“Ngh.”
A shallow groan slipped out involuntarily at the pain of digging his fingernail into the cut left by the sharp blade. Uriel, who had been letting out those faint sounds at the pain he himself had made, stared down at his reddened fingertip. The worry about the slave brand on his waist no longer came. He felt like he would be alright now.
But even as that night passed, Avelos’s servant never came to find Uriel. Perhaps he was busy. The next day came and went, and still no one came looking for him either.
They say it’s better to get a beating sooner than later. Waiting without any certainty only caused his fear of the slave brand’s pain to grow larger and larger.
There was no way for a slave of the imperial household to possess a blade. Within the imperial palace — at least within the main palace — no one was permitted to carry weapons except those who had received the Emperor’s permission. The only place Uriel could touch a blade was the sitting room he had been assigned to.
In the few days that Avelos had not come for him, Uriel had grown considerably bolder. He would linger near the decorative sword under the guise of cleaning around it, and drag his fingers across the blade.
Being a small decorative sword, it was unsuitable for stabbing anyone — but its edge had been honed sharp all the same. Even a graze was enough to split the skin open easily.
“Ngh.”
Without even pressing hard, just brushing against it was enough to open up the skin without effort. Red blood ran down in a stream through the parted wound. Enough to ease the fear of the slave brand.
The moment the stinging pain hit, every nerve in his body directed itself toward the newly made wound. Thanks to that, the various thoughts that had been tormenting him naturally receded to the back of his mind.
Uriel stared blankly at the blood dripping down, then wrapped his fingertip loosely with the cloth he had prepared. Then he wiped the blade clean, erasing any trace of his blood from it. The sword was fixed firmly in place and couldn’t be removed, so wiping it down was the best he could do.
He caught a glimpse of a faint stain left on the blade. But he couldn’t think of a way to remove it right here and now.
I’ll have to ask Alec next time I see him — what to use to get rid of it. Since he was the only one responsible for this room, no one would notice a small stain on a decorative blade, so it should be fine to deal with it slowly. With an absent expression, he tidied up around him out of habit. Today, too, Avelos had not appeared.
“I’d almost rather he just never showed up again….”
It was his honest feeling. He idly stroked the cloth wrapped around his fingertip.
“That would be quite a shame.”
“…?!”
It had been an empty room — he was certain of it. Uriel spun around at the voice that came from directly behind him. There was Avelos, leaning his back against the door with his arms crossed, standing in a posture that was rather insolent.
He hadn’t heard anyone open the door and come in — so when had he entered? Even accounting for how absorbed he’d been with the wound and the blade, it was startling. Uriel’s golden eyes trembled finely.
He couldn’t have seen it, could he. The thought crossed his mind that Avelos might be angry about having dirtied the decorative sword. Uriel concealed his flustered expression and naturally shifted one step to the side — a reflexive movement to hide the decorative sword and the blood-stained cloth.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Fortunately, Avelos didn’t seem to have noticed the cloth Uriel had moved to cover.
“Pardon? Wh— what do you….”
“Didn’t you just say that? That you’d rather I never showed up again.”
Ah, that. He meant those words. Uriel was afraid of Avelos.
Unlike what happened in the original story, he had treated Avelos’s wounds and sent him away himself — and yet Avelos had relentlessly tracked Uriel down. It hadn’t been some impulsive visit after becoming Emperor. He had been searching for Uriel for years, all the way back to his days as Crown Prince.
Saying he would return everything Uriel had done to him, he had dragged him to the imperial palace and made him a slave — and just as Uriel had done, branded him with the slave brand. Uriel had thought that would only be the beginning.
To truly return what had been done to Uriel, Avelos would need to beat him savagely, starve him, repeatedly damage and then heal parts of his body. And yet, beyond touching and toying with Uriel, Avelos had done nothing of the sort.
From the perspective of Yuri — who had possessed this body — it was undeniably fortunate. And yet, strangely, he was afraid. If Avelos truly meant to repay what had been done to him, surely it wouldn’t end at something like this.
