Lately, Mihail had been frequenting his study with unusual regularity—so often it was nearly every day. The primary reason was to avoid Ilya Vasari’s interference. The study, filled with expensive and rare books, was a place no one could enter without its owner Mihail’s permission, making it the perfect refuge from relentless nagging.
Of course, if his only goal had been to escape annoyance, there were plenty of other options besides the study. He could have ridden out to the hunting lodge deep in the woods, or even led troops out as a mercenary to a territory embroiled in war—stretching his body and earning money at the same time. And yet, there was another reason he kept returning to the study day after day.
To catch that insolent, secretive intruder.
Mihail’s prediction that the intruder would return to the study proved perfectly correct. The brown furball slipped back in without fail every two or three days. The bitter scent lingering faintly in the air served as proof of the intruder’s visits.
Perhaps because of the close call when they’d nearly been caught, each visit was carried out with extreme caution and secrecy. Mihail varied his arrival times and made sudden, unannounced visits to the study, yet not once did he manage to encounter the furball again.
The intruder was extraordinarily sensitive and cautious. And yet, at the same time, unbelievably bold. They avoided every ambush Mihail set to catch them—yet still returned unfailingly every two or three days to satisfy their desires.
With the uncanny instincts unique to a Dominant Alpha, Mihail detected the intruder’s presence and traces. The furball always slipped in, curled up in a corner, read an entire book from cover to cover, and only then departed. The books they favored were mostly illustrated volumes—plant encyclopedias, herbal compendiums, animal guides, and the like.
After reading, the intruder returned each book precisely to its original place without leaving a single visible trace—but not enough to completely evade Mihail’s eyes. On their sixth visit, the furball finally left behind a single strand of that rough, dog-fur-like brown hair between the shelves of the bookcase they’d been using. Holding that perfect piece of evidence, Mihail smiled in quiet triumph.
For the first month or so, suddenly barging in to catch the impudent intruder—or tracking down the faint, secretive traces they left behind—was fairly tolerable. No, not merely tolerable. It was quite entertaining. But as time passed, irritation began to build.
“What is it that you’re staring at every day, anyway?”
Ilya asked, curiosity in his eyes. Mihail was lounging crookedly in his chair, staring intently at the strand of brown hair caught between his fingers. Instead of answering, he waved a hand as if to shoo Ilya away. It was far too dismissive a gesture to make toward a close associate—or a childhood friend and sworn brother—but Ilya, long accustomed to Mihail’s foul temperament, merely shrugged once.
Mihail stared at the strand of hair as though it were the brown furball itself, then carefully placed it into a box on his desk. After closing the lid, he walked over to the window.
Castiya Castle was colossal in scale. Between the outer walls encircling the low hills, the outer fortress within those walls, and the inner fortress surrounding the citadel and lavish estate, its size was staggering. The outer fortress housed training grounds and barracks for thousands of private soldiers, as well as living quarters for the laborers who worked in the castle. Inside the inner fortress lay the lord’s ornate gardens and grand residence. Castiya Castle was less a castle than a fortified city.
Because of its immense size, the number of people working in the inner fortress alone was substantial. There were hundreds of servants and maids whose faces and names he didn’t even know. At that very moment, below the window, at least twenty workers were hurrying about, busy with their assigned tasks in the late morning.
In the past, he would’ve dismissed them as nothing more than scenery. But now, it was different. Mihail scrutinized each worker that entered his field of view. Most of them had the all-too-common brown hair. But picking out the brown furball from among them wouldn’t be difficult—because even brown hair varied endlessly in texture and shade.
Once again, the one he sought was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s extremely cautious,”
Mihail muttered, still gazing out the window.
Regularly sneaking into the study meant the intruder undoubtedly lived within the inner fortress. Judging by their clothes, they were probably some sort of menial laborer. No matter how careful they were, if they had assigned duties, they’d inevitably have to move around the castle. Because of that, Mihail frequently scanned his surroundings—and now it had become a habit so ingrained that even a hint of brown entering the edge of his vision made him turn his head, compelled to check whether it was the furball.
“Ilya.”
As if he’d been waiting for it, Ilya stepped up to the window. Mihail carefully surveyed every corner of the scene outside as he spoke.
“Have you ever seen someone working in the inner fortress with rough brown hair, a tiny build, and a face pale as death?”
Ilya raised an eyebrow at the abrupt, contextless question.
“A brown-haired servant? Those are everywhere. Small and pale ones too—not common, but not impossible to find. Why do you ask?”
Intrigued by Mihail’s sudden interest—especially since he normally had zero concern for his underlings—Ilya pressed for more. But instead of answering, Mihail narrowed his eyes and continued as though talking to himself.
“His face is tiny, his skin so pale it’s almost bloodless, and his lips are reddish. His hair’s rough and dry—looks like it’d feel awful to the touch. He’s short and scrawny, ankles so thin they’d snap if you grabbed them wrong, and when he bows his head, you can see every bone in his spine. And his natural scent is extremely unusual—just smelling it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, like strong medicinal herbs.”
