Their bodies burned with heat wherever they touched. Breathing heavily, Ruth knelt on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, his hips raised as he accepted Ail. Though exhaustion had long overtaken him and even keeping his eyes open felt like a struggle, his body responded with unerring clarity.

Every place Ail’s hands and lips touched grew impossibly hot, sending tremors through Ruth’s body. Ail carefully avoided Ruth’s wounds, his touch gentle, as his lips traced along the line of Ruth’s spine. The sensation of Ail’s breath, saliva, and skin directly on his own was overwhelming.

Ail moved cautiously, mindful not to cause him undue strain. This wasn’t like the rough encounters they’d had before. The restraint in Ail’s movements was unexpected, and it brought a surge of emotions. Overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, tears welled up in Ruth’s eyes.

A certainty began to settle in his heart: he was loved. He could tell simply by how Ail cared for him. It wasn’t just about the gentle touch—it was about the deliberate restraint. No one knew Ail Linus better than Ruth did, and this level of consideration was far from typical for him.

Ail wasn’t someone who knew how to love. He didn’t want, love, or care for anyone but himself. He was cruel, cold, indifferent, and selfish—a man born to be that way. Ruth hadn’t believed that part of him could ever change.

Yet, despite everything, he trusted him. Ail’s confession, his current tenderness, and the genuine look in his eyes the day Ruth left proved it to be true. The pain of his wounds and the weariness of his body melted away, replaced by an unshakable joy deep within his chest.

Ruth had once believed he would inevitably be abandoned. He had thought that Ail’s fixation on him was nothing more than a form of obsession, akin to his father’s—a desire to possess the unattainable. Ruth’s conviction came from years of seeing those cold, unfeeling eyes, even when Ail proposed to him as a child. Back then, there hadn’t been a shred of sincerity in those eyes.

But now, Ail was different. His gaze was genuine, his touch searing.

“Aah—”

A moan escaped Ruth’s lips as Ail thrust deeply inside him. In response, Ail buried his head against the crook of Ruth’s neck, holding himself up with his arms to avoid putting weight on Ruth. He pressed his lips to Ruth’s nape, their breaths mingling.

Turning his gaze, Ruth caught sight of Ail’s shoulder resting over his own. On that shoulder was a scar—a wound Ruth himself had inflicted. It should have healed by now, but it had reopened. The sight of it pained him deeply, filling him with guilt and sorrow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ail whispered, noticing Ruth’s lingering gaze on the scar. His words came with a teasing nip at Ruth’s earlobe, followed by the warm stroke of his tongue. The sensation sent a shiver through Ruth, who couldn’t help but feel aroused by the intimate playfulness of it.

Ail’s touch was gentle but deliberate, full of intensity. Though Ruth had no basis for comparison, having been with no one else, the pleasure he felt from Ail’s touch alone was undeniable.

Ruth treasured Ail deeply—this love, this person, was irreplaceable.

And this moment was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The boldness he displayed, and Ail’s unguarded confession, were the results of extraordinary circumstances. They had narrowly escaped death and found themselves isolated. The danger was far from over, as an attack could come at any moment. People cornered by despair often laid their hearts bare and clung to each other in ways they never had before.

The thought that this might be their last time together only heightened the intensity. If fate were unkind, one or both of them might not survive. And even if they made it out alive, the complexities of reality would await them. This fleeting moment, when they could forget everything and focus solely on each other, was all they had.

It felt like it would be fine to die like this. No, perhaps it might be better to close his eyes at this very moment. At the peak of happiness, with no thoughts, in a world where only the two of them existed—ending his life here seemed preferable.

The moment he returned to reality, Ruth knew he would no longer be able to let go of Ail’s hand. That would mean going back to Karileum, facing the future awaiting him at the imperial palace—a future he feared. Ail would have to marry, and Ruth would be left unable to leave him, forced to witness it all.

Before that pain consumed him, he wanted to disappear from this world with Ail. Into an eternal world just for the two of them…

—

The crackling of burning wood filled the room. Ruth, who had dozed off, woke from his light sleep to a sharp pain brushing against his back. The house was now steeped in darkness, illuminated only by the fire flickering in the hearth. Without any light seeping in from outside, the flames cast the sole glow over the space.

As Ruth wondered how much time had passed, a stinging sensation on his back made him let out a faint groan. His body twitched involuntarily, prompting Ail to speak soothingly.
“I’m disinfecting your wounds.”
“Ah…”

Only then did Ruth remember just how injured he was, letting out a small sigh. Lying face down on the plush rug again, he suddenly found the situation amusing and let out a quiet laugh. Engaging in intimacy in such a state was absurd enough, but having to wrap themselves in bandages afterward instead of basking in the aftermath made it all the more ridiculous.

“What’s so funny?” Ail asked, puzzled by Ruth’s soft laughter.
“Nothing,” Ruth replied simply, letting his body relax.

Lying there, the events of the day felt like a dream. It was as if he’d awakened from a terrible nightmare. Though the aching wounds across his body reminded him it was all real, the peacefulness of this moment dulled his senses.

This village of the dead was eerily calm and serene. Without people, there was no energy—but also no noise, no pain. It was so tranquil that Ruth almost thought they could settle here. Of course, they’d have to clean up the corpses scattered across the village first, which would be no small task…

That thought made Ruth laugh again. Even in the room just beyond the door, bodies were piled high. Yet here they were, undisturbed, engaging in such intimate acts. Their tolerance for such things was truly something.

