Chương 4

Chapter 4

At first the doctor came for an afternoon house call every day. Then it became once every two days, and after a fortnight he left ten days' worth of medicine at a time. The dosage, too, had been steadily reduced.

When the doctor returned after ten days with a fresh supply, he nodded with satisfaction at the sight of Aeroc out of bed.

"Your recovery is remarkably fast. There's clearly a special hormonal process at work. This is a new discovery."

"A special hormonal process?"

"Doctor."

The doctor, in the midst of enthusiastically holding forth, clamped his mouth shut the instant Kloff spoke. Something was obviously being hidden.

Aeroc, sensing the awkward shift, looked between the doctor and Kloff. But he didn't open his mouth carelessly.

Kloff held the door open for the doctor, who'd just finished packing his bag — an unambiguous get out that, despite its considerable rudeness, didn't seem to faze the man. The doctor gave Aeroc a polite nod and ducked out. Kloff followed him from the room.

Aeroc had no clear picture of his own condition. He only knew that the house calls were less frequent, the dosage visibly smaller, his strength returning day by day, and flesh accumulating on his frame — so he was confident, at least, in the trajectory of his recovery. He could now rise without assistance, leave the bed, and walk around the room. For the first time in ages, he was dressed in house clothes rather than nightwear.

"Oh."

It was only after the doctor left that Aeroc remembered something he'd meant to ask. He'd been planning, at this visit, to ask whether a short turn around the garden might be permitted. Kloff, a distinguished graduate of the capital's university, could pose the question himself, but frankly Aeroc didn't trust him to. He'd almost certainly forget. Rather — Kloff simply didn't want Aeroc leaving the room.

But he couldn't live in this room forever. Since leaving the bed, the children had been pestering him constantly to go outside to the garden with them. Each time, Kloff had said he was free to do so once the doctor approved — and then, at every house call, had mysteriously forgotten to ask. Ray was beginning to have serious doubts about his father's memory.

We're moving before summer ends. If that was the case, Aeroc ought to be walking outdoors now to build stamina. But the very person who'd decided on the move seemed determined to keep Aeroc confined to the room. Aeroc had no particular wish to defy him, but the children complicated things.

"Can we go on a picnic in the garden?"

Sure enough, Ray appeared the moment he noticed the doctor leaving.

"Your father will ask for you."

"He's probably already forgotten."

The child, having lost all faith in his father, ignored Aeroc's protests and dashed out before he could be stopped.

"You mustn't disturb him."

Aeroc knew perfectly well that Kloff never showed cruelty or coldness to the children. There was no reason for him to — not with them. But Aeroc, still unaccustomed to the man's gentleness, was terrified that Ray would be scolded. Even a frigid glance was enough to stop his own heart — if Kloff so much as raised his voice at a child——

"Ray. Come back."

Leaving the room was exceedingly rare, but there was no choice — he had to stop Ray. The healthy child was far faster than someone barely off his sickbed. Picking up his pace would never close the gap.

Along the east wing's spiral staircase, the top of a golden head of curls flashed past the landing.

"Ray."

Reaching the landing alone was enough to leave him winded. If only there were a servant he could ask to catch Ray. But in this vast manor there were only the secrets-bound family of its powerful master and a handful of his closest people.

He steadied his ragged breathing, willed his trembling legs forward one step at a time, and descended the stairs. Both hands gripped the thick mahogany banister. One turn of the spiral brought the bottom into view. Ray was hiding behind a heavy decorative column at the foot of the stairs.

At first Aeroc wondered why the child was crouching there. But when he followed Ray's line of sight, the reason became clear.

A few more steps down, not far from the staircase, stood Kloff. Opposite him, his back to them, was the doctor. The two were deep in an intensely serious conversation — not the sort one could interrupt. The grave expression on the normally cheerful doctor's face only reinforced it.

The voices were too low to catch everything. But from the fragments of sound and the shapes their lips made, they appeared to be discussing seizures — or possibly hemoptysis.

Aeroc had experienced neither seizures nor coughing up blood. Since waking, his recovery had been smooth apart from insomnia.

Kloff nodded or shook his head as he explained something to the doctor. In response, the doctor sighed and set his medical bag on a nearby decorative console. Then he produced two medicine bottles Aeroc had never seen before and handed them over.

"The dosage has been holding steady. It needs to come down."

Some disagreement over the medication — the doctor's voice rose slightly. Kloff's reply grew louder in turn.

"I consider it a blessing it hasn't gone up."

"This is a narcotic that eats away at the mind. Reduce it. I'm making this recommendation in the strongest possible terms as your physician."

"I'll take it under consideration."

"At this rate, you'll die young."

"Aren't we a bit past the age where it qualifies as young?"

The doctor sighed and shook his head.

To be so rude to a man who numbered among the empire's most powerful — but this doctor was one of the handful of confidants who knew the full truth of this secretive household, so Kloff let it pass.

But narcotics and dying young. What on earth — why? What illness? Aeroc covered his trembling mouth with his hand. If his harsh breathing reached Kloff, the man would notice them and be furious.

The same was true for the child. The small back, spying on his father, had gone visibly rigid. Ray had already noticed Aeroc nearby; he turned slowly.

"Mama."

