* * *
The moment their eyes met, Nael felt as though an arrow had struck him square in the chest.
Just the weight of Kilian’s gaze sent a sharp ache through his heart.
His lips curled upward before he could stop them.
A fleeting, absurd thought crossed his mind—if Kilian kept looking at him like that, he might melt into a puddle right then and there.
It was as if even the fine hairs on his body had fallen under Kilian’s control.
Though his mind had already rushed ahead, his body moved sluggishly, as if bound by invisible strings.
Impatient, Nael bit the inside of his cheek.
“Master.”
At Kilian’s silent invitation—a light pat to his thigh—Nael eagerly climbed onto his lap.
Though he was on the slimmer side, he was still a man, not some delicate woman, yet Kilian held him with effortless ease.
As he inhaled, Kilian’s scent filled his lungs, finally making him feel like he belonged.
“Did you eat?”
“I ate a lot.”
“Good. Are you in any pain?”
“No. If you’re busy, I can wait quietly in the bedroom.”
The papers Kilian had discarded were quickly gathered and organized by Aiden.
Nael, feeling somewhat guilty, averted his gaze.
Aiden, all broad shoulders and rough edges, seemed entirely out of place handling delicate sheets of parchment.
Watching him carefully stack and straighten the documents was oddly distressing.
Just moments ago, Nael had wagged his metaphorical tail like a puppy reunited with its owner.
Now, he sat primly, hands clenched lightly on his lap.
He wet his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.
“You need to write to your sister. Since you still don’t know how to write, I’ll transcribe what you say, and you can copy it.”
Kilian hadn’t forgotten his request.
Nael nodded eagerly.
It was embarrassing to dictate his words aloud, but he wouldn’t let that stop him.
He didn’t want to miss the chance to send a letter to his sister.
Kilian held out a blank sheet of parchment and a quill.
The feather, nestled in his large hand, looked as fragile as a thread.
“Go on. Speak freely.”
Nael swallowed hard. Taking a deep breath, he steadied his voice.
[To my dearest sister, Lily._
I’m sorry I left without even saying goodbye. You must have heard from the baron, but I’ve come to the north with Grand Duke Deville.]
“Ah…”
His nose stung.
Before he realized it, droplets fell onto the parchment.
Oh?
Nael pressed his sleeve against the page, trying to blot away the moisture.
Another drop fell, smudging the freshly written ink.
“Why…?”
Kilian’s rough fingertips brushed against the corner of Nael’s eyes.
Only then did he realize he was crying.
Flustered, he rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve.
Kilian had already begun rewriting the letter, the previous one too smeared to read.
“Keep going.”
His voice was calm, but there was something reassuring in it.
Was it just Nael’s imagination?
[It’s not as desolate or frozen over as the chamberlain said, nor is it so cold that my lungs freeze. There are green trees here, and birds, too. Besides, the Grand Duke’s castle is so warm that it doesn’t even feel like the beginning of winter. And His Highness the Grand Duke…]
Nael bit down hard on his lower lip.
Killian remained silent, but his lips moved slightly, as if words hovered there, unspoken.
Was he relieved that his sister hadn’t been the one attending to Killian at night?
That she wouldn’t have been able to endure it?
There was no need to say it aloud—his sister had already understood what the baron meant that day.
[His Highness the Grand Duke is very kind. He even gave me a bedroom of my own and said he’d decorate it in the colors I like. Everyone here treats me so well. Every day, I have freshly baked, soft bread, warm soup, and all sorts of fruit for my meals.]
The steak was undoubtedly delicious—so much so that it felt inadequate to describe it with a single word.
And yet… Nael found himself thinking of the watery potato soup he used to eat with his sister, seated across from her, scooping it up with crude wooden spoons.
[Sister, I imagine the southern winds must be cool this time of year. Please dress warmly. I hope you can rest inside and stay away from the cold air.
Not long ago, I had a dream. In it, you were no longer sick. You had completely recovered and were singing again, just like before. I hope you can see a physician and be cured. I miss the South. When this winter ends and spring comes, I will follow His Grace to the South. Until then, please don’t fall ill. Stay healthy.”
I really am doing well. So well that, for brief moments, I forget I left you behind like that. I’m sorry. I’ll keep thinking of you. I won’t ever forget.
So please, just don’t be sick.]
The image of his frail sister, wrapped in a tattered shawl, leaning against her bed, surfaced vividly in his mind.
If he had known they’d be separated so suddenly, he would have treated her better.
At the very least, he would have made sure she had more firewood.
But even if he could turn back time, his choice wouldn’t change.
He had no regrets about serving Killian at night.
He had simply left unprepared, leaving behind only an empty sense of longing.
A large hand stroked the back of Nael’s head.
To him, Killian was both despair and warmth.
Those irreconcilable emotions clashed violently within him, swirling into a storm.
Huu… Nael steadied his breathing, barely holding back the tears that threatened to spill over.
“From the North. Nael.”
“Ugh…”
As soon as he placed the final period, a sob tore from his throat.
When his mother died—when he first heard the news—Nael had been too young to even grasp the meaning of death.
The baron had arrived before he could process his grief, taking him away and putting him to work.
He had no time to mourn the fact that he would never see his mother again.
From morning until night, he was forced to work, far longer than his small body could handle.
By the time he exchanged a few words with his sister at night, he was too exhausted to do anything but collapse into sleep.
They had survived by leaning on each other, sharing every joy and sorrow. She had been his only family.
Now, she was somewhere far away in the South—somewhere he couldn’t reach.
Overcome with grief, Nael let out an animalistic wail. His cries lasted for a long time. Killian waited patiently.
By the time Nael finally stopped, his sleeves were soaked with tears, and the skin around his eyes was swollen and blotchy.
The vitality he had when he first entered the office was nowhere to be seen.
He looked so drained that, without support, he might have collapsed backward.
Seeing this, Aiden stepped forward, intending to take Nael away.
But Killian stopped him with a hand.
The room was filled with Nael’s hoarse, strained breathing.
Clicking his tongue in mild displeasure, Killian remarked, “You’re a mess.”
“I’m sorry,” Nael whispered.
His voice was barely there, cracked and broken.
* * *
