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Unchanged

"He was still my mother! He may have been your enemy, but he was the only mother I ever had!"

Rapiel glared at the man who had once been his beloved father.

"I loved your mother. I couldn't forgive the person who made him die so wretchedly."

"My mother is that person! The one who died at your hands! Please — stop twisting the truth!"

"Your mother is not that man — your mother is Rapiel Westport! You were named after her because you look like her!"

"I don't need this name. I'm not Rapiel anymore. If you were naming me after my mother, you should have called me Aeroc!"

His father's hand shot into the air. He stared the man down, eyes blazing — Go on, hit me — but the hand never came down. And yet the instant it rose, he knew. This was the end. More than twenty years, and he still wouldn't acknowledge it.

"I will never set foot in this manor again."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I cannot live in the place where my mother died in misery."

With that, Rapiel left the room. He heard the enraged middle-aged man following close behind.

"Rapiel!"

Before opening the front door, he looked back at his father, standing on the mid-landing of the staircase. Between them stood the aged housekeeper, white-faced, dabbing ceaselessly at her tears and pleading, "Young master, please." Rapiel fixed her with a cold stare, then turned back toward the stairs.

"Farewell, Viscount Kloff Bendyke."

"Rapiel!"

Through the open door he heard Martha's sobbing. He heard, too, the voice of a younger sibling who'd come running belatedly. But he didn't look back. Never again. He would never, ever return to this house. He gripped the handle of the bag in his hand until his knuckles went white.

* * *

Rapiel Bendyke was the eldest child and omega son of the Viscount Bendyke household — beloved by all. He had no memory of his mother, but with five younger siblings close in age, including the youngest twins, and the devoted care of their nursemaid and housekeeper Martha, his childhood had been by no means unhappy.

His father, Viscount Kloff Bendyke, was one of the country's foremost economic titans — a man of immense personal wealth whose influence over policy gave him formidable power. As the first omega son of such a figure, Rapiel received great attention and affection from everyone around him.

"Find someone to love."

The man whose large hand had stroked his head since childhood always said the same thing.

"Like Father and Mother?"

"Yes."

The father who answered with a smile had eyes that rippled with grief and pain. Rapiel had assumed it was because he was remembering the mother who'd passed away.

Rapiel had no memory whatsoever of the mother who shared his name. The portrait hanging in his father's room was all he knew of her.

Unlike the present-day man, lined and seasoned by experience, the father in the portrait was almost startlingly young, his eyes brimming with confidence and vitality. The mother painted beside him was, even to Rapiel's eyes, stunningly beautiful and had a gentle, sweet air. Honey-blond curls and aquamarine eyes — he'd heard she was an omega from the Westport family, a collateral branch of the ancient Teiwind earldom.

"Hyung."

"Jester."

His brother Jester, one year younger, was the spitting image of their father. As the first alpha son and future heir to the house, Jester was bigger in both height and build than Rapiel, sometimes giving the impression of being the elder rather than the younger.

"Seth and Blaine have disappeared again."

"Those two are always hiding. Did you check behind the garden hedge?"

Jester shook his head. He was, like his father, a man of few words.

"Martha doesn't know yet, so we'd better go look together."

The two brothers combed through the enormous manor and found the girls in the pantry, faces smeared with jam. The third daughter, Seth, was a mischief-maker who took particular pleasure in leading her younger sister Blaine astray. Any time the household was in an uproar, Seth was invariably at the center.

"You know Martha will be furious."

"It's fine. I cleaned up."

Seth, having wiped the shelf with a cloth and arranged the jam jars back in their places, wore a look of smug satisfaction. Unfortunately, neither she nor Blaine had thought to clean their own faces.

Rapiel sighed and wiped their mouths with his handkerchief. Behind him, the twins — Yohn and Ivide — rounded the corner in their governess's arms. Ivide, the more temperamental of the two, was wailing while Yohn, clutching a biscuit, gnawed at it with drowsy eyes.

Six children in all. Their father, busy as he was, never neglected them. When they were very young, Martha had served as the primary nursemaid; once they'd grown a little, their father took the lead. Even on days when he returned late from the palace, he never failed to visit their bedrooms, adjust their blankets, and kiss each forehead before retiring.

Every morning without exception, he ate breakfast with the children. He read to the younger ones, quizzed the older ones on their studies, and checked homework over supper. He was strict but never harsh; he scolded but never berated. Rapiel knew no finer father in the world.

Only at night was his father different.

When the children were in bed and the house had fallen silent, his father would sit in the Countess's room — the room that had once been Mother's — and stare out the window at the darkened garden. Rapiel had witnessed this once, having crept out of bed for a glass of water. Through the half-open door of the Countess's room, he'd seen his father's silhouette in profile, still and silent, gazing toward something beyond the glass.

That image — the blue dawn light on his father's face, the stillness, the bottomless melancholy — had lodged itself in Rapiel's memory and never left. He'd been perhaps seven at the time.

"Father must have loved Mother very much," Rapiel once said to Martha.

Martha, who had been folding linens, went still. When he asked again, she looked at him. She seemed deeply sad, and at the same time, angry.

"I suppose he did."

That was all she said.

Rapiel sensed there was more behind the answer but didn't press. Martha wasn't the type to be pressed. What she chose not to say, she would not say — not for anyone.

As he grew older, Rapiel noticed something strange. Their household — wealthy, powerful, presided over by one of the empire's most influential men — had almost no social life. No parties, no gatherings, no visitors of rank. His father attended court functions when required but never hosted in return. The children were tutored at home and rarely allowed beyond the estate walls.

"Why don't we ever have guests, Martha?"

"Because your father doesn't like people."

A simple answer that explained nothing. Kloff Bendyke, by all accounts, was an extroverted man of considerable social skill — he'd built his fortune and his political career on relationships. That such a man would sequester his family from the world made no sense.

Unless there was something about the family that the world must not see.

The thought first occurred to Rapiel at thirteen. By fifteen, he'd begun asking questions. By seventeen, the questions had turned to suspicion. And at twenty, the truth — or a shard of it — arrived in a form he hadn't expected.

* * *

It was the year Rapiel turned twenty — the year he began attending society events on his own. His father, reluctantly, had agreed. Rapiel's omega status made him a figure of considerable interest; the eldest child of Viscount Bendyke, beautiful and well-bred, was immediately the subject of intense attention.

At a spring ball, an elderly alpha nobleman approached him. Viscount Derbyshire — ancient, shrewd, and genial.

"My, my. If it isn't the young Bendyke. You have your father's bearing but your face…… my word. You remind me of someone I knew a very long time ago."

"My mother, perhaps? I'm told I resemble her."

The old man studied him with eyes that had seen half a century of court intrigue. Something in them shifted — a flicker of recognition, then of careful withdrawal.

"Yes…… your mother. Quite so. A lovely creature, Rapiel Westport. Your father was very fortunate."

He said nothing more. But the pause — the fraction of a second before he'd agreed — told Rapiel that the person Derbyshire had been thinking of was not Rapiel Westport at all.

"Big brother looks like Mama."

"Martha said he looks the most like Mama. Golden hair and blue eyes. Just like the painting in Father's room."

Despite speaking right in front of him, the two siblings whispered to each other as though he weren't there. Rapiel just watched them and smiled. When their eyes met his, they blushed, dove under the blankets, then poked their heads back out.

"Will you put us to bed too?"

"No."

His taciturn alpha brother shook his head. Jester wasn't the eldest, but as the oldest alpha, he'd clearly been waiting until Rapiel — an omega — had gone to bed. Even in that, Jester was very much his father's son. It was why Seth and Blaine never managed to talk him into staying past their own bedtime.

"What are you going to do when I leave home someday?"

"Why would you leave home?"

"University. Or marriage. I'm an omega — I can't live here forever."

The time he'd said that, Jester's habitual stoicism had cracked into genuine shock.

"When you go to university, I'll be right behind you — we're only a year apart. And as for marriage……"

"Father said when I find someone to love, I should go. Far away, he said. Very far."

"Who said that?"

"Father."

He'd meant nothing by it, but Jester's face had gone deeply serious that day. From then on, his brother followed him everywhere. When asked why, Jester had replied, "I need to learn to look after the younger ones for when you're not around." That answer had left Rapiel at a loss for words.

From far away came the twins' piercing cries. The sound came from the Countess's room — Mother's room — directly across from Father's. Between the two babies' screams, rising to the pitch of someone gasping for breath, a man's desperate voice could be heard at intervals. Martha's soothing tones wove through the gaps.

"It's going on especially long tonight."

Even Jester felt compelled to comment.

"Their fevers will spike again at this rate."

He'd been heading to his room but changed course. Jester followed in silence. The closer they got, the louder the crying grew. Knocking would have been pointless — no one would hear — so he opened the door quietly. Inside, their father was rocking the twins, face flushed red with effort.

"Shh, Yohn. Don't cry. Papa's right here. You're making Ivide cry too."

Deeply fatigued, the father supported the head of his other alpha son — who was weeping out every tear and every drop of snot he possessed — and kept trying to soothe him. But it was no use. When the older twin Yohn wouldn't stop, the youngest sibling — his omega sister Ivide — inevitably joined in.

Their father noticed Rapiel approaching and looked slightly startled.

"It's bedtime."

"Let me try."

Pretending not to hear the mild reproach, Rapiel came closer and took his brother, who was burning up from crying so hard. The father hesitated at first, then reluctantly handed Yohn over. Rapiel was only twelve, but he'd had years of practice with four younger siblings.

"Yohn. It's hyung."

He kissed the tear-soaked red cheek and whispered, and Yohn — who'd been wailing loud enough to split eardrums — grabbed Rapiel's clothes with a small fist and subsided to hiccups. The crying gradually eased. The baby, eyes still brimming, buried his small head in Rapiel's shoulder and sniffled.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He's my brother."

Still holding Yohn, he went to Ivide, who was crying on the other side. With Yohn's wailing diminished, Ivide's cries tapered too — but the moment she saw Rapiel, she flung her bottle aside, grabbed the wooden bars of her crib with small hands, pulled herself up, and reached toward him.

