* * *
Even as Killian exerted force to shake him off, he remained unmoving, like a marble pillar rooted in place.
Killian’s sharpened sneer slashed through the air.
“For a vassal of the ducal house to be unable to suppress such petty greed… What a disgrace.”
The laughter slipping through Killian’s teeth sounded like a predator growling as it corners its prey.
“A mere handful of gold… and you would dare stab me in the back.”
Utterly corrupted. Disgusting.
His voice remained low, but his eyes were colder than ice.
Even the slightest shift of Killian’s boot sent fresh waves of searing pain through the man’s wound.
His wheezing turned to screams, his pleas for forgiveness ceaseless.
Wrinkled hands clutched at Killian’s ankle, his shrieks so pitiful they bordered on grotesque.
The stamping foot lifted only when the screams began to fade.
The man, unable to endure the agony, collapsed into unconsciousness.
At Killian’s nod, his body was dragged away.
Servants entered at once to clear the bloodstained carpet, and soon, the room was silent again, as if no disturbance had ever taken place.
“Aiden. Root them out.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Aiden understood without further instruction.
He merely stood in silent acknowledgment of the impending bloodshed.
Killian swallowed back the curse rising in his throat.
The prince, was it?
The fool, pushed further and further from the throne.
A mere boy, deemed too young and powerless.
And yet, he had managed to sway even the emperor, marking Killian’s next battleground as his own.
A place he could accompany him to.
No doubt he intended to claim Killian’s victories as his own, dressing them up as his own achievements.
Not even worth considering as an opponent.
Killian scrawled a brief letter and handed it to Aiden.
“Send it to the imperial palace.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“What about Nael?”
“He has returned to the bedchamber, Your Grace.”
The fleeting gaze in the corridor, that pale face marked with confusion—it surfaced in Killian’s mind.
A faint, inexplicable irritation creased his brow.
Rising from his seat, he strode toward the chamber, his steps brisk, urgent.
As expected…
The moment he opened the door, Nael was curled up on the bed, sniffling.
And yet, as if he had never been crying at all, he hastily rubbed his eyes and ran toward Killian.
His tear-streaked face was swollen red.
“You cried again.”
“N-no, I didn’t. Something got in my eye. I wasn’t crying.”
“Nael.”
“I’m not lying—ah, I’m sorry.”
Such a tearful thing.
The moment his lie was exposed, Nael flung himself into Killian’s arms and burst into sobs.
Trembling, he clung to Killian’s chest, soaking his tunic with tears.
Strangely, the suffocating tension in Killian’s heart eased just a little.
“Nael. Your eyes will swell. Stop crying.”
Killian wiped away his tears with his fingertips, the dampness seeping between his fingers.
He brought them to his lips.
“You don’t seem well.”
“…Master.”
“Don’t hide anything from me.”
Nael’s eyes wavered violently.
His lips trembled, swallowing down words he wasn’t allowed to voice.
The weight of his unsaid question was visible in the way he clenched his chest, as if forcing himself to feign strength.
It stung to witness.
As Killian cupped his cheek, Nael tilted his head into the touch and hesitated before finally speaking.
“I… actually came to ask for something.”
“…”
“I want to look around the castle. Please grant me permission.”
“You weren’t crying just for that.”
Nael bit his lip, only to release it when Killian’s fingers brushed against it.
“There will be no reason for you to go to the East. You need not worry.”
“….”
“This isn’t your fault, Nael. You don’t have to cater to their greed. All decisions are mine alone to make. No one but I can refuse an order. So don’t waste your precious tears on something so trivial.”
Killian pulled him onto his lap, pressing Nael’s ear against his chest.
He exhaled slowly, as if someone who had longed for the sound of a heartbeat.
As Nael traced the thick muscles of his arm, he asked cautiously:
“…Master, do you think my sister will reply?”
“It will take time. But if you ask whether she will respond—yes. She will.”
Killian’s voice was low and steady, gently reassuring.
Nael’s face was a mess from crying.
His bloodshot eyes and bruised, slender neck bore traces of distress.
As Killian studied his features, Nael suddenly broke into a bright smile—untouched, pure, like fresh-fallen snow.
Seeing that, Killian’s lips curled faintly in response.
“You may tour the castle with Ren. Visit the greenhouse.”
“The greenhouse?”
“This land is not suited for grand gardens like those in the South. So, we built a separate greenhouse to tend to them.”
Closing his eyes, Nael inhaled deeply.
The scent of the South filled his senses—lavender and sage, twining together in a fragrant embrace.
The flowers, which thrived in the warmth, bloomed in extravagant splendor here.
[Nael, lavender blooms when it’s warmest and wilts when the cold sets in. Sage is the same. They are flowers you won’t see once the chill arrives.]
It felt as if he could hear his sister’s gentle voice.
She used to dry the blossoms under the sun to make tea.
She would smile, saying it felt like flowers were blooming on her tongue, and she would always offer Nael the precious tea leaves.
He had refused every time.
Good things should be for his sister, not him.
Though, the one time she had coaxed him into taking a sip… he had sworn to never drink flower tea again.
His sister, paler than the sage flowers, had laughed so brightly.
“Ren, may I pick a few?”
Ren, who always responded swiftly, hesitated this time.
His brown lashes fluttered as he struggled to find an answer.
“Well… I suppose so. Since you were allowed here, it should be fine. Just not too many.”
“Okay.”
Nael happily picked lavender and sage, carefully selecting by color.
Ren hesitated, about to stop him, but seeing Nael so lively for the first time in a long while reassured him—it should be fine.
With his hands full of flowers, Nael smiled beautifully, almost like a fairy.
It was Nael’s first time breathing in the fresh air outside.
Even when he had been brought to the castle, the carriage was covered with dark cloth, blocking his view of the outside world.
The window in his bedroom was all he had ever seen of the world.
The cold air made his nose sting, but he felt as though he could float away.
His emotions swung wildly throughout the day—crying in the morning, then by noon, under Killian’s touch…
“Ah!”
Just after their coupling, he had painted himself in a state of post-climax bliss.
The memory flooded his mind, and his face burned with embarrassment.
Surely, he wouldn’t cover the walls with such paintings?
The servants would see them as they passed by!
No, that couldn’t be.
Shaking his head to dispel the uneasy thought, his delicate blond hair swayed gently.
“Wow! Wow! Flowers!”
Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed the children surrounding him.
He couldn’t take another step forward as they crowded around, their bright eyes sparkling in wonder at the flowers he held.
Ren looked conflicted, attempting to shoo them away.
“Go back, you little rascals.”
“Who are these children?”
The situation quickly turned chaotic.
* * *
