* * *
“Nael?”
Nael emerged from the dark thoughts that had pulled him in like a swamp.
John noticed his downcast eyes and gently patted his shoulder.
“You don’t look well. Is it because of the baron?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure if we should go straight to the villa the moment we arrive.”
“It’s alright. The baroness has been ill for a while, right? They said she caught a cold from the long carriage ride and the harsh northern cold. The baron’s so worn out that he can barely leave the bedroom.”
“Then… maybe it’s for the best. But if we don’t visit them right away, they might get angry. I don’t know. We’ve never been apart like this before.”
“Nael, just my opinion, but…”
Nael put aside his gloomy expression and looked up at John with his round eyes.
John clenched his fists tightly and spoke with a firm tone, each word clear and strong.
“They won’t be able to treat you like they used to. Don’t worry. Go and enjoy yourself a bit. It’s only three days, right? Wouldn’t it be a waste to spend them sighing the whole time?”
“Thanks, John.”
“To be honest, I used to think the North was nothing but ice. But there are people living here too, you know?”
“Yeah, I’ve realized that.”
“So, Nael, wherever you go—remember what it looks like, how it smells, and how it feels. Then tell me about it. I’m curious.”
John smiled wryly.
“Are you ready?”
Phillip asked politely. Nael hesitated as he looked around.
“What about the master?”
“He’s in a scheduled meeting. It will end soon. The baggage wagons have already departed. If you head out first, His Grace will ride after you as soon as the meeting is over.”
Nael followed Phillip out of the bedroom.
“He’s not coming with me?”
“The villa isn’t far. It should take about an hour or two by carriage. If His Grace rides, he’ll arrive even faster.”
“I see.”
“It’s in the southern part of the region, so it’ll be warmer than the main estate. I’ve already given strict instructions to the caretaker, so you shouldn’t have any inconvenience.”
Phillip kindly explained the situation as they walked down the corridor filled with cold winter air.
No matter how far he stretched his arms, he couldn’t touch the towering ceiling.
Winter sunlight quietly seeped in through the enormous windows.
Every breath Nael took filled his lungs with the chill of deep winter.
It was quite different from Killian’s bedroom, where the fireplace burned all day long.
Killian sat impeccably straight.
When the tea on the table cooled, it was replaced—without him even taking a sip—with a steaming new cup.
This happened several times.
He was bored.
With an air both imposing and elegant, Killian quietly listened to his retainers’ voices.
“Your Grace. Everyone is uneasy.”
“We’ve devoted ourselves to the North for a long time. We held our peace before because you were at the front lines. But now that you are resting this winter… might we ask you to consider things more positively?”
Killian’s expression remained serene, but inside, he was anything but calm.
Their tongues were far too loose and deceitful.
He had recently revised his will. But really, a will was just a formality.
It was natural for someone with his blood to inherit the duchy and all that came with it.
Killian himself had written a will when he became the Grand Duke.
But now, things had changed.
He had Nael Baker.
Someone who had come to him like spring petals fluttering in the breeze—and taken root deep within his soul.
To the retainers, the revised will had been one surprise after another.
The land previously managed by a punished retainer was now, inexplicably, under the ownership of the commoner Nael Baker.
Some had only realized this later and lodged complaints, but Killian responded that since the land originally belonged to the duchy, there was no issue.
Assigning land to others, collecting taxes, and sending part of it back to the duchy was how this vast northern territory had always been managed.
For hundreds of years, higher nobles distributed land to lower ones or their knights as rewards.
“What is the issue here?”
“Your Grace, it’s just… you are still young, and we worry that affection may be clouding your judgment.”
“Is that so?”
Though he pretended to be listening, Killian’s thoughts were elsewhere.
He replied mechanically, his lips moving with no spirit behind the words.
‘Nael said he’d wait in the carriage,’ he recalled.
He wanted this dull meeting to end so he could show Nael the villa.
He’d offer him the joy of the countryside, maybe even take him hunting.
If it were summer, he might strip Nael down and leash him for a walk… but alas, it was winter.
With a tsk of regret, he clicked his tongue.
“The late duke wouldn’t have wanted this either.”
A faint smirk touched Killian’s lips.
His mother, the duchess, had suffered from a peculiar illness.
She was from the distant south, far beyond where Nael had lived—a land that was always green.
There was no winter there, only endless summers, with lush foliage and blossoms that never stopped blooming.
It was no wonder she fell apart in the harsh and barren North.
It started around ten years after Killian was born, the only child between her and the duke.
Every pregnancy after him ended in miscarriage.
By the third one, she was utterly drained.
Her cold, unfeeling husband had only watched, offering no kind words.
Even though he likely lay with others during the day, he still came to her bed at night.
Neither the long, relentless winters nor anything else ever stood on her side.
[Killian.]
She spent more and more time in bed.
Her body withered away, and at some point, instead of her noble appearance, she called for him in a disheveled white negligee, her hair tangled and loose.
[Yes, Mother.]
[Don’t live like your father.]
[I won’t.]
Then one day, her memory began to sharply deteriorate.
Above all else, it was as if she had erased Killian from her mind.
She looked at him, circling her like a shadow, and recoiled in horror.
[You’re not my son. You killed him, didn’t you?]
[You’re clearly wearing my son’s skin!]
Eventually, she beat Killian.
The Duke merely clicked his tongue in disapproval.
He too would raise his hand if even a hint of disobedience showed.
Killian endured it all in silence. He was the only one suited to inherit the Grand Duchy.
And now, the retainers standing before him wagged their forked tongues into the Duke’s ears.
[Wouldn’t it be wise to separate the Duchess and the young master for a time? Coincidentally, the vanguard leaves for the East soon—it might be a good opportunity to study ‘strategy and tactics’ there.]
He was only thirteen.
They shoved a heavy longsword into his tiny, sprout-like hands and thrust him into a battlefield drenched in blood.
Maybe that’s why… he couldn’t help but feel pity when that boy had been pushed into his chamber, trembling like a leaf.
And yet, he tried so hard not to appear weak in front of him.
That image stirred curiosity.
In Nael, he saw a reflection of himself.
He had to raise a sword knowing he’d get hurt.
Even if knights surrounded him to protect him, his legs still shook at the sounds of death just beyond his nose.
Nael had been just like that the first time they met.
“Your Grace.”
Killian turned at the retainer’s call, locking eyes with him.
The retainer straightened his bony back.
He cleared his throat and began to speak, but Killian raised a hand to stop him.
There was no need to hear it.
Nael couldn’t bear children.
That much was obvious.
Who didn’t know the black-hearted schemes of these men?
* * *
