The Lords.

Mordeu almost panicked. “That’s not what I mean. You’re amazing, you’re not repulsive. It’s just that it’s because…”

“He’s a man,” Cillian fetched the words out of him.

Mordeu nodded his head.

Cillian smiled. “I understand now, it really is disgusting to some people.”

Mordeu chuckled in relief. “I think it’s disgusting to everyone.”

Cillian said nothing to that. The rest of the walk to Alvitir’s own courtyard was left in silence. Mordeu’s head was cautiously wrapping itself around the discussion he just had with Cillian.

Never had he thought for a second that there could exist a man who didn’t just see indulging in sexual activities with another man as a pastime but would rather want to spend the rest of his life with another man. 

It was unquestionable—the way Kai looked at Cillian, the way he made subtle touches, how he would place his hand on his thigh, or his knee, or his shoulder, how he would look at Cillian like Cillian was a pool of intoxicating water or how he definitely wanted to kiss Cillian.

To Mordeu, it was like Kai was soaked in a bucket full of shit and brought out to walk the face of the earth.

Disgusting.

Alvitir’s courtyard was a bit similar to Cillian’s. It was five steps down, but it was way bigger than Cillian’s own. The wooden chairs in the courtyard were big and they were more in number than Cillian’s. It could be because Cillian’s courtyard was only for himself, whilst Alvitir’s, just like Mordeu could see, was to host friends and talk about matters of the state.

In the courtyard was a good number of people, but Mordeu could distinctively differentiate the important people from the servants, and from what he was seeing, there were two important people if Alvitir and Ayra weren’t included in the calculation.

Kai went ahead and bowed in front of the men. Mordeu and Cillian stood side by side in silence. Mordeu saw how the men were laughing amongst themselves, and for the definite number, he could guess they were the Lords of the rest of the two houses: Stregobor and Balor. 

From the rumors, it was said that Balor was a man of merry and wine, he indulged frequently in promiscuity and his house was a very sensual place. From the two unrecognizable men, Mordeu could tell which of them was Balor. 

He had wine in his hand and a torso so big it could house two children. His beard was long and his eyes held an ever-flourishing mirth. A smile was etched on his face, one that did not falter even at the presence of Kai. He was dressed in rich clothing, and he had a naked servant by his side who was pouring wine into his frequently empty cup.

Mordeu couldn’t help but wonder how the man would look like when he turned into a wolf, if his gut would still accompany him.

The other man, Stregobor, was different. He was just like Alvitir, except his expression was hardened and he seemed angry. He was serious and stolid, and he was dressed in black. He drank no wine but held a sword at his side, which Mordeu guessed he rarely used. He seemed brutal, and the scar across his left eye helped with the creepy appearance. 

He gave off the air of murder, and he smelled like death.

Mordeu paid no attention to what Kai was saying, but he was more focused on the expressions of everyone. Ayra was seated beside her father and her gaze fell on Mordeu; she smiled and he returned the favour.

“You seem to be well acquainted with my sister.” Cillian’s sudden voice stunned Mordeu; it was the first time he was saying anything since their very weird conversation on their way there.

He had been thinking that Cillian was displeased about his assumption of the intentions of Kai towards him, and he had been trying to put words together to apologize. However, having Cillian suddenly say something to him in a tone that did not seem like he was angry was unprecedented to Mordeu. He was slightly taken aback, unable to say anything.

This was the nth time Cillian had rendered him speechless.

“She’s very nice,” he managed to say.

Before he could add to it or before Cillian could say something to that, Kai suddenly gestured to Mordeu, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

Alvitir’s gaze was hard, and Stregobor’s hand was reaching for his sword. There was nothing different in his expression because his face had always been that alert and strong. Balor’s reaction was more unexpected—his cup of wine fell from his hand and he did not request another.

Mordeu was clueless as to why they were all staring at him like that. Even Ayra—her eyebrows were narrowed and there was a pondering expression on her face.

Alvitir decided to take it upon himself to soothe the turmoil in Mordeu. “You are a red wolf?” It was a question of clarification.

Mordeu replied, “Yes, I am.”

“Is it a confusion, boy? Are your furs the colour of blood or are they the colour of the sun setting?” It was Balor that asked. No matter how much he drank, he never slurred.

Mordeu was bewildered. He couldn’t tell if the reason for Balor’s question was that he found him too intellectually impaired that he couldn’t tell the difference in colour, or that he was too terrified to entertain the idea that his fur was the colour of blood.

“Should I turn for you to see, since you doubt the truth of what my fur looks like?” Mordeu asked irritatedly.

Cillian snickered beside him, covering his mouth with his hand as he turned away.

A weird feeling blossomed in Mordeu’s heart at the sight of that.

“I think it’s best if we really see for ourselves,” Alvitir agreed with Mordeu, bluntly ignoring the attitude that had been in his question.

“Okay.” Stregobor’s voice was deep and wicked, and his handsome features held the constant glare. He rose to his feet and walked forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.