Raiders of Mistworth - Chapter 1 - Hyperionova (2024)

Chapter Text

This is a work of fiction and is an EXO fanfiction. The author does not own character(s) from EXO. Other names, places, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any other resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
The Work is © 2019 Hyperionova. The Work contains graphic depictions of violence, hermaphroditism, and hom*oeroticism. It is intended for adult audiences only.

R A I D E R S O F M I S T W O R T H

H Y P E R I O N O V A

The carriage rocked and quaked as it rode over the potholes in the dirt road approaching North Hollow. Flocks of fowls winged in the morning sky, painting the canvas of blue with the vivid colours of their feathers. The air smelled heavily of cold earth, trees and burning wood. The familiarity was soothing in a way.

North Hollow was home. Not because it was where he was from. But because he had left his heart there when he walked away from the wretched town that had refused to accept him six years ago. Home was where one’s heart was. And Adrian’s was still beating in the very root of the town, in the hands of the one he loved.

Winter Solstice was nigh on them. The birds were flying south. Bears were retreating to their caves. The ground was starting to freeze. The bitter wind carried the songs of misery. Howbeit, it was the time of the year men went home to their families, to their loved ones. It had been six years since he had gone home.

Six years of longing and yearning. Six years of torment and hell. Six years of flourishment and growth.

A smile crept onto his bearded face when he peered out the window of the carriage. He could already hear the cacophony of the town. Children giggling, pedlars haggling, men and women singing for an early end of winter.

Adrian looked down at the creases on his shirt and smoothened them out before running his hands through his shortly cropped dark hair. For a man who had seen numerous battles and masses of murders, his heart sure was racing miles for a breath.

The war on the borders had left little effects on the rest of the realm. Those who had not faced the cold deaths and harsh conditions of the war, that went on for over seven years on the borders, had stuck close to their fireplaces for warmth and comfort while countless soldiers died in name of their Queen. A stalemate had brought an end to the savagery recently. Men were now allowed to return home.

Adrian was glad that he was just in time for Winter Solstice. Brutal winter aside, it was a time for festivities. A time for momentarily bidding forlornness goodbye.

As the carriage jerked to a stop, he braced himself against the seat and heaved a deep breath. He should have trimmed the beard, he thought, rubbing his jaw. Well, he had before he left The Capital. But the two weeks on the road had grown it back.

When the carriage door was prised open, Adrian stepped out and looked at the driver. Sand was sticking to the sweat on his bald head.

“We’re here,” he said, jerking his chin toward the outskirts of the town. With his heart in his mouth, Adrian glanced ahead at the tall arch at the entrance of the town. The sign on it read, ‘North Hollow’. It was the same sign he had peered at despondently when he left the small, backward town.

“Thank you,” he then told the carriage driver and handed him the fare for the ride. Flashing a toothy grin, the driver proceeded to unbuckle the two trunks of belongings Adrian owned. “I got them,” Adrian said when the shivering old man struggled to grab the bulky trunks.

Lifting the trunks from the carriage, Adrian settled them on the ground before he tightened the laces of his overcoat.

“Soldier, you said?” said the carriage driver, mustering Adrian’s great height and build. “Returning home?”

Adrian smiled at the older, smaller man. “Yes,” he let out.

“To your family?”

“The only one I have.” His heart fluttered even as he said it. Because it was the undebatable truth.

“Good day, then,” the driver bade him and bowed his head before he climbed up onto his seat again.

Picking up his belongings, Adrian turned toward the town. Ten years ago, if someone had told him that he would one day long to return to this goddamn town, he would have sliced their throat. But here he was, unable to wait any longer, yet at the same time, unable to move any faster. When he had left North Hollow six years ago, he had walked away with nothing but with the clothes he was wearing and a shiv in his boot. Not a penny in his pocket, not a morsel of bread in his hand. He had not even taken his heart with him.

Today, he was returning to North Hollow as a man with a title to his name, valuable experiences to his character, and legions of qualities to his identity. He was somebody now. He was returning as a somebody as he had promised.

He stood under the wooden arch outside the town for a long moment, eyes surveying the small houses and cottages before him. Children chased each other around with wooden swords while their fathers chopped wood for their fire and their mothers yelled at them to be careful running on the frozen ground.

All eyes turned to him when he strolled past the houses, huffing palls of clouds out of his mouth. The townspeople looked at him like he was a bull that had barged into a store. Adrian doubted that any of them recognized him.

He gazed ahead at the orphanage he had grown up in. It still looked like it was haunted and bedevilled. An onrush of dreadful memories came back to him then.

“Who’s that?” he heard someone whisper.

“Probably some traveller,” said another.

He was not sure he recognized them. Well, it had been six years after all. And even though not much had changed with the town itself, he was certain the people would have.

That made him a little anxious.

He soon found himself at the Needy Duck Inn. When he sauntered into the only inn in North Hollow, wind howling through the door he shoved open, heads turned at once. The inn was the same as it had been. Adrian suddenly recalled all those nights he had snuck into the inn for a drink or four when he was young and reckless. Some nights, he would even catch the eye of some dishy boys, and later, they’d sneak out to the back of the inn for a quick nooky. All that excitement used to give him a rush like no other.

He supposed after having seen the luxurious taverns across The Capital and tasted few of the richest wines and meads in the realm, the Needy Duck and its cheap ale and the handful of wide-eyed, inexperienced striplings that frequented did not seem all that exciting.

“Can I help you?” asked the innkeeper, Georg, from behind the counter. Adrian recognized the man instantly and his lips curled into a smirk. Oh, the number of times Georg had booted him out of the inn when he showed up without any coins for a drink…

Street Rat had been Georg’s pet name for Adrian.

Putting the trunks down, Adrian fished out a few coins from his fat pouch. Georg eyed the pouch and the coins with stars in his eyes as his mouth immediately stretched into a grin.

“Welcome to the Needy Duck,” he said in a friendlier tone. “What can I get you?”

“A room,” said Adrian, wondering what the man would do if he knew that Adrian was the Street Rat who had stolen far too many bottles of ale that he had sold at the inn.

“Of course. The biggest one we have?”

Adrian nodded his head. “Sure.”

“And for how many days?”

“For the week,” he said. Or at least until he had found a house to purchase in the town.

Once he had paid the price, he was led to his room. It was decent. It was certainly better than the barracks he had spent most of the past six years in when he was not forced to be at some encampment near the borders. But that was not to say that he had not been to few of the finer establishments in The Capital. He had accompanied some of the soldiers to several high-toned, spiffy taverns and bordellos that were usually afforded to the rich. But since they were soldiers, they were welcome anywhere and the women were more than delighted to pleasure the men that were risking their lives for their Queen and realm.

He settled the trunks at the foot of the bed before wandering to the basin of water and started unlacing his overcoat. Shrugging out of it, he peeled his shirt off and paused for a moment to consider the dried scars on his chest and abdomen. He had not kept count of any of them since he was ten years old.

But someone else did.

He remembered slender, soft fingers running along those young scars, as though they were plucking the strings of a lute to play a gentle, sad melody.

Cupping some water from the basin, he splashed it on his face, laving the dirt and muck of travelling on the road for a fortnight off of it.

He picked up the razor lying next to the basin and gave his beard a quick trim before he retreated to the bed. Plumping on the edge of it, he unlocked the padlock on one of his trunks and pulled it open.

Withdrawing a clean shirt, he paused to look at the tiny bird carved out of wood. He picked it up and inspected it for a moment, swiping his thumb over the faint scratches on the wing of the bird that was the size of a pebble. He still remembered when it was given to him. He relived the ache in his heart he had first felt when the wooden carving was pressed into his hand. He had thought that his heart could burst from happiness.

He wanted to run over to the biggest house in North Hollow right this instant and ask for the love of his life to marry him at long last. But he knew he had waited six years. He could wait a little longer for the right time.

Just in a few hours, it would be Winter Solstice.

Closing his hand around the wooden songbird, he fell back on the bed and held the carving to his chest, draping his other arm over his forehead. He then stared into the ceiling of the room with a small smile playing on his lips as he cast his mind back to the day in the market that had changed the rest of his life.

Fourteen years ago…

His lungs were running out of breath as sweat rapidly soaked the one shirt he owned. When he glanced back, the merchant and the other two men were still chasing him.

“Whoa! Duck!” he yapped at the man at the front. With a shriek, the man dropped to a crouch, and Adrian galloped over him and almost stumbled as he picked up his pace again.

People thronging the market screamed and gasped, scurrying out of the way when they saw Adrian racing through it, knocking over a few people.

“Stop him!” the merchant cried from behind him. “Thief! Stop that scoundrel!”

No one tried to stop him, though. The townspeople knew better than to get involved in a crime. Even a petty one. No one wanted to get in harm’s way. That was how things worked in North Hollow. Turn a blind eye to everything that had nothing to do with you.

That was how Adrian grew up. No one had anything to do with him. So, the sixteen years he had been alive had been full of people turning a blind eye to him because he was a nobody.

An orphaned boy that did not have many prospects for a better life in a f*cking town like North Hollow.

The summer sun scorched the ground he ran on, dodging every obstacle on his path. The market area was always bustling in this hour of the day. Perhaps it was not the smartest of decisions to loot a leather merchant’s strongbox in broad daylight.

But Adrian was tired of stealing stale breads and rotten fruits to fill his belly. He was hungry for a proper meal at the inn. And for that, he needed some coins.

He turned his head halfway around to look at the men, who were much closer to him now. Cursing under his breath, he desperately sought an escape route. There was none.

His gaze then darted to the family standing by the vegetable stalls. The mother looked alarmed as she held her two children back. While one of them looked like she might be around Adrian’s age, the other was a small boy, trembling behind his mother, a small hand gripping her skirt as he peeped over it to look at Adrian and the men chasing him with wide, terrified eyes. He must be around ten years old. It was not much later when Adrian found out that the boy was, in fact, eleven.

But he was tiny and weak. Defenceless.

Perfect.

Adrian vaulted toward the woman, and she screamed, he grabbed the little boy’s arm and yanked him away from his mother.

Much to Adrian’s surprise, the boy did not break out crying or tussle as Adrian seized him and brought a shiv to the little boy’s neck.

The merchant and the others came to an abrupt halt upon noticing the shiv pressed against the boy’s neck. The boy stood still as Adrian gripped his shirt at the front.

“Come any closer and I will slice him open like a horsemeat!” Adrian warned the men that were after him.

“Please!” the little boy’s mother cried, dropping to her knees. “Jongin! Oh, please. Let him go. Let him go!”

“Don’t harm the boy,” said the merchant, looking more annoyed than threatened.

Adrian was not planning on harming the boy. But the others did not need to know that.

“Then you don’t want to come any closer, do you?” he said, smirking. Exhibition of confidence always threw his opponents off, and it had been one of his greatest strengths, especially in such situations. Just at the age of sixteen, he was proud that he had already mastered the art of thievery. He still needed to work on his getaway skills, though. Most of the time, he was not caught. By some rotten luck, the merchant had noticed that one of his sapphire rings were missing before Adrian could flee the scene.

The boy began to whimper weakly as Adrian’s arm tightened around his neck from behind. He brought a small hand to the arm choking him and clung to it lightly, as though to tell Adrian that he was hurting him.

Adrian did not care. He needed to get out of here. Sure, the Reeve’s guards would come looking for him later. If they managed to catch him—they rarely did—he’d be thrown into the North Hollow Bridewell for a couple of weeks. And that meant free meals. Crappy meals. But free.

For now, he wanted to get out of here so that he could have one decent meal before he’d be arrested again.

“No,” he heard the boy sob out a whisper when he began to retreat, dragging the boy with him.

“Please, let him go,” the boy’s mother pleaded on her knees and with tears streaking down her cheeks.

“I will,” said Adrian. “As soon as you lot turn around and leave me alone.” He jerked his head at the merchant and his men, scowling.

The merchant held his hands up. “All right. Let the boy go. You can… keep what you stole.”

“Go,” Adrian snarled.

After glowering menacingly at him for a while, the merchant said, “When I get my hands on you next time, I am wringing your neck like a chicken, boy.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strutted away. Adrian looked at the people in the market, who were staring daggers at him, pinning him with disdainful glares. Those filthy looks no longer bothered him. Ever since he was kicked out of the orphanage two years ago, he had always been treated just the way a stray mongrel was treated in this town. He was a waif that fought for scraps and slops. He had gotten used to it. He supposed he was no better than a stray dog. He did not even have a last name.

“Stop squirming,” he growled at the boy, who immediately went still. He then started crying quietly. Tears rolled off his cheeks and fell on Adrian’s arms as he drew the boy away.

His mother continued to weep, but in fear of her son’s safety, she did not pursue them.

Stumbling out of the market, Adrian released the boy and grabbed his skinny, little arm instead. He then tugged at it, hauling him toward the alley.

“Walk faster!” he yelled at the boy when the latter tripped over rocks a few times and struggled to keep up with Adrian’s long and hurried strides. The boy obeyed at once, trying to walk as fast as he could with the little legs he had.

When he was sure they were far enough from the marketplace, Adrian hastily let go of the boy’s arm and retrieved the sapphire ring from his pocket. It glimmered viciously under the searing sun. He smiled at it. It would score him at least ten good meals.

He looked away from the ring when he heard a sniffle. The boy was wiping his cheeks, crying softly. He made himself look smaller than he was, hugging his arms around his body. Adrian scowled at him.

“You know where your house is?” he asked the boy harshly.

The boy raised his head all the way up to look at Adrian. He then slowly nodded.

“Go home, then,” Adrian spat and turned his back to the boy before he started to walk away, grinning at the ring in his hand.

“Doggies,” the boy breathed out shakily, as if someone was holding a knife to his heart. Adrian stopped and looked back at him with an arched eyebrow. The boy had tears in his eyes as he pointed a small finger to the sleeping strays in the alley.

“They won’t do anything,” Adrian told him. “So long you don’t do anything to them.”

The boy did not seem convinced as he continued to shake in his shoes, his knees palpably wobbly.

As much as Adrian wanted to walk away and leave the boy there, he saw how scared the boy was. He had not even been that terrified when a petty thief had a shiv pressed to his neck. But he must be so afraid of dogs that he looked like he might tremble to death right there and then.

Huffing with exasperation, Adrian marched over to one of the dogs and dropped to a crouch. “Here, look. They won’t bite.” He brought a hand to the sleeping dog’s head and gave it a rub. The dog cracked its eyes open lazily and let out a few appreciative whines as Adrian scratched his head. “See?”

He glanced back at the boy and found the latter to be gawking at him, awestruck and in a trance. He looked at Adrian as if he had seen a hero.

Rising back to his full height, Adrian said, “Go home now. Or go back to your mother at the market. Just leave.”

No longer crying, the boy said, “Why did you… steal? Stealing is… bad.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper, and he did not meet Adrian’s eyes as he spoke.

Adrian mustered him for a while. The boy was short, and even though he was all skin-and-bones, he had puffy cheeks that looked like a set of buns. His lips were pink and plump, and they looked slightly swollen from all the crying. He had a thick mass of dark hair planted on his head. It was the same colour as his eyes. Like most boys his age in North Hollow, he was clad in decent clothing. Adrian had never owned anything half as decent. All of his clothes were the ones that were thrown out because they were no longer needed by others. When he was a child, he used to look at the boys who had nice shirts, boots, and wooden swords with green-eyed bitterness. Now that he was older, he envied men who lived in houses, had families and did not starve for even a single meal.

He cursed out loud, and the boy’s eyes bulged in shock. “I am not making conversation with you! I said go home!”

The boy sucked on his lower lip for a moment, dropping his head. “You are a bad boy,” he declared quietly. “Stealing is bad.”

Adrian blinked. Was this kid serious? He drew his shiv and pointed it at the boy. “So is starving to death. What’s your name?”

“Jongin,” the boy muttered shyly.

“Look here, Jongin. If you don’t get out of my hair right this instant, I will have the dogs maul you until not even your mother could recognize you.”

That did it. The boy looked at Adrian in horror and believed the threat completely. He slowly turned around, holding his hands together at his chest and started to walk out of the alley with small and cautious steps, keeping his eyes on the strays. He flinched and gasped every time a dog would stir.

With a big sigh, Adrian slumped back against a wall and closed his eyes for a moment. His shoulders were sore. It had indeed been a long day.

He then unconsciously hoped that the boy got back home safe.

* * *

“Twenty coins,” said the other man, lowering his loupes after he had examined the glinting sapphire on the silver ring.

Adrian pulled a face. “Oh, come on, Roach,” he groaned. “That’s worth at least a fifty.”

“Business has been tough lately, Adrian,” grumbled Roach as he moved away from the table to fetch the pouch of coins. “People are wary of transactions in the dark market these days. It’s hard to make a profit. So, twenty is all I can do. Take it or leave it.”

Adrian slammed his head against the table and let it rest there for a stretch. Of course, he had to take it. He did not know anyone but Roach in the town he could take his business to.

“Fine,” Roach then sighed. “Since it’s you, I’ll raise it to twenty-five.”

Adrian lifted his head and frowned. “All right. If that’s the best you can do.”

Roach beamed, showcasing all of his yellowed teeth, and slid the pouch across the table. Adrian pocketed it at once. “You ought to be more careful. I heard about what happened at the market today.”

Adrian leaned back in the wooden chair and shrugged. “Collateral damage.”

“The Reeve’s guards will be looking for you. So, I suggest you keep your head low for a few days.”

“I’ll be fine, Roach. I always am.” He rose from the chair. He paused. “Any news on what I asked for?”

Roach pursed his lips and shook his head. “I haven’t found any work for you. Not a lot of people will be queuing up to hire a boy of your… background.”

Adrian tried not to take that personally. And he did see where Roach was coming from. It was why he could never get a proper job.

“Well,” Adrian muttered, lowering his head. “let me know if you find something.”

“Sure thing, kid.” Roach was one of the handful of people in North Hollow who did not want Adrian gone. But that was mostly because he needed Adrian’s occasional contribution to his illegal trade. Nevertheless, Adrian was grateful that he had at least Roach to turn to for help. Roach was also a disdained man in North Hollow. He was spurned for his illicit practices the Reeve had prohibited in the town. But Roach was a smart man. He knew how to cover his tracks well so that his business was out of the Reeve’s reach. He was no thief, but he was certainly a dishonest, disreputable and scheming no-good to everyone in the town.

When Adrian first came to him with a couple of stolen silver forks, Roach had told him that he had a good eye for valuable trinkets and that he would be happy to buy more from Adrian if he returned with better goods. Adrian was fourteen then.

“Right,” Adrian turned and started for the door when Roach stopped him.

“Hold on. There might actually be something,” the older man said. He beckoned Adrian to come closer, as though the walls could hear them. “Heard a bit of canard recently when I went down south for business. There’s been rumours flying around about an unlawful organization… of thieves in Mistworth.”

Adrian grimaced but waited for the man to finish speaking.

“Not a part of the dark market. Their trades and transactions are a little… unconventional. They keep their earnings to themselves. Whatever they steal is theirs. I also heard they are exceptionally skilled thieves and raiders.”

Adrian exhaled heavily. “Roach, I’m not going to be a thief forever. I don’t want to be a thief forever, let alone join some company of yeggs. Which is why I asked you to find me work.”

Roach scratched his greying head. “Yeah, I get that. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sauntering out of Roach’s hut, Adrian started for the brook that coursed just outside the town as the sun climbed down the horizon, painting the sky with a cacophony of soothing colours. On the other end of the sky, the world was rapidly darkening, making way for the clusters of stars to shine once more.

He ignored the giggling girls bathing in the brook as he stepped out of his worn-out boots and began to unlace his shirt.

One of the girls gasped when she noticed Adrian’s presence. Adrian almost rolled his eyes when they hurried out of the water to grab their clothes.

“You degenerate!” a girl barked in his way. Adrian looked at her from top to bottom as she sloppily wrapped her clothes around her naked body. Her ginger hair was dripping wet, and unlike most of the townspeople in North Hollow, she had a really pale skin with freckles dusted all over her face and shoulders. She was cute, Adrian thought. She must be in his age range.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You have the body of a thirteen-year-old boy. The only thing about it that makes me want to look at you is to see where your breasts went,” Adrian remarked expressionlessly, dropping his shirt to the ground before undoing the laces of his pants.

The girl’s jaw fell slack, and she looked like she was about to throw a rock at Adrian’s head. Well, that would not be the first time he took a rock to the head. The other girls chuckled around her.

They fell entirely silent again when Adrian stepped out of his trousers. The red-haired girl continued to gape at him. He co*cked his eyebrows at her once before climbing into the water.

“Iza, come on,” another girl hissed at the redhead, tugging her away. “He’s that miscreant I was telling you about. He is terrible bad news through and through.”

Adrian took that as a compliment and dunked his head into the water to wash the sweat off his hair.

* * *

Georg eyed him with a mistrustful gaze when Adrian walked into the Needy Duck.

“Hey, Georg!” Adrian exclaimed with a big smile. “How’s the wife and kids?”

“Get out, you Street Rat,” the man growled. “You’re not steal my food and drink tonight.”

“No, I’m not. But I will pay for them tonight,” Adrian said and slid a few coins over to the innkeeper.

Georg scowled at the coins. “Where did you steal them from?” He paused. “Wait. Were you the thief that created a scene at the market today?”

“Why do you care about where the money comes from?” Adrian scoffed. “I’ll have a whole chicken leg, roasted. Some peanut cakes. Roasted figs. Two pickled duck eggs. A tea-smoked pheasant. Oh, and your famous seared mushrooms.”

Even placing the order made his stomach grumble. He could not really remember when the last time he had eaten something was.

With a displeased look, Georg accepted the payment and nodded.

Adrian then wended his way to a table that was the least crowded with drunk men. Even though the men at the table were more than twice his age, he was taller than all of them. And if it came down to a brawl, Adrian knew he would best most of them. Not because he was stronger, but because he had a greater tolerance for pain.

His stomach made all sorts of noises as the smell of food filled his nose. When the foods he had ordered finally came to his table, he did not wait to dig into them. He scarfed down everything that was put before him without pause.

“Wow, you’re a hungry one,” commented one of the sots. Adrian ignored him as he tore into the chicken leg and gobbled down a duck egg whole.

Once he was certain that he was full, he left the inn before someone could inform the Reeve that he was there.

Nightfall was always so peaceful and serene in North Hollow. The world was finally getting ready to go to sleep around him. He wandered through the quiet streets and gazed up at the stars and moon.

He had never felt this full in his life, he thought. Then he decided to steal more valuable items, like that ring today. It was worth it.

He then thought of the boy from the market. He wondered if Jongin had gotten home. He told himself that he did not really care.

The alley smelled of piss and filthy strays. But it was one of those things Adrian had gotten used to.

He found the makeshift roof he had built at the furthest end of the alley using some wooden planks he had found in the alleys. Some dogs were curled up under it. Adrian shooed them away before he crawled under it and fell back against the ground that was blanketed by some rags he had stolen.

He envied the boy from the market today. He wanted a mother who would cry and care for him. He, too, wanted to think that stealing was bad. He wanted to be pampered enough to think that strays were dangerous.

He raised his hands and looked at them. They were hard and callused, but not enough to be compared to the hands of a smith. Anyone who saw them would know that they were the hands of a thief.

* * *

At the end of the week, when he realized he was running out of money, he started plotting his next theft. He probably could not return to the marketplace for a while. So, he would have to break into someone’s house.

As noon approached, he roamed the streets, scouting around for the perfect house to steal from. He did not really care if they were rich or poor. No one in North Hollow was poorer than he was. So, he had no heart for righteousness. He did, however, have a stomach to feed.

“Adrian?”

He jumped with a start and turned around to look at the boy that had called his name. “Manu?” he said, blinking at the other boy who was grinning at him. Blood instantly rushed to his face, and his heart started to hammer against his chest.

“How are you?” Manu asked, his own cheeks crimsoning as he smiled at Adrian, hands holding a basket of summer fruits.

Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m good. Getting by. You? How’s things at the orphanage?”

“I left the orphanage earlier this year. I now work at Glonn’s orchard.”

“Oh,” Adrian let out. Manu had not grown much since the last time Adrian had seen him, which was back at the orphanage when Manu was crying against his shoulder, asking Adrian to make promises he would never keep before Adrian was kicked out for good for stealing cutleries from the kitchen.

“Is… everything okay with you?” Manu inquired in that soft voice that Adrian had almost forgotten.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard about how I get by,” Adrian muttered, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants.

Manu lowered his eyes, biting his bottom lip. “Yeah. I even heard that you were arrested a couple of times.”

“Seven times in two years, to be exact,” Adrian snorted. “But… I’m glad you’re good now.”

When the fair-haired, lean boy looked up at Adrian again with his big blue eyes, he said, “Yes, I’m… good.”

Adrian nodded his head curtly. “I should, um, get going.”

“Yeah, me too,” Manu sighed and brushed past Adrian.

Adrian knew he should apologize to the boy for never going back to him like he had promised. Manu had always liked him more than Adrian could ever like him back. And that was neither of their faults. They were too young, too confused, too lonely. And at the time, they only had each other to run to for comfort. Adrian figured that after he had left, Manu would have been lonelier than ever.

Rubbing his forehead, he turned around and froze when his eyes darted to the little boy standing in the middle of the street with an older girl at his side. Adrian recognized her orange hair immediately. She fixed him with a black look and tightened her hand around the boy’s.

Adrian then glanced back to the boy. Jongin.

They must live on this street.

sh*t. Adrian was ready to flee before they could call for the guards.

“Iza,” Jongin then called in a very low voice, looking up at the girl. He pulled his hand free from her grip and started walking toward Adrian.

“Jongin,” Iza rasped and lurched forward to yank him back.

“It’s okay,” Jongin whispered to her and caught her kirtle with a hand. He then drew Iza to walk with him. Adrian stood his ground, although his hand was already itching to grab the shiv from his boot.

Stopping before him then, Iza said, “You were the thief who threatened our little Jongin the other day at the market?!”

Adrian shrugged his shoulders smugly.

“Iza,” Jongin hissed, as though to tell her that she was embarrassing him. “I’m not… little.”

Adrian wondered how Iza and Jongin knew each other. They could not be related—they looked nothing like each other.

Releasing her kirtle then, the boy slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers before pulling out handfuls of wrapped sweetmeats. He held them out to Adrian, looking up at him.

After a moment of bewilderment, Adrian put his hands out. Jongin pressed the candies into Adrian’s hands. “Please don’t steal again,” he told Adrian bashfully, withdrawing his hands as soon as they touched Adrian’s.

Adrian’s heart clenched. And it was the first time it had ever done something like that. He swallowed hard, staring at the boy, who raised a hand to Iza, gesturing her to take it.

The redhaired girl took the hand and turned around, louring at Adrian sideways. As she walked the little boy back to their house, Adrian gawked at the sweetmeats in his hands. Little did he know then what that very moment had done to him.

“Please don’t steal again.”

He glanced at the house the boy and the redhaired girl had disappeared into. It was one of the nicer, bigger houses in North Hollow. The family who lived there was sure to have valuable possessions. They even had a lean-to stable for their two horses. God, they owned not one but two horses! If he had known the little boy’s family was this well-off, he would have pickpocketed his mother instead at the market the other day. His gaze rose to the unbarred window on the second storey he could easily break into.

Perfect.

He waited for the dark to fall over the town like a muffling blanket. Not a soul in sight as he slinked across the street, a cloak drawn over his head. Stopping outside the house when he reached it, he scrutinized all the windows to make sure no lanterns were lit.

He then looked to the tree near the house. Walking over to it, he began clambering up it. He did not have a lot of experience climbing trees, but he had climbed plenty of walls before.

A groan broke from his throat when he almost lost his footing on a branch. Regaining his steadiness once more, he climbed up the rest of the way until he reached the roof of the house.

Vaulting off the tree, he landed on the wooden roof with a thud. With light steps, he puss*footed over the roof, advancing toward the unbarred but closed window.

He stopped before the window when he came to it and idly stared at it for a long moment as the little boy’s words echoed in his head. He did not really know why he had chosen to loot this house. Probably because he had felt threatened.

His pockets were still filled with the sweetmeats the boy had given him.

Pulling his shiv out, he quickly opened the window along with a lockpick. A victorious grin overtook his lips when he succeeded and the lock on the window gave in with a click. Pushing it open, he quietly slipped through it and entered the dark room.

While he waited for his vision to adjust to the darkness, he stuffed the shiv and lockpick back into his boot and took a careful step forward.

He did not need to loot much. Just something small but with the capability of fetching him a pretty price. Something Roach would be interested in.

Squinting in the darkness, his eyes spied the vague shadows of the paintings in the room. There portraits everywhere. On the shelves, on the floor, on the walls. Adrian wondered if the family that lived here did paintings for a living or if this was just a casual interest.

Whatever it was, these paintings were not good enough. So, he slowly made his way toward the door. Exiting through it, he found himself in a hallway.

The shiny candleholder on a credenza caught his eyes at once. Grabbing it, he tiptoed to the room that had its door ajar and peered into it. It was too dark for him to make everything out in the room clearly, but he knew it was a bedroom.

There was a tiny figure swaddled in the blankets on the bed, sleeping soundly.

Pushing the door open, Adrian slinked into the room and stopped before the wardrobe. It creaked a little when he pried it open. Gritting his teeth, he hastily rummaged through the clothes until his hands blindly found a strongbox. As he tried to pick it with his lockpick, he heard the sheets ruffling on the bed behind him.

“sh*t,” he hissed under his breath and pulled the lockpick away when the strongbox opened. He found something that felt like a wooden slingshot and some pebbles.

Who the hell stores these in a strongbox?!

He then heard a shrill gasp from the bed. He froze.

As the gasps became louder and frequent, the ruffling noises continued. And the scream that Adrian anticipated never came. Confused, he half-heartedly turned around.

For a length, he could not understand what was happening before his eyes.

It was the boy. Jongin. The one that was afraid of dogs. The one that gave him food yesterday and told him to not to steal anymore.

And he was gasping for air, feet aimlessly kicking the sheets on the bed while his head jerked convulsively.

Adrian’s hands began to tremble when he realized the boy was having a seizure. His breathing quickened. He glanced at the window in the room. He should go. He should leave before someone wakes up.

He looked at the boy again.

He did not know what to do. In that moment, he felt like a lost child.

He started for the window.

Stopped.

And rushed to the bed. “Hey?” he tried calling. The boy did not respond. Of course, he did not respond! “Oh, f*ck.” He groaned and cursed himself a few times before he yelled, “Help! Hey! Wake up! Your son’s having a seizure!”

In less than a few heartbeats, the woman Adrian had seen at the market burst into the room, crying out her son’s name. She was quickly followed by a man, who Adrian assumed was her husband.

They both halted dead in their tracks for a moment when they found Adrian in the room.

“Jongin,” the mother, however, rasped and hurried to her son’s side while the father grabbed a fire iron from behind the door before he approached Adrian.

“Who are you?!” he demanded, brandishing the fire iron.

“Father?” Jongin’s sister Adrian had seen at the market the other day appeared in the doorway, clad in her nightgown.

“Hani!” her father hollered. “Send for the Reeve’s guard! There’s an intruder!”

Adrian sighed and raised his hands in defeat, dropping the candleholder to the floor. The man’s eyes narrowed on it before they rose to glower hard at Adrian.