The child's expression was nothing like the one he'd worn dashing out moments ago. He was white as a sheet, as though he'd heard a ghost story about a terrible curse. The tips of his pitiful drawn brows quivered, and the jewel-blue eyes were rapidly filling with tears.

"Ray?"

Aeroc called the name softly, so as not to be heard below, and opened his arms wide. The child bolted into them like a startled bear cub. Having burned through every scrap of stamina chasing the swift boy down the stairs, Aeroc sank to the step with the child in his arms.

Finding out more about Kloff's condition mattered — but right now, the child came first.

"What's wrong?"

"Papa…… is he…… sick?"

Ray mumbled something into Aeroc's chest, but the words, tangled with sobs, were muffled against his body and impossible to make out.

"What did you say?"

He whispered into the already reddened ear. The child, already sniffling, raised a tear-streaked face.

"Papa…… is he sick? So sick that he'll die if he doesn't take the bad medicine?"

Kloff's eldest son was devastatingly clever. Despite his young age, he knew what narcotics and dying young meant.

"Oh, Ray."

Terrified that his father might die, the child clung to the skeletal body that had only just risen from its sickbed and wept. The crying grew louder.

"I'm afraid I'll have to skip the usual see-off."

"Of course."

The doctor, having caught wind of the situation, nodded and showed himself out.

Thud. Thud.

Heavy footsteps headed straight for them. Ray's shoulders jumped; Aeroc's heart plummeted in tandem.

"Spying, were you. Little rascals."

Kloff appeared at the foot of the stairs, his quiet tone carrying reproach. But he wasn't angry. If anything, the faint smile he directed at Aeroc said as much.

It was Aeroc whose expression had gone rigid. How could a man who'd just been told he'd die young look so serene?

The man's gentle gaze shifted to the child in Aeroc's arms.

"Why the tears?"

"Well……"

Aeroc hesitated briefly, then squeezed his eyes shut. He fought down the scalding heat that surged up and, with difficulty, found his voice.

"He…… heard everything you said just now."

"Eavesdropping on top of spying. Someone needs a talking-to."

For a man threatening punishment, his voice was remarkably cheerful. He seemed genuinely pleased that Ray and Aeroc had followed him.

"Scared of getting in trouble, so you're crying preemptively? Hiding in Mama's arms won't save you, Ray. Papa does not let bad behavior slide."

Kloff set the two medicine bottles on the step, then slid his hands under Ray's armpits and lifted him clean off the ground. The tear-drenched child offered no resistance; he dangled limply in the air. Like a stuffed bear with the filling gone, the small body went slack — then was tucked snugly into a solid embrace.

Holding the sizable child in one arm, Kloff used his free hand to wipe the tear-soaked plump cheeks. At that, Ray only cried harder. Arms impossibly slender compared to his father's seized the broad shoulders; equally slender legs locked around the thick waist. He looked exactly like a baby monkey clinging to its enormous father.

"What a spoiled boy. If your brothers and sisters see, they'll tease you."

"Papaaa…… waahh."

"All right. Just for today, I'll let it go."

He teased gently, then turned with Ray in his arms. Aeroc assumed he'd head upstairs to the bedroom, where the child could calm down.

"You're not going upstairs?"

"The playroom is closer. No point in letting the other children see Ray crying — believe it or not, he's their dependable big brother."

"Oh."

That far, Aeroc hadn't thought.

"Would you grab the medicine bottles? And make sure the other children don't come downstairs."

Aeroc could only nod at Kloff's request. He picked up the bottles and studied the labels closely.

They were utterly different from his own medicine. The bottle color, the size — and above all, the alpha symbol and the skull-and-crossbones. The alpha marking meant the drug addressed a condition unique to alphas; the skull meant poison. Poisons were occasionally used as remedies, but even then only in infinitesimal doses to ease the suffering of terminal patients beyond recovery. His heart, already lodged in the pit of his belly, dropped to his heels.

The man who needed narcotic painkillers for a grave illness walked down the corridor as though nothing were wrong, his child in his arms. The tender murmuring voice tore Aeroc's already ruined heart further still.

"Shh, shh. It's all right. Papa's not going to die. Grown-up alphas need medicine like that sometimes. Besides, Papa is so big and strong that only very potent medicine works on him. There's nothing to worry about. Don't tell your brothers and sisters. Can you do that for me?"

The man consumed by revenge was an achingly gentle father. How fortunate Ray was to have been born his son. And yet — every time he saw such tenderness, a part of Aeroc couldn't help but torment itself with the thought that if Ray had truly been the child of that sweet, beautiful cousin, the family might have been even happier.

He picked up the medicine bottles and climbed the stairs slowly. On his way to the bedroom, the playroom door opened. The head that poked out was Seth's.

"Mama?"

"Seth."

Seth pattered over and threw her arms around Aeroc's knees.

"Where's Ray?"

"He's with Papa."

"Then Mama's mine."

Seth beamed. Behind her, Jester appeared holding Blaine's hand. The second son, Ray's loyal lieutenant, glanced around uneasily.

"Is someone crying? Is it hyung?"

Jester was as perceptive as Ray. There was no lying about it.

"There's nothing to worry about. Papa is with him."

The reassurance seemed to satisfy Jester; he nodded and came closer. Blaine, hand in hand, toddled over and latched onto Aeroc's leg. The children were simply clinging to his legs, yet keeping his balance was a struggle.

