IIAD | Chapter 1.2

Nika swept his surroundings with a wary glance. Three of Baran’s knights still stood, along with a handful of cavalry behind them. His dark eyes narrowed, calculating.

Was there a way to win this?

But before he could act—

“Gh…!”

A surge of searing pain struck his shoulder, forcing him to stagger.

He barely caught himself, slamming his sword into the ground to keep from collapsing. Blood loss. Too much of it.

Even so, after a brief moment, he lifted his blade once more.

The tip of his trembling sword pointed at Baran.

But instead of his usual mocking sneer, Baran’s expression was… different. His brows were drawn together—not in derision, but something else. Regret? Pity?

Whatever it was, Nika didn’t care.

Coming from him, any expression felt like an insult.

“What the hell are you playing at, Ruthless Marquis?! Why—”

His furious shout cut off as a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over him.

His vision swam.

A heartbeat later, his legs gave out beneath him.

Nika clutched at his blood-soaked shoulder, but his body refused to hold itself up any longer.

He collapsed.

And the next thing he knew—

Baran caught him.

A weak breath ghosted against Baran’s neck.

He had fainted.

Too much blood loss. His pulse was weak, but still there. Baran exhaled in relief.

Raymond and the Marquis’s knights arrived just in time to witness the absurd scene.

“Do you have even a single rational thought in your head?” Raymond snapped.

“Relax. The duke still thinks I’m in the Marquisate. I adjusted my schedule before reporting back, so he won’t suspect anything for now.”

“Fine, let’s say you get away with that.”

Raymond rubbed his temples in pure frustration, thumping his fist against his chest as if physically trying to suppress his stress.

“What about that monster—no, Lord Nika? What do you plan to do with him? He belongs to Prince Ansalate. You, of all people, should understand what it means that he is the princess’s knight.” Baran chuckled bitterly.

“Knowing something and feeling something are two very different things, Raymond.”

Adjusting his grip on Nika, he held the unconscious knight closer. As if all of this were completely out of his control. As if he were simply a prisoner to his own love.

“You know I can’t hurt him.”

“I can’t leave him behind, either.” Raymond groaned. “Don’t say it. I’m already sick of hearing it.”

“Fair enough. Even I wish I could feel differently.”

Baran tightened his arms around Nika’s unconscious form for a moment, then let out a short laugh.

“Come help me out. We need to get him onto the horse.”

Nika was taken to Baran’s estate and given the best medical treatment available.

He slept as if dead.

The physician’s diagnosis was simple—mental exhaustion and blood loss had driven him into a deep sleep for recovery.

But the physician also admitted that he had never treated a dragon-blooded hybrid before and couldn’t be certain of the prognosis.

Baran grew increasingly doubtful of him as the days passed. The physician had assured him that Nika’s body showed no fatal injuries, meaning he should have regained consciousness by now. Yet, three days had passed, and Nika hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Marquis, have you eaten?”

Raymond’s casual inquiry was met with silence.

With a sigh, he shoved the door open and strode inside.

“Do you have any idea how much work is piling up?”

Raymond was at his wit’s end. Baran hadn’t left Nika’s bedside even once, glued to his unconscious form like a loyal hound.

Hearing movement, Baran finally lifted his head.

Even after skipping meals, his handsome features remained intact.

Unlike his fiery red hair, his lashes were gold, fluttering lazily as he blinked up at Raymond with a vacant gaze.

And then, just as effortlessly, his eyes slid right back to Nika.

“The Dragon Temple issued a prophecy today.”

That finally got Baran’s attention.

“It declared that ‘Dracoson can never become a dragon.’”

“Which means… who the hell is supposed to take the throne?”

“Exactly. The entire kingdom is in chaos.”

For the first time in days, Baran’s lips parted.

His voice was rough from disuse.

“But both the prince and the duke are Dracosons, aren’t they?”

“By blood, yes. But the duke was granted the surname ‘Hilben’ by King Camelot. If we go by name alone, only the prince remains a Dracoson.”

Baran let out a derisive scoff. “Not that it matters. Given the state of the battlefield, the prince has no real shot anyway.”

He waved a dismissive hand, making it clear he didn’t care in the slightest.

“Honestly, I don’t give a damn who takes the throne.”

“Marquis!” Raymond nearly shrieked.

Like a priest hearing blasphemy, he jumped in place, his sharp eyes boring into Baran.

The intensity of the glare finally forced Baran to acknowledge him.

With a groan, he stretched and stood up for the first time in hours. His entire body ached—a consequence of sitting still for too long, staring at Nika.

“Should I tell you to keep your voice down in case Nika wakes up, or should I tell you to be even louder to see if you can wake him?”

He playfully scrunched his nose, but the deadly look on Raymond’s face immediately sucked the fun out of the moment.

