* * *
“Nael!”
John, who had entered with cleaning supplies, startled and stumbled back at the sight of him.
Nael hastily turned his head away.
With nothing to cover himself, he could only curl up, using his stinging palm to shield his exposed shame.
“Nael, are you okay? Good heavens!”
John rushed over, flustered, but the sight was too much to bear.
He’d only ever heard of Kilian’s… affections for Nael—he never wanted to see the evidence firsthand.
“Sorry. I don’t have any clothes.”
John froze, stiff as ice. His lips parted and closed uselessly, eyelids refusing to blink.
Nael wished the silence had weight—enough to swallow him whole, burying him underground.
He bit his lip hard enough to taste copper.
A prickling shame ran through him, making his body tremble.
A sudden chill wrapped around him.
He needed to get out of this room.
Kilian wasn’t coming back.
“I’m sorry, John, but… could you bring me some clothes?”
Just then, a quiet voice drifted in.
John immediately bent at the waist, stiffening further.
“Who told you to come up here?”
“I—I’m sorry! I’m still new to my duties, and I made a mistake. I was just… cleaning and got curious, so I came up the stairs.”
Even as he spoke, John kept stealing glances at Nael.
The mix of joy and sorrow on Nael’s face was bitter to witness.
It was infuriating—that the person Nael relied on most was the very one subjecting him to this, and that there was nothing John could do.
“AIDEN!”
A deep, thunderous voice echoed down the hallway, resonating like a cave’s hollow rumble.
The metallic clatter of a scabbard grew closer, and John staggered back.
Nael couldn’t see Kilian from his position, but the tone alone made it clear—his mood was foul.
“Take him away.”
John’s face paled to a sickly blue.
He bowed his head deeply, casting one last helpless glance at Nael.
Nael, in turn, couldn’t tear his gaze from the strands of hair clinging to John’s sweat-dampened temples.
As John stepped fully out of the doorway, the door slid shut with a soft click.
“Huh?”
Then—a sharp, metallic clank.
The lock had engaged.
Nael finally snapped back to reality and tried to stand, but his legs wobbled, his body still unsteady.
No, that can’t be.
He didn’t lock me in.
He must’ve just unchained the other side.
He said not to worry about the opposite room—he probably just closed this door temporarily to keep me from seeing.
He tried to run, but his body moved sluggishly, as if time flowed differently inside this room.
Outside, seconds raced by, but here, every moment dragged.
His panic couldn’t keep up.
Clank. Clank.
He grabbed the doorknob and yanked, but the door remained stubbornly shut.
“Master. Don’t leave me here. Master… Hic…”
No answer came.
But Nael could feel it—Kilian’s scent, faint but unmistakable, seeped through the door’s cracks.
He was still there. On the other side.
“Master, I was wrong. I won’t say those things again. Sob… I’m scared.”
Nael pounded on the door with his fists.
Forgotten, the glass shard dug deeper as he gripped the knob and shook it violently.
Thin streaks of blood smeared the metal.
The sound of unhurried footsteps faded gradually, then disappeared entirely.
Nael didn’t even think to pull the blanket over himself.
He just stood there, dazed, waiting for those retreating footsteps to return.
Outside, the midday sun dipped lower, and the warmth that had filled the room vanished in an instant, leaving only a creeping chill.
The door against his back felt like ice.
Pressing his ear to it, he heard nothing.
With blurred vision, he stared at the darkening world beyond the window.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Since when do you fuss over me?”
Aiden stifled a sigh, chewing it into tiny, soundless pieces.
The emotion was strange.
Ever since he’d seen Killian—after holding Nael, who had been crying, and then watching him flash a bright smile in front of the children before bounding off after Ren—something had felt off.
Killian was his lord, but since Nael’s arrival, he had been changing in subtle, unsettling ways.
And now, with the vassals rebelling, the usually composed and icy Killian was nowhere to be found.
Instead, he was acting downright emotional.
Killian’s brow furrowed deeply, the harsh lines on his face betraying just how agitated he was.
“Send Norman. Tell him to pull the damn thing out of his ass. Nael’s too stupid to do it himself.”
“…Wouldn’t it be better if Your Highness went yourself? He’d like that more.”
“Since when do I cater to Nael’s likes and dislikes?”
“My apologies.”
Aiden pressed his lips together, the sound of Nael’s pitiful sobbing still ringing sharply in his ears.
“Your Highness, forgive my impertinence—”
Snap.
The quill in Killian’s hand broke.
“I don’t understand why you’re so fixated on Nael.”
“I meant nothing by it. I overstepped.”
Aiden bowed his head.
Killian’s sharp gaze bore into him, his index finger tapping the desk in slow, deliberate strikes.
Those crimson eyes refused to leave Aiden.
After a long silence, Killian gave a slight jerk of his chin.
“Call Norman.”
Clank. Clank.
The slow, heavy sound of the lock turning made Nael’s head shoot up.
Was his master back?
Had he come to take him away?
The gloomy weight of abandonment slipped away like sand through his fingers.
The door, which had felt like an impenetrable wall, creaked open.
“Lord Nael?”
“Ah…”
It was Norman.
Before disappointment could fully settle in, Nael met the man’s worried gaze.
He bit down on his lip hard enough to split it, forcing himself not to cry.
Wrapping his arms around himself—now cold and stiff—he took a step back to let Norman in.
“Is… is Master not coming? Does he not want me anymore? Did I do something wrong?”
He had only meant to ask about Killian’s whereabouts, but once the questions started, they wouldn’t stop.
Even as Norman raised his hands in a placating gesture, Nael kept pouring out words, flooding the room with his desperation.
“Am I not allowed to go to the South anymore? Is he tired of me? Did I not do my job well enough? …Hic.”
“Tch.”
A sigh of disapproval hissed from behind Norman.
Suddenly, all sound vanished.
As if all conversation had been cut off, silence filled Nael’s ears.
Norman waved his hands frantically, mouthing something, but Nael’s green eyes were fixed solely on Killian.
And it was Killian who shattered the suffocating quiet.
“Nael.”
It was as if thick, clinging darkness pooled at Killian’s feet.
Nael hadn’t even heard his footsteps—was this really him standing before him now?
His jet-black hair was perfectly tied back, not a single strand out of place.
Nael held his breath until the very moment Killian stopped in front of him.
He was so close that Nael could feel Killian’s exhale against his feverish skin.
His own small frame was completely eclipsed by Killian’s towering figure, invisible to anyone standing behind him.
“Have you thought about what I said?”
“Yes.”
His heart, startled into a frenzy, refused to calm.
Nael pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the violent pulse beneath his fingertips.
No matter how hard he tried to steady himself, his voice trembled thinly.
“I belong to you, Master.”
“If I tell you to bark, you bark.”
Killian gripped Nael’s collar, the leather creaking in his hold.
The gesture made Nael feel even lower, if that were possible.
He remembered it all over again—’I was bought. Paid for. His kindness was just my own delusion.’
* * *