"Shall we go to the playroom?"

"Is Mama going to play with us now?"

"Yes."

He nodded with a smile.

"Go on ahead. Mama will be right behind you."

"Okay!"

Watching the three children scamper happily back, he felt his already hollowed chest prickle and sting. His head swam; he couldn't breathe. It wasn't a matter of stamina. The sight of Ray crying downstairs, and of Kloff soothing a child terrified of losing his father — it threatened to undam his tears at any moment.

But he couldn't cry. He couldn't collapse into bed in front of these innocent, unknowing little ones — however much he wanted to. Not before the small soul who had to hide his own tears. Not when he was the one who'd set this cruelly twisted fate in motion. He had no right to fall first.

It was then that Aeroc understood why Kloff had saved him. Running away into death alone was cowardly. Dying was nothing more than abandoning everything — a selfish choice of avoidance. The one who started it must see it through to the end. So that the innocent souls, wounded or yet to be wounded, could know peace.

He pressed down on his stinging eyes and steadied his fracturing composure. He practiced raising the trembling corners of his mouth into a thin smile. Then, as though nothing inside him were crumbling, as though all were calm, he set one light foot in front of the other and headed for the playroom.

The playroom was the one place in the somber manor where rainbows bloomed — where the children's happy laughter never ceased. The master of this prosperous household had forbidden the children whose births were secret many things, but in equal measure had lavished them with gifts.

Brightly painted wooden blocks, stuffed animals of every kind, a small slide, an exotic ball painted with mysterious patterns, a fine tea-party set, and a rocking horse — nothing was missing. But what occupied the most space of all was a bookshelf crammed with picture books. Among them were many written not in the imperial standard language but in foreign scripts. Whether the children could read them was beside the point; it seemed every picture book in the world had been gathered here.

"Mama."

Seth brought over a ball. The embroidery on it was a folk pattern from a northern land — falling snow.

"This is from Northland."

"You know what it is?"

Jester's eyes sparkled with wonder.

"Of course. Look at this deer's antlers. See how they're shaped like broad, flat palms? This is an elk — a deer that lives only in Northland. So this ball was made there."

"Hyung, look!"

The elk motif made Seth turn to Jester in astonishment. Already on his feet, Jester dashed to the bookshelf and hauled out an enormous book.

The volume, as large as a sketchbook, bore the title Folk Tales in Northlandic, and inside were lavish illustrations.

"A Northlandic storybook."

Before his ruin, Aeroc had cultivated every refinement. For the pleasure of reading, he'd studied several languages beyond the imperial standard, including ancient tongues. His spoken Southern Island was as fluent as the standard language; Northlandic he'd learned only well enough to read. But a children's fairy tale posed no difficulty.

"It's our favorite picture book. Even Papa can't read this one. So hyung made up stories to go with the pictures. They're really good."

"Is that so? Let me see. This one is a story about an elk and a boy."

"That's a boy? I thought it was a girl because of the skirt."

Jester let out a gasp of delight.

"It's so cold up north that they wear long coats like this. The coat just looks like a skirt."

"Mama, can you read it?"

"I can. Shall I?"

"Yes!"

The playroom's thick carpet was strewn with plush cushions. Aeroc leaned back against one, and Jester and Seth claimed either side of him. Blaine, who'd crawled over belatedly, was settled onto his outstretched thighs.

"The Elk and the Boy. In a tiny village in the very, very cold north, there lived a boy named Heliya. So this child's name is Heliya. Look — northern folk have very pale hair and bright eyes. Their skin is very fair, too."

"Then is Mama from the north?"

Jester asked.

"No. Mama was born here. But Mama's mother had golden hair and blue eyes. Your grandmother's grandmother's grandmother's grandmother came from the north."

If one traced the lineage properly, the ancestral thread went back much further, but this was enough to convey a long time ago to small children.

"We have a grandmother?"

"Wooow. We have a grandma!"

The word grandmother sent the children into excited chatter.

"Where is she now?"

"Sadly, she passed away when Mama was small."

"So we can't meet her? I want to see her."

"I want to see her too."

Aeroc offered the disappointed children a wistful smile.

The memory of his mother had grown distant. How it had saddened him — her face, always shadowed by illness, as she tenderly coddled him. He realized anew another reason he must not die.

"What about Papa?"

Seth asked.

"Papa came from the north. Not as far north as Northland, but from the northernmost town in the empire."

"But he's not pale."

"True enough."

The children couldn't believe their bronze-skinned, dark chestnut-haired father hailed from the north.

"Maybe Papa's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather moved from the south to the north."

"He said we're moving too."

"That's right."

With every sentence Aeroc spoke, the children tumbled over themselves to share what they knew. The pretty little heads brimmed with wells of curiosity; they pointed at pictures and letters and chattered away.

Little Blaine, still so young, merely swiveled her head this way and that, and each time, the downy fluff atop her crown tickled the underside of Aeroc's chin. The tender brushing of that beloved hair gradually swept away the dark shadow cast by the crying Ray, the comforting Kloff, and the narcotic medication.

"So what this means is……"

Questions rained down, and he answered each one, but the storybook's pages refused to turn. Every time he managed to advance one page, two pages flipped back again. The children's destination and Northland's culture couldn't have been more different, yet the single vague commonality of north was enough to convince them they'd see elk when they moved.