Baran clearly didn’t like how serious the conversation had become, but begrudgingly straightened his posture to match Raymond’s mood.

Of course, his dazed, half-absent expression remained unchanged.

Raymond, stealing a glance, noticed the mismatched buttons on Baran’s shirt. His once-neat clothing was completely disheveled.

A long, exhausted sigh escaped him.

With practiced ease, he ran a hand through his brown hair before releasing yet another deep sigh.

He made sure Baran saw it.

Then, with the air of a suffering nanny, he stepped forward, unbuttoned, and properly fastened Baran’s shirt.

Within moments, the disheveled marquis looked presentable again.

“Marquis, what exactly are you planning to do with that beast—”

“Nika.”

Raymond, who had finally regained some composure, visibly clenched his jaw. The muscle at the edge of his jawline tensed sharply.

“Yes, Nika!” His voice rose, nearly hysterical.

He even crossed himself, as if he needed divine protection.

“As if I don’t already know! Every day, it’s Nika, Nika, Nika! I hear his name so much I’m ready to lose my mind! Do you think I wouldn’t notice?!”

“Want me to tell you the three most important things in my life?” Baran chuckled.

Raymond held out his palm, cutting off Baran’s words, his gaze making it clear that if Baran said even one more word, he wouldn’t let it slide. He pressed his temples, unable to shake off the feeling that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Unbothered by the fierce rejection, Baran lazily smiled, raising three fingers.

“Nika, Nika, Nika. So just leave me alone now. It already happened. I did it, so I’ll take responsibility. Anyway, let’s talk later. I’m not in the mood right now.”

“You… hopeless…”

“You know me well, butler.”

Baran responded absentmindedly, then sat down on the chair beside the bed, engrossed in observing Nika. He didn’t say another word as Raymond fumed, flared up, and raged, only to give up against Baran’s unyielding stance and storm out of the room.

“Do whatever you want! I’ve warned you.”

The moment Raymond left, the confident expression on Baran’s face crumbled. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them, his breath hitting his knees and returning damp against his skin.

“To think I can see you this close… If this were a dream, I’d believe it.”

Baran knew all too well how indifferent Nika looked at everything that wasn’t the princess. The way others looked at ants crawling on the ground or the way they gazed at a drifting cloud with not even a hint of sentiment—that was exactly how Nika viewed the world.

Every time Baran looked at Nika, his heart pounded so violently it felt like it would shatter from within. Yet, Nika’s gaze toward him was always so devoid of warmth, so utterly emotionless. Even if Baran suddenly coughed up blood and collapsed at his feet, Nika would probably just stand there, unfazed.

Thinking of that, perhaps it was better this way—seeing him like this, asleep. Baran cut off his own thoughts.

“…Sorry, Nika. That was too selfish of me. I don’t even have the right to say I hold you dear.”

Even as he spoke words of regret and apology, no response came. That only made Baran sadder. His shoulders trembled with sorrow.

“I won’t be greedy anymore, so just… open your eyes.”

Baran gently ran his fingers through Nika’s dark, smooth hair. It felt exactly as he had imagined. But now that he had touched it once, an even greater greed began to surface.

His trembling fingers carefully caressed Nika’s fair forehead. Down along the sharp bridge of his nose, his thick eyebrows, the hollow of his eyelids… He even touched the left side of his face, the part always hidden beneath his hair, where the scales of a to-dragon had grown.

To Baran, he was beautiful in every way—so much so that he didn’t even know how to put it into words.

The sound of him swallowing dryly rang louder than expected. Baran trapped his ragged breath inside his chest. Just this once—just up to his lips. He thought that much should be okay.

Nika’s lips were rough. Probably because it had been too long since they had last been moistened. The skin had dried up and peeled in white flakes. Baran lightly brushed his fingertip over them. A faint breath spilled from Nika’s nose, grazing the back of his hand.

‘Alive. He’s here.’

Baran suddenly pressed a reverent kiss to the hand that had just touched Nika’s lips. Shame so unbearable it made his chest tighten surged through him, along with a misery beyond compare. His gaze dropped helplessly. His face burned in an instant.

── .✦

Baran dreamed of a long-forgotten past.

A young Baran, his body thin and frail, ran through the forest, his golden hair fluttering wildly. His outstretched fingers brushed against the rough surface of tree bark, and he quickly ducked behind it. He repeated this over and over, shifting his body the same way each time. Sweat beaded on the bridge of his nose, itching unbearably, but he had no time to wipe it away. He blinked rapidly. It made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed.

He told himself it was because evening had fallen, casting the world into deep twilight. But even then, it was strange. Baran rubbed his eyes against his forearm. If he could at least make out the vague outlines of objects, he wouldn’t be breaking out in this cold sweat.

‘I can’t see.’

Torches flared to life all around him, their light moving through the forest. The pursuers carrying them were drawing closer.