Ilya looked at Mihail with an uneasy expression as he listened to the disturbingly detailed description. Mihail, however, kept his gaze fixed outside and continued.
“Judging by how pitiful his clothes are, he’s not a standard servant. Probably some lowly laborer shoved into a corner to do odd jobs. His clothes are so small they leave his ankles exposed—looks like he can’t even afford garments that fit.”
Mihail paused briefly after that. Ilya shot him a baffled look, but Mihail, either unaware or unconcerned, narrowed his eyes again and murmured,
“…Or maybe he wears small clothes on purpose, just to show off those slender ankles.”
Ilya, mouth slightly open in disbelief, finally burst into a hollow laugh. A scruffy brown-haired servant deliberately wearing shabby, ill-fitting clothes to show off his ankles in this cold weather? What nonsense.
But Mihail continued muttering, unfazed.
“Since it’s a scent I’ve never encountered before, it’s not a commonly used herb.”
“Want me to have him found?”
Ilya asked. Even the lowest laborer working in Castiya Castle underwent thorough background checks. There were supervisors in charge of managing the workforce; with a single order, finding someone wouldn’t be difficult. Mihail knew that as well as anyone.
Ilya studied Mihail with suspicion. Mihail parted his lips as though to answer—then shook his head. Slightly furrowing his brow, he scanned the busy workers below and muttered,
“No. I’ll find him myself.”
As he said it, Mihail’s eyes gleamed sharply—filled with the same mix of anticipation, excitement, and impatience he wore when pursuing prey that refused to be easily caught.
“Suit yourself.”
Guess he’s really bored lately. Ilya shrugged inwardly.
“If you’re that restless, why not go hunting? I’ve been cooped up myself, and I’m starting to itch.”
Ilya suggested, rolling his neck from side to side. Alphas were creatures driven by powerful animal instincts; if they didn’t regularly vent their excess energy, it caused all kinds of trouble. Hunting, war, sex—it didn’t matter. It had been quiet for days, so Mihail should’ve been feeling the itch too. But instead of springing up as he usually would, Mihail only continued to obsessively scrutinize the workers passing beneath the window.
You really do see all kinds of things in life. Muttering inwardly, Ilya followed Mihail’s gaze downward. Just as he’d said, workers with brown hair in every conceivable shade were scattered everywhere.
A small face, pale skin, red lips. Rough brown hair. A scrawny body. Shabby clothes. A menial laborer.
At once extremely ordinary—and yet, somehow, not ordinary at all.
Mihail was a master merciless to his servants, but he was exceedingly generous when it came to paying for their labor. Those employed in the castle never had to starve their families, and they could afford clothing appropriate for the season. Moreover, he would never allow his status as Duke of Castiya to be sullied by workers dressed in disgracefully poor attire.
“A scruffy brown-haired laborer dressed so poorly his ankles are exposed… Outside the castle, maybe—but there’s no way someone that pitiful-looking would be working in the inner fortress—”
Murmuring absentmindedly, Ilya suddenly trailed off as a vague image brushed against his thoughts. Somewhere in the dim corner of his memory, he felt like he’d seen someone like that before.
That was…
It hovered just out of reach. Ilya frowned, struggling to grasp the elusive memory. It was rare for something to slip his mind so easily.
After a long moment of strain, Ilya’s furrowed brow finally smoothed.
Ah. That one who came along with Nile Lucius.
He hadn’t looked closely, but he remembered the shabby, miserable appearance. The rough brown mop of hair. The small, skinny frame. A beta, if he recalled correctly—born of Nile’s carrier.
Considering it hadn’t even been that long since he’d seen him, the fact that it took so much effort to remember meant the boy must’ve had a remarkably faint presence. Then again, that made sense. Ilya hadn’t spared him a single thought since the moment they’d first met. He’d completely forgotten the boy even existed. The one Mihail was searching for had to be him—there was no one else in the castle who dressed like that.
“Th—”
Ilya started to speak, intending to reveal the boy’s identity—but then firmly closed his mouth again.
With Mihail’s temperament, he should’ve left Castiya Castle long ago to escape the Emperor’s pressure and Nile’s presence—whether for hunting or war. Ilya had even put a few measures in place to prevent Mihail from being dragged back should he depart suddenly. Yet, surprisingly, Mihail showed no sign of wanting to leave at all. That alone was unexpected.
And now the reason was clear.
Mihail was completely engrossed in hunting down that faint, shabby beta.
This was extremely amusing—and immensely useful.
Watching Mihail obsessively search for the boy would be entertaining enough. More importantly, it would keep Mihail firmly rooted in the castle, and it would provide the perfect pretext to draw Mihail and Nile closer together.
“Well, good luck finding him.”
With a meaningful smile, Ilya patted Mihail on the shoulder.