“Jongin?” the mother called sweetly, cradling her son in her arms as the boy calmed down, returning to his senses. Adrian exhaled in relief and almost smiled. The mother looked at him then. “It’s him,” she wheezed. “The thief from the market.”

That was when the fire iron contacted his skull in a merciless blow and left a side of his head bleeding and numb. He did not realize that he had slammed into the wardrobe until he slid down it and crashed the floor.

“Papa,” he heard the boy say weakly as he shivered in his mother’s embrace. And that was the last thing Adrian acknowledged before he blacked out and woke up in a cell in North Hollow Bridewell.

* * *

The bridewell was almost always empty. There were not many young miscreants in North Hollow, but Adrian sure was one of its regular visitors.

It had been three days since he was arrested and put in here by the Reeve’s guards. And although he was told that he would be brought to face the Reeve’s trial on the first day he came here, he was still rotting in the cell that smelled of all foul things.

“Lunch,” a guard grumbled and slid a bowl of pottage through the gate. Adrian rose from where he was sitting in a corner of the cell and hungrily picked up the bowl before guzzling the pottage without taking a single breath. It tasted like mud. And yes, Adrian had tasted mud several times. It was hard to be picky about food when one’s a waif.

Once his belly was fed, he flung the bowl against the wall just to deliberately rile the guards up. That earned him a session of welting that lasted for an hour.

He spent the rest of the evening wincing and nursing the wounds on his back. The guards had certainly been generous.

As night finally fell, he lied down on his stomach for that his back was too sore from the welting. And like most nights, he wondered about his parents.

Nobody knew who his parents were. He did not know if they were even alive. But he wondered about them a lot.

If he ever met them, he’d kill them with his own bare hands, he had decided a very long time ago.

He scratched his jaw where small, prickly hairs were starting to grow. He then shifted uncomfortably on the mucky ground. This was what he got for doing something nice for people that did not give a damned f*ck about him.

Except that he boy had given a damned f*ck about him.

He had given Adrian his sweets.

The sweets the guards had taken away when they had arrested him.

Adrian tried to shake those useless thoughts out of his head. There was no point in mulling over such nonsense.

The boy was so innocent, though.

Adrian mused over the idea of him ever being that innocent. He did not think he ever had. Growing up in the orphanage was tough. Even then, he needed to stay sharp and cunning to survive. Especially since there was no one to look out for him.

There was Manu. His first friend, first partner-in-crime, first crony, first kiss, first boy who had made Adrian question his sexual leanings, first person to have ever valued Adrian anything.

After leaving the orphanage, Adrian had gotten into a pit he did not want to drag Manu into. He might not love Manu the way the latter had wanted, but he still wanted Manu to be happy and not get sucked into all this sickening crap.

A clang on the gate roused him. He sat up and screwed up his eyes at the guard banging against the metal bars.

“Get up, you rotter,” he spat.

Adrian rose to his feet and walked over to the gate. “Am I being taken to the Reeve?” he asked, watching the guard unlock the gate.

“You’re being released.”

That came as a pleasant surprise to Adrian. “What? So soon? Without seeing the Reeve?”

“Would you rather you stay in there, then?”

Adrian rolled his shoulders and stepped out of the dank cell. The guard escorted him out of the bridewell, keeping a steady hand on his sword.

He came to a standstill when he saw the little boy waiting outside, wrapped in a children’s cloak. Next to him was his father, the man who had knocked Adrian’s brain on one side the other night. He still looked angry as he scowled at Adrian, keeping a hand tightly wound around his small son’s wrist.

“Under the Reeve’s orders, you are being released this time,” the guard spat at him. “But he would not be so kind the next time.”

Adrian did not take that warning all that seriously. He never did.

“You… did this?” he asked Jongin’s father.

The man said nothing, but his eyebrows proceeded to dip lower into a harder lour.

Jongin, on the other hand, was smiling childishly at Adrian. The boy looked so happy.

“You did not steal anything from us,” said the father. “Not for the lack of trying… but you could have run off. But you stayed. For… my little Jongin.”

“Papa,” Jongin panted, scowling up at his father. “I’m not little.”

He was ignored as his father lunged at Adrian and caught him by his shirt collar. “If you so dare near my family again, I will put your head on a spike. Do you understand?”

Adrian blinked at the man and bowed his head sternly. That felt like a challenge he wanted to take up, though.

Releasing his shirt, the man shoved him back before turning on his heel, dragging the boy away with him. Jongin looked back at Adrian and waved his small hand shyly.

* * *

After that, Adrian ran into Jongin from time to time. Sometimes, it was at the market. Other times, it was on the streets. But every time he saw the boy, Jongin would smile sheepishly at him and wave. Adrian would grimace and scowl.

Most of the times, Jongin would pull out a few sweetmeats from his pockets and leave them on the ground for Adrian before he would be dragged away by his mother, father, sister or Iza, who Adrian later learned was a friend of Jongin’s sister, Hani.

One evening, when he meandered his way to the brook for a bath, he found the boy there, too. Along with his sister and Iza.

They were tossing pebbles into the water.

“I could throw the furthest,” said Hani, grabbing a pebble.

“Let’s see you try,” said Iza.

Jongin was standing between them, small and dainty. He was holding smaller pebbles, and he cupped them in his hands so carefully like his life depended on them.

Adrian had noticed that about the boy the few times he had seen the boy. Whatever Jongin was up to, he did it with utmost curiosity and caution.

Adrian was the complete opposite.

“I have small arms,” the boy whined to his sister. “I cannot throw as far as either of you.”

“Then you lose,” spat Hani, sticking her tongue out at him.

Jongin looked sad as he dropped his attention back to the pebbles in his hands while the girls continued to lob the pebbles into the water.

Adrian marched over to them then. Iza’s gaze darted to him at once, and her pale face almost instantly crimsoned. “Can I toss one for you?” he asked Jongin, walking up to the boy.

Jongin lifted his head all the way up and gaped at Adrian in surprise. “You,” he said, mouth slowly stretching into a grin. He then looked at his pebbles and gave a diffident nod of his head.

Adrian retrieved a pebble from Jongin’s hands and faced the water. Flinging the pebble across the brook, he watched it skip and leap gracefully on the surface of water, reaching all the way to the other end of the brook.

He smirked at Jongin next. “You win,” he told the boy.

Hani’s jaw dropped. “Strong arm,” she commented. “No wonder you’re a thief.”

Adrian smiled at her. At least she was not afraid of him.

“He’s not a thief,” Jongin growled at his sister like a puppy. “He’s my friend.”

Adrian stared at the boy and so did Hani and Iza.

“Is he your friend, thief?” Hani asked Adrian, folding her arms over her chest. Adrian eyed her vacantly. “Do you have a lot of friends?”

Adrian licked his lips and shook his head.

“Hmm. Do you have any friends?”

Adrian shook his head again.

Jongin looked at him sadly.

“Can we be friends, too?” asked Hani.

“Friend?” Iza snorted. “You cannot be friends with a criminal. And neither can you, Jongin. Let’s go home.”

“But—” Hani began to protest with a pout.

“Our parents will be looking for us.”

Hani and Jongin flashed a similar smile at Adrian before they turned around started toward home.

Adrian caught Iza’s arm when she turned. She stopped and glared at him. “You shouldn’t be friends with a criminal. But you also shouldn’t blush at a criminal like a vestal virgin,” he told her and watched her face turn red once more.

“I’m not!” She yanked her arm free.

Adrian grinned to himself as Iza hurried away, glancing back only once to pin Adrian with a black look.

* * *

In the following weeks, he met up with Hani, Jongin, and Iza more frequently. Most of those rendezvouses were on purpose. Hani asked him to teach her a few tricks for thieving. He did. Iza repeatedly told Hani that this would get them in a lot of trouble if they were to be caught by their parents. Jongin usually just sat still and watched Adrian’s every move. Sometimes, he’d look away shyly when Adrian unconsciously threw a smile in his way.

He eventually discovered Adrian’s sleeping spot in the alley. Adrian warned him to never go near it because there would be lots of stray dogs. Jongin heeded that warning religiously.

One evening, when Adrian headed to the brook for a bath, he had not noticed his new little friend that was tagging along until he had climbed out of the water after a dip.

“Jongin,” he had rasped.

The boy’s hands immediately flew up to cover his eyes. “You’re… nakey,” he gasped breathlessly.

Adrian blinked for a moment before looking down at himself. Then grimacing, he picked up his trousers from the ground and pulled them on.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, tying the laces of his trousers.

The boy sneaked a small peak through his fingers before he withdrew his hands from his face. Not even his lightly tan skin could hide the rosiness that filled his cheeks.

“Nothing,” he blurted out before spinning on his heel and sprinting back to his house. Adrian scratched his wet head and wondered what that was all about.

While Hani and Jongin were starting to become his friends, he endeavoured to court Iza. She was interested in him, it was as clear as day. But she was as stubborn as a mule when it came to admitting it. Which was okay, because Adrian loved the chase as much as the rewards.

Some days, Hani and Jongin would bring him food. At first, it had hurt Adrian’s pride to be seen as some stray they wanted to dump their leftovers on.

But then they’d sit by the brook together and eat with him. Jongin would hand him a hunk of cornbread with a sheepish smile and an embarrassed look. When Adrian accepted it, the little boy blushed even harder as he took a small bite into his own slice of bread, holding it again with both hands.

* * *

“Why are you so afraid of dogs?” Adrian asked Jongin one day as they sat by the brook, tossing pebbles into the coursing stream.

“They are bite-y,” muttered Jongin. “Big teeth. Dirty. Scary.”

“I practically live with them. They’ve never bitten me,” Adrian told him.

Jongin shuddered.

Sighing, Adrian dropped the subject. There was something else he needed answers to. “Remember that night? When I broke into your house? You were… Uh… Does that happen to you a lot?”

Jongin took a moment to answer. And when he did, he looked smaller and shier than ever. “Sometimes,” he whispered. “I don’t know why it happens.”

Adrian hoped that it would never happen again. He reached out and rubbed the little boy’s back. “You’re brave and strong.”

The way Jongin had smiled then… Adrian would never forget it.

* * *

He kissed Iza the following year. It had felt like nothing.

And he told her that.

The next thing he remembered was her crying and running away from him.

It had upset Adrian greatly, too. Not because he had made Iza cry, but because he could not feel anything for her, in spite of being the one who pursued her.

With Manu, even at that young age, Adrian had liked it. He had had butterflies flitting in his stomach and chest when every time he kissed Manu after everyone was asleep in the orphanage. But with Iza, there was nothing. A tepid warmth that gave him absolutely no excitement.

So, he made his way to the inn and stole a bottle of mead from the cellar when Georg was not looking. Before he could sneak out of the inn, however, his eyes caught the sight of a fifteen-year-old boy, who was practically undressing him with his gaze.

It was the first time Adrian had taken someone out to the back of the inn and had kissed the living daylights out of him.

And God, it was stunning.

When Hani and Jongin found out about Adrian and Iza’s embarrassing debacle, Hani had laughed her butt off.

Jongin, however, did not speak to Adrian for two weeks.

Adrian knew he had been a jerk to Iza, and that was why Jongin hated him now. But every time he had tried to explain himself to the little boy, he was not sure how he could tell him that he liked kissing other boys and not girls, and that was the reason he had made Iza cry.

So, he let Jongin stay mad at him.

When the boy showed up at mouth of the alley, without entering it, Adrian rose from his sleep spot, and walked over to him.

“Jongin, what are you doing here alone?” Adrian asked him.

Jongin looked around for the dogs before he lurched forward and hugged Adrian’s waist, burying his face into Adrian’s stomach.

Paralyzed and dumbstruck, Adrian stood still and let the boy hold him tight. When Jongin pulled back, the boy quietly murmured, “Wait for me.”

Adrian did not understand what it meant then.

* * *

Iza forgave him eventually, but she never wanted to be close friends with him again. Adrian still thieved, he still had a belly to feed and having friends did not mean food would start appearing in his hands magically. But he made sure his thievery was minuscule enough for Jongin to never find out. And that meant he had to sharpen his thieving skills.

Roach told him that he had what it took to be a professional thief. But the more Adrian started to hang out with Jongin, the more he did not want to let the boy down.

* * *

The year he turned eighteen, Iza left North Hollow with her new husband.

Adrian wished her a very happy married life and apologized if he had hurt her in any way. She hugged him once and said goodbye.

Kisses with random boys at the back of the Needy Duck turned into something more, something better. Most nights, he liked having the others go down on their knees. Some nights, he was in the mood to be the one kneeling. He enjoyed every second of it all.

But it was not enough. There was always something missing.

After a while, he had gotten tired of them all.

He saw less and less of Jongin and Hani now. Their parents were busy searching for a marriage alliance for their daughter. Adrian did not really know why Jongin was not allowed to go out to play as much anymore. When he asked them about it, Jongin would look sorrowfully at him before he’d walk away without saying anything. And Hani only ever said, “It’s nothing for you to worry about. Everything is all right.”

Adrian knew that was a lie. Something was up with Jongin. And he hoped it was nothing serious, and it had nothing to do with the illness he had as a younger child.

* * *

“It will not bite,” Adrian chuckled one day, crouching in the alley.

Now that Jongin was turning thirteen, he was allowed to go out on his own without someone to look after him. But he must return home before sundown.

In the last two years, the boy had grown substantially. He was no longer just skin-and-bones. And he was growing taller than Adrian had expected.

“Come,” he called Jongin over. “Pet him.”

Jongin looked afraid, but he took a few steps closer and knelt on the ground beside Adrian. “He looks so… big.”

“Well, to him, you are bigger,” he said. When he reached out and took hold of Jongin’s hand, the boy shivered. Adrian paused. Jongin lowered his gaze.

“Adrian, no,” he exhaled as Adrian slowly guided his hand to the dog’s head.

“I’m here, aren’t I? I won’t let him harm you.”

Jongin believed that entirely. Just like how he had always believed everything Adrian told him.

He flexed his fingers and splayed them over the dirty dog’s head. “Good,” Adrian let out. “Now, rub him.”

Jongin was staring at the dog with ballooned eyes. He moved his hands and stroked the dog’s head.

“See? He won’t bite you,” said Adrian. “Unless you hurt him.”

“Puppy,” Jongin whispered to the dog.

Adrian smiled.

Later that day, they wandered through the market, talking about nothing. Adrian asked about Hani once. Jongin said that she was refusing to get married to any of the old rich goats their father was telling her to marry. But at the end of the day, he said, she would have to agree to marry one of them. She had no other choice.

As he said it, he looked sad.

But only for a fleeting moment until his eyes landed on the sugared figs sold at a stall. He pointed at it and grabbed Adrian’s arm before hurtling toward the stall.

Adrian watched him purchase two skewers of figs.

“Here,” the boy handed Adrian one of them before taking a juicy bite into the sugared fig. He then giggled happily. “When is your birthday?”

Adrian took a bite of the figs and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m a waif, remember? My parents dumped me outside the town without even so much as a name.”

Jongin fell silent for a moment as they walked side by side. At length, he said, “It’s my birthday next week.”

“I know,” Adrian said with a lopsided grin.

“My father is hosting a big dinner for our friends and family.”

“For turning thirteen?” Adrian found that excessive. But he supposed that was how people with money lived. And Jongin deserved it.

“I get to invite my friends,” he said coyly, head lowered.

Adrian stopped. Jongin looked at him. “Are you… inviting me… to your birthday dinner?”

He had no idea why, but that made his heart race like a warhorse on a battlefield.

Jongin nodded his head, licking the sugar from his lips. “I… am. I want you to come. There will be lots of good food.”

As much as Adrian appreciated any kind of decent food, that was not the reason why he thought he could die from happiness right now.

He really did have a friend who truly cared about him.

“Will you… come?” Jongin asked worriedly.

Adrian stuttered to answer. “I don’t think your parents would be too thrilled to see me there, Jongin. And would you be all right with everyone finding out about us being… friends?”

Looking down for a moment, Jongin blushed. “I think they know. And they did say I can invite all of my friends.”

Jongin did not have a lot of friends, as far as Adrian was made known. There were a few other kids his age that went to the North Hollow Grammar School he hung out with from time to time. But Adrian had never seen him running through the streets, playing with wooden swords or playing tag like the other boys. He often liked to simply take slow walks with Adrian before they’d go to the brook and toss pebbles into the water.

Adrian could not help the smile that walked onto his face. “I promise.”

It was the first of the many promises Adrian intended to keep thereon.

A couple of days before Jongin’s birthday, Adrian climbed out of the brook after a dip and began to dress himself, lost in his thoughts. He did not know what he could possibly get the boy as a birthday present.

He could loot something nice. He could loot a lot of nice things for Jongin. But that would not be right.

He had never given anyone anything. Well, back at the orphanage, he had given Manu a flower for Winter Solstice. But he could not give Jongin flowers.

Running a hand through his damp hair, he plumped on the ground and gazed at the water lapping against the bank. His heart still clamoured every time he thought about the fact that he was invited to a dinner party. By his little friend.

His little friend who saw the world in Adrian sometimes.

“Adrian?”

He craned his head up to look at Hani, who was smiling down at him from where she stood, holding an empty wooden pail in her hands.

“Hey, Hani,” he said. Hani was also taller than she had been two years ago when Adrian first met her. Her hair was longer, silkier. Her cheekbones were rounder. Her tan skin often glimmered. She was on the threshold of womanhood.

Settling the bucket on the ground, Hani took a seat next to Adrian. “You seem preoccupied,” she noted.

Adrian took a sigh. “A little.” He faced her. “How are you? I don’t see you as much anymore.”

A frown drew her thick eyebrows together. “Mother and Father don’t want me going out. Attracts odd eyes.”

“They want you to get married?”

She nodded her head sadly. “Soon. And I know there is no way I could run away from this.”

Adrian knew that, too. At times like this, he was glad that he was an orphan.

“I will miss you, though,” she said with a faint smile.

Hanging his head, Adrian muttered, “I will, too.”

“But at least Jongin would still be here,” she said, lightly punching Adrian’s arm. “And I hope you will be here for him, too. He needs you, you know.”

Adrian looked up at her with a baffled frown. “What do you mean he… needs me?”

Hani took a big breath and averted her gaze to the brook. “He has been going through a lot lately. And he is confused. He is upset. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He doesn’t know… He is still young. But he is always happy around you. He likes it that you’re his little secret, one that he doesn’t have to share with anyone once I’m gone, too.”

“What is happening?” Adrian asked. “Is he all right? It’s not the disease… is it?”

Hani shook her head. “Oh, no. He has had those seizures since he was a small child. But they’re getting better. He hasn’t had one in almost a year.” She paused, as though to consider her next words. “It’s something else. And I think it’s best that you don’t know. It is nothing serious, do not mull over it.”

Adrian tried not to. He had never really cared about anybody. He did not have anybody to care about until the boy.

“You are his most precious friend,” said Hani then. “He adores you and idolizes you.”

Adrian scoffed at that. “He probably shouldn’t be idolizing a career criminal.”

But his chest tightened. He did not know what the boy saw in him.

“You do know that he is besotted with you, right?” Hani laughed.

Adrian stopped to gape at her. “What do you mean? In what way?”

Hani giggled some more and rose to her full height, grabbing the pail with her. “He does not give away his sweetmeats to just anybody. He could go on for days about how handsome you are. He tells me that you are very tall, very strong, very smart, very brave, especially since you are not afraid of dogs. His innocent infatuation with you is adorable.”

Adrian thought that he might die from how fast his heart was beating. “He’s a little child!” he yapped, shooting up to his feet while Hani filled the pail with water from the brook.

“So? It is the most beautiful and chaste sort of love, Adrian. Do not perceive it in an ugly way.”

Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. “He…” he trailed off, unable to digest the information. Of course, he had found some men handsome too, even when he was nothing but a nipper and had no clue what those attractions meant. But…

He hoped Hani was wrong.

He did not stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. Someone in this world valued him, a good-for-nothing waif.

* * *

He stopped by Roach’s the next day. Not to sell a stolen item, but to be on the other end of the business.

“What would you like?” Roach asked, sounding surprised that Adrian wanted to purchase something.

“I don’t know. Something a thirteen-year-old boy would like,” he said. When he was thirteen, all that he wanted was to put a fist through his housemother’s head.

“Hmm… How about a really nice pocketknife? Came from Windhold last week.”

Adrian could not even picture Jongin with a knife. He shook his head. “Something… softer.”

Roach looked stumped as he scratched his grey beard. “Something you can afford.”

Adrian nodded embarrassedly. “I have about four coins on me.”

“For four coins, you can buy a quill.”

A quill? He did not even know if Jongin could write! He probably could. He came from a decent family and had a father who wielded the paintbrush for a living. He would have certainly been taught how to pen his letters.

Even so, a quill hardly seemed like an appropriate birthday present to give to a thirteen-year-old boy.

It also did not seem right to use the money he had pickpocketed to buy Jongin a present.

In the end, he left Roach’s emptyhanded and more distressed than ever.

* * *

Over the course of two years, Adrian had managed to gain some muscle. He was no longer gangling. When he looked at his reflection in the water after bathing in it, he saw a fairly angular jaw, a pair of deep brown eyes, a faint scar on the bridge of his nose, and other acceptable features. These days, he used his shiv more often than not to shave his beard rather than to thieve.

He was becoming a man, too. Which meant, his petty crimes would no longer be overlooked. A few wrong moves and the Reeve would have his head on the block in no time.

Perhaps it was time for him to leave North Hollow, too. Perhaps there were better opportunities waiting for him away from this godforsaken town.

In the midst of that thought, Jongin slipped into his mind.

He shook the thought away and washed the rest of his body before climbing out of the brook to get dressed. The sun was rapidly setting westwards.

Scrutinizing the shirt and trousers he had, his face wilted a little. He would most definitely stick out like a sore thumb if he went to a dinner party that would be full of the haves and the rich wearing these tattered clothes. And it was not like he had any other option. It wasn’t as though he owned a wardrobe of assorted raiment.

With a sigh, he donned the shirt and gave himself one last perusal before setting forth to Jongin’s house.

He carded his fingers through his hair a few times to make sure it was not sticking out in places. On his way, he made a couple of stops by the flower bushes.

After frowning at them for a few beats, he defeatedly started plucking them. He would rather give the boy some wildflowers he picked at the roadsides than show up emptyhanded.

The flowers had a faint scent to them. He thought, perhaps, Jongin would like the fragrance since he had seen the boy skipping around, smelling flowers whenever he saw them. Sometimes, he’d even pluck a flower for his sister.

But still, wildflowers had to be the worst birthday present ever, Adrian grumbled exasperatedly as he continued to gather a small bouquet of orange and red.

In spite of it all, he dearly hoped that Jongin would like the flowers.

When he edged closer to Jongin’s house, he halted in his tracks to rubberneck nervously at the good deal of carriages stationed outside the house. The lively tunes of the lutes and drums carried to the streets.

Adrian hurried to hide in the lean-to barn when he saw a man and woman, dressed in opulent clothing exit a carriage and amble into the house.

He put a hand against a heart and told it to stay calm. He had thieved countless times. He had been thrown into the North Hollow Bridewell more times than one would imagine. He had faced cold, brutal winters on the street with nothing but a measly blanket and a cloak to swaddle himself in for warmth.

He had never been afraid in any of those instances. So, why was he losing his wits over something as trivial as attending his little friend’s birthday celebration?

Perhaps because it was the first time he had ever gotten the chance of being welcome into someone’s home. At someone’s table.

He did not know how to pace himself around people. Especially the good folks of North Hollow and its neighbouring towns, who never had to beg for food.

Sucking in a breath, Adrian neatened his hair and shirt one last time before he started for the house. No matter how fretful he was, he still had a little boy—who was no longer as little as he used to be—waiting for him to make an appearance in there.

He snuck the flowers into his pocket and tried to muster a small smile as he approached the front door.

Something smelled good. It made his empty stomach growl viciously at once. Warm, fresh toffee bread, Adrian realized. Oh, God. He also caught a whiff of grilled trout.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a gravelly voice said in a jarring tone. Adrian froze after taking a step forward. He then looked up at the man blocking the doorway.

Adrian’s face crumpled into a defensive snarl at once. The other man crossed his arms over his chest.

“Leave, you mud-dwelling bum. Go back to your sh*thole,” he spat at Adrian.

Tightening his hands into fists, Adrian opened his mouth. “I am here for the feast. I was invited.”

That had the man bursting into a slighting snicker that only aggravated Adrian. “I believe the leftovers will be thrown out for the dogs in the back after the feast,” said the man. “Come back later.”

As much as hearing that gave his heart a small tear, Adrian had gotten quite used to such underhanded snide. “I was invited,” he said again downheartedly.

“What is going on here?” another man, dressed in finery, appeared in the doorway. He gurned disgustedly at Adrian. “Who is this?”

“Some street muck trying to get in,” said the other man.

“Well, shoo him away. Don’t cause a scene.”

“Go away, dog. Before I give you a boot.”

Adrian held his ground, however. “I was invited. By Jongin,” he growled. “He is expecting me. He’s my friend.” That was perhaps the first time he had ever said it out loud. And it hit his ear wrong.

Boys like Jongin should not be friends with waifs like Adrian. But that ship had long sailed.

As he advanced a step, the two men climbed down the steps before one of them raised a hand to Adrian’s shoulder to shove him back.

Stumbling, Adrian glowered at them and lurched forward again, only to be backhanded across the face. It rocked his head and stung his cheekbone. As the pain rapidly numbed, one of his hands flew up to clutch at the man’s shirt while the other, fisted, rose to jab him in the head. He stopped himself, however, the fist only inches away from the other man’s skull.

It would not be fair to Jongin. He should not cause a scene right now and ruin the boy’s birthday.

So, he released the shirt and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Why you little,” the man spat before he lifted a foot and booted Adrian in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground.

Adrian coughed and winced at the sharp pain in his sternum as he tried to scramble back up to his feet.

Before he could, the two men ganged up around him, and the next thing he knew, his face contacted the dirt on the ground as his body received a ruthless drubbing from the men’s fists and boots.

It was going to be fine, Adrian thought to himself, writhing in pain—not letting it show—like he always did when things went wrong. Because most of the time, things did turn out fine afterwards.

“And don’t come back!” the man roared, giving the back of Adrian’s head one last punt before he retreated.

“Worm,” Adrian heard the other man hiss as they both turned back to the house, slamming the front door shut behind them.

He lay on the ground for a short period of time, trying to collect whatever strength he had left. When he eventually clambered back up to his feet, every bone in his body ached and a droplet of warm blood trickled down a temple. He wiped it and started limping toward the lean-to stable.

The horses paid him no heed as he found refuge near them, slumping against a wall, dropping to the ground. His heart was still thundering.

He had let Jongin down tonight.

“f*ck,” he groaned to himself, slamming the back of his head against the wall of the stable. It hurt, but he did not care. He then looked down at the new tear in his shirt.

Perhaps Jongin would not notice that he had not come. Perhaps the boy had not expected Adrian to be there all that much. Perhaps he had not meant it when he invited Adrian.

Why would he need Adrian to be there when all these fancy people, with so many fancy presents were there?

Speaking of presents…

Adrian withdrew the little flowers from his pocket and frowned miserably at the slightly crumpled petals. He had always believed that he had had made peace with the fate he was damned with. But today, he wished everything was different. He wished he had been someone who could get into that house… well, through the front door, invited.

He wished he were someone a boy like Jongin could be friends with.

The rest of the evening went by slow. Adrian did not move from where he sat in the stable, nose pinching every now and then at the smell of horse sh*t. He’d glance at the house whenever a new song started to play. Perhaps it was a good thing that he had not managed to get in, after all. He would not have belonged there.

He waited until the night was old and the air was heavy. His stomach, on the other hand, was painfully light.

Eventually, the guests began to say their farewells before they climbed into their obtrusive carriages and rode away. The music soon died, making way for the silence of the night.

When he was sure all the guests had left, and carriages were gone, he rose from the ground and walked haltingly to the house. He then stood still for a moment, staring down at the wildflowers in his hand. He should leave them on the doorstep.

But he could not find the heart to just leave without wishing the boy a happy birthday.

Unsure of what to do, he stood there idly. He could have easily broken into the house. But that would not be right. Especially not since Jongin believed that he was a good man, who no longer thieved.

He jumped with a start when the front door slowly creaked open all of a sudden. He almost turned around and fled.

“Adrian?” he then heard a soft voice.

His heart skipped that nervous beat it usually did when he heard Jongin call his name nowadays.

He faced the boy as the latter stepped outside with a surprised look, though undeterred by the disappointed lour he had about him.

“You are… very late,” he said, accusingly. “I was… waiting for you. All evening.”

It broke Adrian’s heart. But then, his eyes narrowed in the dark of the night and surveyed the mess Adrian was in.

“What happened to you?” he gasped, reaching for Adrian. He dropped the hand midway, however, realizing he did not know where to hold the man.

Adrian took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say with a lump in his throat. “I tried to… get in.”

The horror that crossed Jongin’s expression then brought forth a new layer of disappointment and grief. “No…” he let out. “Who…did this… to you?”

Adrian did not like the pity he saw in the boy’s eyes. “I am all right,” he lied. His body did not hurt as much as his spirit, though.

“Jongin?!” came a call from inside.

Jongin briefly glanced back into the house before looking at Adrian again. “I’m so… sorry.” He looked like he might cry. His eyes glistened under the faint moonlight. “It is all my fault.”

“I am all right,” Adrian said again. He paused to take a good look at Jongin then. He was clad in the fanciest raiment he had ever seen the boy wear. His overcoat was embroidered. He had a dusting of gold powder on his cheeks. He had a ring on his finger. His hair was as neat as ever.

“I didn’t know,” the boy whispered, sounding incredibly guilt-stricken. “I really didn’t know you were here. I am terribly sorry, Adrian.”

Adrian pulled away when the boy tried to touch his arm. With a frown, as though he were just stung by Adrian’s withdrawal, Jongin retrieved his hand.

Adrian began to see the differences. Jongin was no longer the small boy from the market. He was growing up. And the way he looked at Adrian no longer seemed all that innocent. It worried Adrian. What if Hani were right…?

“Here,” he blurted out and held out the flowers.

Jongin flinched and glanced at them. His eyes blinked languidly as they studied the flowers.

“I know they’re a bit crumpled… But happy birthday,” Adrian muttered.

Jongin’s gaze lifted to meet Adrian’s. “Happy… birthday,” he exhaled quietly, appearing to be almost lost as he stared at the flowers once more before reaching out a hand to take them.

Something shifted in his face when their fingers brushed. Adrian quickly yanked his hand back as soon as the boy had accepted the flowers.

Then holding them with both hands, Jongin brought the flowers to his nose and inhaled their scents. A gentle smile was painted on his lips. He briefly glimpsed Adrian one last time before he drew back into the house. With a strange mix of emotions displayed in his expression, the boy pulled the door shut.

Adrian rubbed the nape of his sore neck and started to walk away. Something tugged at his chest, and he stopped to glance back at the house. The window on the second storey was lit.

The boy, perched on the windowsill, holding the flowers to his lips, stared down at Adrian from the room. He looked sad.

Shaking his head, Adrian limped away with his blood drumming in his ears.

* * *

The following year, Jongin got over his fear of dogs. He still did not like it when they came too close to him, but he no longer ran away crying and screaming whenever he saw one. But thanks to Cricket, he began to see that dogs could be friendly.

