“Haven’t you needed my help many times? Enough to embrace me?”
Tyllian’s voice held a curious mix of accusation and hope, a question lingering in the air that spoke of deeper uncertainties.
“No, that’s not why…”
Ash mumbled, the words feeling inadequate even to his own ears.
He flinched, recognizing the familiar territory of Tyllian’s assumptions.
It seems he’s still holding onto the fact that Ash tried to escape secretly, clinging to the idea that this desperate act was a calculated move solely for manipulation.
But it was unfair.
That’s really not why he slept with Tyllian.
Ash’s mind raced, a turmoil of protest and frustration.
What did this guy think of him?
Did he truly believe Ash was so cynical, so devoid of genuine feeling, that he would use intimacy merely as a means to an end?
The thought stung, a bitter taste in his mouth.
“I am sure that Lord Ash would be among those whom the barrier will not allow to pass. Your Master was also not recognized as an insider of the castle.”
Tyllian’s voice was steady, factual, devoid of the earlier emotional undercurrents.
He was stating plain truths, solidifying the insurmountable obstacle that now stood between Ash and freedom.
The magical barrier, a new, unforeseen complication, had changed everything.
Ash’s carefully laid plans, his desperate gamble, seemed to crumble before his eyes.
“Are you saying you’re different?”
Ash asked, a sliver of desperate hope clinging to his voice.
Tyllian’s words implied a key, a potential way through the impenetrable defense.
“Of course.”
Tyllian’s reply was swift, unwavering, a hint of something unreadable in his blue eyes.
“You’ll help me escape?”
Ash pressed, his heart pounding in his chest, a fragile hope blossoming.
“Yes.”
Tyllian affirmed, his gaze fixed on Ash.
“Why?”
Ash couldn’t understand.
The sudden shift in Tyllian’s stance, from staunch obstruction to willing accomplice, was baffling.
He didn’t know why Tyllian, who had been blocking him just moments ago, had suddenly changed.
It was illogical, contradictory, and utterly disorienting.
Tyllian was silent for a moment, his gaze seeming to drift, as if weighing his words.
Avoiding the answer to the direct question, he instead asked back, “What do you intend to do once you leave this castle?”
His voice was calm, almost conversational, a stark contrast to the urgency of their situation.
“Well, I’ll go find other retainers, of course.”
Ash replied, the plan etched firmly in his mind.
It was the only logical step, the only way to rebuild what his father had stripped from him.
“By yourself?”
Tyllian inquired, a note of gentle skepticism in his tone.
“Then who would I go with?”
Ash retorted, a hint of exasperation seeping into his voice.
The question felt rhetorical, almost mocking.
It’s not like he could escape with a full escort of his own.
The very idea was absurd.
What, was Tyllian suggesting hiring mercenaries?
The thought alone sent a shiver of apprehension down Ash’s spine.
The trustworthiness of mercenaries was notoriously unreliable, a treacherous gamble at best.
If Ash, a solitary, vulnerable Omega, were to hire them alone, he might be betrayed on the roadside as soon as he left the city, left for dead or worse, his meager funds plundered.
There’s a reason other nobles, while certainly using mercenaries to supplement their insufficient soldiers, naturally bring their own guard knights separately.
They understand the fundamental need to protect themselves, whether from common bandits or monstrous creatures they might encounter on the desolate roads, or more insidiously, from the very mercenaries who could turn their weapons on them at any time, lured by the promise of an easy bounty.
Ash, despite his naive hope for freedom, was acutely aware of the dangers that lay beyond the castle walls, dangers that his isolated upbringing had done little to prepare him for.
The world was a brutal place, and his Omega status made him a prime target for exploitation.
“You are the legitimate son of the ducal family. I’ve told you many times not to forget your own preciousness, yet you always neglect yourself.”
Tyllian’s words were a familiar refrain, a well-worn lecture that always grated on Ash’s nerves.
He hated being reminded of his perceived fragility, his supposed need for constant protection.
“If you have something to say, say it properly. Why are you nagging again?”
Ash snapped, his patience wearing thin.
He was in no mood for another lecture on his self-worth.
“Take me with you.”
Tyllian cut him off, his voice firm, resolute.
“Huh?”
Ash’s mind stuttered, unable to process the sudden, unexpected demand.
“Use me as your escort.”
Tyllian clarified, his gaze unwavering.
