* * *
If Dylan had wanted him dead, he would’ve killed him on the spot yesterday.
He wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of dragging him unconscious to another location.
“So you treated me… to send me south?”
“I’d rather kill you. You have no idea how much you’ve cost me. The Grand Duke lowered taxes, the will’s become an issue…”
“…”
“I could tell you everything and you still wouldn’t understand. Honestly, I considered tearing you limb from limb and hanging the pieces along the walls. You know what I mean by pieces, right? One finger, one toe at a time—until you’re just barely breathing.”
He folded his fingers one by one as he counted.
Once all five were curled into a fist, he drew an imaginary line across his wrist with his other hand—implying that once the fingers were gone, he’d move on to severing limbs.
All ten of Dylan’s fingers were adorned with rings, shining with a disturbing luster.
Just from the look of him, greed oozed from his pores.
Nael’s tongue stuck dryly to the roof of his mouth.
His whole mouth felt bitter and suffocating.
One wrong word, and that gruesome torture could begin at once.
He blinked slowly, alert to every word and motion.
He says he wants to help me escape, but then says he wants me dead.
Now torture?
His train of thought was erratic, but one thing was clear:
This man hates me.
To his core.
“You know something?”
“…”
“Even if you died a dog’s death, what would the Grand Duke do? Feel sad? Fall into despair?”
“…”
“You’re not seriously hoping for that, are you? At most, he’d shrug and go, ‘Ah, he’s dead. Time to find someone else.’ That’s all.”
With a sneer, Dylan stepped forward. In the cramped space, even a single step brought him uncomfortably close.
His clothes almost brushed against Nael’s.
He tapped Nael’s trembling shoulder.
[What a pity. I’ll have to ask the Baron for a replacement.]
No… it’s different now.
Nael shook off the lingering echo buzzing in his head.
“The Grand Duke always discards his toys after a short time.”
“…”
Lies. Killian held me every day.
If I were nothing but an old, worn-out doll, he couldn’t have embraced me like that.
Afraid his thoughts would show, Nael lowered his gaze.
[His Grace doesn’t keep people long. In the bedroom, I mean. Just endure a few months—it’ll be difficult, but…]
‘Ren… I’m sorry. But for the first time, I can’t believe you.’
From Dylan’s cracked lips, a name unexpectedly slipped out:
“Edward Baker. What do you think the Grand Duke did to him?”
The truth Nael had been avoiding now reared its head.
He may have been denying it all along. It hit him like a blow to the back of the head.
Blood seemed to drain from his nape, chilling him to the core.
Edward had tried to kill John.
This wasn’t something Nael could have simply chosen to ignore.
Edward’s arson had nearly killed the Grand Duke as well.
His guilt weighed more than the years Nael had known him.
“If you hadn’t seduced the Grand Duke like a demon, he wouldn’t have lost his way. You’re a curse. A monster in human skin.”
Nael stood in a place so lowly, he couldn’t even dream of crossing paths with people like them.
There was no way his time warming Killian’s bed would last long.
One day, Killian might grow tired and find him suffocating.
Yet, Killian treated Nael like he was fragile glass that could shatter at the slightest touch.
Still, no one could know about this.
He must never become a blade pointed at the Grand Duke.
Sensing Nael’s inner turmoil, Killian gave a faint smile.
“You understand?”
Nael silently nodded.
“Good, you’re not a fool. Someone will be here to take care of you soon. You’ve met them already, so you know—they’re not as kind as I am. So don’t do anything stupid like try to run.”
He gave Nael a casual pat on the shoulder.
Nael trusted Killian.
Clutching at the name engraved on his collarbone, he held tight.
The one person he should not trust—without a doubt—was this man.
Remember that name well.
If Killian ever had an enemy, Nael would tell them everything.
He forced himself to erase the grim determination from his face.
“Why are you helping me?”
“I’ve got more reasons than I can count.”
It was impossible to tell what kind of intention lay behind those eyes, filled with brimming hatred.
The man’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his cane, as if he were moments away from beating Nael himself.
He reeked of the sea—briny, sharp.
When he shoved his face closer, Nael held his breath.
The stale, unventilated room was steeped in the foul scent clinging to the man.
Don’t tell me… we’re at the harbor already?
“Is this… the harbor?”
“…You’ll find out soon enough.”
So it wasn’t. That meant he wouldn’t be forced onto a ship just yet.
“No need to look so relieved. It all depends on your answer.”
“…If I say yes?”
“You’ll stay here for a few days, then go to the harbor. But if you say no…”
He paused.
His gaze lingered on Nael’s slender neck.
Imagining snapping that neck, twisting it until it cracked under his fingers—he seemed almost to relish the thought.
“Then you die.”
Killian swallowed a low groan.
He rolled his neck side to side, bones cracking sharply.
The vassals’ meeting had just ended when a knight came rushing in, claiming a body had been found.
The knight had likely seen death countless times in war, yet his face was ghostly pale.
His bloodless lips trembled violently.
He looked like he was being chased by something when he finally managed to speak— and Killian’s heart dropped.
“You’ll want to check this out yourself.”
A migraine throbbed at his temple.
His brow didn’t smooth.
“When was it found?”
“Just now, during the shift change.”
“Just now?”
He repeated hollowly.
Killian’s eyes twitched. Damn it.
Profanity burned on his tongue.
The body, stiff as a log in the freezing air, hung suspended—lifeless breath forming white clouds in the cold.
It must’ve been dead for hours.
A suicide attempt, maybe?
A rope around the neck?
The knight had mistaken the corpse for Nael.
Green eyes that mirrored his, golden hair falling across an unfocused gaze, staring blankly into the air.
They carefully loosened the rope and lowered the man’s body.
The thud it made on the empty cart echoed softly.
Light as hollow wood. Killian checked the collarbone even though he knew—it was bare, cold blue skin with nothing engraved.
He checked again and again, but the fury wouldn’t subside.
It felt like something inside him had stopped breathing.
“Aiden! We’re going to the villa.”
He marched through the snow, heavy-footed and unhesitating.
Among all the soldiers’ footprints, there had to be the bastard responsible.
He’d find them, one by one. If it came to it, he’d decapitate every single vassal.
His blood boiled.
Dark energy seemed to surge around Killian—not real, but tangible enough that people instinctively kept their distance, as though even brushing against him would cut them like a blade.
“Your Grace.”
As Killian mounted his horse, a knight came running from the opposite side.
“You need to see the wall. Now.”
“Goddamn it!”
“Aiden!”
He ordered a raven be sent to the villa to confirm Nael’s whereabouts, then spurred his horse in the direction the knight had pointed.
Another body had been strung up on the wall.
This one too—blond hair, green eyes.
* * *
