PH 7

‘Maybe I was sent to the North to become a stablehand.’

When a horse paws the ground with its front hooves, it means it has some strong demand. Usually, it does that when it’s short on feed or when it’s sick.

Within ten days of working here, Nile had learned that you should approach a horse from the left, that tucking its tail means it’s in pain, and that a horse with its ears laid back might bite you.

“Cleris. What’s wrong?”

The beautiful horse Cleris, said to be His Excellency the Duke’s most cherished mount, was not in good condition today. The beast hadn’t eaten all day and had only drunk a little water before stopping. Phil was gone to the livestock pens—he’d been called to help a cow give birth.

Hmm, Nile stroked his chin. This handsome stallion with a female name, Cleris, was said to be especially cherished by the Duke.

There was no telling when Phil would return. He might not come back until evening. After deliberating, Nile took some carrots and salt and approached Cleris.

“Shh. Cleris. Shhh.”

Making soft sounds, Nile approached Cleris from the left shoulder. Cleris snorted lightly.

“Try this. Hmm?”

Nile looked at the side of Cleris’s eye and carefully reached out his hand. Cleris lowered its head.

“There. Good. Eat this—!”

Cleris, who had been pretending to lick the salt, suddenly reared up on its front legs. With a yelp, Nile fell backward. Looking down at the fallen Nile, Cleris snorted sharply and stamped the ground twice with its front hooves.

“…Whoa, that scared me.”

His heart started pounding belatedly. Lying on the soft straw, Nile tilted his head back and let out a breath.

“Were you trying to kill me, Cleris?”

Of course, there was no murderous intent in a horse. It felt more like swatting away an annoying fly. Lying there, Nile blinked.

“All right. Let’s wait until the old man gets back and—”

Just then, he heard the rustle of dry straw being stepped on. Was Phil back? Nile smiled and tilted his head back. In his inverted vision, a pair of black boots appeared—military boots with iron caps on the toes.

It wasn’t Phil.

‘Who is it?’

This stable was different from the kennels or the livestock pens. As the Duke’s personal stable, it wasn’t a place just anyone could enter. Realizing an unfamiliar person had come, Nile tried to get up—but a long cane was aimed over his body, and he stopped moving. The cane pressed precisely against Nile’s Adam’s apple, leaving him lying there like an overturned frog, unable to move.

“An unfamiliar face. Who are you?”

A voice full of wariness came from the man whose face Nile couldn’t see.

Ah, this isn’t good… Nile raised his eyes to try to see the man, but he was so tall that he couldn’t take him in at a glance—no matter how hard he tried, he could only see up to about chest level.

“Answer.”

“I am—”

Just as he tried to answer as ordered, the cane dug into his throat. The man said:

“I didn’t ask you.”

If not me, then were you asking Cleris? While Nile was pondering whether to voice this absurd thought, Phil’s voice came from behind.

“Your Excellency. He’s the new stablehand sent by the castellan.”

In the brief time Phil had been away at the livestock pens, Nile had fallen to the ground, and the Duke was aiming his iron-tipped cane at him. Flustered by this unexpected scene, Phil rubbed his hands together nervously. The Duke tilted his head slightly.

“I received no such report.”

“It’s true, Your Excellency. I was told so by the castellan and took him over.”

“…”

The Duke’s cane tapped Nile’s Adam’s apple. It was a meaningless motion, like unconsciously tapping the heel of a shoe against the ground.

But for Nile, getting his Adam’s apple hit like that was extremely unpleasant. He turned his head to the side, but it was no use. The Duke’s cane followed Nile and kept tapping his throat.

“Bring him.”

“Sir?”

Finally making up his mind, the Duke gave an order. When Phil, not catching it the first time, asked back, the Duke’s demeanor changed. Even Nile, crumpled on the floor, could feel it. The air in the stable tightened as if a cord were being pulled taut.

“Ah, so you mean the castellan—bring him here right now… yes, sir! Right away!”

After stammering, Phil finally ran off. Hearing him leave the stable, Nile swallowed hard. Then, in the most respectful voice he could manage, he spoke.

“Your Excellency.”

“…”

The Duke did not answer.

“My name is Nile Giles.”

