* * *
Killian prided himself on his patience, but watching Nael squirm like this was unbearable.
He reached for the oil on the bedside table, but Nael, misinterpreting his movement, grabbed his wrist in a panic.
“D-Don’t go. I can’t… I can’t do it alone… ngh… I-I’ll be good…”
His voice was a mess of sobs and broken syllables, barely coherent. Killian pressed his lips against Nael’s trembling, pale shoulder.
His long, silken hair spilled over his bare chest, veiling him.
“I’m not leaving you.”
Killian poured a generous amount of oil into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it.
If Nael tensed up in surprise, he could tear.
Nael whined like a needy pup, spreading himself wider, wordlessly begging for more.
It was an unfamiliar sight, one that would have been intriguing under different circumstances, but Killian wasn’t pleased.
This wasn’t truly Nael—it was the drug acting through him.
“Haa…”
As soon as Killian pressed a slicked finger inside, Nael threw his head back, gasping sharply.
Just one finger and he was already overwhelmed—so why had he bared himself so shamelessly, begging for more?
Killian clicked his tongue.
This wouldn’t work.
The moment he tried to withdraw, Nael’s walls clenched down like a vice, as if trying to devour his finger.
“N-No! Don’t pull out! More, give me more!”
“It’s too much. Relax your muscles. That’s it, take a deep breath. Damn it, Nael, are you trying to crush my fingers?”
“Hic…”
Killian exhaled sharply, chest tight with frustration.
His patience wore thin.
He wanted to pin Nael down, spank his round ass until he stopped acting out, but he knew he couldn’t.
All he could do was sigh and endure.
How long did the drug last?
He hadn’t even asked Norman.
But right now, what mattered most was Nael, trembling beneath him.
“M-More. Ngh… something thicker…”
This brat.
Even in this state, he was reaching for something more than just fingers.
Killian pressed in a second finger, working them in slow, deliberate strokes.
His own arousal throbbed insistently, but now wasn’t the time.
Tying Nael down and waiting for the drug to wear off would have been the simplest solution, but if he scratched himself raw in his desperation, he’d only hurt himself further.
“Hnngh… Master.”
“You know who your master is?”
“Y-Yes… ngh, I love it…”
Did he expect an answer that wouldn’t come?
Killian shook his head.
He found himself ridiculous for continuing to ask questions to someone in such an unstable state.
With the hand that wasn’t occupied, he grasped Nael’s member.
The moment their skin made contact, a spurt—semen dripped down.
Having already released so much before, his climax was short, and the amount was significantly less.
Even so, Nael arched his back, reaching his peak.
His parted lips let out a euphoric moan, and he rubbed his thighs together as he lay on his side.
The lingering sensation of climax shivered through the tender flesh that brushed against itself.
Killian remained beside Nael until his body temperature returned to something close to normal.
It took a long time.
Nael was exhausted, barely able to twitch his fingers.
His troublesome arousal had finally faded, leaving him limp.
Bit by bit, the effects of the drug were wearing off.
Nael’s dazed expression hardened, his dreamlike eyes now fixed directly on Killian.
“…Master.”
When Killian withdrew his hand, a sticky liquid followed, trickling down in a long, glistening string before finally breaking.
Seeing the obscene sight—pink flesh slick and dripping as if it had released its own essence—Killian frowned. He was irritated at himself for finding even this disheveled state tempting.
He lay down next to Nael, moving carefully to avoid touching him.
He knew better than anyone that even the slightest sensation could be overwhelming for Nael, who was so vulnerable to pain.
Their bodies were completely different. Killian had been hardened by war, his flesh tempered through countless battles where he clashed swords with enemies, narrowly escaping death time and time again.
The scars left behind were like medals adorning his body.
But Nael was different.
His skin was unblemished—no freckles, not even the common marks that others had.
If today’s wounds left lasting scars, Killian swore he would return the pain twofold, no—threefold.
“…Master.”
Nael’s consciousness gradually became clearer.
He had felt like he was drifting along a river, but now he was slowly piecing together where he was and what had happened.
His body still burned, his head still spun.
But as his mind regained clarity, the sharp stinging and throbbing from his wounds replaced the drug’s numbing effect.
Edward had knocked him unconscious and changed his clothes.
It was Edward who had told the sailors he was a whore.
How… How could he hand me over to them?
Nael hesitated, debating whether to tell Killian about Edward.
Then, a memory surfaced—Killian wielding his sword without a second thought.
The expression on the men’s faces, the stench of blood, and the vivid red seeping through the cracks of the wooden floor—all of it was etched into his mind like a painting.
If Killian knew what Edward had done… would he kill him too?
Would he tear him apart, crushing his bones like a wild beast hunting its prey?
Nael lacked the courage.
The consequences of his words frightened him.
He was terrified that this nightmare of his might grow even worse.
So, he chose to remain silent.
He feared that Edward’s eternal absence might somehow lead to harm befalling his sister.
Instead of the truth, he conveyed his emotions.
“…I was scared, Master.”
“It’s over now.”
Killian gently stroked Nael’s arm before wrapping him in warm blankets.
“…Hic.”
“Save the tears for later. Get some sleep. You need to rest to recover.”
It took time for Nael’s body to fully heal.
Killian handled all his work from the bedroom.
Nael didn’t lift a finger—he ate when it was time, slept when he needed to.
Norman visited regularly, tending to him and making sure he took his medicine.
Every day, Nael woke up in Killian’s embrace, never once leaving his sight.
Killian never asked what had happened, and Nael never found the courage to confess.
And so, a silent secret formed between them.
The purple bruises faded, leaving faint traces behind.
“You’ve improved a lot. You can start moving around a little now.”
Truthfully, he could have been up and about much earlier, but the Grand Duke had been insistent, pressing Norman to keep him in bed.
Norman sighed, stroking his thick mustache.
“I’ll leave some ointment. Make sure to apply it regularly.”
“Yes. Thank you, Norman.”
Nael smiled.
Norman caught a glimpse of something bitter beneath that smile but chose to leave it unspoken.
“Nael, come here. I’ll hold you.”
Nael swung his legs over the side of the bed, placing his bare feet on the cold floor.
As he took a slow step forward, the chain around his neck rattled softly.
The leash had been adjusted so that he could walk around the bedroom—but no farther.
The view of the sea, glimpsed through a narrow window, became his entire world.
“Don’t worry about Lily. The worst has passed. Just mentioning my name would have ensured she got the best treatment in the South.”
“Did you find any clues from Edward?”
“Did the Baron share everything with that fool?”
Nael shook his head.
* * *