Adrian, turning nineteen, realized that he could no longer live in the alley with the dogs. He needed a roof. A proper roof to be put over his head.

He approached Roach for a house of some sort. One that he could possibly afford. Perhaps even one that he could build himself. But he’d need the materials for that.

“You might be in luck, kid,” said Roach, looking older than he had ever had. “There are some wood and iron ores that are just laying around unused. If you could take them to a smith to forge yourself some hinges and nails, you can build yourself a shed.”

A shed. It was no house, but a shed would be better than anything Adrian had slept in in the last six years.

“It’s a lot of hard work,” Roach warned him.

“It’s not like I’m the busiest man alive,” scoffed Adrian.

He spent the rest of the week hauling the materials from Roach’s garner. He would have need permission from the Reeve to build a house. But building a shed did not require such formalities, so long it was not built on an owned property.

He was, however, delighted when Roach told him that he could build the shed on the land he owned, just a few yards away from his house.

As soon as he had everything in place, he got down to work. Some days, Jongin would pop by and see how he was doing. He would pay Adrian a few words of encouragement before he’d give the man a coy look and go home.

The shed turned out to be harder to build than Adrian had imagined. He knew nothing about craftsmanship when it came to construction. But like he did with everything, he figured things out on his own.

Soon, the shed was starting to look half decent. It was small but big enough to fit two people or five dogs. He just needed to fit himself and a dog, though.

On one blistering hot afternoon, Roach peered into the half-finished shed and said, “How is it coming along?”

Adrian turned around, shirtless and bathed in sweat. Putting the hammer down, he picked up a rag and wiped his face. “What do you think?”

Roach gave the shed a once-over. “Could be shabbier.”

The dog raised her head from where she was resting and softly whined before lowering it again. Adrian smiled at her and crouched to pet her head. She appreciated the comfort greatly and gave his palm a lick. Giving her swollen belly a stroke, Adrian rose back to his full height.

“I think I can be done in a couple of weeks,” said Adrian. “Roach, thanks for doing this for me again.”

Roach smirked. “Don’t be too grateful yet, kid. I am a tradesman. I would not be doing anyone favours.”

Adrian snorted. “I will be here when you need me to keep my end of the deal.”

“Actually, there is something I might need you to do.” He entered the shed. “You might be interested. I hear of wars brewing on the borders. I doubt it would reach the rest of the realm, but war times present the perfect opportunity to pillage public valuables.”

Adrian sighed, wiping the sawdust from his hands. “Roach, I will do anything to pay you back, but I’m trying to stop stealing.”

“You’re a thief. How will you survive if you stop stealing, son?”

Adrian rolled his eyes. “I’ll get a job.”

“Who’d hire a thief?”

Nobody. But over the past couple of years, he had managed to find some petty jobs here and there. Most of them did not pay much. But when he had told Jongin about them, the boy had been so happy. Jongin truly believed that Adrian would stop thieving. And Adrian did not know why he cared so much about what the boy believed.

“What are these border skirmishes you heard about?” he asked Roach then.

The older man shrugged, looking down at Cricket. “The Queen is being very quiet about it. But I have my sources.”

Adrian smiled. “It’s difficult to believe that you’re just a man from a small town like North Hollow.”

“It doesn’t matter where one is from, Adrian,” said Roach. “What matters is where you go.”

As the man left, Adrian mused over his words. They scorched into his soul. What matters is where you go…

Where was he going with his life? Nowhere. He was going to rot and die in North Hollow as a worthless waif.

“Knock, knock,” he heard Jongin’s voice, and almost instantly, his heart leaped. The boy entered with a big smile that promptly died when his eyes darted to Adrian’s bare upper body that was sheening with sweat.

Clearing his throat, Adrian picked up his shirt from the workbench and pulled it on, though he left it unlaced. “Jongin,” he murmured. “I was not expecting to see you here today.”

The boy averted his gaze and swallowed hard. His hands were clasped around sweetmeats. “I… brought you these.”

“Oh.”

When Jongin met his eyes again, he looked flushed and flustered. He kept his attention on Adrian’s stubbled jaw. “I also have other news.” He blenched when Cricket whined again, as though she were in pain. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, glancing to the dog.

“I think it’s because of her pups in her belly,” said Adrian. “She does it frequently.”

Jongin’s eyes bulged out. “What… pups in her… belly?”

“She’s pregnant.” Adrian blinked. How could Jongin not have noticed her fat, growing belly?

The boy’s jaw dropped. “I did not… know.”

“What did you think she’s carrying in there? Grapefruits?” He closed the distance between him and Jongin. The boy shuddered when Adrian tried to pry the sweetmeats out of his hands. “Thanks for these.”

The boy, blushing, took a shy seat on an edge of the workbench. “My parents have found Hani a husband,” he told Adrian.

Adrian tossed a sweetmeat into his mouth and nodded his head. “I see.” He never saw much of Hani anymore. And he understood why. Unmarried women no longer had the liberty of leaving their homes once they came of age.

“He’s a nice man,” muttered Jongin.

“I’m happy for her, then.”

Jongin chewed on his lower lip for a moment before he asked, “Will you be… sad when I leave North Hollow.”

That halted Adrian dead in his tracks. He could hear how fast the pace of his heart changed. “When you leave North Hollow? Why would you want to?”

Jongin fell silent, eyebrows furrowing.

He had never really tried to avoid the boy. Not even after what Hani told him last year. Not even when he started to suspect the same thing. But he figured Jongin would soon grow out of his childish reverence for him and realize what a good-for-nothing waif he was.

But the thought of Jongin moving away from North Hollow cut his heart in ways he did not know were possible. Jongin was his only friend.

“How many puppies?” Jongin whispered suddenly, looking at Cricket, who was trying to take her rest.

Adrian scrubbed his scruff with a hand. “I don’t know. Could be four.”

“Four?” the boy gasped, pressing a hand unconsciously to his own belly. “That’s a lot.”

Adrian stared at the hand on Jongin’s stomach and coughed, looking away. “She can handle it.”

Jongin jumped off the workbench and walked over to Cricket. Lowering to his knees, he brought a diffident hand to her head. “Good girl,” he whispered. “Good luck with your puppies. I will pray that it’s just one and not four.”

Adrian pretended like he was not looking when the boy stood up and turned to take his leave. He stopped in the doorway.

“Adrian… I will be sad,” Jongin breathed out before he walked out.

* * *

Jongin wept and gasped uncontrollably when Cricket was birthing her pups a few days later. Adrian told him to wait outside the shed because he was spooking her. Jongin heeded him and went outside to cry, crouching to the ground, hugging his knees.

Adrian rubbed his forehead nervously, watching Cricket while she struggled to give birth to her puppies. When she was finally done, Adrian leaned down to pet her, smiling wide and proudly.

“Good job, Cricket,” he whispered to her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before neatening the heap of blankets around her and her puppies.

Straightening back up, he counted the pups. Five. Three of them were brown like their mother. One was a mix between white brown and the other was a completely white dog. It was the tiniest. Adrian did not have much hope for the little one.

“Jongin,” he called, sticking his head out of the shed. Jongin was still crouched on the ground, rocking himself as he cried silently into the day. “Come inside. They’re all out.”

The boy hesitantly rose to his full height and followed Adrian into the shed. “Oh, my,” he whimpered out, holding onto Adrian’s arm. “Five,” he breathed out. “And she’s fine.”

“They’re all fine,” Adrian said. Jongin was starting to grin, face streaked with tears. “Well, maybe not that one.” He pointed to the white one, trying to find its way to its mother. “It probably won’t survive the night.”

Jongin’s grin faded, and he broke into another cry, whining, “Please don’t say that,” repeatedly.

Jongin had refused to go home that evening. Adrian told him that he’d get into a lot of trouble if his parents found out where he had been. Jongin sighed in defeat and agreement.

“I will go in a moment,” he promised Adrian. “In a moment.”

Exhaling heavily, Adrian left the boy be and retreated to the pallet he had made out of straw for him. It could barely contain someone of his size, but it had to make do.

Reclining on it, he threw an arm over his forehead and decided to give his eyes a break. “Just leave whenever you want,” he told Jongin before dozing off for a while.

When he woke, not very long after, he found Jongin kneeling on the shed’s floor in the dark, whispering things to the dog and her pups.

“You’re going to be all right,” he told the white one. “You’re strong. You will make it. You can do it.” He brought a careful hand to stroke the white puppy once before quickly retrieving it. “Boo.”

He then stood up and walked out of the shed.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Adrian lit a candle and took a look at Cricket who was still nursing her pups. The white one was feeding greedily.

Boo.

* * *

He was twenty when he managed to score his first real job at the blacksmith’s forge.

“Anything goes missing, I’ll wring your neck for it,” the blacksmith had warned him on the first day.

His tasks mostly involved lugging around heavy metal ingots and maintaining the forge.

It was not long after he had begun his work there when he noticed a certain brown-eyed boy’s lustful leering. The blacksmith’s son. Younger than Adrian by a year, Estef was almost as tall as Adrian with broad shoulders and a fair weight on his muscle. He was not the most handsome guy in North Hollow, but he was confident in what he wanted.

Estef opened some of the doors for Adrian he had never dared enter before meeting the boisterous yet poised man. Some evenings, after his work at the forge, Estef would seduce Adrian to his room when his father was not around. There, he’d tell Adrian what he wanted to be done to him. And he liked every single thing that Adrian did to him. The way he cried Adrian’s name, like a sinner seeking absolution, when he was under Adrian drove the latter to the edge of his sanity each and every time.

They kept their affair a secret from anyone but them for a year before Adrian decided that he wanted to take his relationship with Estef more seriously. Fortunately, Estef had the same idea.

One evening, as they sat by the brook, he took Estef’s hand into his and said, “I like you.”

Estef smiled. He did not blush. He never appeared shy or embarrassed. Adrian admired that confidence. “I like you, too,” he replied in a deep, scratchy voice.

Adrian cupped his face and drew him close for a kiss.

When he introduced Estef to Jongin not long after, the sixteen-year-old had seemed delighted to meet Adrian’s new “friend”, until Adrian told him, in confidence, that Estef was not just a friend.

He did not know why he did that. But he did it. He told Jongin that Estef was his lover. And he gave him the truth hard and cold.

Every year that went by, Adrian would wait for the day that Jongin and he would finally grow apart. Even when Hani got married and left North Hollow, Jongin continued to be friends with Adrian. His occasional visits turned sparse, but he still made an effort to be there for Adrian. And it was beginning to hurt. Because Adrian knew that one day, Jongin would leave, too.

“What do you mean… lover?” Jongin asked in the shed that evening at sundown, sounding both confused and devastated.

Adrian maintained a hard expression. “We shag, Jongin. What else do you think it means?” It was harsh. But he wanted it to be harsh.

The boy had never looked smaller. He hugged his body with his arms and glanced away, face wilting and the words on his lips withering away.

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep it a secret,” Adrian then said.

Jongin was refusing to speak or even look at him. He slowly turned around and muttered, “I should get home. Mother will be looking.”

He did not see Jongin for three weeks after that evening.

When he finally did see Jongin again, it was at the winter market.

Estef had wanted to get some winter pears for the approaching Winter Solstice, so he had Adrian accompanying him to the market. Jongin was there with his mother, assisting her with her baskets.

When he saw Adrian, he pinned him with a forlorn gaze before turning away without even a curt nod of his head.

* * *

Cricket died the following week. All of her pups were grown and most of them had taken it to the alleys to survive on their own. Not Boo.

Boo, fur as white as ghost, small and weak, stuck with Adrian and went everywhere he went, ate with Adrian, slept with Adrian, barked at people who’d sneer at Adrian. Sometimes, he even brought Adrian some stolen foods.

He buried Cricket under the tree near the brook. Boo stood by him and howled into the evening. Adrian glanced in the way of Jongin’s home, wondering if he should go over to let the boy know about Cricket’s death.

An excuse to talk to the boy again and demand to know why he was being snubbed. Part of Adrian wanted to believe that it was because Jongin was not comfortable with Adrian’s leanings toward the same gender. But the other part of him knew that was not why Jongin was hurt and was refusing to speak with him or see him.

“I’m a prick, aren’t I?” he asked Boo. The dog looked up at him, tongue lopped out of his mouth.

* * *

Only a few moments before Winter Solstice, Adrian sat in his shed and counted the coins today’s work had earned him while Boo waited patiently for his dinner.

“Five coins, buddy,” he told Boo and stashed the coins away before picking up the bundle of stale bread, fig jam and boiled sweet potatoes. Sharing them with dog, Adrian wondered what Estef might be doing right now. He would probably be having dinner with his family, a Winter Solstice tradition. They would also exchange presents.

Jongin would be doing the same thing.

Adrian then thought about having his own family to celebrate Winter Solstice one day. And he knew it would not be with Estef.

He liked Estef. And the sex was great. But they could never be together. As confident as Estef was, he still would not tell anybody that his lover was a waif, who used to be a thief.

It would not be long before this affair ended, and Adrian decided that he would be fine. Because he always was.

But there was one thing he was not fine with. Jongin ignoring him.

Sighing, he drew the blanket around his shoulders and made room for Boo to sidle next to him for warmth.

He heard something ruffling outside and froze for a moment. Could have been a stray. Boo’s head perked up, and he started wagging his tail.

Adrian glanced at the door that was quietly pushed open.

Jongin stepped inside and drew the cloak’s cowl down.

“Jongin,” Adrian rasped and shot up to his feet. The faint light from the flickering candleflame twinkled in Jongin’s beautiful dark eyes as he looked up at Adrian sadly. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

“I snuck out for a while,” he muttered in a low voice and stepped closer to Adrian. He then paused to look around the shed. He took note of Boo and frowned. “Where’s Cricket?”

Adrian stayed mumchance for a length before he quietly told him what had happened to her.

Jongin’s face paled instantly, as though he had encountered a ghost. “What?” he croaked out, voice dry, eyes on the other hand welling up with tears. “How?”

“Cold,” Adrian let out.

Jongin ran into his arms then and crashed his face into Adrian’s chest before breaking into a sob. “I’m so sorry,” he whimpered.

Adrian knew it was not just Cricket he was apologizing for. His own eyes turned misty as he lightly wrapped his arms around the boy’s small frame.

Jongin pulled back eventually and wiped his cheeks. “I hadn’t known,” he murmured.

“I know,” Adrian said and sat back down on the pallet. “Come here.” He patted the thin pallet next to him.

After a moment of hesitancy, the boy sank into a seat beside him. Jongin kept his head hung the entire time, his cold fingers fidgeting with his cloak.

“I’m sorry, too,” Adrian whispered. Boo climbed into Jongin’s lap. He was smaller than most dogs, which made it convenient for him to sit on laps.

“For what?” Jongin sniffled, running a hand over Boo’s grubby white coat of fur.

“I don’t know. For… whatever that made you not talk to me for weeks,” he said.

Jongin did not reply. But he looked tired and culpable.

They sat in silence for a while, watching Boo fall asleep on Jongin’s lap.

“I’m happy for you and Estef,” Jongin said at length. It sounded ingenuine. “I’m glad you will have someone for you when I go.”

Adrian stayed silent.

Jongin stopped stroking Boo for a moment and stared aimlessly at the candle. Then in a whispery voice, he said, “I’m leaving to pursue my mastership in a college in Mayland.”

Adrian tried to say something. He just could not get his tongue untied. So, he just sat there, stiff and puzzled, gawking at Jongin wordlessly.

“I will be gone for two years.”

Two years. A lot could change in two years.

“I will come back,” he mumbled. “I will.” He then turned his head and looked at Adrian. His lips trembled.

Adrian finally found the courage to speak again. “Will you?” he asked. It was all that he wanted to say.

Jongin pulled something out of his pocket. Holding out a fist, he slowly opened it to reveal a songbird carved out of wood laying in his palm.

“I wanted to give you this for Winter Solstice,” Jongin said. He sounded like he was close to tears.

“When are you leaving?” Adrian asked, instead of taking the carving.

“Tomorrow,” Jongin whispered.

Tomorrow…

As much as Adrian wanted to say something, he could not find the words.

Jongin then said, “I’ve had this with me since I was a child. I always believed it will rid me of the nightmares. And my seizures.”

Adrian blinked. “Why are you giving that to me, then?”

“For good luck,” he said. “And for you to have something to remember me by until I come back.” He pressed the songbird into Adrian’s hand and did not pull his own hand back for a moment as his fingers poised over the dry blisters on Adrian’s palm.

When he withdrew his hand from Adrian’s, he looked away hurriedly to hide the tears in his eyes. He then lifted Boo from his lap and laid him down on the pallet before rising to his feet.

“Goodbye,” he exhaled.

Adrian did not bid him farewell as he continued to stare at the songbird in his hand. Even in that sorrowful instance, his heart was singing with joy. He did not know why.

* * *

Present day…

When he left North Hollow, he had been a different man. The war on the borders had changed him. His years in the Capital had changed him. He did not know if Jongin would still love the changed him just the same.

He had no way of knowing for now. The many letters he had sent Jongin from the Capital were left unreturned. They had not even spoken to each other in six years. Perhaps Jongin was a changed man, too.

Would it matter to Adrian? He did not think so. He believed that his love for Jongin could move mountains. It truly was baffling to think that how once a faithless man could believe so much in his love for another. It had what made him a better man. It had what given him a better life. And now, he wanted to share it with the boy he had promised to come back to.

He walked past the brook he used to retreat to for baths, trysts, and even respite. Untold memories came flooding back to him. The winter had frozen the brook.

“Is that a traveller?” His attention was momentarily diverted to the two women, who strode past him.

“Must be,” said the other woman. “That’s a man. I think I’m in love.”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “If anything, he’ll look at me. Not you.”

Adrian smiled to himself. Six years ago, he was an unwanted waif in this town. But this morning, when he walked out of the inn, the townspeople looked at him in awe. He was now somebody Jongin could proudly be with. And that was all that Adrian had wanted. To be worthy of the boy.

Except that Jongin was no longer a boy, was he?

With his heart in his mouth, he headed for Jongin’s house. Countless times he had imagined what Jongin’s reaction would be when he showed up at his doorstep to ask his hand in marriage. Countless times. To think that today was the day he would know for sure had him both excited and wrought up.

A beggar on the street gawked at him. “You there,” he called in a raucous voice. Adrian stopped and crouched down to talk to shivering man.

“Yes?”

“You’re not from here,” the beggar pointed out.

Adrian shook his head, smiling as he reached into his pocket for a piece of coin. “I’m not.”

“You must be a soldier,” said the man, teeth chattering. “Got the scars and body for it. And you look happy to be in this town.”

Adrian nodded. “I am from North Hollow. I have come home.” He dropped the coin into the beggar’s hands.

“I do not recognize you. And I have been on the streets of North Hollow for many years.”

Adrian smiled. “So had I.” He stood back up.

“Bless your kind heart, soldier,” the beggar then said.

Adrian had indeed been on the streets for many years. But not once had he begged. He had always been proud of that. He was not sure if he could be all that proud, though, since he used to rely on his thieving skills to survive.

He came to a halt when he spied the house with the lean-to stable. His stomach turned to knots. His hands that wielded swords and looted mercilessly started trembling for the first time in a long time.

Jongin… Jongin…

A few more steps and they’d be together again.

“Just a little longer, my love,” he breathed out to the flowless, numbing winter wind. They had waited this long. He had made Jongin wait this long. Just so that he could be someone. Go someplace.

Tugging at the lapels of his overcoat, he started toward the house. He thought of the night he had stood outside that house with withering wildflowers in his hand, devastated. He remembered looking up at the window and seeing Jongin there, gazing down at him. He also recalled the night he had broken into the house. It was the night he realized he was changing for the boy.

He stood before the front door and waited with bated breath after knocking on it twice. When it opened, he thought he might just swoon. Even a man who bathed in the enemy’s blood on battlegrounds would always be weak in the hands of a lover. And Adrian could not wait to fall back into the hands of his.

His breath snagged when Jongin’s mother held the door open. She did not look any older than the last time Adrian had seen her. Perhaps his memory of her was not as lucid as he thought.

She mustered his great height and muscle-bound body for a moment in incredulity before she said, “May I help you?”

Adrian was not surprised that she did not recognize him. He cleared his throat and gathered a small smile. “My name is Adrian. I’m not sure if you’d remember me.”

She did not look like she did as she continued to eyeball him from head to toe with knotted eyebrows.

“I’m… looking for Jongin,” Adrian then said.

“My son?” she said, blinking. “Are you from far away? Are you from Mayland?”

“Um… No, I’m not. I’m actually from North Hollow. I haven’t been here in six years.”

She seemed even more confused now. “How do you know… Jongin then? I don’t recall ever knowing about you.”

“I will be happy to help you jog your memory of me later,” he snickered. “But can I… please, see Jongin first?”

She frowned. “He is not here.”

“Oh. Has gone out?” He felt like an idiot. “May I wait for him here? Or should I come back later?”

“No. I mean, he does not live here anymore.”

It struck Adrian dumb for a beat, but he had indeed toyed around with the idea of Jongin not living with his parents anymore before. It had been six long years. And Jongin was twenty-five. Adrian understood why he would not be living under his parents’ roof.

But all those years ago, before he left, they had promised to go back to each other, right here in North Hollow. Jongin had said that he would go nowhere and that he would wait for Adrian for as long as it took, right here in North Hollow.

“Does he live somewhere else in North Hollow?” asked Adrian, his heart missing a few beats. Something did not feel right.

Jongin’s mother shook her head. “He lives in Mistworth now.”

Adrian sighed in relief. Mistworth was not all that far from North Hollow. Two days ride at most. “Thank you.” With that, he began to retreat. There was no point in tarrying here in this town any longer. He must ride for Mistworth at once. Unfortunately, Winter Solstice would be over by then. He did not care. He just needed to see Jongin now.

“Wait. Um, how do you know him?” she inquired as he spun on his heel.

Adrian smiled thinly back at her. “I’m a friend.”

Nine years ago…

He had managed to hold onto his composure until he reached home. Sneaking in through the backdoor, he shuddered into his cloak. He could hear his father playing the lute in the drawing room. It was a Winter Solstice tradition. Hani would sing for him while he plucked the strings of the lute. This year, she was celebrating Winter Solstice with her new husband and family. The house was quieter than usual.

“Jongin,” his mother called when she caught him in the kitchen. “Where were you? You disappeared after dinner.”

Jongin kept his eyes low to hide the brewing tears from his mother’s cognizance. “I just took a walk,” he said quietly. “For some air, Mother.”

“Well, you almost missed pudding,” she said.

“I do not have the appetite for it, Mother,” he muttered and turned toward the staircase. “If it is all right, I would like to get to bed early tonight.”

His mother set the sticky fig pudding down and pinned him with a concerned look. “Are you all right, dear? You sound a little… tired.”

“I am tired,” he said. “I should get some rest before the ride to Mayland tomorrow.”

His mother’s gaze slowly dropped to his trousers and scrutinized the white dog hairs sticking to them.

He gave his mother’s cheek a kiss and hurried up the stairs. The decision to practice his mastership in Mayland had been sudden, even though his father had been chivvying him to take the opportunity for months. Jongin knew that a mastership at a college would be very beneficial, especially since he had no clue what he wanted to do with his life. He was sixteen years old. He had no vision for his future. He was no painter like his father. He was had no eye for the trade. He was not good with his hands to get into smithing either. So, when his father suggested that he spent two years in Mayland to further his education after his grammar school, Jongin knew it was the right path to take.

But he could not leave North Hollow.

He could not leave Adrian.

Spilling into his bedroom, he hastily shut the door behind him before he fell face down against his bed and broke into a silent but coarse sob.

He had cried almost every day following the day Adrian told him about Estef. It was not fair. He knew he was upset and why he was upset. But he did not know if it were fair of him to be upset. Adrian deserved to be happy. He deserved to have someone. It was not fair of Jongin to resent him for taking a lover.

What was he hoping for? That one day, perhaps, Adrian would look in his way? Adrian still saw him as a child. And Jongin knew that was not going to change.

He had not felt like a child since the day he was told how he was different than the rest. It had been difficult for him to understand the whole situation at that age. But he believed his mother when she told him that he was different with tears in her eyes and that he was the best of both worlds.

It really did not feel like it. He did not feel like he was the best of any world. He did not belong in this one, that was for certain.

He sat up and wiped his cheeks with the cloak before taking it off. He then aimlessly stared at his pale palms. His hands would never look as hard and rough as Adrian’s. While most boys his age were starting to grow out hairs on their faces and chased skirts around the town, Jongin did not. He had eyes for men, and perhaps, only one man.

When Adrian introduced Estef as his lover, Jongin decided that they would both be better off if they stayed away from each other. He was not sure if he could stay away from Adrian, but he would have to try. He knew Adrian would survive.

He had always been the one that went after Adrian like a lovesick puppy dog. Not that the man had ever noticed. Perhaps Jongin did not want Adrian to notice. Whatever that they had was good enough for Jongin. Until Estef. Now, Jongin knew Adrian no longer needed him to be his friend.

He glanced at the mirror and surveyed his miserable reflection. His life had been a constant battle. One after another. As a young child, he was thought to be ‘cursed’. Before his family had moved to North Hollow, people told his parents that the seizures he underwent from time to time were the doings of a curse. Of course, his father was a practical man. He never believed in such unfounded superstitions. But his mother was naïve. She prayed to the divines every day for them to break his curse. Eventually, they had made the choice to move away from their old town.

The ‘curse’ continued to haunt Jongin and his dreams in North Hollow, too. He lived in fear, not knowing when the next episode might be. But it had passed. The curse was broken, his mother had said one day when Jongin was a young teenager, realizing that he had not had a seizure in years.

But another curse befell Jongin.

He still remembered the night distinctly when his father told him that his mother had something to discuss with him and that he should listen carefully. Of course, his father had opted not to be part of that discussion.

Jongin had known that he was not like the other boys his age. While they played with wooden swords and tumbled in dirt, he listened to bard’s poems at the inn, smelled wildflowers, watched sunsets, loved the breeze of the brook. Hani used to call him a wimp. It had never really bothered him.

But when his mother told him that he was a hermaphrodite, his whole world had upturned. He had cried. Hard. Because he did not know what all of it really meant. But he knew one thing for sure. He was an aberration. No man could be both man and woman. However, his mother was kind when she told him that there were many men and women who were born that way. With gifts, she said. She had called Jongin’s curse a gift.

His family never saw him differently. They loved him. They understood him. They figured that he did not have the same leanings as most boys without having to be told. Even his father did everything in Jongin’s best interest.

“From now, you must be careful,” his mother had said. “You must protect yourself. Keep yourself safe. Be wary and be smart. Your body is yours to protect.”

Jongin recalled her giving the same advice to his sister.

Last year, she had given him another advice. “Men are dangerous, Jongin,” she had said. “Be careful around them. They only take what they need and will ruin you. They will be cruel.”

Jongin had not been able to say anything to that. But she knew. She knew what, or rather, whom Jongin wanted. And he believed her. He would have to take his ‘secret’ to his grave. He could never risk anybody knowing what sort of a freak he was. He would be stoned to death. No one would accept him for he was.

Not even Adrian.

He stopped leaving home as often. Except when he needed to see Adrian.

Then one day, his father said, “If you like lads, wait until you are old enough.” His tone had been stern, and he had not looked at Jongin in the eyes. “There are plenty of men who take men in this realm. We will find you somebody.”

That was supposed to be reassuring. But it also meant that his father planned to meddle with his life. Just like he did with Hani’s.

Some days, Jongin wanted to run away. His family did not treat him differently. But sometimes, that itself drove him crazy. He was different. His father talking to him about marrying him off to some man who took other men left him with discomforts that took his sleep away. His mother giving him advices about men, talking to him like he was another daughter made him want to punch through a wall.

Then there was the day when he realized his feelings for Adrian went beyond their friendship. Even on the day he had first met Adrian at the market, he had seen something the tall, dark-haired, rugged boy was not afraid of dogs. Or anything. He was formidable. He was a thief, he was a waif, but he was… wonderful. Jongin had never met a boy so big, tough, and brave. Adrian had taken his breath away even then.

Over the years, Jongin followed him everywhere with sweetmeats. He wanted to be close to Adrian. He wanted to know everything about Adrian. He knew there was something about Adrian that made him want to be with the man every chance he got.

It was not until his thirteenth birthday that he realized he liked Adrian. He wanted Adrian to kiss him, on the mouth, when he was older and taller. It was that kind of ‘like’. Even thinking about it for the first time had nearly made him swoon, having run out of breath.

North Hollow was a backward, small town, where everything was so grey and mundane. There was nothing much here. But Adrian was here. He had always been here. And he was always there for Adrian.

But now, he was no longer needed. His hopes had been crushed. Adrian was in love with someone else. Jongin wanted to go away. So far away that he would not be able to see Adrian be happy with someone else. It was not fair, but life was never fair to him either.

“I would not be good for you, anyway,” he muttered, looking away from the mirror, dropping his head, as a tear rolled down his cheek.

* * *

“Have you packed everything?” his father inquired once he was done fastening the trunks to the carriage.

Jongin nodded silently. His mother was weeping at his side.

“Will you stop crying?” his father groaned at her. “Mayland is not over the sea. We could visit him at the college.”

“It’s just that…” she snivelled, sobbing into a kerchief. “all of our kids will be gone now. I will miss you dearly, my child. Stay safe. And eat healthy. Sleep plenty.”

Jongin did not know how much he’d miss his parents. They had been with him all his life. So, he supposed he was bound to get homesick at one point. But at the moment, his mind was buzzing with the thoughts of no one but Adrian. He was having a hard time keeping himself from breaking down.

“Goodbye, Mother,” he muttered and wrapped his arms around her small frame briefly before pulling back to bow his head at his father. “Farwell, Father.”

“Study well,” his father said sternly.

Jongin looked at the carriage and its driver. His heart sank even more. As much as he wanted to stay away from North Hollow, he knew this was where his heart was.

Straightening his overcoat, Jongin climbed into the carriage and waved his parents goodbye. He watched his mother cry into her husband’s shoulder as the carriage began to rock and move.

Jongin lowered his head and stared at his clammy hands on his knees. He was so devastated about Adrian that he had not thought much about what awaited him in Mayland. His stomach churned with trepidation. He was afraid. He was, after all, only sixteen.

As the carriage joggled out of North Hollow, he heard a raspy bark.

His breathing seized.

Sticking his head out the carriage window, he looked back at Boo, who was careering and racing after the carriage, yapping grievously.

“Boo,” Jongin let out, smiling as his vision started to blur by the tears. He waved at the dog.

Boo chased after the carriage until the roads outside North Hollow before he came to a halt and howled.

Jongin pulled himself back in and cried weakly into his hands. It was then when it occurred to him that his heart was broken.

* * *

He had thought his time in Mayland would deaden or at least, blunt his feelings for Adrian. He focused on his studies. He was never very good at them, but he tried to do his best. Alchemy was his favourite subject at the college. Again, he was not very good at it, but he liked it.

Neither the studies nor the town that was solely purposed for education helped him take his mind off Adrian.

For the first year, he shut himself off from happiness. He did not want to be happy. Every single one of his thoughts was dedicated to Adrian. He wondered about the man a lot. How was he doing, was he happy, was he cold, was he starving, was Estef treating him right? Sometimes, he wondered about Boo. Rarely, he wondered about his parents and sister, who wrote to him every fortnight. He replied to their letters with the same response—he was all right.

