Elian felt a sharp pinch right above his brow and groaned, the pain pulling him out of his unconsciousness.
"N-no...." he groaned weakly.
He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt weighed down like lead. He tried moving his hands…and realized that he couldn't
Then it hit him.
The scent—faint but unmistakable. Dreamshade. A rare herb the village doctor used to sedate patients.
Without guessing, he knew he was at the infirmary.
Why though?
"Ugh..." Elian gasped as he felt the tight pinch over his brows again.
It felt like he was getting a stitch.
"You're lucky to be alive," a calm voice said coolly, not bothering to hide the disdain in his tone. "Though I cannot say I understand why His Grace chose to keep you that way."
Elian's brows furrowed in confusion.
He didn't know who the speaker was, but he could feel the hatred, just like every other person who hated him in that kingdom.
"You'll heal in a few days," the voice spoke again, followed by the snapping of scissors over Elian's brows.
"I... I don't know why he's keeping me alive, either," Elian managed a whisper, forcing his eyes open, gritting his teeth as pain knitted through his body.
"He should just kill me; I'd like that," he murmured, narrowing his eyes to focus on the man at the foot of the bed.
The man stood at the foot of the bed, clad in a crisp white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, hands steady despite the blood.
His hair was cut neat and short, his skin evidence of his good livelihood.
He looked like a quiet noble—the kind who chose to ignore his lineage to heal.
"He will... not yet," the man spoke, wiping his hands with a clean towel.
Elian blinked slowly, his vision finally steadying.
He was in an infirmary. A clean infirmary.
White, light cottons draped over the open windows; candles were placed above the medical shelves and beside the bed where he was lying.
Again, his eyes landed on the man, who was busy packing up his medical kit.
"Who are you?" Elian asked quietly, stifling a groan as the injury on his foot ached badly.
The splinter had been removed and the wound had been wrapped, but it still hurt so badly.
"Dr. Soren Vaelric," Soren answered, facing Elian without hiding the disdain in his eyes.
His grey eyes were calm, observing, judging.
"I am a noble doctor, not a doctor for traitors. I would be careful if I were you. Your next treatment might not be successful," Soren eyed Elian with contempt and carried his medical kit to one of the tall medical shelves.
"I hear you, doctor. Trust me, it's not by my choice to get injured," Elian said flatly, not in the slightest mood to entertain another hateful nobleman.
Soren was about to say something when the infirmary was opened without permission.
Edgar walked in, followed by another short guard.
"Good evening, Dr. Vaelric. We have come to collect the traitor," Edgar announced.
Elian internally rolled his eyes.
Why did they bother to treat him?
He would very much love a sword embedded through his chest.
"Collect him, then," Soren said without lifting his face from the shelf.
Elian mentally cursed the doctor.
Was that how little he cared about his patients?
"Take him," Edgar commanded the other guard.
Immediately, the guard walked toward Elian's bed.
Elian tried to lift himself off the bed but failed; the Dreamshade was still active inside him, making him a bit drowsy.
"Ahh," he grunted as the guard grabbed his wrist and yanked him up.
"I, I can walk, please," he begged, shutting his eyes tightly to ward off the dizzying feeling.
"Up with you, boy," the guard pulled Elian to his feet without care.
"Damn it!" Elian gasped as his wrapped foot hit the floor with a thud.
He might have imagined it, but in his moment of anguish, he thought he saw Soren looking toward him with a frown on his handsome face.
Not a frown for a traitor... a frown of disagreement at how the "traitor" was treated.
But he might just have imagined it.
Apart from his mother, there was no one in the duchy or kingdom that would take pity on his predicament.
"Move it," the guard commanded.
Elian bit his lip and slowly hopped on one leg toward the door.
He was approaching Edgar when he heard Soren's voice.
"Edgar?" Soren called coolly.
"Yes, Dr. Vaelric," Edgar answered, pulling Elian toward him.
"Do not bring him back here. I do not treat commoners," he instructed.
Edgar threw Elian a glare before nodding at Soren. "I understand, Dr. Vaelric," he said and turned away.
"Out," he muttered to Elian.
Elian glanced at Soren one last time before he hopped out of the infirmary.
He wanted to at least say "thank you" for treating him, but the doctor had already busied himself with grinding some fresh herbs in his mortar.
He sighed and allowed Edgar to lead him away.
They walked out onto a long walkway on another wing of the stone-walled mansion, the moonlight lighting their way as they walked.
Truly, Soren was a noble doctor. Having an infirmary in a wing of the stone-walled mansion was beyond what anyone would wish for.
"Walk, traitor, don't make me hurt you," Edgar warned behind Elian.
Elian said nothing, silently following the short guard toward the Duke's wing.
