Chapter 1
Question: What is it like to marry an ancient, thousands-of-years-old demon? Alistair Wren: Thanks for asking, but it’s not anything special. I just get woken up by my handsome husband every day. And honestly, my biggest concern is how to deal with how much he loves me. --- At first, when Alistair Wren learned that he had to marry a powerful ancient demon to stay alive, he resisted with all his might. In this day and age, who still practices arranged marriages? He would rather die than submit. … That was, until he was forcibly taken to a matchmaking event and laid eyes on his future husband, Bastian Fox. Alistair Wren: Wow, he’s gorgeous. Why hadn’t anyone told him that his demon fiancé was not only the strongest ally in the demon realm but also the finest-looking guy around? Age gap? Who cares. I've got this. Alistair brushed his fingers along Bastian's hand and asked earnestly, “So, do you think tomorrow is an auspicious day? What do you say we head to the courthouse and get hitched?” … **Little Drama:** Ever since Alistair Wren, gifted with the Heavenly Spirit Bone, got together with the powerful Bastian Fox, the residents of the demon realm have been waiting anxiously for them to divorce. Half want to marry Alistair, and half want to claim Bastian. But they keep waiting, and these two just won’t break up. Frustrating, isn't it? … Alistair Wren: Keep dreaming! We’re never getting divorced. --- **Love at First Sight** In September, the heat was unbearable, making everyone in the cramped classroom restless, even with the air conditioning humming away. Alistair Wren had his head down on his desk, pretending to listen to the principal's lengthy speech about the new school year while discreetly tearing into a snack package under the table. Today marked the first day of college enrollment, and he had finally escaped the hell that was high school, enjoyed a liberating summer, and now found himself back in a classroom—he could feel his resistance from head to toe. Most importantly… as Alistair chewed on his snack, he scanned the classroom for any cute guys, but his heart sank when he found none. Defeated, he slumped back down. “Who told me there would be good-looking guys at St. Augustine's University? So far, not a single one,” he muttered to his friend beside him, “but I’ve spotted plenty of pretty girls.” Unfortunately, appreciation was where it ended for him. His childhood friend, Elara Finch, who also attended the same high school and was now in college with him, wasn’t about to let him off easy. “You're just too picky. Remember that guy who confessed to you over the summer? He wasn’t half bad—tall and good-looking. Yet you ran away faster than a rabbit. At this rate, when are you ever going to find someone?” Alistair shot her an incredulous look. “Picky? I just think I deserve someone who matches my looks.” Elara replied with a smirk, “Well, you might as well be single for life.” Alistair chose to take that as a compliment, unbothered. He was indeed attractive. With a quarter of his heritage being mixed, his features were slightly sharper than usual, yet still boasted the delicate features typical of an East Asian man. His deep-set eyes sparkled with clarity, his lashes were thick and curled, and his complexion was flawless—smooth as jade. Not to mention, he flashed a killer smile showcasing a dimple. Since the day he entered high school, he attracted admirers that could line the hallways, and even half the class had been glued to him as he entered the classroom today. After downing half his snack, Alistair glanced at the teacher, who was still rambling on without a care in the world. He quietly pulled out his phone, planning to play a game, but instead found a string of messages—a frantic one from his dad. He tapped it open to read, “Get back here, you brat!!” Alistair frowned. "What could possibly be so urgent? Did our family go bankrupt or something?" Moments later, another message came through, this time from his mom. “Don’t mind your dad. Are you still registering? Finish up and come home. The family is here, and they need to talk to you.” Relieved, Alistair relaxed slightly. At least nothing catastrophic happened in the family. Losing interest in his game, he stuffed his phone back into his bag and popped another snack into his mouth. Elara noticed his demeanor and inquired, “What’s up? Do you have plans after this?” “Yeah, my parents want me to come home. Some relatives are visiting.” Elara nodded knowingly. As Alistair’s childhood friend, she was well aware of his family’s situation. The Wren family was a prominent branch of a larger clan, having been independent for generations but still maintaining ties. “You guys are on good terms with them, huh? Always keeping in touch,” Elara casually commented. “What do they do again? Still in business?” Alistair simply answered, “Yeah, something like that,” while thinking to himself that she was better off not knowing the specifics; it might just scare her. … With the teacher's monotone voice lulling him into a daze, Alistair rested his head on one arm, staring absentmindedly out the window at the towering green trees, and his thoughts drifted farther away. As a child, he had no clue what his extended family did for a living. Three generations ago, they had set up their own business, amassing considerable wealth while maintaining a polite distance from their ancestral home. They maintained ties to the clan strictly during holidays. Alistair had always viewed his family as nothing extraordinary—just a wealthy family without any distinctive traits. Everything changed when, at the age of four, he was kidnapped by strange, monstrous beings and nearly eaten alive; that was when he discovered that there was more to the world than just humans—there were also demons and spirits. His family, who had become distant from their roots, dated back several centuries as a highly regarded clan of exorcists, dedicated to hunting demons and banishing evil. However, in recent years, coexistence had become the norm; demons now had IDs and lived alongside humans. Killing a legitimate demon would land one in serious trouble. Now, their main occupations consisted of ghost hunting and providing feng shui consultations, with side businesses in amulets of various kinds. After his kidnapping ordeal, since the kidnappers were non-human, there was nothing the police could do. It was only after his father contacted various clan elders that he was rescued.
