MPNS Ch 90

Chapter 90

“That, that— I only acted on another’s orders—”

Clutched by the collar in Raymond’s fist, the count shook like an aspen in winter.

“Orders?”

It seemed true that something had been slipped into Nikiel’s cup. Just as Raymond pressed to question him further, the man went limp and fainted where he stood. Raymond stared at him, nonplussed.

Just in case, he checked—the pulse was steady. He tossed the count to the ground, summoned a guard from the rear corridor, and ordered him taken to the underground cells.

Since testimony had been secured concerning an attempt upon a royal life, treason would be the least of it. Raymond at once returned to the hall.

On the way, he glanced toward where a wolf’s howl sounded faintly, then walked on.

The muscles along his jaw bulged, teeth set like a vise.

“Ah… ticklish—”

As Nikiel had expected, the wolf did not bite his nape. Instead, it buried its nose there and snuffled, breath warm. The beast was the size of a cottage; its in-and-out alone made the grass against Nikiel’s back sway.

“Clearly reason is gone—if the august Your Grace presses so close to me.”

Nikiel smiled, thinking of how Yullan would normally recoil from him with a shudder.

He felt far less fear than with Raymond. In truth, in his academy days Nikiel’s favorite animals had been carnivores—wolves of the family Canidae, genus Canis. To his eye, Yullan resembled the tundra wolf, a Eurasian subspecies; though the one sniffing about him was far larger, to be sure.

The heavy tail and fur seemingly made for cold marked the type. Whatever the classification used in this world, by Nikiel’s knowledge it fit. Though cloaked in black, the shape was clear enough, and the bright, keen black eyes stared straight into him.

“What—want a chew bone? There’s nothing on me to give.”

Even as he addressed a beloved animal, his tone ran a touch curt. His opinion of Yullan was not high.

‘Had he not given me the treasured sword, there’s no way I’d have chased him out here.’

A person should, for even a straw sandal gifted, return the favor; thus, seeing Yullan in distress, he could not help but come.

The gift itself had been a surprise. Nikiel had thought Yullan detested him. Yet the man had presented a jewel-studded blade and then drunk down the suspicious wine meant for Nikiel—of late, Yullan was strange.

“Hey, Sir Baduk. Say something. What’s with you these days?”

Still lying where the wolf had pushed him down into the grass, Nikiel spoke with blunt familiarity. The wolf stared down, unblinking. For a meat-eating predator, those black eyes looked gentle. Now and then it dipped its muzzle, nosing through Nikiel’s hair, making his neck itch with the loudness of its breath.

The reindeer had terrified him, perhaps because it thundered at him headlong; this wolf felt different. From the first moment their eyes met, Nikiel knew it would not harm him—not because its true form was Yullan, but because the wolf itself seemed to like him.

‘If this is delusion, it’s mortifying; but it really does feel like you’re fond of me.’

He kept the thought to himself. Whatever a carnivore might feel, Nikiel could only intuit: this wolf favored him—not as supper, but as someone to keep.

So he began, in his heart, to separate wolf from Yullan. It had been the same with Raymond: pity for the reindeer’s pain led him to reach out and touch it, and only then did the beast turn back into Raymond.

As he reached out now with the same memory, the wolf bopped his forearm aside with its muzzle.

“You little— Sir Baduk, playing coy now?”

Muttering, piqued by the rebuff when he only sought to pat its cheek, he found the wolf huffing and then settling its muzzle squarely on his belly. One forepaw planted beside him, as if to embrace, it did not crush him—but there was the distinct sense of being prey.

“Enough. We need to go back.”

With sacred power he would turn the wolf back into Yullan, then return to the ball. He had already yielded the first dance to another and bolted after Yullan; how could he face Lucian? As the thought struck, Nikiel tried to rise—

The wolf pressed down, weight behind the muzzle on his belly. No matter how diligently he worked his abs, he could not bench-press a house-sized wolf. A pang of self-reproach flickered.

‘Upper abs start tomorrow. Hard.’

As if disliking Nikiel’s squirming escape, the wolf glanced down at him and simply pulled him close, almost hugging him.

“Hey! Baduk! We have to go in now!”

Whose dog was this, to heed nothing? They touched at more than one point; why did Yullan not return? A thread of panic tugged. Perhaps following had been a mistake.

If he had ingested something strange, it might have stripped his reason and dragged dormant madness to the surface. The reindeer, too, had first seemed slightly deranged. Yet this wolf regarded Nikiel with crisp awareness.

“Baduk’s acting strange. Do you know who I am?”

Keeping him pinned and resting his chin on a forepaw, the wolf cracked one eye at him, then closed it again—as if to doze, do not disturb.

“You close your eyes when an elder speaks? Ill-mannered brat— animals and people both ought to learn Confucian courtesy….”

As Nikiel wriggled in indignation, the wolf even growled. He sighed in disbelief—then the ears pricked. Lifting its chin, pressing a forepaw gently to Nikiel’s chest, it fixed its gaze on something distant.

It rumbled, low, staring far away. Massive claws slid free. Nikiel tried to look, but could not; the forepaw held him fast.

Then someone called his name.

“Nikki, where are you?”

“…”

Nikiel, barely freeing an arm, reached to the tip of the wolf’s muzzle, pressing a finger as if to say hush. Then he peered into the shrubbery.

“Nikki, my brother. Where are you?”

A known voice. Rather, one the real Nikiel knew. Gooseflesh swept him. Somehow sensing it, the wolf ran its nose along Nikiel’s forearm, soothing. Nikiel scratched the bridge of its nose and stared into the dark again.

“Nikki…”

The voice seemed to recede. Nikiel trembled, unable to stop the chill from crawling over him. He could not understand why it struck so hard. The truth was, the true Nikiel had feared his half brother terribly.

‘Naturally. To pen up a child who knew nothing—’

Thinking of what Raphael Ossinis had done to the young Nikiel, it made sense. Thus the shiver. Nikiel realized he felt fear of Raphael; he could not breathe freely until the voice faded entirely.

Then the wolf tapped his arm with its nose. Nikiel let out a small laugh.

“What, Baduk? Worried for me?”

The wolf stared, intent. At least it was not the gaze of a creature eyeing meat. For the first time, curiosity about the wolf bloomed.

“Usually the frenzy hurts. You seem a bit different.”

Or was it because he was touching it? To test the notion, Nikiel tried gently to lift the wolf’s forepaw from his chest. The weight was considerable, but the wolf—almost as if to say, go on then—let him. Smiling, Nikiel slid out completely from beneath.

He knelt a short distance away. Today’s carefully dressed hair and clothes—Paul’s hard work—were stained with grass, but he did not care. He met the wolf’s gaze, calm and black as pitch, and found he liked it.

Then it happened. The wolf, apart from him now, gave a rough, choking cough as though something were caught in its throat, shaking its head and writhing in distress. Startled, Nikiel reached out at once.