Chương 1

Chapter 1

The first thing he heard was an unfamiliar voice.

"Shh…… Be quiet. We'll get in trouble if they catch us."

A child's voice, still thin and high. He had a memory of hearing it somewhere before.

The child, whose tongue and lips hadn't quite finished growing, cautioned someone beside him in half-formed pronunciation.

"I can't see, hyung."

Another voice chimed in.

The children must have been terribly small — even this close to the bed, they hardly made a sound. Or perhaps they were simply too light to register.

Someone touched the edge of the bed. From the way the sheet shifted, a small body had latched onto the side.

"You can't climb up on the bed. He's hurting."

"But I can't see?"

The one scolding — surely the older brother. The younger voice drooped with disappointment.

"Let's get a chair."

"Okay."

The earnest little pact made him want to open his eyes. But his eyelids were impossibly heavy; there was no forcing them apart. His hands, his feet, his entire body felt crushed beneath an enormous boulder.

Some distance away, small grunting noises arose. Something heavy dragged across the carpet, then came to a stop near the bed. A brief commotion followed, and the mattress dipped lightly.

"Wow."

A hushed gasp of wonder escaped.

"Shh. I told you to be quiet."

The voice telling the other to be quiet was louder than the gasp.

"His hair's the same color as yours, hyung."

"Right? And his eyes are the same color as mine."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm."

The voices crept closer. Not on the chair after all — they seemed to be half-draped over the edge of the bed. Hadn't someone just said they weren't allowed up?

"I want to see from closer. Can I?"

"Umm…… as long as we don't get caught?"

"I'll make sure we don't."

The younger one's promise dissolved the older one's last resistance. We won't get caught, they'd said — yet the sounds of two children clambering up from opposite sides were anything but subtle. The mattress rocked. Small voices arrived close by.

The children held their breath, but their movements were far from silent. With a person between them, they whispered shh! warnings, tapped and nudged each other with their hands. Then a small touch landed. A hot, soft palm gently wrapped around fingers that felt heavy as iron rods.

"Jester! You can't touch him!"

The older brother's voice rose in spite of itself.

"But……"

"I want to touch him too, and I'm holding back."

Touch me. Touch me all you want. You can crawl into my arms.

He wanted to shout it, but his throat was sealed shut and would not obey.

"Hyung."

The smaller child wheedled. The other, who had been agonizing, finally gave in.

"You have to be very gentle."

Something cautious brushed the back of his hand. Small and damp and endlessly dear — one touch became two, then three, then four.

Soft little somethings pinched the tips of his fingers, then let go.

"He's cold."

"Yeah."

Hands warm and crumbly as freshly baked potatoes tickled the back of his hand.

"It's scratchy here."

"That's what happens when you live in the country. Grandma Martha said so."

"Oh."

He had never lived in the country. His stinging heart trembled.

"Is he going to live with us from now on?"

"I don't know."

The older one answered.

"I want to be with him."

"Me too. But Papa……"

"Can't we ask Papa to let him stay?"

The younger one asked.

"I don't know."

"If we promise not to be naughty and to do what we're told. And…… and……"

The younger one ran out of words. To help his struggling brother, the older one offered a suggestion.

"My birthday's only five sleeps away. What if I ask for it as my birthday present? I'll say I want us to live together."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

The air itself seemed to warm with the child's delight. Caught up in the excitement, the younger one added brightly:

"Then I'll add my birthday present too."

"Good. Let's ask Seth and Blaine to put their birthdays in too. That's three of us altogether, so Papa will have to say yes."

"You can have my next birthday too."

"Right, let's add next year's too. Then we can beat Papa for sure."

Giddy with their outrageous scheme, the children dissolved into giggles and rolled across the bed. Their solemn vow to be gentle had already been forgotten.

The touching that began with his hands spread to his arms, then his torso, and finally his feet. Before he knew it the children had divided themselves between his two sides, lifting his limp arms and setting them down, pressing their own cheeks against his half-open palms. His already weakened heart gave a startled leap.

Oblivious, the children's chatter continued — but only briefly, because footsteps sounded in the distance. The children froze as though seized by sudden terror.

Thud. Thud.

The approaching steps were heavy. The children's tension radiated through the mattress.

"Hyung."

The younger one's voice quavered with fear; the older one sounded equally at a loss.

Click.

The door opened. The children curled into themselves where they were, petrified. Like fawns caught by a hunter, the two small souls froze in place, trembling.

The enormous presence that approached the bed unleashed neither thunderbolt nor sneer. Instead it drew a sharp breath of surprise, then let it out slowly.

"You two. What are you doing awake at this hour?"

The rough, gravelly voice startled more than just the two children. Fingers that had been frozen stiff as a statue twitched of their own accord.

"I thought I told you no one was to come into this room."

The voice carried no particular anger, yet it possessed an air that made a person shrink instinctively. His own children, inheritors of his blood, seemed equally cowed by their father's interrogation and couldn't produce a single word.

"Whose idea was it to come in here? Ray, was it you?"

"Well……"

While the older child fumbled, the smaller one spoke up, trembling.

"Jester."

A deep sigh rolled out — one that said I knew it — and the older child immediately raised his voice.

