* * *
“Young master?”
“It’s true. He was sold off.”
“Hah, would you look at this brat? Why are you so slow to answer? And who the hell are you?”
Edward waved a hand dismissively.
“I manage His Grace’s liquor. And I feed the crows, too.”
“That so?”
The man didn’t ask further.
“Is that true?”
“…Yes, but—”
The moment a confirmation slipped from Nael’s lips, the man grinned as if he had found unexpected entertainment.
He had been thrilled at the news that a prostitute had boarded, but those at the top had taken him first.
There was supposed to be an order, damn it.
Yet the higher-ups had been ignoring the schedule, taking him almost every night.
At this rate, he’d starve all the way to the North. It was infuriating.
But this guy… wasn’t he pretty decent?
The man in front of him had round, adorable eyes and was absurdly beautiful.
Could a man even be described as beautiful?
With that translucent skin and red lips, no other word seemed more fitting.
The man suddenly grabbed Nael’s wrist.
His lower body stirred, and he could no longer contain himself.
The more Nael tried to twist his wrist free, the tighter the grip became.
“Let’s go.”
“Wh-where?”
The man intended to take Nael to his room.
Something about him felt off, but since he was letting himself be dragged along, it must mean the assumption was correct.
Who had he attended to last night?
It didn’t matter.
Tonight, it would be his turn.
Even now, he wanted nothing more than to strip off these bothersome pants and shove himself inside.
His mind was already in his room, but they were still in the hallway.
He had to hurry—if the others saw, they might try to take him.
With urgency, the man yanked Nael along.
His wrist ached from the iron grip.
Nael whimpered in pain, but the man only walked faster.
Soon, they were running.
Nael stumbled and collapsed to the floor, his waist and legs throbbing too much to move properly.
“Ugh…”
“Hurry up. We can’t let the others see. Get up! Now!”
The man roughly pulled him up.
Nael’s knees were still on the floor, his shoulders feeling like they were being ripped from their sockets.
The noise was attracting attention.
The narrow corridor’s old doors creaked open one by one.
Sailors, groggy from working all night, rubbed their eyes and began to gather.
Only then did the man let go of Nael’s wrist.
Nael clutched his collar and took a shaky step back. His instincts screamed at him.
“What the hell is all this noise?”
“Shit. The damn whore won’t follow properly.”
The man spat out curses, irritated at the turn of events.
If he had to deal with all of them, his hole wouldn’t last.
He needed to hand him over quickly.
“Huh? Oh, hell. Would you look at that? He’s been passed around a lot, hasn’t he?”
The man suddenly yanked open Nael’s shirt.
The old, tattered fabric crumbled like a rag.
Bright red bite marks were scattered all over Nael’s pale skin—traces of Killian’s touch.
Nael hastily tried to cover himself, but with his shirt hanging off his shoulders, there was nothing he could do.
Even with his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders and back remained exposed, littered with Killian’s marks.
The men surrounding him licked their lips, their eyes glinting.
The sound of someone swallowing was so clear that Nael shuddered.
A terrible premonition crawled up from the soles of his feet.
“I… I belong to my master.”
“…What?”
The man scoffed.
A master?
Where the hell would someone like that have a master here?
“Master?”
“Yes. My… My master is—”
Nael had thought Killian was the only one who would do such things to him.
Hadn’t Killian even said he was his?
Tears welled up as Nael tried to utter Killian’s name.
But before he could, one of the men yanked him into a random room and shoved him inside.
“Shit, hurry up. Take it off. I don’t have time for this.”
“N-no! I can’t!”
“What the fuck is this brat saying?”
A harsh boot slammed into Nael’s stomach.
He didn’t even have the strength to groan.
He hit the wall with a dull thud, curling in on himself as he clutched his stomach.
Saliva dribbled from his lips, and he could barely breathe.
It hurt.
His mind went blank.
His mouth gaped open, unable to suck in air, only managing to let his saliva drip helplessly onto the floor.
“Somebody hold him down. He’s being a damn nuisance.”
“You brought him here. Handle it.”
“Are you sure this is okay? Won’t you be in deep trouble if the higher-ups find out?”
“This doesn’t feel right… Are you sure you got him from the brothel?”
“I told you, didn’t I? Damn it, are we supposed to wait until he’s completely ruined? Just have your way with him and put him back. If you’re feeling uneasy, step aside.”
“Hey, I never said I wouldn’t do it.”
They whispered among themselves and quickly reached a decision.
A few coins clinked onto the floor in front of Nael.
The men sneered, calling it his payment.
“This isn’t going to work. Should we give him something?”
“You got any?”
“Always do.”
One of them rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a small, clear bottle.
Memories of taking something similar before—something that kept him from passing out—came rushing back.
He didn’t want to take it.
Nael shook his head desperately, but he was no match for the strength of multiple men.
Rough hands gripped his face, forcing his cheeks together.
The narrow opening of the bottle pressed between his lips, pouring its contents into his mouth.
The bitter taste mixed with the stench of the man’s hands, making him gag.
“Cough!”
“Hey! Don’t waste it. Cover his mouth!”
A dark hand clamped over Nael’s lips.
The pressure was enough to make his front teeth feel like they would break.
Tears streamed down his face as his breath was cut off.
They only released him when he let out a muffled, pained whimper.
Time crawled unbearably slow.
“Looks like it’s starting to work.”
A feverish heat spread through his body.
As a faint moan escaped past the man’s fingers, they finally let go.
Barely catching his breath, Nael felt his shirt being ripped apart.
The thin fabric offered no resistance against their impatient hands.
He struggled with all his might, but it was useless.
His arms and legs were pinned down, leaving him only able to twist his torso in protest.
Desperation surged through him.
Nael bit down hard on the thick hand restraining him, sinking his teeth in deep.
The taste of blood filled his mouth.
“Agh! This little—!”
“What the hell? Are you sure this one’s from the brothel? Why is he fighting back so much?”
“Does it matter? Can’t you see he took a chunk out of me?!”
The injured man clutched his bleeding hand and, in a fit of rage, kicked Nael hard.
The force knocked the wind out of him, sending sharp pain through his ribs.
He coughed violently, blood mixing with his saliva as it dripped down his chin.
“Take him away. We’ll dump him in the ocean.”
“Wait. You just don’t know how to handle him. Watch and learn.”
The moment their grip loosened slightly, Nael crawled toward the door, desperate to escape.
If he could just make it outside, someone might help him.
Hope flared in his chest for a brief second.
Then—
A searing blow struck his back, knocking him flat.
White-hot pain exploded through him.
His body convulsed violently, unable to even scream.
A belt coiled around his battered torso, digging into his wounds.
His torn shirt was stuffed into his mouth and tied in place, blocking his cries.
He gasped for air, struggling against the suffocating fabric.
He didn’t want this. Not like this.
* * *
