* * *
‘This terrifying man only treated me gently for a little while because… because I knew nothing, and he was patient enough to teach me.’
‘And like a fool, I still hoped for more.’
“Don’t smile in front of others.”
Nael nodded slowly.
“From now on, you don’t leave the bedroom or this cell.”
“What about your office?”
“…Fine.”
Tears welled up instantly in Nael’s large eyes.
The only places he’d ever been were the greenhouse garden and near the castle gates—and even those were only to greet Killian.
Apparently, even that had been too much.
Killian’s sharp nose brushed against Nael’s cheek as he whispered into his ear, voice low.
“Don’t forget—this hole exists solely for my cock.”
“Ngh—!”
Without warning, the artificial phallus was yanked out.
The slick, clinging flesh inside him tore with a lewd schlick, sending a shiver down his spine.
Thick, pale fluid dripped from the toy, splattering onto the floor.
Killian tossed it aside carelessly, letting it roll a couple of times before it came to a stop.
“Yes. I won’t forget.”
Killian scooped Nael up effortlessly.
Normally, Nael would have wrapped his arms around Killian’s neck, burying his nose against his skin to breathe in his scent—but today, he didn’t want to.
An invisible, solid wall had risen between them.
“Stop biting your lips. They’re bleeding. And swollen.”
Nael answered only with a small nod. Killian didn’t press further, carrying him swiftly to the bedroom.
He laid Nael down on the bed, tucking the thick blanket up to his shoulders.
Nael stayed motionless, like a doll, offering no reaction.
“It’s late. Sleep.”
“…….”
“Norman, I dislike the sight of those lips. I’ll have measures taken.”
Once Killian’s traces had completely faded, Nael shed silent tears.
Norman approached with concern, patting his trembling shoulders.
“Lord Nael. Please, stop crying. Your eyes will only swell further.”
“Sniff… Yes.”
“The Grand Duke is… a difficult man.”
Norman replied stiffly, all business.
He offered to apply ointment to Nael’s lips and examine the hole that had been stretched open for hours, but Nael stubbornly refused.
“If you give me the ointment, I’ll apply it myself.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m a physician. It’s my duty to treat you, Lord Nael.”
Placing a small jar of ointment by Nael’s bedside, Norman slowly turned to leave.
It pained him to see someone barely older than Ren suffering so far from home.
The helplessness gnawed at him, filling him with deep guilt.
“One day, you’ll look back and think it was nothing.”
“Norman… what about John? Do you know what happened to him?”
“He’s been reassigned elsewhere.”
Nael clenched the bedsheet tightly.
The sound of calm footsteps faded into the distance, careful not to disturb his rest.
Splash, splash.
Soap bubbles drifted away in the warm water.
Curled up in the corner of the oversized tub—large enough for two, for Killian and him—Nael hugged his knees.
Servants attended to him, washing his arms still marked with red welts from being bound earlier.
Both the servants and Nael wore unreadable expressions.
He hadn’t expected to sleep at all, but as warmth seeped into his chilled body, exhaustion melted him into drowsiness.
The day’s tension dissolved, and his eyelids grew heavy.
At some point, Philip came in to stoke the fireplace, then left after setting down a meal—but Nael couldn’t muster the strength to lift a finger.
Bark when told. Don’t smile at others. And…
Only two places to go: this bedroom and the room where his master painted.
Nael repeated Killian’s commands in his head, engraving them into his mind.
Above all else, these orders took priority.
The bed dipped beside him.
“Master?”
He hadn’t even heard the door—when had Killian arrived?
Despite his size, Killian often moved without a sound.
Killian, clad in a robe, ran his hands over Nael’s body.
Cold lips pressed against his shoulder, making him flinch.
Now that he noticed, Killian’s hands were icy, his body radiating chill.
Nael turned and cupped Killian’s cheeks.
Had he taken an ice-cold shower?
“Are you cold? Your body is freezing.”
“No.”
A low exhale brushed Nael’s face.
He wriggled deeper into Killian’s arms.
Pressing his ear to Killian’s chest, he listened to the steady heartbeat.
For some reason, it soothed him.
“I didn’t smile at anyone. I stayed only in the bedroom.”
“Mhm.”
“I applied the ointment Norman left. That’s why my lips are a little shiny… Does it look strange?”
‘I put ointment on my backside too. Ah—I did it myself. Last time, you applied it for me, remember?
Doing it alone was a little embarrassing.
And I washed with warm water. I didn’t speak a word to the servants.
Only answered when asked. Really.
Philip stoked the fireplace so much I thought the bedroom might catch fire—he must’ve worried I was cold.
So I just stayed under the covers, doing nothing. I didn’t even hear you come in… I must’ve dozed off.’
Nael murmured all this against Killian’s chest.
None of it was important.
Nothing special.
But he kept talking, thinking Killian might want to hear—until eventually, he ran out of words.
Only Killian’s breathing filled the silence.
‘How was your day, Master?’
He bit back the question.
Killian wouldn’t answer anyway.
His cheeks burned.
If he hadn’t spoken, the silence would’ve stretched on.
“The marks will last quite a while.”
In the end, this was all Killian said.
Nael steadied himself.
He had resolved not to expect anything, yet here he was—grinning foolishly at the slightest touch, like an idiot. He forced calm into his voice.
“Norman said he’d check again tomorrow. I don’t mind if scars remain… if they’re from you.”
Pretty doll. That was the descriptor Nael had been given.
He couldn’t think of a way to please Killian.
No order to spread his legs, no embrace. Killian just lay there, eyes closed, lips sealed.
His voice, deep even in the dark, resonated with a masculinity Nael envied.
Every word made his Adam’s apple move so strikingly—nothing like Nael’s own.
On impulse, Nael reached up to touch it.
Killian’s eyes snapped open, crimson pupils glaring.
His brow furrowed as he seized Nael’s wrist—not even with much force, yet the pain shot up to his elbow.
“Ah, I’m sorry!”
“It’s not— Please, it hurts. Let go.”
Killian flung Nael’s hand away with a scoff.
A quiet sigh, then he turned his back.
The wall between them grew thicker.
“I won’t touch you. Just sleep.”
Nael stared at Killian’s broad back, the wall he had built between them.
He reached out, then pulled his hand back, repeating the motion several times.
Killian’s steady breathing suggested he was deep asleep.
Even without sex, Nael just wanted to touch him.
He was careful not to disturb the long, disheveled strands of hair.
‘What if I accidentally press on them and the sting wakes him?’
He slipped out of bed, circling around to face Killian, then crouched down and slowly leaned in.
The breath slipping past Killian’s slightly parted lips drifted into Nael’s mouth and down his throat.
The distance between them gradually closed until their lips met—soft, plush.
Beyond them lay the heat of living flesh, but Nael’s greed stopped there.
No further.
Just as he tried to pull away—
“Hah—!”
His heart plummeted in a dizzying rush of terror. Killian’s eyes snapped open, glaring straight at him.
* * *
