* * *
There were five retainers who had been separated.
All except Dylan were restless and anxious in the drawing room.
“The Duke definitely knows. Otherwise, why would only we be rounded up like this?”
“Stop bouncing your leg. It’s driving me mad.”
“I’ll go knock. This is confinement, no matter how you look at it.”
One of them got up and went to the door.
He grabbed the knob and tried to turn it, but it only made strange metallic clinks and wouldn’t budge.
Eventually, he pounded on the door with his fist, as if to break it down.
Bam! Bam!
“What kind of nonsense is this? Open this door, right now!”
His furious shouting continued for several minutes until someone finally pulled him back to the sofa and calmed him.
He sat there, heaving, chest rising and falling with anger.
“For over forty years, I served this house. I trusted the previous Duke. And now we’re discarded like this? What even is that boy to him—to cause such a mess?!”
Dylan, who had remained silent until then, furrowed his brow.
“Quiet. Overreacting like that will only make things worse.”
“Dylan, wasn’t your plan supposed to send a proper warning to the Grand Duke?”
“The Grand Duke, ever since he was young, would lose his head over anything he got attached to. Do you remember? That baby bird he picked up somewhere. It had fallen from its nest, and he brought it back, desperate to save it.”
The bird had been smaller than the palm of a hand. It wasn’t a species suited to survive in the North.
Someone visiting the North had given it to Killian as a gift, and knowing it wouldn’t survive the cold, they raised it in a greenhouse.
It lasted quite a while—until Killian’s mother lost her mind and ordered the bird’s death.
“Remember how he said the bird didn’t belong here? And how he still tried to convince her to let it live?”
“And what does that have to do with the situation now?”
“Why wouldn’t it? It was on the Grand Duchess’s orders that the bird was killed. I’m the one who did it. I still remember clearly the screams and cries of young Killian.”
Dylan tapped his ear lightly, then lifted his teacup with leisurely grace and took a sip.
“He locked himself in his room afterward, paralyzed by the shock. He was just a child, yet he loved that tiny creature so deeply. Imagine how much more he’d feel for a person.”
“But he was just a child back then—”
Dylan clicked his tongue.
“People don’t change. They just become bigger children. Do you know how many enemies the Grand Duke has made because of that male whore? If those leeches around him let Nael live, it would be nothing short of a miracle. Even if they do, he gave orders to move him somewhere the Grand Duke can’t reach. Let’s see how he handles that sense of loss.”
Everyone murmured in agreement, each in their own tongue.
“We only need to wait for him to fall apart. The Grand Duke has weaknesses. With no heir, everything will naturally revert to the imperial palace. All we have to do is seize that moment. How much could those palace folk possibly know about the North? They’ll hand it off to some scarecrow of a prince, and if we just play nice, we can reclaim our past glory.”
A comfortable silence settled over the drawing room.
The thick clothes Killian had made sure he wore had helped.
His ankle ached, and one of his boots had gone missing—who knew when—but it was bearable.
The small room was as worn and cramped as the cottage Nael had once lived in.
The door was locked from the outside, but Nael didn’t waste his energy pounding on it like a fool, begging to be let out.
These people had no reason to help him. His instincts warned him not to trust them.
Still, he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.
Killian didn’t have the time or manpower to scour the entire North for him.
No matter how much people called him a war god, he was still human.
Which meant—even if Nael was moved somewhere else, he needed to leave some trace that he had been here.
Saying he wasn’t scared would be a lie.
Creaaak.
Creeeak.
The sound of rusted metal made his skin crawl.
The hinges shrieked, and the wooden door rattled open.
A man stepped in, his face marred by a long scar that stretched from his forehead down beneath his eye.
Was this the caretaker Dylan had mentioned?
Who was he?
“The snow’s finally stopped.”
“……”
“That’s good. It’s covered all the tracks we left behind. No one will be able to follow.”
Nael furrowed his brow slightly.
That face—it was vaguely familiar.
He tried to recall where he’d seen it before.
His memory slowly pieced together the man’s features.
Ah.
“Sir Knight.”
The man flinched at the address.
If Nael’s memory was correct, this was the one who had tried to calm the frenzied Edward on their first day in the North—and had accidentally struck Nael on the forehead in the process.
Nael gently touched the spot he’d been hit that day.
“So you remember.”
The once unblemished face now bore a long scar, and the eye that should’ve shone with life was dull and pale.
The once-handsome man now repulsed him.
Nael couldn’t bear to look at him for long and dropped his gaze.
It’s my fault again.
The shame clung to him like muck.
Killian had been furious that day, and in the end, had punished the knight.
The guilt crushed Nael, and he bowed his head like a sinner.
The knight only entered during meals, staying just long enough to bring food.
Nael tried to avoid drawing attention to himself—not that it mattered in a room this small.
But the fleeting glint of desire he saw in the knight’s eyes terrified him.
“Eat.”
The next morning, a bowl of watery soup appeared again like clockwork.
It was cold and thin, not a single solid piece to be found.
His fingers turned red from the cold.
He pulled his clothes tighter and wrapped himself in the thin blanket, but the chill still seeped through.
The small room had no heater, and the wind howling outside pierced straight through his bones.
He rubbed his numb hands together, trying to feel any hint of warmth.
He kept clutching the fabric near his chest—where Killian’s name was engraved—just the thought of it kept his racing heart steady.
The knight, who had been watching quietly, frowned in irritation.
“I’m not interested in your ass, so quit clutching your clothes. I’ve already seen the Grand Duke’s name on your skin. What’s so special about it that you fondle it like a jewel? Freak.”
So he had noticed.
Even though Nael only traced the name with his fingers when the knight wasn’t around—and quickly covered it up when he was.
While he rubbed his freezing toes, the knight let out a cold chuckle.
“What’ll you do once you’re back in the South?”
“…Ah, I don’t know yet. I just… want to go home.”
Half-true, half-lie.
There was too much unease about going along with their plan.
And there was no way Killian wouldn’t find out he’d been taken South.
* * *