Chapter 2
As Alistair Wren, only four years old at the time, stood in a circle surrounded by the Elders of Thorne, they scrutinized him for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, they came to a staggering conclusion: he had been kidnapped for a reason — he was borne of the fabled Heavenly Spirit Bone, a powerful asset desired by the mystical beings. His bones, blood, even strands of his hair were said to enhance the abilities of magical creatures. He was like a succulent dish, radiating an irresistible signal to all beings of magic — "Come and feast upon me!" But, like any society, not all beings in the magical realm were citizens of virtue. Faced with the temptation of Alistair’s extraordinary Heavenly Spirit Bone, how could any creature resist? To protect him from potential threats, his family had placed a sealing charm upon him, dampening the alluring essence of his Spirit Bone, allowing him to grow up safely. However, this seal was not without its troubles; it required constant mending, or else it would wane. Alistair yawned, accustomed to the routine of these family visits. He thought his family was simply there for another sealing session, something he had become all too familiar with over the years; they came to renew the charm on him once a year, and it was hardly something to stress about. As soon as Master Baldric announced the end of the lesson, he got up and waved at Elara Finch. “I’m heading home. What about you?” Elara considered briefly, then replied, “You go ahead. I’ve got things to take care of.” Alistair stepped out of the classroom and sent a quick message to his driver — by the time he exited the campus, the car was already waiting outside, ready to whisk him away. His home was nestled in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in the city. As the car turned off the bustling streets and into a quieter residential area, the atmosphere shifted to a calm and serene ambiance, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of sycamore leaves casting playful shadows on the ground. Upon entering the house, Alistair found his parents, Cyrus Wren and Isolde Hart, saying goodbye to several familiar family members — the very same faces who came every year to renew his seal. “Hey!” he greeted them, raising his hand. They waved back before getting in their cars and driving off. Curious, Alistair approached his parents, puzzled. “Didn’t you say they were coming to maintain the seal? Why are they leaving before I even got back?” Isolde's heart tensed at the mention of the "seal." Gripping his hand, she pulled him into the parlor. “Let’s talk in here.” Taken by surprise, Alistair found himself pushed onto the couch while his parents sat across from him, their expressions grave. They looked like they were preparing for an interrogation, and it sent a wave of nervousness through him as he frantically searched his memories for any potential trouble he could have gotten into. “Why the serious faces?” Alistair whispered. “If we have something to discuss, can we skip the psychological warfare?” His parents exchanged a look; Isolde sighed, patting Cyrus's hand. It seemed she had decided to take the lead. Cutting straight to the chase, she said, “The family came to discuss your seal. We had thought we might find a solution to this issue ourselves, but now it’s time to come clean. The seal can only protect you until you turn eighteen. After that, you’ll fully mature, and the allure of your Heavenly Spirit Bone will be impossible to guard.” Alistair felt like he had just been hit by lightning — there was no buffer, no preparation. He instinctively reached for the back of his neck where a red mark glimmered beneath his skin, resembling a blooming lotus flower. To the untrained eye, it looked like a tattoo, but it was the seal. He realized that without the seal, he was at severe risk of being hunted down by malicious magical creatures — he finally understood his parents' somber expression. They were practically telling him, “Sweetheart, your time might be running out.” “However,” Isolde continued, “the family has learned it’s not entirely hopeless. Have you heard of the Fae Management Authority?” “Yeah, I know about them.” Despite living a seemingly ordinary life, being from a family entwined in the affairs of the mystical, Alistair was familiar with the Fae Management Authority, which governed all magical beings and regulated their identity. “The founder of this Authority, Sir Edmund Fox, made a pact with your ancestor, the Wren family's forebear. It requires the sacrifice of future generations as offerings for