He was not. Mayland was not North Hollow. It was heavily populated. It had bigger buildings, grander monuments, better facilities. There was even a library. But he was not happy here, in spite of being free.

In his second year, however, things were beginning to look up. He was changing. Every time he looked at the mirror, he’d notice something new about his body. He wore his hair fairly short, but not too short. His limbs were no longer dangly, and his body was now supple, waist slightly svelte, skin bronzy and unblemished. His lips were full, his nipples as pink as the other parts of his body he did not dare think about. He was taller, bigger. At one point, he even wondered if he’d be as tall as Adrian now.

In that year, he met Scholar Akil. A brilliant professor from the south, skin as dark as timber, hair as black as raven. He instructed the physiology class. Jongin found the man to be incredibly handsome. And whenever Scholar Akil would look in his way in the class, he’d blush and blush some more when he realized he could not hide his crimsoning face.

He thought he could move on from his feelings for Adrian after that. He was optimistic for once. He wanted to be happy at last.

At first, Akil would only smirk at him from a safe distance. It was not until that one unfortunate summer that Jongin found himself in the scholar’s office, handing in a paper.

“Thank you, Jongin,” the scholar said from where he sat at his desk.

Jongin bowed his head and turned around to leave.

“If you’d like, do you want to fetch a drink at the tavern later?”

Jongin stopped and gaped at the man. “Me?” he asked, shy and flustered.

Akil smiled.

Jongin had said yes.

He became friends with his instructor. Akil’s jokes were funny. He’d laugh at them. He really laughed when he was with Akil, and he had not laughed in a very long time. He’d flinch and blush whenever the scholar would touch his hand or shoulder. He soon decided that perhaps his feelings for Adrian were dying out after all. He stopped thinking about Adrian. He stopped worrying over him. He started ignoring the ache in his broken heart.

However, later that summer, he would find out that Scholar Akil was a married man. It had devastated him. When he had confronted Akil about it, the scholar had dismissed him harshly.

“What did you think we were going to be? Lovers?” the man had spat at Jongin.

It had not broken Jongin the way Adrian had, however. But still, he spent the following weeks in an abyss of hopelessness.

He made no friends. He trusted no one. He had always believed that no one would really love him for who he was. So, he never made the effort to forge friendships he knew would not last.

His hopes for Mayland to be his salvation died just like that. He wanted to go home.

* * *

At the end of the year, following the completion of his mastership, a carriage awaited him to take him back to North Hollow. He no longer looked like a child, but he still felt like one, as he excitedly climbed into the carriage, thinking of his mother’s warm embrace, his father’s curt nod, the smell of his home, the comfort of his old bed, which might be too small for him now.

And Adrian. He could not wait to see Adrian again.

Having turned eighteen, he was now in control of his own life. He had the best education, he had plenty of opportunities lying in wait for him, and he had finally come of age. He wanted Adrian to look at everything that he had achieved and to be proud of him. To know that he was better than Estef.

The two years had not changed North Hollow one bit, apart from the fact that it had a new Reeve now after the former one had died of old age last year. Jongin recalled reading about it in one of the letters from his father.

As the carriage pulled up in front of his house, his mother hurried out of the house with a grin that could have lighted the whole world.

“Jongin!” she exclaimed and pounced on him before he had even managed to fully get out of the carriage.

He giggled and hugged her back. “Mother.”

“My, how big you’ve grown!” She pulled back to take a good look at Jongin. She ruffled his hair and gasped. “You look perfect. So pretty.”

His father sauntered out of the house without any fuss, but he was smiling. He looked happy to have Jongin back home. “Congratulations on completing your mastership, son,” he said, looking at Jongin like the latter was a stranger. “Welcome back.”

“You have made us all so proud,” his mother said, kissing his cheek. “We have missed you so much, darling. Come inside. I have made you your favourite fig pie.”

* * *

“How was Mayland?” his father inquired at the table.

Jongin took a sip of the warm berry tea before answering, “It was… an experience, Father.”

His father arched an eyebrow while his mother busied herself with crowding Jongin’s plate with food he could never finish. Braised pork, roasted carrots, quails, and potatoes, garlic bread, boiled peas.

“It is a fine town, is it not?” said his father. “I hope you had a good time there.” Something shifted in his expression. “But I do hope you weren’t off, lifting lads’ tunics all the time.”

Jongin almost choked on his drink, and his mother scowled at her husband. “Will you let the boy breathe?” she told him. “He has just come home.”

“I am allowed to be concerned,” the man said.

“No, Father,” Jongin blurted out. “I never… did such a thing. My priority was my studies.”

“Good.”

“Well, if you are done hounding him, let him eat.” His mother stroked his head. “All this talk about Mayland can wait until his belly is full.”

“Your sister will be visiting next week. You will get to meet your niece for the first time,” said his father.

Jongin’s heart warmed at once. He had wanted to meet his little niece from the moment he had read in one of Hani’s letters that she was expectant. He had thought a lot about what her daughter might look like.

“She is adorable,” said his mother.

Jongin grinned to himself. “I can’t wait to meet her,” he said.

After lunch, he stayed in the kitchen for a moment, listening to his mother’s narration of everything that he had missed in the past two years.

“The new Reeve talks about building another well,” she said. “Closer to our home. It would make it easier to fetch water. I wouldn’t have to go all the way to the brook.”

She handed him a sweetmeat. Jongin chuckled softly before tossing it into his mouth.

“Oh. And a lot of men are leaving North Hollow,” she then said.

Jongin blinked. “Why?”

“To join the Queen’s army. They’re recruiting.”

Jongin had heard about the border skirmishes when he was in Mayland. He knew about the recruitment. But he did not think anyone from North Hollow would be interested in going to battle for their Queen.

His chest then tightened. “How many have already left?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Why? Please, you are not thinking of enlisting, are you?” Her face paled.

Jongin shook his head immediately. “Mother, we both know that I can’t even wield a paintbrush let alone a sword.”

“Oh, that is a relief.” She sighed. “Let us speak of this no more, then. Tell me. Did you, perhaps, find someone in Mayland?” There were both curiosity and concern in her expression.

“No, Mother,” he said. “I did not.”

“I am glad,” she whispered. “Your father would not have been happy if you had.”

Jongin frowned. “I am exhausted from the ride.”

“Of course. You go clean yourself up and rest. I will call you down for dinner.”

Jongin nodded his head once before he wended his way upstairs. His trunks were already in his room.

Nothing had changed in his bedroom. The same old bed, the same old portraits his father had painted. He glanced at his wardrobe and recalled the night he thought he had seen a monster in his bedroom. It had been Adrian. Looting.

Even then, he had not resented the man. In fact, he had cried to his father all day, all night to withdraw his complaint and discharge Adrian from the bridewell. His father had said no the first hundred times Jongin had begged him. But then, when Jongin told him that Adrian had stayed instead of fleeing when he had the seizure, his father began to reconsider. Certainly, the man lived by some strong principles. A debt must be repaid.

Crashing onto his bed face-down, Jongin cudgelled his wits about Adrian. It was killing him to stay put and not run to Adrian’s shed right this instant. No. He would not have his heart broken even more. He was taller now. He was smarter. He had his self-respect. So, he would wait until morning, he decided.

His heart sang a different song, however. Even though there was a big chance that he would only be disappointed yet again if he went to see Adrian, he knew that pain would be better than to not to see him at all.

He rose from the bed and walked into the bathing room, where he washed and perfumed himself before slipping into simple tunic and trousers. He then picked up a book and started reading it to bide the time.

The pages remained unturned as he sat on his bed and recollected all the memories he still remembered of him and Adrian for the rest of the afternoon.

As the outside world began to darken, making way for dusk, he felt his heart skip a nervous beat. Setting the book on the bedside table, he pulled his cloak on and ambled out of his room.

“Where are you off to at this hour?” asked his father from the hallway when he caught Jongin trying to sneak out. “Should you not be resting?”

Jongin cleared his throat before speaking. “I am rested,” he lied. “I was thinking of taking a walk.”

“It’s dark,” chided his father. “And cold.”

Jongin clenched his fists at his back. “I won’t go far, Father.”

The old man’s eyebrows furrowed. It was strange that his father still treated him like he was a child. Well, he did the same thing to Hani until she was married.

“Very well,” the man sighed. “Be back quick.”

Most fathers would want their sons to leave home, find a manly job, bring home the bread. Jongin’s father wanted him to stay safe and stay indoors, where he could protect him.

The wintry air slapped against his face when he walked out of the house. He started toward the shed by Roach’s residence.

He did not know what he’d say. He had not rehearsed their first meeting after two years. Jongin had not even written Adrian a letter. Well, Adrian did not have a house a letter could be delivered to. But that was not the reason he did not write. He never knew what he’d say to him.

While one part of him fretted over what to say, another worried that he might not even find Adrian in North Hollow. What if he were one of the men that had left the town to enlist in the army to fight on the borders? His head hurt just from the thought of it. He would never see Adrian again if that were the case.

He tried to calm himself as he neared the shed. It was still there. Unlit and cold. He knew Adrian was not in but decided to give the door a knock, anyway. Without an answer, he slumped against the door and scrubbed his face with his palms. He could feel his eyes burn. He had made a mistake. He never should have left. He was wrong. Staying away from Adrian had only made him miserable. Now, he might never see the man again.

The air was tautening around him, suffocating him. When he looked up at the night sky, as though to pray to the divines to give him his Adrian back, he saw no stars, no moon. The night was just dark and cold. The world suddenly felt like it wanted to swallow him whole. He wanted it to. He needed to go away. To somewhere he could not feel anything.

No one loved like him, he realized. He felt too strongly. He hurt too easily. But in spite of all that, he stayed the quietest. Drowning in silence.

Just as tear rolled down a corner of his eye, he heard a dog’s bark that broke the quiet of the night. His head whipped around to look at the white dog that stood in the middle of the yard with its tongue lopped out of its mouth as it panted.

Boo. God, it was Boo!

Jongin started to tear himself away from the shed. But he stopped abruptly when he heard heavy footfalls on the ground.

“What is it, boy?” he then heard a voice he thought he would have forgotten. It was deep, rough, arousing in ways Jongin never knew was possible. The voice had the fines hairs on the nape of his neck sticking up. His soul returned to him. Set on fire. Screaming in happiness.

Boo woofed once more, leaping around excitedly before he darted across the yard and cantered over to Jongin.

“Boo, what are you—” the man stopped himself.

Jongin froze.

Yipping, Boo rose to his hindlegs and tried to reach up to Jongin. When he found the strength to move a hand, he gave the dog’s head a rub. Boo panted hard as he began to leap around Jongin in circles.

His eyesight eventually adjusted itself on the man, who had halted in his tracks. Jongin had been wrong. He was not taller than Adrian. Not even close.

Before he even knew it, his foot was taking a slow step forward. Adrian had gone stock-still. He sported a beard now. His hair was a lot longer than the last time Jongin had seen him. Perhaps his memory of Adrian was distorted, but he did not recall ever seeing the man with such broad shoulders and a heavily muscled body.

But there he was, standing before Jongin like a king dressed in rags. He was now a fully-grown man, not a single feature of his teenagerhood left in his angular face. His shirt was mostly unlaced, revealing the faint hairs dusted over his thickly muscled chest. His neck looked thick and strong. The sleeves of his shirt were almost snug around his bulky arms. His shirt was covered in soot, his hands too.

Jongin, once more, felt small. And his self-confidence crumbled just like that. He was yet again the small, weak boy that was afraid of the strays in the alley.

Adrian’s tormenting eyes were staring at him, studying him, too, in disbelief.

Jongin forced himself to move. His heart thundered so hard and loud that he was worried that Adrian would be able to hear it in the quiet of the night.

As he neared the other man, his knees began to tremble, slowly turning to water. He was afraid. Afraid of what Adrian might say. Adrian never really said much to him. Jongin did not even know that the man cared about him until his thirteenth birthday. Everything had changed since then. For him, at least.

He stopped a couple of feet before Adrian. His parted lips quivered as they attempted to brave their dread and form words. The silence was hanging between them like dead air.

And then Adrian spoke.

In a low, raspy voice, he said, “Jongin?”

Whatever that had gotten into him in that moment in time, Jongin was lurching forward, lunging into Adrian’s arms. He gasped for air as he buried his face in the man’s chest.

For a while there, Adrian stood still, frozen to the ground.

“Adrian,” Jongin exhaled, winding his arms around the man’s neck, tangling his fingers in Adrian’s hair.

Just as he began to think that Adrian was not going to hug him back and that he had made a fool out of himself, strong arms snaked around his back and waist.

He thought he could die from just this.

As Adrian’s arms tightened around his body, pulling Jongin unbelievable close to himself, he bowed his head and nuzzled into a side of Jongin’s neck, inhaling him sharply. Jongin shuddered when Adrian’s beard scraped his neck. That was an alarmingly foreign feeling.

Their hearts were thumping against each other as Adrian pressed one of his large, callused hands to Jongin’s back while the other curled around a corner of Jongin’s waist.

Jongin held himself still, even though his knees were about to buckle. He braced his body against Adrian’s and cried, hushed, while Adrian brushed his face against Jongin’s neck.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, running a hand down Jongin’s back.

Jongin’s head was pounding now. He did not need to hear that. He wanted Adrian to not to say anything. He used to be so good at not saying anything. Jongin did not want to hear it. Because it hurt him all the more.

He pulled back and looked up at the man, glassy-eyed. Adrian had a faint smile playing on his lips. He was happy to see Jongin again. But he was not in pain like Jongin was. Perhaps he had not missed Jongin the way Jongin had missed him. He must not have spent nights crying over Jongin. Or beaten himself up over how disgusting and abhorrent he was. He must have never thought about how he could never tell someone he loved that he loved them because he was too afraid of how they might judge him for being a freak.

Jongin wanted to spill his feelings in that very moment, to tell Adrian that he loved the man. But words inevitably failed him, he rose to the tip of his toes and crashed his mouth against Adrian’s, eyes clenched, hands fisted around Adrian’s shirt.

He felt the other man’s smile dissipate into the kiss as his hands fell away from Jongin’s waist, and he went completely immobile, as though he were rooted to the spot.

Adrian’s lips were warm, though a little chapped. Jongin worried that his heart would fall out of his chest. Blood pulsed viciously in his temples. His hands were trembling around Adrian’s shirt. He thought he might just faint.

The kiss, chaste and sudden, was frigid, in spite of their lips burning against each other. Adrian was not kissing him back. In fact, he was not doing anything. It was all so tepid. It was nothing like what Jongin had dreamed it would be. And he had dreamed a lot about how it would be.

Jongin pulled back with a gasp after a couple of beats and loosened his grip on the shirt, lowering his eyes at once. He did not dare look up at Adrian right now. God, what had he done… No. No.

He would have turned around and run away if only he had been able to muster the courage to turn a single hair. Instead, he stood there, shaking and wishing that the ground would eat him up.

Splaying his fingers on Adrian’s chest, he swallowed a sob and weakly croaked, “I’m sorry.”

He was in the wrong. He had to issue an apology. Adrian deserved that, at least. What he did not deserve was a terrible friend like Jongin.

As he started to pull his hands back so that he could head back home and deal with his new heartbreak in the most painful ways, Adrian caught the sides of his head.

Cupping Jongin’s cheeks with his huge, rough hands, he coaxed Jongin to look up at him and meet his eyes. When a tear betrayed Jongin’s eye, Adrian wiped it off with a thumb. He did not look angry or shocked when Jongin gazed up at him.

“I missed you,” he said again, eyelids falling heavy. Jongin’s breathing shallowed as Adrian leaned his head down.

It was what everything Jongin had dreamed it would be after all. Vivid fireworks of colours. Flowers blooming in his heart. The world simply slipping away from their grip.

He thought he was in one of those dreams as Adrian pressed their lips together, gently, carefully but firmly, and kissed him. Jongin melted into his embrace, yielding entirely.

Adrian broke the kiss momentarily to study Jongin’s face for any signs of distress. When Jongin only looked back at him with a vulnerable, soft gaze, he slid a hand into Jongin’s hair at the back of his head and yanked him harshly close before smashing their mouths together.

Jongin gasped for breath while Adrian kissed him ferociously, tongue swiping along his lips, demanding dominion and control. Jongin surrendered again and again, feeling like a novice when he realized Adrian knew what he was doing. But this was the first time Jongin had ever kissed anyone.

His face burned wherever Adrian’s beard grazed. His lips were throbbing, swollen within moments. His concentration was on every little thing. The way Adrian sucked in small breaths between the kisses. The way his fingers curled around Jongin’s hair, tight but not tight enough to hurt. The way their noses brushed when Adrian tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

The desperation on his lips and the vigour he manifested upon Jongin’s indicated that he had wanted this just as much as Jongin had.

It was better than what Jongin had imagined, actually. This was real.

They came apart, panting, chests heaving laboriously.

Adrian kissed Jongin’s forehead and pulled him close again, enveloping Jongin in his powerful arms.

“The secret to the perfect dandelion wine is a dash of ground pink peppercorns,” said their mother as she sprinkled a pinch of pepper into the simmering concoction.

“Father loves this wine,” said Hani, sidling next to Jongin, who was holding her daughter.

He loved how his little niece played with his hair, kissed his cheeks, mumbled gibberish. She was the sweetest, prettiest thing he had ever seen. He foolishly hoped that one day, he too would have a child of his own who was as wonderful as she.

“He sure does,” said their mother. “On our… wedding night, we had a sip of this and within moments, we were…” she trailed off, face pinking.

“Ew, Mother,” Hani spat. “Neither of us wants to hear the details of how I was conceived.”

Their mother rolled her eyes, taking the kettle of wine she had just brewed off the furnace’s heat. Jongin lowered his niece back to the ground when she asked to be let free so that she could go play with her dolly in the drawing room.

“Anyway,” said the older woman in the room. “If you two need your husbands in a good mood, this is the secret weapon.”

Jongin shivered at that. He knew his mother had not thought too much about what she had just said, but his mind was instantly cast to Adrian.

“What are you grinning like that for?” asked Hani with a hand on her hip.

Jongin blinked, realizing that he was indeed smiling to himself. Wiping the grin off his face, he said, “Nothing. I should go see what Mihana’s doing in the drawing room.”

He excused himself from the kitchen and hurried toward the drawing room, where he found his niece sitting on the floor, playing with her dolly.

“Does she have a name?” he asked, kneeling on the floor next to Mihana.

The child nodded her head excitedly. “Ellie,” she said.

“Why Ellie?”

“My friend’s name is Ellie.” She giggled. Jongin rubbed her head. Perhaps one day, he would have a daughter like her. And he would have a husband, too. His heart fluttered even at the thought of that. And at the thought of Adrian coming home to him and their child. Silly dreams for an eighteen-year-old boy to have.

But if he had learned anything, he knew it was all right to dream. Because some of them came true.

After dinner, Jongin asked to be excused to his room to read a book while his sister and mother proceeded to spend the rest of their evening making a new quilt while his father and brother-in-law busied themselves in his father’s studio to discuss matters Jongin had no interest in. Mihana had also gone to bed.

He waited until the streets were quiet and asleep to sneak out of the house, like he had been doing for the past two weeks. He was sure his parents had noticed. But they had, for some reason, decided to ignore it.

He grabbed an empty mead bottle from the kitchen when he was sure the rest of his family were occupied. He could not help the smile that stretched his lips from ear to ear as he filled the mead bottle with some dandelion wine.

Perhaps this would help Adrian and him cross the borders they had not been able to brave in two weeks since Jongin came back to North Hollow. they both knew what they were now to each other. They were aware of what they should do to each other. But since that kiss, everything had been so… careful. Some evenings, they’d just sit in Adrian’s shed and say nothing, and definitely do nothing.

Adrian was still working for the blacksmith and was learning the trade from him. But he and Estef stopped seeing each other since Estef enlisted into the army and left North Hollow. When Jongin heard the news, he almost jumped in joy. But of course, he had offered Adrian his ingenuine condolences. Adrian told him that he was not sad about it. Estef never meant much to him, and he never meant much to Estef. Jongin could only assume that it meant that Adrian had not fallen in love with Estef.

Jongin told him all about his years in Mayland. He left the part about Akil out, of course. Or the part about how miserable he had been when he was there, wishing every day that he was with Adrian.

They talked and held hands. Some nights, Adrian would kiss him, gently on the lips, before saying good night. They knew what they were to each other now, but they never really talked about it. It was one of those borders neither was brave enough to cross.

Filling the bottle, he smiled deviously at it. If his mother were right, a sip was all they’d need before they’d be crossing those borders.

He then slipped out through the backdoor and headed for the shed, hoping Adrian was back from his work at the blacksmith’s forge.

Jongin needed more courage. To tell Adrian the truth about himself. The thought of how Adrian might react to the news of him being a hermaphrodite worried him so much that he felt sick every time he thought of telling the man.

Would Adrian hate him if he knew? Would he find Jongin disdainful? Jongin realized that he did not want to find out. Not so soon, at least.

He gave the shed’s door a knock before pushing it open. Adrian was in, still clad in his work shirt that was dirtied by soot and oil. He was asleep, an arm draped over his forehead, the sound of his soft snores filling the shed.

Boo lifted his head from where he was curled up on the pallet next to Adrian and made a joyous yip. Jongin pressed a finger to his lips to hush the dog as he sank into a seat on the edge of the pallet.

Adrian had more things in his shed than he did before Jongin left for Mayland. He even had an oil lamp. It did not make the shed any warmer, unfortunately.

Jongin glanced at the sleeping man and ogled him for a long moment, admiring everything about Adrian. He could never look at Adrian when the man was awake. He usually kept his head and eyes low, fingers fidgeting nervously. Sometimes, the person you loved the most gave you all the reasons to cower.

But asleep, Adrian was a different man. He was peaceful, not angry at the world for mistreating him. Jongin had not expected Adrian to change so much in just two years. But he loved the changes.

Raising a hand to Adrian’s chest, Jongin softly trailed his fingers down the haired sternum.

“It is rude to defile a poor, sleeping man,” Adrian muttered all of a sudden, in a low, drowsy voice that had Jongin both startled and aroused.

He retrieved his hand at once as his face began to burn. “I was not… defiling you,” he rasped, scratching the back of his head.

Adrian cracked his eyes open and smirked at him. “Do you do this often? Did you do it when you were in Mayland? Find a sleeping man to minister your aptitude of seduction?”

Jongin wanted to run out of the shed and never return. “I did not… I’m sorry.”

Adrian chuckled and propped himself up on his elbows. “Relax. I am joking.” He brushed a hand up and down Jongin’s arm. It had Jongin shuddering. “I liked it.”

He then sat up and eyed the mead bottle Jongin was holding.

“I see you’ve come bearing gifts,” remarked Adrian cheekily.

Jongin shrugged. “It’s wine my mother made herself. My sister is visiting with her family for a week. So, our mother made some for her husband.”

Adrian’s eyes widened. “That is… impressive. And you brought some… for me?”

Nodding shyly, Jongin handed it over to the bigger man. “I thought you might like it.”

Adrian had a smile on his face as he uncorked the bottle. “I always like myself some hooch.”

Jongin was glad that Adrian appreciated it. “Adrian?”

“Hmm?” Adrian hummed, taking a sip straight from the bottle. His face crumpled at once in something like confusion. “This tastes… new. But it’s very good. I’ve never tasted a wine like this, though.”

Jongin shifted his weight on the bed so that he was facing Adrian, though he kept his eyes down. “Can I ask you something?”

His heart was pounding.

Adrian waited.

Jongin slowly lifted his gaze and realized that he was not ready to ask the man anything. So, he reached out and pried the bottle out of Adrian’s hand.

“Whoa,” Adrian let out. “Are you sure you want to—”

“I can handle some wine,” Jongin said and gulped a mouthful of the dandelion wine. It did taste new and weird. It tasted nothing like wine. Or dandelions. But as soon as it hit his stomach, his head turned in a cruel spin.

“What were you going to ask me?” asked Adrian, sounding sober as he always were.

Jongin blinked his eyes that were starting to get heavy. “What are we?” he whispered, handing the bottle back to Adrian, who took another sip.

“What do you mean?”

Jongin cleared his throat that was slightly burning from the peppercorns. “I mean… when you and… Estef were together… you called him your lover. You kissed me… and we’re friends again… but what am I to you now?”

Adrian’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “Is it not clear? Do I have to… spell it out?”

“Maybe… Yes.” God, his head was spinning. And something was burning in his groins.

Adrian set the bottle down on the ground and mused over something for a moment. “Jongin,” he sighed at length. “After you left, not a day went by where I didn’t think of you. I thought of you a lot, but mostly, I wondered why you had chosen to leave. I, somehow, felt a little responsible. And I don’t know why, I felt… guilty. I wished every day that I had done something to make you stay. But at the time, you were still a child and… I could not see you in such a light. But the feelings were there. I cared about you. I cared about you from the moment you told me you were afraid of dogs with tears in your eyes.”

Jongin bowed his head. “Can you see me… like that now?”

“It’s a process. But… I promise you, I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about you. When you kissed me the other night, I was completely taken aback because I was not expecting for you to still feel the same about me after two years.”

“Do you find me attractive?” He clasped a hand over his mouth as soon as he had blurted the ridiculous question out. Something was happening to his body, and he knew it was the wine’s fault.

But Adrian still sat there like he had consumed a drop of nothing out of that bottle.

“Jongin, are you all right?” Adrian inquired, arching an eyebrow.

Jongin rose to his knees on the pallet so that he could be taller than Adrian who was sitting down. Grabbing onto the man’s shoulders, he looked directly into Adrian’s eyes.

“You said that I was a child before. What about now? Am I… Do you find me…” he trailed off, the tip of his ears burning.

Adrian blinked his wide eyes a few more times before he raised his hands to Jongin’s hips. His touch scorched Jongin at once.

“You might want to… get off me,” Adrian said, his voice hoarse and cautious, his tone a warning. His grip on Jongin’s hips slowly began to tighten as his breathing noticeably quickened. His fingers that curled around to the small of Jongin’s back were starting to dig into the flesh.

Jongin slipped his hands into Adrian’s mane-like hair and clutched at it. “I’m not a child anymore,” he croaked, tugging at the man’s hair, drawing his head back.

“I know,” Adrian let out, eyes leering at Jongin’s exposed collarbones with palpable lust. He bit his lower lip, drawing his gaze down Jongin’s body.

“That’s why you kissed me.”

“I know.”

“So, what are ‘we’ to you now?”

Adrian ran his hands up the sides of Jongin’s torso. “Whatever you want us to be, Jongin.”

“No,” Jongin squealed. “I don’t want us to be whatever I want us to be. I want to know what we are to you.”

Adrian sighed heavily, not appearing to be one bit affected by the wine. Jongin, on the other hand, was about to collapse. And everything was just so hot.

“Like I said, it’s a process,” said Adrian. “Two weeks ago, I thought that you were gone for good, and that I would never see you again. Now, you’re here… in my arms. I need some time to wrap my head around it, Jongin. And figure some things out.”

“Things like what?”

“Things like… Can we even be together?”

Jongin lowered to sit on Adrian’s lap, eyes turning sad. “What does that mean?”

Closing his eyes for a few moments, Adrian sucked in some steady breaths, hands still resting at Jongin’s sides.

“I’m still a waif, Jongin. I don’t even own a house,” he said then, drawing his eyes open. “I live on the mercy of others. I don’t have much of a future. But you… You have completed your mastership. You have an education. You have a supportive family. It is only a matter of time before you left this f*cking town to make it on your own somewhere better. But I… I don’t really have an option.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jongin said quickly, pressing his hands to Adrian’s bearded cheeks. He was not going anywhere again. Adrian did not look convinced. He pulled a face before turning it away from Jongin. Jongin scowled. “But that’s not all, is it?”

Adrian shook his head, sighing. “I don’t… trust anyone to stay forever.”

Jongin felt his heart clench. “But… I will, Adrian,” he whispered.

“Why would you, Jongin?”

Jongin climbed off Adrian then and settled back on the pallet, hanging his head. “I liked you since I was nothing but a child,” he said quietly. “The feelings have changed over the years, yes. But they have not grown smaller. Sometimes, you might have a million reasons to leave. But you might only need one to stay.”

Adrian rubbed his beard and then his temples. “You left. I thought it was… somehow my fault.”

Jongin wanted to lie his heavy head down and close his eyes. “It was,” he whispered.

Adrian looked at him with a perplexed expression. “What?”

“You and Estef… I couldn’t… take it,” he murmured. The words that came out of his mouth no longer sounded like they made sense. He felt strange, as though he were not even in control of what he was saying anymore. “I wanted you. I’ve wanted you to myself since I was eleven, since I saw how brave you were with the stray doggies. I did not like it when you’d make those eyes at Iza. And I certainly did not like it when Iza made those eyes at you. You looked at everyone… but me. I was hurt. And I was even more hurt when you were with Estef. The worst part was that you did not seem to realize how much you were hurting me. And it was not fair to you, I know. But it was not about me being a child then. I never really thought I would be good enough for you, even when I found out that you bedded men.”

These words he never would have been able to speak had he not taken that sip of wine that made his belly all warm and fuzzy.

“I never cared if you were an orphan or a waif, Adrian,” he then added in a whisper. “But I cared if you were a good man. I wanted you to stop thieving. And you did. I wanted to make an honest man out of you, and you were… are the most honest man I know, which is ironic because no thief was ever considered as honest in the history of mankind. But you made yourself better. You are a good man. That is all that I care about.”

“You say that now.”

That stung. Jongin glanced at Adrian with a disappointed yet sharp glare. “Do you think my feelings for you will waver in the future?”

“Perhaps not tonight and not tomorrow. But when you need a sturdy roof above your head in the midst of a rainstorm, the comfort of a house at least half as big as the one you live in now, the warmth of the hearth’s fire in winter, a table of food for every mealtime in the future, you’d feel differently for me, Jongin.”

Jongin wished Adrian knew how much the distrust and qualms he apparently harboured were knifing at Jongin’s heart. And what was worse that he could not even promise Adrian that none of that would happen.

“Nectar is the sweetest when the bud’s freshly blossomed,” Adrian said. “But as it wilts and withers away…”

Jongin knew he could say nothing. Or perhaps he just did not have the strength. He fell back on the pallet and closed his eyes involuntarily.

“Jongin?”

“I want to sleep,” Jongin mumbled. He felt Boo curl up by his feet.

“You have to go home,” Adrian said, sounding flustered.

“No,” bleated Jongin, burying a side of his face into the pallet.

He then felt Adrian’s hand on his thigh. He almost shuddered. “Jongin? Your family will start wondering where you are.”

“Let them.”

Adrian exhaled a heavy breath. “You cannot sleep here.”

“Yes, I can. Or is only Estef allowed to sleep in here?”

Adrian groaned. “It isn’t really built for two grown men and a dog, especially if one of the men is the size of two men.”

Jongin drowsily opened one of his eyes and looked at Adrian. “Speaking of which… how did you grow so much?”

Adrian smiled and took another sip of the dandelion wine. “Growth spurt.”

“So late? You’re almost thirty.”

Adrian scowled then. “I’m twenty-three. Or at least that’s what I think. I don’t really know.”

