Chapter 37

“Isaac! Isaac!”

The rhythmic calling grew louder, carried on a rich, savory breeze. It was undoubtedly meat pie. The scent alone spoke volumes of its impeccable quality—masterful.

Isaac had been reclining with his eyes closed, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. He turned toward the sound and found Aunt Natasha approaching him with a plate firmly in her grasp.

“You must be famished. Eat this while you have a moment to rest.”

True to his expectations, the plate held two meat pies, each nearly the size of his palm.

“Wow, these look absolutely heavenly. Thank you, Aunt Natasha!”

Isaac grabbed the plate without hesitation. Aunt Natasha gave him several hearty pats on the back with her broad, calloused hand before settling into the grass beside him and tucking a tobacco pipe between her lips. Having finished scrubbing away the remnants of the prince’s lunch and preparing the afternoon refreshments, it was finally her turn to take a brief, stolen respite.

As the head chef of the Blue Shadow Palace, she held a rank comparable to a chief chamberlain. However, there was nothing grand or imposing about her presence. She dressed for comfort and practicality, and at a glance, she appeared indistinguishable from an ordinary cook in any respectable, middle-class household.

The anomaly, however, lay in her food. Even if she tossed ingredients together with a mere passing thought, the moment they passed through her hands, they transformed into the finest fare in the world.

“Did you mince lamb and pork together?” Isaac asked, his voice muffled by a mouthful. “Mm… this is exquisite. Truly exceptional. Is that a hint of foxtail millet I detect? I never would have imagined the flavors marrying so harmoniously.” He devoured the first pie in the blink of an eye before lunging for the second.

Aunt Natasha watched him with profound, quiet satisfaction.

She had raised a son alone after the passing of her husband, only to lose the boy as well more than a decade ago. She had always harbored a soft spot for Isaac, often musing, Those gentle, drooping eyes of yours remind me so much of my son. He would be just about your age if he were still alive.

She possessed none of his mother’s features, yet Isaac cherished her all the same. There was a profound tether of comfort in her presence, reminiscent of a warmhearted neighbor from his distant childhood. At first, her stern expression and piercing eyes had led him to believe she would be difficult, but time had revealed a different, warmer truth.

Most of the staff at the Blue Shadow Palace mirrored this duality.

When Isaac first arrived, everyone seemed stiff-faced and demanding, making him wonder if he’d ever find his place. However, once he broke through their defenses, he discovered they were decent, weary people. Since their master was the way he was, they moved with robotic rigidity, terrified that even a small mistake could lead to disaster. Perhaps for that very reason, they made a conscious effort to protect one another.

Is this what they mean when they talk about people uniting against a common enemy? No, that didn’t quite capture the essence of it. In dire situations, people tend to find strength in each other. That felt more accurate.

“How is it?” Aunt Natasha inquired, concern mellowing her voice. “Are you coping with the workload all right?”

“Yes. I am holding up just fine,” Isaac replied, nodding.

It had been a little over a fortnight since he began his tenure at the Blue Shadow Palace, and he was faring much better than he had anticipated.

The palace was not such a wretched place, provided one conveniently overlooked the fact that its master was the God of Death himself. Admittedly, that was not the sort of detail one could casually disregard. Still, the labor itself differed little from his previous assignments, and he faced no petty harassment from the outside. Depending on one’s perspective, the palace was even more comfortable than other posts.

The prince never summoned his subordinates without cause, nor did he torment them merely to indulge a sadistic whim. From a certain vantage, that almost rendered him a superior master to most.

No. Absolutely not.

Isaac nearly choked on his pastry and hacked twice, his face flushing.

A man could hardly be deemed an easy employer when no one knew which minor mistake might cost him his head.

“Slowly,” Aunt Natasha chided, watching him with a frown. “Eat slowly.”

“Yes.” Isaac swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “But this truly is delicious. I am certain Lord Kaiyan will enjoy it as well.”

“Who knows? No one can decipher what dwells inside that man.”

She said that, but Isaac knew how close Aunt Natasha came to dancing a jig whenever the prince’s plate returned spotless. He also knew how she sighed as though the world had collapsed beneath her whenever a dish came back with only a single, tentative bite taken.

Unbelievable though it seemed, the prince was, in certain respects, a reasonably tolerable master. One false move could still end a person’s life before they had the chance to beg for mercy, but unlike many royals and nobles, Kaiyan did not invent fabricated faults or impose impossible burdens merely to satisfy his temper.

Only a few days ago, one of the kitchen maids had rescued a squirrel that a stray cat had mauled nearly to death. Moved by pity, she had hidden it in a corner of the kitchen, fed it, and mended its wounds. Once the squirrel regained its strength, it somehow escaped its cage, sprinted through the palace, burst into the prince’s study, and overturned an inkwell directly onto Kaiyan’s lap.

The prince had instantly snapped its neck with one hand.

Yet the maid, who had spent the following hours trembling like a leaf, suffered no penalty at all.

“The master of this palace is enigmatic in more ways than one,” Isaac murmured, chewing his pie as he gazed up at the azure sky.

The prince was ruthless, utterly devoid of mercy. Yet, the man frequently ignored trivialities that would have made most highborn masters fly into a murderous, arrogant rage.

Isaac could not grasp the standard by which he measured the worth of a soul.

“There is no fathoming the internal workings of those who walk above us.”

