A pale white hand set down the fork and knife. More than half the meat on the table remained untouched. Leira glanced at the leftover food before moving his jaw again. Despite Edwin’s towering frame—unusually large for his delicate, refined face—his appetite was barely half that of men his size. In the twenty-odd years they’d known each other, Leira had never once seen him finish a plate or express a craving for anything.
Such a picky eater,
Leira thought.
“Leira, eat up.”
Edwin was oddly persistent when it came to his meals. He’d sometimes ignore Leira’s petty sulks over trivial arguments, leaving him be all day until exhaustion forced Leira to cave and eat with him, grumbling. It was hard to tell if it was neglect or obsession, but his stubbornness was unmatched.
Today, Edwin seemed even less interested in food than usual, and Leira’s own appetite waned in response. As he chewed listlessly, Edwin sighed and slid into the seat beside him.
Leira darted a glance at the servants, but they all stared blankly ahead, feigning indifference. The heir to an earl’s family—who only stayed from late spring to summer—acted more like the master of the duke’s household than its youngest son. Sometimes, when the disparity between them struck him, Leira felt inexplicably small.
“Stop eating that. Here.”
Edwin cut off a piece of goose meat, glazed with bright lemon sauce, and offered it to him. Leira had been mindlessly picking at the fresh salad the servants had prepared that morning, but his stomach was full, and the rich meat made him want to refuse. Yet he knew Edwin well enough to suspect the man would shove it down his throat if he protested. So Leira forced himself to chew until he nearly gagged.
After a while, Edwin finally stopped feeding him when Leira whimpered that he couldn’t eat another bite. Edwin set down his fork, his sharp gaze lingering on the gentle swell of Leira’s lower belly beneath his loose shirt. Leira instinctively covered himself with an arm and scooted back, and Edwin averted his eyes.
“Alright. Today… want to go out, Leira?”
“Where?”
“Nenton.”
Nenton—the bustling commercial district an hour’s carriage ride from the capital—was where Edwin’s trading companies were headquartered. Though most called it simply “the Guild.”
Edwin insisted on working from home most of the time, but he made a point of visiting in person to review operations and handle critical matters—supposedly on a regular basis. (Leira had never actually seen him keep to a schedule.) And whenever he went out, he’d casually ask Leira if he wanted to tag along. At first, Leira had taken it as a genuine invitation, cheerfully declining to go gallivanting with friends or trusted servants instead. But after returning to a punishing round of sex—and repeating the cycle—he realized:
This wasn’t a request. It was an order.
“Mmm.”
“That’s not enthusiastic.”
“Yes! I’d love to!”
Leira clapped like a court jester pandering to a tyrant, cursing Edwin under his breath. Petty bastard. Just days ago, he’d snuck off for a ride while Edwin was out on urgent business, only to be bent over in the stables and fucked so hard he’d nearly herniated himself. His horse had snorted in protest at his ragged moans, and Leira had never been so mortified—or terrified—in his life.
Later, Edwin had dragged him by the hips toward the stallion, growling, “Since you love horses so much, how about I fuck you with its cock?” Leira had dropped to his knees, begging in humiliation.
“Good. You should like it. You’ve got a position to uphold… responsibilities.”
Edwin waved the servants over to clear the table, his hand idly stroking Leira’s shoulder. As he said, Leira did have a role in Edwin’s Guild—though it was purely ceremonial. No real authority, no actual ambition, but since no one—not Leira’s family, not Edwin, not even their acquaintances—expected anything from him, Edwin had invented the title “Foreign Cultural Advisor” to soothe Leira’s occasional sulks. It sounded impressive, but in reality, it meant “Show up at trade parties and smile pretty.”
When Edwin had first gifted him the position, Leira had fretted over whether he was qualified, but Edwin’s derisive snort had oddly reassured him. Leira was born to be a layabout.
“They’ve imported some fascinating things from overseas. You’ll like them—they’re your kind of things.”
My kind of things? Leira’s ears perked. He adored small, cute animals, horseback riding, lazy afternoons, elegant art, and exquisite cuisine. The Guild, being the kingdom’s largest, did stock rare curiosities. His mouth fell open as he nodded. “What are they?”
“Hmm… things you’d like. Dolls?”
“I don’t even like dolls…”
Leira rubbed his cheek, flustered by the teasing. Edwin smirked. Originally, he’d planned to include other gifts, but after Leira’s recent urine-based humiliation, he’d decided to stick to things the man genuinely enjoyed. Edwin prided himself on his knack for reading his lover’s moods—by his own standards, at least.
“Then let’s get ready.”
Edwin leaned in suddenly, whispering against his ear, and Leira flinched—thinking he was about to be kissed in front of everyone. But Edwin just smirked and stood. Leira realized a beat too late that he’d been toyed with and slammed his fist on the table, but the villain was already gone.
***
Nenton’s Guild Headquarters
Leira barely contained his excitement as the carriage rolled through the capital’s bustling streets. Edwin’s Guild stood at the heart of the district, its white marble façade gleaming like moonlight even from afar.
Edwin glanced at Leira’s childlike glee and chuckled. So simpleminded. No matter how often he was punished, the fool still lit up at the mention of gifts. Sometimes Edwin wondered if Leira acted this way to manipulate him, but… no. Leira lacked the wit.
The carriage barely stopped before the door flew open.
“Edwin!”
Rowan, Edwin’s longtime secretary and head of staff, stood there, voice trembling with equal parts fury and relief. “How?! After all this time, you finally grace us with your presence?! Get out! Hello, Leira. I begged you to come—I even said I’d visit the estate myself! And you know Leira wouldn’t stop me, he’s far too kind—but no, you threatened to sever my legs if I set foot on your property! Leira, you must know I’d never—! Just get out!”
Rowan’s polite mask slipped as he ranted, his usual professionalism crumbling. Leira flinched at the outburst but managed an awkward smile, nudging Edwin’s back. “You’d better go. Sounds urgent.”
“I’ll drop you off first.”
“Drop me off? It’s my office… Mari will take me. Won’t you, Mari?”
Leira technically had a lavish office—though he’d barely set foot in it. At the mention of Mari, the taciturn woman standing behind Rowan (officially Leira’s secretary, but really Rowan’s shadow) nodded.
Edwin hesitated as Rowan groaned, “Master, please!” before reluctantly handing Leira over to Mari’s care. For a place that employed private soldiers, the Guild’s staff sure were dramatic. Leira watched the two disappear before ambling toward his own domain.
Unlike her chatty superior, Mari said nothing—no greetings, no small talk—just escorted him with mechanical efficiency. She left him with an armful of sweets, exotic trinkets, and illustrated books before vanishing.
Alone at last, Leira let out a silent whoop and flung himself into his chair, punching the air like a prizefighter. Freedom! Even if it was freedom within Edwin’s territory, it was glorious.
Grinning, he propped a leg on the desk and devoured five sickeningly sweet pastries in a row, licking sugar from his fingers before flipping through a picture book—admiring the art, not reading, because Leira’s vanity far outstripped his literacy. He played with bizarre toys: jack-in-the-boxes that sang, nesting dolls that revealed smaller and smaller figures, each layer a new surprise.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
