“Hm.”
Mihail lifted the teacup that still held tea gone lukewarm, as if wondering what exactly he was doing, and slowly tilted it toward the floor at his feet. Tea trickled out of the tipped cup with a trickle, splashing audibly across the floor.
“Oh dear. What a mistake.”
Mihail set the now-empty cup back on the table and looked at the creature. The reddish, chapped lips squirmed as if he were biting down hard on the inside of them, then gradually returned to their original shape.
“Clean it.”
Mihail gave the short command and smiled broadly, baring his teeth. He truly was enjoying himself. Why it was so enjoyable was anyone’s guess.
Normally, once a hunt was over and the prey had effectively surrendered, Mihail’s way was to grant them a merciful death. He had never stooped to torturing or needlessly tormenting his quarry. But this was entirely different. Mihail realized it then—slowly rolling this creature around and playing with him was bringing him an extraordinary amount of pleasure.
The creature obediently dropped to all fours at Mihail’s feet. Using the cloth, he began wiping up the spilled tea. With the creature sprawled directly below him, Mihail had a clear view of his entire body. The top, pulled upward by his posture, and the bottoms, dragged downward, fully exposed his slender, pliant waist. Every time he moved, his hips shifted subtly from side to side or up and down. Mihail crossed his arms and watched, savoring the sight unabashedly.
“I’ve cleaned it all.”
After finishing the floor, the creature hesitantly rose and spoke politely. Mihail glanced over the table to see if there was anything else he could spill, but unfortunately, the tea he’d poured earlier had been the last of it. Come to think of it, sunlight had already begun streaming through the window—the sun was fully up now. Suppressing his regret, Mihail stood.
When he flung the door open, the butler waiting outside bowed his head.
Mihail stepped out, stopped beside him, and said,
“That one.”
At Mihail’s backward jerk of the chin, the butler peered into the room and nodded, clearly understanding who was meant.
“From now on, have him clean my bedroom, office, and study.”
“I will see to it.”
Despite the suddenness of the order, the seasoned butler—long accustomed to Mihail—responded at once. Mihail continued walking with an undisguised smile curling his lips, then abruptly stopped and added one more thing.
“Don’t change his clothes. Leave him as he is.”
***
The previous night’s disturbance reached Count Ilya Vasari only after he’d woken late and finished breakfast. There had been no need to wait for rumors to spread—doves flew to Ilya of their own accord, carrying news of Mihail and Nile.
The younger maids were more than happy to act as messengers, simply for the chance to speak up close with the elegant, aristocratic count. And Ilya rewarded them not only with smiles and thanks, but with appropriate material compensation as well.
“Well now… things are getting interesting—and strangely so.”
After hearing separate accounts of the night’s events from Mihail’s and Nile’s maids, Ilya murmured while stroking his chin.
Mihail pursuing Nile’s younger brother was beneficial in many ways.
First, it kept Mihail from fleeing the castle to avoid Nile. Second, in the process of chasing the boy, Mihail would naturally end up crossing paths with Nile, creating opportunities for closeness.
Ilya’s calculations had mostly proven correct. For a while now, Mihail had been diligently visiting Nile’s quarters of his own accord—so far as to sit down and drink tea with him. He’d even gone so far as to suggest taking walks together.
“That part was fine, but….”
Ilya set his teacup down and stood. A servant helped him dress.
When Ilya, now perfectly groomed in clothes befitting the latest fashions, stepped out of the room, the maids he passed all flushed red and bowed their heads. In terms of looks alone, Mihail surpassed Ilya several times over, but his personality was so abysmal that he wasn’t popular. Ilya, on the other hand, enjoyed the subtle advances of women as he headed toward the office where Mihail was said to be.
When he reached the door, a servant announced him and opened it.
“What brings you to the office so early in the morn—”
Ilya trailed off mid-sentence as he entered, confronted with an unfamiliar scene.
Mihail sat slouched behind the large desk, legs crossed at an angle, with the butler beside him sorting documents—nothing unusual there. But the small-framed servant Mihail was propping his head on his hand to watch was something else entirely.
The servant paused his work to bow his head politely to Ilya, then returned to wiping down furniture. No—could he really be called a servant? His clothes and shoes were so shabby they looked like something scavenged from a roadside beggar, and his hair was dry and wildly unkempt. He looked like a vagrant begging on a battlefield.