a legacy, which means everyone in our family, including you and your father, belongs to this Sir Edmund,” Isolde explained. She barely managed to suppress an eye-roll at the mention of their ancestor; before Alistair arrived, she and Cyrus had spent half an hour venting about the reckless decisions of their lineage. Cyrus shared her frustration, but he had little power to change history. Alistair scoffed, “Can’t we just disown that ancestor? Sounds awful.” Isolde waved her hand dismissively, focusing back on the grim matter at hand. “While Sir Edmund hasn’t pressed us for any obligations, his old wounds have resurfaced, and guess what? Your Heavenly Spirit Bone can heal those wounds. So the Fae Management Authority suggested a quid pro quo. If you heal Sir Edmund, they guarantee that no creature will dare to pursue you.” Confused, Alistair looked between his parents, their worried faces weighing on him. “Isn’t this a good thing? You just want me to heal him, right? I’ve always been about helping others.” He smiled, revealing an adorable dimple on his left cheek, looking sweet and naive… and utterly oblivious. Isolde felt a rush of exasperation, pinching Cyrus's hand in frustration — How could their son be so blind? Could opportunities this good come from the sky? Cyrus shook his head, watching his son with a mix of concern and disappointment. “Listen, pal, I’ll be blunt. There are two ways you can ‘heal’ Sir Edmund. One involves literally offering yourself to be consumed, ensuring his immediate recovery. But that’s not an option. So the Fae Management Authority proposed a second method….” Seeing his father's strained expression, Alistair began to sense something was off. “What method?” Cyrus placed a hand over his heart, steeling himself before uttering the next words. “They want you to marry Sir Edmund Fox.” An immediate silence enveloped the room, broken only by the melodic chirping of birds outside. Alistair could hardly process the revelation; had he really just heard his parents suggest he marry a magical creature? But the somber expressions on their faces told him they were dead serious.
Chapter 3
Alistair Wren couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You can't be serious. You really called me back just to set me up on a blind date?" He jumped up in protest, but at five-foot-six, he didn’t quite have the intimidating presence he was going for. In frustration, he hopped onto the sofa to emphasize his point. "And what’s with Sir Edmund Fox? How old is he, anyway? He's got to be ancient and totally inappropriate for someone who hasn't even hit eighteen yet! Is this what you want for me, to become some creepy old dude’s spouse?" Isolde Hart and Cyrus Wren exchanged weary looks. No parent wants their child marrying a monster, and Alistair was their only son, the treasured light of their lives. Yet, thanks to a long line of troublesome ancestors, everyone in the Wren family found themselves under the thumb of Sir Edmund Fox. If he wanted Alistair as a husband, well, the laws of the Fae Realm were pretty clear—there's no preventing a marriage or even worse. Moreover, Alistair was just weeks away from his eighteenth birthday. Once the seal holding back his Arcane Energy lifted, it would attract all sorts of unwanted attention. They felt utterly powerless protecting their son. Alistair continued his protest. "I refuse to settle for an arranged marriage! Honestly, you might as well just hand me over to a monster to devour me whole!" His dream was to find a cute boyfriend and have a sweet college romance, not some twisted fairy tale where he ended up with an ancient creature that could be his great-great-grandfather. But Isolde didn’t seem interested in negotiating. With a regal gaze that could put any queen to shame, she commanded, “Cyrus Wren, tie your son up, if you have to.” Half an hour later, Alistair found himself unceremoniously bound and tossed into the backseat of their car. His parents were in front, determined to schlep him to meet Sir Edmund and see what all this fuss about his seals was about. Knowing he was trapped, Alistair let out a huff and curled up into a ball. “You know, forcing me into a marriage won’t lead to happiness. There's no way a loveless union could ever work—I might be physically in one piece, but my soul would be shattered.” For about an hour of the drive, he complained at least forty minutes solid, and while his parents tried to tune him out, he felt himself getting parched from his outburst. Finally, when he paused, his mother casually said, “Son, the Department of Arcane Affairs mentioned that