"I was the one who said it first. That there was a…… here. But Jester didn't believe me, so I brought him. It's my fault. Please don't punish Jester."

He mumbled over one word in the middle, but everything else rang out clear as a bell. Still so small, yet the boldness was unmistakably his father's.

"I told you to look after your brother, and instead you cause trouble."

"I'm sorry. Please don't punish Jester. I'm the one who didn't look after my brother and disobeyed you. It's all my fault."

Even through his fear, the older child refused to bend. That gallant protectiveness over his sibling made Aeroc's heart ache.

He needed to reassure these unbearably precious children. He won't be angry at you. All his hatred and loathing are for me alone. I'm the one who deserves it. He wanted to summon the strength, but none came. It felt as though there were a great hole somewhere in his body, and every last drop of energy was leaking through it.

"I'll take the switch by myself."

At the word switch, the consciousness that had been dissolving into jelly seized up.

Children who still had soprano voices too young to tell boy from girl — beaten? For the mere offense of entering a room they'd been told to stay out of? Simply because they couldn't contain their curiosity? Those precious souls?

Why? Because a sinner bore them? No. Absolutely not.

Even if it were a grave transgression, corporal punishment was not the children's share to bear. That belonged to the one who had failed to die soon enough, who had left room for the children to see him at all.

Even mired in the terrible lethargy of having one foot on the threshold of death, Aeroc fought to move his body. He was straining to twitch his frozen fingers when——

"Ray. What are you talking about? I've never once laid a hand on you. There isn't so much as a switch in this house — where on earth did you learn about such things?"

"From a picture book I read before. A naughty child gets hit with a long, thin switch, like this, whap."

"No. Don't hit hyung. You can't. Hyung. I don't want it to hurt."

The younger one scrambled over the prone figure's legs and threw himself into his brother's arms. The jolt rocked Aeroc's body, and his frozen fingertips loosened a fraction more.

"That is exactly why I have never——!"

The flustered man's voice was rising when——

"Papa?"

A thread-thin voice drifted from the doorway. Tiny as a chick, clear and sweet — it silenced everyone at once. In the hush, the small chick sniffled.

"Oh, Seth. Did we wake you? Did you come all this way by yourself?"

A startled voice.

"Papaa…… scawy."

"Good Lord. Blaine too."

There were two chicks.

The sound of hurrying footsteps. The children who'd commandeered the bed scrambled down after their father. The sudden emptiness settled over Aeroc like a chill. Over a heart already cracking and splitting, the cold brushed in, and he could not bear to lie still. If this was the end, so be it. If he could see those beloved children. If even a dying sinner was granted a swan song, it was surely this moment.

He made bread of the children's laughter and water of the achingly dear little chick's crying. He swallowed those precious things down a parched throat, then forced breath into a corpse-like body. He tightened trembling joints, pushed against the rustling bed with hands that had lost all sensation, turned and bent a frame stiff as a plank. He raised his shoulder blades high, pressed his forehead to the dry sheet, and clawed at eyelids glued shut with cold fingertips.

"Ah."

A small gasp. His eyes, pried open at last, blinked as he lifted his head. The world was still fog. In a vertigo of swirling colors, where he could not tell reality from dream, finding the children was no simple task.

Somewhere there should be a child with hair bright as narcissus. And beside him, a younger one who followed his brother everywhere. Two darling chicks whose feather-color he didn't even know. His numb fingertips groped through the air. Then——

"Papa! Look!"

A boy soprano rang out. In the same instant, an enormous silhouette surged upward.

"……"

No sound reached him, yet he knew the man had frozen in shock. The hand wandering through the air stopped with him.

"Ra…… Ray……"

The child's name was a shard of stained glass — beautiful and exquisite beyond bearing, and at the same time an agony that split the soul. He swallowed the blood rising in his throat and called the name once more.

"Raphi……el?"

"Mamaaaa!"

The golden blur of light swelled. Ray, filling his hazy vision, scrambled onto the bed and flung his arms around Aeroc. Such small, fragile arms — yet what a ferocious embrace. His entire ribcage compressed. He couldn't breathe, but it was a world away from suffering. If anything, he was overwhelmed.

How bitterly he resented his dulled senses. The faint sweat-smell and sun-smell of a child, the pulse of a small heart, the smooth warm skin — he wanted to feel it all vividly, but couldn't. All he could do was hold his breath and try, with everything he had, to cradle the tiny body.

The bed rocked again.

"Ma……ma?"

Jester had crept to his side and burrowed into the embrace. Aeroc's wasted body was, ironically, roomy enough. He gathered both children in and fought to turn his uncooperative head. Just pressing his lips to the crown tucked beneath his chin left him gasping.

"Mama?"

"Mamaaaa?"

Even the little chicks were crying. In a gaze that sharpened and blurred in turns, a large figure entered, bearing a deep shadow. It seemed as though it would take the children he'd only just managed to hold — the ones whose faces he hadn't even properly seen.

Ice picks drove into a cold heart. The face that had forgotten how to smile contorted wretchedly. Aeroc wrung a dry breath from his lungs and begged.

