IIAD | Chapter 2.2

Nika sat on a plush sofa, completely immersed in his book. Several other volumes were lined up neatly on the side table beside him, waiting their turn.

At first, Baran found his focused expression utterly adorable, but as the minutes passed and Nika didn’t spare him even a single glance, his mood soured.

So, he decided to strike up a conversation.

“You know, the famous spirit summoner Ailman Hopshire from the High Kingdom era first saw a fire spirit in a fireplace when he was a child and made a contract with it. It’s a well-known story—have you ever heard of it?”

Nika shook his head.

Then, as if showing that Baran had his full attention, he lowered his book from where he had been holding it close to his face and rested it on his lap.

That small gesture made Baran feel strangely ticklish inside, and he found himself scratching at his earlobe. The fireplace flames, which had been burning a little too early in the season, suddenly felt stuffy.

Still, he enjoyed watching the red glow of the fire outline Nika’s profile.

“When I was a kid, that story had me completely mesmerized. I’d just sit there, staring at the fireplace for hours, hoping a spirit would appear. At one point, I even tried to crawl into the fire.”

“Good heavens. Were you hurt?”

“Huh? Oh, no. I wasn’t.”

“That’s a relief. Burns are incredibly painful and leave severe scars.”

It had just been a lighthearted anecdote, but Nika took it far too seriously. He listened intently, expression tense, only letting out a deep sigh of relief when Baran got to the part where Matilda, his childhood caretaker, had yanked him away just in time.

Baran barely held back a dumb grin.

“Wow. It’s just an old childhood story, and yet you’re actually worried about me.”

“…I wasn’t worried about you. I’d feel bad for any child who suffered an accident like that. That’s all.”

“Sure, sure.”

Baran half-heartedly agreed, making Nika turn away with a huff. Then he buried half his face in his honey-sweetened milk tea.

For a long while, Baran didn’t say anything else. Nika, starting to wonder why, turned his head slightly—

—only to find Baran staring at him.

Absolutely mesmerized. And, true to the expression, he looked completely spellbound. His red hair was a mess, his chin propped up lazily on one hand, and his lips slightly parted in a dazed half-smile.

The worst part?

The second their eyes met, he smiled even more beautifully. Nika immediately turned away, pretending not to notice the intense gaze.

He hurriedly picked up a book to distract himself—only to realize a moment later that he was holding it upside down. A burning red flush spread up his neck, all the way to his ears. Humiliated, he buried his face in the pages and groaned.

It was understandable—after all, he’d never been under such an undivided, unwavering gaze before.

“What are you reading?”

Sensing Nika’s discomfort, Baran mercifully changed the subject and pointed at the book in his hands. Instead of answering, Nika simply tilted the book toward him, showing the page he was reading.

Baran leaned in closer to take a look—his shoulder brushing against Nika’s.

“It’s a children’s book.”

“Yes. I read it once when I was young, back in the orphanage… And please move a little farther away.” Baran merely shrugged.

Nika’s eyes narrowed, but given the circumstances, he wasn’t in a position to make firm demands. Baran poked at the illustrated wolf’s face on the page. The musty scent of old paper filled the air.

“It’s a wolf. In fairy tales, wolves are usually the villains, right?”

“Not in this one.”

“Oh? Then is he a good guy?” Nika hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

“Neither good nor bad. He isn’t particularly greedy or virtuous—just an ordinary wolf. The only thing unusual about him is… he wanted something.”

“What did he want?”

Nika flipped to the next page, revealing another illustration.

A shepherd boy with curly hair was dancing lightly, one foot crossed over the other. He held a strange, two-pronged staff, guiding lambs in and out of their pen as if it were a game.

“The shepherd.”

“To eat him?”

“Your imagination is lacking. Or perhaps—”

Nika was about to quip, “You’re just unromantic,” but bit his lip just in time.

He had suddenly remembered just how shamelessly sentimental Baran could be.

“Anyway, the wolf loved the shepherd. That’s why he wanted him.”

Nika skipped over the middle of the story and flipped straight to the last page. Another illustration appeared.

This time, the wolf was curled up under an oak tree, looking like a watchdog. Its tongue lolled from its mouth, and its long neck stretched toward the path beyond the woods—as if waiting for someone.

Before Baran could piece together the ending, Nika spoke first.

“In the end, he never gets him.”

His voice held a faint emotion, something caught between wistfulness and bitterness.

“The shepherd tames the wolf to protect his lambs. First, he teaches him not to eat mutton. Then, he makes him bark like a dog… And finally, when the wolf is so in love with him that it hurts, the shepherd says—”

Nika met Baran’s eyes.

”‘Wait. Stay here until I return.’ …Of course, the shepherd never comes back. The foolish wolf is the only one who keeps losing in the end.”

A pause.

“To be honest, I never liked this story. Even as a child. The wolf was just too stupid.”

Baran stared at the book in silence, lost in deep thought. He knew people who manipulated love for their own gain.

Princess Suri, who used Nika’s affections.