Yohn was too heavy to hold one-armed, so he couldn't respond to Ivide. The smallest child's eyes immediately welled up again. Their father came over, lifted her, and Ivide thrashed in his arms, stretching both hands toward Rapiel. There was no choice — he settled both twins in Rapiel's bed.

"I suppose you'll be sleeping with the twins tonight. I'm sorry to trouble you."

"It's fine. It's not trouble at all. They're my siblings."

He smiled at his exhausted father.

After tucking them in, his father kissed Rapiel's forehead and said, "Sleep well. If anything happens, call me — I'll be in the room right next door." Then he left quietly. Jester watched from the doorway, looked at Rapiel for a long moment, then followed their father out.

The twins soon fell into even, steady breathing. Fragile and sensitive, the twins cried far too easily. When they were very small, Father and Martha had soothed them one way or another; once they'd grown a bit, even that stopped working reliably.

The doctor, who visited frequently, said it was because of a drug their mother had taken during the twin pregnancy. He said their case was actually mild compared to others. The fraternal twins — an alpha boy and an omega girl — had poor appetites and couldn't sleep well, but they calmed readily in Rapiel's arms. The rest of the family marveled at it, calling it a miracle.

"It's because big brother is like Mama. I sleep better with you too."

Blaine had said that once. Big brother is Mama's substitute. At twelve, Rapiel was mother to four younger siblings — all except Jester. He wasn't angry or resentful. Before the younger ones were born, Father had lavished love on him and him alone. And he was a big brother. Looking after younger siblings was what big brothers did.

* * *

When Yohn had his most explosive crying fits, even Rapiel was sometimes helpless. In his frenzy, Yohn's small fingernails would scratch whoever held him. Their father, who was always the first to pick up the screaming baby, had scratches all over his shoulders and the backs of his hands — and once, had even gotten clawed across the face. Martha would scold him for not wearing gloves, but Father never did.

Once, when nothing would calm Yohn, Rapiel had taken him — and Yohn had raked his nails across Rapiel's cheek. The stinging pain was so startling that Rapiel dropped him without thinking. The thud of the baby hitting the floor, and the silence that followed — then a scream louder than anything before — sent the whole household into a panic.

Until the doctor arrived in the middle of the night and confirmed Yohn was unharmed, every family member except Seth and Blaine — who'd already been put to bed — was awake past dawn. As blue light crept into the sky, their father, having finally calmed the twins, sighed deeply and came to sit quietly beside the sobbing Rapiel.

"It's all right. It wasn't your fault."

He said it before Rapiel could speak, and that only made the crying worse.

"Jester, come here too."

Still holding Rapiel in one arm, Father took Jester's hand with the other. He led them to their room and sat on the edge of Rapiel's bed until the boy fell asleep.

* * *

He was probably still awake in the next room right now. Long after Rapiel himself drifted off, Father would come in to check that everyone was safe. He'd visit Seth and Blaine's room too. And after looking in on Jester, he would go to that room. The Countess's room. And there he'd sit by the window, gazing out at the rose garden until dawn.

The rose garden had always been forbidden to everyone but Father. According to Martha, back when this manor had belonged to some earl's family, it was where Father and Mother used to meet. Now, largely untended, the dense thorns made it dangerous to enter carelessly.

But shortly after the twins were born, Rapiel and Jester had chased a ball into the garden by accident. Afraid of being scolded, they'd hurried back out — only to run straight into Martha. They'd braced for a lecture, but Martha had simply stared at them in silence before telling them never to go near that place again.

A very faint memory of entering the rose garden as a tiny child surfaced. As Martha had said, the garden hadn't been as overgrown then. The roses had been somewhat tended, blooming beautifully. And in one corner of the garden, there had been——

What…… what's your name?

Someone had asked that, holding out a pretty yellow flower. Thin, pale-faced, golden-haired with blue eyes — that person was strangely vivid in his memory. He didn't know who it was. He'd once wondered if it might be his mother, but the person had looked too frail to be outdoors, and too thin, and too sad.

* * *

On a fine day, he took the younger ones to the garden to play ball. Seth and Blaine both followed Jester willingly during ball games. While the three of them ran about in a pack, Rapiel led the toddling twins along the garden paths. Yohn, endlessly startled by every new thing he saw, would flinch and clutch Rapiel's leg — yet stubbornly refused to hold his hand. Entirely self-willed. Still not talking either, which worried Martha terribly. Ivide, by contrast, babbled constantly, clinging to Rapiel's arm and chattering about every flower and bug she spotted.

He'd been following Yohn's small head for some time when he suddenly heard someone calling. He looked up. An elderly stranger stood at the estate entrance, peering through the iron railings toward them.

"Young…… young master!"

Rapiel looked around. Surely the man was calling someone else.

"Young master! How you've grown!"

"Are you speaking to me?"

"Yes! Young master!"

"But who are you?"

At the question, the stranger removed his hat and bowed with deep formality. Rapiel returned the gesture instinctively, and the man spoke in a voice trembling with emotion.

"My name is Hugo. I served for many years as butler to your mother, Count Aeroc Teiwind."

There was no reason to engage with a seemingly sane man spouting nonsense in broad daylight. The iron railings separating the estate's perimeter kept the man at a distance, but Rapiel seized Yohn and Ivide's hands just in case. The unfamiliar presence had set Yohn trembling.

"Young master! Young master!"

He walked faster, ignoring the calls behind him.

"Martha! There's a strange man out there!"

He shouted to Martha, who was watching from afar. The gatekeeper Hagen appeared seemingly from nowhere, scowled at the old man, and strode toward him.

Hugo continued to appear from time to time after that, calling out "Young master!" whenever he spotted Rapiel. Being addressed as "young master" was technically correct — he was heir to a viscountcy — but the repeated appearances of a man who seemed unhinged were unsettling. Eventually Martha reported it to Father, and Hagen was instructed to keep the man far from the premises.

* * *

"Martha, did this manor always belong to our family?"

"No. It used to belong to an earl's family. They're ruined now."

"Why did they fall?"

"Why the sudden interest?"

During the children's lunch hour, Martha tended the twins. Normally she'd have handled them at night too, but the enormous manor had so few staff that her workload was staggering — which was why Father had taken over the twins' nighttime care himself.

Martha, in the middle of spooning soup into Ivide's mouth, glanced over when Rapiel asked.

"We have Grandfather's house up north. That's where Father grew up. I was just curious about who owned this house before. An earl's family is high nobility — it's interesting that they fell."

"When you commit a sin, you pay the price."

Martha's voice had a hard edge that didn't match the nursemaid who normally chose only warm, gentle words. Rapiel couldn't ask anything further and went back to his soup. Then Jester, sitting beside him, suddenly spoke.

"Is the earl dead?"

Martha, catching Yohn's soup bowl before he could overturn it, answered: "Yes, died a few years ago." After warning Seth and Blaine — who were more interested in sword-fighting with their spoons than eating — she looked at Jester. The warmth that was always in her eyes when she looked at the children was, for a single instant, absent.

"He committed a terrible crime."

Jester and Rapiel stared at her, somewhat startled. When even Seth and Blaine looked up at her, what followed was entirely unexpected.

"It was that earl's doing that your mother died."

Rapiel's heart lurched. Jester, too, looked stunned — his mouth fell open for an instant before clamping shut again. In the frozen silence, Seth and Blaine's eyes darted anxiously, and their voices went small and tremulous. "Why is Mama dead?"

"It's nothing. Eat your food."

He forced the corners of his mouth up into a smile. When Rapiel smiled, the younger ones felt safe. To hide his hammering heart, he took Ivide's hand and shook it playfully. The twins, thinking it was a game, immediately brightened and waggled their short limbs.

"Can you tell me what the earl did?"

Later, when the others were gone, he went to Martha as she cleared the table. But she looked pained and couldn't bring herself to speak.

"I want to know how our mother died."

When he asked again, Martha finally looked at him. She seemed immensely sad and angry at the same time.

"It's not my place to tell you. Only that the wicked earl did that to your poor mother…… For details, please ask the master. Just thinking about the one we lost breaks my heart……"

Tears welled in the creased corners of her eyes. Martha dabbed at them with the clean edge of a napkin and sniffled. Rapiel, seeing her cry for the first time, couldn't press further. He murmured "I'm sorry" and left the dining room. Outside, Jester was waiting.

"She wouldn't say?"

"No. She said to ask Father."

"Will you?"

"I'm not sure."

Jester regarded him in silence, then spoke.

"The earl died, she said. You know the run-down cottage next to the rose garden? There's a grave in front of it. Did you know?"

"You! You're not supposed to go there!"

He'd been so busy worrying about the other siblings that it had never occurred to him that Jester — always obedient — might be the one to break the rules. Unperturbed by Rapiel's anger, Jester continued in his flat way.

"Hyung. The name on that grave. It's Aeroc Teiwind."

Rapiel stopped dead. Aeroc Teiwind. That was the name the strange old man had been shouting. Something about having been a butler to a count's household. He'd let it go in one ear and out the other, but the sound of the name — that he remembered vividly.

"That person——"

Jester was about to say more, but Rapiel cut in first.

"That's the earl's grave. The one who used to live in this manor."

As the words left his mouth, the image that rose in his mind was of a trembling figure holding out a yellow flower.

That evening, as the sun reddened the sky and Jester read in the study and the younger children took their baths, Rapiel slipped out of the manor alone. Heart pounding, he made his way to the old cottage. Draped in the deep red of sunset and murky shadows, the place was profoundly eerie.

Ah. So this is it.

The somewhat grimy gravestone read AEROC TEIWIND. Two dates were carved beneath the name. One of them was the year the twins were born. Close to their birthday, too.

A breeze stirred. The nameless flowers ringing the gravestone swayed, then shed their petals. As the petals spiraled prettily into the air, Rapiel tilted his head back — and a single yellow petal drifted down and settled on his forehead. Its touch was as soft as a fingertip.