"Sor…… just…… a little longer……"

"Ray, Jester."

He addressed only the children, his voice quiet. But the children were as desperate as Aeroc. Each time their father's rigid tone reached them, they pressed their faces harder against the gaunt torso. Stick-thin arms closed around them.

"Mamamamaaa! Papaaa!"

"Papa. Me. Me. Mama. Mama, me too, me too."

One chick was sobbing; the other raised its voice in excitement. He wanted to reach out to those babies too. Why had God granted man only two arms? He was on the verge of that impious lament when the figure — towering like a warlord — moved. He scooped up a small baby from below the bed.

"Sor…… sorry. I'm sorry…… Klo……"

Be still. He kept forgetting that the man's patience had long since been spent. He'd thought himself possessed of a keen mind, yet even an utter fool wouldn't repeat its mistakes this relentlessly.

His gaunt face contorted. Did moisture still remain in this husk of a body? His eyes stung with heat. The world, already blurred, filmed over with wet. Everything wavered and shimmered like a mirage. It might vanish in an instant — a fading, wistful dream. He seized the clothes of the children in his arms with numb fingertips. He bent his head, trying to catch one more breath of their scent.

The stern man's shadow fell across the bed. Aeroc, sensing the end, squeezed his eyes shut.

The child on his right was wrenched away. He grabbed desperately, but it was no use. He curled his body to clutch the remaining child — but the cruel man seemed unwilling to grant even a moment's embrace.

He pried open the skeletal arms. A bittersweet scent gusted over him. At least his vision was too blurred to see clearly. Otherwise the contempt and loathing blazing in those merciless eyes would have crumbled his entire body to dust.

"Please."

Knowing it was futile, he pleaded for mercy.

"This one's Blaine."

A brief, incomprehensible answer — and into his pried-open arms, a smaller body was tucked.

A plump little form swaddled in soft fabric leaned its full weight into Aeroc.

"Mama."

One of the chicks.

"Ray, hold on to Blaine so he doesn't roll off."

"Okay."

The child who'd been taken away returned, wrapping around the baby and nesting against Aeroc.

"Wha——"

"Jester, scoot over a little."

This time the child on his left shifted. Into the gap, another small body was placed.

"This one's Seth."

"Seth?"

"The third. Blaine is the fourth."

"Oh."

The shock lasted only a moment before Aeroc blinked, straining to focus. For a split second the children's faces appeared, then blurred again. On the right, two golden heads; on the left, one chestnut head of curly hair and one golden. His arms were so full he couldn't fold them in.

"It's bedtime. Lie down."

At their father's command, the two older children each patted a younger sibling, then lay down beside them.

"Can I use his arm as a pillow?"

Ray asked.

"Well——"

"No."

The well that would have been a go ahead was cut off by the children's father.

"If your arm goes numb it'll rot, and then they'll have to cut it off."

"No. I don't want that."

Both children shuddered.

Aeroc was equally dumbfounded. Was it permissible to say such a ghastly thing to small children? His jaw hung open.

The children gave up the pillow idea at once. Instead they attached themselves firmly to either side of Aeroc's waist. Two younger ones above, two older ones below — with small bodies stuck to him from every direction, it felt as though he'd been fitted with a suit of armor.

"Um……"

"It's late."

A flat voice.

"Get some rest. We'll talk later."

He fussed over the children's sleeping positions, tucked the blanket around them, patted each one. Then he moved the chair the older children had used to climb the bed back beside the table. One by one he extinguished the wall lamps around the room, and then he was quietly gone. In place of the commotion that vanished in an instant came a comfort Aeroc had been too afraid even to dream of.

He murmured the names of the children he'd reunited with — Ray — and the three he was meeting for the first time.

"Hm?"

"Did you call us?"

Two small whispers from the older children. They'd only been pretending to sleep for their father's sake. The belated sting in his eyes hit all at once. He pressed his trembling lips together and moved fingers that the children's warmth had thawed.

"Mamaa?"

A small head perched on one shoulder stirred adorably. Even that tiny weight was hard for a body of nothing but bone and skin, but the joy vastly outweighed the pain. He shifted his head and pressed his lips gently against the crown that still smelled of milk.

"Seth?"

At his voice the little head tipped sharply back. Her forehead bumped against his lips. The baby seemed pleased; she rubbed her forehead with one hand and answered in a lovely voice: "Good night."

"Me too."

How Jester had seen anything in the dark was a mystery, but his head popped up. He rose and jutted his lips out. Before the surprise could register, small, precious lips grazed Aeroc's dry ones.

"I wanna give a good-night kiss."

The shy whisper delivered, Jester dove back down and wound himself tightly around Aeroc's leg.

"Me too."

Ray this time. Damp lips pressed firmly near the corner of Aeroc's mouth, then withdrew. Aeroc turned his head, trying to bring the blurred shape into focus. The spring-sunshine gold of the child's hair was already sinking back toward his waist. Wistful, he reached out and ruffled the boy's hair.

"Hehe."

A small laugh.

"I wish we could always sleep like this."

"Always."

"Always always."

"Always always always."

