The next morning Egor woke feeling, for the first time in days, truly rested.
The feather mattress had been so soft it felt as though he had spent the night drifting on a cloud somewhere in a garden that did not belong to this world.
He stretched lazily and sat up.
Klaus was already awake, drinking tea. His shirt hung loosely, half-buttoned, his trousers unlaced, as if he hadn't bothered to dress properly. Two slaves in gray robes moved quietly through the room, setting things in order. They came and went through a door opposite the main entrance — a room Egor hadn't noticed the day before.
"Want some tea?" Klaus asked, biting into a thick slice of toasted bread drenched in butter.
He sounded casual.
But his gaze kept returning to Egor.
Watching.
Measuring.
Was he expecting resentment?
Regret?
Anger?
Egor showed none of it.
As if yesterday had simply… not happened.
Was that reassuring—
or unsettling?
"Yes. And something to eat," Egor mumbled, still half-asleep, swinging his legs off the bed. "What's in there?" he added, nodding toward the other room.
"A bath. One of the few privileges of noble birth — comfort at all times," Klaus replied with a faint smile.
Egor didn't want to think about yesterday.
The memory alone made cold sweat rise on his skin.
But he didn't regret it.
He would never have been able to live with the guilt of ruining Klaus's future just because he had been afraid.
Yes, it had hurt.
Yes, it had humiliated him.
Even now, the sight of a small flame made his body tense instinctively.
But it had been a small price.
The bath turned out to be enormous.
A heated pool that filled almost the entire adjoining chamber.
Water poured steadily from dozens of taps set into the walls, filling the air with steam.
Egor followed Klaus inside.
Two slaves immediately stepped forward to undress the prince, then hesitated, glancing at Egor.
"Leave us," Klaus said. "My slave will attend to me."
The door closed softly behind them.
Egor raised an eyebrow, looking at Klaus's bare back.
"Attend to you?"
"It would be improper for a prince to wash himself," Klaus muttered with a grimace. "At least not in a castle. How else was I supposed to get rid of them?"
He turned.
Egor froze.
He had seen Klaus shirtless before — the lean body, the defined muscles, the quiet strength in his arms.
But never like this.
Completely bare.
Nothing hidden.
The sight knocked the breath from his lungs.
"Well?" Klaus said dryly. "Are you going to bathe, or just stand there?"
Flushing, Egor turned away quickly and pulled off the short crimson robe.
Compared to Klaus, he suddenly felt too thin.
Too ordinary.
And the sight of the prince's body — the simple, undeniable reality of it — stirred an immediate, unwanted reaction.
Heat.
Low.
Sharp.
He stepped into the water quickly, sinking down as deep as he could.
"Need help?" Klaus's voice came from behind him.
"No—I'm fine," Egor said too quickly, reaching for the soap.
"You can take this off now."
Before he could react, Klaus's fingers closed around his wrist.
Egor instinctively pulled back—
but Klaus held him steady.
"Don't move."
He carefully unwrapped the bandage.
Egor glanced down.
The brand no longer looked like a raw burn.
The redness had faded.
The raised lines were clear.
Clean.
Defined.
"It healed fast," Egor murmured.
"Most healing salves are made by earth mages," Klaus said. "They mix a trace of magic into them."
"You take good care of your slaves."
Klaus gave a faint, almost tired smile.
"That ointment isn't used on slaves. I ordered it for you."
Egor lowered his gaze.
"…Thank you."
Klaus released him.
Egor stayed in the water long after Klaus stepped out.
He didn't look at him while he dried himself.
Didn't look when he dressed.
Didn't move—
until the door closed.
Only then did Egor allow himself to breathe.
The images wouldn't leave.
Klaus's body.
The lines of it.
The way he had looked at him.
His body reacted again.
Stronger this time.
Immediate.
Unavoidable.
Egor clenched his teeth.
Tried to ignore it.
Failed.
He sank deeper into the water.
One hand gripping the edge of the pool.
The other—
moving.
Fast.
Desperate.
Trying to get it over with.
It wasn't enough.
Again.
And again—
until the tension finally broke, leaving him shaky and breathless.
He stayed there for a moment.
Eyes closed.
Heart pounding.
Then he grabbed a jug of cold water—
and poured it over himself.
Once.
Twice.
Until the heat faded.
When he finally dressed, he made himself a promise.
Never again.
The rest of the day was spent on what Klaus dismissively called "pointless obligations."
Egor stayed at his side.
His clothing now resembled that of a soldier.
