IIAD | Chapter 3.1

Even in a feverish haze, his senses dulled as if seared by fire, Nika clearly heard the door creak open and shut. A shadow loomed beyond the canopy of his bed. His eyelids, heavy as lead, barely lifted. Then, a voice—petulant and scolding—broke through the silence.

“I thought dragonkin didn’t catch colds.”

Nika tried to muster some excuse, but when he opened his mouth, his throat was too parched to form a single sound. He shut it again.

The intruder lingered, waiting for a response that wouldn’t come. Eventually, realizing the issue, he reached for the water pitcher on the bedside table—a minor display of consideration, though all he did was pour water into the tin cup that had already been set there.

“Who would’ve thought that your usually pale face could burn up like a furnace? You always reassure me with that dragonkin nonsense—”

“…Baran.”

As soon as Baran tipped the cup to his lips, the cool liquid scraped down Nika’s raw throat like fire, leaving behind a hoarse, painful sound.

“Your injuries… Are you alright? Did you see a physician?”

“You—lying there like that—and you still ask about me first?” Baran’s face twisted in sheer exasperation. “Do you realize how insufferable that is? Making me feel like an absolute fool?”

His frustration almost sounded like he might burst into tears.

“I’ve already been treated,” he grumbled. “The physician said I’d recover quickly as long as I take my medicine and rest. I’ll have a scar—like I got bitten by a vampire or something—but that might actually look kinda cool.”

A huff.

“So worry about yourself instead. You’ve been burning up all day.”

“A cold?”

“Yeah. A nasty one, apparently.”

“…You must have been worried.”

Nika watched, unable to protest, as Baran threw back the canopy, climbed onto the bed, and burrowed straight under the blankets—curling up right on top of him.

The mattress, already soft, dipped even lower under the combined weight of two grown men.

Every inch of Nika’s body ached like he’d been beaten. Even the slightest movement felt like a bruise spreading beneath his skin. So he stayed still, only lowering his gaze slightly.

Baran, meanwhile, tucked himself against Nika’s chest, hiding completely beneath the covers except for a sliver of red hair spilling over his skin.

Nika could feel the sharp tip of his nose pressing into his stomach, the warmth of his breath fanning across his navel.

It tickled.

Almost unbearably so, like his insides were filled with fluttering wings.

In the dim glow of the fire, with only the sound of rain in the distance, it felt eerily similar to that night—when they had clung to each other in the cave, sharing warmth to keep from freezing.

The weight of another body, pressed so perfectly into his arms, had been enough to steady the storm raging inside him.

Every time Baran’s breath fanned against his skin, Nika had learned peace. And now, that same feeling washed over him—warm, grounding, unbearably tender.

A quiet happiness, so deep it almost ached. But no matter how comforted he felt, it couldn’t stop the cough that suddenly tickled his throat.

He turned away, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, stifling two rough coughs. His throat burned raw, and his tongue tasted faintly of iron. Even moving it against the roof of his mouth felt dry and scratchy.

Baran’s condition had looked so bad that Nika had rushed them back to the castle before the storm had even passed. He had forced his body through the rain and wind without a second thought, the exhaustion from the past few days compounding until he collapsed with fever.

Now, thanks to that reckless decision, he was the one bedridden.

He should have been miserable. But instead, the way Baran wriggled under the blankets, completely entangled with him, was so unbearably endearing that it nearly killed him.

Still, he forced himself to speak in a stern, composed voice.

“You’ll catch it too. Get out.”

“No.”

His voice, usually so confident, was oddly hesitant, muffled by the blanket surrounding them.

“I want to stay with you.”

When Baran started acting like a stubborn child, there was no stopping him.

Nika still couldn’t shake off the worry that Baran might catch his fever, but in the end, he gave up trying to chase him out.

Honestly, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling was mind-numbingly dull. Watching Baran fidget under the blankets was far more entertaining.

He absentmindedly combed his fingers through the messy red hair sprawled over his chest.

Baran’s hair wasn’t as soft as it looked. Strands of deep crimson and lighter red were mixed together, the uneven shades revealing clear traces of frequent dyeing.

Upon closer inspection, his roots were golden.

The red suited him—it matched his sharp, untamed features perfectly. But Nika wanted to see every side of his lover.

“You’re not a natural redhead, are you?”

“Mm.”

A vague hum—neither a confirmation nor a denial.

Baran shrank deeper under the blanket, as if trying to hide his hair.

“…You saw?”

“It looks like your real color is blond.”

“……”

Like a child caught doing something wrong, Baran hesitated before finally peeking out from under the covers.