Happy time passed at a lazy crawl. Before he knew it, the thick book was well along. Blaine, nestled in his lap, had drifted off. From the cherry-bud nose came soft, adorable snoring. Seth at his side was no different — head lolling, she'd gone quiet some time ago.

"Shall we save the rest for later?"

The only one who answered was Jester, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Unlike his brother, the boy who was his father's spitting image fought drowsiness with blinking determination.

"I should go to bed, but……"

Jester mumbled, pressing his forehead into Aeroc's chest.

A noble child ought to change into nightclothes and sleep in a proper bed. Sleeping in the playroom wasn't proper. Under a strict father, Aeroc had been made to use only the child-sized sofa even in the playroom; sitting on the floor uninvited had been forbidden. He hadn't been allowed to cry for his mother either, so he'd forgotten how.

The earldom had fallen. In its place, a new viscountcy had risen. Fortunately, the Bendyke household was secretive but not excessively strict — which was why cushions and thick carpet had been laid out in the playroom alongside the rule about sleeping in a bed for naps.

"It's all right to sleep here."

"Will Mama stay too?"

"Of course."

Only after hearing he'd stay did Jester let his head drop with relief.

Aeroc carefully tossed the heavy book toward a far cushion. Its weight made the throw difficult, but he couldn't risk dropping it on a sleeping child, so he gritted his teeth. Mercifully, the book hit the cushion and slid to the floor.

The princess sprawled across his chest made breathing a labor. The princes clinging to his armpits and arms pinned him in place. On top of that, the children's characteristically high body temperature had him sweating in no time.

Oh dear.

A blissful prison. He wanted to bear every last ounce of that precious weight — but his weakened body wouldn't cooperate. Would the day ever come when he could scoop them up one-armed, as effortlessly as Kloff?

Click.

The door handle turned and the door opened. It was Kloff. With each stride of his long legs, a cool breeze cut through the warm air and kissed Aeroc's slightly damp forehead.

"It got quiet, so I figured. Nap time, it seems."

Kloff lifted Blaine off Aeroc. He'd been about to protest — just a little longer — but the instant the child's weight left him, his lungs opened so completely that the words died unspoken.

He carried the children away in order of age, youngest first. When he reached for Jester last, Aeroc roused himself and followed.

The children's bedroom was across the hall from the playroom. Still too young for separate rooms, they all shared one. In the bed nearest the door, Ray was already sleeping. The middle beds belonged to Blaine and Seth. Kloff laid Jester carefully in the farthest bed. He kissed the stirring child's forehead, then turned toward Aeroc standing in the doorway.

"You must be tired. Get some rest."

He guided Aeroc to the bedroom. Without being asked, he produced nightclothes from the wardrobe and held them out.

While Aeroc shed his shirt and house coat and changed into the nightclothes, Kloff removed his own tie and waistcoat. His shoes followed — a sign he was preparing to enjoy the nap as well. Aeroc was tying the ribbon at the front of his nightshirt when Kloff approached.

Large hands stroked him through the thin nightclothes. A powerful presence pressed in from behind, and his breathing came undone at once. He knew the man would only touch — nothing more — and still he couldn't calm himself.

"Um…… is Ray all right?"

"Mm…… he seems to have settled down."

His father might die young — could a child truly settle down after hearing that?

"That medicine."

"It's nothing."

"But the doctor said——"

"He's the excitable type."

Reducing a physician's emphatic recommendation to a personality trait was very Kloff.

"May I ask the exact diagnosis?"

"And if I say no?"

"I…… want to know."

"Why?"

"Because……"

The words started, then stalled. On what grounds could he demand to know everything about Kloff's health? Illness was an intensely private matter. Especially for the head of a house — it was common to keep such things secret even from the outside world, because of inheritance concerns.

The health of Kloff Bendyke, the young upstart who had risen to become one of the empire's most powerful figures, was a matter of considerable importance to the empire itself. Could the last count of a fallen house presume to ask about it?

Moreover, Kloff had already shown Aeroc immense generosity. He had personally nursed a wretch who deserved a miserable death. He had raised the children Aeroc had borne with love and devotion. He had even introduced them and placed them in Aeroc's arms. The seat Aeroc had no right to — Kloff's generosity had allowed his brazen pretense. By now, being called Mama by those children felt natural.

And here he was, reaching for yet another seat. When he'd been cast out for his arrogance while carrying Ray and Jester. The greed he couldn't shake disgusted him.

"I'm sorry. I won't ask again."

"Quite the about-face."

The arm around his waist tightened. His heels lifted slightly off the floor.

"I overstepped."

His contrition was met, of all things, with a quiet snort of amusement.

"Changed strategy, have you."

"Strategy?"

"Instead of making me angry, you're going for sympathy."

"That's not—— ngh."

He shook his head in dismay, and a sharp sting bloomed on the shell of his ear. He hadn't realized Kloff was biting it. He'd started to turn his head, then stopped; the teeth released his ear, and in their place a hot, wet tongue leisurely lapped at the stinging bite mark. Every degree of heat in his body was converging on that ear.

Eyes neither open nor shut, Aeroc could only pant one shallow breath after another. A chill wind swirled through the void blown open in his chest. A trembling came, laced with dread. And yet — in the part of his arid body where moisture alone still gathered — his heart migrated downward, and the space below his belly coiled tight with an aching sweetness.