if you can find another way to heal Sir Edmund before you turn eighteen, the marriage won't happen. But understand this: with your Arcane Energy building up, it's crucial to have someone powerful like Sir Edmund on your side to keep away the other creatures that might want a piece of you. We’re not horrible parents trying to push you into a pit of fire, okay?” Alistair rolled his eyes. “I never said you were horrible parents.” He knew they loved him deeply. With a resigned sigh, he thought, “Well, there’s no way out of this. I might as well meet this guy.” Not that the “meet” felt less terrifying than a blind date with a monster. They drove into the hauntingly beautiful neighborhood where Sir Edmund lived, a cool breeze wrapping around them as they crossed from the heat outside into something far eerier. Every house belonged to a magical creature, and in the air, the traces of enchantment hung like mist. Eventually, they reached the man’s estate located on the Isle of Serenity. The house was an impressive structure with its own garden, covered in a medley of vibrant summer flowers, including a sea of white woodflowers blooming gloriously at the entrance. He found it all gaudy, a showy display that only underscored the wealth of its occupant. As they approached, Alistair hesitated and whispered to his parents, “Just tell me the truth: how old is Sir Edmund?” Cyrus Wren considered his words carefully. “I think he’s about a thousand years old.” Alistair felt as if the world shifted beneath him. A thousand years old? That’s older than any antique! Still in a daze, he stepped into the living room and sank into a sofa, bracing for whatever was about to come. All he could think of was the quote about “a pear tree crushing a crabapple,” or whatever grim metaphor represented this situation he found himself in—this was just too much. Lost in his thoughts, he heard Fletcher—an obviously inhuman figure who had come to greet them—saying, “Sir Edmund is coming down now.” Great. Though his heart felt like lead, Alistair forced himself to stay poised and glean a glimpse of the creature he was about to enter a lifetime partnership with. He prepared himself to see an ancient face wrinkled with age, but what he laid eyes on snatched the breath from his lungs. Descending the staircase was a man who looked no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight. His complexion was pale, lips slightly tinted, but his emerald green eyes held depths so dark and unfathomable that they seemed to pull his very essence toward them. He wore a flowing sky-blue robe that accentuated his tall, athletic build, radiating a confidence that could easily grace the cover of a fashion magazine. There was an undeniable energy around him, a mix of youth and an air that screamed authority, as if he'd commanded legions that spanned centuries. Alistair's thoughts tripped over themselves, a rising tide of disbelief crashing into the shore of reality. The curvaceous youthfulness before him overshadowed anyone Alistair had had the fortune to meet before. Unconsciously, he found himself reaching for his chest, reminiscent of a silly poem his younger cousin once recited about handsome men. “Are you Alistair?” the newcomer asked, his voice deep and melodious. Torn from his reverie, Alistair nodded blankly, caught between fear and something else entirely—which he couldn't even begin to name. Bastian Fox stepped the final distance off the stairs, entirely unaware of the flurry of emotions he stirred within Alistair. He merely assumed Alistair was overwhelmed—who wouldn't be, after all, faced with the prospect of an alliance to a fae?
Chapter 4
Bastian Fox sat down across from Alistair Wren, acknowledging the fidgety Cyrus Wren and Isolde Hart with a nod. Alistair looked younger than Bastian had anticipated, his gaze dreamy and a touch vulnerable, evoking a surprising sense of tenderness. “Word is you’re not too thrilled about this engagement, but…” Before Bastian could finish, Alistair jolted forward as if awakening from a daydream. “No, no, no! I’m absolutely thrilled! The moment I saw you, I knew we were meant to be together.” In that moment, Alistair realized why he had spent seventeen years single — it was to wait for his destined love. He gazed at Bastian earnestly, “Brother, wouldn’t tomorrow be a perfect day? Let’s go get the marriage license!” His hand clasped around Bastian's, excitement coursing through him as if he had a tail that would wag if only he had one. Bastian Fox stayed silent. Cyrus Wren and Isolde Hart exchanged glances, taken aback. Bastian had never experienced