The night did not end until dawn. Only then did Cyn finish his work and return to the palace, heading straight to his room to rest.
He did have an entire wing assigned to him, but it was not his alone—every consort shared the same wing.
Each person still had a spacious private area for sleeping and bathing, but the rest was communal: a training hall, shared facilities, a dining space, and a fully equipped kitchen.
They were not allowed personal servants or slaves. The only staff they had were the cooks, while palace servants arrived once a week to restock supplies and provide whatever was needed.
When Cyn entered the wing, he found four people lounging on wool couches in the wide corridor—other consorts.
One of them, a large bald man with dark skin, was wiping sweat off his bare body with a towel. He grumbled tiredly, "Damn it… those lustful women will kill me one day."
He turned his head lazily and added, "Unlike our friend here. He's not involved in this mess at all."
He meant Cyn.
Cyn replied with a dry, mocking tone, "The King's duties. Yet you're the one complaining. Don't you like your job? You're practically their king. Didn't you say that on your first day here, Vance?"
Vance groaned, "The King does it however he wants. I, on the other hand, just follow their whims. I'm sick of it. I want to have sex properly for once!"
The man in the formal suit glanced at Cyn. "You're not getting enough sleep, are you?"
Cyn answered flatly, "I don't need it."
Vance objected, "It'll hurt your performance!"
Cyn smirked. "I'll leave the performance to you. You're the ones sleeping with thirty consorts a week. I'm out of that circle."
Vance scoffed, "Not anymore."
Cyn stared at him, waiting for an explanation. Vance grinned, laughing softly with a smug expression. "You know how women are… they get bored sticking to one man. They want something new."
Cyn let out a faint laugh. "What? Did they abandon you?"
The man in the suit replied, "Not exactly. But I heard some of them want you."
Cyn asked, "Some of them?"
Vance listed calmly, "Selma, Lunel, Qurah, Verdenia… and at the top of the list, Astrida."
Cyn's tone settled. "I thought this matter was settled. Xyrene was clear: each wife has the right to choose a single consort for herself, and sharing him is her decision alone."
Vance chuckled with arrogance. "And that's exactly the point."
Cyn did not understand why Xyrene was suddenly willing to let others share him—she had defended her exclusivity for years.
Had something changed behind the scenes?
He thought to himself, Do I really have to sleep with those loose, worn-out women? Damn it.
He knew he needed to speak to Xyrene again soon. But for now, there was another issue.
Vance didn't like Cyn's reaction; it was as if Cyn saw the whole thing as nothing more than a trivial matter. He had expected a heated outburst, but Cyn remained calm.
Cyn asked out of mild curiosity, "Did they find anything about Lloyd? I heard someone caught him insulting the King while he was in bed with Qurah—calling him a cuckold and a bunch of other things."
Vance shook his head. "If that were true, he would've been executed publicly. And the King wouldn't have allowed the Temple to enter the palace and investigate. Especially since Lloyd worked with them and was close to someone high-ranking there. So far, the rumors are contradictory. But I did hear something about unfinished business… and that Lloyd was killed because he discovered something—someone silenced him before he reported it to the Temple."
He paused. "But who would do it? And what did Lloyd discover?"
Cyn answered lightly, almost dismissive, "Most rumors are false. For now, patience is the key."
He was testing the waters—trying to see what they knew.
After all, he was the one who killed Lloyd and butchered him after the man discovered the Scar on his body and the nature of his work.
Lloyd's original mission had been to watch Cyn and Xyrene. Both of them carried an unsettling aura. Everyone who brought Cyn to the palace in his childhood had died. No records existed about how he entered the palace or why he had been placed with the consorts.
Xyrene had erased everything.
All of it was to hide his Scar. Scars were secrets; most bearers hid them from the world.
Lloyd had stumbled upon Cyn's Scar by accident. It matched nothing in the Temple's records—not in form nor in the crimson glow described in their teachings.
He rushed to report it. A living Scar within the royal palace would shake the Temple to its core. The one who discovered it would be rewarded.
But Lloyd made a stupid mistake: he told someone else first.
That someone was standing here now—Miguel.
Cyn glanced at him. "You're awfully quiet, Miguel."
Miguel, also bare-chested on the couch, replied calmly, "There's nothing to talk about. Our job is simple—pleasing those women. The rest isn't our concern, is it?"
Vance frowned. "But isn't that a bit cold? Lloyd was our friend. Sure, I disagreed with him sometimes, but he was funny. The least we can do is care about his case a little—talk about him at least."
Everything after this felt pointless. The important parts had already been said. Cyn had no intention of staying longer. He needed sleep.
Tomorrow morning, he would speak to Xyrene and get answers.
His room was spacious, but plain. Clean. Empty. Almost like a ghost lived there.
Only the dim chandelier light greeted him.
Yet Cyn immediately sensed something was wrong.
Someone had been here.
His instincts were sharp, and someone had entered. There was evidence:
A sheet of white paper on his desk.
Black resin used as ink.
There's Always a Third Party.
That was all it said.
Cyn was no fool. He understood the message instantly.
Lloyd had told someone else.
A third party existed.
It wasn't Miguel—Miguel would have spoken directly.
And no one else he knew would leave a note instead of confronting him.
Who sent it?
Should he ask around if anyone saw someone entering his room? Pointless. Whoever it was would never be seen.
But why leave a message instead of confronting him?
If the sender meant to warn him… did that mean they were not hostile?
Or was it all a ploy to unsettle him—to push him into a trap?
Just as Xyrene said… doubts had begun to swirl.
Cyn folded the paper and placed it inside his drawer.
The wheels had begun to turn.