* * *
Pushing away the creeping feeling of gloom, Lowell adjusted his posture.
“Reading is fine, but don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t.”
Felix reluctantly got up and left to train with his knights.
Left alone with only his guards, Lowell read in peace.
And after some time, he finally found the clue he was searching for.
[Once an imprint is formed, one can no longer perceive any pheromones other than their partner’s. Furthermore, although mutual imprints are more stable than one-sided ones, the body suffers abnormalities if pheromones are not exchanged periodically.
Therefore, imprinting requires a strong will—a determination that outweighs the potential inconvenience. If there is even the slightest hesitation or reluctance toward the imprint, it becomes impossible.]
Lowell ran his fingers over the words: hesitation or reluctance.
‘Had I been subconsciously avoiding the imprint?’
Clenching his jaw, Lowell shut the book, feeling unsettled.
He wanted a clear answer.
“They say even a monk can’t shave his own head… I make a living giving advice, yet I can’t even understand my own feelings.”
Recalling a proverb that no longer held meaning in this world, he rose from his seat.
If he didn’t at least take a walk around the tower, he felt like he might suffocate.
“You should dress warmly.”
Tia didn’t stop Lowell from going outside, but she did insist that he wear warmer clothes than a few days ago.
As Lowell pulled on the gloves Charis had given him, a question suddenly surfaced in his mind.
“Tia, you’re an Alpha, right?”
“Yes. My pheromones are weak, but I am an Alpha.”
“Have you ever imprinted before?”
“No. Imprinting isn’t exactly a common occurrence.”
‘I see,’ Lowell muttered to himself before asking the question he was most curious about.
“Then… if you were the only one who imprinted one-sidedly, would you feel hurt?”
Tia quickly caught on—Lowell was deeply preoccupied with the fact that he had imprinted on Felix one-sidedly.
It would have been stranger if she hadn’t noticed, given how Felix had arrived that day, muttering that it was all his fault, drowning in guilt.
And yet, lying wouldn’t work—this man in front of her would see through it instantly.
It was best to be honest.
“…I think I would feel hurt.”
“I thought so.”
Lowell put down the coat he had been about to wear and let out a long sigh.
His gaze dropped, his long lashes fluttering slightly.
He looked so unbearably fragile that, even knowing he was a strong-willed person, Tia felt restless.
“…But I don’t think you should feel guilty about it. After all, isn’t it only natural to wish that the person you love doesn’t feel burdened?”
That was why Tia added something she wouldn’t have said to just anyone.
“Thank you for saying that. I try not to let these thoughts show, but it’s harder than I expected.”
Lowell hesitated, then added, “Please don’t tell Felix that I asked you this.”
Under normal circumstances, a knight should never keep secrets from their lord.
But something like this didn’t seem like a major issue.
Besides, Felix himself had already instructed them to prioritize Lowell’s wishes—except when it came to matters of safety.
“Unless His Highness directly asks, I will keep it to myself.”
“Thank you.”
However, it wouldn’t be long before Lowell learned the real reason why he was unable to imprint—
in a way he had never expected.
“Lowell, wake up.”
It happened on a night like any other, with Felix sleeping beside him.
The urgency in his voice made Lowell think something terrible had happened.
Jolting awake, he sat up immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
Felix was looking down at him, eyes clouded with worry.
As Lowell’s mind cleared, he glanced around the room, but nothing seemed out of place.
It was still the dead of night.
No signs of intruders, no disturbances outside the window.
‘Then why did he wake me?’
Blinking in confusion, Lowell studied Felix’s face.
Felix had instinctively furrowed his brows, but he soon relaxed, hesitating as if searching for the right words.
Finally, he let out a quiet sigh and brushed back Lowell’s sweat-dampened hair.
“You were having a nightmare.”
“A nightmare?”
Lowell tilted his head.
He hadn’t even realized he’d been dreaming.
He tried to recall it, but no matter how hard he searched his memory, he couldn’t grasp a single fragment of the dream.
“You often mutter in your sleep, but tonight was different. You were crying, asking why over and over again.”
Automatically, Lowell lifted a hand to his face.
Sure enough, his skin was damp.
Felix hadn’t been exaggerating.
His body, too, was covered in cold sweat, and his jaw ached—likely from clenching it too tightly.
‘Felix wouldn’t lie about something like this. But the strange part is that I have no memory of the dream at all.’
A heavy silence settled between them.
Lowell tried to think of anyone he might have reason to resent.
Lovers who had cheated on him, the one who had betrayed him in the end…
Yet strangely, even though he should have held grudges, he didn’t feel particularly sorrowful about those relationships.
Sure, they had hurt at the time—but only for a while.
‘None of them were significant enough to haunt me like this. It’s not as if I ever truly loved them.’
If anything, it was more accurate to say that just when he had thought he might develop feelings, something had always gone wrong.
‘Maybe that’s why none of them ever got attached to me either. Someone once told me that being with me only made them feel lonelier—that I was nothing but a hollow, polished shell.’
That thought made Lowell stop himself from digging any further.
His head felt sluggish, not yet fully awake.
Overthinking in the middle of the night wouldn’t do him any good.
He decided to postpone his thoughts until morning, when he had a clearer mind.
“I feel bad that I woke you up for no reason. I don’t remember the nightmare, so it was probably nothing. Let’s go back to sleep.”
“You say that, but you seemed far from fine.”
“Well, staying up all night won’t fix anything, will it?”
Lowell tried to brush it off with a smile.
He had been the one having a nightmare, yet Felix seemed even more disturbed by it.
Not wanting to see the person he cared about looking so troubled, Lowell curled his lips into a playful smirk.
“If you sing me a lullaby, maybe I won’t have any more nightmares.”
Felix let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“A lullaby?”
Hearing that reaction, Lowell grinned in satisfaction.
“Just kidding. But if you ever want to hear one, let me know. I’ll sing for you anytime.”
“I’ll pass—” Felix started, then stopped himself.
Originally, he had intended to scoff at the idea of a lullaby.
‘I’m not a child,’ he had almost said.
But then, he found himself imagining Lowell singing.
Lowell’s speaking voice was already as clear and delicate as a bird’s song.
How enchanting would it be to hear him sing?
“…Sing for me another time. Your throat hasn’t fully healed yet.”
“I should warn you, I’m not terrible, but I’m not exactly a great singer either.”
Felix was certain that, even if Lowell were completely tone-deaf, he would still enjoy listening to him.
* * *
Aaah!my poor heart!