* * *

That night, after another battle putting the younger ones to sleep, Rapiel went to bed himself. Much later, he opened his eyes again. Barefoot and in his nightclothes, he left his room and went to his father's. But the light that usually seeped from under the door was absent. The belongings Father had been tidying were there; he was not.

The room no one ever used — its door was slightly ajar. Rapiel peered inside. An enormous glass wall stood wide open, and before it sat an armchair facing away from him. On its armrest rested an arm sheathed in a shirt that caught the pale light — and beyond it, a hand that dangled loosely.

Viscount Bendyke sometimes spent his nights in this room. He did nothing in particular — just sat in the dusty old chair and gazed out endlessly. On occasion, curious about what his father was looking at, Rapiel had crept in and sat in that chair himself. From it, one could see the sprawling garden below. In the daytime, the children played there. And at the very far edge of the garden, thick rose vines tangled around a small, lonely cottage.

Now, too, his father sat there like a stone figure. He didn't seem to know Rapiel had come. Rapiel hesitated — perhaps he shouldn't disturb him — but as he began to turn, his bare feet made a sound on the floor.

"Rapiel?"

Instead of answering, he padded over. In the blue moonlight, his father looked like a frozen corpse. A little frightening, he thought. He understood, now, why the younger ones couldn't approach their father easily. But the moment their eyes met, Father smiled softly and opened his arms.

"A bad dream? You look like you're about to cry."

He shook his head. At Father's gesture, he climbed into his lap. Enclosed in the large embrace, warmth settled over him and his heart eased. A big hand stroked his arm, then his hair. He leaned against the broad chest. A firm chin came to rest on the crown of his head — a little heavy, but warm.

"Papa."

"Mm?"

"What kind of person was our mother?"

The hand stroking his arm through thin nightclothes went still. The grip tightened — almost painfully — and the chin on his head grew heavier. Through the silence, a long, deep sigh.

"Your mother had a beautiful smile."

"Did I look a lot like her?"

"Yes."

Father never said much about Mother. An occasional word or two was all he'd ever offer. No matter how many times Rapiel asked, all he learned was: golden hair, blue eyes, a beautiful omega man. How did she speak? How did she laugh? What did she like? To those questions, the answer was always silence.

"How did she die?"

The silence went on so long that at first Rapiel thought he'd only asked inside his head and hadn't actually spoken. When he said "Papa?" again, two long, thick arms tightened around his small body.

"I told you before — her health was poor after the twins were born."

Rapiel nodded. Mother had been unwell and had always been convalescing in the countryside. He'd supposedly lived with her as a small child, but he had no memory of it at all.

"Who is Aeroc Teiwind?"

His father's body went suddenly rigid. He adjusted the child in his lap, resettled him, and met his eyes. Under that steady, unwavering dark gaze, Rapiel felt he'd done something terribly wrong.

"You went to the garden?"

The voice was the same gentle tone as always, yet Rapiel was seized with terror. His heart raced; his palms went clammy. But he couldn't lie. He nodded, and instead of anger, his father let out a pained groan and pressed his hand to his forehead. Disappointing him felt worse than being scolded.

"I'm sorry."

"……Forget it."

The large hand gripping his arm trembled faintly. The grip was too tight — it hurt — but Rapiel didn't show it. Unable to squirm, unable to move, he waited. Then the tightly sealed lips parted, and a voice like darkness speaking rolled through the room.

"That man is the reason your mother died."

The prickling at the back of his neck wasn't only because of the night breeze slipping through the open window. He knew that much, when he thought back on this memory later.

* * *

It was around the time of his seventeenth birthday. One day Father came home early and summoned Rapiel to the study. He made an astonishing proposal.

"Omegas deserve an education too. Learning just the social graces at home and then marrying an alpha is one way to live, but I want you to receive a proper education and live a full life as an individual."

Having studied at home with private tutors to a respectable level but always hungry for more, Rapiel was stunned. Sending an omega to university was an almost unimaginable break with convention.

"You want me to go to university?"

"Yes. I thought it would be nice if we could be alumni of the same school, so I went to see the dean of the National Capital University. He confirmed there's nothing in the regulations to bar an omega's admission. You'll have to sit the entrance exam like everyone else, of course."

Seeing his son frozen in shock, Father added that if it became too difficult, he could quit and come home at any time. At that, joy broke across Rapiel's face.

"Really? You mean it?"

Told to raise the level of his studies starting next week and prepare for the university qualifying exam, Rapiel was so excited that — fully grown as he was — he climbed right onto his father's lap where he sat on the sofa. He flung his arms around the neck of his father, who was growing sturdier with middle age, and cried out:

"Thank you! Father, thank you so much!"

"All right, all right. I hear you. But you're heavy, so get down."

"Yes!"

Rapiel kissed both of his smiling father's cheeks, then bolted from the study, shouting as he went.

"Jester! Seth! Blaine! Yohn! Ivide! Martha!"

The siblings who came tumbling out asked what was going on, but Rapiel couldn't contain his grin. Even as they clung to him and pestered, he held his tongue until Martha appeared. When everyone had gathered, he proclaimed at the top of his voice:

"I'm going to university next year!"

He threw himself into study for a year. After full days with his tutor, he spent evenings learning essay-writing with Father's help. While he studied, the younger ones fell to Jester. The alpha brother was bound for university himself the following year, so looking after the children was also his rehearsal for eventually managing without Rapiel.

"When you're at university next year, you'll be even busier, so you should start practicing sleeping alone."

"But that's still more than a hundred nights away."

Seth, as the eldest daughter and an omega with strong self-reliance, and Yohn, who — still young but alpha — slept fine on his own, weren't concerns. But Blaine and Ivide still needed Rapiel. Even in the middle of studying, he'd leave the library to give the two omega sisters a goodnight kiss, stroke their hair until they drifted off, and then return to his desk.

"Everyone's going to be lonely without you, hyung."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Jester, trailing him as always, said nothing more after Rapiel's answer. Already taller than his omega brother, the alpha fell silent.

"Omegas can't live in the dormitories, so I'll commute. I'll be home every day."

Rapiel turned around, and Jester gazed down at him. If Jester enrolled at the same university, Rapiel planned to convince Father to let them rent a place near campus. Living with his alpha brother might make it permissible. He needed to bring Jester into the plan — he'd been thinking about it, but hadn't found the right moment.

In childhood they'd been inseparable all day, but not anymore. While Rapiel studied, Jester took the younger ones to play in the garden or on outings — always accompanied by Martha or other staff, but the siblings still depended on Jester more than anyone as their reliable protector, second only to their father.

The room they'd shared as small children was now Rapiel's alone. Jester had moved next door. Standing at their respective doors at the same time, Jester broke a long silence.

"Whatever happens at university. Whatever you hear, whatever you learn. Don't forget that all of us love you."

"Of course."

At his brother's rare smile, Rapiel smiled back in kind.

University was far stranger, more complex, and more exciting than he'd imagined. When he went to see the dean with his admission letter, the interest had less to do with being the eldest son of the currently powerful Finance Minister and more with being the National Capital University's first omega student.

The dean delivered a stern lecture on certain behaviors Rapiel must avoid for his own protection in a space full of hot-blooded alphas, then escorted him to his faculty advisor's office. The advisor, equally stern-faced, gave him much the same talk — and added a particular warning about heat cycles.

"When the time comes, I won't be able to leave the house at all, so please don't worry."

"Do convey this clearly to your father."

On the whole, Rapiel was well received. Even if much of the welcome owed to his father's prestige, it was a help in setting foot in a rough world as an omega, and he didn't refuse it.

* * *

"Rapiel Bendyke! There's a concert this Friday evening — would you like to go together?"

He'd just finished class and was making his way down the corridor when an alpha he knew from sharing several lectures suddenly called out. They'd exchanged greetings before, but he'd never received an invitation like this. Rapiel was flustered and didn't know what to say. The alpha was fairly tall, with an open, earnest face.

He came from a well-regarded family, had an excellent reputation among professors, and was a fine student. The kind of person Rapiel might have befriended easily — if the alpha-omega dimension hadn't complicated everything. A courteous young man. Among the top students too.

"Sure."

The alpha, whose crestfallen expression had been growing more obvious as the silence stretched, instantly revived. To be precise, he looked as though he might take flight.

"Oh, right. Great. It's Friday afternoon. I'll come to your house to pick you up. So, um. I just. You know."

"I'll be waiting."

Rapiel smiled at him and quickly turned away — because at the far end of the hall, the servant sent to collect him was watching. As he walked briskly off, he heard a jubilant whoop behind him. Rapiel's shoulders shook with laughter.

"Something good happen, young master?"

"Mm. A little. Are we going straight home?"

"No, sir. We have to stop at the tailor's for the fitting you ordered before. Martha was very insistent."

"What a bother. Well, can't be helped."

Riding the family carriage from school, Rapiel worried about what to wear on Friday. In truth, the more urgent matter was how to break the news to his father. He couldn't suppress the smile that kept creeping out.

"Young master!"

"Hm?"

Rapiel had just come from his fitting and stopped at a confectionery to buy treats for his siblings. The servant was waiting at the carriage; he'd dashed in for just the necessities and was heading out when someone called his name. He turned — and recognized the old man from years ago.

"Young master!"

Whether he'd been lying in wait or it was pure chance, the old man was so startled that he dropped the paper bag in his hands. A box of tea leaves tumbled out and rolled across the pavement.

Rapiel tried to walk past, pretending not to notice, but the old man pursued him doggedly, spouting the same impossible claims as before. Setting aside the spectacle it was making, Rapiel simply couldn't endure the lies this deranged man was pouring out. He stopped, spun around, and strode toward him.

"Your mother was——!"

"My mother is Rapiel Westport. She was killed by this Teiwind person you keep going on about!"

"That's…… that's not true. It's true that Rapiel Westport was involved in an accident, yes. But the count didn't kill your mother. On the contrary — the count is your moth——"

He didn't listen to the rest. Rapiel broke away from the old man, walking so fast it was nearly a run, and climbed into the carriage. The servant recognized the man, immediately turned hostile, shoved him aside, and drove off.

