Prey

"Are you cold? Why are you trembling?" As the carriage rolled forward, Allen asked with concern from inside the compartment, simultaneously drawing Rogers slowly yet irresistibly back into his embrace.

Only then did Rogers realize he was wrapped in a massive cloak, beneath which he lay as exposed and pure as that moonlit night.

His neck was drawn upward as Alan planted a soft kiss there, murmuring, "You ungrateful little thing. This is the only way you'll behave properly."

"Allen, Allen, I won't marry... I won't marry..." Rogers wasn't stupid. He glanced around, stared blankly for a moment, and then seemed to grasp his predicament.

Rogers felt a surge of fear toward this utterly unfamiliar Alan. The Alan in his heart had always been gentle and enchanting, like the azure waves beneath a blue sky and green sea, vast and embracing.

But he’d been mistaken. Mr. Allen wasn’t a gentle lake—he was a wave. When gentle, he’d lay jewels at your feet for you to tread upon and play with. But when enraged, his tsunami was the most terrifying natural disaster.

Rogers, who had always sailed through life smoothly, blinked rapidly, his eyes reflecting both acting and genuine fear. He gently embraced Allen, then looked up at him like a cornered animal, his voice softening as he pleaded, "I was wrong... I truly know I was wrong..."

"Oh? How unusual—our proud Rogers admitting fault?" Allen's voice carried amusement, like watching a child throwing a tantrum. He gently stroked Rogers's nape, the chains clinking softly with his touch. Allen gazed at Rogers and asked softly, "What did you do wrong, my darling?"

My honey, my baby... Those once-sweet words echoed again, yet they didn't bring warmth to his heart. Instead, Rogers swallowed hard. For some reason, he recalled Allen's younger days before leaving home—how he'd tease him whenever he grew arrogant, deliberately setting him up to embarrass himself when he acted overconfident... And if Rogers truly cried, Allen would rush over under the moonlight, knock on his window, and present him with everything he cherished most at the time—dew-kissed flowers, translucent gems, precious spices, and all the things country noble children adored.

Rogers had these things himself, but Allen's gifts were different—proof that Allen always conceded defeat to him. Rogers wasn't particularly bold by nature, yet when it came to Allen, he always carried himself with arrogant confidence.

But as those memories resurfaced, Rogers realized something—this time, he had truly angered Allen!

Unlike any other time, Rogers could still clearly discern Allen's emotions. It was a talent he'd possessed since childhood—the very reason he was so likable. No matter how much he disliked someone, Rogers was a sharp, slightly sly fellow who never did anything truly repulsive or disgusting.

"You're not at fault. I've spoiled you too much." Allen held him close, kneading the back of his neck like a mischievous kitten, pinching the soft flesh at the base of his skull.

The carriage continued its journey, passing through York District where the paved road gradually gave way to broken pavement. Allen's convoy advanced in silence, the clatter of wheels and horses mingling with Rogers' muffled whimpers and pleas for mercy.

When he had first toyed with that gentle Mr. Allen, Rogers likely never imagined this day would come. He had grown up like a pampered kitten, his fur glossy and his spirit haughty, reckless and joyful, convinced the whole world owed him tolerance for his bad temper.

When Allen first revealed his fierce side, Rogers was frightened. But when his pleas and coaxing failed, and Allen refused to back down from his plan no matter what, Rogers—who had never left Nandeng Township—truly grew afraid. He frowned, humming softly as he clung to Allen, murmuring meekly, "Let's go back. I won't get married. Okay?"

Allen was met by those large green eyes, long lashes fluttering slightly. His eyes and cheeks were flushed, like a juicy peach that seemed ready to spill honey if gently bitten.

It had to be said, Rogers truly possessed the talent to toy with hearts.

Alan remained silent. He had always been gentle and restrained, never experiencing this mischievous side. Rogers, who had been raised with endless pampering, now looked wronged despite clearly being in the wrong—his lips pouted, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I hate you! I hate you!" Rogers cried, pushing against Alan. Alan's gaze had already softened, filled with weariness and a quiet resignation. But in the next moment, Rogers' shoving and crying snapped Alan back to his senses.

Alan wrapped his arms around him, his gaze darkening.

"I gave you a chance..." he murmured, ignoring Rogers's crying and whining as he punished the naive, cruel little master who knew nothing of the world.

Rogers had no idea what Allen was talking about.

He sobbed and sniffled, yet his clinginess was so instinctive that even when he finally collapsed from exhaustion, he still burrowed into Allen's embrace.

This instinctive trust and affection finally roused Alan from the brink of self-loathing and despair. Alan watched Rogers, who seemed to mutter curses about hating himself even in his dreams, watching him frown yet cling to Alan, burying his face in his embrace as if doing so could grant him safety and affection...

"Josie," Alan called out to the butler outside.

"Yes, sir," the butler replied softly.

"Go to Nat," Alan said, stroking Rogers, who twitched slightly even in his sleep. He made up his mind. Gently caressing the clearly immature little guy, he smiled bitterly. "Rogers..."

Don't bring me hope when I'm at my most desperate. Don't bring me hope only to abandon me so cruelly afterward.