Elian was yet to understand fully what the Duke wanted with him. Soren had promised him an uncertain recovery if he ever returned to his infirmary, but he knew... he knew the Duke would make sure he died on Soren's patient bed.
They approached the tall oak doors and Elian dragged himself into the grand hall.
"His Grace is in his solar," a guard informed beside the door.
"Ughh," Elian groaned as Edgar gripped his wrist, pulling him toward the stairs.
"I... I can—"
"Quiet," Edgar muttered.
Elian huffed as he hopped up the stairs, glancing at the dining hall as they walked past it.
He was reminded of the small injury on his neck where Lucien had almost cut him open with his blade.
He knew the Duke was a psycho, a dangerous one.
The people might see him as calm, collected, caring, even. But Elian had seen the monster in gloves.
The man who orders the death of innocent men.
The devil.
Time will tell.
In the end, it would be Elian standing over Lucien's dead body, not the other way around.
By the time they reached the front of the solar's door, Elian was covered in sweat, huffing and puffing.
"Your Grace, Elian is here," Edgar spoke in front of the door.
Elian dragged air into his lungs, trying to appear steady before he appeared in front of Lucien again.
He was never going to let the devil see how much this suffering affected him, not even when he looked like dirt and death.
"Come in," came the calm, familiar voice.
Elian's breath shuddered, his nails digging into his palms as Edgar pushed the door in, warm lights casting over their bodies.
The Duke's solar was warm with firelight and lined with quiet luxury—velvet drapes, carved wood, and soft chairs arranged with careful intent. Moonlight filtered through tall windows, catching dust in the air, while the scent of wax and old parchment lingered faintly. It was a room meant for comfort… but nothing in it felt kind.
At least, not for Elian.
Elian swallowed hard under Lucien's gaze, which fell on him the moment he hopped into the room.
He purposefully lowered his head in mock respect, intending to avoid looking into the monster's green eyes.
Lucien stood beside the fireplace, his gloved fingers gently wrapped around a glass of a swirling crimson liquid.
His green eyes locked onto Elian, never blinking.
Slowly, he took in the way Elian was bandaged in patches all over his body.
A small frown marked his face as he saw that the boy still wore his muddy clothes. Dried, but still muddy.
"Leave," Lucien said.
Edgar wasted no time in grabbing Elian's elbow. "You heard him, leave—"
"Leave, Edgar," Lucien repeated, his tone calm and unhurried.
A pause.
Both Elian and Edgar snapped their heads at Lucien.
Why?
Why does he want to be alone with me?To have no witness to my murder?
"Yes, Your Grace," Edgar bowed, released Elian's elbow, and left the solar.
The moment the door shut behind Elian, the faint scent of smoke and sandalwood clung to him—too close, too overwhelming.
Lucien was closing in.
"You didn't die," Lucien murmured, stopping right in front of Elian.
Elian hated how close he was. Hated that he could feel the heat of him.
He gritted his teeth, biting down the sharp retort that almost rose from his lips.
"Yes, Your Grace," he answered, even though he knew Lucien's words needed no reply.
"Not for long, young Morel..." Lucien said lowly, circling Elian slowly.
"You will die only when I permit," Lucien whispered, stopping in front of Elian.
Elian gulped, hating Lucien even more.
He could not keep pretending like he was some obedient fellow, accepting every ill treatment just to prove he's good and innocent.
Lucien hated him anyway; there was no changing that, so why should he keep acting like a coward?
He suddenly lifted his face and locked his eyes with Lucien's dark ones.
For a moment, his bravery almost flew out the window as Lucien held his gaze with those intense, piercing green eyes.
Watching him.
Waiting for him.
Encouraging him to dig his own grave.
Elian clenched his jaw, ignoring the pain shooting through his body.
"My father was innocent. You killed an innocent man. And I will avenge my father," Elian spoke clearly, his eyes flashing with determination.
A swish.
A thud.
A gasp.
Elian had his back pinned against the door in no time, his chest pressed hard by Lucien's arm and a blade against his neck... right on the already cut skin.
"You are one brave lad, young Morel," Lucien seethed, pushing his blade in.
Elian hissed from the pain, his chest rising and falling in fear.
But he didn't back down.
"Kill me now, Duke. Or I'll kill you later," he spat.
Lucien's eyes flashed with something deep and dangerous, his blade cutting deeper, drawing fresh blood.
"As you wish, young Morel," he hissed.
Elian shut his eyes as he felt the blade pushing into his skin, his warm blood soaking into his chest.
Just when he thought the blade would cut him through, someone pushed at the door.
"Argh!" Elian cried out as the sudden push forced his neck harder against Lucien's blade, fresh blood spilling from the reopened cut.
Lucien stilled.
The blade stopped.
A pause.
Then—
"My love? Is everything alright?" a soft voice called from the other side of the door.