The brothers took turns chanting always. What started as a game — ten repetitions — turned into a competition, neither willing to lose, batting at each other across Aeroc's legs between declarations. Whether they were fighting or simply close was impossible to tell.

"Mamaa."

The smallest baby, who had been quiet all this time, babbled.

"Blaine."

The fourth child was heartbreakingly tiny. The other three brimmed with a child's vitality, but the youngest seemed not merely young but fragile. He'd been sniffling as though he had a cold the entire time.

"Mama."

A small, round forehead nudged into the hollow between neck and chin. A soft bridge of nose and beneath it a drool-smeared mouth touched Aeroc's collarbone. He wanted to indulge the baby more but couldn't, and was sorry for it. Instead he pressed his chin gently against the back of the small head.

At the age when they should have been at their most demanding and mischievous — Rapiel, Jester, Seth, and Blaine alike — they were so astonishingly well-behaved. The depths of his heart churned and his insides squirmed with a happiness so fierce it hurt, yet underneath ran a current of sorrow.

A seven-year-old who lost a gentle mother had to fight with everything he had not to be buried in the gloom that settled over the household. How much more so for children born and raised in a great mansion layered with the sediment of wretched death and savage revenge — they could never have been carefree and cheerful. Their composure, so far beyond their years, struck him as sadness itself.

He tamped down the bittersweet joy swelling in his chest. Damp sighs piled up in quiet drifts.

"Are you in pain?"

A small bird cried out in the dark.

"N……o."

He swallowed the burning heat and barely managed an answer.

"Tell us if it hurts. I can…… sleep by myself. But Jester and the babies still can't sleep alone."

"I'm fi……ne. Not hurting…… at all. Go to sleep now."

He patted the eldest, who'd offered to sleep apart so his siblings could stay. The children, happier even than the joy-drenched Aeroc, wriggled and turned as though unwilling to surrender to sleep — and then, one by one, sank into it.

He listened to the small breaths coming from every direction. If only this impossible night could last forever.

How much time passed, he couldn't say. The children's warmth thawed his frozen muscles, and the sweet breath puffing like May buds from their lovely lips lent moisture to his desiccated veins. Even his throat, which had felt hacked apart with rough scissors, softened at last.

"Ray. Jester. Seth. Blaine."

Where had he found such beautiful sounds? Afraid of losing those four magical words, he rolled them silently inside his mouth. He was savoring the pretty names, soaking in a happiness that felt like a dream, when the man returned.

"Finally asleep, it seems."

The towering frame, backlit by faint yellow lamplight, was formidably imposing. Aeroc held his breath and watched him. His unfocused gaze was, for this moment alone, sharp.

Kloff was still in his waistcoat. He'd loosened his tie and put on house slippers, but nothing about him suggested he'd been preparing for bed.

He set the lamp he'd brought on the table, then came over and gently lifted Seth away.

"Oh."

Aeroc tried to hold on but couldn't. Kloff carried the child out and returned alone, then scooped up Jester and Rapiel together and disappeared. Blaine, too, was soon gone from his arms.

So it had been a momentary dream after all. His fingertips and toes, still warm from the children's heat, cooled in an instant. Buried in the somber air, he shed cold tears.

He thought he'd be left alone, but Kloff reappeared. He was carrying a small tray.

"Aren't you tired?"

The question came so casually that Aeroc was too flustered to answer. Strangely, Kloff showed not a trace of irritation. Instead he approached the bedside and extended his hand. Aeroc flinched so violently he nearly leapt off the mattress.

He was supposed to hold still no matter what the man did, yet he'd startled and spoiled Kloff's mood. Steeped in fear, he looked up at him. The hand suspended in midair withdrew quietly.

The usual ferocious rage was nowhere on the man. Only a bitter, self-mocking smile knocked against Aeroc's heart.

"How's your fever?"

Only then did he realize Kloff had been reaching to check his forehead.

Aeroc fumbled and pressed a hand to his own brow. It felt warm, but whether that was because his hand was cold or because he genuinely had a fever, he couldn't tell.

"I'm not sure."

"May I touch your forehead?"

His eyes went round again. Had Kloff just asked for permission? Why, all of a sudden? He could do whatever he wanted.

"If you don't want me to, forget it."

"No…… no, you can touch it."

This time he answered without delay.

Kloff studied his expression for a moment, then extended his hand again. Long, neat fingers and a large palm covered his entire forehead.

"You've got a bit of a fever."

"Mm."

So it seemed. But fever or no fever — the shock of Kloff gently touching his forehead had emptied his mind of every other thought.

The palm was astonishingly warm, and tender enough to bring tears. He forced his heavy eyelids open and stared at the thick wrist that covered half his face. His lips trembled, his heart hammered. His withered hands had bunched the bedsheet without his noticing.

The moment of impossible tenderness passed; the man withdrew his hand and stepped away. The sharp pang of loss pulled Aeroc's gaze after him.

Kloff placed the tray on the bed. On it sat a bowl of soup, a glass of warm water, and a small medicine bottle.

"You missed supper, so you need to eat something before you take your medicine."

Without meeting his eyes, Kloff held out a spoon. Aeroc reached for it reflexively. But his hands, still reeling from too many shocks at once, let the metal utensil slip.

