The head steward gave no answer to Uriel’s question and simply held out a neatly folded pile of clothes. Uriel accepted them in a daze. It was several sets of thick men’s clothing in dark colours similar to what Uriel was already wearing.
“Why are these…?”
Even at a glance, the fabric and buttons looked expensive. Far too fine for a slave. To Uriel’s question, Head Steward Haynes answered in a flat, even tone.
“His Majesty has given them to you. He said that since you’ll be working in the main palace, you’ll need clothing befitting that.”
Even after hearing that, Uriel’s confusion didn’t clear. It wasn’t as though working in the main palace was anything new. Up until now he had been going around in the worn-out clothes issued to slaves — so the sudden gift of new ones was strange. Among all the others he had encountered until now, there was no one who wore clothes like these.
Uriel’s puzzled expression notwithstanding, the head steward turned away as if there was nothing more to say. Faced with such a clear dismissal, Uriel had no choice but to leave without asking further.
As Uriel was walking back to the quarters after leaving the main palace, someone approached. A large silver figure stepped into his path, and Uriel looked up. The person in silver armour was Alec.
“Hey. Yuri. Heading back to your room already?”
“Hello, Alec.”
“Right. Anyway — what’s with the clothes?”
Alec, who had approached just looking at Uriel’s face, stopped short. His eyes landed on the refined brown shirt Uriel was wearing instead of the faded, worn-looking cream one.
“…and what are you carrying?”
Alec’s blue eyes darkened with concern. A slave was someone who performed labour without any particular compensation — classified as property of the imperial household, which was why.
If a slave came into possession of something new, the most likely explanation — as with cases like using a mid-grade dining establishment — was that they had received it as payment for selling their body. The deep-coloured shirt and trousers Uriel was currently wearing were unmistakably high-quality. The smooth, lustrous fabric spoke for itself, but above all, the detailing at the cuffs and the buttons were in a completely different class from standard issue or ready-made garments.
Even servants and maids who received weekly and monthly wages would likely struggle to buy something like this. It was easy enough to guess what Alec had meant by the question. Uriel shook his head quickly before Alec could misunderstand any further.
“It’s nothing like that. I’ve been assigned to the Emperor’s reception room and library this time around, and the head steward said my clothing wasn’t presentable enough — so he sorted these out for me.”
“Ah….”
Alec looked embarrassed at Uriel’s swift denial and let out an awkward laugh. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and continued.
“Sorry. I know you’re not that kind of person — I just jumped to conclusions for a moment.”
“It’s all right, Alec.”
Uriel smiled thinly at Alec’s words. That kind of person — somehow those words struck him as funny. Perhaps, without realizing it, he had mistaken Alec’s occasional kindness for a sign that they were more alike than they were.
Alec was a noble — someone who couldn’t truly understand the position of Uriel or any other slave. Knowing that, and knowing that not that kind of person was Alec’s way of meaning something good, the words still sat uncomfortably.
A slave’s life was one meal a day, and most of every day spent in labour. Nothing accumulated in their own hands no matter what they did. Living day by day under the eyes of those above them, learning nothing, with no future in sight — that was a slave’s life. How could anyone blame them for selling their body just to eat a little better, to have just a little more?
But these were not words that could be said to Alec, a man who had lived his entire life within a class-bound society.
“The head steward got you nice clothes. I always thought brighter colours would suit you, Yuri — but dark ones like these suit you just as well.”
With his fair skin and vivid golden hair, Uriel suited bright, cheerful colours far more than these dull and dark ones. His pretty, young-looking face only made that more true.
Whether it was just a polite remark or Alec genuinely had unusual taste in these things, Uriel couldn’t say — but he responded with a vague word of thanks. It wasn’t a severe hangover, but Uriel’s complexion must have looked poor enough, because Alec’s face shifted into an expression of concern.
“You don’t look well. Are you feeling unwell?”
“No. I think I’m just a little tired.”
Uriel deflected with a vague excuse about being tired. He couldn’t very well tell Alec the truth — that he had spent last night drinking with the Emperor. And even less so that he had ended up drinking alone, cup after cup, until his memory cut out entirely.
It wasn’t as though he’d done anything wrong, but what ordinary reason would a slave have to be drinking with the Emperor? If he mentioned it, he’d be misunderstood again just like a moment ago, and dealing with that was troublesome enough. He’d end up having to answer all sorts of questions, and that too was more trouble than it was worth — so he left it at a vague excuse.
