* * *
The Baron adored his son but never entrusted him with anything important.
Even though Edward had been taught by distinguished tutors, Killian still called him a fool.
Nael didn’t argue.
That wasn’t what mattered.
“I’ve summoned the Baron and his wife to the North. They won’t dare act so arrogantly before me. They have no choice but to answer my call. No excuse will hold. Not when their son is in my hands.”
Nael had no doubt about that.
“The sun is bright today.”
“…Yes.”
“Come here.”
Nael sat on Killian’s lap.
Killian cupped his soft cheek, stroking it.
The roughness of Killian’s touch had become familiar.
Nael sat still, even offering a small, subtle smile—the kind he knew Killian liked.
“I’ve decided what to do with them.”
The leash unfastened.
With a soft clink, it dropped to the floor.
Nael reached up, fingertips brushing over the now-empty space where it had been.
“I want to show you to everyone.”
Nael gave a small nod, then wrapped his arms around Killian’s neck.
This was to prevent something like this from happening again—to show everyone who he was, so no one would dare.
At least, that’s what Nael believed.
He didn’t yet realize he was only half right.
Nael quietly buried his face in Killian’s shoulder.
The sunlight pierced sharply into his eyes, forcing him to tighten his hold around Killian’s neck.
He pressed his nose against Killian’s skin, inhaling deeply.
Somewhere along the way, Killian’s scent had become his source of comfort.
Perhaps it was because, no matter how much trouble he caused, Killian never abandoned him.
Or maybe it was because, unlike before—when he had spent his days toiling away in endless labor—he now lived in comfort, always by Killian’s side, never left alone.
But once they arrived in the North, Killian wouldn’t be able to stay by his side like this.
The nobles would hold banquets, engage in social gatherings, converse over tea.
Even Baron Baker, despite his lack of wealth, had attended such events whenever invited.
Killian, as a Grand Duke, would be even busier.
Nael suddenly realized he was feeling… melancholic.
So, he buried his face deeper into Killian’s neck, greedily drinking in his scent.
“…Don’t be anxious.”
“Yes.”
“I am passing judgment on them now.”
Killian did not wait for Nael to respond. Instead, he called out Aiden’s name.
“Aiden!”
At the thunderous voice that seemed to shake the sky, Aiden bowed his head.
Behind him, three men were dragged in, bound together with ropes.
Their faces were so swollen from beatings that their eyes were barely visible, their skin covered in bruises to the point that their original complexion was unrecognizable.
And—Nael noticed—they looked thinner than he remembered.
Either Killian had not given them enough food, or Nael’s memory had been mistaken.
A large, moon-like hand, the same one that had embraced Nael, patted his back.
Killian, his expression unreadable, gave Aiden a single order.
“Begin.”
Screams and wails pierced the air, stabbing into Nael’s ears.
His heart, which had been pounding softly, now slammed against his ribcage as if trying to escape.
Surely, when they said “burn,” they couldn’t have meant… living people.
These men were guilty, but they did not deserve to die. If they were punished appropriately, they would reflect on their sins.
That was what Nael believed—until a brief but powerful command fell.
Nael could do nothing but clutch at Killian’s coat.
“Don’t be afraid. Watch closely.”
The cries of the men begging for their lives mixed with the chilling coldness in Killian’s voice, swirling into a violent storm.
Were they really going to kill them?
Nael’s expression crumbled in shock.
“They are worth less than a single tear of yours.”
Killian’s words made Nael realize that his eyes had welled up.
He wiped them against Killian’s shoulder.
“Look up.”
“N-no, I won’t.”
When Nael refused, Killian forcibly turned his head to make him watch.
His jaw throbbed from the rough grip.
His tear-streaked face was pressed so hard it crumpled, and his pout was pushed forward as his gaze was forcefully fixed on the men.
Even the waves that had been slapping against the ship’s hull seemed to hush.
Tension coiled in his chest, tightening like a storm about to break.
Killian intended to make an example of them.
If he gave a light punishment to those who did not know their place, the ship’s already cramped space would soon be overrun with disorder.
And worse—they had dared to lay their hands on what belonged to the Grand Duke.
The sight of Nael’s once pale body now covered in bruises, the welts left by a belt so swollen that even the brush of silk against them made him wince—it was still fresh in Killian’s mind.
Killian was not one to share what was his.
Three wooden barrels were placed in front of the captives.
The moment they saw them, the men let out terrified, incoherent screams.
One of them lost control of his bladder, his pants growing damp.
Faced with imminent death, their minds crumbled like sandcastles against the tide.
Some fell to their knees, begging, while others tried to flee, only to be kicked down by Aiden.
The scene was mercilessly brutal.
Thick, black, viscous liquid was poured over their heads as they crouched inside the barrels.
The substance trickled down their faces, stinging their eyes, but with their hands bound, they could do nothing to wipe it away.
The stench was nauseating.
But above all—Killian truly intended to burn them alive.
Nael’s face turned deathly pale.
His voice, trembling with desperation, barely squeezed out the words.
“M-my lord… please…”
The lids of the barrels were sealed shut over the oil-soaked men.
Soon, they would burn to death in darkness.
The Grand Duke acted solely based on necessity.
Every decision he made was calculated for the future, leaving no room for objections.
The barrels were thrown into the sea with a loud splash.
Water surged, droplets scattering in all directions.
The barrels, which seemed like they might sink, slowly floated back to the surface, half-submerged.
“I can’t watch, my lord.”
Aiden lit an arrowhead and took aim at the drifting barrels.
Even though they were sealed shut, Nael swore he could still hear their muffled screams echoing in his ears.
Aiden swallowed dryly, steadying his aim.
Conducting an execution by fire—usually reserved for arsonists—on a ship was almost unheard of.
With a single nod from Killian, Aiden loosed the arrow.
It struck a barrel dead center.
Nael realized, with horrifying clarity, that he had not misheard.
Three separate flames roared to life, and an unbearable, inhuman sound ripped through the air.
Nael’s vision darkened.
The once clear, blue sky above was swallowed in shadows, leaving only the burning barrels in sight.
The brief moment it took for the flaming arrow to ignite the barrels stretched into eternity.
The fire spread slowly at first, creeping along the surface before consuming everything.
Nael had thought the flames would die quickly on water—but he had been ignorant.
The oil-fed fire did not weaken.
It grew, swallowing everything in its path.
* * *