Clang.

The spoon struck the soup bowl and rolled across the bed. The jolt rocked the tray; water splashed.

"Oh dear."

At the low sigh, Aeroc froze, shoulders hunched. A disaster. He'd ruined the food that had been prepared with such care. A sneer about pampered aristocrats would be coming any moment.

"The wet sheets need changing."

But Kloff showed no contempt, no loathing — none of the savage emotions he'd displayed in the cottage.

He whisked the sheets away and returned with fresh ones almost at once. The clean bedding smelled of bright sunlight. He even tucked the blanket in so Aeroc's thin legs wouldn't be exposed, then set the tray back on the bed.

He picked up the spoon, but this time he didn't hand it over. Instead he scooped up the soup and held it near Aeroc's mouth. Aeroc looked between the spoon and the man's face. The bewilderment refused to fade.

"Eat it even if you don't want to."

It wasn't that he didn't want to — not in the slightest. He opened his mouth at the instruction and took the spoon. The soup was an invalid's preparation of slow-simmered meat, grains, and milk, but it tasted quite good. Neither too hot nor too cold — just right for eating. It had been so long since he'd had a proper meal that he wanted to gulp it down. But his throat must have been swollen; swallowing hurt terribly, and he grimaced.

"Not to your taste, I see."

"No. It's wonderful. Compared to what I used to cook, this is fit for the Imperial Palace's feast-day banquet."

Already conscious of his expression, the explanation tumbled out longer than intended.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. It's really delicious."

This time he opened his mouth first. Kloff scooped another spoonful and offered it. Aeroc swallowed slowly, enduring the pain. He tried not to furrow his brow, but there was no helping it.

"If it's not the taste…… I'll assign someone else from tomorrow. Bear with it for tonight. I didn't expect you to wake up."

He didn't understand why Kloff was suddenly saying such things.

There was so much he wanted to ask, but the steady delivery of soup kept his mouth occupied. Coaxing the soft food pooling in his mouth down his throat in small increments turned out to be harder than he'd imagined. A cold sweat threatened to break out.

Before long the bowl was empty. Getting through a single serving had drained him completely.

The entire time, Kloff's face had been dark and rigid as a plaster cast made of ash. He wasn't particularly angry, nor did he wear a sneer. He simply looked like a man with nothing left inside — his expression hollow. At the same time, he seemed profoundly exhausted. Not the fierce sovereign who seized only victories, but a war-weary general bone-tired from long campaigns.

Was it the flickering lamplight playing tricks? Or his still-imperfect vision?

"Would it…… be all right to ask what happened while I was unconscious?"

The truth was, he had no idea why he'd woken in a room inside the manor. His memory was as blurred as his eyesight.

"You don't remember anything?"

The man's brow twitched. More startled than angry.

"I was sleeping in the cottage…… ah."

He had walked out of his own accord. He'd opened the door — it had never once been locked — left the floral prison he'd made for himself, and headed for the city. Small pebbles had bitten into the soles of his gaunt feet, and the cool night air had shaken a body already falling apart. Staggering, he'd arrived at the city's deepest quarter. Dark, damp, a mire where beasts with cruel teeth lurked. He couldn't bring himself to speak of that place.

"After I left the manor…… I don't remember very well."

Given that he'd lost consciousness entirely, something dreadful must have happened. Now that he thought about it, he was in considerable pain. His legs throbbed strangely, too.

But his body had always been in pain. The kind of pain he couldn't endure without the pills Kloff gave him, so the difference scarcely registered.

"Did I collapse in the street?"

Perhaps, as before, a servant acting on Kloff's orders had collected his fallen body and brought it back to the estate. But he couldn't fathom why he was here instead of in the cottage.

He knew the carpet and curtain patterns, and above all the lingering fragrance. Even altered, he would have recognized this room. It was the one the stern Count had once used, and after him the foolish ruined aristocrat had briefly occupied — the room that now, presumably, belonged to the master of this estate.

"If you don't remember…… that's enough."

The room's master was unexpectedly composed. Everything about him tonight had been strange.

"Thank you for saving me."

"……"

No answer. He turned his back and mixed the medicine in the water glass. Aeroc addressed the silent silhouette.

"I was so startled by how beautiful they are. All four of them, so unbearably precious. I'll never forget it for the rest of my life. Thank you."

If not now, the chance might never come again — so he offered his deepest gratitude.

The hand mixing the medicine faltered. Tension gathered across the broad back.

A sympathetic weight pressed down on his own chest. He shouldn't have said anything after all. But the man's tenderness, so unfamiliar and gentle, had coaxed out a courage that had no business existing.

Without looking at him, Kloff held out the glass. Thanks to the warm soup, Aeroc had enough strength to take it — though a single hand wasn't enough, so he used both.

He didn't want to spill again and soil the fresh sheets, so he brought the rim carefully to his lips. Though it was only powder dissolved in water, it was violently bitter and harsh. After the delicious soup, it stung his tongue. His face screwed up.

"This is……"

"Anti-inflammatory, painkiller, and sedative mixed together. It's not poison, so drink it all."

"That's not what I mean — it's just so……"

His eyes met Kloff's as the man reached for the tray. His breath stopped.

