What Uriel had done to Avelos was undeniably unforgivable. But hadn’t Avelos himself stamped the slave brand on Uriel three times and put a restraint on him to make him a slave?
The thought flickered through Avelos’s mind — perhaps he could simply let it go, without inflicting any more pain he no longer had the heart for.
The moment he became aware of that passing thought, Avelos was struck hard by it himself. Let it go — he could not believe he had thought such a thing.
Just then, golden eyes catching the light and glimmering beautifully came into his line of sight. It might have been those eyes — so different from the bloodshot ones in memories from long ago. They were the eyes that had been turned toward him when all his previous memories had been erased by the drug Uriel had given him.
Eyes that held a hint of sympathy mixed with affection and interest, directed solely at him. How had he been, back then, meeting those eyes? Had he been so helplessly pleased by even that sympathetic gaze that he hadn’t known what to do with himself?
“Avelos.”
The eyes that would curve softly at the corners whenever their gazes met, and that gentle way of speaking. Even with his memories gone, on the nights he couldn’t sleep from an inexplicable dread, he remembered those slender fingers that would come close and stroke his hair gently.
He had assumed that Uriel changing his manner — after tormenting him so savagely — had been a momentary whim. After all, Uriel had tormented him like a madman, and then one day, suddenly, been kind.
So he hadn’t cared about the reason. He had simply wanted to return to Uriel exactly what he himself had suffered.
And yet now, coming to wonder about it only after all this time — recalling how Uriel had been gentle toward him, and thinking of forgiveness over something this small — he found his own mind absurd.
Luios… he had said he was his pleasure slave, hadn’t he? Avelos knew nothing of what had passed between his great-grandfather and Uriel.
In the past, Uriel had done nothing but repeat Luios’s name like a madman or pour out words of resentment toward him — he had never once mentioned what had actually happened between them.
After becoming Emperor, Avelos had searched for records relating to him. But there was nothing left. Whether it had all been erased or not, even knowing the names of former Emperor Luios and Uriel, he could find nothing.
Avelos decided to stop thinking about it. His great-grandfather had died long ago — a person he could not meet even if he tried. And Uriel, too, seemed to have lost part of his memories for some reason, so there was no need to bring it up.
“Even so, the reason I’m keeping you alive is because I haven’t made my decision yet. Whether to kill you in a single blow — or to keep you alive and make you suffer something worse than death.”
“Hnn….”
“Uriel. I am not keeping you alive because you’re pretty. So you had better make yourself agreeable to me. Who knows — if you look appealing enough, perhaps I’ll be so taken with you that I’ll let you live in peace.”
“Ah….”
Even having reached that conclusion, Avelos had spoken with deliberate coldness. He would no longer stamp the slave brand and inflict that kind of pain.
But Avelos had no intention of treating Uriel with care. If he were kind and gave him his trust, Uriel might betray him again. Uriel was someone who could change his manner at any time and turn cruel without warning. He would never be caught off guard like that again. It was Avelos who had to hold the upper hand in their dynamic.
Avelos was angry seeing Uriel, who had recklessly wounded himself. Even if it had been an accident, things were different now — hearing that Uriel had deliberately hurt his own body left Avelos at a loss for words.
“If you want to be wounded that badly, I’ll do it myself.”
Avelos lifted Uriel outright and slung him over his shoulder. At the sudden action, Uriel thrashed against him.
“Y— Your Majesty! P— put me down.”
“Unless you want to fall and break something, stay still.”
Uriel was far smaller and lighter in build — there was no chance of dropping him even if Uriel struggled. But Avelos made the threat anyway. At Avelos’s voice — cold and entirely unlike his usual playful drawl — Uriel stopped struggling.
Avelos gripped Uriel’s body firmly, as though clenching him in his fist. When Avelos came out of the sitting room with a slave slung over his shoulder, those waiting in the corridor sucked in sharp breaths and turned away at once. Passing them as they looked on in shock, the place Avelos headed toward was the dungeon located in the underground of the imperial palace.
Uriel had never imagined there would be a place like this in the magnificent imperial palace. He had first come to know of it on the day the slave brand was stamped onto him.