Except for the crest on his chest—
encircled by three rings.
A mark of belonging to Klaus.
And of being his slave.
Six of his uncle's guards accompanied them.
News of Klaus's return had spread quickly.
By morning, people from nearby villages were already gathering at Jiro's fortress.
The reception was held in an open pavilion.
Klaus sat above them all.
Straight-backed.
Distant.
Untouchable.
People approached one by one.
Kneeling.
Offering gifts.
Furs.
Food.
Crafted goods.
"It's hard to believe you truly stand before us!" an old man said, his entire family kneeling beside him. "We were told you had died. That the newborn child would become heir."
"As you can see, rumors are unreliable," Klaus replied coolly. "I was traveling. Inspecting the lands I am meant to inherit."
A pause.
"And learning just how much injustice my father — and those before him — have chosen to ignore."
Egor tensed.
Even he understood how dangerous those words were.
The old man went pale.
"Your Highness, we are simple people, we would never— The king—"
"That will do," Klaus cut him off. "You didn't come here to praise him."
A pause.
"Speak plainly. What do you want?"
The man hesitated.
Glanced at his family.
Then spoke.
Soldiers.
Raids.
Losses.
Fear.
Klaus's expression sharpened.
"My half-brother is currently stationed at the border," he said slowly. "That explains enough."
A pause.
"I will speak with my uncle. Reinforcements will be sent."
Another pause.
"And I will write to Abel personally."
The family collapsed fully to the ground.
Grateful.
Desperate.
Relieved.
Klaus didn't react.
The audience continued for hours.
Most asked for protection.
Klaus granted it carefully.
Only where it strengthened his position.
Especially where border troops were involved.
Egor understood.
Without his own army, Klaus relied on his uncle's forces.
And Abel's presence at the border—
was useful.
By the end, Egor's legs ached from standing.
"I'm starving," Klaus said lightly once they were alone again. "Let's eat. Then I'll need to speak with my uncle."
"No—" Egor blurted, grabbing his sleeve, then quickly letting go. "Can I come with you?"
Klaus's expression softened slightly.
"He wants to speak privately."
A pause.
"I won't be long."
Egor nodded.
As Klaus walked away, Egor caught the looks.
Guards.
Servants.
Others.
Smirks.
Knowing.
Crude.
Everyone thought the same thing.
That the prince's slave shared his bed.
And Egor felt it.
Every glance.
Jiro's study was warm.
Dimly lit.
"Uncle," Klaus said, inclining his head.
Formalities were exchanged.
Then—
the tone shifted.
Jiro watched him carefully.
"You were… bold today."
"I was honest."
"Honesty can be mistaken for rebellion."
"That would not be my problem."
Jiro leaned back.
Studying him.
"Your father does not intend to keep you as heir."
Klaus's gaze sharpened.
"I already am the heir."
"For now."
A pause.
"But if something were to happen to you…"
Klaus's voice cooled.
"Is that a threat?"
"No."
Jiro smiled faintly.
"A proposal."
Silence stretched.
"The king has begun removing highborn families," Jiro continued. "Not openly. Never openly."
Klaus didn't respond.
But he was listening.
"Fires. Illness. Accusations of treason. Convenient evidence. Public executions."
Each word landed heavier than the last.
"You remember them."
Klaus did.
Every case.
Every "coincidence."
"They all had something in common," Jiro said quietly. "Powerful slaves. Exceptional mages."
A pause.
"The king took them."
"That's speculation," Klaus said.
"Is it?"
Jiro leaned forward.
"I have records. Inventories. Names."
A pause.
"And I have seen some of those same mages now serving at court."
Silence.
"If he gathers enough power," Jiro continued, "he will no longer need the highborn at all."
Klaus exhaled slowly.
"And you?"
"I have no desire to hand over what is mine."
Another pause.
"And if I agree to this… alliance?"
"We gather support among the highborn."
"We build an army."
"We move against Ichiro."
"And after?"
"You take the throne."
"Order is restored."
Klaus's gaze didn't soften.
"Order for whom?"
Jiro frowned slightly.
"For those who matter."
Klaus said nothing.
He stood.
"Klaus," Jiro called after him, "there will be a reception tomorrow. Influential guests will attend."
A pause.
"Someone you know will be there."
Klaus didn't reply.
He left.
Walking back toward his chambers, he exhaled slowly.
"How peaceful it was in Pauoka's apartment," he murmured.
And for a brief moment—
he missed it more than he was willing to admit.