"So what?"

The faintly impatient tone made Aeroc blurt out his true feelings before he could think.

"……Awful."

"What?"

"I mean it tastes awful…… Unbelievably bitter and vile, like gutter water."

Even the wretched cooking he'd managed in the cottage hadn't been this bad. He took another sip and squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Kloff said it wasn't poison, but feeding him something this ghastly on purpose seemed like a possibility worth considering.

The longer he held it in his mouth, the worse it got, so on the third sip he held his breath and tried to drink as much as he could. But half a glass was his limit.

"Ugh."

He shuddered, scrunching up to the bridge of his nose.

"Heh."

A low laugh broke free. Certainly not from the one struggling to swallow the vile medicine.

"Is it really that bad?"

"How is anyone supposed to drink this? Are you sure it's not poison?"

He couldn't help asking again. Even if it earned the rebuke that he was a spoiled aristocrat who'd forgotten his place — what was vile was vile.

"Poison would be sweet, actually. You'd want people to drink plenty of it."

A chillingly logical rebuttal.

"I suppose that's true. How am I meant to finish this?"

The sight of what remained prompted a despairing sigh.

"If you can't drink it, hand it over."

Perhaps annoyed that the medicine he'd gone to the trouble of preparing was going to waste over a complaint about the taste, Kloff came and took the half-empty glass.

"No. I can drink more. Just give me a moment."

"It's already the small hours."

To Aeroc's astonishment, Kloff tipped the remaining medicine into his own mouth in one swift motion.

Was it so expensive that not a single drop could be wasted? Even so — it wasn't wine; could he really just drink someone else's medicine like that? While Aeroc hung slack-jawed, blinking, a dark shadow fell over him.

"Huh?"

A strong hand gripped his chin, and a warm pressure settled over his lips. His already wide eyes stretched wider. A clear forehead filled his vision. Along the edges, dark hair swayed; below, deeply shadowed eye sockets and straight brows wavered in and out of focus.

Through the joined lips, bitter medicine flowed in. Only moments ago it had been so vile he'd have preferred poison — yet somehow his brow didn't crease.

The sudden kiss sent his heart into a frenzy. Not as though it were the first time, yet it thrilled him to the point of death every single time. Would it ever stop? Could it even have stopped within a lifetime?

This kiss couldn't possibly be a mark of affection. He didn't presume to hope for that. It was merely a means of delivering foul-tasting medicine — that was what he tried to tell himself. But when a soft tongue curled around his and eased the pooled medicine down his throat, he found sweetness there in spite of everything.

The vile smell of the medicine, unbearable when taken alone, mingled with the alpha's scent and transformed into something strangely, darkly sensual. By the time even his parched insides had grown moist, the kiss ended. Watching the lips that lightly touched and then parted, Aeroc felt an acute pang of longing.

Kloff, by contrast, seemed entirely unaffected. He straightened briskly, fetched a white muslin napkin, and wiped the smeared medicine from around Aeroc's mouth. The swelling elation instantly sharpened into a stinging ache, but Aeroc kept his expression neutral. Instead he tried to wipe his own mouth — similarly streaked with medicine and saliva — with the back of a trembling hand.

"You'll get it dirty."

With that toneless remark, Kloff used the clean side of the napkin to wipe Aeroc's hand. Then, unasked, he carefully wiped around Aeroc's mouth as well. The offhanded tenderness was so alien it unmoored him.

"What's so surprising?"

Kloff had read his expression.

"It's nothing…… it's just…… I don't think this has ever happened before……"

"It hasn't — when you've been awake? I see. I'd been doing it as a matter of course, so I didn't think. I'll be more careful from now on."

Kloff Bendyke and a courteous apology. Was there a more incongruous pairing? The shock made Aeroc flounder.

"I don't dislike it. It was just unfamiliar, that's all. I absolutely don't dislike it."

Afraid of being misunderstood, he hastily tacked on the clarification.

"All right."

The man nodded. Belatedly, heat crept into Aeroc's face as the nuance of what Kloff had said sank in.

As a matter of course, he'd said. But in Aeroc's memory, there had never — not once — been a kiss to deliver medicine, nor gentle wiping afterward. And Kloff was hardly the sort of man who would invent something like that as a joke. Which meant it must have happened while Aeroc was unconscious.

"How long…… was I asleep?"

Kloff didn't answer. He simply gathered the empty glass and set it on the tray.

A presentiment of something dire plunged through Aeroc's chest.

"I've imposed on you enough. I should go back to my quarters. I'm sorry to ask, but…… could I stay until morning? I don't think I could manage a fire right now."

He chose his words as carefully as he could, trying not to disturb the man's mood. But no answer came. This wasn't the time to be making requests.

"Actually, I'll go now. Just lend me a blanket. It'll be light soon enough — a blanket should be plenty."

He trusted that much would be granted.

Aeroc tried hurriedly to pull his legs together. But his legs refused to move. A dull ache told him they weren't entirely numb — they simply wouldn't obey. Like the limbs of a patient who'd been immobile for months — nothing but sticks.

"Huh?"

