* * *
Since Killian himself had given permission, it felt like John could appear at any moment, so I waited for days.
Truthfully, Nael had no idea how badly John was injured or how far along his recovery was.
With all information blocked off, there was no way to guess his condition.
Killian didn’t take kindly to another man’s name slipping from Nael’s lips.
So instead, each day, Nael stopped Norman when he came to check on him and asked,
“Norman, His Lordship said he’d send John over—any idea when that might be?”
“Hmm.”
Norman closed his eyes briefly, weighing how much to say.
There was no point hiding it—like trying to blot out the sky with a palm, the truth would soon be unavoidable.
“You might be shocked when you see him.”
He had witnessed the raging inferno firsthand.
The scorching heat that drove back the northern chill, the shattering of windows, the screams—it had been pure chaos.
Had it not been for Killian, John would have suffocated to death on the spot.
Nael already knew how insignificant humans were before nature’s fury.
The storms he’d faced at sea had taught him that much.
No one else had dared enter to save John—except Killian.
He threw himself into that blazing hell for me.
Had things gone wrong, had he lost both Killian and John at once, Nael wouldn’t have survived.
The mere thought was horrifying.
Even now, he didn’t know whether to resent Killian for charging into the flames or thank him for saving his old friend.
Both men mattered too much.
Truthfully, at the scene, Nael had been too focused on Killian to properly assess John’s condition.
Killian had emerged miraculously unscathed, but John, who had been unconscious for so long…
“Please let me know when John is ready. I’ll be waiting.”
He wanted to apologize properly.
If only he had sent both John and Edward to the south the moment they disembarked—none of this would have happened.
Nael blamed himself again.
His mood plummeted.
Oblivious to Nael’s turmoil, Norman spoke lightly.
“Ah, the Baron and his wife should be arriving soon.”
“Is that true?”
“His Grace’s orders aren’t something they can easily refuse.”
“……”
Nael turned his head toward the window.
The heaving sea swallowed the sun rapidly, and ashen darkness spread in its wake.
Somewhere in that pitch-black void, the Baron and his wife were marching steadily toward him.
[How dare you, born from the womb of a lowly vessel!]
[Ugly and useless, just like your mother. A complete waste.]
Their sharp words, spat endlessly, stabbed at his heart like needles.
Thousands of them, turning his crimson heart into a bleeding cactus.
It hurt.
How pathetic must I look in Killian’s eyes when I stand before them?
Maybe it didn’t matter—after all, he treated Nael as just another possession.
His heart, pricked relentlessly, now felt hollow, as if pierced straight through.
The air hung heavily.
Tap, tap.
The fireplace embedded in the wall burned tirelessly, fed around the clock.
Killian had given special orders—Nael, unused to the cold after living in the south, needed extra care.
But now, the dry, oppressive air seemed to press down on him slowly.
On the surface, everything was normal.
Nael hadn’t caused any incidents like on the ship, and his handwriting had improved.
He could now read—slowly, but steadily—children’s books with their large, simple text.
In spare moments, Killian taught him aristocratic etiquette, bit by bit. Nael had no idea where he’d ever use such things, but his opinion had never mattered anyway.
[Learn it lightly. It’ll be useful someday.]
He had learned everything just as Killian taught him.
Maintaining proper posture for long periods was harder than he’d expected.
Now he understood Killian’s unwavering, pillar-like body—straight-backed, as if he had never once slouched.
After Norman left, Nael hid himself beneath the blankets.
The flood of events that had crashed over him all at once felt overwhelming, like a towering wave swallowing him whole.
Nael clenched his palm inside the blanket, then loosened his grip and stared blankly.
The rough calluses on his fingertips from menial labor had softened since coming to the North.
When he pressed down, the flesh felt plush and yielding.
After every bath, Killian would massage expensive scented oil all over his body.
What had once been an awkward touch had now grown smooth and practiced.
At the faint sound of the bedroom door opening, Nael jolted upright.
Killian let out an amused chuckle at the sight.
The way he emerged from the blanket, his curly hair floating like a newly thatched roof, was unbearably endearing.
Self-conscious under Killian’s gaze, Nael smoothed his hair with both hands.
A quick glance in the mirror confirmed the mess—his curls still rebelliously tangled.
He hurriedly combed through them with his fingers and straightened his rumpled clothes.
“L-Let me help you undress.”
At some point, it had become Nael’s duty to attend to Killian when he returned.
Killian tilted a wine bottle with a smirk.
“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you drink.”
“Ah…”
Glug, glug.
Crimson wine filled the transparent glass.
Killian took a sip, savoring the aroma.
The combination of the provocative sight before him and the sweet wine was nothing short of intoxicating.
Nael’s wrists were bound, his legs spread wide and locked in place.
Long rods with ankle cuffs restrained his movements, leaving him unable to close his thighs.
The blindfold over his eyes left him blind to what would come next.
A hollowed-out urethral rod was inserted into his cock.
When Killian lifted the rod, the pink hole twitched.
If I fucked him now, he’d come instantly.
He poured oil straight into that tight entrance, and Nael’s back arched like a drawn bow.
The slick liquid coated his inner walls, and his well-used hole easily swallowed a probing finger.
“Should I stuff you with something thicker?”
The way Nael laughed softly at his words was unbearably cute.
What does he think I’ll put in him?
If I shoved my fist in, he’d sob like crazy.
For now, he’d settle for something more manageable.
With practiced ease, Killian picked up a dildo the size of his own cock and pushed it in slowly.
Nael squirmed, shaking his head.
“Nngh… Master’s… cock… Please, use yours…”
His hole stretched tight around the thick toy.
Hah… Nngh…
Gasping, he clenched around the invading length, swallowing it down with desperate hunger.
He had thought he could take Killian—but the relentless thrusts of the lifeless object mocked his confidence.
“N-No…!”
Squelch, squelch.
Killian poured the remaining wine over Nael’s body.
“Hhngk—! Ah—!”
Every time Nael clenched, the urethral rod made his cock twitch.
Killian lapped up the wine pooling in his navel, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes.
“Ah— Master… Hhah…”
Killian chuckled.
The wine trickled down Nael’s trembling chest, dripping over the tattoo bearing his name.
The sweet tang of alcohol filled his mouth as he licked it clean.
Taking another sip, he tipped the wine into Nael’s mouth.
The sharp burn of alcohol made Nael sputter and cough.
“Cough! M-Master… I can’t… drink… I get drunk… too easily…”
The toy buried inside him slid out with a lewd pop, leaving his entrance twitching, inner walls glistening.
Killian secured the rod between Nael’s legs to the bedposts, leaving him spread open, legs toward the ceiling—completely immobilized.
Blindfolded, bound, all Nael could do was whimper.
“P-Please… let me go… Hah…”
With each rough thrust, Nael’s slender thighs trembled violently.
Killian’s cock was heavy, solid—nothing like the toy.
The hard, unyielding length pressed deep, stretching him ruthlessly.
His entrance burned as it stretched wider, struggling to accommodate the thick girth.
* * *
