Even after the night the fire had been lit, the creature always came to Mihail’s quarters at dawn and began cleaning. Diligence seemed to be in his nature. He scrubbed furniture he’d wiped down just the day before as though it were something that hadn’t been touched in a month, going over it again and again with meticulous care. When he worked like that, he was so serious he didn’t spare a thought for how far his shirt had ridden up or how low his trousers had slipped, exposing even the cleft of his ass.
It’s a miracle nothing’s happened to him so far, walking around with his body that exposed.
Mihail muttered inwardly, legs crossed and propped on the desk, leaning deep into his chair. Then, the next moment, his brow furrowed.
Had nothing really happened to him until now? There was no guarantee that nothing had occurred when he so casually flashed that pale flesh everywhere he went.
A sudden flare of anger surged up. But before Mihail could rise from his seat and hurl the chair or smash something to pieces, the creature scratched roughly at his dry scalp as if it were itching. He looked exactly like he’d dumped a mangy dog’s fur—unwashed for years—on his head, and the anger that had spiked cooled instantly. No matter how carelessly he exposed his white flesh, how many people would actually feel stirred by the sight of such a scrawny, starving body, like a filthy stray that had lost its way?
As the creature wiped down the furniture one by one from the corner, it was finally Mihail’s desk and chair. Even when the creature cleaned the chair Mihail himself was sitting in, Mihail never once shifted his posture or moved aside. The creature always accepted it without complaint, crouching low and crawling around this way and that to clean.
Leaning far forward to wipe the wide surface of the desk, his upper body tilted deeply. The loose hem of his shirt drooped over the desk, revealing a gaunt, white chest so thin his ribs showed through, and the only spot of color on it—his flushed, reddish nipples—was fully exposed. Anyone would’ve been bothered by how much of their body was on display, but the creature seemed to have no thoughts in that direction whatsoever.
…Or maybe he’s doing it on purpose.
Mihail alternated his gaze between the creature’s face, his chest, and those vividly red nipples, wondering whether he was pretending to be innocent or truly was. While scrubbing diligently, the creature hesitated briefly near the tea and biscuits the butler had left on one side of the desk. He immediately resumed wiping while avoiding them, but Mihail had already noticed the way the eyes buried beneath that rough brown hair had lingered on the biscuits for a moment.
“Hungry, are you?”
At Mihail’s question, the hand holding the rag froze.
Mihail jerked his chin toward the biscuits and asked again.
“You want to eat that?”
Instead of refusing outright, the creature hesitated, his tiny lips twitching. He had to be starving.
“You can eat it.”
Mihail granted permission with a magnanimous heart. It wasn’t as though he ever ate them himself.
“…But how could I dare eat Your Grace’s food….”
The creature murmured in a shrinking voice. It wasn’t a refusal. Mihail curled his lips into a crooked smile, picked up a biscuit, and tossed it at the creature’s feet.
Tuk. The biscuit landed near Chaika’s feet with a soft sound. The creature stared blankly at the biscuit thrown down before him.
“Eat.”
At Mihail’s command, the creature finally crouched down slowly and picked up the biscuit from the floor, bringing it to his mouth.
It was a small biscuit. Without wiping it or brushing it off, he cradled it carefully in both hands and nibbled just the tip. Crack. It broke with a sound, his lips moving as he chewed. Then he nibbled just the edge again, repeating the process—each bite less than half the size of a pinky nail. Even a bird pecking at feed would’ve eaten more in one go.
Normally, Mihail would’ve snapped at him to just shove it in his mouth and chew already, finding the sight unbearable. Yet watching him peck at it like a bird was strangely addictive. The movement of his thin, white throat as he swallowed drew the eye.
In the end, it took him a long while just to finish that one tiny biscuit.
“Thank you.”
The creature bowed his head and reached back toward the rag.
“Have another.”
Mihail tossed another biscuit at the creature’s feet. This time, too, the creature picked it up from the floor without hesitation. Even the hunting dogs Mihail kept would eat large chunks of meat, never food thrown onto the ground. Watching the creature eagerly munch on something dirty that had fallen to the floor without the slightest reluctance made Mihail feel inexplicably foul. Leaning back in his chair, he stared as the butler’s words resurfaced in his mind.
“No one has ever seen him eating in the servants’ dining hall. When I asked the maids assigned to Lord Nile’s quarters, they said they’ve never eaten with Lord Nile either.”
“Then where the hell does he scavenge his food from?”
“The maids said that simple biscuits and tea Lord Nile keeps prepared in case he wakes up hungry at night tend to disappear little by little by morning. Since the creature seems to sleep in Lord Nile’s quarters, we assumed he eats those during the night.”