Mr. Allen, who appeared fierce and filled with malevolence, murmured softly.

Rogers, however, remained unaware of this inner turmoil. He only knew that after his repeated pleas and attempts to stop him, Alan had finally changed their destination. As long as they didn't leave the familiar place for the completely barren and terrifying new continent, Rogers relaxed.

To Rogers, this signaled the danger had passed, that Allen's anger had finally subsided.

Thus, when wrapped in a cloak and carried all the way to the new room, Rogers still craned his neck to survey the surroundings—noticing the soft woolen carpet on the floor, the desert-themed tapestries adorning the walls, the four-poster bed draped in sheer gauze... When finally placed upon the bed covered in plush brocade, Rogers even managed a satisfied smile.

Then he realized Allen had no intention of unfastening his chains.

Rogers wasn't one to endure discomfort. Kneeling upright, he tugged at Allen's shirt hem, his voice sweetly aggrieved: "This is very uncomfortable. Please untie me, Allen."

Unlike most people, Rogers had grown up surrounded by affection. Love was the least scarce thing to him—whenever he desired it, it was always within reach.

Everyone was supposed to adore Rogers. To receive a kiss from Mr. Rogers was a blessing to be cherished like divine grace.

Of course, Rogers didn't consciously articulate it so clearly, but in his heart, all affection felt like something he was entitled to. Alan gazed into his innocent, beautiful eyes, gently caressing his cheek as he smiled and said, "Rogers, you're upset, aren't you?"

Rogers nodded. He'd said it countless times—he only wanted to marry that noble lady, but that didn't mean breaking up with Allen! After nodding, Rogers seemed afraid Allen might be upset. He wrapped his arms around Allen's waist and rubbed against him affectionately, showing how well-behaved and obedient he was.

This was Rogers' innate skill. Ever since childhood, whenever he did something to upset someone, he'd immediately become sweet and charming to soothe them. The moment you forgave him, he'd cheerfully run off to play again—carefree, innocent, and... making you want to teach him a lesson, to make him understand that not everything could be silently endured.

Alan gazed at him and murmured softly, "...You know? This thing... I had this collar crafted the moment I discovered the first gold mine and extracted its first batch of gold."

Seeing Rogers' puzzled eyes, clearly not grasping the meaning, Alan looked at this beautiful, innocent little fool. He slipped off his shirt. This was the first time Rogers had seen Alan's body so clearly in the sunlight—Rogers' eyes widened.

Those scars, casually brushed against during nights past, had seemed to the carefree young Rogers like mere accessories to a seafaring legend. But looking closely, one could understand why Mr. Allen never lit lamps at night, why he always insisted on being neatly dressed.

Young Rogers had assumed it was simply a gentlemanly habit of Allen's, but perhaps he had never truly understood his lover.

"...The New World is a beautiful place," Allen murmured softly, his handsome, upright face taking on an eerie quality against the backdrop of scars large and small. "There are gold mines exposed at the surface, windswept sands and grasslands, vast forests, and thriving ports filled with nightingales..." Alan gently licked the frightened little creature in his arms, murmuring softly like a cold snake flickering its tongue. "But you weren't there. That was my only regret."

In countless nights, the rebellious youth who left Nandeng Township sailed the seas with his father's dying fortune. There were not only thriving ports, boundless oceans, and a wildly growing new continent, but also exiled criminals, plundering pirates, and murderers for hire.

It wasn't a good place, but it was a savage land that made men's blood boil.

Mr. Allen spent ten years drifting, transforming at sea while also facing perils.

The carefree young master who grew up in the splendor of Nandeng Township was merely a naive, budding attachment in his heart.

That collar was merely a fleeting whim.

It was more like a talisman, a memorial to days gone by.

Upon returning home, the gentle and easily bullied Mr. Allen intended to spare this young master. After all, he was incapable of enduring hardship, spoiled, and difficult to care for—certainly not suited for the wild New World.

But Allen's heart lay on the other side of the sea, where everything was barren—and thus free.

There, he was not a gentleman, not the lord of a southern manor, but the true Alan—unmasked, untethered from kin and duty. He could drink strong liquor and duel men, raise his sword to slay clergy who challenged him.

No one paid attention to the New World. It was utterly different from the silent, solemn Southdown Parish or the Nat Empire.

It was a place for someone like Allen, born knowing he was different. There were no temples or rules, none of the torment and worry he'd known since childhood... But there, too, was no spoiled young Master Rogers.

Alan restrained himself, striving to be a gentle older brother. He planned to spend these years in Nandeng Township before setting sail once more.

But this reckless young master—it was he who wrapped himself in the cloak, shivering at the windowsill pleading, "Carry me inside," who untied the brocade sash... it was he who drew near of his own accord.

"Didn't you say we weren't going to the New World?" Rogers had no idea what Allen was talking about. He looked at him fearfully and asked softly.

The next moment, he seemed on the verge of tears, yet dared not demand the collar be removed.

Such a docile yet clumsy prey... it was truly... heartbreaking, yet made him even more reluctant to let go.

Author's Note:

Thanks to Wusan, Lingling, and Tangyuan Nuonuo for the support.