Jongin reached out and set a hand down on Adrian’s that was resting on his thigh. “Do you really not… know anything about your family? Or where you came from?”

Adrian was mum for a while before he said, “I have made my peace with it.”

Tightening his hand around Adrian’s, Jongin whispered, “I will always be your family, Adrian.”

He had said that in all his sobriety in spite of being an inch closer to unconsciousness.

And God, the way that Adrian had looked at him in that moment… Jongin would never be able to forget it. Adrian looked like he had found a silver of hope in the debris of a ruin.

* * *

He woke to the sound of the town’s roosters crowing at the crack of dawn. Something was different, he noted at once. The bed was hard. His head was resting on something even harder.

His eyes fluttered open to the wooden ceiling of the shed and the first light of daybreak that peeked through the slits of the wood planks. Something smelled like a dirty dog.

It was the dirty dog that was sleeping on the ground as there was no more room left for even its small frame in the pallet.

Jongin’s heart stopped beating for a moment when he realized where he was.

Turning, he looked at the man sleeping next to him, whose arm Jongin had his head rested on. Adrian was sound asleep, his shirt unlaced and hanging open in spite of the cold. The heat that radiated from his body enveloped Jongin in a warmth sweeter than the gentle fire on a winter night.

Jongin almost wanted to fall back asleep. But then he realized that he had not gone home last night.

Cursing under his breath, he slowly sat up and ran his hands through his mussed hair before glancing at Boo, who had roused, too. The dog tilted his head, looking at Jongin.

Before leaving the shed, Jongin leaned in and brushed a kiss against Adrian’s cheek. Although the man stirred, he was not awakened.

Then scrambling to his feet, Jongin grabbed his cloak and hurried out of the shed.

By the time he reached home, his mother and sister were already up and about in the kitchen, making breakfast. Jongin’s stomach clenched when his mother gasped as he rushed in through the backdoor.

“Jongin!” she squawked, almost letting the pot of pottage slip from her grip.

“Mother,” Jongin rasped and looked to his sister, who was pinning him with an incredulous look.

“You’re up?” asked his mother. “Did you wake up early?”

Jongin decided to go along with that. “Uh-huh.” He kept his head low to hide his bloodshot, sleep-leaden eyes. “I just went for a morning walk.”

“You’ve been going on a lot of walks, day and night, haven’t you,” said his sister, crossing her arms over her chest with a smug smile.

“It’s good for health,” he muttered and spun around to hurtle out of the kitchen. “I should take my bath now.”

“All right,” said his mother. “But be down fast to breakfast with everyone.”

“Sure.”

As he almost ran upstairs to his bedroom before he could bump into his father, his sister chased after him.

“You,” she snapped, grabbing his elbow to yank him back as he entered the room. “So, who is he?”

Jongin stopped and gaped at his sister for a moment before he pulled his arm free and walked away from her. “What are you rambling about, Hani?”

His sister closed the door behind her and smirked in his way. “Oh, please, Jongin. I know you snuck out last night and did not sleep in your bed. Now, I want to know whose bed you were sleeping in.”

Jongin’s face burned as he busied himself with taking the cloak off. “You’ve gone mad, Hani.”

“So, you’re telling me I’m wrong to think that you smell like another man? And weirdly enough… like a dog.”

Jongin tried to smell himself. Did he really smell like Adrian? It made him smile.

“Come on,” his sister whined, plumping on the bed. “Tell me. Who is it? Do you have a lover? When did this happen? After you returned from Mayland?”

“Hani, quit it. There’s no such thing.” He kept his gaze low, twiddling his thumbs.

“All right. If you don’t want to tell me, please tell me that you are being careful.”

Jongin looked up at her with a co*cked eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Hani shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know… You wouldn’t want to come back here with a swollen belly one day, unmarried.”

Jongin nearly clasped his hands to his ears. “Oh, God, Hani! I told you you’re mad!”

Turning his back to his sister, he paused for a length to gather his breaths and composure. He could not even picture himself with a swollen belly.

“Besides,” he then muttered in hushed tones. “We do not even know if I’ll be able to…”

“There is a possibility, isn’t there? At least that’s what we’ve always believed. The Midwife said—”

“She might have been wrong. Maybe I’m… not…”

He wanted to, though.

“I’ve heard that plenty of hermaphroditic men have been able to bear children. And hermaphroditic women who have been able to give children.”

“I might not be one of them.”

Hani shrugged her shoulders once more. “Either way, I hope your happy, Brother,” she said, smiling. “I have never seen you so… bright before.”

Jongin pursed his lips to stop them from grinning and giving himself away. “I am going to take a bath.”

Hani rose from the bed and walked over to him. Grabbing his shoulders, she said, “Father is not going to happy.”

Jongin frowned. “I know.”

“He wants to run everything his way.” She ruffled Jongin’s hair.

“Just like how he liked to run everything in your life?”

“Well, I cannot say that I am not happy now.” She smiled. “But he is not going to be okay with this, Jongin. So, think about your choices wisely. You’re a clever boy.”

With that, she exited the bedroom, leaving Jongin to ponder his future. She was right. His father would not be fine with him falling in love with someone he did not approve of, let alone with an orphan, a former thief who had absolutely no prospect for a stable profession.

Jongin knew he would have to elope if he wanted to be with Adrian.

As he slowly recollected last night’s events, he wondered if Adrian were all that serious about him, about them. He had not sounded so sure last night.

It’s a process, he had said.

Which meant he was not taking Jongin seriously at the moment. He did not trust Jongin to not to leave. Because everyone in his life eventually did leave him.

Well, Jongin would just have to prove him wrong.

* * *

It took Jongin nearly three months before he had managed to muster the courage to touch Adrian intimately again. This time, without the help of wine.

As they sat on the brook’s bank at sundown, as Adrian flung a stick for Boo to fetch, Jongin hungrily looked at Adrian’s lips, neck, arms, and chest—thanks to his unlaced shirt. He wanted to walk his fingers and lips down all of them.

He wondered what Adrian would think of all the debased thoughts that ran in Jongin’s mind.

“You dirty boy,” Adrian scoffed, and Jongin tore his gaze from Adrian’s crotch at once, startled. “A dirty little pooch, aren’t you?”

“I beg your pardon. What did you call me?” Jongin said before it registered to him that Adrian was not looking at him.

Adrian turned with a raised brow. He was holding Boo’s paw on his other side. It was muddy. “He ran into the mud.”

“Oh.” Jongin scratched the back of his head.

“He doesn’t run fast and gets tired easily,” Adrian commented.

“He is still a good boy,” Jongin muttered. “You still love him the same… even if he is not like the other doggies, right?”

Adrian fixed Jongin with a smile that eased Jongin’s nerves then. “Of course. I wouldn’t change him for a thousand coins.”

Jongin needed to tell Adrian. He could not string the man along for far too long without telling him the truth.

Adrian must have noticed the sudden strain in Jongin’s expression. “Is something on your mind?”

Jongin gnawed at his lower lip. He should tell Adrian now. There was never going to be the perfect moment to tell the man he loved that he was a freak.

But instead, he chickened out as usual.

“You haven’t… kissed me in… eight days,” he whispered weakly, head hung.

Adrian was silent.

Then sighing loudly, he took hold of Jongin’s chin and tipped it up before leaning in to brush their lips together. The kiss warmed Jongin’s belly.

“Better?” Adrian asked, pulling back.

Jongin nodded his head lightly.

“You should get home,” he then said.

Jongin agreed. It was getting late. Adrian rose to his feet before he held a hand down to Jongin to help him up.

Taking it, Jongin let himself be hauled to his feet which staggered and had him stumbling forward, crashing against Adrian.

Adrian smiled cheekily as he secured his arms around Jongin.

Sometimes, Jongin asked himself why Adrian was holding himself back with him. He had always been so forward with Iza and Estef. He had even called Estef his lover. But he was chary to even touch Jongin. And it had been moons since they started their little affair.

Clearing his throat, Jongin pulled away from the other man and turned around.

That was when the whole world caved in around him as his gaze darted to his father, who was standing in the middle of the street, gripping his cane in his hands, wearing an unreadable expression on his face.

“Father,” he exhaled, heart galloping over mountains.

“Jongin,” he heard Adrian mutter behind him before he felt Adrian’s hand curl around his wrist.

Just as Adrian began to put himself between Jongin and his father, Jongin cowered behind him, eyes stinging with tears.

Instead of confronting them, his father turned on his heel and limped his way back toward home.

As Jongin began to tremble, Adrian looked back at him with a discomfited frown. “Jongin,” he called softly.

Jongin shook his head. “I should… get home,” he muttered shakily and started past Adrian.

Even as he walked into his house, he did not stop shaking. The tip of his fingers had gone cold and numb.

His mother told him to wash his hands and have dinner with her usual smile. Jongin barely responded as he dragged his feet to the drawing room.

He found his father seated on the chaise lounge, staring vacantly into the fire.

“Father,” Jongin mewled.

“Leave me be,” were the last words his father would say to him for the next couple of years.

The new year started with a grieving news.

Jongin stood and watched, arms hugged around his body, Boo at his side. He did not know much about Roach. The man was detested by most in North Hollow. And even though Jongin did not know the man personally, he had never held any resentment toward him. Mostly because he knew Roach had offered Adrian help in many instances when he needed it.

He could tell the death had affected Adrian deeply, however.

The man had died in his sleep. A peaceful death, a merciful death for a man that had allegedly committed countless crimes.

But no one had gathered for his burial.

That had angered Adrian in the same way it saddened Jongin.

He watched Adrian grip the shovel with more force than necessary as he covered the grave with apparent ferocity and anger. He had not cried. He did not even hint that he was sad. All of his sorrow was hardened into rage when he found out that nobody cared about Roach enough to give him a proper burial.

It rained that evening.

Jongin and Boo stood in the rain, waiting for Adrian.

When he was finally done, Adrian paused for a moment to stare at the fresh grave, a furious scowl etched on his brows.

“You deserved better, Roach,” he said as the rainwater soaked him from head to toe and ran down his face.

Dropping the shovel then, he walked away from the grave and approached Jongin.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin said again, for possibly the tenth time today as he took Adrian’s hands and frowned at them. They were blistered and chafed. “He was good to you when no one else was.”

Ignoring the rain, Adrian dropped his face against Jongin’s shoulder and held him close for a while.

When they were in Adrian’s shed again, Jongin lit the candle, shivering into his wet clothes.

Adrian stood idly, staring at nothing.

It hurt Jongin to look at him. Adrian had never grieved before. He had never lost anything before because he never really owned anything. Roach was probably the closest thing he had had in his life to a father figure.

“It’s all right to grieve, Adrian,” Jongin said, closing the distance between them. He lifted his trembling hands to Adrian’s damp shirt to unlace it. “It’s okay to cry.”

Adrian stayed still while Jongin slowly undid his laces. He then peeled the shirt off of Adrian’s body before tossing it to the ground.

“This is it,” Adrian muttered at length. “I have to go.”

Jongin blinked. “Go where?”

“Away.” Adrian pulled away from Jongin and carded his blistered fingers through the wet strands of his hair. With his back turned to Jongin, his shoulders rose and fell at a rough pace.

“Adrian?” Jongin called softly as he saw the muscles in Adrian’s back tauten. Raising his hand to Adrian’s sharp shoulder blade then, he said, “You are upset. You should rest.”

“I can’t rest,” spat the man without turning around to face Jongin. “Roach is dead. The only one… who ever gave a damn about me.”

Jongin frowned. “I care about you, Adrian.”

“For now?”

Jongin’s heart sank. “Please, don’t say that.”

Adrian spun around then and glared Jongin down. Jongin dropped his hand to his side and cowered before the bigger man. “Why are you here, Jongin?” he growled.

Flinching, Jongin kept his eyes low. He knew Adrian was spiralling. Everyone dealt with grief differently. He was sure Adrian did not know how to deal with his.

“Answer me!” Adrian then roared. His voice eclipsed the cacophony of the rainstorm that plagued the town that night. Boo grovelled and whined apprehensively, hiding in the corner.

Jongin did not lift his gaze as a raindrop dripped from his eyelashes. “What does that… mean, Adrian?”

“What the f*ck do you hope to get from me?” Adrian snarled. “I’m not good for you. And I never will be! You should leave now, too. Instead of when it’s too late for either of us to turn back!”

Jongin tried to blink his tears away. “I don’t… want to leave,” he whispered.

“Why? Because you think you love me?”

Jongin wrapped his arms around his shivering, drenched body. He had never really told Adrian that he loved him. And neither had Adrian. But it was out there. Clear as day.

“Love will not get you everything you need, Jongin,” said Adrian, furious and frustrated. His chest was heaving, the muscles in his body stiffer than usual. “I’m lost. I have nothing. The Reeve will take away Roach’s land now that he’s dead and he willed it to no one because he had no family, no friends. Only trading partners.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “And that means I have no place to live. I cannot stay in North Hollow anymore.”

That had not occurred to Jongin before.

“And where does that take you?” Adrian spat. “You’ll be with a homeless waif, who can never give you anything you want.”

“You are everything I want,” Jongin blurted out, looking up at Adrian with glassy, pitiful eyes.

Adrian clenched his jaw. He was ridden with both fatigue and annoyance now. “Stop it. Stop saying that.” He turned around and rubbed the back of his neck.

Jongin stepped closer. “You think you are not good for me. Adrian, I will never be… good for you.”

Adrian froze for a moment before he faced Jongin again with a baffled look. “What are you talking about? You are the one who deserves better.”

“What if I don’t?” he mewled, taking hold of Adrian’s arm. “What if… I’m broken? In ways that not even… you would want me…”

Adrian’s eyebrows pinched together.

Jongin quickly wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek. “You know that I’ve loved you for a very long time,” he said in a small breath. “But… you’ve never told me how you’ve felt about me. You don’t even show that… I mean something to you. Are you afraid that I’ll leave you, or are you worried that you’re the one who’s going to leave me, and you won’t feel all that guilt about it… because you don’t really… love me?”

Something shifted in Adrian’s expression. He looked distraught now.

Jongin, still shivering in his wet and cold clothes, gazed up into Adrian’s eyes. “Is that it? You don’t… love me.”

Adrian’s hand sprung up to grab a side of Jongin’s head before he yanked Jongin close and kissed him, hard and desperately. Jongin promptly ran out of breath, taken aback by the unforeseen violent kiss. Adrian had never kissed so fiercely. So passionately that it hurt. While one of his hands cupped the back of Jongin’s head, the other slid down to the small of Jongin’s back, holding him close. Jongin gasped for some breath between the kisses, hands clinging helplessly onto Adrian’s strong shoulders.

His lips were throbbing when Adrian broke the kiss. Looking into Jongin’s eyes then, he frowned sadly, thumb stroking Jongin’s cheekbone.

“I do love you,” he exhaled, voice raspy and rough. “I love you, Jongin. You’re the only one I’ve ever really loved. And that… terrifies me. I put up so many walls around you. Because… you’re the one person I don’t think I can… lose. But I know that I will lose you one day. And I won’t be able to take it.”

Jongin’s hand slithered down to Adrian’s chest. The man’s heart pounded against Jongin’s palm. A thunder that quaked the world had Jongin shuddering against Adrian.

“I’m scared, too,” Jongin then admitted in the dark, resting his face upon Adrian’s chest. “So scared to see the disgust in your eyes when you find out that I’m…”

“You’re what?” Adrian asked. When Jongin did not answer, the man took hold of Jongin’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Jongin. Tell me.”

Jongin could not meet Adrian’s eyes as he quietly uttered the words, “I’m a hermaphrodite.”

Adrian’s hands fell from Jongin’s face. He only blinked at Jongin confusedly. “You’re a what?”

Jongin sniffled. “I…” He thought his knees might give in at any moment. So, he sank into the pallet and hugged his knees to his chest.

Once Adrian had taken a seat beside him, Jongin gathered silvers of courage to apprise Adrian of his condition. He told the man everything he knew. Everything he should have told Adrian a long time ago.

“I’m still me,” he muttered at the end, a sob choking his throat. “It’s all I am, Adrian. But I would understand if… you can’t accept me anymore. I will not resent you for it. I should not have kept you in the dark, but I was afraid that… the man I loved will look at me with derision if he knew.”

His chest ached with an agonizing misery. Perhaps it was not the best of times to break such a secret to Adrian when he was already grieving and was devastated. But there was never going to be a good time to say this.

When he glanced to Adrian, the latter was staring at nothing, head dropped low, shoulders slouched with exhaustion. The rain was not ceasing. Jongin thought of running out of the shed and into the rainstorm, where he could scream his sorrows out and no one would hear him.

“I’m sorry,” he let out, unsure of what else he could say.

“You should be,” Adrian then murmured without raising his head. Jongin wanted to die. “You thought I would… think of you as… broken if I knew?”

He looked to Jongin next, eyes red and tired as the candleflame danced in them.

“You’re the purest… person I’ve ever met, Jongin,” Adrian whispered, lifting a bruised hand to Jongin’s cheek. Jongin leaned into the rough yet gentle touch and closed his eyes, letting a tear trickle down a corner of his eye and into Adrian’s palm. “So pure that I fret that my hands would soil you. You are not broken. You’re beautiful. In every way possible.”

Jolts were sent down Jongin’s spine, and he felt a little lightheaded. He had never heard such sugary words about himself. He had never really thought himself as beautiful. And to hear it from Adrian, it was as though he were borne into a world of love and virtue. It was a feeling like no other. It was better, purer than any love confession. The acceptance from the man he loved the most.

“I feel all the more… undeserving of you,” Adrian added, shaking his head.

Jongin’s breath trembled. “I am not like everyone else, Adrian.”

“Good. Because I f*cking hate everyone else.”

That made Jongin smile and chuckle softly. Adrian did not smile. Clenching his eyes momentarily, he rested his forehead against Jongin’s and drew a few deep breaths.

“It’s difficult,” he breathed out. “to hold myself back when I’m with you.”

Jongin splayed his fingers over Adrian’s bare chest and slowly dragged them down the man’s rock-hard abdomen. “Then maybe… don’t.”

He did not know how much he meant it. As much as he wanted them to get closer, he was not sure if he could do it himself. He had never been intimate with another man. He had no prior experience whatsoever when it came to this. He did not want to initiate something he had no real clue of.

“I want the night to end,” Adrian said, brushing the tip of their noses together. Jongin opened his eyes to see a teardrop streaking Adrian’s cheek. It pained him to see Adrian so upset.

“It will.” Jongin was uncertain if Adrian even heard the whisper over the discord of the rainstorm. Brushing a kiss to each of Adrian’s closed eyes, he ran his fingers gently along the man’s bearded jaw.

“Will you spend the night?” asked Adrian.

Jongin agreed with a small nod of his head. His mother might look for him, but his father had stopped paying him any heed since he found out about him and Adrian last year. It was all right, Jongin constantly told himself. But it did hurt. Every time his father would snub him when they were in the same room or refuse to eat at the same table as Jongin. He had not, however, told anybody, not even Jongin’s mother, about Jongin’s love affair.

They curled up together on the pallet. Boo settled in his usual spot at the end of the pallet while Adrian lay behind Jongin, an arm draped around Jongin’s waist.

“Our clothes are still wet,” Adrian remarked.

Jongin squirmed uncomfortably. “Yes, they are.”

“I have a spare shirt if you want to change… It’s not mighty clean, though.”

Jongin sat up as Adrian rose from the pallet to step out of his damp trousers. His mouth turned dry, gaze fixated on Adrian’s fingers that were undoing the laces of his pants. His face burned as he turned it away when the trousers began to sag down Adrian’s hipbones.

He did not want to seem like a prude. So, he stood up and turned his back to Adrian.

“Here,” Adrian said, holding out his shirt to Jongin.

Without turning around, Jongin received the shirt and yanked the damp tunic over his head. He hoped Adrian was not watching. Or perhaps he wanted Adrian to watch him. He was not sure. He had never undressed in the presence of another man either.

But then he heard Adrian slipping back into the blankets on the pallet, naked as the day he was born. Quickly pulling Adrian’s oversized shirt on, Jongin laced it before shimmying out of his pants.

The candlelight perfectly illumined the hard lines of Adrian’s muscles on his body as he lay there on the pallet with an arm tucked under his head. He was staring at Jongin’s exposed legs.

Jongin tugged at the hem of the shirt that reached mid-thighs and shyly knelt on the bed. Adrian patted the pallet, beckoning Jongin to join him.

With his heart beating almost as loud as the thunders that accompanied the rainstorm, Jongin sidled next to Adrian and drew the blankets up to his waist.

Propping his head on a hand, Adrian looked down at him with a blank slate for an expression. Jongin turned his face away to vacantly gawk at the flickering candleflame.

“You are beautiful, Jongin,” Adrian whispered.

Jongin wanted him to stop talking now. Even the sheer hoarseness in Adrian’s voice was doing strange things to his body.

“I wish you had told me sooner,” he said, nuzzling into a side of Jongin’s neck.

Jongin shuddered and shut his eyes tightly, a hand fisting around the blankets.

“You are never broken to me,” Adrian breathed against Jongin’s neck, lips brushing a kiss there. It scorched. “I’m the broken man here. I’m so sorry I have nothing to give you. And I’m so sorry that I am asking you to give yourself to me.”

Jongin looked at him, then. Was he? Was he asking Jongin to give himself to him? “Adrian,” he whimpered, panting.

“I want to…” he let out, burying his face in Jongin’s neck once more to kiss it, and pressed a hand to Jongin’s belly.

“I want it, too,” Jongin replied weakly, holding onto Adrian’s arm.

Adrian raised his head and kissed Jongin deeply but languidly. He savoured Jongin’s lips one by one, sucking and licking them gently, leaving them red and craving for more.

His hand slid lower and slipped past the hem of the shirt to stroke the thigh and hip. A feeble moan broke from Jongin’s throat as Adrian’s rough fingers brushed his skin.

“Don’t,” Jongin whimpered onto Adrian’s lips.

Adrian’s hand froze, curled around Jongin’s hip, and the man pulled back and stared into Jongin’s eyes. “I thought you… wanted to.”

“No, no. That’s not what I… meant,” muttered Jongin, lips still aching for more as he looked at Adrian’s mouth. “I just… I don’t know… how to… I’ve never…”

Adrian smiled then. “I will not do anything to you that you don’t want me to do,” he said, sliding his hand up to grip a side of Jongin’s waist.

With his breath hitching, Jongin curled his arms around Adrian and placed his hands on the man’s sharp shoulder blades.

“I don’t know how to do this with you either,” Adrian then muttered, lips and beard brushing Jongin’s cheek. “You’re not… like the others I’ve been with, Jongin.”

Jongin’s heart skipped a beat. His body liked having Adrian this close. His churning stomach, the blood swirling in his nether regions, the tightness in his chest, the way his skin tingled when Adrian touched it…

His body wanted this proximity, this intimacy. But his head was worrying.

“I will stop,” Adrian exhaled, still peppering Jongin’s face with lazy, gentle kisses. “if you want me to.”

No, God, no. Jongin did not want him to stop. Actually, he did not know what he really wanted right now. Perhaps this was not the reaction he had expected from Adrian after having told him that he was a hermaphrodite, and this was throwing him for a loop. And Adrian was grieving. Perhaps he just needed to cope with his grief at the moment.

But then all of Jongin’s qualms dissipated when Adrian said, “I just want to hold you tonight.”

Jongin pressed a kiss to Adrian’s shoulder and shifted on the pallet so that Adrian was positioned between his legs. “Hold me, then… Please,” he whispered against the shoulder.

Adrian drew his hand to flatten it on Jongin’s belly under the shirt and blankets. His callused palm singed the planes of Jongin’s abdomen.

“Is this okay?” inquired Adrian.

Jongin nodded.

“Can I kiss you?”

Another shy nod.

While Adrian’s mouth covered Jongin’s, his fingers under Jongin’s—or rather, Adrian’s shirt—glided up.

His lips trembled against Adrian’s, a moan threatening to betray his throat, when Adrian brushed his thumb over his nipple. Jongin sank his fingernails into Adrian’s back, teeth almost biting the man’s lip as Adrian’s thumb skimmed around the hardening nipple.

“Adrian,” he bleated frailly.

Adrian kissed him ferociously then, teeth and tongue bruising Jongin’s lips. Dragging his hand down again, he caressed Jongin’s hip before the hand snaked around it and cupped Jongin’s ass before gripping at it, fingers digging into the cleft.

Jongin tried to keep up with it all. The rough, demanding kisses, the desperate hands, the grinding hips. But failing miserably, he clutched at Adrian’s hair and broke into a string of moans, kissing Adrian back with half the strength the other man harboured.

His body burned, as though it were set ablaze, when Adrian walked the hand along the underside of his thigh before he yanked Jongin’s leg to be loosely wrapped around Adrian’s under the blankets.

Jongin sobbed for air, all of his concentration averted to the other man’s thick, hard co*ck pressed against his thigh.

Oh, God…

“Can I touch you here?” Adrian asked, fingers stroking the inside of Jongin’s thigh, edging dangerously close to his crotch.

Jongin moaned into a crook of Adrian’s neck as agreement. He never knew how sensitive his skin was until Adrian’s rough fingers caressed it there.

Capturing Jongin’s lips between his own once more, Adrian moved his hand a little further along the thigh. “Here?” he muttered into Jongin’s mouth, his voice starting to sound raspier than it was a moment ago.

Jongin only shuddered when the fingers breached an area between his legs that tingled at the warm touch. His breaths were short and laboured. His own co*ck was also hardening fast, twitching and burning.

“Adrian,” he moaned into the kiss. Taking that as consent, Adrian ran his hand along Jongin’s aching shaft once before he drew the back of his fingers down, stroking the slit of sheath between his testicl*s and the orifice.

Jongin’s body arched into Adrian’s then, a feeble moan betraying his lips.

Adrian cursed under his breath, pressing the back of his fingers gently against the sheath. “Jongin,” he groaned breathlessly. “Won’t you touch me, too?”

Although Jongin’s body was mostly paralyzed, head buzzing, eyes rolling back, lips trembling, he reached out and wrapped a hand around Adrian’s thick co*ck.

Another groan rumbled in Adrian’s chest. Jongin tightened his grip around the co*ck and began to stroke it while Adrian rubbed his sheath in slow, tender touches. It was mindboggling. Jongin was unable to do anything but bask in the excitement of those touches.

“God, you’re so warm,” rasped Adrian, his parted lips pressed against Jongin’s jawline, the back of his fingers caressing Jongin’s warm, burning sheath.

He took large drafts of breath, retrieving his hand from Jongin to curl it around Jongin’s hand that was gripping and pumping his co*ck.

“Harder,” Adrian instructed through his teeth, guiding Jongin’s hand to stroke his swollen, pulsating length hard, firm and fast. “That’s it… Oh… f*ck… Jongin…”

He brought his hand back to Jongin’s crotch and caressed his thigh before brushing his fingers along the sheath. Jongin had never really dared to touch himself down there. It felt obscene and wrong. But to have the man he loved touch him in such ways felt heavenly. It felt so good that it had to be a sin.

Then grabbing Jongin’s wrist, Adrian drew his hand away from his arching member and pinned it to the pallet, along with the other wrist, on either side of Jongin’s head.

Baffled and, honestly, a little disappointed, Jongin stared at the man on top of him as Adrian lowered his hips.

Releasing one of Jongin’s hands, Adrian fiercely yanked Jongin’s shirt all the way up to the chest before bowing his head to plant fiery, radge kisses on Jongin’s stomach.

With a gravelly cry, Jongin brought his free hand to clamp it around Adrian’s hair. Adrian tongued his navel, licking along the space between the navel and the base of Jongin’s shaft.

Jongin whimpered Adrian’s name like a prayer through the rackets of the rainstorm.

Adrian eventually slithered back up to kiss Jongin on the mouth, hips pressing into Jongin’s crotch.

He gasped into Adrian’s mouth when the warm, swollen co*ck brushed against his sheath. It burned at the friction. He had never known it could be so sensitive that it felt incredibly raw when Adrian’s co*ck touched it.

He writhed under Adrian, hands pressed against the man’s back. “Adrian… Ah… w-wait…” he panted, grabbing onto his lover’s shoulders.

Adrian stopped at once and cupped a side of Jongin’s face. “Am I hurting you?”

Jongin did not know. He was not in any sort of pain, but it was all very strange. His body spasmed, breath hitched, head spun every time Adrian touched him down there.

“No,” he whispered, averting his gaze. “You’re not… hurting me.”

“Should I stop? Do you need me to stop?”

Jongin was not entirely sure. He supposed it would be completely understandable that he was uncertain of how his body felt the first time he was intimate with another man.

Blushing ferociously, he shook his head and drew himself up to kiss Adrian on the lips. “I don’t want you to stop but… please go slow.”

Adrian smiled upon his lips and kissed Jongin tenderly before he slid off Jongin and dropped back on the pallet. Jongin frowned when Adrian drew the blanket over them.

“I… I didn’t mean to—” he began, realizing that he had done something wrong that had put Adrian off.

“Shh.” Adrian hushed him and hooked an arm around Jongin to haul him close. Jongin shifted so that his back was pinned against Adrian’s chest. “We’ll wait until you’re ready.” He planted a kiss on the nape of Jongin’s neck.

Shuddering, Jongin laced his fingers around Adrian’s as Adrian kept his arm curled around his waist. “I am…” he whispered. “It’s just that… I’ve never…”

“I understand.” Adrian sounded tired. “Thank you for staying.” He placed another kiss on Jongin’s neck. His beard pricked Jongin’s skin.

They then lay in quiet for a long moment that Jongin began to think that Adrian had fallen asleep. But Adrian’s unsteady breathing suggested that he was still wide awake. The storm was staring to die outside.

In the dark and cold, Jongin whispered, “I’m really sorry about Roach. I know you cared for him… like a father.”

He felt Adrian’s arm tighten around him, but the man said nothing in reply. Jongin wondered what sorts of thoughts Adrian was lost in.

Boo soon climbed into the pallet, squeezing into whatever room there was left.

Letting the heat of Adrian’s skin and the solid muscles that were enveloped around him slowly to lull him to sleep, Jongin hoped that everything would turn out well for both of them. Especially for Adrian. And he planned to be there at Adrian’s side, helping him in any way possible.

* * *

When he roused in the morning to the sound of roosters crowing. The air smelled like fresh grass, damp loam, and the rain that had strafed the town last night.

Turning on the uncomfortable pallet that suddenly had more room, Jongin stretched and pulled his eyes fully open to greet the morning lucidity.

His gaze flitted immediately to Adrian, who was seated at the foot of the pallet, shoulders slouched, head hung.

The recollection of the events of last night came rushing to Jongin’s mind then. Even the mere thought of it all had his heartbeat growing quick and his cheeks warm.

Sitting up, he brought a hand to Adrian’s back. The man did not flinch, as though he had expected the touch.

“Adrian?” Jongin called in a thick, hoarse voice.

Adrian heaved a sigh then and rose from the pallet before he pulled his pants on. Jongin noted the unusual distress in Adrian’s taut expression.

“Is something… wrong?” inquired Jongin. He gathered the blanket closer to cover his unclothed thighs.

Adrian rubbed his beard. “I have been… thinking about something,” he said at length.

Jongin blinked. “About what?”

Adrian met his gaze eventually. There was something like pain in his eyes as he lowered back down to the pallet for a seat. He took hold Jongin’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Jongin’s heart skipped a beat at that.