Fortunately, Alec nodded at Uriel’s words and told him to go rest. Uriel thanked him and went to his room.
He set the clothes the head steward had given him haphazardly on the table and lay down on the bed just like that. Lying still with nothing to do, all sorts of thoughts drifted up on their own.
“He doesn’t seem to want to kill me anymore, unlike before… but does he want something from me?”
Uriel exhaled a quiet sigh. No matter how he thought about it, Avelos didn’t appear to intend killing Uriel. Then again — even from the very beginning, when he’d first abducted Uriel, killing hadn’t seemed to be his intention. And so Uriel had done his best to stay out of everyone’s notice and quietly live out his days as a slave.
After five years of continuous service as a slave belonging to the imperial household, one could become a free person. It had been just over a year since Uriel had been taken by Avelos. That meant fewer than four years remained before Uriel would be free again.
Of course, Avelos hadn’t personally granted that promise — but since Avelos had said nothing to indicate otherwise, Uriel was apparently included among those eligible to become free.
From the moment Uriel had learned of that system, his goal had been simple: live quietly through the rest of his time as a slave, and walk out of the imperial palace as a free person.
Even if imperial slaves were better off than slaves in other circumstances, a slave was still a slave. No matter how hard and hungry it got, the only reason Uriel had been able to hold on was the hope of becoming free in five years.
From things overheard while working for more than a year, Avelos was, in his own way, something close to a wise and benevolent ruler. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t killed Uriel and had kept him alive until now. And being that sort of person — Uriel had quietly begun to hope that after Uriel rightfully left as a free person, Avelos wouldn’t stoop to having him dragged back into slavery again.
The one thing Uriel was worried about, however, was the possibility of that path disappearing altogether. What had initially seemed like Avelos simply making contact to humiliate him had, at some point, begun to shift — little by little. The mockery that used to fill his eyes had given way to something playful, and the light, glancing touches had grown a little more deliberate.
In the original story, Avelos had a destined partner — but things had already been partially altered by Uriel’s presence. Franche was still at Avelos’s side, but it didn’t seem like they were lovers the way they had been in the original. Which meant it was impossible to ignore the possibility that, unlike in the original, Avelos might become fixated on Uriel instead. Wasn’t it not unheard of for hatred to shift into something like love-hate obsession?
That was the one thing Uriel wanted no part of. He had to keep from provoking Avelos as much as possible, exist as quietly as he could, and see out the remaining time.
“…I’ll keep to myself as much as possible.”
To manage that, it was best to draw as little of Avelos’s attention as possible. Uriel murmured the words like a vow to himself.
But that resolution didn’t even last a day. The reason was that Avelos — having transferred Uriel to the main palace — began showing up to see him with startling frequency.
“The clothes suit you.”
“…Yes.”
Uriel answered with a flat, unenthusiastic look. And with good reason — the hand that was complimenting the clothes was grazing across Uriel’s body, brushing over the fabric and lingering there in a way that was difficult to call anything but pawing.
“If I’d known they would suit you this well, I would have given them to you sooner.”
“…Please let go of me. Your Majesty.”
“Anyone watching would think I was doing something improper. I’m simply checking whether the clothes I gave you fit properly — whether anything was made incorrectly, whether there’s anywhere uncomfortable.”
And on top of it all, his expression looked quite serious. If it weren’t for the fingertips brushing repeatedly across Uriel’s chest, even Uriel himself — the one on the receiving end — might almost have been taken in. This is absolutely harassment, isn’t it.
At least he’s handsome enough to pull off that earnest face, Uriel thought with reluctant acknowledgment. If he weren’t, he’d just look like a groping creep.
Setting everything else aside, Uriel found himself thinking that the excuse itself was far too flimsy to be worn with such a straight face to begin with. Clothing of this quality would have been examined by the tailor multiple times over — what could possibly need any further checking? Uriel stared at Avelos, who was still fiddling with the hem of the outfit with a perfectly serious expression, and gave him a look of pure disbelief.
“Have you finished checking?”
“…It seems fine.”
“Then would you please step aside? Your Majesty.”
Uriel, as he usually did, pushed Avelos lightly away to signal his refusal. But Avelos’s body didn’t budge. On any other occasion, he would have stepped back easily and laughed with that teasing smile of his. The change from the usual made Uriel look up at him with a puzzled expression.
