CHAPTER 370: RETURNING HOME

The sun had dipped below the horizon when Xion returned to the castle.

The faint hush of evening lingered in the halls, broken only by the quiet shuffle of servants and the distant rush of the wind outside.

Chill seemed to seep inside his bones. His hands shivered, and so did his entire body.

"Leave, Ray. I’ll go alone from here on. You should rest too."

Just as the knight commander hesitated between persuading Xion not to think too much and simply following him until he was safely with his master, the Archduke approached them.

With a deep bow, Raymond Eldritch left for his quarters. He would have to report today’s incident to the Archduke the next morning. It was better to prepare for the scolding.

Xion stood there, staring at the tall figure bathed in the moonlight. When he didn’t move, the silver-haired elf stepped forward and engulfed him in a tight embrace.

The aroma of cedar with the hint of smokiness enveloped him, and like a greedy kitten, he breathed in that rich scent, desperately filling his dry lungs.

So this is what it feels like to be home. Xion wondered whether the Archduke was on a stroll or if he had been waiting here specially for him.

Either way, it felt nice to have him around, so the healer showed no struggle when he was picked up like a child.

In truth, his legs felt heavier than usual tonight, and he didn’t mind surrendering his weight to Darius.

Long since grown used to their Archduke’s shameless devotion, the servants didn’t even pause in their work.

Still, their gossipy eyes followed the two men as they passed, already scripting another story to whisper among themselves tonight.

And didn’t Darius know it? The northern lord was perfectly aware of how the staff and attendants talked about them.

All of those stories painted him as some cold, merciless monster who’d kidnapped the blessed angel Xion and chained him here in the ice.

How could they say that when he had patiently waited for Xion to run back to him on his own?

If it weren’t for the fact that all those tales still ended with them together, he would’ve banned the gossip outright. But he let them whisper. He’d let the whole world whisper if it meant having Xion’s name tied to him.

Now, normally, he would be eager to drag Xion back to their bed, but the rusty smell emitting from the figure in his arms had been annoying him.

Instead of taking Xion to their chambers, he directly went toward his throne hall.

Footsteps thudded against the wooden bridge as they crossed the artificial lake below.

Xion clung to Darius’ neck, but his hazy eyes lingered on the icy water.

They said the earlier months of the North were usually warm enough that fish swam under the bridge. Maybe next year, he thought, he’d finally see them.

They would look so free.

Such fleeting thoughts flashed through his mind before circling back to the figure he saw in the church.

Hate was a very strong word, and he was never the one to throw it casually.

Even after all the things he had endured, he had never truly hated his parents.

There was helplessness. Longing. And then utter numbness that consumed his very core. However, a strong emotion as hate had never clouded his mind.

But this man... Father Michael, with his holy robes and honeyed words, had managed to sink a hook into Xion’s heart with just a smile.

Like a fish, he nearly lost his life. After all, spilling the truth in front of such a dangerous person was like inviting trouble.

It had taken just one meeting for that man to climb to the top of his list of enemies.

Xion’s hand tightened against the broad shoulder as he recalled the priest’s warm silver-grey eyes, his serene, godlike smile, and the way his mouth spoke of slaughter as though it were worship.

By the time they reached the throne room, he couldn’t hide the faint tremor running through his body from his husband’s gaze.

He watched silently as Darius lowered him onto the white throne before settling himself on the floor.

"What happened?" the Archduke asked while carefully unfurling the clenched fingers.

The faint copper scent of blood, which he’d noticed earlier, magnified in the air.

The hands he had worked so hard to heal, to soften the calluses, and soothe the scars, were streaked with angry scratches of crescent-shaped cuts where Xion’s own nails had dug in.

Taking a slow breath, he cradled the black-haired healer’s jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes. "What did they do to you?"

Xion exhaled shakily. "It’s not... what they did. It’s who I met."

Darius said nothing at first, simply taking out the small vial from his pocket. His thumb traced over the bloody crescents where nails had dug into flesh.

The familiar scent of grapes wafted in the air as he methodically began to clean and dress the wounds.

Xion watched him work on the tiny scratches as if they were something serious to attend to.

Just the sight of Darius close to him was enough to bring him peace.

"There was a priest there. He called himself Michael. Do you know him?"

At that name, the faintest furrow stained the silver brows.

"Michael," Darius repeated, as though tasting something bitter on his tongue.

He nodded. "Yes, him. He knew who I was before I even said my name. And he offered me a way to heal my eyes. A way that involved..."

Recalling the strange meeting, he swallowed hard. "Sacrifices of children. He said it so easily, like it was nothing."

Because for him, it really was nothing, Darius thought, but didn’t say that aloud.

After wrapping the bandage with a neat knot, he finally lifted his gaze to stare at his troubled lover.

His Xion was so distressed that he hadn’t even thought of using a healing spell on himself.

"That man," he stood up and sat beside Xion before continuing, "is no ordinary priest. He is the head of the Thirteen Elders of the Church. The most powerful man in the Holy Order, second only to the Pope himself. If he so wished..."

He trailed off, trying to end the conversation. He doubted his sweet darling would like to hear the rest.

Delicate fingers gripped his sleeve. "What? What can he do? Tell me..." His voice cracked from the fear he was trying to swallow.

The stress in those blue eyes dripped directly onto Darius’ heart, scalding it with rage. He was angry at the bastard who made Xion look so pitiful.

"Michael could summon a royal army to march under the church’s banners and purge entire cities in the name of the goddess. Every soul slaughtered would be praised under the guise of ’cleansing evil from the land.’"

Xion felt his stomach twist at that. He had known the church was corrupt, but he hadn’t realized just how much power hid behind that serene smile.

As if all his strength was drained with that one meeting, he leaned over, resting his head on the only shoulder available.

Chill of those words was making his insides freeze. "Hold me, please," the kitten said.

The words came out smaller than he meant, like a child asking for a lullaby, but he couldn’t stop them. "I want to feel you."

How could anyone say no to such a request? Darius was no exception.

"With pleasure, my love," he said, tugging Xion onto his lap.

His baby had somehow gotten used to sitting like this, and now he was even craving such intimacy without realising.

If that priest had done anything good, Darius mused, it was giving Xion a reason to cling to him tonight. He’d repay the bastard with a swift, merciful death... Maybe.

Feeling the soothing touch, the tied kitten rubbed his head against his husband’s neck, as if trying to soak up all the heat in his body.

"I told him," he murmured against Darius’ collarbone, "if I ever saw him again... I’d kill him."

That drew a faint chuckle from the Archduke.

"You won’t need to dirty your hands, my lord," he murmured, his voice low and almost tender as he pressed a kiss on Xion’s temple, though his eyes gleamed with something far darker. "I’ll do it for you."

Spilling blood was his forte. It was a craft he had perfected long before he’d learned to hold someone close.

He was planning to get rid of some insignificant people in the first place. Adding a few more names didn’t bother him. In fact, it gave him something to look forward to.

Xion, unaware of the thoughts running through Darius’ head, closed his eyes.

The system was suspiciously quiet. There wasn’t even a chime of approval when he vowed to kill Michael. Not even a snide remark for nearly falling into the trap.

Where was it? A faint prickle of unease crept up his spine. Was it updating again?