The moment he gripped his own thigh, Aeroc froze. Thin as he'd been, he'd never been this wasted. His skin was coarse and every joint jutted, yet he'd still had enough to move. But now his legs felt like those of a bedridden paralytic. Pure sticks.

Belatedly he touched his own chest and arms again. Bone everywhere. That he could move at all was a marvel. Above all, his belly was flat. The belly that had been swollen like a balloon was sunken like a penitent monk's after prolonged austerity.

"My…… belly."

He was too disoriented for words. Blackness was creeping in from the edges of his vision.

"My…… belly……"

"The babies are fine. There's nothing to worry about."

Kloff drew near and whispered.

"Oh."

Then he gently pushed the trembling Aeroc back down. The soft pillow caught his back.

"How…… long did I……"

"You slept a very long time. A very long time."

"……"

"The babies are sleeping in the nursery right now. When the sun comes up tomorrow morning, you'll see them."

"Truly……?"

"I swear on…… our children."

The words came back as a vow sworn on the children. At that, Aeroc nodded. He was too dazed to register that the possessive the man usually used was absent.

"Sleep for now. You need rest."

"Mm."

The hands that settled the blanket and patted him were terrifyingly gentle.

Four children met. Their names learned. The babies are safe. The fearsome man offered a tender kiss and then made the very promise Aeroc longed for most.

It had to be a dream. There was no way this wasn't a dream. A happy hallucination glimpsed before death.

If it was a dream, he never wanted to wake. With the blanket drawn up to half-cover his face, Aeroc stole glances at the man moving about the edges of the room. The broad back, fastidiously drawing the curtains closed against the night's chill, wavered in and out of focus.

He didn't want to sleep, but his eyelids kept falling. The vile medicine was as potent as its taste. The blurred lamplight spread, and then a gentle darkness wrapped itself around Aeroc.

* * *

He didn't know how much time had passed when a strange voice was the first thing to reach him.

"Shh…… Be quiet. We'll get in trouble if they catch us."

A thin, high child's voice. He'd heard it somewhere before.

The child cautioned someone beside him in pronunciation still not fully formed.

"I can't see, hyung."

Another voice.

"You can't climb up on the bed. He's hurting."

A scolding — and then something touched the back of his hand. Small, warm somethings wrapped around his unfeeling fingers. In half-sleep, Aeroc let himself be carried by the sensation. The warmth felt like a miracle. But the fragments scattered and wouldn't cohere.

"Mama!"

"Mamaaaa!"

A shout erupted, and Aeroc's eyes flew open.

Blinding light flooded in. He squinted and blinked. Slowly, a bright room swam into focus. Daylight streamed through tall windows; sheer curtains swayed in a breeze that carried the fragrance of flowers and grass. The room was luxuriously appointed. And on the bed, staring at him from point-blank range with enormous eyes, were two small children.

"Ma……ma?"

The older one spoke first. His voice quavered as though he might cry. Hair like threads of gold in the morning light, eyes the deep blue of sapphires. Ray — Rapiel.

"Mama!"

The younger one dove at him. Chestnut curls and dark eyes — he was the very image of his father, scaled down to miniature. Jester.

"Hyung!" Jester shouted toward the door. "Mama's awake!"

"I know! I can see!" Ray shouted back, then whipped around to Aeroc. His sapphire eyes were brimming. "Are you really awake? For real for real?"

"For……"

The word snagged in his throat. Something was different. His body was still heavy, but the crushing boulder-weight from before was gone. He could feel the sheets, the children's warmth, the breeze. His vision was clearer. And his limbs — still feeble — answered him when he told them to move.

He raised a trembling hand and touched Ray's cheek. Warm. Real. The tears he'd been holding back slipped free.

"For real."

Ray burst into sobs and threw himself at Aeroc's chest. Jester piled on from the other side, hiccupping. Aeroc wrapped his arms around them — thin arms that moved, that obeyed — and pressed his face into the crown of the nearest head.

"It's all right. I'm here."

The words cracked and splintered on their way out, but they were words. His voice, hoarse and threadbare, was unmistakably his own.

The door banged open.

"What on earth is all this racket first thing in the—"

Martha stopped dead. The tray in her hands rattled. She stared at the scene on the bed — the sobbing children, the gaunt man holding them — and her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

"…… Oh. Oh, heavens."

The tray slammed onto the nearest surface. Martha strode to the bedside, seized Aeroc's wrist, and pressed two fingers to his pulse with a grip that brooked no argument. After several seconds she released him, pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, then stood back and studied his face with eyes that were, unmistakably, glistening.

"You've lost far too much weight. I'll bring something to eat at once. You two — not a word to your father yet, do you hear me? I want five minutes before that man comes thundering in here and undoes all my work."

She was already halfway out the door.

"Martha."

She stopped. Aeroc's voice was barely a rasp.

"Thank you. For everything."

Her lips pressed into a hard line. For a single heartbeat, the formidable composure wavered. Then she straightened her shoulders, gave a brisk nod, and was gone.

Jester tugged Aeroc's sleeve.

"Mama, Martha is scary but she's really nice."

"I know."

"She makes the best porridge in the whole world."

"I believe it."