"Go to the Westport family cemetery! You'll understand what I'm telling you!"

He heard the shout fading behind him, but Rapiel paid it no mind.

* * *

Friday. In the end, the date was called off. No amount of effort could change the outcome.

"Until I've confirmed what sort of people his parents are and what sort of person he is, I cannot permit a private outing."

Father's stance was unyielding. When the alpha came to the house, Father met him personally and refused. For a man who could be remarkably open-minded — who had, after all, courted and married for love himself — this was disappointing. But not enough to breed resentment. The alpha, visibly crestfallen, promised to visit again with a formal introduction and left. Rapiel, watching from an upstairs window, sighed.

Seeing how deflated his son looked, Father seemed to feel a pang of guilt. In a slightly gruff tone, he offered a belated concession: "If you really want to go to the concert, you may go with Jester."

The concert wasn't the point — but pressing the issue here would only make things worse, so Rapiel accepted with an air of casual disinterest.

"It's practically our first outing alone."

"Probably."

The road to the downtown concert hall was somewhat long. The easy banter he'd shared with his brother had, in just a few months, grown awkward. Since starting university, he barely saw Jester except at breakfast. In that short time, his brother had shot up even taller. And become far more silent.

"Are Seth, Blaine, and the twins listening to you?"

"Mostly. They still fuss at bedtime sometimes, but lately they seem to be learning about giving up and accepting."

"I see."

His heart ached a little, but there was nothing for it. They couldn't stay children forever.

"These days it's Father I'm worried about, more than the others."

The sudden remark made Rapiel turn from the window to look at Jester. The dark brown eyes — carbon copies of their father's — were deeply serious.

"What do you mean?"

"He's barely sleeping. Sometimes he just sits there, staring at nothing."

"Father's always been like that."

"I know. But lately it's getting worse."

"There's been all the uproar about the royal family's tax evasion — maybe it's the political pressure."

"Maybe."

"I should be paying more attention."

"You're busy studying. I'll try harder."

"You need to study too, if you're going to university."

"I'm an alpha — I can enroll whenever I want. But you're a special case."

That was the end of it. Neither spoke again. Rapiel didn't need to hear the rest to know what Jester meant. As the university's most prominent figure, Rapiel's every move drew attention — on campus and in society. If his grades slipped or he was deemed unserious, the precedent for omega university students would be jeopardized. Jester understood that. And so he was holding himself back.

Just as the carriage pulled up to the concert hall, Rapiel — for the first time — properly thanked the brother who kept sacrificing himself.

"Thank you."

"For what."

"Everything."

Jester let out a quiet snort. Then he smiled faintly and stepped out of the carriage.

The performance by a famous maestro's orchestra was magnificent. Unlike Father or Jester, who had little interest in the arts, Rapiel had been praised for his artistic sensibility since childhood. He had talent in visual art and music alike, but literature was where his gifts shone brightest. His entrance essay had reportedly been singled out by the examiner as the finest in the university's history.

"If you'd kept up the piano, you'd be performing with that orchestra by now."

"Hardly. I'm not that good."

Secretly, though, he wondered if enough effort might have made it possible. Music ranked very high among the many things Rapiel loved — probably just after family and Martha.

Lost in the beautiful music, he forgot his disappointment over the cancelled date entirely. The performance was so moving he lost track of time. Afterward, leaving the concert hall, Rapiel was deploying every ounce of literary vocabulary he'd acquired at university to express how superb the concert had been when he walked straight into someone.

"I'm sorry."

He apologized with a quick bow, barely looking at the person. Jester offered a slight nod and took Rapiel's arm, steering him toward a clear space. In the distance, someone called out — "Rapiel! You came!" — and he turned to see the alpha from university waving. He'd apparently come alone after all. Just as Rapiel was about to wave back——

"That guy again."

"Don't say that guy. He's older than you and he's my classmate."

Jester merely dropped his gaze and stared at Rapiel.

"I've told you not to do that — you look exactly like Father."

He chided his brother half-heartedly and waited for the family carriage to arrive.

"Raphi……el?"

Someone else called his name from behind. Why does everyone keep calling me today? he thought, and turned. A man was staring at him fixedly. Middle-aged by the look of him, with black hair and piercing grey eyes — a tall alpha Rapiel had never seen before.

"Who are you?"

"I'm……"

The man trailed off, stepped forward, and extended a black-gloved hand. Rapiel instinctively took a step back; Jester stepped forward in the same beat, placing himself between them.

"I am Jester Bendyke, second son of Viscount Kloff Bendyke. And you are?"

The blunt question seemed to surprise the man — as though he hadn't noticed Jester was there. He turned, looked the boy up and down with frank appraisal, then let out a dry breath and gave a thin, mocking smile.

"Viscount Bendyke's second son. I can see it written all over your face. And this one is the older brother?"

He fixed Rapiel with a peculiar intensity, studying him closely. Ignoring Jester's attempt to block him, he extended his hand for a shake.

"Linus of the Marquess Wolfrake household."

Marquess Wolfrake — one of the highest-ranking nobles in the land. In their mother's time, he'd been a fixture of high society, but in recent years he'd been abroad almost constantly, rarely appearing at any event or gathering. Their father and family kept largely to themselves and seldom attended social functions, so the name was known but the man was not.

Rapiel took the offered hand and smiled politely.

"Rapiel Bendyke. A pleasure, Marquess Wolfrake."

Wolfrake glanced at the displeased-looking Jester, then fixed his ice-cold eyes back on Rapiel.

"Bendyke's Rapiel. It shouldn't be possible, and yet…… you look so very much like a Rapiel I once knew. Ah — a family connection, perhaps?"

Those grey eyes seemed to be looking not at the present but at a distant past. The initial sharpness had drained away, replaced by something sorrowful — fixed on Rapiel, unmoving. For some reason, Rapiel found it hard to breathe. He couldn't move.

"Which Rapiel would that be?"

Jester, who — like their father — was fiercely protective of his omega siblings, had finally lost patience with the stranger's approach and asked curtly. He pulled Rapiel's arm, drawing him further back.

Wolfrake regarded Jester with a cold gaze.

"Rapiel Westport."

* * *

Lately, Yohn's condition had been troubling. He'd always been sensitive, but after a brutal winter cold that left him bedridden, his irritability had spiked sharply. Seth and Blaine, just entering puberty, had begun quarreling over everything despite once being inseparable. In the chaos, the youngest — Ivide — ended up neglected, and the loneliest.

"Big brother."

A dejected Ivide came to his room, but Rapiel was so deep in a report due the next day that he couldn't give her proper attention. The girl lingered by his desk for a while, and by the time he finally looked up and said "What's wrong?" she'd already gone. He considered going to find her but was pulled back into his essay. He'd look in on her later. She was probably fine — probably with Jester or Martha. He told himself that and pushed on through his writing.

Late at night, Rapiel finally finished his assignment and dragged his exhausted body from the study. He'd been holed up since before dinner and hadn't checked on any of the siblings. Father, busy with an uptick in state projects, hadn't returned yet, so it fell to Rapiel to see that everyone was settled for the night.

He headed for the room the twins shared. They were old enough now that separate rooms might be warranted. Yohn, temperamental as he was, would do fine alone — but Ivide, who craved company, would be lonely. Perhaps she could share with someone. Seth, who was closest in age, might work — though the two had been bickering lately.

The twins' light was on.

"You two still awake?"

He opened the door quietly and found Jester inside. Yohn was in his bed, turned to the wall, asleep. Ivide, eyes full of tears, was clinging to Jester.

"She's not asleep yet? Why was she crying?"

"She feels like nobody's paying attention to her."

Jester stroked the hair of the little sister who'd fallen asleep exhausted in his arms.

"She did come to see me earlier, but I was so buried in my assignment I couldn't even look up. She must have been lonely. I should have been more attentive."

"You're busy studying. It can't be helped."

"……Speaking of studying. When are you going to start? The entrance exam isn't far off."

"Didn't I tell you? I'm not sitting the exam this year."

"Why?!"

His voice came out too loud. In the next bed, Yohn stirred and snapped irritably. Lately unable to sleep properly, the boy's nerves were frayed to the breaking point. Rapiel and Jester froze, barely breathing, and watched him. Mercifully, he didn't wake — his shallow breathing steadied and he sank back under.

They carefully laid the sleeping Ivide down properly, tucked her in, and Jester rose from the bed. The two of them slipped from the room. The moment the door closed, Rapiel pressed him.

"Why aren't you taking the exam?"

"Because of Yohn and Ivide. Seth and Blaine have been getting into trouble constantly too — someone needs to keep an eye on them."

"Martha or the other staff can handle that. The kids are old enough now. And I'm here. Father's here."

"You and Father are busy."

"You have your own life. Don't you want to study?"

Jester had wanted to study law, just like Father, since he was very young. When Father heard the dream, he'd been delighted — he'd even joked that the Bendyke name might yet produce a dynasty of lawyers and economists. For Jester, who'd been working toward that goal since childhood, to give it up so easily——

"I'm not giving up university altogether. I'm just saying a year or two's delay is fine. I could enroll after you graduate. I'm an alpha — age isn't an issue."

Jester was always like this. I'm an alpha, so it's fine. You're an omega, so this chance matters more. For the sake of hyung and the younger ones, I can give up small things. He wasn't wrong, technically. As the alpha firstborn of a powerful house, age truly was irrelevant.

* * *

The frequency of running into unpleasant people on the street had spiked noticeably. Was it coincidence, or had the number of unpleasant people simply grown? He considered changing his usual routes.

"Young master!"

He'd ventured out alone for the first time in a while, and hadn't taken more than a few steps through the city center before encountering the deranged old man again. It was almost as though the man had been waiting. Rapiel ignored him and walked faster. The old man followed doggedly and finally seized his arm.

"Let go!"

He shouted and shook the grip off roughly. The old man, looking stricken, didn't touch him again.

"I'm terribly sorry."

With deep courtesy, he apologized — then drew something white from inside his coat and held it out.