Having his face smeared with Tyllian’s erect member, Ash felt like his ears had gone bad.
Or maybe his head had gone completely crazy.
The world around him seemed to tilt on its axis, the lines between reality and a bizarre dream blurring into an incomprehensible mess.
“You’re going to follow me?”
Ash managed to choke out, his voice barely a whisper, disbelief coloring every syllable.
“Yes.”
Tyllian’s answer was simple, direct, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
“What about Owen?”
Ash broke out in a cold sweat at Tyllian’s casual attitude.
He didn’t know why he had to worry about this, but wasn’t Tyllian worried?
The implications of Tyllian’s defection were enormous, catastrophic.
The Manor family, a powerful and influential noble house, would never tolerate Tyllian’s defection, his outright betrayal of their interests.
Of course, the Manor family was at the top of Ash’s persuasion list for retainers, a key component of his strategy.
He had crossed them off, however, because the people of that household, with their deep-rooted loyalty and unwavering devotion, would never betray Owen, whom his father had so carefully groomed and made a junior duke.
It was a political minefield, and Tyllian seemed to be striding through it with reckless abandon.
“He’ll manage on his own, I suppose. He has many escorts, and you only have me.”
Tyllian’s words were delivered with a casual shrug, a nonchalant dismissal of Owen’s well-being that both shocked and unsettled Ash.
It was true, undeniably true, that Owen possessed a vast retinue of loyal guards and allies, while Ash was left with virtually no one.
Yet, the way Tyllian said it, the almost dismissive tone, made Ash feel bad.
Would he talk to Owen like that too?
A flicker of concern, strangely unbidden, sparked within Ash.
He shouldn’t.
Owen wasn’t as soft as Ash, not as vulnerable to emotional manipulation.
No matter how skilled he was, the moment he fell out of favor, he would be discarded one day, a harsh reality of the cutthroat world they inhabited.
Ash felt like he should warn Tyllian, to caution him against such a flippant attitude towards a powerful figure like Owen.
The thought was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by his own desperate situation.
Ash was confused.
He stared at Tyllian, trying to decipher the true motive behind this sudden, inexplicable offer of assistance.
“You’re not suddenly pitying me and following me, are you? If you were going to, you would have done it on the first day…”
His voice was laced with suspicion, a natural defense against what seemed too good to be true.
He’d learned the hard way that kindness often came with a hidden price.
“Why would I pity you? I am a servant, and you are my master.”
Tyllian’s words were firm, a simple statement of fact that somehow managed to be both dismissive of Ash’s fears and incredibly profound.
“You’ve never thought that. Don’t just say anything…”
Ash retorted, a flush rising on his cheeks.
He remembered all the times Tyllian had stood against him, all the times he’d felt monitored and controlled.
Tyllian chuckled with a “Ha,” a dry, almost self-deprecating sound.
“I have always been your servant. You truly know nothing.”
His voice was low, laced with a hidden meaning that Ash couldn’t quite grasp.
Ash questioned silently, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I tried to fulfill my duty… but it seems it was impossible with my weak will.”
Tyllian confessed, a hint of weariness in his tone, a subtle admission of his own internal struggle.
It was a rare glimpse into the knight’s usually impenetrable composure, a crack in the stoic facade.
Tyllian bent down, his posture shifting, bringing his face closer to Ash.
The hand supporting Ash’s chin lifted him, gently yet firmly.
In an unstable position, kneeling with only his head sticking out, Ash received his kiss.
It was unexpected, soft yet firm, a surprising warmth that spread through him.
What was this?
What was it?
Ash’s mind reeled, trying to make sense of the dizzying array of emotions and actions.
Unlike Ash, who found it hard to follow the situation, Tyllian looked somewhat relieved, a subtle easing of the tension in his features.
It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a strange sense of liberation.
“Please continue to blackmail me. Take hold of a foolish knight who could not overcome temptation and violated you, ultimately helping you escape.”
Tyllian’s voice was clear, his words laced with a strange, almost theatrical seriousness.
“You… are you serious?”
Ash stammered, his mind struggling to grasp the implications of Tyllian’s proposition.
It was an absurdity, a complete reversal of their dynamic.
Ash had never even thought of taking Tyllian with him.
The idea had never crossed his mind, not even in his wildest fantasies of escape.
He hadn’t even intended to accept his help, knowing full well the risks involved.
Tyllian was not someone who would defy the Duke’s orders, his loyalty unshakeable, his honor paramount.