It's not fear — it's because I want him. You depraved, filthy, pathetic creature.

Aeroc cursed himself upon realizing that what he'd been calling dread was, in truth, arousal. Kloff was seriously ill. His own eldest son had been terrified to tears over it. And here Aeroc was, beside himself with glee at the mere fact of the man's attention.

But he lacked the courage to push Kloff away. Each time those unrestrained hands caressed his body, the best he could manage was to endure without shattering.

That was far from the only question he couldn't bring himself to ask.

Kloff touched Aeroc every night. Even in a relationship forged from revenge and hatred, they were no strangers to desire-laden hands on each other's bodies. From the start, Kloff had forced open a body that wasn't ready, and Aeroc had been made to receive him with a frame that could scarcely bear it. For Aeroc — who had been made omega for Kloff Bendyke alone, and who had learned by now to accept that fate — the encounters brought pain, but also a twisted satisfaction, and with it, relief. As long as the man showed sexual interest, he would not be discarded. That belief had sustained the exhausting life in the barren, parched cottage. In the end, a vicious despair had smashed even that hope to pieces. But.

Not now. Now the man traced the body he'd gone to such lengths to save with hands thick with want, breathed in the scent, and sometimes set his teeth against tender flesh — yet he would not take Aeroc. If it was concern for his health, Aeroc had already signaled that he was now healthier than he'd been in the cottage, and that there was no particular reason to hold back. Still, Kloff's hands roamed over the nightclothes without once slipping beneath.

The desire was obvious. When their bodies pressed close, the enormous pillar prodding his backside left no room for misunderstanding. There had to be another reason. And Aeroc burned to know what it was.

"You don't have to keep just touching me. I'm…… healthy."

"The doctor says otherwise."

"That's…… because he's the excitable type."

He lobbed Kloff's own excuse back. The lips wandering near his throat curved into a smile.

"Says the man who was winded from walking down a flight of stairs."

"This isn't stairs. If I'm tired, I can rest in the bed right here."

Kloff chuckled. Aeroc had stated his case in earnest, but apparently something was funny. He felt sheepish for no reason.

"If you want it that badly, you'd be faster finding another alpha."

An offhand remark. But to Aeroc, it was like being crushed under a boulder. Was he being discarded at last? The happiest moment, shredded by one careless sentence — the man truly was an avatar of revenge.

The shock hit his tear ducts a beat late. The tip of his nose prickled; his eyes burned. The scalding heat he'd barely choked down on the staircase clawed its way up, shaking his uvula, pooling in his mouth. He hadn't the strength to clench his molars. His parted lips trembled of their own accord.

"An…… another alpha is……"

Like a weed wilting on its stem, his body listed forward — and Kloff didn't let go. As though he wanted Aeroc to wither and die in his arms.

"An…… another person is…… I can't……"

Kloff turned the limp, drooping body around and lifted it as easily as a child. Then, gazing at the eyes that couldn't quite release their tears, he smiled.

"You didn't actually think of someone specific just now, did you? If you pictured anyone in particular, I will find out, and I will kill every last one of them."

The chilling warning dripped with amusement. The man who had relinquished everything and come back with a soul lighter for it still knew how to torment. Unsurprising, really — and yet, how had he ever come to look at a man like this?

A featherlight kiss alighted on his tear-brimmed eyes. The lips that had spoken words sharp as blades were unbearably tender and soft.

His stopped breath burst free. A long exhale of relief leaked out. Aeroc opened his arms toward the man who held him captive. Even if it meant withering cold in his embrace — he did not want to collapse anywhere else. He wound his arms carefully around the massive torso and tilted his head up slightly.

Between the lips that tickled his eyelashes, a hot tongue emerged and licked the trembling lashes. As the heat brushed the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the tears were swept away. The man who'd swallowed the bitter tears let his lips drift along the cheekbones where a trace of color was finally returning, then at last settled over the trembling mouth.

The cruel man's kiss was astonishingly tender. He'd been cold enough to justify wringing Aeroc's neck, and then, as though replaced by a different person, when he stirred the inside of Aeroc's mouth this gently, Aeroc felt his already patchwork soul threatening to fly apart all over again.

Reeling from the staggering drop, desperate not to lose hold of his fading consciousness, Aeroc curled his fingertips into hooks. He seized the silk shirt stretched across the back — a frame of entirely different scale from his own. His grip wasn't yet fully recovered. The slippery fine fabric threatened to slide through his loose fingers. He clutched it with everything he had, so that this tenderness, this overwhelming joy, this piercing relief would not seep quietly away.

His dry lips grew moist; his cold skin turned hot. As his stiff joints were oiled, the brittle depths of him softened and grew supple. The body that had been a bare winter tree began, at last, to sway like a spring shoot. Naturally, his center of gravity tilted toward the other man.

However wasted, this had once been the body of a man raised as an alpha. The weight was not negligible — and yet Kloff bore it without the slightest sway. On the contrary, he wound his arm firmly around the waist of the crumbling Aeroc and held him steady. Had he wished, he could have hoisted him one-armed, as easily as his eldest. He truly was strong.