“I can’t stay in North Hollow,” Adrian then muttered, fingers still wrapped around Jongin’s hand. “And I… want to be someone good enough for you.”

Jongin frowned. “You are,” he let out.

Adrian shook his head. “I’m not. I’ve never been. But maybe… I can.”

That did not sound good. Adrian was up to something. He seemed and sounded like he had settled on some kind of decision. Jongin braced himself for the worst as he sidled closer to Adrian.

“What do you mean?”

Adrian drew a deep breath. “The Queen’s army is still looking for new recruitments.”

Jongin’s heart dropped instantly. He withdrew his hand from Adrian’s and turned his face away. “No,” he exhaled.

“I have no other option.”

Jongin felt a sob rise in his throat. He recognized that tone. Adrian really had made up his mind, and he was not looking for Jongin’s input. He was merely informing Jongin.

“No,” Jongin said again, tears pricking his eyes.

“Jongin,” Adrian sighed.

Jongin deliberately flinched away when Adrian tried to hold his hand again. “There are other ways,” he whimpered unconvincingly.

“There aren’t,” said Adrian, pressing his forehead to Jongin’s temple as his hand curled around the back of Jongin’s head. “I will come back. I will always come back to you. I promise.”

Jongin did not want to hear any more of this. “You can’t leave,” he mewled out, choking on a sob.

“Jongin… You’re making this really hard for me. I have no life here.”

“Enlisting in the army is not exactly a betterment, Adrian,” Jongin said desperately. His heart was beating so fast that he thought it might fall out of his chest.

“Anything would be betterment compared to a good-for-nothing, once thieving waif in a town that doesn’t want me.” He cupped Jongin’s cheek and forced Jongin to meet his eyes. “I have thought long and hard about this, Jongin. This my one chance to… be a better man. Someone… you could be with.”

Jongin pressed his hands to Adrian’s chest, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m happy with who you already are, Adrian,” he said in a whisper.

“I have to do this,” Adrian said with some finality in his tone. Jongin drew back.

“What about me, then?” he asked, voice thick with sorrow.

“God,” Adrian huffed and caught the sides of Jongin’s face in his hands before yanking Jongin close. Pinning their foreheads together then, he said, “It will kill me all over again to stay away from you, Jongin. But you are the reason I have to go. I have to.”

Jongin broke into tears then. “Adrian… no… please…”

He did not know how he could stay away from Adrian for so long. He did not think that he could handle the separation. And then he realized that was not even the worst of it all.

The army. The war.

It was not only about when Adrian would return to him. There was also the question of if he would ever.

Jongin shook the dire, harrowing thought away at once.

In the end, no number of pleas held Adrian back. The man was determined. So, Jongin decided to be the wind beneath his wings, even though he was crippling within.

* * *

Adrian left the next day.

As they stood on the outskirts of the town, reluctant and loath to say goodbye, Adrian drew Jongin into an embrace that lasted for long but not long enough.

Jongin sobbed against the man’s chest, listening to the myriad of promises Adrian was making him.

“Take care of Boo for me,” he said, brushing another kiss on Jongin’s forehead. Boo whined miserably when his name was mentioned, lifting his front paws to Adrian’s leg.

Pulling back from the embrace, Adrian cupped Jongin’s face in his hands and kissed him one last time. Jongin did not want to let go. He wished that he could just follow Adrian where he was going. But that was not an option.

As Adrian broke the kiss, his thumbs wiped the tears staining Jongin’s cheeks. “I’ll be back to you,” he promised once more. “even if it takes me another lifetime. We’d be together again.”

Jongin and Boo watched him walk away from North Hollow that day, devastated and heartbroken. But Jongin, with everything he had, chose to believe that Adrian would keep his promise.

Present day…

While Mistworth was not a small, insignificant town like North Hollow, it was not exactly reverberating with the life and vivacity that could be found at every hour of the day at The Capital. In fact, it was the furthest thing from it.

As Adrian exited the carriage, he gazed at the tall wooden doors that gated the city, which resembled a hold rather than a city with bricked walls barricading its borders. He then craned his head up to glance at the sombre dark sky, grey clouds shrouding every ray of sunlight. The day looked like a wintry evening where the sun was not allowed. Palls of black firewood smoke clambered their way up from the other side of the wooden doors. Two city guards stood guard at the doors with spears in one hand and wooden shields in the other. The smell of the sea that surrounded the other side of the city swirled in the air. The Mistworth Harbour was close. The city was built upon the sea.

Picking up the trunks, Adrian started toward the entrance. Somewhere beyond those doors was the love of his life. Six years ago, he had promised Jongin that he would come back to him even if it took him another lifetime. And perhaps just to keep that promise had Adrian strove to stay alive and fought to survive in all those battles and his time at The Capital.

He had imagined that by now, he’d be in his lover’s arms once more. But something ominous kept deferring it. Adrian tried to stifle the ill feeling that had been bubbling in his chest since he left North Hollow.

What could have prompted Jongin to move to Mistworth? Jongin was well-educated who had a bright future. It made sense that he would have left North Hollow, seeking a better life sooner or later. And it explained why the letters Adrian had written him from The Capital were unanswered.

He stopped in his tracks when the guards halted him.

“You there,” one of them growled. “Where are you from?”

Adrian arched an eyebrow at the guard and the other before smugly saying, “North Hollow.”

“What business do you have in Mistworth?” demanded the guard.

“I’m visiting someone,” said Adrian, keeping his cool.

Then the other guard spoke up. “You must pay us a toll to enter the city.”

Adrian stared at them for a long moment before he walked up to them. “Must I now?” he scoffed. He stood considerably taller and bigger than the guards, who gawked up at him through their helmets. “I will pay the entrance toll, but if I find out that you’re bluffing, I will be sticking your heads on a pike when I come out those doors again. You will find that I have no trouble severing heads and bodies after having served in the army for almost six years.”

The guards gulped and stepped away from him. “Forget about the toll. You may enter,” said one of them, grabbing the handle of the colossal doors.

Adrian huffed heavily as the doors opened. Glaring at the guards, he entered the city. He had heard plenty of rumours about how Mistworth was dubbed the city of thieves. But he had not expected its guards to be filching sneaks, too. He best be circ*mspect with his eyes peeled during his stay here in this city that was infamous for its black markets, illegal trades, and remorseless thieves and raiders. Then the thought of Jongin living in such a town made his mouth taste bitter.

Mistworth, in spite of all that, was the city that was known for its trades, especially on the account of its strategic position in the middle of trade routes. Roach spoke a lot of it when he was alive. He also made many trips to the city for his business. An irreputable man in an irreputable city.

The overcasts in the sky allowed little light to be shed over the city that stood in two levels and had a stream of seawater running through the city. The higher level of the city held the houses and other buildings, such as taverns, inns, a temple, the marketplace, a general store, a raiment outlet, a blacksmith’s forge and even a meadery. Wooden bridges arched over the level, connecting one side to the other. And there were many. Stairs at the corners led to the lower level, where the streamlet ran between the platforms. Small boats were docked at the platforms. Prisons were on the lower level, hidden away from whatever light that reached the city. And Adrian suspected that that was also where the unlawful trades took place.

As he walked over the bridge, a drunk beggar, clad in rags and no pants, stopped him, clinging to his arm. “Care to spare a coin?”

Adrian handed him a coin.

The beggar’s eyes bulged, as though he had never laid his eyes upon a coin, before he snatched the coin out of Adrian’s hand and scampered away toward the Looting Fox Tavern.

Adrian then glanced to the bustling marketplace in the centre of the city. While hawkers huckstered their merchandise at their stalls, men and women gathered around them, haggling for a lower price, shouting at the top of their lungs. City guards roamed the area, paying no heed to the fight between the drunk sot and a beggar in one corner or to the arguing husband and wife in the other.

There were more guards here than there was in The Capital, much to Adrian’s surprise. And the only town guards he’d ever seen in North Hollow were the ones that escorted the Reeve of the town.

The people of Mistworth had an accent to their fashion of speaking. Adrian had met a few men from Mistworth during his time in the army. Their accent had hit his ear wrong even then.

No one looked in his way even as he strolled past the market.

“I cannot sell you this leather band for half the price, sir,” he heard one of the hawkers tell his customer.

“It should cost no more than two coins,” spat the other man grouchily. “You are robbing me in broad daylight.”

What broad daylight, thought Adrian as he looked up at the dark afternoon sky once more.

He then scoured the buildings and the signboards hanging outside their doors. He spotted Moira’s General Store, The Reaping Raiment, Brown’s Breads and Buns, and Spearpoint Weapons.

He could feel the soft current of the flowing water beating beneath the soles of his boots. Leaning over the railing, he looked to the level below and the water the city stood above.

How was he supposed to find Jongin in here?

He sighed. He would have to ask around until someone recognized the name. But first, he needed a rest.

When he glanced around to find someone to ask for directions, his gaze landed on a peculiar man, who was sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd.

He donned a deep green leather cloak, its cowl pulled over his head, with a shiny silversword hanging at his hip. He watched the people jostling in the market, leaning against a stack of casks as he sank another bite into the apple he held in his hand.

Adrian could not quite make out the man’s face since he had the cowl drawn low, covering half his face while the other half was covered by a thick but trimmed beard.

Lowering the trunks to the ground, Adrian tilted his head in amusem*nt and watched the cloaked man toss the apple away before he pulled away from the casks and moved toward the market.

Adrian straightened his head again when he realized that the man’s footfalls left no noise on the wooden planks that made the platform he walked on. No thud, not even a single creak. Nobody turned in his way or even noticed him as he casually ambled past them, as though he were invisible.

He grabbed an apple from a stall without being seen and took a bite of it as he walked out of the marketplace with a smirk on his lips.

“My pouch!” a man screamed amid the crowd then. “It’s gone! My coins! Thief! Thief! Guards!”

Adrian then turned to look at the city guards that rushed to the marketplace as the people scurried away, hugging their belongings tightly to their chests.

“There!” the man with the stolen pouch yapped, pointing at a woman, who was holding a basket in her hands. Gasping, she examined the content of the basket and picked up the empty pouch.

“It was not me!” she said, looking more offended than afraid.

“That is my pouch! Where are my coins, you hag?!”

The guards seized the woman at once. “I swear, it wasn’t me!” she cried as the guards hauled her way, promising her that she would speak the truth in the prison.

Adrian, with his heart drumming hard against his chest, turned to the cloaked man, who was sauntering past him with a tinge of pride in his squared shoulders and quiet strides as he gently tossed the coins in the air and caught them again.

Gripping his jaw, Adrian caught the man’s arm with a rough hand.

The cloaked man jerked to a stop and turned sharply to Adrian. He was not taller than Adrian was, and he had a frame slightly slimmer than Adrian’s own body. But he still had a strong build. Adrian felt the muscle in the man’s arm tauten in his grip.

“I know you did it,” he told the man in a low voice.

For a moment, the other man said nothing and simply stared Adrian down, his bluish grey eyes hooded by the shadows of the cowl over his head.

Then in deep, husky voice, the cloaked man said, “No one likes a tattletale in the City of Mistworth where we’re all rats and thieves, some call it the hell on earth, traveller.” He smirked as he said it before he licked his lips. It almost sounded like the verses of a song.

Adrian loosened his hand around the man’s arm, eyebrows furrowing into a frown.

With his smug smile, the man took another bite from the apple before he walked away. For a length, Adrian stared at nothing blankly and confusedly. He then glanced back to look at the cloaked man, who had disappeared from his sight.

He flinched when he heard someone else scream, “Thief!” from a far distance.

The city should worry him, scare him. But Adrian found himself surprisingly at ease. Perhaps there was not much that could scare a man who had seen wars.

Well, there was one thing. Love.

“I am tired of your carelessness!” a man shouted behind him.

Adrian turned on his heel to look at the husband and wife who were arguing earlier. They still were.

“I had it on me. I didn’t mean to lose it,” said the woman regretfully.

“We should leave this godforsaken city,” spat the husband.

Adrian started toward them. “Pardon me,” he said, momentarily intervening.

They turned to him with wide eyes. “Who are you?” asked the man, scowling. “What do you want?”

Adrian sighed. “It’s my first time here. I was hoping that you could point me in the direction of your best inn.”

The man dropped his gaze to the trunks in Adrian’s hands. “Only a fool would walk into Mistworth carrying all these belongings with him,” snorted the man.

“The inn, sir,” said Adrian sternly.

Scoffing, the man then pointed westwards. “You want the best inn? The Rotten Weasel Inn is where you should be going. Best mead in town. But don’t get too monged out or you will wake up the next day with nothing but your loincloth on you.”

Adrian nodded his head at the couple before he started for the inn as the man and the woman began to whisper behind him.

Reaching the inn, he entered it and found the innkeeper behind the counter, wiping it with a rag. He briefly glanced to the woman who was plucking the strings of a harp at the end of the inn, singing a gentle melody.

The wind from the north shows the way,

The ground paves the path on its loam.

For a man who has been kept at bay,

Living on the memories as sweet as honeycomb.

Every cold night and every waking day,

And as the horrors of the war fades the hero comes home.

Adrian walked over to the counter and greeted the innkeeper.

“Passing by or looking to stay in Mistworth for good?” asked the innkeeper, co*cking a bushy eyebrow at him, leaning over the counter. He looked like a man in his mid-thirties with fiery red hair.

“I would like a room,” said Adrian, dodging the question.

“For how long?”

“A couple days.”

“That’ll be six coins.”

Adrian handed him the coins and glimpsed the songstress who began to play a different ditty.

“Pick any room you like in the east wing,” said the innkeeper. “And keep that coin purse of yours close.”

As Adrian wended his way up the stairs, he caught the eyes of the songstress, whose plush, rosy lips crooned a tune before it stretched into a smile as she looked at Adrian. Her fair hair flowed down her back like a cascade.

She lightly bowed her head, still singing, as though to greet Adrian. If living in the Capital had taught him anything, it was that women who would not even lift their heads to look at a man would be brazen enough to make lustful advancements toward him. The other soldiers envied him for that and called him a fool when he’d refuse the women who wanted him.

When he’d tell the soldiers that he had a lover waiting for him back home, they’d say, “Nobody back at home would know what you do so far away from it.”

They had a point. And Adrian had stumbled upon countless attractive men who wanted him just as much as the women. But he had promised himself to Jongin. The longing and the absence only made him love the boy even more.

That mattered the most to him. Staying true to Jongin, who would not bear the thought of Adrian sullying the purity in their love by taking it for granted.

* * *

After a brief nap, he climbed back down to see if he could grab a bite and a sip of something decent.

The inn was much crowded than it had been earlier in the afternoon. Men and women laughed and sang cheerily with tankards of mead in their hands. Something smelled good, Adrian thought. Something roasted.

As he took a seat at one of the tables and hailed the innkeeper over, the man seated on the other side of the table said, “New in town, are you?”

Adrian gave a curt nod of his head.

“What can I get you?” asked the innkeeper dully.

“I heard you sell the best mead,” pointed out Adrian. “I would like that. And some food fit to sate the hunger of a beast.”

With the order, the innkeeper walked away.

“A soldier, aren’t you?” said the man from the other side of the table again. He was all skin and bones but was dressed well.

“Was,” said Adrian.

“Served for the Queen?”

Adrian nodded. The man rubbed his jaw.

“Where are you from?” he inquired.

“North Hollow.”

“Ah. Not far from here.”

“But very different from here,” said Adrian. Even The Capital was much different from this city.

“Everywhere is different from here.” The man smirked. “I’m Borodog. I own the Reaping Raiment. You ought to pay it a visit. I’d clothe you in the best threads you can find in the realm.”

“I shall take you up on that offer soon.”

When the mead arrived at his table, he took a quick sip and almost moaned as the bitter with a hint of sweetness glided down his parched throat.

“What business has brought you to Mistworth, then?” asked the stranger.

“Business?” He arched an eyebrow. “I’m not here for business.”

“That is… unusual. Travellers always come here for a good trade or two.”

“I’m looking for someone actually,” said Adrian, licking the mead off his lips.

“Did someone send you? Are you a spy? Have you come… looking for the Raiders?”

Adrian straightened up then, fixing his gaze on the chatty drunk man. “The Raiders?”

“Oh, you don’t know… the Raiders of Mistworth?” he whispered, leaning his head closer. Adrian took another sip of his mead.

“I haven’t a single clue what you’re talking about,” he sighed tiredly. He still had to find Jongin in this city. And he was determined to do so if he had to knock on every door.

“Well, you are in for quite a treat on your stay here, then,” the man said with a simper.

“Are you talking about the Raiders?” asked the innkeeper as he came to Adrian’s table with a platter of cut pheasant meat, roasted potatoes and slices of ryebread. “Do it somewhere else, Borodog. Not in my inn.”

“Who are the Raiders?” questioned Adrian, anyway.

Scowling, the innkeeper said, “Bad news, that’s what they are.”

“The Raiders,” said a woman all of a sudden, approaching their table. It was the songstress from before. “They run the city. The city is in their palms. The people both fear and revere them.”

Adrian blinked at her. “I don’t understand.”

She smiled and picked up her harp.

You’ve come for show so sit and follow,

This city there’s rats both high and low,

Thievery and theft run as the waters that flow,

Come as a prince you’ll be a beggar tomorrow.

She danced around the tables as the people clapped along to the rhythm of her harp.

The thieves, the thieves, none you should believe,

For that everyone in the city is a thief,

Comes a prince and a he beggar leaves,

For the tricks and trickeries right up our sleeve.

Adrian chugged another tankard of mead, watching the woman circle around him. Borodog looked uneasy.

Hush and hush like stuffed grape leaves,

No one likes a tattletale in the City of Mistworth,

Where we’re all rats and thieves,

Some call it the hell on earth.

As she ended the ditty, she was applauded. She did not take her eyes off Adrian for a long moment, her lips smiling knowingly at him.

“Are they thieves?” Adrian then asked Borodog.

“Oh, they’re more than thieves. They’re Raiders. They raid. For massive profits. Sometimes, they are even hired to do someone else’s bid. They almost never fail. They move in the shadows. They’re highly trained thieves.”

Adrian vaguely remembered Roach telling him something about it. “They’re an organization of thieves,” he muttered. He was once a thief who thieved to stay alive. But the Raiders sounded like they thieved for glory.

“I said no more talk of the Raiders in my inn!” growled the innkeeper.

Borodog shrugged. “You said that you’re here looking for someone. Who is it?”

Adrian wondered if the man would know Jongin at all. But he owned a raiment store. There was a high possibility that he must have seen Jongin at least once.

“Do you know anyone by the name Jongin in the city? He comes from North Hollow, too.” Adrian decided to ask.

Borodog’s eyes widened, and he wordlessly stared at Adrian for a while. “Uh… I’m not very sure,” he said, swallowing.

Adrian glared at him. “You don’t know him?”

Borodog gnawed at his lip and then sighed. “I think I do. But he’s not an easy person to see.”

Adrian drew back in confusion, but his heart skipped a nervous beat. “Do you know where he lives?”

Borodog scoffed. “Everyone knows where he lives.”

“What?” Adrian shook his head. “Can you tell me where he lives?”

Scratching the back of his head, Borodog said, “Ask around for the Markius Longhouse. Anyone would show you the way. Biggest house in the city.”

An excited grin stretched Adrian’s mouth from ear to ear as he panted for air, his chest warming up with joy. “I shall go there now,” he rasped and shot up to his feet.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Borodog calmly, taking a swig from his tankard. “Markius doesn’t welcome just anybody into his home.”

“Markius?” Adrian asked.

Borodog rose from his seat and saluted Adrian goodnight. “He’s the Reeve of Mistworth. You will not get to see the Reeve without his permission, especially not at this hour of the night. And you ought to know that patience and lenience are not his best-known qualities. I would suggest that you wait for the morn. See you around, traveller.”

With that, Borodog meandered his way out of the Rotten Weasel.

Adrian wanted to up and leave right this instant, to go looking for the Markius Manor.

He drained another tankard of mead.

The Reeve.

What was Jongin with the Reeve? Well, he was educated. It would come as no surprise if the boy worked for the Reeve now. In fact, Adrian’s chest filled with an odd sense of proudness. He smiled to himself.

“Where do you come from?” asked the songstress as she took Borodog’s vacant seat across Adrian. She had a pleasant smile about her and the grace of a swan’s.

Adrian’s gaze flitted past the woman’s shoulder and darted to the cloaked man in the corner of the inn, drinking straight from the bottle. Even though the cowl on his head shadowed his eyes, Adrian knew they were on him, following his every move. Then he saw the cloaked man’s lips curl into a smirk.

“A brooding one, aren’t you?” said the songstress. “There are many thoughts behind those dark eyes of yours. I wonder what marvellous things they have seen.”

Adrian exhaled heavily. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall retire the night.”

The songstress dipped her head as Adrian rose to his feet and started for his room. He glanced back at the cloaked man one more time, clenching his hands at his sides.

* * *

He roused early the next morning, having gotten barely any sleep the previous night. Not even the world’s best mead had helped him keep his tormenting thoughts at bay. He had been restless, thinking of Jongin.

Fixing the laces of his overcoat, he hurried down the stairs of the inn. The inn was quiet and empty. The innkeeper raised his head from where he stood behind the counter to glimpse Adrian for a beat before returning to his books.

“Beast in pretty clothes is still beast,” muttered the innkeeper, keeping his eyes on the books.

The army and the battles had bulked him up even more than before. Adrian had nothing to complain about, though. His built was fit for his height, his scars for his thick skin. Most men envied his physique. Most women desired it. There was some pride in that. He had been a waif that nobody wanted around. Since the day he was born, he was unwanted. But he was somebody now. He was a man Jongin could be with.

The market was bustling, as noisy and busy as it was yesterday. The city guards ambled around with their uniforms, helmets, spears and shields.

Adrian started walking, passing a few houses and shops. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from Brown’s Breads and Buns. He walked past the Reaping Raiment and made a note to pay it a visit later.

The day was a lot brighter than it was yesterday. There were still overcasts in the sky, curtaining the sun. The sound of the beating waves of the sea nearby was carried with the wind. He spotted the married couple from yesterday, still squabbling about something.

As he took a turn at the end of platform, he glanced up at the gang of giggling girls at the balcony of a building. They were leering down at him with flirtatious grins and batting eyes, their clothes scant and flimsy. A brothel, Adrian figured.

“Watch where you’re going, outsider,” huffed a huckster when Adrian almost bumped into him.

“Sorry,” he apologized and stopped the huckster once more. “Might I trouble you for some directions?”

The huckster faced him with a pair of knitted eyebrows before he surveyed Adrian’s clothes. “Might want to throw something all that finery. It’s a city of rats and thieves, haven’t you heard, sir? A little mead in your veins and you’ll wake up in your—”

“Loincloth, yes, I’ve heard,” Adrian sighed. “I am looking… the Markius Longhouse.”

“The Reeve?”

Adrian nodded.

“You’re going the wrong way,” said the huckster. “Turn around, walk until you see the temple and right behind it is the longhouse. Did the Reeve summon you here, outsider? To be his… new guard?”

He mustered Adrian from head to the knees.

“Thank you.” With that, Adrian turned on his heel and went looking for the temple.

When he reached the temple, he paused to gaze up the stairs made of stones that led to the temple, a quaint little building with deep red doors. Adrian realized that he had never prayed. No one in North Hollow was exactly religious.

Just behind the temple was the longhouse, guarded by hounds and the Reeve’s guards. The banners of Mistworth adorned the walls of the longhouse.

Adrian’s heart began to race, just like the first time he entered a battleground with a broadsword in his hand.

As he took a step toward the longhouse, the doors of the temple creaked open, halting him in his tracks.

A guard exited, leading the way for two young women and a young man, who did not raise their heads as they made their way down the stairs. They were dressed well and fancy. Even the boy, clad in all sorts of finery.

Another woman walked out of the temple, her orange head bowed low, her red gown embroidered with gold. She was fair and beautiful as much as the other two women and even the boy. But unlike them, she too looked sorrowful. Not a smile on her beautiful face, not a hint of peace in her woeful eyes for someone coming out of a temple after a prayer.

“Do you think he’d marry again?” someone said behind Adrian as she sauntered past him.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said the man who was accompanying her. “But he is probably there for his weekly prayers with his whor*s. He could start a brothel of his own with those husbands and wives of his at this rate.”

“Shh,” she hissed at him. “Off with your head if he hears you.”

Adrian looked away from the people walking out of the temple and started for the longhouse once more before he stopped again to look at the tall, broad-shouldered man with some greys in his otherwise black hair and beard, whose clothes were seemed to be made from the finest leather. He had a good, well-forged longsword at his hip. And he strode out of the temple like a man who owned the world. He had the stride of a Reeve but the riches of a thief.

Behind him followed a dark-haired boy, skin kissed by the sun, limbs lean, lips as rosy as the tip of his nose. A dream. A beautiful, delicate dream that had graced Adrian’s sleep for years. At the same time, a reality that kept him alive every waking moment.

Adrian thought that his knees might buckle there and then. After years of yearning to see that face again, now that he had seen it, it was surreal, like a dream.

Even the winter air turned sultry around him like the hottest day of summer that suffocated all that breathed. His heart was close to falling out of his chest as he stumbled a short step forward, his breaths shallow and laboured.

The wind softly ruffled Jongin’s hair as he climbed down the stairs. Adrian wanted to run to him, but he could barely advance a foot.

He had not changed much. His cheekbones and jawline were more defined than the last time Adrian had seen, held and kissed them. He was wearing clothes that were fit for a prince. He was as beautiful as ever. Even then mere sight of him managed to have Adrian falling in love with him all over again. Not that he had ever stopped loving him.

His eyes stung with tears, a sob scratching at his throat, as Jongin turned to the man who caught his arm as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Leaning in, the Reeve muttered something into Jongin’s ear. Nothing shifted in Jongin’s expression as he nodded slowly.

The Reeve placed a kiss on Jongin’s cheek next and the cheek of the woman in the red gown.

Frozen, as the dirt on the forest ground on the coldest night, Adrian watched Jongin turn his gaze toward the fence that bordered the hallowed ground.

The instant their eyes met, after years, with the same longing and the same desperation, Adrian thought that he might just take his last breath. His neck had come close to blades several times and not even then had he been so staggered.

Jongin’s face paled at once, his lips parting to gasp softly for air. His eyes bored a hole into Adrian for a moment.

Adrian carded his fingers through his hair, whose length almost reached to his shoulders, when the wind tousled it. His heart, after long, was full again. Colours returned to his world. He kept his promise. They were together once more.

He thought Jongin would run to him. He thought Jongin would break into tears as he fell into Adrian’s arms again. He could not wait to remember what Jongin’s lips tasted like, what his skin felt like against his own.

With tears blurring his vision, Adrian smiled, weakly, joyously, in relief.

“Walk, my love,” commanded the Reeve, raising a hand to the small of Jongin’s back, ushering him to walk forth.

Jongin, eyes glistening with tears, refused to tear his gaze away from Adrian for a moment. But he eventually turned away, leaning against the Reeve as he walked away from the temple with him.

Hands trembling at his sides, heart wavering, head pounding, Adrian stood still, jaded and baffled, as he watched Jongin walk away from him without another glance.

He wanted to run after the love he had once sworn to live and to die for. There had to be some sort of mistake. Something was wrong. Jongin had seen him. He had recognized Adrian. His eyes had even given away his longing.

Once he had found the strength to move again, he hurried toward the longhouse, rubbing his bearded, tightened jaw.

“You might want to stop right there,” warned a guard when Adrian stomped up the steps of the longhouse’s entrance.

“I must see the Reeve,” demanded Adrian.

“It does not matter if you must see His Lordship. Does His Lordship wish to see you?” scoffed the guard.

Adrian clenched his fists. “The boy that is with him. I know him. He knows me. I have to see him. Let me in.”

The guard brought the end of his spear to Adrian’s chest to halt him. “I will not tell you again, outsider. You do not want to cause a scene. The Reeve would not be so merciful if he found an offcomer yappin’ about at his doorstep.”

Even though Adrian wanted to put a fist in the guard’s skull and kick his way through the door, he clenched his teeth and stepped back. With his heart thundering in dread, he spun around and stomped away.

His head spun, his thoughts disarrayed. Perhaps it had been a dream after all. It was all nothing but a dream, and he was yet to He did not stop until he reached the Reaping Raiment. Panting as his chest heaved, he burst into the store.

“Welcome to the Reaping Raiment,” said a familiar voice.

Adrian shoved past the racks of clothes.

“Oh, traveller,” Borodog rasped and grinned on the other side of the counter.

Adrian stomped up to him and grabbed the man by the collar of his fine tunic before yanking him over the counter. Borodog’s eyes bulged out, but he did not retaliate. A man with no strength always knew better than to pick a fight he would not win.

“You knew him,” Adrian spat through his grit teeth. “Jongin. You knew him. You recognized his name. And you said he’s with the Reeve. How do you know him? Who is he? What is he doing with the Reeve?”

Borodog cleared his throat. “I know not only of Jongin of North Hollow. I know of Clarica of Bleakfall, Lyanda of Miretown, Bronn of Mayland, Giria also of Miretown, Honerva of Dawndale and, um, I believe the last one’s called Aryys of Clayfort. Everyone in Mistworth know of them, traveller.”

“These names mean nothing to me,” growled Adrian.

“Yes, I suppose only the one named Jongin you have come seeking. A soldier looking for a boy far from home. Is he your family or your friend? Perhaps… something a little more?” He smirked. “It is always a lover a former soldier cast around for right after war.”

Adrian released Borodog and shoved him back. “Very observant of you. Now, answer my question.”

Straightening his tunic, Borodog said, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Adrian exhaled shakily. “He saw me and… walked away like he didn’t… even know me.”

“Ah. A past lover then, no doubt.”

“Past…?” Adrian let out.

“My friend—”

“I’m not your friend.”

Borodog sighed. “Fine. What a temper you have… I am loath to tell you this, but the boy you have come looking for is… one of Markius’ proudest conquests. You see, the Reeve is a collector of pretty things.”

“Conquests,” Adrian muttered, eyebrows furrowing. “Collector?”

“Aye,” said Borodog with a smile. “And the collection he’s most proud of is the one he gathered through marriages.”

Adrian’s breathing slowly began to quicken.

“If it is that Jongin that you have come looking for, then you should know that you have no chance of getting close to him without the Reeve’s permission.”

Adrian softly gasped for breath and took a step back. “You’re bluffing,” he exhaled.

“Why would I? Because it is a city of rats and thieves?” he scoffed. “I am a merchant. I gain no profit from lying to you. It is a fact. The boy you have come seeking is married to Markius, the Reeve of Mistworth. And he will have your head before you could even go near that boy.”

Promises…

Promises…

Lies…

In spite of it all, he still could not bring himself to blame Jongin. Who would want him at the end of the day when the daze of love had faded? Who would be insane enough to want to live a life with a waif? A bastard who did not even know who his father was. And he had gone to war. There was no guarantee that he would even be back. Even if he did, he would still be a bastard who did not know his father or mother, a waif who used to live on the streets, a man who had committed countless crimes as a boy, a soldier with so much blood on his hands. He would still be no Reeve. He was not noble. He was not even as noble as the muck that’s stuck on a Reeve’s boot or the hounds that stood guard outside his home.

He drained another flagon of dark ale before ordering another.