And now, with the Duke absent, he was certainly not someone who would defy the junior duke’s orders, Owen’s authority being almost as absolute.
This sudden, radical shift in Tyllian’s allegiance was unfathomable.
“Yes,” Tyllian answered, running his hand over his face again, a gesture of exasperation, or perhaps resignation.
“…I can’t believe it myself. How unbelievably I’ve… to you…”
His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, hanging in the air like a heavy sigh.
‘To me what?’
Ash expected him to continue, to elaborate on this profound, unsettling confession, but Tyllian said no more.
He just covered his face and sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken words, a myriad of conflicting emotions.
Ash tried to understand the situation, piecing together the fragmented clues.
So… he was going to give in to the blackmail?
To the illusion of it, at least.
If he was going to do it anyway, he’d give in properly?
Abandon Owen.
Take Ash’s side?
The implications sent a jolt through Ash, a mixture of shock and a nascent, thrilling hope.
It was a risk, a monumental betrayal for Tyllian, but for Ash, it was an unimaginable opportunity.
Ash was startled.
The pieces began to click into place, a sudden, blinding clarity.
“You really like me?” he blurted out, the question escaping his lips before he could fully process it.
It was a raw, vulnerable query, born from a lifetime of feeling unloved and unwanted.
“Didn’t I tell you? You should really listen to others. I probably advised you that if you lightly assume you know someone’s feelings, you’ll be punished someday. You have several flaws, but being imprudent and always thoughtless is your biggest one.”
Tyllian’s reply was a familiar lecture, his voice tinged with exasperation, yet beneath the sternness, there was an undeniable undercurrent of something else, something softer.
“…Are you sure you like me?!”
Ash pressed again, unwilling to let the topic drop, needing unequivocal confirmation.
“Yes. Regrettably.”
Tyllian’s voice was a low murmur, the word “regrettably” delivered with a curious mix of resignation and genuine feeling.
“Regrettably?! Is that really how you express feelings for someone you like?”
Ash’s voice rose in disbelief, a mix of offense and bewilderment.
He couldn’t fathom such a contradictory declaration.
“That would be an expression of my feelings towards you. My feelings of liking you are separate, and…”
Tyllian began, attempting to dissect his complex emotions with the logic of a scholar.
“What are you talking about? Can’t you just live simply?”
Ash interrupted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
He wished people in the world would just speak simply, without all the convoluted explanations and philosophical nuances.
Did it really have to be so complicated just to express your feelings?
It was infuriating, yet, strangely, also endearing in Tyllian’s peculiar way.
So…
Ash paused, taking a breath, trying to cut through the intellectual clutter.
“You’re saying you’ll help me because you like me, right?”
He sought a simple, undeniable affirmation.
The mouth that had been spouting insults about Ash clamped shut again.
A silence descended, thick with unspoken thoughts.
Now Ash felt like he knew how to make Tyllian shut up.
He hadn’t thought he’d ever win an argument with Tyllian, the knight always so articulate and logical, but on this specific topic, the subject of his feelings, Tyllian’s words always got stuck, caught in a tangle of self-consciousness and perhaps, a deeper vulnerability.
“Yes. It seems so.”
Tyllian finally replied, his voice barely a whisper, an undeniable admission.
The hand that had been covering his face was removed, revealing a countenance that, despite his usual clean and composed appearance, now looked utterly exhausted.
The strong knight, usually so in control, confessed his feelings, his gaze direct and unwavering.
“No… That’s right.”
He rephrased, as if seeking to solidify the truth for himself.
Ash remained silent, captivated by this raw, uncharacteristic display of emotion.
“I wanted to. From the beginning. I wanted to.”
Tyllian continued, his words tumbling out, almost desperate in their earnestness.
He repeatedly rephrased his ambiguous expressions, trying to find the precise words to convey the depth of his long-held desire.
“I don’t want to see you get married. No matter who the other person is. I don’t want to watch you marry and be with someone, even under the pretense of being an escort. I tried to comfort myself by thinking that even that would be fine… but it was all false comfort. There’s no way I could endure it.”
His confession hung in the air, a profound declaration of possessive longing and a complete unraveling of his stoic composure.
Ash’s heart pounded in his chest, a rapid drumbeat against his ribs.
Tyllian was only ever honest when he was nagging, when he was lecturing Ash about his flaws and responsibilities.