The moment they entered the staircase leading underground, cold and damp air clung to his skin like something sticky. He had not wanted to grow accustomed to it, but the three previous times had made it familiar.
With every step Avelos took down the stairs, the corridor rang out — thud, thud. At that sound, Uriel, who had been hanging limp like someone half-resigned to his fate, struggled once more.
“Why — why here… I don’t want this.”
“…….”
“Please….”
Avelos subdued Uriel’s resistance with one hand without effort and continued walking as though nothing had happened. The jailer, catching sight of Avelos entering, came forward.
“Your Majesty, what brings you without any prior notice? Ah — it must be time to stamp the slave brand again. R— right this way, please.”
The dungeon jailer seemed genuinely startled by Avelos’s unannounced visit. Then, spotting the golden-haired slave draped over Avelos’s shoulder, he led Avelos inside with practiced ease. Moving deeper in from the entrance, a wide open space came into view, fitted with a furnace and an iron chair.
“Your Majesty, p— please, hand him here. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll handle it myself — just prepare the brand.”
“Yes, yes! I’ll prepare the same one as before.”
The furnace was always kept burning. The jailer placed the iron brand into the furnace. Stamping the brand was not something done so frequently, so time was needed to heat the iron in advance.
Usually, whoever had received Avelos’s orders would come ahead to give notice, so the iron would be heated beforehand. The iron furnace and the iron brand clashed together with a heavy clang.
At the sound, Uriel’s whole body contracted sharply. Every part of him — hands, feet — trembled without stop.
“Leave us.”
Avelos, looking down at Uriel like that, gave the order to the jailer. The jailer withdrew, and Avelos grabbed hold of Uriel’s clothes — still seated in the iron chair — and tore them. The worn upper garment Uriel had on was ripped away in a single motion by the force of that grip.
“I’ll mark it in the same place as before.”
Turn around. Avelos ordered. Uriel only sat there and trembled without moving. Avelos stopped pressing and instead scanned Uriel quietly.
Under that gaze, Uriel looked up at him with desperate eyes. That pain grows easier with repetition — that is a lie. Knowing that pain, the fear only grew larger each time it was repeated.
Avelos took hold of the wooden handle of the brand, now fully heated and glowing red. The brand shimmered with heat as it appeared, rattling.
“Ah… ah….”
The desperate light in those golden eyes filled instead with fear and despair. The memory of what it felt like when that thing pressed down into the soft flesh of his waist came back to him with vivid clarity.
“The pain won’t last long. Your body will recover as though it never happened, as it always does. I will not say this twice. Turn around before I tie you down by force.”
“Why… why… why are you doing this all of a sudden?”
“All of a sudden? Ah. I did briefly consider not stamping the brand anymore — just for a moment. The brand fading is unpleasant, but you are mine regardless, so I had been wondering if there was any point in deliberately causing you injury.”
“…Th— then why….”
Those cool, settled violet eyes landed on Uriel’s left hand. Only under that cold gaze did Uriel finally understand — belatedly.
Uriel was a slave. Avelos’s slave — that was the truth of it, whether Uriel wished it or not. And a slave who had recklessly wounded their own body had displeased Avelos. There was no other reason for him to be this angry.
The words drifted through Uriel’s mind — that Avelos had, if only briefly, considered not stamping the brand anymore. Those words sounded as though they meant: if only you hadn’t wounded your left hand, I would not have stamped it again.
In truth, the reason Uriel had cut his hand — something amounting to self-harm — had been to forget his dread of the brand’s pain that was coming. It was something he would never have done if not for the brand.
He didn’t know if it would work on Avelos, who already seemed furious — but he had to try everything he could. Uriel climbed down from the chair and grabbed hold of Avelos’s trousers.
“…I won’t… I won’t ever do it again.”
“…….”
Avelos said nothing, only looked down at Uriel with quiet, still eyes. At that unreadable response, anxiety gnawed at Uriel. The brand in Avelos’s hand felt as though it could be pressed into his waist at any moment. He didn’t even think to hide the sob that escaped him — he simply clung to Avelos’s leg.