“Looks like your brother keeps you half-starved.”
Mihail asked abruptly as the creature was nearly done with the biscuit. The creature shook his head quickly.
“No. Lord Nile treats me very well. Lord Nile is the only one who protects me.”
“Lord Nile?”
When Mihail echoed mockingly, the creature shut his mouth.
“People don’t usually call their own brother ‘Lord’ like he’s their master. Did Nile tell you to address him that way?”
“No. It’s just that Lord Nile is an omega, and a noble, and I’m just… a beta….”
The rambling words spilled out without order, and none of the slyness he showed when avoiding Mihail could be found in him now. Mihail wondered whether the creature was deliberately playing the fool before him, stripping himself of even a shred of pride, or if he was genuinely lacking something upstairs.
Well, either way, it wasn’t entirely wrong.
Between alphas and omegas and ordinary humans, there existed a towering wall that couldn’t be crossed. Nile, even as an adopted son, was a member of House Lucius and a precious omega. The creature was nothing more than a scrawny, unsightly beta.
“…Lord Nile… really treats me well.”
The creature repeated it softly, as if emphasizing it. Then, perhaps worried Mihail might sneer again, he hurriedly added,
“You treat me well too, Your Grace.”
“……. I do?”
Mihail echoed back a few beats late, caught off guard. The creature nodded, his brown hair fluttering.
“Yes. You give me important work, you light the fire for me, you give me biscuits, and even when I make mistakes, you don’t hit me….”
He seemed driven by the pressure to list as many things as possible, earnestly naming them one by one. Listening, Mihail’s brow creased at a single word.
“…Hit you?”
At Mihail’s quiet question, the creature’s small shoulders twitched.
“Who hit you? And why?”
“…If you mess up or make mistakes, you sometimes get punished.”
The creature replied in a shrinking voice.
“With what?”
His voice came out calm, but heat surged sharply into his head.
“Usually with a whip….”
The creature answered cautiously.
He’d seen people whipped for their crimes countless times. On the battlefield especially, those who violated military orders were often made examples of through flogging. Whips always left vicious marks. But as far as Mihail had seen, there were no whip scars on the creature’s waist.
“Show me the scars.”
Mihail ordered, his voice stiff. The creature hesitated, unsure what to do.
“Show me.”
The second command carried a trace of anger. Perhaps thinking that anger was directed at him, the creature flinched and began to remove his shirt, his hands trembling slightly.
Undoing the few barely-fastened buttons and tugging the shirt up and off, his upper body—so pale it was almost bloodless—was fully revealed. Narrow shoulders one could wrap a hand around and still have room to spare, a dry, thin body, and a slender waist were exactly as Mihail had glimpsed before whenever the shirt had ridden up.
“Turn around.”
Instead of appraising the body before him, Mihail issued a short command. Having already removed his shirt, the creature obeyed without resistance and turned his back.
Fuck.
The curse nearly slipped out of his mouth.
On the upper part of the waist and the upper back—areas he’d glimpsed before when the shirt rode up while crouching or lifting his arms—there were multiple scars, like the traces of snakes slithering across the skin.
There were many kinds of whips. Some inflicted pain without leaving marks. Some were made of multiple leather strands with knots tied along them, delivering immense pain with each strike. Some tore and split flesh, leaving pain and scars that would never fade. Some were designed simply to kill.
The one used on this creature was the kind that split skin open with a single strike, leaving agony and scars behind. These scars were so deep they would never disappear for the rest of his life.
Creak—.
Mihail lowered the leg he’d had propped on the desk and stood up. At the sound, the creature’s small back flinched. But since Mihail didn’t tell him to turn around, he stayed frozen in place. Mihail reached out and touched the scars etched into that small back. When his fingers made contact, the body jerked, but the creature didn’t try to pull away. He simply held his breath and endured the touch.
The scars hadn’t been made all at once. One strike at a time—sometimes one, sometimes two. Judging by how they’d healed, they’d been inflicted over the course of months, or perhaps years.
“Who did this?”
Mihail asked while looking at the most recent scar, still vividly crimson. It hadn’t healed long ago and was swollen and uneven, looking as though it might burst open if pressed too hard.
“…I was punished because I did something wrong.”
The answer was quiet, but the determination not to say who had done it was unmistakable.
Mihail grabbed the creature by the shoulder and turned him around. Then he seized the small chin—the only clearly visible part of his face—and pulled him close. That rough, dry brown hair covered half his face. With his other hand, Mihail reached out to sweep it aside.
“Your Grace!”
The creature, usually nothing but obedient, found courage from somewhere and grabbed Mihail’s wrist tightly with both hands.