The long kiss ended with a ragged exhale. Aeroc wasn't the only one flushed; across the arrogant bridge of nose and the cheekbones as hard as the pride they upheld, a faint blush had spread. Meanwhile, the man's center had swollen stiff, pressing against — and stimulating — Aeroc's comparatively meager counterpart.

"You're the one who actually wants it."

Emboldened by the kiss, the complaint tumbled out before Aeroc could think. Kloff chuckled, his chest rumbling.

"You're right. The truth is, I'm going out of my mind wanting to."

Such frankness startled him. A fine tremor rippled through his chest. He widened his eyes and studied the man's face with care. Was it another trap? Would those blade-edged words shred his tattered self all over again?

"I mean it. Case in point——"

Kloff drew one of Aeroc's hands from his waist and placed it squarely over his groin. What met his palm felt like a bough sturdy enough for a child to swing from. The raw, unmediated reality of it sent a blaze of heat across his entire face.

"Th……en why……?"

"I'm in a bad way. To put it bluntly — I'm being punished."

This time his eyes widened for an entirely different reason.

"I want to know what that medicine is for."

Boldness surged — past courage and into recklessness.

"Tell me. Now."

He nearly lunged at the man, heedless of the gulf between them. Only the unyielding arm around him prevented him from actually seizing Kloff by the collar.

The vehemence froze even Kloff for a moment. The difference between Aeroc's urgency and Kloff's composure was that the latter recovered his ease quickly, as always.

"I'd forgotten what a formidable count you once were. You've still got the presence."

At the word count, Aeroc's mouth clamped shut. A cowardly but effective counter. The reckless courage scattered in an instant. Every muscle went slack.

"You don't have to deflate that much over a little teasing."

Kloff, for his part, shook with laughter, shoulders bouncing.

In that moment, resentment flared. He even felt angry. If pride alone were the measure, he wanted to shout — If this is how it is, just dump me back in the cottage; why bother keeping me close? But he'd already grown accustomed to the warm embrace. He couldn't bring himself to push away; instead he clung tighter. His eyes reddened for a different reason now. His tightly pressed lips quivered.

Moist lips covered his once more. He wanted to refuse. But before this cruel man, he was an infinite fool — even a brief, birdlike kiss was enough to disarm his anger.

Lips unlike his own slack ones — firm, elastic — traced the edges of his mouth, then came to rest on the bridge of his scrunched nose. A damp breath grazed his brow line.

"I'm glad you've got enough energy to be angry."

"……"

You provoked me. But this time he held his tongue and simply let the kiss wash over him.

When he came to his senses, he was on the bed. Kloff lay on his side, one hand propping his head, gazing down at the supine Aeroc. His other hand, resting loosely, stroked Aeroc's belly in slow circles. It was exactly like soothing a fussy infant to sleep — slightly embarrassing, and at the same time, deeply good.

Exhaustion should have pulled him under, yet his mind remained strangely alert. He gazed up at the man watching him.

"Can't sleep, I see."

"Too many questions."

"Stubborn."

The corner of Kloff's mouth lifted. But Aeroc merely watched him in silence.

After a moment, Kloff let out a low sigh — and finally spoke.

"Something in the alpha hormone gland is broken."

"The alpha hormone gland?"

"Mm. I'm no expert on the medical side, but the gist is this: it's an organ that's been degenerating in the modern era. Excessive stimulation caused it to overproduce a specific hormone."

"And what happens then?"

"Well, according to the doctor — aggression, erratic behavior, impulsive actions. And if it's not treated in time, complete insanity."

"What?!"

Aeroc shot upright. The momentum toppled Kloff, who'd been lying on his side, backward. Aeroc clambered over him in a frenzy.

"Then all that cruelty of yours was——"

This time he actually seized the man's collar. But he didn't realize he was doing it.

"Whether it's the hormones or simply my nature — that part isn't clear."

His waist was straddled, his thighs splayed wide over the thick torso, his nightshirt rucked up to mid-thigh. Large hands drifted idly along the exposed skin.

"You said excessive stimulation — does that mean it's my fault? Because I…… his child, and him……"

"That was the trigger."

Kloff concurred in a level tone. And Aeroc regretted the foolish question the instant he'd asked it.

What had he hoped to confirm? He already knew it was an unforgivable sin.

Head bowed, he thought of the rightful owner of this bed. To have cruelly killed that loving, innocent soul and then to sit here, brazenly alive.

Kloff didn't get angry. He simply tickled the bared thigh.

"If I'd looked at you properly from the start, none of it would have happened."

At those words, Aeroc raised a face wrecked beyond recognition.

"The doctor told me. He said the degenerating organ is stimulated by deprivation — by prolonged withdrawal symptoms. He also said that right after my wife and child died, it didn't seem to be an issue."

"What?"

Aeroc lifted his head. He didn't understand. If Kloff's deterioration was driven by deprivation, then surely that deprivation was for——

"When Rapiel died, I was furious. I felt infinite guilt toward the unborn child."

"……"

It was the first time he'd heard Kloff speak of that day in his own words. The voice, laden with remorse, cut all the deeper for its absence of rage.

"Why couldn't I protect them? Why did I let her go out alone that day? If I'd been there, she wouldn't have died so senselessly."

The bleak edge of each word flayed Aeroc strip by strip.

"That was anger. And self-blame. But it wasn't deprivation."

"……?"

