Azrean sat propped up against the soft pillows, his tiny hands wrapped around the warm bottle. He tilted it carefully, finishing the last drops with a quiet slurp. When it was empty, his fingers loosened and the bottle slipped away, rolling gently across the sheets.
A wide, satisfied smile spread across his face. His eyes drooped half-shut, cheeks flushed a soft pink.
Sumi watched him from beside him, her own bottle resting untouched in her lap.
"You sure were hungry," she said, her tone light, a hint of teasing in it.
Azrean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still smiling. "Yeah… I guess I was."
Sumi gave a small shrug. "I already drank from my mom earlier, so I'm not hungry."
The room fell into a quiet lull. Warm afternoon light streamed in through the tall windows, spilling across the bed and painting everything in a soft golden glow.
For a moment, everything felt calm. Then—the door burst open with a sharp creak. Both babies flinched, their heads snapping toward the sound.
Azrea and Memei stood in the doorway. Their faces were pale. Sweat clung to their skin, their breath uneven. Their elegant dresses had shifted out of place, and strands of hair had come loose, clinging to their temples. Their eyes—wide and filled with fear—locked onto the bed.
They rushed forward without hesitation. Azrea reached Azrean first, scooping him up and pulling him tightly against her chest. Her arms wrapped around him.
"Oh, thank the gods—you're alright," she whispered, her voice trembling as she buried her face into his soft brown hair.
"We were so scared… so scared something happened."
Beside her, Memei lifted Sumi just as quickly, holding her close and rocking her gently. Her hand moved over Sumi's back in hurried, uneven strokes.
"My little princess… I'm so glad you're alright."
"We're so glad you're safe," Azrea said again, her voice cracking as tears filled her eyes. "We were terrified."
Azrean blinked up at his mother's tear-streaked face, completely confused.
'Huh? What happened?'
After a moment, they eased the babies back down onto the bed. The silk sheets rustled softly beneath their small bodies.
Azrean and Sumi turned their heads toward each other at the same time, brows furrowed in identical confusion.
Above them, the two women looked down. The fear slowly drained from their expressions, replaced by deep relief. Their shoulders loosened, their breathing steadied, and faint smiles began to form—though their eyes still carried the weight of what they'd felt.
"They're fine," Memei whispered, her voice thick.
Azrea nodded, her fingers trembling slightly as she brushed a strand of hair away from Azrean's forehead.
"Thank goodness… thank goodness."
A shaky laugh escaped her, breaking halfway into something closer to a sob.
"I was so scared when I heard someone sent people to kidnap them."
The words hit hard. Azrean's eyes widened instantly. Sumi did too and both of them froze.
'Of course…' Azrean thought slowly, staring up at the worried faces above him.
'Big status means big problems…'
He turned his head toward Sumi. She wasn't looking at him anymore. Her gaze had dropped to the sheets beneath her. Her tiny fists were clenched tightly in the silk, knuckles pressing into the fabric. Her whole body trembled—small, uneven shivers running through her arms and shoulders.
Her eyes were wide and empty. Fixed on nothing.
"Sumi…" Azrean whispered, his voice small.
She didn't answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice came out thin and shaking.
"I… I don't want to die again."
Azrean stared at her. His chest tightened. He opened his mouth to say something. But no words came out. Not a single one.
From the open doorway came the soft, steady tap of footsteps. Azrean and Sumi both turned their heads at the same time.
Invanne stepped inside. She carried a neatly folded carpet in her arms—thick wool, deep green, the exact same shade as the one spread across the floor.
Azrea and Memei looked up immediately. Invanne lowered her head in a respectful bow.
The two mothers exchanged a glance before rising from the bedside. They moved toward her without wasting a second, their steps quick, their expressions tight.
Their voices dropped the moment they got close.
"Did they find who it was?" Azrea asked, her tone hushed but urgent.
Invanne straightened slowly. "Yes," she replied.
Memei's hands tightened together in front of her. "Who?"
Invanne didn't look away.
"A marquess," she said calmly. "They're currently in the meeting room with Master Dean and Master Kumi."
Both women froze. Their eyes widened instantly, breath catching in their throats.
"What?" they said at the same time, their voices breaking under the shock.
The meeting room stretched wide beneath a high, vaulted ceiling of dark polished wood. The air inside felt heavy, still.
Thick marble columns lined the walls, each one carved with winding vines and faint shapes of old beasts—lions, serpents, creatures half-lost to time. Between them hung long velvet banners in deep crimson and gold, embroidered with ancient crests that shimmered faintly under the light pouring in from tall arched windows.
Oil paintings filled the spaces between the columns. Stern-faced ancestors clad in armor. Scenes of vast battlefields frozen in time. Quiet portraits of families long gone, framed in heavy bronze that gleamed dully.
Crystal chandeliers hung low from the ceiling, unlit. Even so, their prisms caught the daylight and scattered faint shards of color across the long black oak table that dominated the center of the room.
At the head of the table stood two high-backed chairs, carved from dark mahogany and lined with deep burgundy velvet.
On the right sat a man with snow-white hair swept neatly back from his face. His features were sharp and refined, and his purple eyes held a calm, steady gleam. A faint smile rested on his lips. His posture was relaxed. One hand rested lightly on the arm of his chair. The other lay loose in his lap.
Beside him sat a much larger man. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his dark tunic. His brown hair was cut short, his jaw set firm. His eyes—hard and focused—didn't waver. He filled the chair. His arms were crossed over his chest, every line of his body tense and coiled.
Across the long table, at the far end, sat another man. Alone.
He wore a high-collared coat of deep midnight velvet, its edges lined with fine silver thread. The sleeves were cut in layered slashes, revealing glimpses of black silk beneath. A thick gold chain draped across his chest, holding a single ruby pendant that caught the light like a drop of fresh blood.
His hair was jet black, slicked straight back, exposing a high forehead and sharp, angular features.
His pale gray eyes stared forward. Unblinking and cold. They remained fixed on the two men at the head of the table, something quiet and heavy simmering beneath the surface. His hands rested flat against the wood. Long fingers adorned with rings. Perfectly still.