IIAD | Chapter 2.1

“The duke won a massive victory in the battle at the Dartalu River and broke through the front lines. The prince’s forces have retreated west of the river. To be honest, it’s clear that Prince Ansalate is in a tight spot. If this push continues, he’ll be driven all the way to the western border.”

Raymond spread out a map and explained the shifts in the war situation. Ever since the priests of the Dragon Temple made that ominous prophecy last year—claiming that Dracoson would never become a true dragon—the tides had miraculously turned in the duke’s favor. Though the duke was, technically, a direct-line Dracoson as the son of King Camelot, he carried the banner of a different house. That was why the prevailing opinion was that this prophecy had ultimately foretold the duke’s victory.

Baran pulled a disinterested face and immediately got an earful.

“Marquis! Are you even listening?”

“You’re going to burst my eardrums.”

“At least pretend to listen! There’s news.”

Baran adjusted his posture and sat up properly.

“From where? The prince or the duke?”

“Both.”

Raymond neatly placed two letters on the desk. One was adorned with gold embossing, while the other, shockingly, had been written on recycled paper. Baran raised an eyebrow and muttered,

“They sure have distinct personalities.”

He picked up Prince Ansalate’s letter first, since he could at least guess what it was about. As expected of a royal message, the letter was edged with gold and sealed with the Dracoson royal family’s crest, symbolizing their draconic bloodline. Before opening it, Baran paused for a moment, staring at the ancient dragon depicted in vivid detail within the wax seal.

“Hey, Raymond.”

“What now? If it’s some pointless remark, don’t even bother.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird? There are people suffering under brutal discrimination just because they have Earth Dragon blood, yet someone else gets to be called royalty just because they have Ancient Dragon blood. But Earth Dragons and Ancient Dragons look practically the same, aside from the wings.”

Raymond’s expression stiffened immediately. Baran wasn’t just making idle talk. He leaned back against the armrest of his chair, idly counting on his fingers.

“One, both are reptiles. Two, both have supernatural strength. Three, in the kingdom’s language, we shorten both of them to ‘dragon.’”

“…You do realize that’s a dangerous statement, right? If the wrong person hears you, you’ll be executed for heresy on the spot.”

Raymond rubbed his face in frustration.

“And come on, are you really comparing a mindless salamander-like monster to the great dragons from the kingdom’s founding myths? No matter how much you love stirring the pot, at least try to draw a distinction.”

“Hmm…”

Before Raymond’s chatter could go any further, Baran quickly tore open the letter. Inside was Prince Ansalate’s elegant handwriting.

“To the little marquis…”

Baran’s forehead immediately creased at the very first line.

“What does it say?”

“Nothing much. Just a demand to attend the next war council and gather intelligence. Must be desperate.”

Baran handed the letter to Raymond, who skimmed it once before holding it over the candlelight on the desk, burning it to ashes. The scattered embers drifted through the air.

Baran didn’t comment on it, but he noticed something missing. Nika’s name wasn’t mentioned even once in the prince’s letter. He was sure Raymond had caught it too.

Baran’s loyalty to the prince was based on one thing: Nika. If something had happened to Nika, then the prince had a moral obligation to inform him. A bitter taste filled Baran’s mouth, and the sting of betrayal gnawed at him.

He understood, in some part of his mind. Prince Ansalate was carrying the weight of too many lives on his shoulders. Maybe he was afraid that if Baran knew Nika had gone missing, the Marquis of Taltamio—his loyal chess piece—would go rogue.

Raymond was watching him carefully. Even if the prince’s response was disappointing, Nika was alive. He was right here, by Baran’s side.

Trying to shift the heavy mood, Baran exaggerated a shiver.

“The real problem is the duke. I don’t even want to read his letter.”

“Hurry up and open it.”

The paper was folded in a way Baran had never seen before, making it annoyingly difficult to unfold. If he had to guess, it was probably one of those newfangled origami techniques that a traveling troupe from another continent had recently introduced.

The moment he managed to open it, his head started throbbing at the chaotic mess of randomly alternating uppercase and lowercase letters sprawled across the page.

“Damn it… His handwriting is absolute garbage.”

“It’s not like this is a first-time offense.”

“You read it.”

In the end, Baran gave up trying to decipher the letter and tossed it to Raymond. Raymond pulled out his spectacles, wiped them until they gleamed, and perched them on his nose. Even then, it took a ridiculous amount of time to decipher the scrawl, his fingertip painstakingly tracing each word.

“He says he’s sad and lonely because he hasn’t seen you around lately.”

Raymond, reading aloud, suddenly clicked his tongue and stopped. When Baran gave him a questioning look, he immediately shoved the letter back at him.

“I can’t read the rest out loud. It’s… overwhelmingly obscene. But the last part is rather intriguing. It says that Duke Sasavaran’s fifteen knights were all slaughtered while trying to capture Princess Suri near the Taltamio estate. And he’s asking if this was the work of that ‘oh-so-impressive dragonkin knight.’”

