Fortunately, it seemed the mercenaries hadn’t lied—this village’s inn was more spacious than expected. But that very abundance of rooms had created a new problem.
“Two rooms?”
Standing beside Adrian, Mikhail furrowed his brow as he questioned him. Up until then, while Adrian was arranging rooms with the innkeeper in the lobby, he hadn’t said a word. Yet now, at the very last moment, he asked for two rooms.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
Adrian’s indifferent gaze calmly observed Mikhail’s face. At Mikhail’s expression, which was laced with discontent, Adrian added,
“You had a rough night because we shared a room, didn’t you?”
“…That was just because I had a nightmare—”
“We’ve still got several days until we reach Harvaizan. You’ll rest better on your own.”
It was a rational argument. Logical, even. But… just as Mikhail was about to speak again—
“Indeed. I agree that using separate rooms would be better for recovering from travel fatigue.”
The innkeeper took Adrian’s side, inserting himself between the two. After all, when it came to countryside inns, all the rooms were more or less the same. And from a business perspective, having each guest rent their own room was far more profitable than sharing.
“Let’s go with that.”
Adrian nodded at the comment and held out his palm.
Clink—a key dropped into Adrian’s hand. As the innkeeper turned to hand the remaining key to the other guest, he suddenly froze in place.
Because, at that very moment, the silver-haired man grabbed his companion’s arm and shouted,
“Liar!”
This wasn’t a decision made just because of travel fatigue.
Mikhail’s crimson eyes shimmered with emotion.
Adrian’s words were nothing more than a convincing façade. As proof, even when faced with Mikhail’s raw fury, he didn’t show the slightest change in expression.
“Liar?”
Adrian’s voice carried a note of irritation beneath its calm surface. He shook off Mikhail’s hand, which had latched onto his arm, and the key in his grasp jingled with a crisp, metallic chime.
The innkeeper, who had been glancing nervously between the two of them, had quietly vanished, leaving Mikhail’s room key on the table. Adrian lowered his head with that same detached expression, murmuring as if addressing a petulant child.
“Mikhail. If you’re curious, just ask properly.”
Are you tired of me? If you prefer being alone, then why are we even traveling together?
That’s what Mikhail wanted to say. But the man before him was a dragon who had lived for centuries. Questions like those felt childish—petty, even—when asked of someone like him. Mikhail bit down on his upper lip.
Adrian spoke up again, filling the silence Mikhail couldn’t.
“There’s no reason for us to be sharing a room.”
“…”
“It’s not like there’s anything between us.”
“What?”
What the hell— Mikhail stared at Adrian, stunned.
Adrian’s expressionless gaze, devoid of any emotion, bored into him—as if he could see straight into Mikhail’s thoughts.
“We’re not lovers. Like you said before.”
“That was…”
That was the word Mikhail had used in the carriage.
Ever since they’d left the capital together and set out for Delbaran, something had felt off about his relationship with Adrian. Mikhail had started to wonder if what he wanted was something completely different from what Adrian wanted. He loved Adrian. Not in the innocent way he had back at the Academy, but in a way that was deeper, darker, far more possessive. A raw, consuming kind of desire that the dragon before him—perhaps—didn’t feel at all.
“Nothing between us? Ever since Basamiel Academy, we’ve never just been friends!”
He hadn’t wanted to admit it aloud when the mercenaries teased them, so he’d denied it. And honestly, he’d never even considered the possibility that Adrian would care about that word.
The image of Adrian’s blank expression—when Mikhail had told him their relationship was nothing like it had been back at the Academy, only to be met with a look that said he didn’t understand at all—flashed through Mikhail’s mind.
After a moment of silence, Mikhail looked down at the room key sitting on the table and muttered,
“Then what do you think we are?”
“What do you mean?”
“What kind of relationship do you think we have?”
Adrian fell silent for a beat at Mikhail’s question. Then he let out a short, humorless laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a dry smirk.
“Do we really have to define it?”
He frowned in irritation, creasing his brow.
