The road back to the castle was more lively than when they had left. The soft hum of the knights’ casual chatter and the leisurely rhythm of hooves filled the air in a quiet, comforting way. Their conversations were light and mundane—Vine wondered what they’d be having for dinner and mentioned wanting to drink the same wine as last time. Sir Anka scolded him teasingly, while Rigda was deep in discussion with Mona about how she’d continue her training during their time in the North.
It was all so ordinary, so uneventful—that it felt strangely extraordinary.
Ressas had never experienced anything like this. For him, worries about food and shelter had always been a matter of survival. And once that was no longer a concern, he was constantly being hunted by something. Every breath, every second of existence had been spent trying to keep Seiyad alive. He was always planning, always thinking, always preparing. Then he would despair over his own incompetence and scream in frustration. That had been his every single day. A day like this, where nothing went wrong, felt almost miraculous.
They say life is a constant battle against fear and death—but for Ressas, every battle had been a desperate cry, draining not just his soul, but everything around him. And because it was all so familiar, so normalized, he hadn’t even realized how brutal his life really was.
Which is why this one quiet day felt so foreign, so wondrous. The unease that something might still go terribly wrong, the self-hatred for failing to protect Seiyad, the guilt toward those who had suffered because of him—all of it still lived inside him. But even with all that, the quiet peace of the moment standing before him felt greater.
That feeling only grew more vivid once they reached the castle. The sun was setting behind the towering walls, streaking the sky with hues of crimson. But this time, the red twilight no longer felt ominous—only achingly beautiful. Standing beneath the glow of the fading dusk were the ones who had been waiting for them.
“Oppa! Your Highness!”
Cecilia, who had grown used to guarding the castle in her brother’s absence, waved brightly. Leaving Quilly behind with the cloak, she ran forward, her silver hair fluttering behind her. Her smile was open and childlike, pure and joyful as she welcomed them back.
Gone was the somber figure who had once lingered alone after the others from House Brosius had left. There was no trace of hostility toward Ressas, no resentment toward her brother. Just happiness—radiant and whole.
“Cecil.”
And there he stood, the person Ressas loved more than anything in the world, at the heart of the sunset’s glow. The Grand Duke of Axid dismounted silently, gracefully. With dignified elegance, he opened his arms to greet his approaching sister. Cecilia leapt into his embrace with a bright laugh, and despite his usual cold demeanor, Seiyad welcomed her gently, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Why are you so late? Do you have any idea how worried Quilly and I were? We even thought about sending out a search party—what if you’d wandered too deep into the forest and run into Nir’a?”
“I’m sorry to have worried you. Nothing dangerous happened, so you can rest easy now.”
The knights behind Ressas all paused to watch the affectionate scene between the siblings. Cecilia’s silver hair sparkled like moonlight, and Seiyad’s ash-gray hair shifted in color with the light—both inherited from the Brosius bloodline. Their pale, elegant features made it impossible not to stare.
It was only natural that eyes were drawn to someone as breathtaking as Seiyad. And yet, Ressas felt something grotesque twisting inside him. A vile discomfort that had never existed before—something he hadn’t even had the right to feel. But ever since Seiyad had accepted him, the feeling had started to coil and fester.
He forced a smile, as always, to hide the ugliness within. There was nothing to be gained from exposing such twisted, disgusting jealousy. He deliberately avoided looking at Seiyad’s arms wrapped around Cecilia or at the smile he gave her. If he stared too long, he feared he might lose control and try to lock Seiyad away in his arms—trap him somewhere only he could reach.
That’s when he noticed Vine again, standing there like before, blankly admiring Seiyad.
Just the sight of his Seiyad being looked at like that made something deep inside Ressas snarl and twist. He didn’t even know what he truly wanted—but it felt like his insides were being clawed apart, his guts tied in knots. The impulse surged up again: to shut Seiyad away where no one else could see him. Somewhere only Ressas could reach. Somewhere only he could look.
…But that would only make Seiyad unhappy.
Ressas wanted Seiyad to be loved by everyone. To be happy. He was someone who deserved that. Who had always deserved it. A man who had always given everything of himself should be free to live without constraints, to finally pursue what he wanted. Ressas crushed the monstrous urge, severed the roots of an impossible fantasy, and instead turned to what he could do.
“Vine, didn’t you say you had something to give earlier?”
His voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable authority in it. Called out of his daze, Vine quickly straightened and held out a bundle wrapped in silk with both hands.
“Yes, Your Highness. I remembered that you used to collect candied apples back when you were staying in the capital, so I managed to bring a few from the South before we came down. We couldn’t recover the ones you had stored in the castle—they were buried in the debris.”