“What are you laughing about this time?” Ail asked again, seemingly perplexed by Ruth’s incessant chuckling as he disinfected his wounds with strong alcohol. This time, Ruth couldn’t brush it off and decided to answer honestly.
“Just thinking…”
“About what?” Ail pressed, his tone sharp.

Ruth gave in and confessed.
“We were intimate in a house where corpses are piled in the next room, and now we’re disinfecting and bandaging wounds afterward. If anyone saw us, they’d think we killed everyone in this village just to have the place to ourselves.”
“Not entirely wrong,” Ail replied flatly, without a hint of laughter.

Ruth fell silent, realizing the implication behind Ail’s words. The brief quiet that followed was broken when Ail told Ruth to sit up as he prepared the bandages. As Ruth moved, he noticed that his chest had already been treated—cleanly bandaged and well-tended.

“Why were they chasing you?” Ail asked as he wrapped the bandages around Ruth’s shoulders and back. “All I know is that the Red Scorpions were after you.”
“…I don’t know either,” Ruth admitted, his voice trailing off. “It must be something Kasha did…”

Ail paused his movements, sensing the weight of Ruth’s words. It seemed clear that Ruth was thinking of that unsettling man with black hair. Whether it was because of racial disdain or simply because Ruth once loved him, Ail couldn’t say. But he disliked the man. He couldn’t explain why—he just did.

“What kind of man is he?” Ail asked.
“He’s the proprietor of a brothel,” Ruth replied.

“Fits him,” Ail muttered under his breath. When Ruth looked at him quizzically and asked, “Pardon?” Ail quickly corrected his words.

“With his exceptional looks, I expected as much. But what on earth did he do to make the Red Scorpions mobilize such a large force to hunt him down?”
“He didn’t give me details. He just said that there are many people who’d find it problematic if he remained alive…”

Thinking to himself, Serves him right, Ail wisely kept the thought to himself, instead muttering, “Must’ve committed treason or something.” Then, tying the bandage on Ruth’s left shoulder, he secured it with a neat knot.
“All done.”

Ail spoke as he draped a piece of clothing over Ruth’s bare back. The coarse texture made it clear the fabric was far from luxurious. Dressed in a light brown top, Ruth glanced back at him.

Ail, too, remained shirtless, wearing only his trousers. Scars from sharp blades marred his sides, back, and chest, alongside the wound Ruth had inflicted on his right arm.

“Let me tend to your wounds,” Ruth offered.
“No need. They’re not that bad.”
“But I don’t feel okay leaving them.”

As the words left Ruth’s lips, he marveled at the power of language. Perhaps it was because they were in an unfamiliar place, or because their feelings were now clear, but the awkwardness and tension that had lingered between them had vanished. Despite spending four years at Ail’s side, Ruth had never spoken so naturally with him. The past few months had been particularly dreadful. Yet now, they were speaking to each other with ease and care, and Ruth realized just how transformative words could be—how they could soothe and allow emotions to flow peacefully.

Examining Ail’s chest wound, Ruth grabbed a half-empty bottle of alcohol, pouring it onto a dry cloth. He soaked the cloth thoroughly before gently cleaning the wounds. Leaning toward Ail’s chest to clean the congealed blood, a sharp smell of the strong liquor wafted up.

“This really is strong alcohol. Just the smell is enough to make me feel tipsy,” Ruth murmured.

As he tended to Ail’s side wound, Ail looked down at Ruth’s bowed head and murmured in return, “I see.”

Quietly focused, Ruth began disinfecting a wound on Ail’s abdomen. He soaked the cloth again, but as he worked, he accidentally pressed too hard, causing Ail to let out a low groan.
“Ugh!”
“Ah, I’m so sorry!” Ruth quickly apologized, worried he’d aggravated the injury. Ail winced, muttering with a grimace,
“Did the wound open? If it did, I’ll need to cauterize it…”

Panicking, Ruth glanced around for a knife to heat, but before he could act, Ail grabbed his wrist and pulled him down. Ruth tumbled forward, landing against Ail’s chest. Realizing he might hurt Ail further, Ruth hastily propped himself up, supporting his weight with his arms. Ail smirked wryly at his quick reflexes.
“Knights… Always like this.”
“Is the wound okay?” Ruth asked anxiously.
“It’s fine… It’s nothing serious. Just… stay like this for a moment.”

Ail pulled Ruth into an embrace, pressing a kiss to his hair. They both knew this peaceful moment wouldn’t last. Ail wasn’t naïve or optimistic enough to believe everything was over or to wait for reinforcements in calm confidence. They’d survived so far purely by luck. There was no telling what had happened to Kamiel’s group.

The Red Scorpions never abandoned their targets. Even if Kasha was their primary objective, they wouldn’t let Ruth go either.

The truth was bleak: if the rest of their group had been slaughtered, Ruth and Ail likely wouldn’t survive the night. The only sliver of hope lay in the possibility that Kasha, their target, had already been killed, forcing the Red Scorpions to withdraw.

Ail couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud, but deep down, he hoped Kasha was dead. If the root of all this chaos was removed, it might make things easier going forward.

“Your Highness?” Ruth’s soft voice broke the silence. Ail released his hold on Ruth’s shoulders.
“It’s fine,” he said.