* * *
Killian left a gentle kiss on Nael’s soft lips as he slept.
When Nael stirred and curled toward him, as if protesting, Killian patted him soothingly.
No gem kissed by sunlight could outshine him.
He ran his fingers through the hair spilling between them.
He didn’t want to be apart for even a moment, but there was work to do.
He left John behind in case Nael awoke and panicked—but his feet dragged with reluctance.
Even with Nael in his arms, the fear that he might slip away like grains of sand never left.
Only by feeling Nael’s warmth and hearing his breathing could Killian sleep.
Nael, too, didn’t seem suffocated by Killian’s presence.
Instead, he nestled deeper into his arms.
“The nightmares have eased, but his breathing sometimes gets rough… when that happens…”
Killian paused as he explained.
He looked down at Nael, hesitant.
Then he added in a low voice:
“When that happens, call for me. I’ll be at the villa.”
“…Yes, Your Highness.”
John, now acting quite like a Northerner himself, bowed respectfully.
The moment Killian tore his eyes away from Nael, his expression hardened, sharp as a blade.
With a face as cold and composed as ice, he left the bedroom.
As he entered the annex palace, the baron and his wife rushed forward to bow.
“We greet Your Grace, the Grand Duke.”
The baroness coughed dryly after nearly every word.
Unable to stop herself, she pressed a handkerchief to her lips, her pallor ghostly, devoid of makeup, as she carefully observed Killian’s mood.
It had been quite some time since their arrival in the North, yet they hadn’t seen Edward even once.
Though there were plenty of plausible excuses, the baron merely repeated the same words like a parrot: wait a little longer.
They had recklessly boarded the Grand Duke’s ship, consumed all the rare wine onboard, and even nearly caused a shipwreck by burning the large sail.
If that wasn’t enough, upon arriving in the North, they set fire to the Grand Duke’s armory.
Who in the world could be so insane?
The baron had raged furiously.
The baroness couldn’t hide her dismay either.
They had never figured out how to properly apologize or compensate the Grand Duke—those thoughts had haunted them since setting out on this long journey.
Even so, it was heartbreaking that they had kept Edward’s so-called “punishment” hidden even from his parents.
Rumor had it that Nael had caused yet another problem.
Even setting aside the fine meals and luxurious treatment they received, she was still a mother who wanted to see her son.
A son who, someday, would take responsibility for the Baker Barony.
Her burning anger cooled the moment she faced the Grand Duke.
The elegance and nobility he exuded were extraordinary.
Behind the eyes that looked down upon them with such aloofness, there was a chilling cold, like the cursed snowfields of the North.
“It seems the Baroness hasn’t fully recovered yet.”
“It must have been the strain of the long journey.”
“A strain, you say…”
The baron gave a soft cough. Sitting with perfect posture, Killian leisurely sipped his tea.
“Well, I suppose it’s time to wrap things up. I think he’s been punished enough.”
“Thank you for saying so, Your Grace. As a father, I’ve clearly failed in raising him properly.”
Killian slowly lifted his gaze from the teacup.
The baron flinched and averted his faded green eyes from Killian’s piercing ones.
“Yes, that much is clear.”
“…”
“He’s nothing like Nael.”
“Y-Yes, of course. Nael is innocent. Still a child, not fully educated yet. Ah, I did hear recently, quite by accident, that Your Grace had some trouble because of that boy.”
“…”
“Which would explain the delay in receiving us. You must have had a hard time.”
The baron exchanged a glance with his wife, a subtle nod passing between them.
Killian quietly observed before finally speaking.
When Killian’s lips slowly curled into a smile, the baron followed with an uncertain one of his own.
Whoooosh—outside the thick windows, a fierce northern wind howled strangely as it passed.
An oppressive silence followed, heavy and unbroken.
Cough, cough. The baroness began to cough violently again.
“It seems we don’t have much time for conversation.”
The baron swallowed hard.
It was difficult to guess what the Grand Duke wanted in exchange for returning their son.
Perhaps he would ask for the gold coins they received when they handed over ownership of Nael.
Or maybe he would demand even more.
His head already throbbed, but he forced himself to drink the tea, careful not to show any tension.
“How is the tea?”
The out-of-place question nearly made the baron choke.
“I-It’s excellent. Northern tea has a deeper aroma and smoother finish than elsewhere. And since we’re served it daily—”
“How is the food?”
Cut off mid-sentence, the baron blinked but answered without hesitation.
He thought to himself, ‘Surely I’m old enough not to be rattled by something like this.’
“Thanks to your generous hospitality, we’ve been resting quite comfortably.”
“So you’ve lacked for nothing.”
“Ah, no, not at all. The chef’s skill is truly outstanding. We’ve seen dishes here that aren’t even known in the South. Every meal has been a delight.”
Killian tapped the table lightly—tok, tok—then continued.
“What kind of child was Nael? When did he start working in the manor? What did he usually do? His appetite is unusually small—was he born that way? No, such things aren’t innate, are they?”
The questions flowed endlessly.
The baron offered a weak smile.
‘So the Grand Duke really is fond of Nael. That explains it.’
A strange sense that he held a winning card made his heart pound.
“Nael was always a beautiful child. His love for his sister was touching too. He caused some trouble now and then, but with the right guidance, he’s quick-witted enough to follow orders.”
“Guidance? So you’re saying you educated him?”
Killian stopped tapping the table.
“Yes, it couldn’t have been easy.”
“That’s true. He needed an extraordinary amount of patience.”
“He must’ve repeated the same mistakes over and over.”
“Exactly. He was quick to pick up on things, but lacked practical skills.”
The baroness jumped in, her voice rising.
“He takes after his mother, I suppose. Still, I cared for that child.”
“I imagine you couldn’t take your eyes off him from morning till night.”
“You can see that after only a few months? Your Grace has a sharp eye.”
Killian suddenly stood up.
Screeeech—his chair scraped back before tipping over with a loud crash.
The baroness flinched at the thunderous noise.
“So you beat him, then?”
“…Pardon?”
“I’m asking if you tormented Nael.”
“…”
“Is it that difficult a question? You had him working all day with no pay, gave him meager meals. He doesn’t even recognize the scent of fruit. Refused to touch soup with meat in it, saying it wasn’t his. He flinches at the smallest sounds—that only happens when someone is scolded constantly. When a hand lifts, he instinctively covers his cheek and recites his wrongs—that’s a learned behavior. It was you.”
“…”
The baron clenched his fists tightly.
As Killian stood, his shadow loomed large over the couple, casting a suffocating weight that made it hard even to blink.
The baroness hiccuped, trembling.
“I’ll make this simple. If you sign a document officially recognizing Nael and his sister Lily Baker as your legitimate children—I’ll return Edward.”
“…”
“….”
“Please, let me see Nael just once.”
The words forced themselves out, broken and desperate.
The baron’s voice trembled uncontrollably.
* * *
