Ebony Castle

Hazel spoke without a change in expression and turned her head toward Jean.

“Don’t stop by any pubs or cafés, just come straight back.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Then, Mr. Eden, have a safe trip.”

With that, Hazel closed the kitchen door and disappeared. Her precise steps and manner of speaking suddenly overlapped in Doha’s mind with the secretary’s. Jean sighed beside him.

“Honestly, Locke’s employees are something else. So, Mr. Yeon… did I pronounce that correctly?”

“Ah… just call me Eden.”

“Eden… like paradise? Nice name. So, where exactly are we headed in the village?”

“I need to pick up my luggage from the inn and also stop by the hospital… Mr. Lowell said he’d call ahead.”

Doha didn’t bother explaining why he needed the hospital, and fortunately, Jean didn’t ask. Jean untied his apron from his waist and brushed off his hands.

“Seems like you’ve got a lot to do. Let’s head down right away. Are you going to change first?”

“Yes, I will.”

“See you in the main hall in a bit, Eden.”

Jean waved before leaving the kitchen, and Doha, who had been tense the whole time, finally relaxed a little. Outside, birds chirped brightly, and the shadow of one flying by skimmed across the sunlight on the counter.

Doha knew he should get up and change, but he remained seated, gazing at the scarecrow swaying in the breeze. Beyond the vegetable garden, the greenhouse, a relic of the aristocracy, gleamed white in the sunlight.

***

“Looks like it might rain again.”

By the afternoon, the gray sky had rapidly lost its luster. The secretary commented while looking out the window.

“The temperature dropped quite a bit after the typhoon passed… Winter might come early this year.”

Tristan didn’t respond. He was seated at a table with a large stone chessboard. His half-closed gray eyes looked languid, and his white fingers draped over the back of the chair showed no strength.

Finally, his pale hand moved soundlessly, advancing the white bishop diagonally by one square. The soft click of the piece settling on the board caught the secretary’s attention, and he turned his head.

“Did you make a move?”

Approaching the table, the secretary sat down across from Tristan and studied the chessboard. The bishop Tristan had moved didn’t seem particularly threatening. After carefully surveying the board several times, the secretary decided there was no danger and advanced a pawn on the opposite side.

At that moment, the faint sound of an engine reached them from outside. The secretary stood up and approached the window facing the entrance. Jean’s pickup truck had just emerged from the woods and was pulling into the clearing in front of the mansion.

“They’re back. Took longer than expected.”

The garage door on one side of the mansion opened, and the truck slowly drove inside. As the small yellow figure in the passenger seat disappeared from view, the secretary shifted his gaze from the window. His employer, with his usual impassive expression, was reclining deeply into his chair, staring at the chessboard.

The secretary considered calling out to him but stopped himself. There were many things he wanted to ask but couldn’t. Since the moment the pianist had arrived at the mansion, the clear water that had once been at the surface had grown dark and murky. Then again, working under Tristan Locke, such moments had come and gone. Like a shadowy figure beneath the dark blue depths of the ocean, entirely different from what appeared above, Tristan would sometimes veer off in completely incomprehensible directions.

“Lowell.”

Tristan’s voice was soft.

“It’s your turn.”

“…Yes.”

The secretary lowered his gaze to the chessboard. As he hesitated, picking up a knight, Tristan’s voice dropped slowly over him, laced with amusement.

“That pianist… he seemed like he wanted to kill me.”

“That’s not something to joke about.”

The secretary recalled what Hazel had told him. One night, she had heard footsteps and went out to find Tristan Locke standing in the entrance hall, covered in mud, with an unconscious man slung over his back. The secretary spoke again, his voice firmer this time.

“Meeting him alone, without any security, was reckless.”

“I’d say he was the reckless one.”

Tristan replied. The secretary, unsure of his employer’s mood, hesitated, but in the end, he couldn’t hold back.

“Wouldn’t another approach be better?”

The secretary wasn’t hoping that the pianist would take a payout and leave quietly, but he also didn’t think his employer needed to endure a week of physical proximity with another man. Even as a third party, it felt unsettling and unpleasant.

“Once it’s proven the treatment doesn’t work, he’ll surely give up.”

“……”

“And if, on the off chance, it does work…”

“……”

“What will you do then?”

The secretary stopped speaking. Tristan Locke, as if he hadn’t heard a word, continued staring at the battlefield on the chessboard. His pale face looked as cold and indifferent as ever, as though it belonged to someone not quite alive.

***

Waiting for the test results felt like living in a strange vacuum for Doha.

Before the Neim was read, he had spent every day waiting for the letters to appear somewhere on his body. After it was deciphered, he’d spent every moment searching for Tristan Locke. Now, he was staying at Tristan’s mansion, with a signed agreement to cooperate. But until the test results came back, there was nothing for Doha to do, and the emptiness felt foreign to him.

He woke up early in the mornings. At mealtimes, Hazel would bring food to his room, and after he finished, she would come back to collect the dishes. He handled his personal needs and showered in the attached bathroom. Other than that, he remained confined to the room assigned to him, not having seen Tristan since the day he signed the contract.