But for the first time, he was helplessly pouring out his emotions, raw and unfiltered.
Ash didn’t know what to do in this situation, this unprecedented intimacy, but he clearly felt what he wanted to do.
He felt good, a warmth spreading through him that was both surprising and deeply comforting.
So he wanted to make Tyllian feel good too, to reciprocate the raw, vulnerable honesty that had just been laid bare.
“Tyll. Should I suck it?”
Ash asked, his voice soft, a surprising tenderness in his tone.
The question was direct, unburdened by the complexities of their earlier conversation, a simple offering of comfort and pleasure.
Tyllian silently looked down at Ash, his blue eyes wide, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.
Ash felt a little awkward under his intense gaze.
There was no need to look at him like that, was there? He just wanted them both to feel good, to share in this strange, unexpected intimacy.
He knew Tyllian would like it when he actually did it for him.
Ash made a smacking sound as he kissed the glans, a soft, wet sound that filled the quiet room.
As soon as his lips left it, Tyllian’s member stiffened and swung up and down like a pendulum, a clear physical reaction to Ash’s touch.
Ash felt a surge of mischievous triumph.
“Are you still going to look at me as if I’ve done something wrong?” he thought, a playful challenge in his mind.
Ash, triumphant, looked up at Tyllian.
Tyllian was staring into space, his gaze unfocused, his mind clearly somewhere else.
“Why wasn’t he focusing here…?”
Ash wondered, a flicker of disappointment.
Then a realization dawned.
Ah.
He was holding back?
Tyllian’s jaw tensed as if he were gritting his teeth, a visible struggle against his own desires.
Ash, delighted by this revelation, sucked on Tyllian’s member with smacking sounds, a deliberate, teasing rhythm.
As he held the tip like a lollipop and licked it with playful intent, the knight’s member began to twitch as if alive, responding to Ash’s every movement.
“Lord Ash. Stop…”
Tyllian cut Ash off, his voice strained, a plea disguised as a command.
Ash, who had been engrossed in his oral ministrations, completely focused on the task of bringing Tyllian to the brink, was about to ask “Why?”
He felt like he was just a little more away from making Tyllian climax, on the cusp of a powerful release.
Then, without warning, Tyllian pulled Ash onto the bed.
The sudden movement sent Ash tumbling, and he ended up straddling Tyllian, who was now half-lying on the bed.
Tyllian grabbed his own member, his hand firm, his grimace deepening as if trying to hold back an overwhelming urge.
He pleaded, his voice hoarse, “I think I’ll make your face dirty. Stop…”
“Just do it.”
Ash offered kindly, his voice surprisingly calm despite the chaotic scene.
“Yes?”
Tyllian asked, taken aback by Ash’s unexpected bluntness.
“You can finish in my mouth.”
Ash clarified, a generous offering that felt strangely natural in the escalating intimacy.
He thought people who relentlessly came in one’s mouth like his Master were perverts, a crass and unrefined act, but since Tyllian was acting normally, trying to control himself, he felt like being considerate, offering a comfort he now understood.
However, Tyllian’s reaction was not good. His grimace intensified, and he averted his eyes, a clear sign of his discomfort.
“What on earth are you doing at night…! No, never mind.”
Tyllian blurted out, his voice a mixture of exasperation and a surprising touch of modesty.
“What’s the problem now? You said you were in a hurry! What’s wrong with me being considerate?”
Ash demanded, feeling a fresh wave of irritation.
He was trying to be helpful, to facilitate the very outcome Tyllian seemed to be both desperate for and strangely reluctant to accept.
“You…!”
Tyllian began, his voice rising in frustration, but he stopped mid-argument with Ash and grimaced, his gaze going over Ash’s shoulder.
Ash also felt the bed sheet dip behind him, a subtle shift that indicated another presence.
Soon after, he felt a strange sensation on his backside.
Someone was touching his butt. It wasn’t Tyllian.
Both of his hands were clearly visible, still struggling with his own member.
“Ah. Continue.”
His Master said with a “don’t mind me” attitude, his voice annoyingly cheerful, completely oblivious to the dramatic tension he had just interrupted.
He had somehow gotten behind Ash and was now kneading his butt, a casual, intrusive touch that sent a jolt of alarm through Ash.
“No…”
Ash whispered, a mixture of shock and resignation in his voice.
The situation had just become infinitely more complicated.