THE HEIR'S MATE

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Hyang Kael pushed open the door to the smallest room in his house, the wood groaning under the strain as if it hadn't been touched in years. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a commanding presence that even the dim light couldn't diminish. His hair, streaked with silver, was tied back neatly, and his sharp features, normally hardened by years of leadership, were softened with a rare, deep-seated weariness as he entered the room.

The single window was covered by thick, heavy curtains that blocked out most of the light, casting deep shadows across the space. Dust motes danced in the faint beams that managed to slip through, giving the room an air of abandonment. The walls painted a dull, faded green, seemed to close in around him as he stood at the threshold, his hand gripping the doorknob tightly. He hesitated, his heart heavy with the memories this room held, before letting out a deep, weary sigh and stepping inside.

The maid was busy dusting the already immaculate shelves, her movements precise and efficient. She glanced up as Hyang entered, offering him a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Welcome, Alpha Hyang," she greeted him, her voice respectful, though there was an underlying wariness. She could sense the tension in the air, the unspoken weight of whatever had brought him to this seldom-used room.

In the corner of the room, seated on a cushioned chair that had seen better days, was Ophelia. Her hair, once a lustrous black, had turned gray over the years, but she still wore it in a meticulously braided style that cascaded over her shoulder. Her face was turned slightly away, her sightless eyes focused on something only she could see. Her lips were curved into a gentle, serene smile, though Hyang could tell it didn't fully reflect her true emotions.

Hyang's gaze swept across the room, his jaw tightening as he took in the familiar surroundings. The small space felt suffocating, the air thick with the scent of old wood and faint traces of incense. He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, his fingers trembling slightly with impatience. The maid hesitated, her eyes flicking to Ophelia as if seeking reassurance, but after a moment's pause, she bowed her head and quietly slipped out of the room, leaving them alone.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Hyang released a long, slow breath, his shoulders slumping as the tension drained from his body. His usually sharp features softened, revealing the strain he had been carrying. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion etched into his expression. "I hate this room," he muttered under his breath, the words more for himself than for Ophelia.

Ophelia, sensing his presence as always, tilted her head slightly in his direction, her serene smile returning. "You say that every time you walk in here," she teased gently, her voice light and melodic, a stark contrast to the heaviness in the room.

Hyang chuckled softly, though the sound lacked humor. He moved to sit beside her, the chair creaking under his weight. "But I always come anyway," he replied, his tone softening as he reached out to take her hand, his fingers brushing against hers with a tenderness that he reserved only for her. "How else could I find my wife?"

Ophelia's smile widened, and she let out a small, breathy laugh. She leaned her head against his broad shoulder, her presence a soothing balm to the turmoil swirling in his mind. "I miss you my dear," he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple, the words carrying a depth of emotion that he rarely allowed to surface.

She nestled closer, finding comfort in the solid warmth of his embrace. "Have you heard anything from Lukan?" she asked quietly, the concern in her voice unmistakable.

Hyang sighed, his fingers tightening around hers as he nodded. "He says he's fine, but you know him—he never tells me everything," he replied, his voice laced with the same worry that weighed on her.