The man gazing up at Aeroc from below — his eyes full of a self-loathing that rippled through the dim light — spoke plainly.

"At first, I thought the hollowness — the feeling that something was missing — was for her. But it wasn't. I'd been using shallow pride to cover it up. I'd been hiding behind her as my excuse, looking away. I forced someone who didn't fit into that place and pretended it was fine — pretended I was whole. I should never have married her. If I hadn't, she wouldn't have died. The blade was in your hand, yes. But."

"What…… are you saying?"

The world went black, then flared white.

"You once asked me to say it — even if it were a lie. There's no need for a lie. If I ever say those words, they'll be the truth."

The shell of the world came crashing down, and a wave of pure white foam surged forward. A rainbow arced and burst into petals — blue, yellow, red — that shattered in midair. His soul tried to become. Every cell in his body crumbled to fine grains of sand and was swept away by a rainbow-threaded tide. An ecstasy indistinguishable from death.

"Consumed by arrogance, trying to bend my own fate — that sin cost an innocent person her life. If not for me, she would have lived happily, true to herself. The child who was never meant to be born between us would have found the father it was meant to have. I ruined her. So…… I must not say it. Even if it's the truth. To you, at least — I can never, ever say it. Because the moment those words leave my lips, her senseless death becomes meaningless."

"……"

"This is the true shape of my deprivation. I'll live a false life, severed from my own soul by the sin I committed, and suffer for it forever. Slowly I'll go mad, and someday I'll destroy myself. I have no will to resist. Compared to what I've done, it's a very lenient punishment."

The dazzling, iridescent petals that had been swirling turned to dark grey ash. Like snowflakes settling over a desolate grave, they drifted down onto Aeroc.

"I still have some time, though. But before that happens, the children need someone to look after them until they're on their own feet. Martha is getting old. The twins alone are more than she can handle. I'd like to find another nursemaid, but given the circumstances of this household, I can't let just anyone in."

Even as he spoke of his own death, Kloff tenderly stroked the circumstances in question. Each time the warm hand swept down his thigh, Aeroc's rotting heart spasmed and wept pus.

"Get some sleep now. You'll need the energy to keep up with our little rascals."

Kloff drew Aeroc's arm and laid him face-down against his chest.

Why the eldest had to be named Rapiel. Why he would never call it love — Aeroc understood at last. To dismiss this as love's romance would be wrong. The sacrifice of an innocent soul was too dear a price. And now he understood why Kloff had refused to let him die so easily.

A sinner may be granted a moment's happiness, but must carry the weight of that sin always. A moment's happiness, a smile brighter than the sun — and then, turning around, the stench of one's own crime, rising endlessly, tormenting without reprieve.

Wandering a sea of cold fire without end, watching each other's grotesque flames and confirming, by that lurid light, that the other still burns.

* * *

Aeroc stopped taking his medicine. Compared to the days when sleep had been impossible without a white pill, the change felt like a miracle. His skin had softened, too — not to what it once was, but noticeably — and his stamina had grown considerably. Climbing stairs no longer left him breathless.

Nights were always spent with Kloff. Unlike Aeroc, Kloff could not stop the medication. But neither did the dosage increase. Instead, the time he spent touching Aeroc grew, little by little. Once the children were in bed, Kloff would stroke Aeroc slowly, lingeringly, for a long time. Sometimes the kisses stole his breath.

But it never went beyond that. Kloff would not fill his own deprivation. Fulfillment was what he wanted most — yet what he must never, by his own hand, take. He touched and held Aeroc only enough to keep from losing his mind.

Long, bitter nights crept slowly past.

In the garden, a small picnic blanket appeared one morning.

The one who spread it was not Aeroc but Kloff. Rather — it was Ray, and Kloff had been coerced into helping. After losing his patience with waiting for permission that never came, the eldest son had apparently gone straight to his father and made his case with the full force of his seven years.

It was the first time Aeroc stepped outside since waking. The garden was not in the best condition — with the household so short-staffed, the lonely groundskeeper could only keep up with bare maintenance — but the early summer light and the vivid green foliage were beautiful enough to make up for any neglect.

"Mama!"

Seth ran over waving a large daisy she'd picked. Aeroc accepted the flower, tucked it behind Seth's ear, then kissed her cheek. Seth squealed with delight and ran off to pick more.

Jester was attempting to climb an oak tree while Kloff stood below, arms crossed, watching with the expression of a man who fully expected to catch a falling child. Ray sat on the picnic blanket beside Aeroc, legs crossed in a miniature of his father's posture, and narrated everything he saw.

"Jester always does that. He's going to fall again."

"Again?"

"Last time he got stuck halfway up and cried until Papa climbed up to get him."

Aeroc looked at Kloff. The man, sensing the gaze, shrugged one shoulder without turning around.

"What?"

"Nothing."

From the wicker basket between them, Aeroc unpacked the lunch Martha had prepared. Simple fare — bread, cold meat, fruit, and a flask of lemonade — but spread on a blanket under the open sky, it might as well have been the imperial feast-day banquet he'd once joked about.

Blaine sat in Aeroc's lap, methodically destroying a bread roll by tearing it into pieces too small to eat and dropping them on the blanket. The twins, in their double basket beside Aeroc, slept through everything.

"Can I hold Yohn?"

Ray asked.

"If you sit very still and support his head."

