"I—I'm sorry, sir," the hotel attendant said nervously, standing stiffly before the purebloods. "We don't have any rooms left for this hybrid." Gesturing politely to Sylene.
The words came out strained, fearful.
The peace treaty should protect him… but fear didn't disappear that easily.
Sir Melchior looked unconcerned.
The manager bowed repeatedly, apologizing. Turns out, Sylene was meant to use Alden's reserved room—but since Alden had canceled, the booking was released. With the holiday season approaching, every room was now filled.
"…I can sleep on the sofa," Sylene offered quickly, looking at the lobby, the hybrid already lowering his bag. "It's fine. Really. No problem."
The manager hesitated, then looked at Melchior—questioning. Confused.
"Hybrid," he said carefully, voice lowered, "you shouldn't sleep carelessly. With your looks… you'd be targeted in a place like this."
Melchior smiled.
"He's joking," he said lightly. "he just act sulky, that's all."