Looking awkward, he ran his fingers through his tangled hair. Just as Nika had noticed earlier, the strands closest to his scalp—about the length of a fingernail—shimmered with a honey-gold hue.

It was the exact color Nika had always imagined when he looked at Baran’s golden eyelashes.

“I wasn’t trying to tease you, but… I never would have expected someone with such beautiful blond hair to dye it red.”

Baran glanced up at him, looking almost wary.

“In the orphanage, there was a girl with freckles and red hair,” Nika continued. “I never spoke to her, but I remember—her biggest wish was to have golden hair. Every night, I could hear her whispering prayers for it from across the room.”

Baran’s gaze lingered on him.

“…Do you think the same?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you like it? Blond hair… more than red?”

Nika blinked.

That question. That piercing blue stare.

An odd sense of déjà vu washed over him.

Had they had this conversation before?

── .✦

The first tea party Baran attended after coming under the Duke’s wing felt like sitting on a bed of thorns. The obvious reason was that he was the only man among a gathering of chatty noblewomen.

Everything around him was filled with things he disliked—ribbons, frills, artificial perfume scents. To make matters worse, the host, Princess Suri, was busy steering the conversation towards Nika. As expected, the noblewomen followed suit, eager to please her.

“Oh my, Your Highness! I heard you took in that hideous dragonkin knight.”

“You’re truly brave.”

“That dragonkin should be grateful for your kindness. Without a lady to pledge his oath to, he’s just a knight in name only, isn’t he? But thanks to Your Highness, he’s been saved.”

It had already been a big issue when Prince Ansalate, who had once kept a dragonkin as an attendant, announced that he would take him in as a knight. But turning a dragonkin into a true knight was not something the prince could accomplish on his own.

In this kingdom, knighthood was officially recognized only when a knight swore loyalty to a lady, dedicating both body and soul to the ideals of chivalry. It was an unspoken tradition.

For Nika, it was nothing short of a dream. A knight could not simply choose his own lady; he needed her consent. A lady’s prestige was reflected in the reputation and skill of the knights under her name.

No noblewoman was willing to risk tarnishing her name by accepting a lowly half-blood as her knight. But then, Princess Suri, the prince’s half-sister, had stepped forward and declared that she would gladly take Nika under her wing.

Princess Suri elegantly gathered her lush red hair and tossed it over her shoulder with a refined smile.

“As a member of the royal family, it’s only natural to have compassion for the unfortunate.”

“Oh my! You actually refer to a half-blood as one of your subjects?”

“No one has ever treated half-bloods this humanely before. Speaking of which, I heard that Your Highness is soon starting a fundraising campaign for an orphanage for half-blood children. How wonderful! You have my full support.”

“Thank you, madam. Leading the less fortunate onto the right path is…”

The princess’s gaze flickered toward Baran, who looked as if he was moments away from storming out. Though she had done nothing to insult him directly, Baran was clenching his lips so hard they had gone pale, staring at the tablecloth as if he could bore a hole through it. A deep, unbearable sense of powerlessness filled his entire being.

“…the duty of our kingdom’s people, wouldn’t you agree?”

And then, the princess let out a small, satisfied smile.

Everyone knew that Prince Ansalate had taken Nika as a knight purely because he had been impressed by the dragonkin’s extraordinary physical abilities and swordsmanship.

With the growing tensions between the prince and the duke, Princess Suri had clearly chosen to align herself with the prince’s faction. It was obvious—her decision to take Nika as her knight wasn’t out of benevolence but rather a direct order from the prince. And, of course, parading Nika around as a symbol of her kindness was just another clever trick to build her saintly image.

‘Both of them are insufferable. Siblings, indeed.’

“Your Highness, there’s an urgent message from His Highness.”

The doors of the glass greenhouse swung open, and the very person they had all been talking about entered.

It was Nika.

“This is regarding the matter you entrusted to me.”

If it were truly confidential, he would have whispered it into the princess’s ear. The fact that he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear meant that he was making her allegiance clear in front of the noblewomen. Was this the prince’s instruction? Or the princess’s?

Baran’s stiff face relaxed just a little.

On the other hand, Nika’s expression was rigid. He had undoubtedly heard everything they had been saying. A mere pane of glass wouldn’t have been enough to block the keen hearing of a dragonkin.

He had heard it all—their talk about half-bloods, about ‘the less fortunate,’ about leading them on the ‘right path.’

As Nika’s gaze swept across the room, it briefly lingered on Baran before passing by indifferently. It wasn’t surprising. Associating the elegant young marquis sitting before him with the scrawny boy who used to trail behind him every day was a stretch, after all.

Baran’s expression became complicated, a mix of awkwardness, embarrassment, and disappointment.