Prince Ansalate, who used Baran’s.

And yet—

‘I’m in no position to judge them, when I’m doing the exact same thing to Nika.’

A bitter chuckle almost left him, but then—

“Baran.”

Nika called his name.

“…Ah, sorry. What is it?”

“Who is Claten Taltamio?” The moment that name left Nika’s lips, Baran’s face went pale.

Nika, unaware of his reaction, simply traced his fingernail along the words written on the inside of the book’s cover.

“To my beloved Claten Taltamio…”

Before he could read any further, Baran snatched the book away.

Nika wasn’t a fast reader—he had never been properly taught—so he had to sound out each word, letter by letter. If he had been just a little quicker, he would have finished the sentence.

“Your surname is the same. Is she your wife?”

“I don’t have a wife. That would be ridiculous.”

“But noblemen usually marry younger than you.”

“My lover is you. I told you already.”

Nika narrowed his eyes, clearly about to ask more, but before he could, Baran changed the subject. His hands clenched tightly around the book. Instead of putting it back where it belonged, he jammed it carelessly into a random empty spot on the shelf.

He could feel Nika’s unwavering stare on him. Ruffling his red hair, Baran scrambled for an excuse.

“Enough about boring stories. Let’s play a card game. Have you played before?”

Nika, seeing through the obvious deflection, let it slide. When Baran pulled a deck of cards from the desk drawer, he couldn’t hide his curiosity.

“Sit down. I’ll teach you how to play.”

Still, Nika hesitated. He weighed Baran’s friendly demeanor against the suspicion from moments earlier.

But then Baran grinned and urged, “Come on.”

With a slight frown, Nika finally gave in and took a seat.

── .✦

Baran thought of Claten. A name that felt both unfamiliar and deeply missed.

Rosy cheeks, a cocky attitude, and neatly slicked-back brown hair—his one and only sibling had been adorable. There was a time when Claten would chase after Baran in small, hurried steps, trying to keep up as he gripped a stag beetle tightly in one hand.

“I’m definitely going to be like you, hyung!”

Baran still remembered how Claten’s eyes had shone with admiration as he said those words, his pronunciation clumsy.

But now, that affectionate image of Claten was hard to recall. His attitude had changed after their parents died.

Their parents had been stoned to death by an angry mob in the heart of the Longarden marketplace. Baran, who had been with them, had barely managed to escape in the chaos, running for his life while the furious gazes were fixed on his parents.

Claten spat at him and left the family. Baran still remembered begging him to stay, pleading desperately with the only family he had left. If Claten abandoned him too, the monstrous guilt inside him would devour him whole. So he fell to his knees in the dirt, trembling, crying, begging him not to go.

And what had Claten said back then?

“Go die in a ditch, Baran Taltamio!”

At that moment, Baran truly felt like he was going to die. He became like a lifeless puppet, his days passing in a daze. Meanwhile, his uncle consolidated power and swallowed up Baran’s rightful place in an instant. Like a willow leaf floating on water, Baran was swept away by the tides of fate, drifting aimlessly—until he came face to face with death itself.

And yet, someone had told him not to cry. Someone had asked if he was okay.

Nika.

Baran whispered that name with dry lips.

That was enough.

As long as he had that person—who made his heart race more than blood ties or family ever could—nothing else mattered.

“Baran Taltamio, you bastard!”

Baran opened his eyes.

Claten, who had grown thinner and looked more mature than he did in Baran’s memories, was slamming a desk and shouting right in front of him. He was wearing ragged peasant clothes—something Baran had never imagined he would see on him. His skin was rough and weathered, his fingers thick and calloused from hard labor.

But even in that wretched state, the same piercing blue eyes as Baran’s shone brightly.

“You’re supporting Hilben for the throne? After what happened to our parents? That wasn’t enough for you? You won’t be satisfied until you throw the whole kingdom into the abyss? That damned duke is the worst of the worst among the noble leeches sucking the blood of the people! He hunts refugees for sport in the forest, strangles his own subjects to death over the smallest offenses, and raises taxes in the most insidious ways!”

“I know.”

“You know?”

Claten’s face turned red with fury as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Father always said to put the people first. He drilled that into our heads a thousand times! There’s going to be war soon, Baran! We—we can’t just let ourselves be used as pawns in the nobles’ power struggles! The people are starving right now! They’re dying right this moment!”

“The people you’re talking about aren’t the ones who put me back in my marquis seat.”

Claten flinched as if he had been struck. He ran a trembling hand through his disheveled hair, trying to calm himself.

“The marquis seat? That’s what matters to you?”

“Yeah.”

Baran answered firmly.

“I know all about your so-called movement, stirring up the people with talk of enlightenment and equality. But listen to me, Claten, as your older brother. The duke and the prince will soon crush the rebel factions. And when that happens, you—”

“Don’t talk to me like you care. I don’t have a brother.”

“…….”

“And I sure as hell have never once considered a fucking noble bastard like you as family.”