* * *
“John told me everything.”
“……”
“He said you came that day. Asked to see the armory, didn’t you? Then knocked him out and set the place on fire.”
“……”
“Answer me.”
“……”
Edward clamped his mouth shut like it was his last defense.
His once neat hair had turned dry and unruly, his dull, unfocused eyes rendering him almost unrecognizable—far from the bumbling man he used to be.
“You’re quite amusing.”
Killian’s shadow slowly crept toward Edward.
Edward felt like a rabbit caught in front of a predator.
Though trembling like a leaf, not a single word escaped his lips.
“Do you think everything will be fixed once your father arrives? That he’ll just think it was only a commoner? If that’s all your mind can comprehend, you’re gravely mistaken.”
Edward flinched, stepping back.
His faded green eyes, wide with panic, locked with Killian’s in the tense air between them.
That space slowly shrank.
Click, clack—the sound of his chattering teeth filled the silence, gnawed down by unchecked terror.
His jaw spasmed faster than the ticking of a second hand.
Shallow breaths escaped in sharp bursts.
Killian tilted his head slightly.
“If you’re not better than Nael in any way, shouldn’t you at least try to live with some decency? I don’t even need to hear how the baron treated Nael to know the truth. And if that’s the case, I’m not about to let it slide.”
“H-Huff…”
“I’ve given you several chances, for Nael’s sake. Don’t forget—you’re in the North now.”
Edward began sobbing, making hoarse, wheezing sounds.
Killian furrowed his brow and, with an annoyed wave of his hand, a knight came and dragged Edward away.
With his legs giving out beneath him, Edward was hauled out like a crumpled sheet of paper, the knight lazily hooking his arms under him.
Tap, tap.
A crow pecked at the frost-covered window with its beak.
A letter was tied to its thin leg.
When the window opened, the large crow—almost the size of a hawk—perched itself on Killian’s shoulder.
Rustle. A thin sheet of paper spread out in Killian’s hand.
A sharp smile curled his lips.
Everything was falling into place.
Lily, untouched by the baron and his wife, was recovering in safety with proper care, and the lord of that tiny estate was now making his way North.
Killian had no intention of letting the baron leave unscathed.
The debt he owed Nael would be paid in full.
“Aiden, give Edward just enough food and sleep to keep him barely alive. Keep him breathing until the baron arrives. I intend to hand him over—alive.”
Killian handed the crow, its black eyes gleaming, over to Aiden.
Nael stared only at the bedroom door, like a dog waiting for a master who might never return.
He felt as if even placing a hand on that firmly shut door would be crossing a line.
The moment he heard the key turning in the lock, he sprang up from bed.
“Nael.”
When would spring come?
The ticking clock moved unbearably slow.
It felt like being trapped in a dream he couldn’t wake from.
Would spring really come?
“Master.”
“Have you gotten any sleep? Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine. But, Master…”
Hmm? Killian tilted his head.
Since hearing the brief news that John had woken up from his long slumber, he’d grown curious.
Norman was always too busy to meet, and though he’d asked Philip, even he didn’t know the details.
Nael hesitated before speaking.
“How is John…?”
“Why? Are you curious? If he’s alive or dead? If alive, where he is, how long it’ll take him to recover? Whether his broken bones will heal? Things like that?”
Nael shook his head, searching carefully for the right words.
“No. He’s my friend. And you, Master, risked your life to save him. So I hoped… I hoped he wasn’t too badly hurt.”
Blushing, he clasped his hands neatly and waited for Killian’s reply.
“John’s awake. Still too weak to speak, but you’ll see him soon enough.”
Nael almost let out John’s name aloud and expressed his gratitude, but caught himself just in time.
Killian despised it when Nael paid attention to anyone else. He bit back the words, lips trembling.
“You should eat. Philip will bring you paper and a quill—so you can practice. The reply will take a while, but I’ll let you write another letter.”
Nael’s eyes sparkled.
“Master!”
He laughed brightly for the first time in ages, his transparent joy shining through.
Forgetting his situation, he jumped into Killian’s arms.
Like a solid wall, Killian held him without wavering.
Nael rubbed his nose against Killian’s chest, giggling softly.
“But only if you eat every bite.”
Killian tapped the tip of Nael’s pink nose with his finger.
Nael pressed his warm, blushing cheek against Killian’s.
“Thank you, Master.”
Even if the method was cruel, all it took was a letter.
Nael was that easy to handle.
“Before that.”
Nael looked up at the sound of Killian’s voice.
“Nael, I have a gift for you.”
He tapped his knee. Nael, unashamed, climbed onto Killian’s lap.
The buttons on his neatly dressed shirt began to come undone.
Killian, practiced and confident, undid them with one hand—each button smaller than his fingernail.
He caressed Nael’s soft, round cheek.
Even the slightest pressure left marks on the delicate skin.
His fingers traced down the jawline, past the small bump of his Adam’s apple, toward his collarbone.
“I’m going to engrave my name here.”
“Your name, Master?”
“Yes. A mark beneath it to show you’re mine.”
Killian laid Nael on the table.
As Nael’s back touched the cold, hard surface, Killian naturally settled between his spread legs.
His shirt slipped down, revealing a soft, pale shoulder.
Nael’s muscles instinctively tensed.
How was he going to do it—branding like they did to prisoners or traitors?
Hot iron seared into his skin?
Fear gripped him. Tears welled up and slid down his temples.
‘I’m scared. I don’t want this.’
His eyes wandered, but finally settled back on Killian.
His lips moved, but only trembling breaths came out.
“You’re frightened. Don’t be. It’s not a brand. Look.”
An ink bottle, black as night, sat neatly on a silver tray.
Killian explained to the terrified Nael before he even began.
“This is permanent ink. It’ll sting a little, but that’s all.”
He dipped the pen nib in ink.
Since it was to be etched on flawless, unblemished skin, it had to be done with care.
If it smudged or stained, he’d have the limbs of the ink seller torn apart.
“If you move and ruin it, I’ll really bring out the branding iron. Hold still.”
“Huff… Yes.”
His body, which had been trembling slightly, took a deep breath.
Even as he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away in a pitiful attempt to ignore the situation, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ngh…”
The sharp tip of the pen passed just below his collarbone.
The sound of skin being scratched—tchk, tchk—and the stinging sensation made him clench his fists.
He held his breath to keep from shaking, exhaling only when the pen dipped back into the inkwell.
Fortunately, it was bearable.
“You’re doing well.”
Hearing Killian’s gentle praise made the pain easier to endure.
It was just a little sting, after all.
* * *