It might had been a week since he had found his way to the Looting Fox Tavern, where he drank and drank like a pirate until his head was too heavy to be burdened with his thoughts. He’d then wobble his way back to the Rotten Weasel in the dead of the night when the tavernkeeper would kick him out for a deep sleep that would take him away from this cruel reality.

He dropped his coins on every table every day for bottles of ale and mead. He should leave Mistworth. He should go die in a ditch. It was what he had planned to do when he could no longer find numbness and solace at the bottom of bottle.

A week turned two. And then three.

Soon, the numbness he had craved so wrapped around him like a blanket.

When he teetered past the brothel one night, with a bottle in his hand, a woman told him that she’d do anything he wanted her to do for a coin.

“Will you go ahead and kill yourself for me, then?” Adrian had spat at her drunkenly, rolling his eyes as he shoved her out of his way and proceeded toward the inn.

Winter was slowly dying, making way for warmer days.

He did see Jongin again a couple of times in the following weeks. At the market. One of the times, Jongin had seen him, too.

He approached Adrian with tears in his eyes. “Adrian,” he said in a very low whisper, only for Adrian to hear.

Adrian took a large draft out of the mead bottle and looked back at him with half-lidded eyes. He had heard that voice call his name many times in his sleep. And now that he heard it for real, he wanted Jongin to shut up and leave. Forever.

“Jongin, come,” the beautiful ginger woman Adrian had seen before called, taking hold of Jongin’s arm. “We shan’t dillydally.”

“One moment, Honerva,” pleaded Jongin.

“We must go.”

Adrian was already turning around, staggering toward the tavern for a refill.

* * *

He hadn’t shaved in weeks, he realized, scratching his beard as he downed another tankard of ale.

“Another,” he told the tavernkeeper, who eyed him with an arched eyebrow.

“You’ve got any coin for that?” asked the tavernkeeper.

Adrian checked his pockets and shook his head drowsily. The tavernkeeper scowled.

“No coin, no drink,” spat the tavernkeeper.

Nodding his heavy head then, Adrian pulled away from the counter and tottered over to the songstress, who was sitting idly in her seat, waiting for someone to make a request.

Adrian learned in his first week at the tavern that the songstress performed at both the Rotten Weasel and the Looting Fox. She was famous. She often told people that she went to a prestigious Bards’ Academy down south.

And she always looked Adrian with palpable lust in her eyes.

She smiled when she saw him heading her way. As she rose to her feet, Adrian grabbed her waist and yanked her close before he pressed his lips to her cheek and whispered, “Would you play me a song, darling?”

His hand slid down the small of her back to grab the small pouch that was hanging at her hip as she stood frozen against his chest.

As he withdrew with a drunk smirk, she smiled bashfully and nodded. “What would you like me to play?” she asked.

Wrapping his hand around the pouch, he began to retreat. “The one about the rats and the thieves in the glorious City of Mistworth.”

As she began to pluck the strings of her harp, Adrian returned to the tavernkeeper and tossed him the pouch.

“Get me two bottles of good mead.”

“Not much of an honourable man as I made you out to be,” said a deep voice from behind.

Adrian lazily turned around to look at the cloaked man, who grinned at him. “You have no idea how dishonourable I can be,” he said, leaning his back against the counter.

The cloaked man bowed his head and walked away.

He was once a dishonourable man. He had changed for Jongin. He had wanted to change for Jongin.

* * *

By the end of the week, he was down and out, stone broke as he had used up all of his savings to rent the room at the inn and on the bottles that had kept him company every day and night for the past moon.

When he was kicked out of the tavern with his last purchase of a bottle of ale with the last of his coins, he stumbled onto the street and peered over the railing at the level below. He thought of jumping into the water that separated the two platforms. He took a sip of the ale and glanced to the beggar by the bridge.

Toddling over to the bridge, he plumped on the wooden plants next to the beggar and gulped some more ale.

“Look at us,” he drawled at the old beggar. “I was born with nothing. Now, I am back to having nothing. Love both makes and breaks a man, huh? What made you a beggar?”

The beggar looked at him with his weathered eyes. Then at length, he said, “This city.”

Adrian blinked tiredly at him, slipping a hand into the pocket of his pants. His fingers curled around the wooden carving. “Really?”

The beggar gazed up at the grey sky. “This city has a way of making even the richest man destitute if he isn’t as sharp as a thief.”

“I’m a thief,” scoffed Adrian. “I’m still here, rubbing shoulders with a beggar, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps you’re not a very good thief, then.”

Adrian shrugged and swallowed another mouthful of the ale.

“Adrian.”

Even the intoxication of the ale could not slow his heart that began to race when he heard the voice call his name.

Raising his head, he looked up at Jongin, who was standing before him.

They were strangers now, weren’t they?

Adrian snorted to himself, shaking his head, and took another sip of the ale.

Jongin knelt to the ground and faced Adrian with tears welled up in his eyes. What was he upset about, Adrian wondered. Actually, he did not want to know. He just needed Jongin to stop looking at him like that. Like he was in pain. He could not even stand the thought of Jongin being in any sort of pain.

“Adrian,” he called once more in a breath, lifting a hand. Before he could touch Adrian’s knee, Adrian shot up to his full height and faced the railing of the bridge.

Retrieving the wooden songbird Jongin had given him many Winter Solstices ago, Adrian took one last look at it with a sharp agony knifing his chest. He then lobbed the songbird over the railing and into the water down below.

Jongin gasped quietly.

Adrian briefly looked at him, quaffing another mouthful of ale. Jongin met his gaze one more time before he turned around and hurried away.

Strangers.

He dropped back in his seat next to the beggar. “No. Love makes a man. Betrayal breaks him,” he spat and dropped his head against the railing.

* * *

When he roused the next day to something warm and rough lapping at his arm, he realized that he had passed out on the bridge and had slept the night off there. His back was sore as though he had slept on rocks for weeks.

He cracked an eye open just enough to squint at the feet that thudded on the wooden boards as the people trudged past him, dismissing him as a wasted sot.

He heard a soft whine.

And before he could lift his head and look at what was making that noise, his face was licked by something that was wet and soft.

Groaning and cussing, he pushed himself upright and shoved the damn dog away before wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Get away,” he growled and coughed, glancing to the bottle that was now empty. How would he drown his sorrows today, he wondered.

The dog barked then.

Adrian turned to it with a scowl etched on his face.

The dog pounced on him then, tongue lapping at his face once more as it barked and whimpered in excitement.

Adrian for a moment readied himself for an attack. But the dog did nothing to harm him.

Instead, the white dog sniffed him like it was sniffing the meats of a bone.

It woofed again, pulling back from Adrian.

For a length, Adrian stared at the old dog that had a small limp to its leaps. Its fur was grubby, and its paws were blistered. It even had a small hole in its left ear. Its eyes were watery, aged with years.

Adrian’s heart skipped a beat.

“Boo?” he let out in disbelief.

The dog barked and hopped around in circle before jumping onto Adrian again. In that brief moment, he forgot all about his sorrows and wrapped his arms around his dog.

“Boo,” he rasped, chuckling. Drawing back, he caught the dog’s face in his hands. “My, you’ve grown old, buddy! You and me both. But you more.”

He pressed his forehead to Boo’s and scratched the dog behind his ears. Boo barked and barked like he had a fetched the world’s best stick.

Jongin must have kept him all these years.

Was it not strange, how a dog could love him the same even after all these years and the boy who had promised himself to him couldn’t…

His heart felt full in a very long time as he hugged Boo, recalling the day the pup was born. Weak and frail, the runt of the batch. Jongin had named him. He had been so scared for the puppy, but at the same time, he believed that Boo would make it.

He believed in Adrian, too. Even when no one did. He had made an honest man out of Adrian.

Who knew that someone as pure and innocent as him could marry a man like Markius…

But then again, only a fool would say no to a Reeve and all the glory that came with it.

“You came into this city as a man full of hope and dreams,” said a voice from the other side of the bridge. Adrian looked up at the cloaked man, who was leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest. “Look at you now.”

He smirked.

Adrian gripped his jaw. “Who are you?” he asked, blood pulsing in his temples.

“Me?” said the cloaked man. “I’m many things.”

Adrian scowled then, pushing himself up to his feet. Boo did not leave his side. “What is your name? Why are you… following me?”

“I’m not following you, outsider,” scoffed the man. “We just cross paths one too many times.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

The cloaked man sighed and pulled away from the railing as he crossed the bridge. Stopping a couple of feet before Adrian, he said, “A man of your calibre should not be wasted away on the streets of Mistworth.”

Adrian sighed. “I don’t exactly have much else do to, anyway. So, spare your pity.”

“Oh, I am not pitying you. Men like me do not mete out favours. We invest. We trade. We make profits.” He grinned then. Adrian slowly grinded his teeth. “And we know a good investment when we see one.”

There was something about the man. Something Adrian could not figure out.

“When the rest of the city is asleep tonight, find your way to the Rotter’s Burrow down under. I will be waiting for you.”

“Wait—”

Before Adrian could demand anything out of him, the cloaked man retreated to the market and disappeared in the crowd.

* * *

He waited until the city was as dead as a graveyard and the sky above was as black as the stygian river. As he rose to his feet from where he sat on the bench near the market, he realized that he had not eaten all day. He hadn’t a single coin on him.

“Come, boy,” he told Boo, who had not left him since he had found Adrian in the morning. Adrian did not want him to go anywhere either. The whole day, being with Boo brought back memories that Adrian had thought he had forgotten.

He recalled how afraid Jongin had been of dogs. It had all changed after Boo.

He thought of all those nights all three of them had slept together in the small pallet in his small shed.

In all his weeks in Mistworth, he had never climbed down to the lower level. He did not think that he had any business down there where the rats crawled and lived.

Perhaps it was a trap.

A trap to kill him? Torture him? He sneered. He had seen the worst torture of all. Betrayal and abandonment. Not even the bloody battles had prepared him for that.

Boo followed him, trying to keep up with Adrian’s strides with his limping leg, as Adrian tried to find a staircase that would lead him to the lower level.

When he had found one, he made his way down. Boo stayed close to him.

There were no street lamps on the lower level. The platforms were as dark as the water than ran between them. But like the upper level, the platforms here were also connected by a few bridges.

How was he supposed to find the Rotter’s Burrow?

Boo then barked and hopped ahead before he paused to look back at Adrian, as though to prompt Adrian to follow him.

Scratching his bearded jaw, Adrian followed after the dog. He traipsed along the platform, glancing at the water and the docked boats. The harbour was not far from here, he reckoned.

He then surveyed the barred doors and gated entrances. Most of them looked like they were closed for good. But he knew they’d open for the right customers knocking on their doors.

“I was almost starting to think that you would not show up.”

Adrian came to an abrupt stop when he heard the cloaked man’s voice. He looked ahead at the man standing near the mouth of a gated sewer tunnel.

He pulled his cowl down.

He was a man who could not be any older than Adrian was. Even in the dark, his greyish eyes glistened. He sported a beard the colour of his hair. A deep, ruddy brown.

“What do you want from me?” asked Adrian. “I don’t have any valuables with me, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

The other man laughed. “Oh, I’m aware. I watched you spend all you had on ale. Not for a good time, however. Only fools drink to misery.”

“I was drinking to misery,” spat Adrian.

The man nodded. “Come with me.” He unlocked the sewer tunnel’s gate and entered.

After a moment of hesitation, Adrian trod after him along with Boo.

Minding the stagnant water on the floor of the tunnel, Adrian took careful steps. “Who are you?” he tried asking again.

“My name is Renan.”

Although it was nice to finally put a name to this man, Adrian still hadn’t gotten the answer to his question.

Once they had ventured far enough, Renan retrieved a lit torch from the wall of the tunnel and turned around to face Adrian with a smirk.

“You are a brave man to follow a stranger. Especially a stranger like me,” said Renan.

Adrian scowled. “I wouldn’t confuse broken with brave.”

Renan blinked and then smiled once more. “We’re all broken men, one way or another.” He turned and proceeded along the tunnel.

“Where are we going?”

“You shall see very soon, Adrian.”

Adrian stopped for a beat. “You know my name.”

“I know everything about everyone in this city,” said Renan, and Adrian glared at the back of his head before hurrying after him again.

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.”

Adrian refrained himself from asking about Jongin. It did not matter anymore, did it? Everything between him and Jongin was over. The boy was married to another man.

They came to a stop when they reached the end of the tunnel where a wooden door stood on a slightly higher platform.

“It’s good for the trade,” said Renan, unlocking the door with a key that Adrian did not manage to get a glimpse of.

“What do you know about me?”

“Now, that is for me to know, isn’t it?” He smiled that smug smile again. Adrian could not decide if the man were charming or vexatious.

Holding the door open, Renan beckoned Adrian to enter.

Adrian eyed the man dubiously for a stretch before he drew a breath and entered the door.

It was dark. He did not where he was stepping but it felt like solid ground. He heard rats scurrying about around him. Boo barked at them.

“This way,” Renan then said, leading the way again.

“What trade are you in exactly?” inquired Adrian.

Renan did not answer as they arrived at a ladder that led up to a trapdoor. “Follow me.”

Adrian watched the mysterious gracefully clamber his way up the ladder, his footings as quiet as the night.

Picking Boo up into his arms, Adrian then began to climb after Renan. Boo obediently clung onto his shoulder like a child, whimpering softly as Adrian made his way up.

“If there isn’t a pot of gold at the end of all this, I will be very pissed,” commented Adrian, climbing out of the trapdoor.

“Oh, I believe it will be better than a pot’o gold, Adrian.” Renan held a hand out to him.

Taking it, Adrian let himself be drawn up.

He let Boo down before glancing around the dimly-lit room he was standing in. It had a few trunks, shelves that held bags of flour, pots and pans, a table of knickknacks he did not care for, a lit lantern in the corner. It seemed like a storage room.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t the only way you can come here.” Renan flashed another lopsided grin at Adrian. “There’s an easier route.”

Adrian scowled. “Then why take me through all that?”

Renan turned around and started for the door. “I just wanted to get to know you a little better.”

“I thought you already know everything about everyone in Mistworth.”

Prying the door open, Renan looked at him. “Yes. But perhaps you’re not… everyone.” He held the door open. “After you.”

After a moment of reluctance, Adrian muttered, “Come on, Boo.”

As he ducked out of the doorway, he stopped to look at the corridor that held crates and casks, a lantern hanging over the ceiling. Water dripped from the crevices.

“This way,” said Renan.

Adrian followed him out of the corridor. He soon began to hear a cacophony of murmuring voices echoing and bouncing off the brick walls.

The place was dark, even with the lanterns and the torches. He could hear the lapping sounds of a water surface. He heard tankards clanging, bottles clattering.

He was then led into a vast round room with five entrances that all led to their own corridors, a few beds, trunks and wardrobes, some archery targets, and in the middle of it all was a raised platform moated by water with four narrow and small arching stone bridges connecting it to the rest of the room.

His jaw fell slack. “Where are… we?”

“This, my friend, is the Raiders’ Abode,” said Renan.

Adrian looked at the man then with his eyes narrowed. “Did you say… Raiders?”

Smiling, Renan jerked his head toward the bar that almost resembled a tavern. By the counter stood a man in a red tunic and with a rag over his shoulder. The four tables were occupied by people, who had gone silent and were glowering at him now. They were all clad in a uniform, a light armour made of leather and cotton in the shade of a deep blue that was almost black. Even the women were in trousers and had swords and daggers clinging to them.

“Who have you brought here, Renan?” asked a man as he rose from his seat and spat on the floor before walking over to Renan and Adrian.

He had a red scar running down a side of his grumpy face. He must be at least a decade older than Adrian.

Removing his cloak, Renan revealed the uniform he had wearing beneath it. He was one of them.

Them. Who was them?!

“This is Adrian of North Hollow,” announced Renan. The others stood up from where they were sitting. Some, who were training by the archery targets, and others who were resting on the beds, moved toward the bar.

There were at least twenty of them.

“What is Adrian of North Hollow doing here?” asked the man with the scar.

“He has skills we could use, Vogamir,” said Renan without a hint of trepidation in his tone. He sounded stern and firm. Adrian wondered what skills he was talking about.

The man with scar, Vogamir, broke into a disparaging laughter. “Skills? All I see is a giant animal that has no grace to his step and no agility to his stride and reeks of ale.”

“Neither of us came here with a grace to our step and an agility to our stride,” argued Renan. “Besides, a man of his strength is also important to our guild. He has a vocation to be one of us. And we have been looking for someone to replace Gildas.”

“He can’t and won’t replace Gildas,” spat a woman then as she stepped forward with a murderous sheen in her furious, blue eyes. There was also grief in them. She wore her hair in a braid, her arms well-muscled for a woman. She was a swordswoman, no doubt.

“Aye. He can’t and won’t replace Gildas in your bed between your legs, Erwana.”

That was when the woman lunged at Renan and struck him across the face with a merciless fist. “You speak that way of Gildas one more time and it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever say.”

Renan flinched but did not counter the attack as Vogamir held Erwana back. “Now, calm your gaping bums down, both of you,” said Vogamir, putting himself between Renan and Erwana.

Then sighing, the older man stepped up to Adrian and stared into his eyes.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Adrian gripped his fists. “I’d tell you why, but I don’t exactly know where I am.”

Vogomir’s eyes widened. For a moment, nobody said anything. And then as though they were cued, everyone burst into a laughter, everyone but Renan and Erwana.

“If Renan brought you here, you must have impressed him,” said Vogomir once he was done snigg*ring.

“Renan isn’t the only one he’s impressed,” said a familiar, feminine voice that Adrian had heard many times in a song. His gaze darted to the fair-headed woman who stepped forward.

He blinked blankly at the songstress.

“What do you mean, Maelisse?” said Vogomir.

“He even managed to pickpocket me once. I wouldn’t have known if Renan hadn’t told me,” said the songstress. Maelisse.

Adrian felt ridiculous now as he rubbed the back of his neck. He should probably apologize to her later for stealing her coins.

“You’re the Raiders,” Adrian then said. “The Raiders of Mistworth.”

“Aye, that we are,” said Vogomir.

Adrian arched an eyebrow. “I somehow pictured you living in a ditch more decent than this rathole.”

“Subtlety is a thief’s greatest friend. A dog, however,” he said, eyeing Boo who was wagging his tail, seated on the ground next to Adrian. “is not.”

Adrian shrugged. “The dog stays.”

“So, you want to be one of us,” said another man, approaching Adrian with his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed broadsword.

Adrian glanced at Renan and then exhaled heavily. “I am a petty thief who became a soldier and then a broken man with nothing else to lose. I’d rather live out the remainder of my worthless life in a booze house than be a part of your thieving community.”

As he turned around, Renan caught his arm. “Opportunities like this come once in a lifetime, Adrian,” he said with an earnest look in his eyes.

“Why would you even want me here?” Adrian grumbled. “I can fight on a battlefield. I don’t raid houses for pearls and garnets after the children have gone to sleep.”

“But you’d be good at it. Like I said, an investment. You contribute to this organization and our profits, we will make you rich and powerful. The city will be at your fingertips. You’d see more riches here than you would ever in your lifetime. We don’t raid houses for pearls and garnets. We raid places that hold ships of gold. Don’t you want to be someone, Adrian? A broken man like you always have something to avenge.”

Adrian gripped his jaw, eyes boring into Renan’s deep grey eyes. He then yanked his arm free and stomped away, heading for the trapdoor.

When he reached the trapdoor, he stopped for a moment. His chest felt burdened. He had promised Jongin that he would never thieve. He had promised himself that he would be a good man for Jongin’s sake. For their love. So many promises were broken.

Why should he hold onto his promises when Jongin hadn’t?

“Only a man with grievances would stop to think,” said Renan from behind.

Adrian took a few deep breaths before he turned around to face Renan and his co*cky smile. “Do I get to keep what I thieve?”

Renan shook his head. “When you work with the Raiders, you don’t work alone. We go on raids together, unless you are to do the job on your own. You are still expected bring whatever you’re sent to get to the Raiders’ Abode. There are rules here, even if we’re all just thieves.”

“I’m… not sure,” Adrian admitted. As much as he wanted to give up on life, there was a sudden fire in his chest that was prodding him toward something akin to vengeance.

Renan closed the distance between them. “Why don’t you stay a week down here? Train with us. We’ll teach you a thing or two about being a Raider. And if you think you’d want to be one of us then, I’ll clear out a space for you.”

It was an enticing offer. Riches, glory, an outlet to take out his anger, a way to break more promises, and perhaps, a way to move on from Jongin.

“Do you have a code of conduct?” asked Adrian. “A sense of morality, if you will.”

That made Renan laugh. “We’re all rats and thieves, Adrian. We don’t steal from the haves and give it to the have-nots. We steal, we raid, we thieve. We keep what we find. There’s no room for honour in this trade.”

The corners of Adrian’s lips quirked into a faint smile then. He had never seen thieves who were so proud of what they did. He had thieved when he was younger to feed his starved belly, nothing more. But these… Raiders took pride in their craft and living.

Perhaps Adrian was not meant to be a lover or a soldier. Or even a drunkard. Perhaps he was always meant to be a thief. Roach had been right about him.

“How did it all begin?” Adrian asked the next day, seated at a table with Renan, who had offered to buy him a tankard of spiced milk and rumberry meatcake when he had woken up earlier from a pallet he was told to sleep on last night.

Tearing a hunk of the meatcake, he handed it to Boo, who patiently waited for some food by his feet.

A few of the Raiders hung around at the bar, some were practising at the archery targets, some were sparring with their swords, the rest of them were gone.

“Everyone here needed to find a way to live on,” said Maelisse as she took her seat at the table. She looked different with her flaxen hair in a ponytail. “People from all over the realm came to Mistworth for their trades. Many types of businesses are taken care of here. And that presents a great opportunity for people like us.”

“There are guards everywhere, though. How do you raid?”

“They’ve learned to look the other way,” said Renan. “Nothing some coins can’t buy.” He smirked.

“What is exactly… is that you do here?” inquired Adrian.

“All sorts of biddings,” said Maelisse. “Some hire us to smuggle and distribute things into Mistworth for traders from all over the realm. Having the harbour close at hand is very advantageous to our cause. We participate in heists, bootlegging, raiding of temples and monuments that are no longer frequented.”

“There’s nothing we can’t steal,” scoffed Renan.

“Except maybe hearts,” said Maelisse with a coy smile.

“Except maybe hearts,” conceded Renan.

Maelisse sighed then, glancing to Erwana, who was sitting by one of the stone bridges, whetting her sword as her eyes remained fixed on Adrian.

“She doesn’t want me here,” Adrian remarked, tossing Boo another chunk of the meatcake.

“She doesn’t want anyone new here,” said Renan. “Especially not someone to replace Gildas.”

“Her lover,” said Maelisse.

Adrian blinked. “Where is he now?”

Renan raised his tankard. “Dead.”

As much as Adrian was curious and wanted to ask how the man had died, he fell quiet.

“You know how to wield a sword?” asked Renan with a funny twist to his smile.

“Put one in my hand and find out.”

Maelisse chuckled as Renan bit his grinning lip. “Let’s find out, then.” He rose from his seat and walked away, fixing Adrian with a strange look.

Adrian went after him, and Maelisse and Boo followed him. “The dog looks very familiar,” Maelisse told him, tilting her head at Boo. “I have definitely seen him somewhere.”

“It’s Markius’ pretty little boy’s pet mongrel,” said Renan from the front. “You best return him to his home. The Reeve doesn’t like to have his things taken away from him.”

“It’s strange how he’s following you around,” commented the woman.

Adrian’s jaw tightened. The bloody Reeve was not taking his dog away from him, too. He was not going to allow it.

He was led into a room full of weapon racks that carried all sorts of swords, daggers, bows, quivers and arrows. For a moment, Adrian’s jaw dropped as he tried to muster the fine blades and bows around him.

“This is Feyn steel,” he noted, picking up a dagger. It was the handiwork of a professional.

“Clean, easy cuts,” said Renan. “Better than lugging a sword around.”

“We got those from a raid in Feynland,” said Maelisse. “Everything in this room came from either came from a raid or as a price paid.”

“This isn’t half of the weapons we’ve acquired. The more valuable ones are, of course, in a much safer location.”

“Is anything in this city safe?” Adrian scoffed.

“The Rotter’s Burrow is. No one comes down here. A week down here and you’ll find that there is nowhere better for you to fit in.” Renan picked up a broadsword and tossed it in Adrian’s way.

Catching it, Adrian gave it a neat swing. “Light. Made with a blackforge. Gives you a good grip. But too big to be carried around for someone who doesn’t want to be seen.”

Renan and Maelisse shared a smile. “You know your blades,” said Renan. “I’m impressed.”

“I once worked for a swordsmith and was in seven battles wielding a sword.”

Grabbing a sword of his own, Renan walked over to Adrian and tapped the pommel of the sword lightly against Adrian’s chest. “Now, let’s see if you can work with one the way a thief would.”

Adrian did not know what that meant or entailed.

“Gildas was our muscle,” Renan said as he wended his way out of the room. “And you, my friend, have plenty of it.”

“Why do thieves need muscle?”

“Because thieves get into more trouble than anyone else. Having a good fighter gets us out of such situations.”

Adrian supposed he could not really be offended that he was only seen as brawns and no brains. He really didn’t have much of the latter.

“Gildas wasn’t a very good fighter?” he asked.

“Gildas was a very good fighter and a very good man,” said Maelisse. “Well, as good as a thief can be. His death had nothing to do with his fighting skills.”

“And you better hope yours won’t be either,” said Renan, trudging over the stone bridge before he took a standing on the platform and pointed his sword to Adrian.

Licking his lips, Adrian gripped his sword and advanced to Renan.

“You fall, you lose,” Renan warned him, beckoning to the water.

“Then you should be prepared for a bath,” Adrian shot back nonchalantly.

Renan simpered. “I like you, Adrian of North Hollow.”

With one swift movement, their swords clashed. Everyone stopped what they were doing to spectate the duel. Adrian came close to the edge of the platform a few times before he regained his stability and charged back. The sound of the clanging blades echoed within the walls of the abode. For the first time in a very long time, Adrian’s breaths were rushing, his heart pumping like a galloping stallion’s, his skin cold with sweat. He had not realized that he missed the thrill that came with fighting on a battlefield.

“You fight well,” Renan said, barely out of breath before he lunged his sword at Adrian again.

Blocking the attack, Adrian said, “I was a soldier, remember?”

Renan smirked then. “On the battleground, a soldier fights with honour,” he said, knocking Adrian back as he smashed the pommel of his sword against Adrian’s face. “A thief… has no honour.”

Staggered, Adrian attempted to steady his feet, but Renan booted him in his chest, sending him stumbling back. He heard Boo bark somewhere in the cheering crowd.

He almost lost his footing and fell off the platform before his lurched forward one last time until his hand caught the vest of Renan’s raiment and tugged him forward.

Adrian then shifted his weight at once, moving away from the edge as he yanked Renan, spun him around and shoved him back toward the edge, keeping a firm fist tightened around his raiment by the chest.

Gasping, Renan froze. If Adrian chose to let go of his raiment, he’d fall.

It was Adrian’s turn to smirk now. The crowd had gone silent. “I never said I was an honourable soldier,” he spat and hauled Renan away from the edge. “The honourable ones died on that battleground.”

As he released Renan, the man stopped to stare at Adrian in something like awe with a tinge of lust in his eyes. “Well fought, my friend,” he then said, bowing his head.

“That’s enough. Get back to work, all of you,” said Vogomir, who climbed up the bridge and approached Adrian and Renan. “If you think he’s fit for the work, why don’t you send him to do some work? We can’t feed a mouth that doesn’t work for its food around here.”

“What’s the point?” The question came from Erwana from where she sat with her sword and whetstone in her hands. “The Lord Raider will not allow him to stay in this guild unless he proves himself.”

“The Lord Raider?” murmured Adrian. “Who’s that?”

“Our leader,” sighed Maelisse. “Not an easy man to impress, so you will have to prove your worth like Erwana said.”

“His worth?” Erwana scoffed.

“Let me take him with me to the playhouse tomorrow,” Maelisse told Vogomir. “It’s a simple assignment. It will not take too long.”

“Very well,” said Vogomir. “Make sure he doesn’t mess anything up. There’ll be the crowd there. And guards. The instant he compromises the security of our guild, he’s out.”

As Vogomir turned around, Adrian muttered, “Security of this rat-infested sewer?”

Maelisse and Renan chuckled, and Vogomir glanced back at Adrian with a menacing glower.

“Come on,” said Renan. “Let’s find you a dagger and something appropriate to wear to the playhouse tomorrow.”

“You mean, like your uniform?”

“Oh, you’re charming to think you could earn one of your own so soon. You would have to take the oath of the Raider before you’ll get to look like us.”

“Oath? For thieves?”

“It’s the one irony we allow ourselves. The Lord Raider doesn’t tolerate disloyalty within this organization.”

“When will I meet him?”

“When you’re ready.”

“When will that be?”

Renan faced Adrian then. “Let’s see what you’ve got first tomorrow at the playhouse. If you succeed, we’ll send you on a couple of solitary assignments. And then we’ll call you one of us.” He clapped a hand on Adrian’s shoulder and squeezed it gently before he turned on his heel.

* * *

“When was the last time you shaved and washed?” asked Renan as he accompanied Maelisse and Adrian to the trapdoor in the pantry. Adrian did not remember. His beard was thick and unkempt now, and his skin and clothes reeked of ale and mead and dog.

He shrugged.

Renan sighed. “We’ll get to that when you return.”

Maelisse had a cloak drawn over her gown. She was not wearing her uniform tonight. Adrian was also given a cloak to wear and a dagger to keep in his boot. “Let us go,” said Maelisse as she climbed down the ladder.

“Stay close to her,” Renan told Adrian.

“You said there’s another easier way in,” he pointed out.

Renan nodded. “And you will learn it once you’re a Raider.”

Adrian crouched to the ground and rubbed Boo’s head before picking the dog up and making his way down the ladder.

When they were out of the Rotter’s Burrow, Maelisse drew the cowl of her cloak over her head. “First lesson of being a Raider, watch your step. Learn to move as quietly as you can. Like a cat.”

As she wended her way along the platform, she left no noise on the wooden boards, whereas Adrian’s footfalls summoned a string of creaks and cracks.

“You’ll learn. Put more weight on your forefoot than your hindfoot,” she said. “When you’re a Raider, you’ll get lighter boots with your uniform. They’re made of special leather from far north that it’ll muffle your footsteps.”

“That sounds fascinating,” remarked Adrian as he followed Maelisse up the stairs. Boo scampered past them both in a hurry.

When Adrian reached the upper level of the city, the dog had disappeared. He had probably gone home.

“What are we going to do at the playhouse?” he asked Maelisse as they meandered through the uncharacteristically quiet city. Night had befallen Mistworth, but it had never been this deserted. Even the shops were closed.

“I will be looting, and you will watch and learn.” She smiled a gentle smile at him then.

“It is still hard to fathom out the idea that a woman, as graceful as you, could be a looter.”

Maelisse chuckled. “Never gauge the sweetness of a wine by looking at its cask, soldier.”

Adrian’s heart ached at that. “I have learned that lesson,” he muttered, fisting his hands. “the hard way.”

Maelisse pinned him with a sidelong gaze. “Everyone in the guild has a story. I have always what’s yours.”