Ray arranged himself with exaggerated care. Aeroc lifted the tiny bundle and settled him in his brother's arms. Ray held his breath, terrified, radiant.

"He's so small."

"You were this small once."

"Was I?"

"Smaller, probably."

Ray looked down at the sleeping infant with an expression far too old for his face.

"I'll protect him."

The quiet conviction in the boy's voice made Aeroc's chest ache. He rested his hand briefly on the golden head, then withdrew it before the sting in his eyes could show.

Kloff, having successfully extracted Jester from the oak's lower branches, deposited the boy on the blanket and sat down himself. He stretched his legs out, leaned back on his palms, and tilted his face toward the sun. With his eyes closed and the tension gone from his jaw, he looked younger. Almost peaceful.

"Don't stare."

"I wasn't."

He absolutely had been.

* * *

That night, after the children were in bed, Kloff drew the curtains and extinguished all but the bedside lamp. The low flame painted everything amber and shadow.

Aeroc was already under the blanket when Kloff slid in beside him. The now-familiar arm wound around his waist; the now-familiar chest settled against his back. What was not familiar — what might never be — was how violently his heart responded each time.

"The move."

"Mm."

"When?"

"End of the month. Martha's already started packing the children's things."

"That's soon."

"The northern roads get bad early. If we miss the window, we're stuck until spring."

Aeroc turned within the circle of Kloff's arm until they were face to face. In the lamplight, the hollows beneath Kloff's eyes were deep and warm, like the shadows in old paintings.

"Will you be all right? The court — your position——"

"I told you. I resigned."

"I know. But the Emperor——"

"Will manage. He managed before I existed."

The blunt finality closed the subject. Aeroc let it go.

A silence settled — not uncomfortable, but full. Kloff's thumb traced slow circles on Aeroc's hip through the nightshirt. Aeroc matched his breathing to the rhythm without meaning to.

"The cottage."

Kloff's voice was low.

"What about it?"

"I'll have it taken down before we leave."

Something seized in Aeroc's chest. The cottage — the floral prison, the place of white pills and thin soup and silence. The place he'd chosen for himself because he believed it was what he deserved. The place the door of which had never once been locked.

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Why?"

Kloff didn't answer immediately. His thumb stilled on Aeroc's hip.

"Because I don't want anything left here that you might come back to."

The words landed with the weight of a confession. Aeroc searched the shadowed face, but Kloff's eyes were fixed on the space between them — on the thin nightshirt over Aeroc's sternum — as though he could see through cloth and bone to the heart beneath.

"I'm not going back."

"I know."

"Then——"

"I know." A pause. "But I still want it gone."

Aeroc nodded. He understood. Some ruins had to be demolished, not merely left behind.

He raised his hand and placed it against Kloff's jaw. The stubble was rough; the skin beneath it was warm. Kloff's eyes finally met his.

"Tear it down."

The corner of Kloff's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close. He turned his face into Aeroc's palm and pressed his lips to the center of it. The gesture was so quiet, so unlike anything the man he'd known in the cottage was capable of, that Aeroc's breath caught and refused to return.

"Kloff."

"Mm."

"The children. When we move — the north. You said autumn is short and winter is long."

"That's right."

"Then we'll need to prepare. Warm clothes for all of them. Heavy curtains. A larger hearth. The twins especially — they can't take cold."

The mundane catalogue of necessities seemed to amuse Kloff. The chest behind his ribs rumbled with a low, warm sound.

"You sound like Martha."

"Someone has to."

"She'd slap you for saying that."

"She'd slap you first."

Another rumble. Kloff pulled him closer — close enough that Aeroc could feel the man's heartbeat against his own shoulder blade when he turned back around. Slow, steady, strong. A drummer's cadence that would, if the doctor was right, eventually falter. Eventually stop.

Aeroc pressed his lips together hard.

He would not waste time on grief for what hadn't happened yet. There were children to clothe, a household to pack, a journey to prepare for. There was a man whose body was failing and whose pride would never let him say so. There was a life — unearned, undeserved, impossibly granted — that demanded every last scrap of strength he could summon.

He laced his fingers through Kloff's where they rested against his stomach.

"I'll make a list tomorrow. Martha will need it for the packing."

"Mm."

"Heavy woolens for Ray and Jester — they'll outgrow everything by winter. Seth needs new shoes; hers are scuffed through. Blaine——"

"Sleep."

"Blaine's fever keeps coming back. We should ask the doctor whether the northern climate will——"

"Sleep."

The arm tightened. Aeroc fell silent — but his mind didn't. Behind his closed eyes, lists formed: provisions, medicines, blankets, the twins' special milk formula, picture books for the journey, a Northlandic dictionary so Ray could read his favorite storybook himself.

He would carry every one of them, these fragile, precious things. He would carry them north through bad roads and early snow, into a house he'd never seen, in a town at the very edge of the empire. He would carry the children and the household and the weight of a silent, self-destroying man who touched him every night and would not say the word.

He would carry it all, because carrying it was the only penance that mattered.

Against his back, Kloff's breathing slowed into the deep, even rhythm of exhausted sleep. Aeroc lay awake a while longer, fingers still threaded through the large, warm hand on his belly, and watched the lamplight gutter and die.

In the darkness, for the first time, the silence felt less like absence and more like something held.