* * *

Phew. No one was there.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he let out a small sigh of relief.

The rhythmic sound of waves breaking against the ship was strangely calming.

Drawn to it, he walked toward the window.

“Refreshing.”

Without Killian, the room felt peaceful.

The view of the vast sea, save for the incongruous crow perched nearby, was breathtaking.

If only he had the talent, he’d capture it in a drawing and share it with his sister someday.

“Nael, the bath is ready.”

Startled, Nael turned to see Ren standing in the doorway.

Ren frowned, noticing the sweat on his brow.

“Why are you sweating so much? Were you feeling hot?”

After a warm bath, Nael felt relaxed but guilty.

His earlier busyness seemed almost lazy compared to the grueling days he once endured.

When he asked Ren for work to do, Ren laughed gently, though it wasn’t meant to mock him.

Even so, Nael felt embarrassed.

[We’re not so short on crew that we need your help, Nael. Don’t you have more important matters to attend to?]

The tone was polite, but it carried a bitter edge.

[Your foot wound has reopened. Let me reapply the bandage.]

Nael had rushed to see Edward, running with enough force that blood had seeped through the bandage, staining it with red spots.

Ren applied ointment to Nael’s sole and rewrapped the bandage just as Killian entered.

Unlike yesterday, Killian was dressed simply.

He wore plain trousers and a crisp white shirt, looking even more regal than when he had been adorned with glittering jewels.

Edward’s claim that “clothes make the man” proved false.

No matter how much jewelry Killian wore, his mere presence overshadowed it all.

“Wearing fine clothes is what raises one’s worth,” Edward had said before.

Killian’s long, midnight-black hair fell to his waist, and his unbuttoned shirt revealed his collarbones.

His trousers hugged his muscular frame, and his large, sturdy feet completed the picture.

Even without embellishment, he exuded elegance.

As Nael watched him, a fluttering sensation stirred in his chest, as if gentle waves lapped against his ribcage.

“Nael?”

“Ah! I’ll take it off.”

Killian was someone Nael found difficult to face.

Though Killian delegated even basic tasks like eating and bathing to Ren, ensuring detailed reports, he was unyieldingly domineering in Nael’s presence.

Even now, the weight of Killian’s aura made Nael’s limbs stiffen.

Nael’s trembling hands fumbled with the buttons.

He chastised himself for being clumsy, growing anxious under Killian’s gaze.

The buttons slipped and scattered with soft clinks as Killian stretched out his long legs, casting a shadow over Nael’s face.

“Eek!”

Nael dropped to his knees on instinct.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

Killian gently tilted Nael’s chin upward. Nael’s face, drained of color, showed his fear as he nervously bit his lips.

Killian pressed a thumb against Nael’s lips, coaxing them free from his teeth.

The soft, plump flesh looked like it might burst with juice if bitten.

Nael sniffled, on the verge of tears.

Killian’s golden lashes cast delicate shadows over his downturned eyes, which shimmered like green glass.

He studied Nael’s features in silence, pondering if it were possible to create a doll in his likeness.

But no doll could replicate such intricate beauty.

“Why are you crying again?”

“I-I couldn’t get it right,” Nael stammered, nervously tugging at the shirt’s buttons.

His lips trembled, revealing glimpses of his tongue with every halting word.

“Tsk.”

“I don’t want to be punished. My bottom still hurts… and my feet too…”

A heavy silence pressed down on Nael’s back.

The oppressive quiet made the air feel thin, and a tear slid down his cheek.

“Crying over nothing again.”

Killian’s rough fingers brushed Nael’s eyelids.

“You said you’d save some bread for later, didn’t you? But you ate it all.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Let’s see, then.”

Killian pressed a hand against Nael’s stomach.

Nael held his breath, afraid Killian might discover his lie.

He hadn’t expected such scrutiny, and guilt pricked him like countless needles.

Should he confess now?

“Your stomach’s still flat, even after eating that much. I’ll have them prepare more tomorrow.”

Nael nodded quickly.

Killian took it as an answer, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his lips.

The asymmetry made Nael swallow nervously.

Killian closed the window, securing it firmly.

The cool breeze that had swept through the room stopped, and the light streaming in was blocked by Killian’s broad back.

Only his dark shadow remained, looming over Nael.

A nightmare…

Nael’s mind refused to accept this reality, convincing him it was just another dream.

Yet, he clung to a futile hope that he might wake up.

Someday.

Surely.

“The wind is cold. Have you been sitting by the window this whole time?”

“…”

Nael opened his mouth but couldn’t speak.

The weight of Killian’s presence was suffocating. He nodded instead.

[When he swings his sword, enemies are cleaved in half, leaving a crimson flood in their wake. They say there’s no such thing as defeat when His Grace leads the charge.]

Edward had spoken with the fervor of a loyal servant, as if he’d personally witnessed the battles.

He recounted Killian’s feats with reverence, likening him to an untouchable deity.

But Edward didn’t truly know Killian…

To Nael, Killian was the one who had plucked him from his home like a weed from a field, forcing him into a carriage without a care.

Yet Killian’s towering status made it impossible for Nael to voice his resentment.

He was a noble beyond reproach, someone Nael dared not defy.

And that made him all the more terrifying.

When the baron lost interest in Nael’s mother, he abandoned her.

Would Killian do the same?

Would he discard Nael as easily as one tires of a toy?

As a grand duke, he surely had a duchess in the north.

Could someone like Nael, a mere man, even belong in Killian’s bed?

The memory of the baroness berating his mother for being a mere maid resurfaced, suffocating Nael with dread.

Nael glanced at the window, but Killian clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Come here.”

Nael crawled forward, moving on all fours like an animal.

Without needing instruction, his body obeyed the instincts that told him he belonged to Killian from the moment he called him “Master.”

Killian extended a hand, inviting Nael to stand.

“Your hands are cold. And yet you stayed by the window.”

“Yes. The breeze felt nice.”

“Don’t make yourself sick. That would be troublesome.”

Killian’s command was light, but Nael was in no position to refuse. He obediently nodded.

Killian gestured with a sharp tilt of his chin.

The unspoken order was clear, and Nael clutched the hem of his clothes.

Though daylight brightened the world outside, this room was steeped in darkness, mirroring Nael’s uncertain future.

“Do I have to help you undress too?”

With practiced ease, Killian stripped Nael’s clothes away, leaving nothing behind—not even his belt, pants, or shoes.

Without Killian’s permission, Nael wasn’t allowed to wear anything.

Like a doll, Nael was nothing more than a lifeless object to Killian.

The cold air made Nael’s body shiver.

Killian beckoned with a finger, and Nael crawled forward, supporting himself on his hands and knees.

Killian circled him slowly, inspecting him like a sculptor admiring his creation.

He stopped near Nael’s hips, his gaze lingering.

Nael clenched instinctively, his body betraying his embarrassment.

Killian chuckled softly at the sight.

Nael’s face flushed bright red.

“Ugh!”

Killian reached out and fondled Nael, making him gasp.

“Master, please… not there…”

Killian’s grip was firm, as if capable of crushing stone.

* * *