IIAD | Chapter 1.6

“I can’t believe it.”

Baran repeated the same words countless times, his face flushed red. His pale fingers tapped rhythmically on the mahogany desk as if dancing across it.

“Nika called my name. This is really the first time it’s ever happened. And then, even though he avoided my gaze a little… he actually said thank you.”

Baran had walked out of his bedroom as if possessed, nearly forgetting how to breathe until he reached Raymond’s office. The moment Raymond cautiously addressed him—“Marquis?”—a sharp breath escaped through Baran’s clenched teeth, and since then, he’d been stuck in this dazed state.

For a high-ranking noble like Baran, who had spent most of his life in isolation, there weren’t many people he could confide in. And so, enduring this endless retelling of the same experience was solely the responsibility of his steward, Raymond. Leaning against the desk, Raymond shot Baran a glare as if the man were a thorn in his side. It was already exhausting enough to handle all the paperwork, and now he had to babysit, too?

“And does that clueless bastard even know what he’s thanking you for?”

Raymond’s voice came out sharp with irritation. But instead of taking offense at his tone, Baran simply let out a dreamy sigh, as if he’d misinterpreted the question entirely. Then, he gave a small shake of his head.

“It doesn’t really make sense, does it? What could he possibly be grateful to me for?”

“You can’t be serious.”

Raymond momentarily set down his busy quill and started counting on his fingers.

“First, you saved him from the battlefield, even if it meant killing all our allies. Then, you smuggled him into the castle on horseback. You hired physicians and had them care for him day and night. And finally, despite knowing the duke would have your head if he found out, you’ve been protecting him while he’s regressed into a literal child. Every single one of those things is enough to be eternally grateful for.”

“Don’t say ‘regressed into a child.’ Watch your words. There’s a more dignified term for it—amnesia.”

Baran shot Raymond a stern warning, but Raymond only scoffed, making no effort to correct himself. Clicking his tongue, he observed his master, who was clearly too giddy to handle his emotions properly.

Flushed cheeks and those feverish eyes… The man was acting like some lovesick teenage boy experiencing his first crush.

If people knew that the infamous Vile Marquis, Baran Taltamio, was such an awkward fool in the face of love, wouldn’t they be utterly shocked?

But Raymond’s amusement faded quickly, and his face hardened.

This—this was something that absolutely shouldn’t happen.

Massaging his throbbing temple, he let out a deep sigh. He had no idea where to even begin.

“So, what’s your plan now? The amnesia makes things a lot more complicated.”

At the mention of the real problem at hand, Baran’s lips, which had been curved into a helpless smile, flattened into a straight line. It was like he had been floating high in the clouds, only to be doused with a bucket of cold water.

“You can’t keep someone else’s hunting dog. You know that.”

Raymond had been sighing more than ever these past few days. At this rate, he was convinced he must have sprouted at least a handful of gray hairs.

“We need to get him out of the castle as soon as he recovers. Ideally, we’d hand him over directly to the princess or the prince, but with the duke’s current hostility, even making contact with them is a risky move. What do we do?”

Baran remained silent at Raymond’s pointed remark. If word got out that he was secretly protecting Nika—a figure tied to the princess and, more broadly, the prince’s faction—it was obvious that his standing within the duke’s camp would be jeopardized.

Baran clenched his jaw tightly. His fingers curled into his palm, nails digging hard into the soft flesh of his hand.

Losing the duke’s trust after enduring six grueling years of hardship to earn it—that was the biggest problem.

The rational part of Baran’s mind screamed at him: What are you even hesitating for? Are you really going to throw away everything you’ve worked for in a single moment?

And besides, staying here does Nika no good either. He may be confused now because of his memory loss, but in the long run, it’s better for him to return to where he belongs. Keeping him with me is not an option.

As the Vile Marquis, Baran Taltamio played a role so significant in this blood-soaked civil war that even a minor misstep could upend the entire chessboard.

Nika has to leave. This is for his sake, too.

As soon as Nika’s strength returned, Baran would have to send him out of the territory with a hefty sum of travel money. The man had lost every memory beyond the age of eighteen. He was a pitiful soul who only recalled a life of isolation and rejection—one that came with loving someone who never loved him back.

But if I send him outside the castle while he’s still lost in amnesia, will he even have a place to go?

A mixed-blood orphan with no family or allies—where could he possibly find refuge?

He’s too young, too inexperienced to navigate the world alone.

