* * *
“Nael, I’ll decide your punishment when we return. For now, follow Ren quietly.”
“Yes, sir…”
Killian, upon hearing Nael’s response, turned around with an unhurried gait.
His cold and composed expression made those lingering nearby unable to hide their tension.
“Ren, hurry and bring him. Let’s head to the carriage.”
Before anyone noticed, Norman had appeared and was quickly tending to Nael.
He took a clean cloth from his bag and pressed it against the wound on Nael’s forehead.
Dazed, Nael climbed into the carriage.
Norman removed the cloth and examined the wound carefully.
When he opened his bag, it was filled with various medicine bottles.
He took out another clean cloth and poured a bit of clear antiseptic onto it.
The amount of blood suggested it wasn’t a serious wound, but the thought of how the Grand Duke would react upon seeing that forehead left him uneasy.
The blame lay heavily on Ren for failing to manage things properly, and Norman’s old, wrinkled hands trembled slightly with tension.
“Hmm, fortunately, it’s not a serious injury. However, if left untreated, it could scar. I’ll give you an ointment—make sure to apply it three to four times a day.”
Even as he spoke, he felt helpless.
Who was there to blame?
He hadn’t seen much of Nael, but he was sure the young man had simply wanted to help.
A man clad in nothing more than tattered rags would have seemed pitiful to anyone.
“You were far too reckless, Nael,” Ren scolded, his expression deliberately stern.
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize to me. You should be more concerned about how His Grace will judge this.”
Even though the antiseptic stung his forehead, Nael felt too self-conscious to let out so much as a groan.
He hesitated before accepting the mirror Norman offered.
The one thing Killian always said was the most beautiful part of Nael’s body was his face.
He had received the most praise for smiling prettily—or for crying.
He had no habit of looking at himself in mirrors, but he scrutinized his reflection now.
A thin cut, about the length of a fingertip, stretched across his forehead.
“Now that I have a scar, will my master dislike me?”
“I don’t think so,” Norman reassured him. “
We can only hope it heals cleanly, without a mark.”
Given the Grand Duke’s temperament, had a knight left even the slightest blemish on Nael, he would have already been thrown into the sea.
It was strange how lightly he had let this incident pass.
The sailor who had assaulted Nael had been burned alive, and even Edward had received severe punishment for carelessly touching the sails.
Ren shook his head, dismissing the unnecessary thoughts.
No matter how much he speculated, he would never truly grasp the Grand Duke’s mind—someone always thinking several moves ahead.
With the carriage sealed so thoroughly that Nael couldn’t even catch a glimpse of the outside world, they set off for the Grand Duke’s estate.
“The master’s residence is a mansion.”
Nael gaped at the enormous castle before him.
The butler, who had opened the carriage door for him, merely smiled in silence.
“We received word only recently, so our preparations are lacking. I ask for your understanding, Sir Nael. Ah, my name is Philip.”
The duke’s loyal butler addressed him with the appropriate courtesy.
Ever since following Killian, Nael felt like he was being forced to wear clothes that didn’t quite fit.
Everyone addressed him with the respectful suffix ‘-nim,’ treating him with utmost politeness.
Feeling awkward, he merely twisted the hem of his coat with his fingertips.
The soft fur twisted under his touch, only to unravel when he let go.
Noticing the gesture, the butler smiled in a way that was neither burdensome nor intrusive.
“Allow me to help you remove your coat.”
“Ah, no. That won’t be necessary…”
“This is my duty, so you needn’t feel burdened. You’ll grow accustomed to it soon.”
The duke’s chambers were a mixture of deep blue and gray, a calm yet cold palette that suited him perfectly.
The bedroom, reminiscent of a tranquil lake, exuded a serene and unshakable stillness.
Nael did nothing, leaning against the small fireplace where embers crackled softly.
Unable to stare at the flickering red flames for long, he moved toward the window.