anything like this before. Although he had been in countless grand situations throughout his life, he had never been outright proposed to — especially not by someone so much younger than him. Over the years, countless suitors, both men and women, had approached him like moths to a flame but dared not be so bold, instead wooing him with subtlety in hopes of earning a glance of his favor. No one had ever been so direct, so sincere, right off the bat. He took in Alistair Wren’s youthful, pretty face, recognizing that the little bride the Department of Arcane Affairs had insisted upon was far more appealing than he would have guessed. Though a touch too young for his taste, Alistair’s smile shone like the sun, lifting the mood of anyone lucky enough to witness it. A faint blush crept onto Alistair's cheeks from Bastian's gaze, his long eyelashes fluttering as he clung to the older man's hand, mesmerized by its smoothness. The scene was so unexpected that even the composed Fletcher couldn’t keep a smirk from twitching at the corner of his mouth, gaining new insights into the concept of mad love. Yet Bastian surprised everyone by not pulling away from the younger man’s grasp, making Fletcher privately reconsider his judgment. Isolde Hart and Cyrus Wren could hardly believe their eyes. Their son, once such a staunch champion of virtue, now crumbled like a mountain before the allure of beauty. Isolde covered her face with her hand, reluctant to admit the embarrassing turn of events involving her own child. Despite the stunned silence, no one dared to interject, the quiet only broken by the gentle sounds of Bastian Fox finally asking, “So, you just said you’re willing to marry me. Is that correct?” Alistair thought to himself, I’d love to marry you! That’s the whole point of my coming here. But he showed no signs of doubt. He simply nodded, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, as if ready to head straight to City Hall. Bastian found himself amused. “As much as I appreciate that, I can’t actually marry you.” Alistair's expression fell instantly. “Why not? You brought me here to discuss our wedding!” Bastian gently withdrew his hand from Alistair's, explaining, “Because you’re not yet eighteen, and the Heavenly Spirit Bone hasn’t matured yet. Jumping into marriage with a creature is risky for both of us.” He spoke the truth — before the Heavenly Spirit Bone matured, its host could become vulnerable. But he didn’t need to frighten the boy with such heavy talk. “So it’s just a wait until I turn eighteen?” Alistair concluded excitedly. “As soon as I’m eighteen, we’ll get the license, right?” In seventeen years, he had never been so sure of a love connection — he couldn’t let it slip away. Bastian remained silent. The engagement had always been a whim of the Department of Arcane Affairs, which had pursued Alistair without his consent. The head of their office had even threatened to end it all if he refused, employing guilt tactics that had left Bastian heartless. He actually wanted to see if one of the monsters could suffocate under that veil. So marrying a human had never truly been on Bastian's agenda. But looking into Alistair's sunlit eyes, filled with hope, made it hard to outright refuse. Bastian found himself in an unusual state of contemplation, considering how humans typically decline offers. Isolde Hart and Cyrus Wren, though not genuinely keen on their son becoming entwined with a creature, felt a pang of urgency upon hearing Bastian’s remarks. Alistair's Heavenly Spirit Bone still required the department's protection; if Sir Edmund Fox denied the engagement, it meant Alistair would return to danger. Before they could voice such concerns, Fletcher finally took a step forward. He bowed slightly to Alistair and the Wren parents, articulating clearly, “The Department of Arcane Affairs suggests that until Alistair turns eighteen, he can stay with Mr. Fox. This will help develop their relationship before marriage while also providing Alistair with protection. Without the Heavenly Spirit Bone's safeguarding, he risks falling prey to creatures. We can revisit the arrangement once Alistair reaches legal age.” Isolde Hart and Cyrus Wren visibly relaxed. Above all, Alistair’s safety mattered most. As for everything else, as humans, they were somewhat powerless and could hardly negotiate terms. Alistair pondered this new arrangement. Was it like living together before marriage? It would be a chance to understand their compatibility. With purpose, he studied Bastian's handsome face, reaffirming that this was not a loss for him at all.