"Young master. Please, I beg you — just read this letter. If you read this one letter, I'll never trouble you again."

Half-doubting, half-moved by the man's desperation, Rapiel snatched the letter.

"Do not approach me again. If this happens one more time, I will take appropriate measures."

He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and fixed the old man with an imperious stare. He'd adopted the high-handed posture deliberately — to close off any opening for further nuisance. But across the aged face, surprise bloomed, and at the same time, the wrinkled corners of those eyes grew damp. The monocle misted with transparent smudges.

"You look exactly like your mother. Is Master Aeroc well?"

He remembered now — the man had said he'd been a butler to a count. That he could so casually speak the name of the person who'd killed his mother was infuriating. Rapiel glared at him.

"Of course I look like my mother. And the criminal who died for his sins must be resting well enough."

Something heavy caught in his chest, but he ignored it and answered coldly. The old man seemed to receive a shock — he went rigid, unable to speak.

"What……"

"He's dead. Over eight years now."

"Ah……"

For the first time, Rapiel learned that a person could become blurred right before your eyes. And that a person could age an entire lifetime in a single instant. The old man stood frozen, unable to respond. Rapiel, with no choice but to keep the letter, pocketed it and left. The man didn't follow — which was actually something of a relief.

At a bookshop, after buying several texts for his studies, Rapiel was browsing for something to read for pleasure when another unwelcome face appeared.

"What a coincidence, Rapiel."

"……Marquess Wolfrake."

Since the concert encounter, Wolfrake had been cropping up from time to time. Sometimes on a random street; sometimes already seated in a café Rapiel had just entered. Usually they exchanged no more than a nod. When Rapiel had mentioned meeting Wolfrake to his father, the response had been immediate and forceful.

"Stay away from that man. He is not a normal human being."

Father had instructed him never to go out alone — to always take a servant or Jester. One day without an escort should be fine, he'd thought. Clearly, parents' warnings ought to be heeded.

"You like poetry, I see."

Rapiel didn't respond, offered a polite nod just short of rudeness, and moved to walk past.

"Rapiel preferred novels over poetry. She wouldn't have given an epic poem like that a second glance. That was probably the count's taste."

"Is there something you wish to say to me?"

Perhaps still rattled from the encounter with Hugo, Rapiel's tone came out excessively cold. Wolfrake, however, showed neither surprise nor displeasure. If anything, a serene smile settled on his face.

"What was Viscount Bendyke thinking, naming you Rapiel?"

"It's common enough for the first omega child to take the mother's name."

At the sharp reply, Wolfrake looked faintly surprised — then gave a dry, amused laugh.

"Named after his mother, he says. What a masterpiece. I'd thought the man had lost his mind over him entirely…… but he's a more frightening man than I gave him credit for."

Having delivered one more string of incomprehensible remarks, the marquess offered Rapiel a parting nod and left.

Back home, as Rapiel organized his new books, something dropped to the floor. The letter from the old man. He had no intention of reading it, and worried that one of the siblings might find it, so he tucked it between the pages of a newly purchased book with the vague plan of throwing it away later. That evening he finished his assignments and, for once, spent time with the younger children before bed.

He hadn't finished reading all his purchases before exams descended. The unread books piled up on his desk.

"Hyung, can I read this one first?"

"Hm? Sure."

He agreed without looking, waving Jester on.

* * *

"Your exam results were excellent. The dean had nothing but praise."

"I was lucky. The questions happened to fall on what I'd studied."

"Isn't that precisely because you studied so much?"

Father's praise genuinely pleased him. The large hand clapped his shoulder, and then Father went out. Their conversations had grown noticeably shorter of late, but Father still sent notes through Martha or the servants from time to time, and gave generous pocket money. The only worry was that he was seeing less and less of the siblings — and that the household's atmosphere, somehow, was growing heavier.

"Jester's been acting strange lately."

Blaine stirred her warm milk and said this during a rare shared snack time.

"She's right. He doesn't talk, just sits there staring at nothing. And sometimes he disappears and then reappears out of nowhere."

"Jester was never much of a talker."

"Before he talked less. Now he doesn't talk at all."

Seth and Blaine, as if they'd never quarreled in their lives, launched into a unified account of exactly how strange Jester had become. He sometimes didn't sleep at night. He'd had a fierce argument with Father once — and when they realized they'd been overheard, both had pretended nothing had happened.

"Jester argued with Father? About what?"

"Don't know. We didn't catch the details. They haven't spoken to each other since."

"It seemed like it was about Mama."

"Mama?"

When Rapiel echoed the word, Seth nodded, crunching her biscuit.

"Rapiel. Ivide wants to see Mama."

"Then look at big brother. He looks exactly like Mama, they say."

At her sister's suggestion, the youngest opened her large eyes and stared at Rapiel — then climbed down from her chair, came over, and reached up. The lonely littlest sibling had been clinging more and more. He settled her in his lap and offered a biscuit, but Ivide refused it, opening her mouth like a baby instead. He broke a piece small and fed it to her.

"You don't like that? Want something else?"

"No. I don't want biscuits."

"How about bread or fruit?"

The young girl pushed even that away and kept fussing.

"She didn't eat anything at breakfast either."

"She threw up everything last night."

"But she's an alpha — why is she like this?"

"Exactly. If she doesn't eat properly and doesn't grow, she'll turn out stupid."

At Seth and Blaine's words, Yohn suddenly exploded.

"You're the stupid ugly ones! Keep eating like that and you'll get so fat no one will marry you!"

"Yohn! What kind of language is that?"

The scolding was useless. Yohn, angrier than ever, smashed the plate of crumbled biscuits, then swept his milk glass off the table. It shattered on the floor. Rapiel set the startled Ivide down, stood, and seized Yohn's arms. "What do you think you're doing!" he shouted. Yohn thrashed wildly in his grip.

* * *

Late that night, leaving the study, Rapiel encountered his brother in the corridor. As the younger ones had said, Jester's complexion was poor. But the first thing out of his mouth wasn't about himself — it was concern for another sibling.

"Yohn is in very bad shape. A specialist comes daily, but there doesn't seem to be much improvement."

"I should be here more."

"No. Your being here wouldn't make Yohn better. They said it's a side effect of drug dependency from when he was in Mother's……womb."

Jester's expression as he said this was deeply dark.

"What kind of medicine was Mother taking before she died?"

"Painkillers. Practically narcotics, they said."

Rapiel stared at his brother. He didn't know what to say. His brow furrowed; his mouth opened and closed. Finally, one question:

"How do you know that?"

"I heard it from the doctor who treated Mother."

"……And how did you find this doctor? Mother died in the countryside. When did you go all the way out there? You went by yourself? Even if you're an alpha, you're still young."

"I've never left the city, so don't worry. I'm tired — I'm going to bed first. Seth and Blaine sleep fine on their own now, and it's better not to poke at Yohn, so don't go checking on him. I'll take Ivide with me."

"Jester!"

"You have school tomorrow. Go to bed early."

He couldn't say anything more. Jester, bidding him goodnight, fixed Rapiel with a long, penetrating look — then smiled faintly and went into his room.

Lately the household had been full of strange things. Father flinched and turned away the moment he saw Jester; Jester offered nothing but perfunctory greetings in return. The siblings had each retreated into their own worlds. Only Yohn's occasional episodes still shook the manor to its foundations.

"There was a time when, right around now, all the young masters and misses would come flooding into my kitchen looking for snacks. Everyone's so busy these days."

Rapiel sat at the small kitchen table for the first time in ages. Martha set out pie, fruit preserves, and fresh-baked biscuits. She'd aged noticeably of late, but the delighted expression she couldn't hide took five years off her face.

"Time for tea, I think?"

"Yes. Just one spoon of sugar, please."

"Hoho. Some things never change. You loved salmon just as much as a child."

"I still do."

The treats his nursemaid — as precious to him as any blood relation — set out, taken with tea, swept away his accumulated fatigue in a single stroke. Martha always smelled of sweet biscuits. And the little kitchen itself was dear to him. Martha sat across the table and added cream to a weak brew. She sipped slowly, her expression softening.

"The second young master seems to have a lot on his mind lately."

"Has he been arguing with Father too?"

"A bit."

"Seth said they were fighting about our late mother. What was that about?"

"I don't know the details myself, but Master Jester raised his voice while bringing up something about your mother. It seemed to be about the burial site."

"The burial site? The one in the countryside? Why would Jester care about that?"

"I wish I knew. I'm the one who's desperate to ask. Do you really have no idea, Master Ray?"

"I only know what Seth and Blaine told me. I've been neglecting the children, using school as an excuse."

Martha said that wasn't so, but Rapiel felt the weight of responsibility. Alpha or not, he was the eldest — and in a motherless household, the eldest omega's role was vital. Martha had aged considerably, and managing the entire staff left her with no time to spare for the children, let alone the turmoil that had been churning beneath the surface.

"Father's late again."

"The country's been in upheaval — the master hasn't had a moment's rest."

"They're saying another war might break out."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

The worried old woman cupped her wrinkled cheek in her palm and sighed softly.

* * *

"Jester, have you finished the book you borrowed?"

He knocked on his brother's door — a room he rarely visited. He was sure Jester was inside, but there was no response. He knocked again, then opened the door. Jester was sitting motionless, staring out the window. The sight was so like their father that Rapiel stopped short.

"I know you're in there — why didn't you answer? I'm taking the book back."

The stone-still figure didn't respond, only kept staring out. Rapiel had been noting the strangeness for a while now but had vaguely assumed it was some private matter. Still, he couldn't keep watching in silence. He was considering consulting Father, taking a leave of absence himself, and sending Jester to university instead — when his brother finally spoke.

"Hyung."

"What?"

He'd already gripped the door handle and turned back. Jester was looking at him, backlit. In the harsh light, he looked deeply tormented and sad.

"Have you been to the Westport family cemetery?"

"Where Mother's grave is? No. It's quite far from here. We've barely been in touch with the maternal side since Mother died."

"I have."