A man who had entered the lord’s private stable. The boldness to attack first before even knowing who the other was. Military boots and a cane. A clear, sharp tone. Nile had recognized the man’s identity even before Phil called him “Your Excellency.” This was the very man he was meant to deal with—the lord of this castle, the Duke.

“I’m… having trouble breathing. Would you mind moving that, if possible?”

The man did not answer. When Nile, testing the waters, carefully reached out to push the cane away, more force pressed down on his throat.

This is actually getting hard to breathe, Nile thought to himself and opened his mouth again.

“Your Excellency. Do you know Gerard of Galen? I came here on his commission. Gerard of Galen. Do you recall him?”

“Galen.”

The Duke murmured.

“Gerard.”

The cane tapped Nile again. A thoughtless rhythm repeated itself. The problem was that the cane’s tip was reinforced with iron, making it quite heavy. Every time he struck, fresh scratches appeared on Nile’s neck.

“So you’re that attendant.”

Finally the Duke asked, and Nile quickly answered yes.

At that, the cane this time aimed under his chin. The Duke moved Nile’s chin left and right with the cane—a motion as careless as turning pages of a book. Or perhaps like prodding the embers of a dying fire.

“Get up.”

When the cane was finally withdrawn, Nile could rise. Grasping his sore throat, Nile slowly got up so as not to provoke the Duke.

Standing face to face with the Duke, Nile felt the pressure bearing down on him. The Duke was already hostile toward him.

Why must I be hated by someone whose face I haven’t even seen yet? Wasn’t it he who needed me and summoned me to this castle?

Nile had been keeping his head down meekly when he heard a short, sharp click of the tongue. At that moment, Nile’s incurable trait flared up—a defiant streak toward those in power. That troublesome temperament that kept him from being accepted into mainstream society, the mental illness his former master had cursed as something not even a dog would touch.

Without permission, Nile raised his head. A slightly audacious gaze traveled up the Duke’s body. The Duke wore a short cloak and a coat embroidered with gold thread. The brooch fastening his chest cord was of blue iolite, with a heart carved in the center.

That was as far as a commoner like Nile, granted a private audience with the Grand Duke, was allowed to look. But impudently, Nile’s eyes rose higher.

“…”

Standing before him was the most beautiful person Nile had ever seen in his life.

Silver-and-blue hair cascaded in loose curves down below his shoulders. When sunlight fell upon it, it gleamed as if scattering shards of gold leaf. He was a man so tall the stable seemed to shrink around him. His shoulders, wrapped in uniform, were proud and broad, and his bearing was steeped in nobility.

There was a power in him that made one instinctively want to kneel. Everything people imagined when they heard the word “great nobleman” was present in this man’s face.

A great noble alpha.

Nile couldn’t help but admire him. The Duke had the sternness of an ancient statue of a judge. It was as if the bluest veins had been torn open and the single darkest drop of blood had been distilled—that was this man.

And those lips. Were they not too red for an alpha’s lips?

Nile stared fixedly at those lips. Gazing at that cherry-red mouth, he unconsciously swallowed. They were truly bewitching lips.

Suddenly, a searing pain lashed across Nile’s cheek. His head snapped to the side. The Duke had punished Nile for daring to stare at a great noble’s face so brazenly—he had struck Nile across the face with his cane.

Oh dear. Nile wiped his split lip and lowered his head. Having been so insolent as to stare at a great noble’s face for so long, he deserved the blow.

“Your Excellency.”

Just then, the castellan appeared. He stood behind the Duke, his hands respectfully clasped in front of him.

“I came at your summons. Do you have any commands?”

“Who is this man?”

“His name is Nile Giles. He carries a letter of introduction from Count Nuveri.”

The castellan added, in a cautious voice:

“Your Excellency, do you recall? There is that man the Count said he would send.”

Nile smiled with his bleeding lip. He genuinely wanted to make a good impression on the Duke. After all, he had accepted the commission, and he had to succeed.

With the castellan’s confirmation, the heavy air that had lain over the stable finally dissipated. The Duke had withdrawn his hostility.

“I will see you again this evening.”

Saying this coldly, the Duke turned his back. The castellan bowed, and Nile raised his head freely to stare at the Duke’s retreating figure.

He had heard it from Gerard, but he never imagined the Duke really did have silver-blue hair.

It was a color more beautiful than he had ever seen even in dreams.