Though clearly shy, Vine spoke with care and precision. Ressas looked at the silk-wrapped package, then slowly took it, his gaze drifting up to meet Vine’s—eyes full of loyalty, and a quiet yearning to be acknowledged.
This was a knight who had followed him for years, without a single complaint. And looking at him now, Ressas felt guilt—and something heavier. He didn’t deserve this. Maybe in the original course of things, it had been Seiyad who stood by Vine’s side. Maybe their bond had been the one meant to flourish, before Ressas had stepped in and broken it.
“Thank you. The Grand Duke will be pleased. If there’s anything you want, tell me now. I’ll make sure you get it soon.”
That thought only deepened Ressas’s desire to return everything to where it belonged. He made a mental note to talk with Seiyad properly tomorrow, and offered Vine his sincere gratitude. Vine blinked, surprised—and a little confused—then quietly shook his head.
“I only did what any knight should. It wasn’t some great achievement.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘only.’”
Ressas genuinely believed that every act of kindness required effort. As he thought that, his eyes unconsciously drifted to Vine—only to meet Rigda’s gaze. She was staring at him, looking oddly unsettled, before flinching and quickly lowering her head. It wasn’t just Rigda. Mona and the younger knights around them seemed tense too, their demeanor rigid with unease.
He could tell something was wrong—he’d grown up relying on instinct and reading the room. But when it came to emotions, he was still helplessly naive. He didn’t really understand what people were supposed to feel. His lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came. In the end, he smiled instead—brightly, just as he used to when being scolded or blamed.
“Go on and rest, all of you. Attendants will come to guide you to your quarters. Have a good meal, and sleep well tonight.”
Then it hit him—a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Like the days when, no matter what he did, he couldn’t gain the approval of his father or mother. A sharp, prickling pain like needles under his skin. He felt like something broken, like a person missing the pieces that made them truly human. Without thinking, Ressas turned to look for Seiyad.
His chest tightened in fear, but when he lifted his gaze—there he was. Seiyad was already looking at him. He had set Cecilia down and was striding over, holding out a hand to the still-mounted Ressas. And there he stood—clutching the box Vine had given him like a fool—being looked at as if he were something precious.
“Your Highness, shall we head inside? Everyone is waiting for you.”
In truth, if not for Seiyad, no one would’ve cared whether Ressas was there or not. But Seiyad alone had always been enough. He was the only one Ressas needed. And so, he smiled. Seiyad reached out, steady and sure, helping him down from the horse and guiding him gently to the ground. His eyes briefly scanned the box cradled in Ressas’s arms, then he asked in a mild, offhand tone:
“That’s the box Vine was carrying, isn’t it? What’s in there that has you holding it like a treasure?”
His voice sounded casual, almost dry—but laced within it was unmistakable care. And just like that, Ressas forgot the disgust he’d felt toward himself earlier, answering with an unguarded smile.
“Vine brought candied apples for Eid. You can’t find them in the North during winter, so I thought we’d have to wait until spring. I just… really wanted him to try them.”
Like that winter, long ago—when Seiyad had gladly accepted the only good thing Ressas had to offer. Smiling at the meager gift, gently bowing his head, parting his lips to taste it. A moment still etched into his memory.
As Ressas spoke softly, swept up in the ache of remembrance, Seiyad gave a faint smile, as if he could sense the pain behind his words. Then, in a low, tender voice that made everything feel like it would be okay, he murmured:
“Then why don’t you feed me yourself, Your Highness?”
That soft voice, brushing against his ear, stirred something unbearable in Ressas. A warmth so deep it soaked into his skin, a tightness that caught in his throat. He let out a breathless laugh and began fumbling to unwrap the silk from the box, eager to act on the sudden swell of emotion. But Seiyad’s cool hand gently pressed over his, halting him.
“Sweets before dinner will spoil your appetite, Your Highness. You haven’t eaten properly all day—there’s no need to rush.”
The collision of emotions that had made his chest spin began to settle. He opened his mouth, wanting to offer an excuse to the man who spoke to him so gently, like he would to a child—but before he could say a word, Seiyad spoke again, already understanding.
“We have all the time in the world. There’s no need to rush. We’ve still got plenty of days ahead—enough for a thousand candied apples.”
And just like that, all his earlier anxiety, all the gnawing urgency, melted away. Seiyad had always been this way. Even in the past—when loneliness and rage had consumed him—he had still been gentle.
So naturally, as he always had, Ressas fell in love with him all over again. Like it was his fate to fall for him with every passing minute, every breath.
And like any man in love, Ressas wanted to do anything Seiyad asked of him. The black, clinging emotions that had been festering inside him dissolved. And at last, at peace, he followed Seiyad into the castle.
The two of them disappeared beyond the castle walls, strong and warm against the chill—and the fading light of the sunset followed quietly after them.