“You don’t want to know, milady.”

She laughed once more. “You are mysterious.”

When they neared the Silly Swan Playhouse, Maelisse took hold of Adrian’s arm and pulled him to walk in the shadows.

“A troupe of performers from Clayfort,” she said. “The whole town’s there.”

“Are you thinking of pickpocketing the people there?”

She snorted. “Of course, not. We’re going to rob the performers of something really valuable.”

“The whole town will be there.”

“Tricks and trickeries are part of thievery,” she said it, as though plucking the line from a ditty. She drew her cowl down. “Don’t keep your head low. Hiding in plain sight bodes well most of the time.”

The playhouse’s entrance was stood guard by a couple of city guards, who did not spare them even a glance as they walked into the playhouse.

The hall was thronging with people, most of them standing at the back while some impeccably dressed men, women and children sat on benches at the front, close to the stage.

It was quiet, apart from the singing of the thespians on the stage. There was an explosion of colours everywhere. The sound of drums and lutes cavorted in the air as the thespians capered and bounced around the stage.

The last performance of such kind Adrian had spectated was at The Capital many moons ago. The first one he had ever seen had taken his breath away for that he had never witnessed something so exuberant and graceful.

“Stay close,” Maelisse whispered to him before she wandered to the front to take her seat next to Borodog, who stood up to greet her.

Adrian crossed his arms over his chest and looked ahead at the stage, while keeping an eye on Maelisse’s movements, or at least that was what he believed.

In a blink, he had lost the sight of Maelisse in the crowd. Baffled and curious, Adrian slinked away from the crowd too and started to look for a way to the backstage.

“Third lesson of the night,” he heard her voice all of a sudden and jumped around to look at her smiling up at him. “Never lose sight of something.”

“You just vanished,” he said.

“And I will again. Meet me outside the room in the east wing of the building. Do not let yourself be seen by anyone.”

With that, she brushed past him and disappeared among the spectators once more. Adrian huffed heavily. How would he get to the east wing without being seen? He did not even know where the damn east wing was!

After a long moment of teetering around the playhouse without a clue, he finally found a hallway that led to the east wing. It was abandoned.

He eventually found a door and Maelisse, who was awaiting him by it. “I thought you’d take longer,” she commented playfully. “Lesson number four, learn your ways. Be quick like a bullsnake. Be very sharp of the turns you take.”

“You really are a talented songstress.”

“And that leads us to the fifth lesson, a blade or a bow isn’t a thief’s weapon.” She turned to the door and retrieved two metal lockpicks out of her cloak. “A lockpick is.”

Adrian grinned despite himself.

“Do you know how to use it?” she asked.

“It’s been a while, but yes.”

“Well, let’s see what you’ve got.” She handed him the lockpicks.

Taking them out of her hands, Adrian dropped to one knee and began to work on the padlock. After a couple of twists, it clicked and gave in.

“Not bad. Stand guard while I get what we came for,” she said and pushed the door open while Adrian rubbernecked across the hallway. “Wait here.”

As Maelisse entered the room, Adrian stayed put outside.

He heard footsteps. “Maelisse,” he called in a low voice. When he heard no response, he peered into the room and found no one and an unlocked strongbox. His gaze then flitted to the open window. “sh*t.”

“You there!” came a gruff roar from the other end of the hallway.

Adrian sucked in a shaky breath and drew the cloak low over his head, covering most of his face as he kept his head low.

“What are you doing here?” demanded the guard as he started toward Adrian, brandishing his spear. “Guards! Guards!”

Adrian lurched forward then and grabbed hold of the spear, disarming the man with a single tug before he slammed the guard against the wall, a hand wrapping around the city guard’s neck. Then ramming the guard’s head several times onto the wall, he knocked the man out and shoved him to the floor before he hurried down the hallway to get out of the playhouse.

He kept his weight on his forefeet and his footsteps were almost silenced. Remarkable. Being thief was all about tricks.

As he reached the end of the hallway, he heard someone. Before he could even turn and look, his hand flung up to grip the lad’s neck. Smashing the lad against the wall, Adrian clasped one hand to the boy’s mouth to muffle any scream as the other swiftly reached for the dagger in his boot.

His heart stopped as he pressed the blade against the boy’s throat and looked into those familiar dark eyes.

Flashes of memory came rushing to him. North Hollow. The market. A shiv pressed to the throat of a little boy who was fearless. A mother crying for son’s life. A horde of townspeople wishing death upon a sixteen-year-old thief who just wanted to feed his belly. And the little boy with the sweetmeats. The little boy who was afraid of dogs. He had eyes as kind as his heart. Skin the colour of sand. Soft, gentle, fragile and warm. The boy Adrian would have killed and died for once. He still would.

His hand fell from Jongin’s face, but he continued to hold the dagger against the boy’s neck.

Jongin’s parted and quivering lips were panting for air, his eyes boring into Adrian’s.

The sorrow that swaddled Adrian’s heart then was unkind, harsh and ruthless. Perhaps this was yet another dream.

He had come back from the army hoping to be the man Jongin would be proud of loving. He was hoping to take the boy’s hand in marriage. They’d live somewhere far from North Hollow. They’d love each other until the day they died.

Adrian had a stinking fate. His mother should have killed him as a babe and spared him all these years of misery.

He wanted to be a cruel man now. He should cut the boy he loved more than life itself right here and right now. And then he should take his own life. That would be very satisfying, would it not?

He withdrew the dagger from Jongin’s neck and raised a hand to cup a side of the boy’s face.

A tear fell from Jongin’s eye as he leaned into the touch. With his quivering lips, he whispered, “Adrian.”

Adrian’s gaze lowered to those lips. Breaths short and shallow, he unconsciously began to lean forward. Jongin clenched his eyes as Adrian’s breath grazed his lips.

Their mouths almost touched before Adrian pulled away, clutching at the dagger. Jongin did not open his eyes as Adrian spun around and hurtled away with stones weighing his stomach down.

On his way out of the playhouse, he took notice of the Reeve and his other spouses at the very front of the crowd. He had an arm around the orange-haired woman. Honerva.

Adrian fought the urge to march over to the bastard and cut his throat instead.

He did not stop until he was outside, however, gasping and gritting his teeth. He started for the Rotter’s Burrow.

“You made it,” said a voice from nowhere.

He turned to look at Maelisse, who emerged out of the shadows. “You took off.”

She smiled. “Did you kill anyone?”

Adrian gripped his jaw. “Almost.”

“Do you think they saw you?”

Adrian shook his head.

Maelisse’s smile widened. “This shall be your last lesson of the night then. Have faith in your fellow Raiders. Once you become one of us, we don’t abandon each other.”

“But you abandoned me.”

“Well, you’re not a Raider yet.” She hooked her arm around Adrian’s and started walking.

“What did you steal, by the way?”

She pulled a small harp out of her cloak. Adrian stared at it confusedly. “It’s a Clayfort harp.”

“Couldn’t you have just bought one?”

“Why waste precious coins when you could just steal one?”

Adrian shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“But this was more about giving you a very, very small taste of what it’s like to be a Raider. Your next assignment will not be so simple. But you have what it takes to be a Raider, Adrian.”

“How can you tell?”

“A thief knows a thief.”

Adrian did not get any sleep that night. He had held Jongin so close to him after so long. His hands that had touched Jongin burned. His lips that had almost kissed Jongin ached. The boy belonged to another man now. Jongin had made his choice. He chose the Reeve of a city. Not an orphaned waif.

The sky looked different tonight. The fat overcast that usually floated over the city was gone, making way for a poetry of stars to glimmer across the inky night canvas.

The playhouse was vacated shortly after the performance ended. The troupe of thespians from Clayfort had been remarkable. It was one of the best play the people of Mistworth had seen.

Jongin would not know because his mind had been elsewhere during the whole play. In fact, his mind had been elsewhere for the past few weeks. Lost, confused, tortured, and restless.

“How was the play?” asked Aryys, sounding proud of his hometown, as they wended their way out of the playhouse. His green eyes glistened as the stars, his light hazel hair a nest of glossy curls and locks. The sweet, youthful boy was once a thespian, too. Naïve and full of aspirations, but very beautiful. He had never lain on a feather bed, he had once said. And then he met the Reeve at a playhouse in Clayfort, who had promised him luxury and love.

“It was splendid, Aryys,” said Honerva, her voice monotonous and graceful as always.

They followed the Reeve’s guards toward the longhouse.

“People from Clayfort have a knack for the art of performing,” commented Lyanda, running her fingers through her black hair. Her pale skin turned florid against the cold wind of the night.

“Yes, we do,” said Aryys, blushing. He was petite, short and small. Pretty, almost as pretty as a woman. The Reeve’s youngest spouse. Fifteen years old, to be exact. He would not be touched until he turned twenty, the Reeve had promised Aryys’ father.

The Reeve was a man of his word. But he was also many other things.

“God knows when we’ll get to see a play again,” sighed Giria, fixing the laces of her bodice. “Too bad Bronn had to miss it.”

“Bronn doesn’t like going out with us. He thinks he’s above all of us,” snorted Clarica, rolling her eyes.

“Hush now,” said Honerva, walking ahead of the rest of them. Jongin never understood why Honerva had always insisted on looking after them all. She was not their mother. She had no responsibility toward them. She was, however, the Reeve’s first spouse. Or the first conquest sounded more apt. Although she was nearing forty, she barely looked a year older than Jongin himself. Still, she walked such grace and poise that only could have been attained through years of experience.

The Reeve loved her. He loved all of his possessions. Some even loved him back. But there was just too much love to be shared.

Giria, Lyanda and Clarica were the Reeve’s other wives. Clarica was always loud, and she had, many times, preened on the self-forged notion that the Reeve loved her the most. Jongin knew it was not true. The Reeve just liked f*cking her the most because she was so good at it, having come from a whor*house. She was said to the best there. Men travelled across seas to be with her for one night. And she lived up to her reputation. The Reeve, however, had refused to let a whor* bear his children. The only child he had begotten was his son from Honerva, who was sent away to Mayland to complete his studies.

“You seem to be preoccupied with something,” said Markius when he caught up to Jongin’s side.

His breath hitched lightly as he bowed his head to the Reeve. “No, My Lord,” he muttered weakly. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you certain?” Markius curled an arm around Jongin’s waist then, pulling him closer as they neared the longhouse. Clarica was glowering now, her eyes sharp and green with envy.

Jongin tried not to flinch or writhe out of his husband’s grip. “Yes, My Lord.”

“I know a liar when I see one, I know a lie when I hear one,” said the Reeve, smirking as he brushed his lips to Jongin’s temple. “And you, my love, are not a very good liar.”

It burned. Not in a good way. Jongin wanted to pull away from the man and jump into the water down below and drown forever.

The touch of another man suffocated him, pained him. He had thought he would never be pleased with another man’s touch.

And then at the playhouse… Adrian…

His breathing quickened.

“My doggy has been missing for a while now,” he decided to say. It was not a lie.

“I see,” sighed the Reeve. “I will have the guards look for that white mongrel if it pleases you.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

He held Jongin’s chin gently and tipped his face up to press a kiss to his cheek before strutting ahead to join Honerva’s side.

“He’d f*ck me tonight,” said Clarica when the older man was out of earshot. “And you, a scared little boy that’s afraid of his husband’s touch, will sleep in your cold bed alone.”

Jongin stared at her for a brief moment. “Good for you,” he told her and brushed past her.

When they reached the longhouse, Jongin hurried up the steps. He needed to be alone. He needed to break down and cry. He had to punish himself. He had to make the pain in his heart go away.

He heard a bark then.

“Boo?” he gasped and turned around to see the old dog galloping across the yard with his one limping paw, barking excitedly with his tongue lopping out of his mouth.

Clarica screamed and jumped with a start when Boo darted past her. “That ugly thing!” she spat.

“Get inside, Clarica,” said Honerva.

Boo stopped with a jerk when the guarding hounds growled at him. He whined and whimpered like he always did, lowering his head as he retreated as the hounds continued to snarl at him, baring their teeth. They were thrice his size and at least ten times stronger. He had always been afraid of them.

“Quiet!” Markius yapped at the hounds then before he sauntered into the longhouse. The hounds stopped growling and barking, but they continued to snarl at Boo.

“Bad doggies… Bullies,” Jongin muttered under his breath as he climbed down the steps to crouch before Boo and pet his head. “Where have you been? I was so worried. It’s all right. Come along now.”

Boo followed him into the longhouse, keeping close to Jongin. The charladies bowed to him when he walked past them. At first, it felt strange when people bowed to respect him or to greet him. He had thought that he would never get used to it. He was brought up in a well-off, affluent painter’s household. But he was a never noble. People were not expected to bow to him.

The longhouse was always bright, always loud. When the Reeve was not in his study or elsewhere outside, he was in the drawing room, nursing a drink in his hand and pampering a lover in his lap.

Everywhere one turned in the longhouse, they’d see the Reeve’s collection of his conquests from across the realm. Vases from down south, silvers from up north, tapestries made from the finest threads, golden platters from the east of Sunwake, tomes from Mayland, and countless treasures. He collected the prettiest items a man would desire. And sometimes, he collected the rarest of them all. He took pleasure in owning them. And he did not like to share.

Jongin brought Boo to his room to feed the dog before he made his way to Bronn’s chamber. Bronn said that he had not been feeling well and that he would prefer to sit the play out tonight. Jongin suspected that it was just another excuse to avoid being around the others.

Bronn was not like the others. Although he had been here even before Jongin had married the Reeve, he never seemed comfortable or even at peace. Unlike Jongin he did shy away from the Reeve’s touch. In fact, the most comfortable and happy he ever looked was when he was around the Reeve, especially when he was the only one receiving the Reeve’s undivided attention. But those moments were sparse in this house.

Bronn came from Mayland. He was a scholar’s son. He was on his way to becoming a scholar himself, having excelled at every single one of his classes. There wasn’t a branch of knowledge at the college he was not great at. An unexampled student. Having been named an apprentice at such a young age, he was a gem to the college. During one of the Reeve’s visits to Mayland, Bronn was brought before him to be honoured with a medal. Instead, the Reeve had honoured him with a marriage.

He was two years older than Jongin was. Flaxen hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones. He was easy on the eyes. But it was his wisdom and intellect that had caught the Reeve’s attention. He was a rare thing.

Jongin was, too, a rare thing.

He gave the door a knock before he entered. Bronn looked up from his book from where he was seated at his desk. “How are you feeling?” Jongin inquired, shutting the door behind him.

Bronn sighed and shook his head. “You know it was a lie,” he muttered, returning his gaze to his book.

Jongin swallowed hard. Perhaps he should have stayed home tonight, too. Then he would not have bumped into Adrian, and Adrian would not have… done whatever he did.

His neck where Adrian’s dagger had pressed against still stung warmly. As did his lips that had almost touched Adrian’s after what felt like a lifetime.

Even thinking about it made his throat close.

“It would have made Aryys happy if you had come,” said Jongin as he moved closer to the desk.

Bronn put his book aside and gazed out the window, frowning at the darkness outside. “I’m sure it would have,” he said under his breath.

Jongin rubbed the back of his neck. “I will leave you be, then.” As he approached the door, Bronn called after him. He paused and looked back at the man.

“Does it not bother you?”

Jongin knew what he was referring to. But he decided to play coy, anyway. “What do you mean?”

Bronn rose from the desk and lowered his gaze. “Sharing the man you love.”

Jongin looked away for a second, his chest tightening. “It would bother me to share the man I love,” he told Bronn.

“He is bored of me. After Lyanda, Giria, you, Clarica and now, Aryys, he does not even look at me.” He sounded tired and miserable as he said that, his tone full of grievance. “He doesn’t even ask me to share his bed anymore.”

Bronn loved Markius. It was pitiful.

He had once told Jongin that he’d fallen for the Reeve the first time he saw the man.

“I’m sure he still loves you,” said Jongin unconvincingly.

“And you?” asked Bronn. “Why haven’t you let him take you? It’s been nearly three years. He is your husband. You married him willingly. You do love him, don’t you?”

Jongin pursed his lips and swallowed. Bronn knew the answers to his questions. But he told Bronn the same thing he told the Reeve on the night of their wedding some three years ago.

“I’m not ready.”

With that, he exited the chamber and started for his own. The Reeve was not an unreasonable man. Contrary to what everyone else in the city believed, Markius was patient when required. He would wait until Giria and Aryys turned twenty to take them. And he had said that he would wait until Jongin was ready to have him. Jongin knew, however, that the Reeve would not wait forever. He was still Jongin’s husband, who was entitled to certain rights. That was the deal he had made with Jongin’s family.

Boo was done gobbling up the food in his bowl by the time Jongin returned to the room. The dog barked then and caught a leg of Jongin’s trousers between his teeth, tugging Jongin toward the door, as though to take him somewhere.

“No, Boo,” Jongin told him tiredly and dragged himself over to the bed before collapsing on it, face down. His fingers aimlessly played with the frills of the pillow as he thought about what had happened at the playhouse.

Part of him wished that Adrian had sliced his throat open then and there. He would have deserved it. He had seen it in Adrian’s eyes. Adrian had wanted to hurt him as much as he was hurting.

Jongin closed his eyes, tears seeping into the pillow. If only Adrian knew…

For years, he had believed that one day, Adrian would be back. He would come looking for him. Every day that passed in the last three years, Jongin had dreaded that day.

He had not wanted Adrian to come looking for him. He had not wanted Adrian to find him like this.

He sat up and rummaged through the bedside drawers for the vial. Then dripping a drop of the vial’s content into the cup of tea on the bedside table, he swallowed the tea like a bitter medicine.

It would not be long before his misery would end altogether. Little by little, he would grow numb until there was nothing else to feel. His insides would give in and rot day after day, slowly, painfully.

Burying his face into the pillow then, he wept.

He had waited. Holding onto his promises. Until he couldn’t anymore.

* * *

Three years ago…

“Jongin,” called his mother, peering into his bedroom. Jongin sat upright on his bed, putting his book aside. Boo raised his head too to look at Jongin’s mother.

“Yes, Mother?”

She looked troubled. “Sweetheart, do you mind coming… downstairs for a while? Your father would like to have a word with you.”

Jongin blinked, wondering what had her expression all twisted and strained. “Of course, Mother.”

Climbing out of the bed, he gave Boo’s head a rub before he headed downstairs. When he first brought the dog home some three years ago after Adrian had left for the army, his father had not objected, but then again, he had stopped talking to Jongin altogether. His mother eventually realized that there was something wrong between her son and her husband.

After a year, his father started talking to him again. At first, it was just a gruff or a nod. But now, he spoke to Jongin when it was necessary. Jongin did not ask for more. He knew he had disappointed his father and there was nothing he could do to make it right, unless he forwent Adrian. And he was not planning on doing that.

He loved Adrian. He wanted to be with Adrian for the rest of his life. But the dread of it all not happening was cutting into his chest every day that went by. Mostly because he had not heard from Adrian since he left. No letters, nothing. Some nights, Jongin would cry himself to sleep. Because his thoughts would not leave him be. He was afraid, he was upset, he was unnerved.

What he could he possibly do? He was helpless, and he was worried for Adrian.

He found his father in the drawing room, standing by the fireplace with a piece of paper in one hand and his walking stick in the other.

“Father?” Jongin muttered as he entered the drawing room. “You wanted to speak with me?”

His father did not turn to him immediately. Keeping his eyes on the paper he was reading, he said, “Do you remember the Reeve of Mistworth?”

Jongin did indeed. The Reeve had journeyed to the town earlier this year to visit the Reeve of North Hollow. During his visit, Jongin’s father had invited him over for supper when he found out that the Reeve of Mistworth was an avid collector of oil paintings. The Reeve had expressed his interest in one of his father’s works.

He was a handsome man in his mid-forties, with some greys in his hair and beard. He had smiled at Jongin quite a few times at the table.

“Yes, Father,” said Jongin.

His father finally looked up at him, crumpling the paper in his hand. “You disappointed me once,” said the man. “I wonder if you’ll disappoint me again.”

Jongin stared at the crumpled paper in his father’s hand. “Father… what is that?”

“Another letter. From the gamin you almost ruined my reputation with.”

Jongin’s heart dropped. “Father…” he rasped breathlessly as he lurched forward. He jerked to a halt, however, when his father tossed the letter into the fire.

“It isn’t the first,” said his father as he moved to sit on the chaise lounge. “And I suspect it would not be the last.”

“Father,” Jongin exhaled shakily, eyes stinging with tears. Adrian had written him letters? How many? For how long? What did they say? “The letter…”

“That letter is not what you should concern yourself with. Another came from Mistworth today.” His father lit his pipe and took a puff. “It’s from the Reeve.”

Jongin did not care. He stared into the fireplace, a sob choking his windpipe. “Why would you not… give them to me?” he asked.

His father scoffed. “If you think that I will allow that tearaway to contact my son under my roof, you cannot be more wrong.”

“He is not a tearaway,” Jongin said, keeping his voice low and respectful, in spite of his father’s disparagement. “We love… each other, Father.”

It had been years, and only now could Jongin tell his father that. It angered the old man. His eyes reddened as he glared at his son.

“Impudent little child,” he spat through his grit teeth. “That’s what you are. You think you will bring dishonour to me and this household?”

“Father, is it not my intention to—”

“You might as well poison my next drink and kill me.”

Jongin froze, mouth agape, eyes bulged. That was vile. That was horrific. He could not believe that his father would say such a thing.

“I had given you everything. From the day you were born. I had made sure that you had every comfort, you had whatever that you needed, there wasn’t a single dearth of anything for you. Even when we found out that you were an abomination, we never treated you any different. You were a curse to this family. Yet, we gave you the same affection we gave your sister. And this is how you humiliate and repay us? By tarnishing our name with this roughneck you call your lover?”

Jongin wanted the ground to swallow him. He could not listen to any of it. “Please, don’t say such things, Father. I never wanted to hurt you or Mother.”

“But you have. Ungrateful. Impudent,” he spat again.

No. Jongin was not all that. He was not ungrateful! He was not impudent! He needed his father to stop accusing him of such foul things.

He lowered his head and let a tear fall to the floor. “What will you have me to do, Father?” he then breathed out miserably.

“I have given you enough time to get over that good-for-nothing street lout. I will wait no more,” said his father sternly. “You cannot live here forever. And I will certainly see no grandchild of mine be borne by you that’s sired by a thieving gamin.”

Why was his father bringing this up now instead of all those years before? Something was up. And it had something to do with the letter he had received from the Reeve of Mistworth earlier today.

“He’s not a thief,” Jongin whimpered quietly. “He’s not a gamin.” He was a good man who loved Jongin truthfully. And he made Jongin happy. Was that not enough for his father? That his son was happy with the man he loved?

“Where is he now, then? Why haven’t you just eloped?”

His father already knew. But Jongin answered his question, anyway. “He will come back,” he said, looking up at his father with pleading eyes. “He will return from the army. For me.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Jongin held his tears back. “Please, don’t say that, Father.”

His father huffed exasperatedly and took another drag on his pipe. “It doesn’t matter if he comes back or not. The only way I will allow you to be with him is over my dead body.”

“Father!”

“Do not raise your voice to me!”

Jongin panted with his heart pounding viciously.

“The Reeve of Mistworth has asked for your hand in marriage,” said his father, then. There was a finality in his tone.

“Wh… What?”

“And do not worry. I have told him everything about you. He says that you are of a rare beauty, and he would treasure you.”

“He is a married man,” Jongin rasped.

“Yes. He has taken several spouses before.”

“Then why would he—”

“He is a Reeve. You will not do better than this proposal.”

For a moment, Jongin tried to wrap his head around what he was hearing. He even considered the fact that his father might just be bluffing to intimidate and manipulate him.

“You will accept his proposal,” his father then said. “I have given him my blessing.”

Jongin approached his father and fell to his knees. “I do not want to marry him, Father,” he said, eyes brimming with tears, voice breaking. “I love Adrian.”

“Then take a blade and drive it through my chest.”

“Father…” he begged, holding onto his father’s knee. “I do not want to disappoint you. But I don’t love that man. I want to be with Adrian.”

“You will either marry the Reeve or attend my bereavement.” With that, he shot up to his feet and made his way out of the drawing room.

Jongin wished he had had the courage to end his life that night. And perhaps that was why he would never forgive himself. Because he did have a choice. It would have been a coward’s choice, but he still had that choice. He just could not make it.

* * *

Present day…

Boo had disappeared again. Jongin spent most of the morning looking for him, hoping that the Reeve’s hounds had not hurt him. When he could not find his dog, he went to the temple to pray for a while.

As he returned to the longhouse, he found the others in the feast hall, breaking fast. The Reeve was not present. He usually was not. He had more important matters to take care of with the city under his watch.

“There you are,” sighed Honerva as he took his seat at the table. Bronn had joined them this morning for breakfast, but he kept his head low. “Where have you gone missing?”

“I was at the temple,” Jongin muttered, watching the charladies place a couple of boiled potatoes on his plate.

“Well, Clarica was just about to tell us what happened last night in His Lordship’s chamber,” said Lyanda.

“Can we not speak of this right now as some of us are trying to stomach the food?” said Bronn then.

Clarica glared at him. “You’re just jealous,” she snorted.

Bronn gripped his jaw.

“I agree,” said Aryys. “But I can’t wait to be with him.” He blushed and grinned. Clarica scowled at him, too.

“You’re a little boy. Even if you come of age, he would not enjoy bedding you. All men prefer big breasts to smother them and wide hips to ride them. Even those that take other men to bed. Why do you think Bronn doesn’t get to spread his legs for His Lordship anymore?”

Aryys frowned and dropped his head.

Giria grimaced, briefly looking down at her own chest.

“Clarica,” came a loud, harsh growl then as Markius entered the hall, clad in his hunting raiment.

“My Lord,” she gasped, rising from her seat to bow her head at the Reeve.

With a scowl etched to his brows and lips, the Reeve marched over to her and caught her face in a harsh grip. “You will not speak that way to anyone at this table again, am I understood? There are hundreds of whor*s with bigger breasts and wider hips than yours, and I wouldn’t mind trading them for you if you ever spoke that way to Aryys or Bronn again.”

“Y-Yes, My Lord,” she squealed out. Releasing her jaw then, Markius turned to Bronn, who had his gaze and head low. He leaned down and gently cupped a Bronn’s chin before brushing a kiss to the fairhead’s cheek.

“I will be expecting you in my chambers tonight when I return,” he told Bronn softly before he stormed out of the feast hall.

Bronn’s breathing visibly shallowed as a faint smile curled the corners of his lips. Clarica plumped back in her seat with a spiteful moue.

“He’s just being polite,” she spat.

“Clarica, you will do well to shut your mouth this instant,” ordered Honerva.

* * *

Jongin did not see or run into Adrian for the rest of the week. He wondered if Adrian had left Mistworth. If he had, that was for the better. But still, it did not mitigate his pain.

He was starting to feel hollow. Empty. Numb. And that was a different kind of pain.

Adrian had come looking for him and he had been broken by Jongin, just like the promises they had made to each other. Perhaps Adrian had thrown the love he had for Jongin away, just like how he had thrown Jongin’s songbird into the water.

He dropped his face to his knees, seated on the steps on the back porch of the longhouse, where no one could bother him.

His loneliness did not last very long when Honerva found him crying quietly.

“Oh, my dear,” she gasped as she sank into a seat next to him, draping an arm over his shoulders. “Whatever that has happened that you’re weeping like this?”

Jongin quickly shook his head and wiped his cheeks. “Nothing,” he whispered.

Honerva frowned. “Jongin, I know that this is a place where you can’t find a lot of trustworthy people. But you cannot bottle up your sorrows. You’d burst one day.”

Jongin looked at her sadly. “You bottle up your sorrows.”

She sighed and gazed ahead at the backyard. “I have made my peace with them, though. I loved a man once. And for the longest time, I believed that he loved me, too. Now, our love has become a wasteland. I only stay for the sake of my son. That is the only love to live for. The love for your children.”

Jongin sniffled. “Everyone loves Markius.”

“But not you.” She smiled at him. “We all married him because he was charming. He promised us all love, riches, power. And yet, you don’t seem very happy to be here.”

“I am happy here,” he let out.

“A moment ago, I caught you crying. I have known you for almost three years now. Not once have I seen a genuine smile on you. If you do not want to be here, the Reeve will not force you to stay.”

“I know,” said Jongin. But he would let his family down yet again, and he would have nowhere to go because his father would never forgive him. And why would Adrian want him now that he had become another man’s? He had no reason to take Jongin back. Especially not if he believed that Jongin was tainted by another man.

“Is your… heart somewhere else?” Honerva inquired.

Jongin stayed mumchance.

Honerva stroked his hair, heaving a sigh. Then without saying more, she rose to her feet and left Jongin to his thoughts.

* * *

Boo came back a couple of days later.

“Where do you disappear to?” Jongin asked the dog, crossing his arms over his chest, watching the dog eat lick up every last morsel of his food from the bowl in the kitchen.

“I saw him running around the market with a man the other day,” said a charlady as she cleaned the kiln.

Jongin’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes. A big man.”

“Oh.” Jongin glanced to Boo again. Adrian… “Found him, haven’t you?” he whispered to the dog as his heart fluttered. Lowering to his knees then, he wrapped his arms around Boo and hugged him with thin tears in his eyes.

“Well, that’s sanitary,” remarked Clarica as she sauntered into the kitchen with Giria. Jongin rose back to his full height and looked down at his feet.

Clarica skipped around the kitchen, throwing snide remarks at the charladies before she grabbed herself some rumberries and leaned against the counter to make a face at Jongin.

“Giria here is a wonderful dancer. Aryys is a talented thespian,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Lyanda has one of the richest families in the realm. Bronn is a brilliant scholar. Honerva was His Lordship’s first love. And everyone knows I’m the most beautiful and I know how to make men go crazy in bed. Is that not right, Giria?”

Giria nodded her head reluctantly.

Clarica popped a rumberry into her mouth. “Now, I wonder what the Reeve married you for.” She pulled away from the counter and approached Jongin. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a freak.”

Jongin’s chest ached. He felt sick suddenly.

“Born as both a woman and a man,” she spat. “Well, you look like a boy. But I heard you have quite the bits down there. Tell me. Do you ever f*ck yourself? Since, you know, you have all the tools. No, no. I’m curious about something else. Would your children be a freak like you if you were to have some? Was your mother also a freak? Is that why you’re like this? Bronn is a man. He likes to take it up the ass. You are a… mostly a man. Which hole do you like to be f*cked in?”

That did it.

Before Jongin could stop himself, his hand sprung up to strike Clarica across her face.

The charladies and Giria gasped.

Clarica, staggered and shocked, held a hand to the side of her face that was just struck. She gaped at Jongin in disbelief. Her eyes reddened as did her cheek.

“His Lordship will hear of this!” she yapped at Jongin. “You will pay for this!”

As she stormed out of the kitchen, Giria hurried after her. The charladies gawked at Jongin for a moment before they broke into a giggle.

“She had it coming,” one of them whispered.

Jongin clenched his eyes and drew a few deep breaths before he and Boo wended their way to his bedroom.

He spent the rest of the evening hugging Boo in his bed, crying into the dog’s grubby fur. He was dirtier than usual. Jongin wondered if Boo had been wandering to the lower level of the city. And if Adrian were the reason why.