, before I could no longer hold myself back.
"Thank you," I said to both of them.
The General nodded once. "Let's eat. Everyone's waiting," he said—and reached for Aurein's hand.
I watched them walk away together as I was behind them.
"What did you cook for us, Aurein?" the General asked.
"Oysters," Aurein replied. "That's all we have for now."
"Oysters?" the General said. "Don't eat too many."
"Why not?" Aurein asked. "What happens if I do?"
"Just... don't eat too much oysters or you'll see what will happen."
I smiled quietly as I watched them.
I really hope I can find someone, too.
* * *
Aurein's POV
We were seated outside the hut, beneath an open dining shelter made of wood and thatch—nothing extravagant, just a wooden circular table meant for shared meals. The food laid before us was simple, humble even, yet there was something undeniably comforting about it. The kind of meal that didn't need luxury to feel warm, satisfying, and whole.
Everyone began eating at once.
As I looked around, it was clear—they were enjoying themselves immensely.
Especially the large man seated beside me.
Far too much, in fact.
"Slow down with the oysters, General Voltaire," I murmured under my breath, leaning slightly toward him. "Didn't you say earlier that one shouldn't eat too many of those?"
And yet there he was, eating them as if they were about to disappear from the world.
He merely smirked as he swallowed another.
...Why did I feel like we won't eat peacefully?
"I didn't know you could cook this well, Prince Aurein," Elder Henderson said warmly. "Where did you learn?"
"I taught myself," I replied, suddenly shy. "From books I've read over the years."
"This is the first time I've tasted your cooking," Rowan added. "And I must say—you truly know what you're doing."
"Thank you, Rowan," I said with a smile.
Then I turned to the man beside me.
"Well?" I asked softly. "Is it good? Do you like it?"
"Mmm," General Voltaire replied without hesitation. "It's exceptional. Nothing compares."
Then he leaned closer to my ear—far too close—and whispered,
"My wife cooks exquisitely."
Heat exploded across my face. I was certain I had turned crimson in an instant.
"There's sauce at the corner of your lips," he murmured again, his voice dropping into something slow and dangerous, the kind that lingered far too close. "If no one were here," he continued softly, "I'd lean in and lick it away... just to make sure none of it went to waste. I might even let my tongue slip—just briefly—inside yours."
My eyes widened instantly.
Heat rushed straight to my face as panic took over, and I wiped my lips a little too aggressively, as if the evidence might betray me. My heart thudded hard in my chest, painfully aware of his quiet amusement and the way his gaze never once looked away.
"General," I hissed, mortified, secretly pinching his thigh beneath the table.
What in the world was wrong with him?!
He only chuckled under his breath.
"I ate too many oysters," he whispered. "Now my body feels... heated."
"That's forbidden!" I whispered sharply. "Don't do that here! Is this really what happens when you eat too many oysters?!"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he calmly reached for another.
Suspicious—very suspicious—I turned to Elder Henderson.
"May I ask," I said carefully, "what exactly happens when one eats too many oysters?"
The elder laughed knowingly.
"Ah. Oysters warm the body," he explained. "They heighten desire. Libido increases—especially in men. They become more... in heat."
"Oh."
So that's why.
This man had the audacity to warn me earlier—only to devour them himself!
I glanced at General Voltaire again and froze.
His ears were red.
His cheeks, flushed.
Oh no.
This is bad.
If his libido rose any higher, I didn't even want to imagine what he might do later—tonight.
"And if you eat too many, Prince Aurein," Elder Henderson continued casually, "you might end up getting Princess Serena pregnant if you're alone together in the hut tonight."
My eyes widened in horror.
Serena, meanwhile, nearly choked on her food, while Rowan burst into laughter.
"Me? Pregnant?" Serena scoffed. "Please? Not happening anytime soon. But someone else here—if he were a woman—he'd probably get pregnant immediately for sure."
"What do you mean by that, Princess Serena?" Elder Henderson asked, intrigued. "Who would that be?"
She only smirked and returned to eating.
I slowly turned back to General Voltaire, who had suddenly gone very quiet.
"How many oysters have you eaten?" I whispered urgently.
"A lot," he replied calmly. "Again, if we were alone, I wouldn't be this patient."
Then he leaned in again—his lips brushing my ear.
"I'll get you pregnant later."
"GENERAL!"
The word burst out of me as I accidentally slapped his arm.
Everyone froze.
"Is everything alright, Prince Aurein?" Elder Henderson asked, concerned.
"Ah—yes! Yes, everything is perfectly fine!" I replied far too quickly, heart racing.
Because if this continued, I might truly be in danger tonight.
"General Voltaire is turning quite red," Elder Henderson said with delight. "You must have eaten far too many."
"The food is simply that good," Voltaire replied smoothly.
