* * *
If it were Killian… at least the duke had never beaten him like this.
Even when punishing him, Killian had never been reckless or cruel.
These men, however, showed no such restraint.
They lashed at him with belts, trampled him underfoot, and handled him like an object rather than a person.
Tears fell ceaselessly from Nael’s green eyes.
His gag soaked through with saliva as he trembled.
He should have stayed in the bedroom.
He should have waited for Ren.
If only he had said from the start that he was meant to warm Killian’s bed, then maybe—
Laughter echoed around him.
Dark, greedy eyes roamed his body, sending shivers down his spine.
“Strip him. I can’t wait anymore.”
“He’s mine first. I brought him here.”
“Just hold him down! He’s still trying to crawl away.”
His fingertips brushed the entrance of the room before his ankle was seized, dragging him back.
He kicked out wildly, but they only laughed at his efforts.
“Look at this… His skin’s flushed pink. Never seen one like this before.”
“Yeah? Looks like he’s been used before. Swollen already.”
Nael thrashed his head, desperately pleading with his eyes.
Someone, anyone—please help!
But his silent screams went unheard.
A shadow loomed over him, and the weight of inevitability crashed down.
No escape. No voice. No mercy.
Nael squeezed his eyes shut.
Then—
A piercing scream shattered the air.
“You dare lay a hand on what’s mine?”
That voice—
Tears welled up anew, spilling over in thick droplets.
“Ugh—Agh!”
A man howled in pain as a knight—Aiden—seized him by the hair, forcing his head down.
Killian stood at the entrance, his expression twisted with disgust.
The air in the room shifted.
The sailors who had moments ago acted with such confidence now shrank back in terror.
Killian stepped inside, his presence filling the cramped space.
He moved without hesitation, kneeling beside Nael and tearing away the cloth gag.
The bloodstained fabric fell away, revealing lips red and swollen from struggle.
The moment their eyes met, Nael broke.
Like a lost child finding his mother, he reached out.
Killian caught him effortlessly, pulling him into his arms.
Nael clung to him, burying his face in his shoulder. His entire body trembled.
Through gasping sobs, he choked out one word.
“Master…”
And wept.
“T-That’s right. Yes, of course. How could we possibly dare to covet what belongs to Your Grace? I-It’s just that the bastard called himself a male prostitute, so we mistakenly—”
The men couldn’t finish their words.
A blade, honed to a razor’s edge, pierced through a chest.
The sword, which had sliced through flesh as easily as cutting paper, emerged once more, now stained crimson.
Droplets of blood clung to the tip before falling to the ground with a soft, inevitable drip.
The scent of blood filled the room in an instant.
“Hiiik!”
Of the five, the two who had been the loudest fell silent.
The remaining three, having witnessed everything, wisely kept their mouths shut.
Nael was still nestled against Killian’s chest, sobbing.
He was likely unaware that those men had already become corpses.
Killian draped his cloak over Nael’s dirtied, naked body.
“Aiden, discard those two. Lock up the other three.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Killian bent slightly to step out of the cramped room.
Nael tightened his grip, as if afraid to be let go.
The steady rhythm of Killian’s footsteps alone was enough to calm his pounding heart.
Even when they reached the end of the dimly lit corridor, he still did not open his eyes.
Instead, he buried his face into Killian’s scent, inhaling in ragged, desperate gulps.
Only then did he begin to regain a sliver of composure.
The cold ocean air bit at his cheeks.
A crow circled above Killian’s head.
Startled, Nael instinctively burrowed deeper into his embrace.
“Nael Baker.”
“Master…”
“You cause trouble wherever you go. Should I put you in shackles to keep you in place?”
“I-I was wrong.”
“As if last night wasn’t enough, you went out looking for another man?”
“No, no! Never! W-Why would you say that…?”
A heavy splash echoed from somewhere nearby.
Nael turned his head in alarm—only to shrink back, clinging even tighter to Killian.
The man who had tormented him was now nothing more than a blood-soaked corpse, sinking into the sea.
The remaining three, bound and trembling, were dragged off to an unknown fate.
“Nael, open your mouth. Did you get hurt?”
“A-Are they… going to die?”
“Your mouth.”
Nael swallowed the flood of questions rising in his throat and obediently opened his mouth.
He had bitten down wildly in a desperate attempt to avoid being violated, leaving his teeth stained with a sailor’s blood.
But Killian seemed to think it was his own.
Aside from a slight tear at the corner of his lips from the belt, the inside of his mouth was fine.
Even so, Killian’s furrowed brow showed no sign of relaxing.
“I’m fine. I’m not the one who got hurt, it’s—hngh.”
“Does it hurt?”
“I-I swallowed something. Hic…”
“Nael?”
“Master, my body feels… hot.”
Nael fidgeted restlessly, rubbing his fevered body against Killian.
Pressed against his chest, his rising temperature was unmistakable.
His cheeks burned red, and he trembled, lost and overwhelmed.
When Killian lifted the cloak, his suspicions were confirmed—his cock stood rigid, glistening with thick liquid.
The swollen, reddened tip throbbed, bobbing slightly with every pulse.
“They drugged you.”
“Hngh… Master.”
His voice trembled with need, every breath tinged with heat.
The warm, damp gasps against Killian’s neck carried an unmistakable, sensual desperation.
It had barely been any time since they had last shared a night together—yet Nael, governed entirely by instinct, clung to him.
Killian was the only one who could return his body to normal.
Clinging to that certainty, Nael buried his face against him.
“Nael, right now, we need to tend to your injuries first.”
“B-But…”
“Your Grace!”
Len came running, breathless.
Upon seeing Nael’s frightened expression, he froze briefly—just long enough for Killian to brush past him.
“Bring Norman.”
“W-What? Ah, y-yes, Your Grace.”
The hurried sound of Len’s footsteps echoed through the hallway.
Nael couldn’t tell whether the dizziness was from the rocking of the ship or the effects of the drug.
Even when he closed his eyes, the world continued to spin.
The bedroom door slammed shut.
The thunderous sound made Nael flinch.
The only thing shielding him from view—the cloak—was ripped away.
“Stand.”
He struggled to hold himself up, barely managing to straighten his back.
His knees wobbled like broken branches, unable to support his weight.
He had only ever drunk wine once before—when the head steward had given him a cup to celebrate his coming of age.
Even that single drink had left him feeling like this.
His limbs were weak, his body slumped against the wall, unsteady.
That time, the steward had clicked his tongue and carried him back to the hut.
Lily had run out in alarm, trying to help, but he had shoved her away and crawled inside by himself.
And now…
He was in the same pathetic state.
His knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed.
* * *
