* * *
Winter was approaching fast.
The air was noticeably colder than the day before, a clear sign that the season was nearly here.
Nael wrapped himself in thick gloves and a hat, then turned his attention to the castle gates.
“Aren’t you cold? Why don’t you go back inside?”
“I’m fine. Honestly, there’s nothing for me to do inside. I’d rather wait.”
There was only one thing on Nael’s mind.
The one person who could take him to the south.
His breath formed soft white clouds in the air.
He exhaled again, watching as his warm breath curled into the cold wind before vanishing.
Nael’s entire focus was on the gates.
He wondered if they knew how desperately he was waiting.
Yet, the heavy doors remained still.
But harboring such longing was dangerous—it made him forget his place.
He forced his expression into a neutral one, unwilling to let his emotions show.
How long had he been waiting?
The sunlight glinted against his golden eyelashes, his delicate features forming a beautiful arc.
Then, through the half-opened gates, he finally saw him.
Killian.
The steady rhythm of hooves drew closer.
Nael stretched out his legs, which had gone numb from crouching for too long.
As blood rushed back to them, a tingling sensation pricked at his skin.
He ignored it, smiling brightly the moment his eyes met Killian’s.
“Master!”
Killian’s sharp features seemed even colder today.
He must be exhausted from enduring the night’s chill.
Nael hesitated, then shuffled forward, trying to close the distance.
“Why are you out here?”
“I was waiting for you, Master.”
“Your job is to wait patiently in the bedroom. Go back.”
Killian walked right past him.
The air that followed in his wake seeped coldly into Nael’s chest, like a blade stabbing into his heart.
He couldn’t even find the words to respond—he just stood there, staring at the space Killian had left behind.
“Master!”
He ignored the pins and needles in his legs and tried to move, only to stumble.
Aiden rushed forward, catching him just in time.
Killian, who had been walking away, briefly turned his head.
The sight of his back, shrouded in black, sent a chill down Nael’s spine.
He had seen him fall.
Killian’s crimson eyes had flickered his way.
And yet, he simply turned away.
His billowing cloak felt like a cold slap against Nael’s chest.
What had he done wrong?
Nael replayed their brief conversation over and over.
Was his face rough from the cold wind?
He removed his glove, pressing his chilled fingers against his cheek.
The coldness of his skin felt warm in comparison to Killian’s gaze.
“…I’ll return to the bedroom, Sir Aiden.”
Nael paced anxiously by the bed.
Tick. Tock.
The long second hand of the grandfather clock moved steadily forward, each tick only making his anxiety worse.
Even after Philip confirmed Killian’s whereabouts, Nael’s nerves remained unsettled.
The way his master had looked earlier made him too afraid to seek him out.
So, just as he was ordered, he stayed in the bedroom.
“Get a grip, Nael Baker.”
He knew that worrying like this would only irritate Killian.
And yet, he couldn’t sit still.
Then, the bedroom door creaked open.
Killian’s broad frame filled the space.
“Master.”
Freshly washed and clad in a robe, Killian strode inside.
His towering frame looked even larger than usual.
Nael approached with a bright smile, but Killian’s expression remained cold.
The dark shadow he cast swallowed Nael whole.
“Master, you must be exhausted. I heard you had a rough night.”
Killian’s eyes slowly swept over him.
Then came his order—chilling in its indifference.
“Take it off.”
The words sank in a beat too late.
Nael could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
But he bit down hard, swallowing them back as his fingers fumbled to obey.
After a few clumsy attempts, he finally managed to pull his pants off, tossing them aside carelessly.
He shyly covered himself, his body already marked with Killian’s traces.
He licked his lips, his round green eyes flickering toward his master.
“…Master.”
Killian twirled his finger in the air, a silent command.
Nael spun around for him.
His rounded hips were fully exposed, his back growing hot with embarrassment.
“Lie down.”
“…Already?”
“Show me.”
He raised his pale hips high, spreading them apart until his fingers turned white.
He willingly exposed the trembling, pink petals, the tight entrance stretching horizontally.
There was no time to grasp the situation.
His pale face was buried in the bedding, showing nothing but the exposed opening.
His fingertips trembled, and each time he lost his grip on his own flesh, he quickly caught hold of it again.
Killian didn’t make a sound, and time continued to pass mercilessly.
Even if he retraced the past day, he couldn’t figure out what had upset Killian.
Was it because of the flowers?
Or was he simply too exhausted and in a bad mood?
He felt like a completely different person.
He was no longer the man who used to comfort him when he was afraid, but something else—something wearing Killian’s skin, playing his role.
“…Did I tell you to get on all fours?”
The strength was slowly draining from his fingertips.
The surrounding temperature dropped several degrees in an instant.
A chilling sensation crept in, and soon, goosebumps prickled across his entire body.
A cold breeze swept along his spine.
He wanted to turn around—but he couldn’t move an inch, afraid he’d be caught crying.
“Hhng…”
The sound of Killian clicking his tongue softly echoed down his spine like dripping water.
Nael, unable to endure the cold creeping up the back of his neck, finally sniffled.
“Master…”
“Lie down.”
Even a single short word made sorrow well up inside him, and he turned his body away with a sniffle.
Unable to bear showing his tear-streaked face, he averted his head.
If he looked at Killian’s face now, the tears he’d been holding back would burst forth uncontrollably.
Without a word of warning, his wrists and ankles were bound together, forcing his body to fold halfway, his backside fully exposed.
The faint marks from Killian’s grip on his buttocks had slowly faded, leaving the skin soft and pale, plump enough to make one want to take a bite.
It looked as though, if one sank their teeth in, sweet juice would trickle out in rivulets.
The head of Killian’s cock, as big as a child’s fist, craved his hole.
The sensation of it pushing into his tightly clenched entrance was vivid.
It was so large that every thrust left him gasping for breath.
Just hold on a little longer—he’ll praise you for being good.
* * *