"You know," the elder added thoughtfully, "I can still remember, when you were younger and you were here at the farmland, women chased after you constantly. You had quite the reputation of being a womanizer. Now that you're grown—strong, mature, and imposing—I assume you are already in a serious relationship and have a wife?"
"I do have a wife already," General Voltaire said and looked at me as he smirked dangerously.
I focused instead on my food before anything worse happens.
"Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Elder Henderson laughed. "Before, I always thought you'd never take anyone seriously. But who would've guessed? That woman must be very lucky."
"Very lucky indeed," Serena teased. "That WOMAN." She added, looking at me as she raised both of her eyebrows at the same time.
I narrowed my eyes at her.
And beside me, General Voltaire only smiled—like he was having fun of me being on tormented indirectly.
"Do you already have a child with your wife?" Elder Henderson asked casually.
Before I could even process the question, General Voltaire answered far too quickly.
"We don't have a child yet," he said. "But we are already planning to. Possibly tonight. Right, Aurein?"
I nearly choked.
"I know nothing about that!" I blurted out, mortified. "Do not involve me in your wife's plans for having children!"
I couldn't even look at anyone.
Elder Henderson laughed. "If your wife were here with us now, I'm quite certain you'd already have gotten her pregnant because of these oysters you've eaten."
"If it's even possible to make a baby," Serena added with a grin, clearly enjoying herself, while Rowan struggled—and failed—to suppress his laughter.
"Do you know General Voltaire's wife?" Elder Henderson asked Serena.
"Oh, very well," Serena replied sweetly, turning her gaze directly on me. "Brown hair. Fair skin. Slender. Smooth. An excellent cook." She smirked. "Very feminine in her movements—gentle, soft, alluring, kind. Every beautiful trait men could want."
"Serena," I hissed under my breath. "You are not helping."
She only looked more amused.
"Well," Elder Henderson said warmly, "I'm glad you've finally found someone you take seriously, General Voltaire. Such a lucky wife."
"Sure is," General Voltaire said with an easy smile as he slipped an arm around my shoulders.
I bowed my head, face burning.
In my embarrassment—perhaps foolishly—I reached for more oysters, shoving them into my mouth just to avoid thinking. I just hope, this won't make my libido higher like General Voltaire.
"She must be extraordinarily beautiful for you to be this serious," Elder Henderson said.
"Extraordinarily," he said as I looked at him, meeting my eyes without hesitation. "The most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life."
I swallowed hard.
"I would love to meet her someday," Elder Henderson continued, sounding pleasantly intrigued.
Then I felt it.
That unmistakable shift.
His gaze—slow, deliberate, unforgiving—slid past the General and landed straight on me.
On. Me.
"But why are you looking at Prince Aurein," he added, his brows knitting together in honest confusion, "when you always speak about your wife? And not just you, even Princess Serena looks at the prince."
The words hit.
Hard.
The hut went silent.
I swear my soul attempted to exit my body, and flee into the forest.
I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I didn't blink.
If I stayed perfectly still, perhaps I would simply cease to exist.
This was it.
This was how I died—not in battle, not by blade or beast—but by Elder Henderson's perfectly innocent, catastrophically timed question.
I stiffened.
"I've noticed you've been whispering to Prince Aurein far too many times," Elder Henderson went on. "And every time you do, his cheeks turn red."
Serena chuckled. Rowan lowered his gaze, clearly choosing survival over involvement.
Elder Henderson wouldn't understand. He valued tradition, law, order. If he realized the truth, he would surely say that this love was wrong.
"I'm starting to wonder," he said thoughtfully, laughing, "if Prince Aurein is the 'woman' everyone keeps referring to."
My entire body went rigid.
"He's just teasing me, Elder Henderson," I said quickly, flustered. "Please don't misunderstand."
"When I look at the two of you," he said slowly, "the way you act so naturally around each other—unbothered by rank or status—it reminds me of someone."
Both General Voltaire and I turned to him at once.
"You remind me of General Orion and King Lucen," Elder Henderson continued. "They were inseparable when they were young. Very close."
General Voltaire stiffened.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice suddenly sharp.
"You knew them? Personally?" I asked.
"Of course," Elder Henderson replied. "In my early adult days, I worked at the palace as a cleaner and a gardener. That's where I met my late wife. We later settled here in the southern region."
"You mean... my father and General Orion knew each other that well, like really close to each other?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "General Orion was not just King Lucen's personal guard. They were best friends though they bicker and annoy each other a lot of times."
He paused, sighing softly, as though lost in memory.
"Forgive me for bringing this up, I don't mean to offend the both of you on what I will mention," he added quietly, "but there were rumors—long ago—that King Lucen and General Orion shared a hidden romantic relationship."
The world seemed to stop.
General Voltaire and I stared at each other.
Neither of us had ever heard this.
Did he mean—our fathers...
That they were just like us?
That they loved in secret when they were young?
End of Chapter 41