So that's why he looks like that. Minding the younger ones, trapped inside the house — perhaps homesickness for a mother he'd never known had struck. Neither Rapiel nor Jester possessed a single memory of their mother. They didn't miss her in the way one misses someone one has known.

They felt her absence sometimes, certainly — but everyone had grown up well enough. Yohn's sensitivity was a physical ailment, not the product of a missing mother. For a near-adult alpha to suddenly pine for his mother was — poignant, and also, somehow, endearing. A body that large, a voice that deep, and he's homesick for someone he never met.

"You must be having a hard time. When the semester ends, I'll take over with the children. You need to do something for yourself."

"That's not what this is about, hyung."

The dark eyes that met his were identical to their father's. The same bottomless sorrow, the same pain bleeding through. Rapiel felt the familiar constriction in his chest — the same feeling he'd had since childhood, the one that told him there was something he must never approach, never ask about.

"I'll go. Get some rest."

Jester said nothing, so Rapiel heard nothing.

* * *

"Are you following me?"

"That's my line."

After class, he'd stopped at a bookshop, then headed out to buy treats for the siblings — and there, again, the unwelcome face. The cold gaze raking him up and down raised the hair on his neck. Rapiel was already grimacing before he could manage a greeting.

"If you'll excuse me."

He'd meant to stop at the confectionery for sweets, but abandoned the plan immediately. The mere touch of those grey eyes was repellent. He walked briskly until he reached a quieter street, then checked behind him — surely he's gone by now — only to find the man at no great distance, still there.

"And you still claim you're not following me?"

"That arrogant confidence — inherited from your father? Or perhaps from your mother. Yes, that seems more apt."

Wolfrake's needling pushed Rapiel past the breaking point. He wheeled around and strode toward the middle-aged nobleman who'd made himself a nuisance at every turn. He could tolerate whatever was said about him — but speaking carelessly about his parents was something he would not endure.

"What exactly do you presume to know about my mother?"

"A fair amount, actually. Before the incident, we saw each other quite frequently."

An entirely unexpected answer. Could the Wolfrake marquessate have had ties with the Westport viscountcy? For a storied high noble to have wide connections wasn't unusual, but encountering a stranger who knew his mother — a mother he couldn't remember — left him at a loss for how to react.

"Wh-what was your relationship?"

The pathetic quality of the question hit him the moment it left his mouth. Regret surged, and shame with it. He reddened, clamped his mouth shut, and turned to leave without waiting for an answer. At this rate, the marquess would lodge a formal complaint with Father about his son's rudeness, and the consequences would be——

"We were ordinary acquaintances, nothing more. Neither uncomfortable nor close. But that's no longer the case. You could call it an adversarial relationship — or an indirect grudge."

No one had ever spoken of Rapiel Westport in such terms. Everyone who remembered her recalled a gentle, beautiful soul with fondness. To speak of enmity, even grudges — was it half-joking malice? But the man's expression was entirely serious. Something was deeply wrong here.

"I don't know what you may have done, but my mother was not the kind of person to make enemies without cause."

The strapping, middle-aged alpha suddenly laughed. Not loudly — but the way he narrowed his eyes, covered his mouth with a gloved fist, and snickered silently looked exactly like an adult watching a child's artless antics. Unmistakable mockery. Suddenly, the fact that he'd even engaged with this man seemed absurd.

"The one who did something wasn't me — it was your mother. Don't tell me you don't know."

The squeezing sensation around his heart had shifted from dread to revulsion. Not Father, not Jester, not Martha — he had no reason to feel the ground crumbling beneath him because of a scoundrel like this.

"What could my gentle mother possibly have done? She was so unwell after bearing me that she spent her entire life in the country estate."

"Is that what your father told you?"

"Yes, that's what my father said. Let go of me. I'll scream."

"This neighborhood is mine. Scream all you like — it won't help."

Even so, the marquess released his arm. The man who'd been studying him let a cool smile form as Rapiel shook his arm free in disgust. Then Wolfrake caught Rapiel's chin and drew his face close. The authority was no less formidable than Father's, but with an edge of instability — a predatory sharpness that pierced deep.

"I see you know nothing at all. Do you even know why your name is Rapiel?"

The whispered voice raised every hair on his body.

"It's…… my mother's name…… the first omega child takes the mother's name…… it's common……"

"No. Your name was a punishment imposed on your mother. I took him for a witless fool, but to be this cruel, this terrifying — deceiving even his own child as part of the revenge. Truly worthy of the empire's foremost man of power."

Whether the violent hammering of his pulse was for the implications about his mother, the insult to his father, or the lips that hovered close enough to touch — he couldn't tell. Rapiel went white and couldn't move. Wolfrake, circling the frozen prey like a predator, let his voice drop to a murmur.

"Growing up like a doll wrapped in lies has its own charm, I suppose. But wouldn't learning the truth be a duty you owe your mother, Rapiel?"

Rapiel, rigid to the point of doubting whether he was still breathing, said in a flat, toneless voice: "What do you want from me?"

The marquess laughed softly.

"Consider it a small token of gratitude toward Kloff Bendyke. Your father made himself something of a nuisance to me."

With a light bow and a lighter smile, he left as abruptly as he'd appeared — no lingering, no backward glance. Rapiel, caught in a snare of confusion and fear, stood on the deserted street long after Wolfrake was gone, arms wrapped around his trembling body.

* * *

"The letter that was tucked in here — did you see it?"

"……No."

The moment he got home, he'd remembered Hugo's letter and gone searching. Belatedly recalling that he'd slipped it between the pages of a newly purchased book, he asked Jester — but his brother shook his head as though he knew nothing about it.

"……Was it an important letter?"

"I don't know. Some deranged old man gave it to me. He was spouting nonsense, so I just took it and meant to throw it away."

"If you were going to throw it away, why are you looking for it now?"

"A reason came up to read it."

He tore through his meticulously organized desk and bookshelves until both were in shambles. He searched every desk in the study — no letter. He wondered if a maid had found it while cleaning and thrown it away, and grilled Martha until the poor woman was flustered — but no one had seen it. He turned his room inside out. It was gone.

In the meantime, the brother who'd been so hollow-eyed and lost had returned to himself. Not merely returned — he was more composed than before. He threw himself into caring for the siblings and resumed his studies. He more than filled the gap Rapiel had left while hiding behind schoolwork. The household's recent turbulence had settled, and a fragile calm returned.

"Do you…… never mind."

He'd been about to ask his brother something but stopped. He wasn't ready to speak his unease aloud. Not yet.

There was only one option. Go and see for himself.

He hadn't chosen the day deliberately. The morning had been clear, but as the carriage carried him well outside the city, clouds gathered and a fine drizzle began. The roads weren't muddy, but by the time he'd descended from the carriage and wandered the well-tended cemetery, his coat's shoulders and hair were damp.

He encountered a groundskeeper by chance, which helped him find the grave sooner. Despite the passage of considerable years, the headstone was immaculate, and traces of a flower bouquet — fresh until very recently — remained before it. Rapiel stood there in silence.

Our beloved son, given by God: Rapiel. Came into the world to bring love and joy to his family, and was called home to heaven.

Beneath the long inscription — not merely carved but inlaid in metal — were the dates of birth and death. Both fell five years before Rapiel's own birth.

No thoughts came. His pounding heart went abruptly still, sinking to some depth below. The dripping of rain from his coat grew distant as his vision darkened, then returned.

"I knew this would happen. I've known for a long time. That's why I tried not to see, not to hear, not to speak."

He said it to himself, and laughed bitterly. It was more bearable than he'd expected. Because he'd already known. Since that day long ago, when a trembling figure had held out a yellow flower. Since the time he'd gone back to that wretched little grave.

He'd understood then: if the secret he'd been pushing away ever came this close, the part of him that remembered that person would never be able to forgive his father. And so he'd tried, ceaselessly. Then why was he standing here now?

He stood there until the cold rain had soaked through his coat, through his jacket and shirt, and chilled his very skin. Before the grave of the person he'd believed his whole life was his mother, not a single tear fell. Instead, a flame that had been buried deep in his chest began to blaze. Jester had stood here too. And so had the person who left those flowers. Everyone had known — and no one had told him.

He clenched the fists in his coat pockets. He needed to see Father. Immediately. He turned at last — and in the distance, approaching under an umbrella, someone came into view. In the person's hand was a bouquet much like the one laid before the headstone. The figure had been walking at a leisurely pace, but the moment he spotted Rapiel, he stopped dead.

Rapiel offered the quick, casual nod he typically gave strangers and made to pass. The man dropped his umbrella and seized Rapiel's arm.

"Ra……phiel……? Is that you?"

He had no generosity left for strangers who called his name. Rapiel wrenched free at once. The man — small and slight, nothing like a typical strapping alpha — staggered as though he might fall.

"I'm sorry. You look so much like someone I know. I…… my name is Eiriel of Westport."

"I don't care who you are."

He shook the hand off and made to leave, but the man grabbed his arm again with both hands. The dropped bouquet rolled across the wet grass.

"If you don't mind — could we talk, even for a moment? You seemed to be looking at my brother's grave just now. Is there some connection between you and Rapiel of Westport?"

"You're mistaken. I have absolutely no connection to your family."

It was uncomfortable. Had Father's first wife had a sibling? The man looked deeply fatigued — pale, slightly lined, and frail. There were no obvious signs of hardship, but neither his eyes nor the set of his mouth held any readable happiness. His downcast, trembling gaze was desperately earnest.

"Eiriel of Westport, you said? Rapiel's sibling?"

"Yes. May I ask your name?"

"Do I really look that much like him? Not just you — other people have mistaken me for him too. But it's a misunderstanding. I have no connection whatsoever to Rapiel Westport. If I'm connected to anyone in your family, it would be through my…… my mother."

He paused a beat and barely forced the words out. Even so, the aging omega named Eiriel didn't seem to comprehend.

"My mother's name was most likely Teiwind. Aeroc of Teiwind. Shall I tell you my father's name as well?"

The name Teiwind alone was enough to drain the color from the other man's face. The man hadn't done anything to Rapiel, and didn't deserve this treatment — yet Rapiel needed a target for the fear and anxiety that had been flooding in from every direction.