Chapter 5
He raised his hand to indicate, “I have no objections. We can move tomorrow.” Only Bastian Fox had strong reservations about this. He shot a cold glance at Fletcher. “When did I ever agree to this?” Fletcher remained composed, reminding him, “You agreed last week after getting drunk, and the Department of Arcane Affairs even had you sign a contract as proof.” As he spoke, Fletcher produced a slightly yellowed piece of paper emblazoned with the seal of the Department of Arcane Affairs, beside which were Bastian Fox's flowing signature, radiating a faint dark light that was tinged with his own aura. There was no room for doubt here. The Department of Arcane Affairs was determined to play matchmaker. “Quinton Stone better not cross my path,” Bastian Fox said expressionlessly as he accepted the contract. “The Department’s special funds have been halved this year. Let them figure it out themselves.” Fletcher noted this down quickly; after all, it wasn’t his salary that was on the line, so he felt no regret. Bastian Fox considered for a few seconds before looking up at Alistair Wren. “You can move in as a temporary resident. Until you come of age, I will ensure your safety. We can discuss other matters when you turn eighteen.” Alistair Wren's face lit up instantly. “I only have six months until I’m eighteen.” He flashed a “six” gesture at Bastian Fox, the tea in front of him only half-drunk, and a small red string bracelet with a golden charm dangling from it swayed back and forth with his movement. He was rather endearing. Bastian Fox propped his chin on one hand, showing no visible reaction, though internally he mused on how this human didn’t seem intimidated by him at all. Was it simply because his infamous reputation didn’t reach this world? Moving Prep Despite Alistair Wren’s eager agreement to move tomorrow, Isolde Hart and Fletcher discussed and concluded it would be more suitable to wait three days to allow time for packing and organizing. Then Isolde Hart and Cyrus Wren politely took their leave. They sincerely thanked Sir Edmund Fox for his assistance once again before dragging their troublesome son along. Alistair Wren didn’t resist; after all, a cooked duck wouldn’t fly away. He was set to move in, and he certainly wouldn't run out of time to hang out with Bastian Fox. As they made their way back to the car, he glanced back across the lawn and noticed Bastian Fox watching him from behind a window. The fading sunlight cast a surreal glow on Bastian Fox’s face, making him look breathtaking. He promptly made a heart gesture towards Bastian Fox, exclaiming, “Saranghae~” But just as he held the pose for a second, his father nudged him into the car with a gentle kick. Bastian Fox frowned, puzzled by the gesture, and pinched his fingers together, asking Fletcher, “What does that mean?” Fletcher, ever dutiful, explained, “He’s saying I love you.” Bastian Fox: “………………” Kids these days really are unrestrained. As the car finally pulled away from the gates of Greenhill Vale, Isolde Hart and Cyrus Wren breathed a sigh of relief. Their nerves had been on edge all afternoon—not just out of concern for their son but also because the whole area was thick with the presence of the fae, which was overwhelming for two ordinary humans. Interestingly, Alistair Wren was completely unfazed, gabbing away as if he were the most excited one of all. Isolde Hart stole a glance at her son in the rearview mirror and found Alistair still grinning like a Cheshire cat, a smile plastered on his face. Now she felt anxious. Earlier, when Alistair had been crying and throwing a fit about moving, she worried; now that he seemed happy, she worried even more. How can he be so quick to propose after only meeting someone once? Isolde Hart tapped on the window to grab her son’s attention, rehashing old arguments. “Alistair, maybe you should explain to me who it was shouting that arranged marriages aren’t happy? Who was it that just met someone and practically proposed on the spot?” Cyrus Wren chimed in with a sarcastic chuckle. With their son’s life saved, he felt more at ease and could afford to join in the teasing. Alistair Wren thought his parents were being incredibly unsupportive. Just a moment ago, they cherished him and were willing to give it all for him, and now they pivoted to mock him? “How was I supposed to know Cupid's arrow would strike me so suddenly today?” Alistair said, putting down his phone and presenting a logical case. “You both saw Bastian Fox’s looks! You can’t honestly say any love-struck teen could hold back seeing him. If I had known you would introduce me to someone this good-looking, I would have run over myself without you needing to tie me up!” Isolde Hart was left speechless. She glanced at Alistair again, letting out a soft sigh inwardly. Whose essence does this infatuation come from? After mulling it over, she figured it must have come from Cyrus Wren. She couldn't help but shoot Cyrus a glare. He merely chuckled gently and patted her hand, fully aware as a father of Isolde Hart’s worries. Yet, they were powerless; this was Alistair Wren’s destiny to shape. The three of them returned home and settled down to dinner together as if it were just another mundane evening, with dessert being plum jelly served in white porcelain bowls—clear and beautiful. During the days before his college classes officially began next Monday, Alistair Wren hadn’t done much other than cram for basic knowledge about the Fae Realm. The fae now had completely integrated into human society, having established secret websites and forums exclusive to their kind. Alistair savored his ice cream while eagerly browsing the fae gossip forum, laughing heartily from what he read. Whether it was the tale of a thousand-year-old turtle tricking a water lily fae into marriage or a weasel conning a rooster out of his retirement plan, or a protest against the Department of Arcane Affairs for unpaid overtime—complete with replies from officials claiming, “The elixirs you consume are your salary.” While he hadn’t learned much about the Fae Realm, he had certainly indulged in a lot of gossip. After finishing the popular threads on the gossip forum, Alistair casually checked the official site, and before he realized it, he had scraped up the last bit of rum-flavored ice cream.
There are limited chapters to put here, click the button below to continue reading "Bound by an Ancient Love"
(It will automatically jump to the book when you open the app).
❤️Click to read more exciting content❤️