This selfish rationalization, wrapped in the guise of concern, kept creeping up on him, and Baran’s face grew increasingly pale. Sensing his hesitation, Raymond let out a long sigh before delivering his earnest advice.

“For the love of—please, drop that nurturing look already. Marquis, have you forgotten all the filth you had to wade through just to gain the duke’s favor? Do you not remember why you endured all that?”

Being looked down upon for inheriting his title at a young age, forced to carry out bloodbaths akin to livestock slaughter.

Being called a traitor for turning his back on Prince Ansalate, despite once owing him a debt.

The ever-circulating rumors that he was merely the duke’s plaything.

His younger brother Claten’s ever-disgusted gaze.

And worst of all—enduring Nika’s cold disdain.

If he had to answer why he had endured all of that, Baran took a moment to reflect.

── .✦

“Hey, wake up. You’ve slept long enough.”

Baran’s eyes flew open at the rough shaking. The first thing he saw was an unfamiliar ceiling, followed by an opulent chandelier.

He lay neatly tucked in an unfamiliar bed, the pillowcase carrying a scent he didn’t recognize.

With his head still spinning, Baran vaguely recalled running for his life from his uncle’s soldiers, only to collapse after entrusting himself to a stranger who had suddenly appeared. But—where was this place?

“Oi, kid. Stop looking so lost and look at me.”

The arrogant voice belonged to the person who had just shaken him awake. Baran turned his head to see a pale-haired man gazing down at him with an unimpressed look.

He was dressed in pristine, freshly pressed silk, and his refined features suggested nobility.

Baran had never seen this man before, but he could tell immediately that this wasn’t the one who had saved him from the dark forest. His eyes sharpened with caution, and the man clicked his tongue in irritation.

“The hell is with that dead-fish look, huh? Lord Nika, where do you even plan on using this slab of meat? I’ve told you time and time again—Suri picking up strays is already bad enough.”

Even after waking Baran up, the man didn’t seem particularly interested in talking to him. Instead, he directed his complaints toward someone named Nika, blaming him for bringing Baran here.

Baran had no idea what was going on, so he could only sit there, momentarily stunned. It didn’t take long for him to realize there was another person standing beside the man.

“My apologies.”

The second man answered calmly.

This must be Nika.

Baran hadn’t noticed him right away because his silhouette had been obscured by the long, heavy drapes hanging behind him.

But that voice—that, he remembered.

The same voice that had once tried to push him away, saying, just let him die already, only to later cradle him in his arms and soothe his cries.

This was the person who had saved him and brought him here.

Thinking back to how he had buried his tear-streaked face against the man’s chest, Baran felt a wave of delayed embarrassment wash over him. His ears burned all the way to their tips.

“…He’s still just a child. I couldn’t stand by and watch him die before my eyes.” Nika added quietly.

A child, he says.

Baran had turned eighteen just last week. Though circumstances had prevented him from holding a formal coming-of-age ceremony, he was still considered an adult. Being treated like a child was absurd. But given how malnourished he was after days of running from his uncle with barely any food, he supposed his appearance might have made him seem younger than he was.

The man called Nika didn’t bother with further excuses and simply pressed his lips together in silence.

Baran suddenly found himself wanting to see his face.

He wanted to know what kind of lips had spoken those steady words, the ones that had clumsily comforted him as if he were about to drown in his own tears.

Straining his sluggish body, he weakly pushed aside the bed canopy.

Falling in love is always a fleeting moment of insignificance.

Baran blinked, dazed.

As the sheer white fabric lifted like the wings of a dragonfly, a pair of dark eyes met his.

Messy hair covered half of his face like a veil, his gaze was sharp with an edge of irritation, and his lips were set in an unyielding line. Yet none of that mattered.

The instant their eyes met, Baran knew—he would remember this moment for the rest of his life.

But Nika didn’t react at all.

It was almost laughable, how one person could experience what felt like fate while, for the other, it was just another passing moment.

Baran would have been so happy if Nika had shown even the slightest hint of relief or warmth upon seeing him awake. But the only one who turned red-faced and flustered was Baran himself. Nika, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

Realizing this, Baran quickly averted his gaze, embarrassed.

That was when Nika finally spoke.

“I was worried you wouldn’t wake up. I’m glad.”

And that was it.

No meaningless reassurances, no soft words. Nika left the room as soon as he said his piece.

He was horrifically bad at conversation.

Baran remained in the same residence as Nika while he recovered. That was only possible because Prince Ansalate, the owner of the estate, had allowed it.