Pressing his hand against the cold glass, he left a faint imprint where the warmth of his skin met the chilled surface.
He gazed at the landscape beyond the castle’s walls.
One by one, carriages and horseback riders entered the estate.
He must be arriving soon.
He had caused Killian trouble by disrupting their plans yet again.
Curling up against the window, he rested his forehead against the glass.
How much time had passed?
“There is a flower that blooms over a lake in the East.”
A deep, resonant voice startled Nael, making him sit up abruptly.
When Killian untied the ribbon securing his hair, his long black locks cascaded down his back.
His movements, as he handed his outer garment to Philip, were fluid and effortless, as if he had done it countless times before.
He seemed noticeably more relaxed than he had been at the port.
Philip, collecting the discarded clothing, left the room without a sound.
Killian unfastened the buttons on his sleeves and neatly folded them up, revealing a forearm marked by sharp muscle and old scars.
“Looking at you, I was reminded of it. I’ve heard that pink blossoms bloom over broad blue leaves.”
Approaching with a graceful stride, Killian continued,
“Are you the dazzling flower blooming atop still waters? Or merely the frog resting upon it?”
“…Master.”
A smirk tugged at Killian’s lips as he likened him to a frog—loud, restless, and ceaselessly croaking.
Before Nael could even collect himself, Killian stood leisurely before him and reached out, brushing a hand over the wound on his forehead.
The light graze of his thumb stung, making Nael flinch.
Killian’s fingers, which had been tending to the wound, now smoothed over the deep furrow between Nael’s brows.
His heart pounded violently.
His striking features were so close that their noses nearly touched.
Nael instinctively held his breath.
“Does it hurt?”
Struggling to regain his breath, Nael forced himself to respond.
“I’m fine. If I apply ointment properly, there might not even be a scar… Master.”
“Did I give you permission to be so reckless with your body?”
The chilling remark brought tears to Nael’s eyes.
He couldn’t even look away, his wide, deer-like eyes trembling as they absorbed Killian’s frigid demeanor.
“Moreover, you used what I gave you as you pleased.”
“…It looked like he was cold. So I— I never would have done it if I knew you’d be displeased.”
“John wishes to remain in the North. I’ve promised him a small position and will take him in. Edward, on the other hand, will return to the brothel where he belongs. Nael, what should be done with you?”
Unable to even blink, Nael’s gaze remained locked onto Killian’s. And then, at last, tears fell.
He reached out, grasping the cuff of Killian’s rolled-up sleeve with his fingertips.
He wanted to be held.
But understanding his mistake, Nael buried that small desire deep inside.
“…Master. Please don’t be angry. I’ll do anything. I—”
“You must be punished.”
Killian’s voice was resolute.
Nael’s face went pale, but he soon nodded, as if bracing himself.
His movements were careful as he undressed, folding each garment—his shirt, pants, and even his underclothes—into a neat pile.
Killian’s dark, heavy gaze followed every motion.
The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fireplace and the shallow breaths Nael took, laced with tension.
Though the chamber had been pre-warmed by the servants, an odd chill ran through him, raising goosebumps along his arms.
They had shared their bodies many times.
He had seen and been seen in far more compromising states.
Yet, standing naked like this felt unbearably humiliating.
The silence stretched, unbearable.
Nael longed for Killian to say something—anything.
But Killian only stood there, arms crossed, scrutinizing him from head to toe.
A month of living alongside Killian had attuned Nael’s body to him.
The sheer act of standing bare before his master—his broad frame and defined muscles—was enough to stir a reaction he had no control over.
A bead of clear liquid formed at the tip, his erection pointing unmistakably toward Killian.
Nael squeezed his eyes shut and covered himself with both hands.
He knew it was useless. There was no way to conceal it.
But he didn’t want to see the mocking smile that would inevitably cross Killian’s lips.
“…Hands.”
A single word.
Humiliation washed over him like a tidal wave.
* * *