"My father is Kloff of Bendyke. Viscount Bendyke."

Eiriel's eyes went wide.

"Surely, he's not——"

"Yes. Your brother's husband. Isn't it absurd? To have a child with the enemy and then name that child Rapiel. You asked my name, so I'll tell you. My name is Rapiel of Bendyke. Born five years after your brother died — the firstborn of Teiwind's Aeroc and Bendyke's Kloff."

"How can that……"

He offered a courteous bow to the man frozen white with shock, then left the cemetery quickly. The rain was thickening; his hair was soaked through, and droplets ran down his face.

* * *

"You knew. Didn't you."

"Knew what?"

"When did you find out? What was in that letter?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. More importantly, you'll catch cold — go change."

He found Jester in the study. His brother glanced up from his book, then looked back down. Any other time, Jester would have been on his feet fetching a towel. The unnatural composure was jarring.

"I went to the Westport family cemetery."

The long fingers turning a page flinched, then slowly curled. Still, Jester didn't look up. The silence — all this time, not a word, and now this pretense that nothing had happened — sent a surge of fury through Rapiel. He strode over, snatched the book from his brother's hands. Only then did Jester raise his eyes.

"You're telling me you're fine with this?"

"I don't know what you mean. But if I must put it into words — yes, I'm fine as things are."

The dark brown eyes didn't waver in the slightest. While Rapiel had been hiding behind schoolwork, Jester had traveled some road of his own and arrived at his own conclusion — and whatever it was, Rapiel knew it was far from what he himself needed.

"Good for you. But I can't be."

"I genuinely don't know what you're talking about. Why are you suddenly doing this? You never cared before."

"I tried not to. I thought that was best. But now that I know, I can't pretend I don't. Because the memory is vivid in me."

"……Of what?"

"Of him. The person who gave me this golden hair and these blue eyes."

Eiriel — that was the name, wasn't it? Jester wore exactly the same expression. Shock and sorrow, slack-faced and stunned. Father would look like that too. Unable to face it any longer, Rapiel turned to leave — and heard a crash behind him. He looked back: Jester had knocked over his chair lunging to his feet.

"Wh-what was he like?"

"What was who like?"

"That person."

He drew a short breath and smiled. Then he looked at his brother and said:

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Who do you mean?"

"The person who gave you golden hair and blue eyes! What was he like? I don't remember anything. Did he really look like you?"

"If you've already decided you're fine as things are, then don't try to know."

That was the best answer Rapiel could give. He was angry at Jester's stance — but that anger wasn't why he said it. How could he possibly describe it? The skeletal frame, the threadbare clothes, the trembling hands and feet, the sad eyes — and the happy smile in spite of it all.

He left Jester wounded and wordless, offering no comfort to the end. Rapiel walked out of the study, went to his room, and pulled out a large bag. He packed what he'd need immediately.

"Oppa."

Seth appeared at the doorway but didn't come closer. Beside her, Blaine held her hand, watching with anxious eyes.

"Where are you going?"

"Mm, it's nothing."

"Did you fight with Jester?"

"No."

She didn't look convinced.

"Ivide is crying."

"Why?"

"She always cries when Jester cries."

His heart lurched. Jester was crying? Impossible. The brother who met everything with that flat, unmoved expression. The brother who'd stood there just now, unable to say a word. Alpha or near-adult, he was still Rapiel's little brother.

The reason Rapiel didn't go to him was this: someone among the six of them had to accept that sorrowful person fully. Jester had already made his choice — and it was not that. If someone had to be the one, it was Rapiel himself. He'd been the one who took the yellow flower. He was the one who owed the dead a mourning.

Through the open window came the distant sound of a carriage entering the grounds. Rapiel set the packed bag beside his bed. Then he smiled at Seth and Blaine, whose eyes were full of worry.

"It's going to be a little noisy tonight. Would you two take the twins and stay with them?"

"Nothing bad is happening, right?"

"It's all right, Blaine. None of you are in trouble. This is about something from before any of you were born."

"……Is it about Mama?"

Seth was sharp as ever. Rapiel answered by pulling his sister into an embrace. On the way to collect the twins, leading Blaine by the hand, he met Jester coming the other way with Ivide. Behind Jester, Yohn watched them all with cold eyes.

Everyone descended the stairs in silence. At the entrance, Martha was already there. Every servant except the kitchen staff stood in a row. The door opened, and a tall, powerfully built middle-aged alpha stepped inside. Ivide, exercising the privilege of the youngest daughter, broke free with a cry of "Papa!" and ran to him.

* * *

"The grave in the rose garden — whose is it?"

"Have you finished tomorrow's assignments?"

"Don't change the subject. Aeroc Teiwind. The former master of this manor — why is he buried there?"

Father, seated in the heavy leather chair, set down the document he'd been reviewing and looked up. Given the caliber of matters he handled, Rapiel was probably an intruder on affairs of state. But the affairs of a nation meant nothing to him right now. His eyes burned so fiercely it was a wonder the tears didn't fall on the spot.

"He squandered his fortune and had nowhere to go, so I let him use an unused cottage. Why this sudden interest in someone who's been dead for years?"

The tone was gentle; the force behind it was not. Rapiel understood, then, the primal dread that the man's enemies at court must feel. He also understood why so many professors at university had been so accommodating. He smiled bitterly.

"Is that your answer?"

"What else would there be?"

"I was hoping for something different. At the very least — what he did to your first wife. Why the father of your children had to live so wretchedly."

The pen in those large hands trembled. Anyone would have been shaken and shown it. Some would have twisted their face in pain. But his father — Viscount Kloff Bendyke — did not. Instead, his brow narrowed, his lips pressed tight, and his eyes sharpened into something the children had never been permitted to see.

"I don't know what you've heard or from whom, but that man orchestrated the murder of your mother. The punishment fit the crime."

"I don't know the details of his involvement in Rapiel Westport's death. Since everyone says so, I suppose he was involved. You say he ordered the killing? And so you administered the punishment yourself. To make a male omega bear six children. To cage him in a shed like an animal and breed him. Is that what you call punishment fitting the crime?"

"Rapiel!"

A roar. The powerfully built alpha's body shook. He looked ready to smash the massive oak desk between them in a single blow. But rather than fear, Rapiel wished he would.

Every anxiety and dread he'd spent a lifetime pressing down — and the love for his mother, as fierce as his longing had been deep, now fused with an inescapable sense of betrayal toward the father he'd loved just as fiercely — erupted from him in a scream.

"He was still my mother! He may have been your enemy, but he was the only mother I ever had!"

He bolted to his room, grabbed the bag he'd packed, and came back out. On the far side of the landing, the siblings stood watching, at a loss. At the back, Jester stood with his mouth clamped shut, saying nothing. Beside him, Ivide, eyes brimming, gripped her brother's hand.

But from that day forward, Rapiel never returned to what he'd called home.

* * *

"Hyung!"

"Blaine."

Spotting Blaine at an outdoor café across the street, Rapiel raised his hand. He checked for traffic, crossed, and his sisters greeted him warmly. He kissed Blaine's cheek, sat down, and kissed Seth's offered cheek too.

"Been waiting long?"

"No. We just got here too. You look well, oppa."

"Do I? I can't tell."

He sat down, and Blaine called the waiter to order. Light snacks and black tea arrived.

"How is everyone?"

"I'm still in undergrad. Blaine too. Oh! Blaine got a boyfriend."

"What? Already?"

"Unnie! You promised you wouldn't tell!"

Blaine glared and shoved her sister's arm. Seth cackled.

"Just don't tell Jester. Rapiel-oppa can keep a secret."

"Who is he?"

"A young, handsome alpha in the same building. Built, too. You should have seen those intense eyes during his rut."

Seth snickered through increasingly scandalous details until Blaine, mortified, shrieked.

"Hey!"

"Don't hey your older sister."

"People are staring. Both of you, please be quiet. This is embarrassing."

At his mediation, the two fell silent as though they'd never been squabbling and sipped their tea. They'd always been perfectly in sync. Hearing that his now-grown sister had a lover stirred a strange feeling. Times had changed — young alphas and omegas dating openly was no longer unusual. But still.

"How are the twins?"

"They moved in with us too. Yohn's busy preparing for a recital. Ivide's in the middle of a project. She won't come out today."

"I miss them."

His disappointment showed, and Seth propped her chin on her hand and smiled.

"All you'd get is a fight. They still hate you."

"They still think I abandoned them?"

"That's what happened, isn't it? The big brother who was basically their mother got into a huge fight with Father one day and walked out and never came back. What are they supposed to think?"

Before he could respond, Blaine nodded and chimed in. Rapiel took a sip of tea and paused.

"Surely they know by now who our mother really was."

"That's a separate issue. Father is Father and you're you."

A firm answer. Seth and Blaine didn't seem particularly bothered by the revelation — but for Rapiel, it was a blade through the chest. The twins, born with emotional disorders because their suffering mother had overdosed on painkillers — and he'd stormed out before they'd even grown up. That was an indisputable failure.

"How are things with you, oppa?"

"Good. The ending of this latest piece isn't coming together, so I'm taking a break."

"Think it'll be a hit again?"

"That's not for me to say."

Blaine, cutting into her cake, asked, "A tragedy?" Rapiel said, "A little."

"I'd love an ending like Into the Rose Garden. I hate sad stories. I get too drawn in."

"Why, afraid it'll happen with your boyfriend?"

"Stop calling him my boyfriend! We've only kissed!"

Every head at the café swiveled toward them. Rapiel hid behind his teacup and hissed, "Keep your voices down, you wretches."

"Seth, you were seeing an alpha too. What happened with that?"

"Broke up last month. Turned out he was a worthless creep chasing Father's name."

"He hit on me too. A total sleaze. Why did you even date him?"

"He was good to me. And good."

"Trashy."

Seth launched into a lurid evisceration of the ex-boyfriend while Blaine fired critiques at her sister's taste. Watching the two of them, Rapiel finally laughed.

