* * *
Killian had praised him endlessly for how quickly he’d mastered even difficult words.
Nael absently touched his own hair, where Killian’s fingers had once lingered.
“I miss you…”
Saying it aloud only made the longing worse.
He hugged the pillow that still carried Killian’s scent and shut his eyes.
Sleep wouldn’t come, but tomorrow, he’d be back.
He couldn’t greet him with a face swollen like a pufferfish—so he forced himself to rest.
A pair of gleaming eyes approached like a beast’s.
Crimson pupils, sharp as if they had just emerged from the gates of hell, burned with a ruthless glow.
The baroness clung to Edward, whose emaciated body was little more than skin and bones, trembling in terror.
Her pale lips quivered, sickly and bloodless—she looked as though she might collapse at any moment.
The baron, at least, was in slightly better condition.
His plump frame remained intact, and his cough wasn’t as violent as his wife’s.
Still, his entire body shook uncontrollably in the frigid cabin.
Like a snarling cur baring its fangs, he growled without restraint, positioning his burly frame between his family and the threat.
He knew exactly where the tip of Killian’s sword was meant to point.
The baron gritted his teeth so hard they creaked.
“Was this your plan all along? Taking Nael in as your own, Your Grace?”
“……”
“Edward is wasting away, barely able to keep down thin gruel—he’s no different from a corpse! Was all your talk of his safety just a lie?”
Edward looked like a skeleton, brittle enough to snap at the slightest touch.
His bulging eyes were grotesque, and with every labored breath, his ribs strained visibly beneath his skin, like a starved animal on the brink of death.
“He is a criminal. The only reason he still draws breath is out of consideration for you.”
“……”
“You should be grateful. If not for Nael, his life would have been forfeit long ago.”
As Killian slowly closed the distance, Edward choked, his breath rattling as if it might give out any second.
The baroness frantically rubbed his chest. It’s alright, my boy.
Everything will be alright now.
“What do you intend to do with us? Kill us?”
“Baron.”
The weight of Killian’s voice, icy and unrelenting, made the baron’s legs buckle.
The murderous aura prickling in the air told him this would be his last day.
“Spare us—for Nael’s sake! I-I’m his father, Your Grace! A child who can’t even read can’t inherit the barony! He knows nothing of managing lands or commanding men—you can’t expect me to hand my title to such a fool!”
“You still believe that title is yours to keep?”
“W-Well…!”
The baron dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, the old wooden floorboards groaning under the impact.
“Spare us! My son is dying! Just let me take Edward to a physician, and we’ll disappear to the south—live quietly. You can have Nael all to yourself!”
“……”
“A-And I swear—I’ll never lay a finger on Lily! Just let us leave, and I’ll take this secret to my grave! On my honor—on the name of House Baker!”
“And you, Baroness?”
“……”
“After experiencing Lily’s condition firsthand, I’ve come to realize something. That ‘herb’ you fed her—the one you schemed to slip into her meals—it was slowly eating away at you too, bit by bit.”
“Y-You can’t mean…!”
The baroness broke into a coughing fit.
A splatter of blood stained her handkerchief, and she stared at it in disbelief, trembling.
“Did you truly think it was just a chill from the weather? Or exhaustion from travel?”
Tsk. Killian scattered arsenic dust carelessly before seizing the baron’s cheek.
“Baron. Baroness. Edward. Had the three of you not been so cruel to Nael, I might never have met him. So, out of gratitude… I’ll grant you a little more time.”
The baron shut his eyes tightly, relief flooding his expression.
“But do not mistake this for absolution.”
They had starved Nael.
Beaten him.
Abused him as if it were their right.
And words—words could cut deeper than fists.
Few could endure such malice without fleeing.
The wounds of childhood cling like shadows for life.
Nael had endured only because of his gentle, forgiving nature.
But now?
They had to disappear.
They were nothing but obstacles in Nael’s path.
With that, Killian turned and strode out of the cabin.
“Seal it.”
Wooden planks slammed shut over the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
With each hammer strike, the baron’s curses and the baroness’s wails leaked through the cracks.
Killian waited, blinking slowly, until the windows and door were fully boarded.
The three who had selfishly exploited Nael would now starve—slowly—in a lightless hell.
Their exhausted minds and bodies would turn on each other, gnawing away in agony.
The report from the south had said as much: A rotting wooden shack, not a sliver of sunlight, walls slick with mold.
A broken hearth, threadbare bedding, barely any clothes to speak of.
The baron’s fate had been sealed the moment Killian read those words.
The baron’s screams escalated into something barely human.
When even that proved futile, he resorted to curses—shrieking about the Grand Duke’s perversions, his lack of an heir.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Killian laughed brightly.
“Why would I need an heir?”
A child resembling Nael would be lovely—an angel.
But that was an impossibility, and he felt no regret.
Nael alone was enough.
Before long, their struggles faded into silence.
“How pathetic.”
Killian trudged through the deep snow, mounted his horse, and kicked its flank.
A clump of grayish snow fell from his boot.
If he rode without rest, he would be back by tomorrow morning.
Killian arrived a little later than expected, sometime in the afternoon.
The grand ducal castle, bathed in the glow of sunset, was dyed a brilliant crimson.
Nael sprinted toward him and threw himself into Killian’s arms as if leaping.
Unashamed, he didn’t bother hiding his joy even in front of the servants and Philip.
“I missed you.”
Killian cupped Nael’s buttocks and lifted him, and Nael wrapped his legs around Killian’s waist.
With each breath, Nael’s scent—warm and intoxicating—filled Killian’s lungs.
“You need a bath. You’re drenched in sweat from the long ride. Filthy.”
“You’re not filthy.”
“Why are you so stubborn? You should’ve waited in the bedroom. It’s cold, and you’re barely dressed.”
“Let’s bathe together.”
Killian buried his nose in the nape of Nael’s neck, inhaling deeply.
His scent was like a crackling fireplace—warm, comforting—with a faint hint of flowers.
“Did everything go well while you were away?”
“Mm.”
Killian had ordered silence.
As far as Nael knew, they had merely traveled south and encountered bandits, who slaughtered them.
Broken carriages and missing jewels would support the story, and occasionally, their accessories would surface on the black market, cementing their deaths as fact.
By the time Nael reached the south, everything would be over.
Preparations for his arrival were already underway—officials handling affairs, chamberlains being trained.
Even Lily was comfortably settled in the baron’s residence.
Only Nael remained unaware.
“Nael, I’m tired. Wash me.”
Nael grinned and nodded eagerly.
* * *
