* * *
The soft afternoon sunlight streaming through the small window only made the urgency of the situation feel more suffocating.
‘The previous Duke also left a decent reward to his mistress in his will, so it must run in the blood,’
they thought.
They had tried to overlook it, but Killian’s behavior was becoming more unpredictable by the day.
Soon, it looked like he might hand over the entire North—so of course, the vassals, desperate to protect their own interests, were reacting strongly.
But cutting down a man for speaking plainly—that had shaken them deeply.
It was as if they’d been doused with a bucket of ice water.
Belatedly, they began gathering every scrap of information they could about the situation inside the ducal estate, and about Nael Baker—the courtesan.
“Sir Dylan. What’s your opinion? You manage the most land among us, don’t you? Are you going to just sit by and let that disrespectful, worthless courtesan take it all?”
“Yeah! Come on, say something!”
Dylan, who had been silent the whole time, finally gave a slow, thin smile.
“I was hoping you’d all come to the same conclusion. So I’ve already made a few arrangements. Things are going to get interesting. Just wait and see.”
The road the carriage followed had already been cleared of snow, allowing for smooth travel.
As they passed through town, Nael was glued to the window, letting out a string of amazed gasps, until Ren gently scolded him.
The commoners, bustling since early morning, stopped to gape at the lavish carriage.
But when they saw Nael peeking out, unable to hide his wonder, they tilted their heads curiously.
Some mistook him for a noble and bowed; children waved at him cheerfully.
The North, which had seemed cold and desolate, was, in the end, still full of people—vibrant, calm, and stable.
Nael thought it was all thanks to Killian, who never left his office until late each night.
Terrifying, yet not a tyrant.
Nael smiled quietly, thinking of him.
After passing through the city, the carriage entered a quiet mountain road.
Its pace slowed significantly.
The iron-bound wheels creaked over patches of thin ice.
Nael resisted the urge to open the window and stick his head out.
“Is His Grace taking this route as well?”
“Yes,” Ren replied in a warmly gentle tone.
“He’s used to roads like this, so you needn’t worry.”
“Is that so?”
Ren nodded.
It wasn’t even a tall mountain, yet the castle now looked no bigger than a pinky nail.
‘Has he already left? Maybe he’ll get on the carriage partway.’
The carriage jolted suddenly, shaking so hard even Nael, seated on the plush cushions, was nearly tossed up.
His arms flailed in the air like branches in the wind before dropping again.
“What’s going on?!”
Ren, alarmed, banged on the front wall of the carriage.
He had ordered the driver to go slowly—but the driver’s scream was the only answer.
“The horses! They’ve gone wild! Whoa! Easy!”
The coachman pulled at the reins, trying to slow the horses down.
But suddenly, foam was frothing at the horses’ mouths, and they bolted.
The driver was on the verge of panic.
The snow may have been cleared earlier, but the frozen ground from last night made galloping incredibly dangerous.
He had to stop them somehow.
Sweat soaked the driver’s body.
The carriage rocked violently, up and down.
There wasn’t even time for nausea—Nael’s wide, fear-stricken eyes were on the verge of bursting from their sockets.
My lord…
In his most terrifying and desperate moment, Nael thought of him.
Every night, he had wrapped Nael in his arms, as if to hold him captive, the rise and fall of his chest like a breath that filled Nael with warmth.
He missed that embrace desperately.
Ren’s face had gone pale, so Nael swore not to cry and forced his tear-dampened eyes to stay open.
And just as their eyes met in the chaotic swaying space—
The world spun.
“Lord Nael. Lord Nael, please… wake…”
A faint voice echoed, and Nael managed to regain the flickering edges of consciousness.
“Huh…”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes. Ren…?”
At some point, he had started crying.
His long lashes were soaked and drooping.
As he reached out clumsily, trying to get up, Ren grabbed his hand suddenly.
“You mustn’t move yet.”
“Ren…”
Ren’s voice had no strength.
Each word was forced out like it was being squeezed from him.
Nael took a few breaths to calm his ragged breathing.
“Haah… damn it…”
Ren rubbed his forehead.
Where his fingers passed, a long streak like red paint was left behind.
Nael’s vision slowly cleared, revealing their surroundings.
The carriage walls were shattered—who knows how far they’d rolled
Debris littered the space, and among it, a thick, jagged beam had pierced through Ren’s upper body.
The blood-soaked tip was still slowly dripping with fresh, vivid red.
Like blood from the fangs of a furious beast.
“Ren! You’re bleeding—!”
“Shh. Keep your voice… down…”
It couldn’t have been mere coincidence that the once-calm horse suddenly stirred into chaos.
If someone had orchestrated it, they were the type who chose time and location with meticulous care.
Nael had never left the Grand Duke’s estate before, and the moment he did, they struck as if they’d been waiting.
Despite thorough preparation, some gap must have been overlooked.
They wouldn’t assume Nael had died just because the carriage fell.
That’s why—at the very least—Nael had to survive.
Ren forced his dimming vision back into focus.
But Nael couldn’t move on his own.
He didn’t seem to realize it yet, but both legs were pinned under the broken door.
Hopefully the bones weren’t shattered.
Ren, even in agony, could only worry about Nael.
But there was no way he could hold on until the Grand Duke arrived.
If only his body were still intact… Damn it.
He knew better than anyone that he was barely keeping a dying flame alive.
“Nael, listen to me carefully.”
Ren handed his sword to Nael.
His face twisted in pain as his limbs contorted unnaturally.
Driven only by sheer will, he forced himself to move, squeezing his heart dry to do so.
“If you see anyone, stab them with this. Understand? Unless it’s Aiden or the Grand Duke… anyone else, kill them.”
Just hold on until the Grand Duke arrives.
Norman… Please, tell my grandfather I’m sorry…
“Ren? Ren! Hhhk—”
The sword’s bloodied hilt felt heavy.
Ren’s fingers, brushing briefly against Nael’s, were icy cold.
He must have lost too much blood.
Nael had to find a way to save him.
Sticky blood clung to Nael.
He couldn’t believe it.
The warm voice that used to soothe him was gone, replaced by barely-there, uneven breaths.
Ren’s brown eyes, still open, spilled tears silently.
His light was fading.
Please… Master… someone… anyone, please save Ren.
Nael tried to rise, but it felt as if a boulder was crushing him.
He couldn’t move.
He had to move.
He had to get help.
Hah… hah…
Each breath in the frigid air turned to mist, yet sweat beaded on Nael’s forehead.
Using the sword’s sheath as leverage, he pushed at the crushed door to free his trapped legs.
The thick wooden panel clung to him like a log.
“Ugh…”
Gritting his teeth so hard they creaked, he pushed with everything he had.
He had to do this.
There was no choice.
* * *