“Perhaps not their intellect,” Aunt Natasha said, exhaling a long, thin stream of pipe smoke. “But surely their hearts are not so distinct. High or low, human hearts beat with the same rhythm.”

Isaac studied her for a moment, then shifted his gaze back to the heavens. Are they?

Perhaps she was right. Those who lived above the clouds and those buried beneath the earth, those who had breathed a century ago and those who would draw breath a century from now, all possessed the same emotions, the same human ache. Time might pass and station might fluctuate, but a core truth remained. Something that defined the essence of humanity.

Even in him.

Isaac did not understand the prince, but Kaiyan had to possess something of that spark as well. He had been born human, and he endured the burden of existence as one.

“You really ought to exercise more caution from here on out,” Aunt Natasha said, her eyes fixed on him with renewed concern. “The new moon is drawing near, and you must be particularly vigilant during that time. This is your first cycle working at the Blue Shadow Palace, isn’t it?”

“Well… yes, I suppose. Though I did stand watch here occasionally back when I served in the royal guard, so I am sure I will be fine.” Isaac delivered the line with enough feigned confidence to ease her worries, then glanced sideways to gauge her reaction. “Also, I heard rumors that things have been fairly peaceful around the new moon lately.”

“They have been. For whatever reason, Lord Kaiyan has remained in unusually good condition even during that time of the month. I can only hope it stays that way.”

“…”

Isaac intended to bolt the moment he recovered his tinderbox, never bothering to look back. However, a faint, sharp pang of guilt pricked his chest, and he focused intently on his meal.

If his sacrifice on those new-moon nights had granted even a shred of peace to those around him, he could take some comfort in that. Now that he was stationed within the Blue Shadow Palace, he had become a direct beneficiary of that quiet. Yet, the pie that had tasted so wonderful only moments ago now turned to ash in his mouth.

Still, the workload at the Blue Shadow Palace had proven remarkably manageable.

Rest periods were observed with military precision, and he was never worked to the bone. While his duties as a bodyguard required him to remain within the prince’s sight, Kaiyan rarely made his life miserable. On the contrary, he treated Isaac with the same icy, calculated indifference as his other attendants, as if Isaac were merely furniture rather than a man of flesh and blood.

There were moments when Isaac truly could not fathom why Kaiyan had summoned him to this place. For all intents and purposes, however, his days unfolded without significant incident, and he found himself with little legitimate cause for complaint.

“But you…” Aunt Natasha hesitated, her gaze drifting downward as she shifted her weight. “Are you still… holding up well? Nothing hurts?”

Except for this conversation, he thought.

Isaac immediately noticed her eyes lingering with clinical curiosity on his waist and backside. His expression curdled in real-time.

“I am perfectly fine, Aunt Natasha. Thanks to everyone’s persistent concern, I remain in excellent health.”

“That’s a relief to hear. Most people fall terribly ill after they have been through that man’s hands.” She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have never taken a man before, have you? You really ought to prepare in advance. His cock is so monstrously large that even most women would struggle to endure it.”

“I have never done it,” Isaac replied, his voice strained. “And I have absolutely no intention of ever taking a man.”

“Yes, yes. Everyone says that at the start, don’t they? But life rarely follows our grand designs. There is no harm in proper preparation. Start with something slender, perhaps, then gradually work your way up to something more substantial.”

Aunt Natasha was nearing sixty, having spent enough decades in palace service to weather every imaginable hardship. Consequently, very little managed to embarrass her, and she spoke with a blunt, clinical ease that often left Isaac feeling shell-shocked. It was precisely that total lack of filter that made this otherwise doting woman so grueling to endure.

For the first few days after he arrived at Blue Shadow Palace under the pretense of being a bodyguard, eyes had tracked his every movement through the halls.

Is that the prince’s newly acquired bedwarmer? He looks nothing like the previous ones. Has His Highness’s taste finally shifted?

After a few more days, the whispers grew more specific.

How is that man still walking normally? Is his lower half actually made of steel? Is he inhumanly flexible?

Only after a full week did the truth finally permeate the household staff.

Oh. Perhaps he is not a bedwarmer after all. I thought it seemed strange, given his appearance. Of course. No matter how sturdy a man’s backside might be, no human could survive that with the prince and remain so visibly healthy.

Isaac had finally escaped most of those prying, suggestive stares, though they had not vanished entirely. A few lingering souls, like Aunt Natasha, still fretted over his supposed physical degradation.

“For your very first attempt, try something about the size of a sausage,” she persisted, ignoring his discomfort. “Sausages are smooth and soft, making them ideal for beginners. Once you are accustomed to that, head to the vegetable stall and find—”

Could anything possibly be more mortifying than this?

Isaac frantically scanned the courtyard for an exit. Suddenly, two or three figures appeared in the distance, walking toward the palace. Seizing the opportunity to escape, Isaac stood abruptly. “It appears we have visitors, Aunt Natasha. I should head back inside. You should as well.”

Guests invariably meant more labor for the kitchen. Depending on their identities, refreshments might not be mandatory, but the staff had to be ready. Aunt Natasha peered at the approaching figures, grumbled something incoherent under her breath, and finally departed.

Isaac exhaled, his chest finally loosening. His rest period was nearly finished anyway, and protocol dictated that he stand by the prince when outsiders visited Blue Shadow Palace. Who would be visiting on such a lazy afternoon? He turned toward the guests, who were now close enough that their features were distinct.

He froze.

Magicians.