Every time they met someone during their travels, the same question would come up—what was their relationship? And every time, brushing it off left him with a bitter taste he couldn’t explain. Why the hell did a question like that piss him off so much? Even his own thoughts spiraled into that annoying kind of introspection, which only added to his frustration. Honestly, things had been easier back at the Academy. Back then, when someone asked, he could easily say we’re just friends.
“We’re not lovers. We’re not family. And we’re not even friends anymore. So for me, there’s no need to put a label on it.”
“We have to,” Mikhail countered, his voice quiet but firm.
Adrian shook his head.
“No, we don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because no matter what, you’re going to follow me anyway.”
“What? What kind of—”
Mikhail stared at him, stunned by the shameless declaration.
“That’s such a messed-up, one-sided relationship.”
“So what? My choice. If you don’t like it, you should’ve been born a dragon.”
“…Wow. That’s seriously the worst thing you’ve ever said.”
Even with Mikhail’s sharp retort, Adrian didn’t blink. He simply shrugged.
The ending of their argument was a bit ridiculous, but in truth, the essence of their feelings was oddly aligned. Both were uncertain about what exactly this was between them—and both were quietly wondering what awaited them at the end of this road.
They stared at each other for a moment. Maybe it was because they’d just realized there was no real need to be so afraid of it— But now, both wore expressions tinged with a hint of embarrassment.
Just then, the Darphung, who had been pawing at a bag near their feet for a while, knocked over the chessboard Adrian had bought. It fell to the inn’s wooden floor with a soft thud.
At the same moment, Mikhail offered a clever proposal—one he knew Adrian wouldn’t be able to resist.
“How about this: whoever wins at chess gets to decide.”
Adrian let out a quiet snort at the idea.
“You must be feeling pretty confident.”
With that, he turned and headed past the lobby toward the floor with the guest rooms.
Huh. Guess that didn’t work, Mikhail thought, a bit sheepish, as he reached down to pick up the bag lying on the floor. But just then, as Adrian strode up the stairs, he turned his head and called back brusquely,
“Aren’t you coming?”
Knew it. Mikhail smiled faintly and followed after him.
Mikhail’s hand, making the opening move, caught Adrian’s attention.
“Hmm.”
Adrian furrowed his brow slightly, his gaze fixed on the pawn between Mikhail’s fingers. Instinctively, hundreds of counter-strategies—some that could checkmate in just a few moves—began to unfold in his mind. The opening move in chess always revealed a piece of your opponent’s thought process. Their habits built up over time, the way they played—it all came through in that first step. From this move, Adrian could already sense Mikhail’s tenacity—how he always clung on until the very end.
What would be the best way to handle this?
Adrian didn’t spend long deliberating.
While he thought, the quiet clack of chess pieces landing on the stiff ivory board echoed through the room. After staring silently at the board for a long time during his turn, Adrian finally spoke.
“I lost.”
To Mikhail’s surprise, the game ended anticlimactically.
Adrian had abruptly forfeited. Naturally, Mikhail’s voice rose in confusion.
“What? Why…? We’ve only moved, like, three pieces each.”
It was far too early to assess either side’s strength or determine a winner. With a bewildered look, Mikhail glanced down at the board between them. Only a few pawns and one knight had moved so far.
“Because in about fourteen turns, I’d lose.”
That’s it? It’s over so I’m leaving? Adrian rose from his seat, already showing zero interest in a finished match.
“Fourteen turns…”
If the loss was still that far off, there could’ve been room to maneuver. Maybe a different move would’ve worked. Mikhail stared at the chess pieces laid out across the board, mulling it over. Winning the bet was nice, sure—but he hadn’t expected to win this easily. It left a sour taste.
As Mikhail sat there with a conflicted expression, Adrian spoke again, pressing him.
“You won, so go to the lobby like you said and switch us to the bigger room.”
“Got it.”
Mikhail replied half-heartedly but didn’t look up from the chessboard. He was trying to piece together how that fourteen-turn outcome would’ve played out—how Adrian had seen the match unfolding from that early point. But no matter how hard he tried, predicting Adrian’s next moves—outside of his own—was an impossible task.
Eventually giving up on his analysis, Mikhail stood and made his way toward the lobby. As he watched the young man’s back disappear down the hall, Adrian allowed himself the faintest of smiles. Just for a moment.