“The rumors have already spread that far?”

Baran rubbed his face, already exhausted.

“Well, of course.”

“And what else?”

“He says, ‘That guy was pretty damn attractive, just like you. What a shame he died so soon.’”

“ARGH! That bastard claims he hates degeneracy, so why does he joke like this?!”

Baran shrieked and shot to his feet.

“Dear gods, please let me be the one to kill that man!”

Raymond waited patiently for Baran’s tantrum to subside before clearing his throat.

“Marquis. The important part here is the phrase ‘died so soon.’ I’ve had my sources look into it, and it seems that Lord Nika is now widely believed to be dead. He was left behind alone against fifteen knights, so it’s no surprise they assumed he didn’t make it.”

Raymond then casually warned that grinding his teeth like that would ruin them at a young age. Baran took a deep breath to calm himself.

Raymond, meanwhile, studied the duke’s eccentric letter, which was so thoroughly drenched in perfume that it reeked like a desperate love note.

“…Be careful.”

“Look at you, pretending to be concerned.”

Baran let out a low chuckle.

Raymond opened his mouth, ready to retort, but the moment Baran added, “In the end, you’re not my man—you belong to Ansalate.” the words died in his throat.

Baran silently observed Raymond’s ashen face.

The two of them were unbelievably close, yet every so often, they were suddenly reminded of just how far apart they truly were. And in those moments, Baran lost his affectionate, ever-loyal butler, while Raymond lost his deep, dependable master.

“…Forget it.”

Baran buried his face in his palm, his voice tinged with late regret.

“I… I should get going. Nika is waiting. I promised to take him to the library.”

“Oh? You two have gotten quite close these past few days.”

Just mentioning Nika’s name was enough to snap them both out of their melancholy. For Baran, it was because his love for Nika burned away his gloom. For Raymond, it was because Nika’s name alone made his thoughts spiral into unease.

Baran left the office with a bright, carefree smile.

As silence settled over the room once more, Raymond let out a long, weary sigh.

── .✦

“It was only three minutes late!”

“It was five minutes.”

Before Baran could argue, Nika pointed at the grandfather clock mounted on the wall. He was clearly stating that the moment Baran had entered, the clock hands had already ticked five minutes past the appointed hour.

Baran was supposed to be here by eight. He countered that this room’s clock was two minutes faster than the others in the mansion. But lacking sufficient proof, he failed to convince Nika.

“…Of course, I could overlook five minutes,” Nika said graciously.

“I know you’re making time for me despite your busy schedule.”

Even though the words were considerate, Baran’s heart sank instead of lifting.

Come to think of it, Nika must have been waiting here all alone in this bedroom, where the only thing to do was stare at the ceiling and trace the patterns in the fabric of the sheets.

How bored must he have been?

Baran shouldn’t have said only three minutes.

“What are you staring at?”

“You.” Nika scrunched his nose.

Baran couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or just embarrassed. He wanted to see Nika’s ears—they were hidden beneath his sleek black hair. If his earlobes were flushed red, it meant he was flustered.

“There are so many books.”

Nika marveled at the library’s grand scale. He had always loved books. Then and now.

Baran remembered how, back when he was staying at Prince Ansalate’s mansion, there was a fifty percent chance he’d run into Nika in the library. The other fifty percent was running into the prince, which was unfortunate—but either way, that time had made Baran develop a fondness for the atmosphere of books.

“There are some old tomes passed down through generations, but most of these were collected by my father.”

Baran answered, running his fingers along a nearby bookshelf.

“He believed that to govern a territory properly, one needed a strong academic foundation. Instead of spending money on luxuries, he bought books. That’s why this place is practically the size of a small library. Do you know how rare it is to see rolling ladders in a noble’s study?”

To demonstrate, Baran climbed onto the ladder, then glided smoothly across the bookshelves like an actor in a grand performance.

Nika, caught off guard, let out a small laugh.

“You can read whatever you like,” Baran said, hopping off the ladder and strolling up to Nika.

Nika, still admiring the shelves, suddenly turned his gaze to Baran.

“You like books.”

“…How did you—”

“I told you, I’m your—”

Before Baran could finish his sentence, Nika’s hand shot out, covering his lips.

Baran had been about to say it. ‘I’m your lover.’ But Nika had realized it first and stopped him.

Baran’s blue eyes widened, not in irritation, but in fascination.

The rough texture of Nika’s calloused fingers against his lips was unmistakable. His gaze softened as his smile gradually curled upward. Nika, realizing his mistake too late, hurriedly snatched his hand away. And the moment the barrier was gone—a clear, ringing laughter spilled from Baran’s lips.

“One should be quiet in a library.”

Nika, flustered, scolded him for no reason. But Baran’s laughter didn’t fade so easily, and Nika—desperate to escape the situation—darted his eyes around the room, then suddenly turned and fled between the bookshelves.

Chasing after a Nika who kept running away was no easy task.