Malin moved through his chores without much trouble. He swept the gardens, cleaned the stables, and scrubbed every surface he was told to, all under Alfred's watchful eyes. Despite being cheerful and chatty, Malin was just as efficient as the mansion's other workers. Most of them were humans, except for Alfred and a few others who were vampires.
All day, Malin had followed Philip around the mansion. They worked together, though it mostly felt like Malin talking and Philip pretending not to hear him.
"I've lost count of the rooms we've cleaned," Malin groaned as he dropped a cloth into the laundry basket. "Are there any more?"
"No. That's all for today," Philip replied, straightening the crumpled edge of the bed sheet .
"Malin exhaled in relief. "Thank the stars—I'm famished. I thought I was going to work myself into the grave."
Philip shook his head, a ghost of a mocking smile tugging at his lips. "Dinner will be served soon."
"Really?" Malin grinned wide and, without another word, lifted the heavy basket of dirty sheets and hurried toward the hallway.
Philip blinked. "Wait—" he called, but Malin was already gone.
Malin half-jogged down the corridor, struggling to balance the tall pile in his arms, when—bam! He collided with something firm and unmoving. The force knocked him off balance, but before he could hit the floor, a strong hand grabbed his arm.
His heart skipped. He looked up—and locked eyes with someone he immediately recognized.
"Rhaegal…" Malin breathed, the name escaping his lips like a prayer.
Behind him, Alfred gasped in horror, while Philip shut his eyes and muttered silent prayers for Malin's soul.
Rhaegal raised a brow, his golden eyes unreadable. "Hmm?"
Malin's stomach dropped. His eyes widened as realization struck—he had spoken the lord's name aloud. without permission.
Panic rushed through him. He quickly stepped back, dropped to his knees, and lowered his forehead to the floor.
"Forgive me, my lord and thank you, my lord, for saving a life as insignificant as mine!," he said. It wasn't just an apology—Malin had been waiting for a chance to thank Rhaegal since the minute he woke up.
Rhaegal stared at him, unmoving. His brows twitched—less in amusement, more in puzzlement. He hadn't expected this display. Nor the boy's sudden submission. It annoyed him, though he wasn't quite sure why.
Alfred, watching from the side, recognized the silence all too well. He glanced at two nearby servants, who immediately stepped forward to grab Malin. But before they could touch him, Rhaegal raised a hand.
The servants froze, then stepped back immediately, bowing their heads.
Rhaegal's eyes stayed on Malin. His expression didn't change, but there was something new in his gaze—something sharper, more focused.
He walked closer, slow and deliberate. Hands behind his back, voice low and smooth.
"Malin, right?"
"Yes, my lord," Malin whispered. A chill crept down his spine like fingers of frost.
"You were told the rules of this mansion, weren't you?" Rhaegal asked as he slowly circled him.
"Yes, my lord."Malin replied, confused and wary.
"And I assume he mentioned the importance of silence… of peace… above all else?"
"Yes, my lord… but I—"
"Alfred," Rhaegal cut in, his tone sharp as a blade. "Twenty strokes of the cane. Take him."
He raised his head abruptly, eyes wide in disbelief. He wanted to protest to speak but the words caught in his throat. Slowly, he lowered his gaze and exhaled through clenched teeth.
Two servants stepped forward. Malin didn't fight them. He glanced once at Rhaegal and for the first time, there was disappointment in his eyes. He had believed Rhaegal was different. Maybe the man who saved him had a good side. Malin had never expected to be treated differently. But for a moment… he had hoped. And that hope stung more than the threat of any cane.
Clearly, he was wrong.
But then, just as the servants began to walk him away.
"Wait,"Rhaegal's voice rang out, low but commanding. The servants halted.
They stopped and looked back.
"My lord?".one asked, confused.
"Let him go," Rhaegal ordered.
The servants released Malin at once, stepping back quickly.
Malin stood frozen, confused. He looked at Rhaegal, unsure what to expect now.
Rhaegal turned his head slightly, golden eyes glinting beneath his dark lashes.
"Malin," he said, voice lower now, something unreadable simmering beneath the surface. "Come with me."
He turned and walked away, without a backward glance.
Malin frowned but followed him slowly, his steps hesitant. He didn't know what the lord wanted—but something about the way Rhaegal had looked at him made his heart beat faster.
And for the first time, he wondered if there was more to this cold, powerful man than everyone believed.
Alfred dismissed the servants before quietly following behind Lord Rhaegal and Malin. They moved through the silent halls, the air thick with unspoken tension.
When they reached the lord's quarters, Rhaegal stepped inside without a word. Alfred entered next, and Malin hesitated before crossing the threshold.
It wasn't what he expected.