Ray, still pressed against Aeroc's chest, mumbled without lifting his head.

"We came every day. Papa said not to, but we came anyway. Every single day."

Aeroc's hand tightened in the golden hair.

"I know. I heard you."

Ray's head shot up. His tear-streaked face was radiant.

"You heard us?"

"Every word. The birthday plan. All of it."

Both children's faces went scarlet. Jester buried his head in the blanket; Ray covered his mouth with both hands.

"You weren't supposed to hear that," Ray whispered, mortified.

"I'm very glad I did."

Aeroc wiped the boy's wet cheeks with his thumb. The skin was unbearably soft. He had to stop his hand from trembling so the child wouldn't worry.

A commotion rose in the corridor — Martha's voice, sharp and commanding, followed by rapid footsteps that shook the floor. The children went rigid. Aeroc's pulse spiked, then steadied. He rested a hand on each child's back.

The door swung open. Kloff filled the frame, chest heaving as though he'd sprinted the length of the house. His shirt was half-tucked, his hair uncombed. For several seconds he simply stood there, staring.

Their eyes met.

In the light of morning, Aeroc could see Kloff's face clearly for the first time. The hollows under his eyes were deep enough to hold shadows even in full daylight. The lines bracketing his mouth hadn't been there — or hadn't been this deep — the last time Aeroc could remember. He looked as though he hadn't slept properly in months. Perhaps longer.

But the eyes themselves — dark, and very wide — held an expression Aeroc had never seen in them before. Or rather, one he'd never been allowed to see.

Kloff crossed the room in four strides. He didn't speak. He simply stood at the bedside and looked down, and his jaw worked once, twice, as though fighting something that wanted out.

"Good morning," Aeroc said quietly.

The muscle in Kloff's jaw spasmed. He brought one hand up, hesitated, and then — with a care that made the gesture almost unrecognizable as belonging to those large, blunt hands — brushed the hair back from Aeroc's forehead.

"Morning."

His voice was rough. Nothing more followed. But he didn't remove his hand. His fingers stayed in the matted, dirty-blond hair, and Aeroc felt them trembling.

Martha reappeared bearing a fresh tray. Behind her trailed a bleary-eyed Seth clutching a stuffed rabbit, and Blaine, carried on the hip of a young maidservant.

"Mamamama!"

Blaine's shriek pierced the room. He lunged so violently that the maid nearly dropped him. Kloff intercepted, plucking the baby from the air with one hand without looking away from Aeroc, and deposited him on the bed with the efficiency of long practice.

"Mamaaa!"

Seth toddled forward, stuffed rabbit dragging behind her, and attempted to scale the mattress. She failed, tried again, failed again, and turned to her father with her arms raised and her lower lip thrust out.

Kloff scooped her up and set her down beside Blaine. Then he lifted Ray and Jester — who'd been clinging to Aeroc too tightly to make room — and rearranged all four children around the bed so that no one was in danger of falling off and Aeroc's weakened body wasn't being crushed.

Martha watched the operation with her arms crossed.

"Eat first," she said, setting the tray across Aeroc's lap with surgical precision. "I don't care how much it hurts to swallow. You haven't had solid food in three months. Your body needs it more than it needs that man hovering."

"I'm not hovering."

"You are standing so close to the bed that I cannot reach the patient's left side. That is the definition of hovering."

A stifled sound came from one of the children. Possibly a laugh, hastily smothered.

Kloff took one step back. Martha gave a curt nod of satisfaction and began adjusting pillows behind Aeroc's back.

The porridge was plain and thin — grain and broth and nothing else — and Martha was right: swallowing hurt. But it was warm, and real, and Aeroc ate every spoonful while four children and one silent man watched him.

When the bowl was empty, the exhaustion hit like a wall. His eyelids began to droop even as Seth prodded his arm and Blaine gnawed contentedly on his thumb.

"Sleep," Martha commanded, already clearing the tray. "Children, out."

"Nooo!"

"Grandma Martha, five more minutes!"

"You have had your five minutes. Your father has had his five minutes. This man needs rest, and what he does not need is four monkeys and a guard dog taking up every inch of the bed."

Aeroc, sinking, managed a breath of laughter. Kloff said nothing, but the corner of his mouth moved — a fractional, involuntary twitch that might, in a more generous light, have been the ghost of a smile.

"Martha."

She looked at him.

"Let them stay. Please."

The woman regarded him for a long moment. Then she turned to Kloff.

"You heard the man. Keep them quiet. If his fever goes up even half a degree, they're out."

She left. The door clicked shut.

The children settled — Ray and Jester on either side, Seth and Blaine tucked into the crooks of his arms. Kloff remained standing, arms folded, watching. Aeroc met his gaze. In the daylight, with his vision clear at last, he could see every line of weariness etched into that face, and beneath them something raw and unguarded that the man was trying and failing to hide.

This is a dream, Aeroc thought again. None of this is real.

But the warmth of four small bodies pressed against him was unmistakable. And the man standing sentinel at his bedside showed no sign of leaving.

Aeroc closed his eyes. The children's breathing slowed around him, small and even and alive. He let the sound fill the space where fear had been, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, fell asleep without dreading what he would wake to.