"You two are really having the time of your lives."

"Obviously."

"My happiness is mine to find, isn't it?"

"What about you? Things good with him?"

"With whom?"

Two pairs of eyes fixed on him.

"The hidden lover. The rich nobleman. Looks pretty old, too."

"Who…… did you see?"

"I saw you kissing him on the street once. Incredibly tall. About Jester's height. But completely different face — a sharp, wolfish look. Who is he?"

"……Just someone. It's not serious."

"Right. Kissing him and then walking arm in arm. If you haven't spent countless ruts together, you don't get that kind of atmosphere."

Tea lodged in his throat. He sputtered and coughed; Seth shoved a napkin at him with a grimace. He wiped his mouth and, face slightly flushed, looked at Blaine.

"If you saw that much, you could have said hello."

"You two were heading into a dark alley. How was I supposed to say hello?"

"And what do you suppose they did in the dark alley?"

Seth's teasing grin and the question it accompanied received no answer from Rapiel. The two mischievous siblings had just begun pressing their quarry for every last detail when a shadow fell from behind.

"Sorry. I'm very late."

"Jester!"

"Oppa!"

They sprang from their seats in surprise. Standing there was a young man who looked exactly like their father in his youth.

"It's been a while, hyung."

"Oh. Yes."

He took the offered hand for an awkward handshake. Since the last time they'd met, Jester had grown even more powerfully built — and simultaneously deeper and more arid. He radiated a magnetism that was both compelling and faintly menacing. Just like Father.

"Sorry I didn't tell you beforehand, hyung. I was afraid you'd make excuses if you knew Jester was coming."

"I don't make excuses."

"Let it go. This isn't the time."

The heavy voice accompanied Jester pulling out a chair and sitting. A waiter came for his order, but instead of ordering, he drew out his wallet and paid the bill. The unspoken signal that they'd be leaving soon made everyone look at him. Jester lowered his eyes, took a breath, and spoke.

"Father has passed away."

A sudden ice storm tore through the outdoor café.

* * *

The funeral was enormously well attended. Government officials and business magnates, high-ranking nobles, dignitaries — even a prominent member of the royal family. Everyone offered their condolences to Jester. As the alpha eldest son and heir to the viscountcy, he received them all with composure, even through his grief.

Watching him shoulder everything alone, needing no one's help, Rapiel turned away. He left the hall full of mourners and wandered the interior of a house that had grown somewhat unfamiliar. He stopped by the study where he'd once done his schoolwork, then went to his old room. It was surprisingly untouched.

"Yohn. It's been a long time."

"You leave without so much as a goodbye and show up at Father's funeral."

"Good to see you too."

He stood and extended a hand, but Yohn slapped it away. Small for an alpha, he was as volatile as ever.

"How dare you show your face? Do you know what a laughingstock this family's been because of that ridiculous novel of yours? We'd barely put it behind us, and now with all those mourners out there, if you show up it'll start all over again!"

"That's why I'm in here, isn't it? Are you losing weight? Taking your medicine?"

The hand that gently stroked his shoulder was struck away hard. Yohn glared at the quietly smiling Rapiel.

"I want to be Yohn Bendyke the violinist — not a tragic drug-dependent born between a murderer and his avenger."

"You'll be Yohn Bendyke the violinist. Always."

"If you pull anything, I won't stay quiet this time. Understood?"

"Understood."

Yohn, having delivered his warning with a snarl, seemed thrown by the mild response and stormed off. Watching him go, Rapiel glimpsed Ivide in the distance.

"Ivide."

The youngest didn't come. She regarded him from afar, then simply followed Yohn downstairs. The girl who'd always been shy and timid had become a stranger, treating Rapiel as though he were someone she didn't know. That, too, was his own fault. He couldn't blame her.

During the grand funeral, at the other siblings' request, Rapiel stood not in the family section but behind a large pillar in the shadowed rear of the hall. As the solemn ceremony concluded and mourners filed out, Rapiel, too, prepared to leave for the burial site — when a familiar figure appeared.

"Why are you standing back here? You're the firstborn."

"The disgraced son who exposed the family's scandal does more good by staying out of sight."

"Very few people sincerely believe that story. And even those who do wouldn't dare say a word about the Bendyke name."

"That was true when Kloff Bendyke was alive. Now that he's gone, this house is just another minor noble family."

"Judging by your brother, I wouldn't say so."

Wolfrake glanced toward the far side of the hall. Rapiel followed his gaze — and found Jester staring back at them. Jester had been soothing a tearful Ivide, listening to the priest beside him, but his eyes were fixed on this corner. He'd offered Rapiel a faint smile — which had frozen solid the moment he noticed who stood beside him.

"I don't like your brother."

"He probably doesn't like you either."

"An upstart with insolent eyes."

"Better than an old man who's shameless and can't read the room, groping me like this."

Rapiel pinched — hard — the hand that had been creeping around his waist. Despite what must have been considerable pain, Wolfrake didn't so much as flinch, and wrapped his arm boldly around Rapiel's waist.

"Please. My father just died. Show some respect."

"Why should I respect a man who did whatever he pleased and then killed himself?"

Rapiel sighed deeply and looked up at the incorrigible man.

"It wasn't suicide. It was an accident."

"You believe that? The Kloff Bendyke? Don't make me laugh."

"You say that because you didn't see what Father looked like near the end."

"And did you?"

Rapiel didn't answer. Instead, unable to tolerate his older companion's brazenness any longer — however few people remained — he wrenched free and left the hall.

Following the priest's words, flowers were tossed onto the coffin before the grave was filled. For that moment alone, Rapiel stepped forward and dropped a single red rose. He heard the murmurs but didn't care. He gazed briefly at the polished coffin, then stepped back. He watched the burial to its end.

* * *

"Your father's coffin was in the ground less than a day ago. Is this all right?"

"You just said you'd never show him respect."

"Not him — you."

"We were estranged. Don't worry about it."

Naked, Rapiel straddled Wolfrake's hips where the man sat propped against the headboard and rolled his body. He'd been spending his heats with this man — whose body was implausibly youthful for his age — for more than five years. He knew exactly how to set him ablaze, and did so without delay.

"It's not your heat."

"Sometimes you can burn outside of heat."

"You? Don't be absurd."

After the fierce encounter, Rapiel nestled into his arms with a languid smile.

"What am I to you?"

"Wasn't I your instrument of revenge against your father? You deliberately kissed me in front of him, acted coy — all for show."

"I don't remember."

"You're pretending not to."

At the faintly mocking words, Rapiel said nothing. A slightly cool hand stroked his back slowly.

"When I die, will you be with another man?"

"What? Where did that come from?"

"I have no children and no family to shed even crocodile tears. A lonely funeral would wound my pride. I thought I'd better start drafting the guest list early."

"Ahaha. You're so strange sometimes."

He laughed aloud, but Wolfrake's response was tepid. What Rapiel had taken for a joke apparently wasn't.

"……You're serious?"

"I need someone to cry for me after I'm gone."

Rapiel studied the grey eyes watching him. Then he pushed away the encircling arms and sat up abruptly.

"I told you that's not happening. You're an accomplice too. You helped destroy House Teiwind, so House Wolfrake ends with you. You knew that when you chose me."

"I know. What I want isn't a child."

"Then what do you want?"

He shot the man a cold look. Wolfrake, still lying back, ran one hand down Rapiel's exposed lower back. His eyes, in that moment, held the forlorn earnestness of a guileless dog.

"I'd like you to cry for me."

"……I don't cry."

"I know. But even if it's fake — I'd like you to pretend."

"Your funeral will be crawling with scoundrels. What if I cry and then end up rolling around with some worthless man right there? What then?"

"You'd sleep with him anyway. So at least squeeze out a few fake tears."

"……I'll try. But don't count on it. If you don't die suddenly but lie around groaning in a bed, I'll leave you for someone else in a heartbeat. And there's a good chance I won't even show up at your funeral."

"How kind of you."

Pulled down by the arm, he lay beside the man again. After a few more rounds of playful jostling, Wolfrake fell into deep sleep. The chronic insomniac could only sleep soundly in Rapiel's arms. Rapiel gazed down at the defenseless sleeper, kissed the dry lips, then carefully slipped from the bed.

* * *

The manor was nearly empty in the late evening save for a few servants. Hagen, the gatekeeper, recognized Rapiel and opened the gate without a word. Rapiel nodded to him, then bypassed the manor's front entrance entirely and stopped the carriage in the middle of the garden. He got out and walked toward the rose garden.

In Father's younger days, roses of every color had bloomed there in splendor. Now, long neglected, only the occasional misshapen flower opened in the gloom. Rapiel passed through the dark garden and reached the cottage — and found people already there.

"You're late."

Jester, Seth, Blaine, Yohn, and Ivide — all five, exactly as they'd looked at the funeral, waiting for him.

"I had some things to take care of."

As Rapiel approached, the others moved in unison. Their destination was the spot beside the cottage — the grave of the person who'd died there in solitude.

Amid the flowers that bloomed year after year without ceasing, the modest — no, wretched — gravestone stood. Beside it, a new headstone had been erected, fresh and clean. The only things distinguishing the two were the names and dates carved into them.

"All that power he wielded, and he ends up in a miserable little grave like this."

"Better to match."

"The family plot already has a grand one. This will do for here."

"Isn't the hole too small for Papa?"

"The coffin's a small one, so it's fine."

The siblings tossed out their remarks one by one. Through it all, Jester kept his mouth shut and said nothing. Instead, he dropped the flowers in his hand onto the coffin already lowered into the hole. One by one, the four siblings followed — and last, Rapiel dropped yellow narcissus.

"Couldn't find any roses?"

"I chose those on purpose. They're flowers our mother grew."

"……"

Seth had been about to ask something more but held her tongue. Jester looked over, then pulled a shovel from the dirt pile beside the grave. At the same moment, Blaine, Seth, Yohn, and Ivide each took up a shovel. One was handed to Rapiel.

In silence, they buried their father's coffin. Stamping down the dirt with their feet as they went, even with six people it was hard work.