Unlike the rest of the mansion—where chandeliers glittered and velvet curtains lined every window—the lord's chamber was… plain. The furniture was simple, the colors dull. No gold-trimmed decor. No paintings. No warmth.
It was clean, yes—but too clean. It felt empty, like no one really lived here. The hollowness of it made Malin's chest ache, though he didn't know why.
As Malin stood there silently, taking it all in, Rhaegal turned to Alfred and gave him a few quiet instructions. Then, with a wave, he dismissed him.
Now it was just the two of them.
Rhaegal took his time. His golden gaze moved to Malin—finally giving the boy a full look. Tall, with unruly blond hair and a lean frame that hinted at long-term malnutrition. His face still held the softness of youth, but his eyes… blue, bright, and too expressive.
An open book, Rhaegal thought.
"Malin," he called, voice deep and commanding.
Malin blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "Yes, my lord." He gave a quick bow.
"There are questions I want answered. I expect honesty—for your own good." Rhaegal's voice was unreadable as he sat, one leg crossed over the other.
Malin nodded, unsure of what was coming.
"Take a seat."
Malin chose the couch farthest from him and sat down. It wasn't fear that gripped him exactly—but something heavier. The aura around Rhaegal was suffocating, pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Where did you live before now?" Rhaegal asked.
"Pearl Harbor," Malin replied.
Rhaegal gave a slow nod. Pearl Harbor—one of the poorest human towns. He wasn't surprised.
"And your parents? Are they still alive?"
Malin flinched.
He shifted in his seat, eyes cast down. Rhaegal's brows drew together.
"Speak up. I don't have all day."
"They're dead," Malin whispered.
Rhaegal gave a nod, as if he had expected it.
"You…. killed them," Malin added, his voice quiet but firm.
That made Rhaegal pause. One brow lifted in slight amusement. "Hmm."
He didn't deny it. In fact, he seemed unfazed.
"Then I suppose they didn't love you very much," Rhaegal said. A cold smile tugged at his lips.
"They did… in the beginning," Malin said, his tone turning somber.
"What changed?"
Malin hesitated. Rhaegal's gaze bore into him, and eventually, he gave in.
"I don't remember my real parents. A couple found me when I was six, I was drowning in the river. They saved me… and raised me."
Malin's voice cracked just slightly.
"Father was kind. But Mother… She always saw me as a burden. One more mouth to feed. I worked. I tried. But nothing I did was ever enough."
His hands gripped the sides of his pants tightly as he spoke.
"Eventually, she made friends with a group of people . Things improved, they gave us food, clothes, even money. I thought it meant they'd stop hating me. I thought they'd start seeing me as family."
He swallowed hard.
"But they tried to kill me instead. That night… they were going to kill me. And then you appeared." He let out a soft, hollow sigh. "You saved me."
The sadness in his eyes was impossible to miss.
Rhaegal watched him in silence. He saw it now—how the cheerful, talkative boy was really a child who had been thrown away. Someone who craved affection, who masked his hurt with laughter and questions.
"Do you hate me… for killing them?" Rhaegal asked, his voice lower now. He didn't take his eyes off Malin.
Malin quickly shook his head. "No, my lord. I don't resent you. You saved my life."
He looked down again.
"I just… don't understand why they went that far. Why kill me? They could've thrown me out, sold me… anything but that."
Rhaegal said nothing. He knew why. Malin's blood had value—more than the boy could imagine. But why that group believed it would bring them 'liberation' was still a mystery.
And the fact that Malin didn't know his real parents… that made it worse.
There were secrets buried deep in his bloodline.
"Are you aware that you're… different from other humans?" Rhaegal asked.
Malin blinked. "Different? Aside from the fact that I heal faster… no, my lord."
Rhaegal wasn't surprised. Pearl Harbor was practically abandoned by nobility. Very few creatures of power passed through, and the humans were left to fend for themselves. Telling Malin more right now wouldn't help. He was safer in the dark.
"That's all for now," Rhaegal said. "You may leave."
Malin stood slowly. But instead of leaving, he looked around the room again—then turned back.
"My lord," he said carefully. "May I ask a question?"
"Speak."
"I noticed… your quarters look nothing like the rest of the mansion. Why?"
The air in the room shifted.
Rhaegal's jaw tensed. His expression turned cold—icy cold.
"Leave," he said.
Just one word. But it cut like a blade.
Malin felt the chill in his bones. Without hesitation, he turned and left.
Once the door shut behind him, silence fell.
Rhaegal sat still, expression blank. But his fingers slowly reached for the silver ring on his left hand—stroking it absentmindedly.
His eyes darkened—not with anger.
But with something else.
Longing.
Pain.
And memories he had long tried to bury.