It frightened and unsettled him, the feeling that Avelos wanted something more from him. That hadn’t changed, even now. Saying he’d rather Avelos never showed up again was far too insolent a thing for a slave to say to an emperor.
And yet Avelos did not get angry. He only asked, wearing that sly smile of his.
“No. Your Majesty, how could I possibly dare—”
“Then are you saying I misheard?”
Still smiling, Avelos strode toward Uriel. Being a full head taller, he closed the distance in only a few steps. At the suddenly too-close proximity, Uriel reflexively stepped back two paces.
Thud — the narrow shelf behind him met his back. Avelos stopped about two steps away from Uriel. Uriel couldn’t very well admit to an emperor that he’d said he hoped the emperor wouldn’t show up, but he couldn’t tell the emperor he had misheard either. Uriel simply apologized to put an end to this awkward situation.
“I— I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? Are you saying you’ve been glad I haven’t appeared all this time?”
Avelos asked, still wearing the same pleasant expression. He was in quite a good mood at the moment. Due to shifts in the situation along the border, urgent matters had erupted and he had been unable to come see Uriel for some time. Then, finding a brief window of free time, he had deliberately come to visit the sitting room where Uriel worked.
He hadn’t snuck in either. He simply wasn’t the type to make much noise as he moved. On any other day, Uriel would have heard him coming and turned around easily — but today he seemed to have no idea Avelos had even arrived, absorbed in whatever he was doing.
“I’d almost rather he just never showed up again….”
There had been no subject in the murmur, but it was immediately clear who Uriel was referring to. He had known he was the subject — and yet, strangely, he didn’t feel particularly bad about it. It had sounded, to him, like Uriel had been thinking of him throughout the days Avelos hadn’t been able to come find him.
“No. Your Majesty.”
Avelos looked down at Uriel’s flustered, helpless face with an expression of quiet amusement.
“I’ve been busy. Anyway — what are you hiding behind you?”
“N— nothing. At all.”
“If you hide something that openly, wouldn’t anyone become curious?”
“…….”
Uriel pressed his lower lip tightly between his teeth. He wished Avelos would just lose interest, but today Avelos seemed to have no intention of doing so. The moment he had startled at the sound of Avelos’s voice and spun around, he had reflexively tucked his left hand — the one with the cloth wrapped around it — behind his back.
If he had shown it from the start, it wouldn’t have been a problem at all. Injuring one’s fingers in the course of work was fairly common. Besides, the last time he had cut his fingertip on that same decorative sword, Avelos had shown no interest whatsoever — only glanced at it briefly.
It would certainly have been the same this time, if he had let it show naturally. But he had panicked at Avelos’s sudden voice and hidden his hand behind his back like a child who had done something wrong — and that had been his mistake.
“I’m saying it truly… it’s nothing.”
“Then isn’t that all the more reason you can show me?”
“…….”
“Unless you’ve gone light-fingered and stolen something, like the other lowly ones — what reason is there that you can’t show me?”
Uriel raised his chin indignantly. Avelos wore the expression of someone who couldn’t see what the problem was.
There was no reason treating a slave like a slave should be considered a problem. Even a slave belonging to the imperial household was still a slave. Among them there were occasionally those with sticky fingers, and word sometimes came of slaves caught doing such things being punished by having their wrists cut off.
Being placed in the same category as those slaves by his words, Uriel carefully extended his left hand out from behind his back.
It was a pale, smooth hand, holding nothing. Except for the cloth wrapped around one finger in the manner of a bandage.
“How dull.”
Avelos muttered indifferently. Cutting one’s hands in the course of work was fairly common enough. He had cut himself the last time too, and now he’d done it again. A fleeting thought passed through him — clumsy — but it wasn’t anything for Avelos to concern himself with.
Without any lingering interest, Avelos shifted his gaze away from Uriel’s cloth-wrapped left hand. His gaze fell slowly from there, trailing down Uriel’s nape and waist. Sensing clearly what Avelos was checking for, Uriel shrank into himself.
“How much nicer it is when you’re dressed so neatly.”
