* * *
Killian’s crimson eyes never left Nael, their intensity piercing through him like a physical wound.
His chest ached as if it had been hollowed out.
“I don’t want to live in the North! Please, let me return home! I beg you! Let me go!”
Nael mustered every ounce of strength he had, but he couldn’t match Aiden’s.
The distance between him and Killian steadily diminished until, finally, he stood before the imposing man.
In the struggle, Nael’s hair became damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead.
His hands and feet were caked with grime, and the jacket draped over him reeked faintly of fish.
He looked as though he had rolled through the mud, a far cry from his earlier state.
Killian’s expression remained one of mild disdain as he surveyed Nael’s disheveled form.
He seemed tempted to toss him into the icy seawater to clean him off—or perhaps dunk him headfirst until his defiance ceased.
With an unimpressed glance, Killian lifted Nael with ease, slinging him over his shoulder.
Half of Nael’s lower body dangled awkwardly in the air, but Killian paid it no mind as he began to walk.
“Put me down! Let me go!” Nael flailed, his protests frantic.
Smack!
The sharp crack of a palm meeting bare flesh echoed in the air.
“Ah!”
“Stay still.”
“Let me go! Ugh!”
Nael clenched his fists and pounded weakly against Killian’s back.
With each wide stride Killian took, Nael’s golden hair bobbed, and his restrained legs kicked futilely.
Every time he squirmed, another fiery slap landed on his exposed rear.
Killian was the epitome of nobility, a man born into privilege, granted authority and honor by divine decree.
He walked the most radiant paths of life without ever needing to glance down.
Nael had no right to defy him, let alone raise his voice in protest.
Yet his desperation drove him to act beyond his standing.
The steps onto the massive ship were measured and unhurried.
Killian radiated an air of indifference, devoid of sympathy.
Nael’s despair deepened.
His cries and struggles felt futile as pain rippled through his body with every movement.
Killian’s presence was so commanding that the crowd parted like the Red Sea as he strode forward.
The onlookers’ gazes lingered momentarily on Nael’s reddened, exposed rear before averting in silent disapproval.
“Please! I… I’m not—”
Smack!
Each time Nael opened his mouth, a harsh slap silenced him, the sound slicing through the air like a whip.
The stinging pain gradually drained his strength until he could barely move.
By the time they reached the ship’s deck, Nael’s backside was swollen and flushed red.
The sun’s brilliance cast a golden hue over the scene, while the sea breeze tousled Killian’s dark hair.
Nael winced every time the silky strands brushed against his face.
‘I hate this. I hate it so much.’
Nael looked to Aiden, trailing behind them, with pleading eyes, but the knight avoided his gaze.
There was no one here who would help him.
Killian’s voice was calm as he issued his orders.
“Send someone to Nael’s household. Provide them with an appropriate sum and a servant.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“We depart immediately.”
“As you command.”
The ship’s anchor was raised, and the once-silent vessel erupted into activity as preparations for departure began.
“Your Grace! Please, let me go home! Hic… My sister—”
Killian ignored him and carried him directly into the cabin, where he tossed Nael onto the bed.
Though soft, the rough manner in which he was dropped made Nael’s body tremble.
Through the cabin window, the landscape outside began to move.
The ship was setting sail.
“Hic…!” Nael wept, pounding the mattress in frustration.
His home—the home he could never return to—receded in the distance.
Overwhelmed with sorrow, he had no idea how to process his feelings, so he continued to cry.
His blurred vision failed to capture the last glimpse of the shore.
The ship charted its course northward.
Killian stood silently, gazing down at Nael.
His cold, indifferent demeanor was unmoved by the other’s sobs.
He seemed more like a detached observer of a sorrowful play than an active participant.
Nael’s anguish burned inside him, but he could do nothing but crawl off the bed, collapsing on all fours before Killian’s polished shoes.
“I’m not a courtesan,” he said, his voice trembling.
“There must have been a misunderstanding. Your Grace, if you could show me mercy, I… I would spend my life repaying your kindness. You know, I… I’m the son of the Baker family. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Nael.”
“Y-Yes… Hic.”
Killian regarded him as if he were a sculpture in the grand plaza, a figure of mythological perfection, towering and unyielding.
“Do you think your father would accept that? He was the one who suggested I take you.”
“Your Grace…”
“Do you believe he would return the gold I paid for you? I’m asking if that’s what you think.”
Nael had no answer.
His father, the baron, was a man who begrudged even the smallest expenses.
The thought of him returning the gold was unimaginable.
He would likely count the coins each night, smirking in satisfaction.
Yet Nael hadn’t expected to be sold off so easily.
The realization dragged him into a bottomless pit of despair.
His future appeared bleak, filled with uncertainty and servitude to Killian’s desires.
“Hic…”
Nael’s sobs continued, unabated, as Killian left the room without another word.
The lock clicked behind him with a dreadful finality.
“I’ll find a way back,” Nael whispered to himself.
“Somehow, I’ll find a way.”
But how?
How could he escape when resistance was met with pain and humiliation?
How long could he endure?
“I can’t… I can’t do this. Hic…”
Nael cried until the pillow beneath him was soaked.
Just as exhaustion began to overtake him, the lock clicked open again.
Someone entered quietly, their steps muffled.
“Nael, sir, the bath is ready.”
“I don’t want to… Hic…”
“It is His Grace’s order that you must wash. If you don’t, I’ll be the one who gets scolded.”
The voice trembled with an unsteady anxiety.
Whether it was genuine fear or something else, the way the speaker’s bowed head hung precariously close to the ground seemed unsettling.
The man appeared to be roughly Nael’s age.
“I-I’ll go.”
As Nael, drained from crying, attempted to stand, the man quickly approached and supported him.
Feeling utterly pathetic for his inability to manage even his own weight, Nael let out a bitter laugh and allowed himself to be guided.
They passed through the bedroom and into a nearby bathroom, where a tub filled with steaming hot water awaited.
The warmth of the humid air suggested it wouldn’t feel cold even without clothes.
“Onboard the ship, water is limited, so the bathtub is quite small. I hope you can understand.”
“It’s fine. This is more than enough for me.”
“Allow me to assist you in bathing.”
Nael clutched at his clothes and shook his head vigorously.
Aside from that one night when he was served in such a manner, no one had ever assisted him with something so personal.
The man reached for Nael’s jacket as though it were the most natural thing, but Nael, wearing nothing beneath it, flushed with embarrassment at the thought of how exposed he’d be.
“I-I’ll bathe alone. Um…”
“Oh, my name is Ren, Nael. Please feel free to call me by name. You may also speak more casually to me. His Grace has instructed me to attend to you with utmost care.”
“Ren…”
“Yes.”
Nael fidgeted, intertwining his fingers.
He hadn’t been trying to call Ren by name but had instead hoped the man would take the hint and leave.
Yet Ren, seemingly accustomed to such tasks, simply stood there in polite anticipation.
Nael hesitated, carefully choosing his words.
“Ren, I really want to bathe by myself.”
“The floor is slippery when wet, and His Grace has specifically ordered me to tend to the wounds on your feet. If you were to fall and hurt yourself further…”
“Fine, fine, I understand.”
Nael gave up.
Ren was one of Killian’s attendants.
His own preferences were meaningless.
* * *
