* * *

Nael tried to shift, but his body refused to obey.

His muscles ached as though he’d been beaten with a heavy club.

Slowly, he dragged himself to the edge of the bed.

His limbs trembled uncontrollably, and his elbows buckled, forcing him to collapse back onto the mattress.

“Ah.”

Collapsed onto the floor after falling from the bed, his legs had given out entirely.

A dull thud echoed through the bedroom as his body hit the wooden floor.

He clutched at the bedding, trying to pull himself upright, only to slide back down repeatedly.

Trembling like dry straw on the verge of snapping, he mustered every ounce of strength, crawling forward on his knees.

Even as his body betrayed him, collapsing onto the floor, he clenched his teeth and forced himself to rise again.

He didn’t even consider putting on his robe—his gaze was fixed solely on the door.

His mission was complete; now, he had to return home.

This singular thought was what kept Nael moving.

“Huff… Huff…”

The distance to the door, just a few steps away, felt like an insurmountable chasm.

It took an agonizingly long time, but at last, his fingertips brushed the cold metal doorknob.

Just as the weight of eternity seemed to press upon him, a voice shattered the air.

“Nael.”

The man, perched leisurely on the bed and watching Nael’s every move with casual indifference, smirked, one corner of his lips curling upward.

His voice, low and commanding, rooted Nael in place.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

“S-Sir…”

“There’s no need to stop someone trying to run, is there?”

Nael couldn’t bring himself to turn around.

Instead, he hung his head low, the light from the hallway seeping through the crack under the door.

If he just twisted the knob and stepped out, he could escape into that bright freedom.

But his hand trembled, hesitating.

The pale-pink fluid dripping from his body seeped into the thin carpet beneath him.

“Shame. Looks like I’ll need to summon someone else for the Baron.”

Someone else. The image of his ailing sister flashed through Nael’s mind.

His sister, who coughed violently at the slightest disturbance, whose breaths—so easy for others—were battles for her.

Tears welled up and spilled over, splashing onto Nael’s trembling thighs.

Not her. Never her.

The mere thought of her enduring what he had endured sent chills down his spine.

Worse still, she was a woman.

If she became pregnant… Her frail body would never survive childbirth.

His decision was instantaneous.

“If I… stay here until morning…”

“…”

“…You won’t call anyone else, will you?”

“Wasn’t it you who wanted to leave?”

The man paused, seemingly considering his options.

The silence that stretched between them was oppressive.

But still, he said nothing.

In the end, it was Nael who acted first.

He turned his body slowly, arms spreading wide.

“I… I don’t think I can walk. Sir, please… carry me.”

The bed creaked as the man rose and strode toward him, his shadow looming over Nael like a predator.

Tilting his head back, Nael met the man’s piercing crimson gaze, his throat dry with fear.

“Promise me. You won’t call anyone else.”

“I promise.”

As the man leaned down, Nael allowed a faint, bittersweet smile to play on his lips, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck.

---

The faint light of dawn illuminated the sharp features of the man above him as he moved with languid dominance.

Nael turned his head slightly, catching sight of the sun rising outside the window.

His cracked lips parted.

“Sir…”

His voice, hoarse from cries throughout the night, captured the man’s attention.

Nael’s arms, once draped around the man’s neck, fell limp onto the bed.

The sheets beneath him were soaked with sweat and other fluids, marking the night’s events.

“Morning…”

The man placed a kiss on Nael’s tear-streaked temple.

Though his body ached with unfulfilled desire, he had made a promise—and he intended to keep it.

“Yes. Morning has come. You did well, Nael.”

Covering Nael’s eyes with his palm, the man stilled as the younger man’s breath evened out, his features softening in deep sleep.

When Nael didn’t stir, the man began to withdraw carefully.

His swollen flesh, reluctant to part, left behind slick red trails as it slid free from the abused opening.

The stretched entrance, still quivering, seemed to search for him.

“Nael.”

“…Mmm.”

Every inch of his body ached, but the sharp sting in his chest was unbearable.

Even as his brows knit together, his eyes fluttered open halfway.

Through his blurry vision, he saw the man’s face hovering above him.

The man’s mouth was pressed against his chest, sucking insistently on his tender skin.

Nael’s body was marked with countless traces of the man’s possession.

“S-Sir?”

His throat burned as he swallowed dryly, every breath a laborious effort.

His weakened state was compounded by a relentless ache in his chest that refused to fade.

The clatter of hooves against cobblestones suddenly filled his ears.

Startled, Nael tried to sit up, only for his body to tremble uncontrollably.

His heart pounded wildly, as if crushed underfoot.

They were in a moving carriage.

“Stay still.”

Nael realized then that he was seated, stark naked, on the man’s lap.

His chest, swollen and sore, was being attended to by the man’s relentless mouth.

Desperately, Nael tried to push him away, his confusion mounting.

The man was fully dressed in elegant attire, while Nael wore nothing at all.

This wasn’t what he had agreed to. He had only promised to stay through the night.

As Nael struggled to regain control, panic clouded his thoughts.

He knew he couldn’t fight the man’s strength, but his survival instincts screamed for him to try, no matter how futile it seemed.

A small fist struck the man’s firm chest, and he clicked his tongue, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

He showed no intention of backing down.

Swallowing dryly, Nael pleaded.

“Master, I need to go home. My sister is there. I have work to do… If I’m late, the steward will punish me severely. And if the baron finds out, I… h-hic.”

“Nael.”

“Please let me go home. Just until morning. Sniff… I beg you…”

His tear glands, drained from crying through the night, ached again, and fresh tears welled up.

The man laughed lightly, as if none of it mattered.

“Nael, you’re coming with me now.”

“W-Where? I….”

“To my estate in the north.”

Nael had never left this small rural territory in his life.

The north was a place he had only heard about—a land of ice where the sun rarely shone, dark even during the day.

People said it was so cold that anyone from the south would freeze to death if they set foot there.

He had also heard stories of terrifying monsters inhabiting those lands.

According to the steward, there was a duke in the north, a man said to be mad with bloodlust.

The former king’s nephew, protected by royal favor, who killed without hesitation.

It was rumored that corpses emerged daily from his castle.

The steward had warned Nael to never even glance toward the north, terrifying him with tales that the seeds of disaster sown by the duke might spill over.

As unease grazed Nael’s nape, a voice was heard outside the carriage.

“Your Grace, a letter from the baron has arrived.”

Meeting the man’s gaze, Nael froze, his face drained of all color.

This man was none other than the bloodthirsty Duke of the North—Killian Deville.

* * *