“Who’s that?”
Ilya asked as he walked toward Mihail. In truth, he already knew. The full-blooded younger brother Nile had so desperately wanted to keep with him.
Mihail clicked his tongue softly, as though even answering were a bother, and the butler tactfully replied instead.
“He is Lord Nile’s full brother. By His Grace’s order, he will be responsible for cleaning His Grace’s quarters starting today.”
“Ah….”
Ilya responded vaguely, as if he understood—though in truth, the situation made no sense to him at all.
He understood Mihail taking an interest and even chasing the boy for amusement, but once caught, the novelty should’ve worn off quickly. Yet now he had him cleaning his personal quarters.
The butler offered Ilya a seat at a side table and prepared tea. Sitting down, Ilya observed Nile’s younger brother, who was concentrating on his cleaning just as intently as Mihail watched him.
Shhk, shhk, shhk.
With Mihail, Ilya, and the butler all watching, only the sound of diligent scrubbing filled the room. Despite three pairs of eyes fixed on him, Nile’s brother paid them no heed, focusing solely on his work. Ilya couldn’t understand what Mihail found so fascinating about the sight, while he himself found his gaze snagging irritably on the rags the boy wore—nearly glaring at them.
Shhk, shhk, shhk.
Whether it was simply his nature, his hands worked with fervent intensity. As though unwilling to tolerate even a speck of dust, he scrubbed and scrubbed, to the point where one might worry the furniture would wear down. At first, Ilya had stared only because the rags offended his eyes, but before he realized it, he was blankly watching the rhythmic wiping without a single thought.
After finishing one piece of furniture and straightening from his crouch to move to the next, the boy suddenly staggered sideways. Almost simultaneously came the creeeak of a wooden chair scraping the floor. Ilya turned his head toward the sound—only to see Mihail casually adjusting his posture, as if he’d merely shifted the direction in which his legs were crossed.
When Ilya looked back, the boy had already reached the next piece of furniture and resumed wiping it down. Shaken out of his dazed observation by the noise, Ilya rubbed his chin, wondering what exactly he was witnessing, and spoke—not to Mihail, but to the butler.
“If he’s Nile’s full brother, he must at least have a name. What is it?”
At Ilya’s question, Mihail’s gaze flicked briefly to the butler.
“I’ve heard it’s Chaika.”
“Chaika….”
Ilya murmured the name of the rag-clad servant. With nothing visible beyond the small frame, the rags, and the tangled hair, it was hard to judge whether the name suited him at all.
“No matter how much of an errand boy he is, he’s still Nile’s brother—and now he’s cleaning your quarters. Shouldn’t you at least change his clothes?”
Ilya spoke in a tone that made clear how deeply it bothered him. Normally, the butler would’ve taken action at once—but today, he merely hummed thoughtfully and cast a glance toward Mihail. Quick on the uptake, Ilya addressed Mihail directly instead.
“Why not have him change? Even the poorest farmer outside the castle probably dresses better than that.”
Mihail responded only with a faint scoff.
“If you let him walk around dressed like that, won’t it damage your reputation too?”
Ilya tried again, more tactfully. For someone like Ilya, who loved beauty and cleanliness above all else, being forced to see a servant dressed like that every day would be nothing short of torture. Not to mention the matter of Nile’s and Mihail’s dignity.
“He suits it, so I’m leaving him as he is.”
Mihail said with a sneer.
Being told that rags “suited” him would normally be humiliating, but the ragged servant—no, Chaika—did nothing but continue working diligently. Knowing Mihail’s temperament, Ilya merely shrugged and let it go. He could always look elsewhere.
“Well then, I’ll be off.”
Ilya rose from his seat. Mihail gave a brief nod.
Unlike Mihail, Ilya led a fairly busy life. As a vassal of Duke Mihail Castiya, he had no shortage of duties. Though he’d left an exceptionally capable agent to manage his own domain, major matters still required frequent reports and decisions. Of course, he also had to make the rounds visiting the homes of his lovers in the villages outside the castle. Busy, indeed.
Mihail returned the farewell with a dismissive flick of his hand. Before leaving the office, Ilya turned his head and alternated his gaze between Chaika—cleaning in his rags—and Mihail, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him for even a single second. Raising an eyebrow, Ilya then left the room.