On the third day, as Hazel brought in his lunch, she spoke.

“Mr. Eden.”

“…Yes?”

“There’s a library in the mansion with the CEO’s collection of books, and a music room with his records. If you’d like, I can ask for his permission to use them.”

“……”

“Or you could take a walk in the garden. If there’s anything else you need, feel free to ask.”

Doha blinked. From the housekeeper’s suggestion, it seemed he must have looked quite bored.

“That’s fine.”

He answered belatedly.

“More than that, if I could get my phone back….”

“I’m sorry. If you need to make a call, I can lend you a phone like last time.”

“…No, it’s fine.”

Even though he didn’t know where his confiscated phone was, missed calls from Niklas were probably piling up. When they briefly spoke on the day he signed the contract, Hazel had been watching him closely, and aside from vaguely mentioning that he would be staying in Scotland for a while, he couldn’t share any other news.

Hazel finished setting the table and lifted the lids from the tray.

“Grilled salmon and couscous, onion soup, green bean salad, and rye bread. Jean told me to pass on the message not to force yourself to eat.”

“Thank you.”

“Then, enjoy your meal.”

Once the door closed, Doha was left alone in front of the luxurious lunch spread that looked like it should be eaten on a white tablecloth. Even though Jean had pre-cut the food into manageable pieces, he felt no appetite.

Three days should be enough time for the test results to come back from London. Maybe tomorrow, the day after, or even later today, the secretary could knock on the door, and the week stipulated in the contract could begin.

Doha thought of the man with gray eyes, somewhere in the mansion. The firm grip of his long fingers, the heavy weight and scent of his body that had pinned him down. It was something he had stubbornly insisted on, but now that it was right before him, his heart felt unbearably heavy. He wanted to run away, to escape somewhere, anywhere.

***

As the sun set that day, Doha left his room for the first time in three days. It wasn’t solely because of what Hazel had said, but he thought about going down to the kitchen to greet Jean. Maybe he could bump into the secretary and ask whether the test results had come back, or how much longer it would take.

The old wooden floor of the mansion creaked. As he descended the stairs from the second floor, Doha heard the sound of Ulysses barking nearby.

“……”

He paused for a moment, then started climbing the stairs again. With one hand on the railing, he scanned the hallway. The lights along the corridor were dim, like street lamps, but there was no one in sight, even around the corner.

Doha hesitated, then quietly walked down the hall. This direction led to the drawing room where he had always waited when he visited the mansion. All the doors looked the same, so he wasn’t sure of the exact location.

“…Ulysses?”

He called softly, and as if in response, he heard a bark. It sounded like footsteps running in his direction.

Doha reached the corner of the long hallway and looked around again. One of the light bulbs seemed to be out, making it particularly dark. No golden shadows were in sight.

Just as he was about to give up and turn back, he noticed a sliver of light coming from a slightly ajar door. There was a scratching sound, like something scraping against wood.

“Ulysses!”

He took a few steps forward and called softly again. Ulysses suddenly poked his head out from the gap in the door. The dog barked happily upon seeing Doha. The large dog rushed over, bumping into Doha’s thigh with its nose. Even in the darkness, he could see its tail wagging furiously.

“Hey there. Have you been well?”

Doha crouched down, stroking Ulysses’ head. The dog responded by licking his cheek with its wet tongue. The warmth of the touch felt unexpectedly comforting, so Doha sat on the floor, gently petting Ulysses’ neck and back. As he carefully wrapped his arms around the dog, it rested its chin on Doha’s shoulder as if it were a familiar gesture.

“What have you been up to? Were you with the CEO?”

It would be nice if the dog visited his room every now and then. The dog’s breath on his cheek was warm, and its fur was soft and fluffy.

“Should we go down to the kitchen together? …Or could you take me to Mr. Lowell?”

Doha figured that a clever dog like Ulysses would understand the secretary’s name. Just then, the thin beam of light spilling from the crack in the door suddenly disappeared. Someone’s shadow had blocked it.

“Where do you think you’re taking my dog?”

A man asked in a low voice, standing at the doorway and looking down at Doha. Doha froze, unable to lift his head.

“…CEO.”

“I’m not sure of what I’m the CEO of, but I don’t think I’ve ever being your CEO.”

Tristan Locke’s voice was low and monotonous. There was no visible emotion, so it was hard to tell if he was upset.

“…Mr. Locke.”

Doha corrected himself, releasing Ulysses and standing up.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Lowell called you that, so…”

“Do you need something from my secretary?”

The room where the man and Ulysses had been was lit only by a yellow lamp. The light over his head cast a deep shadow on the man’s face.

“I have something to ask.”

Doha stood still as he answered, his heart pounding heavily in discomfort. If he had known Ulysses was with him, he never would have come here—it was a mistake.

After a brief silence, the man slowly pushed the door open with one hand.

“Come in.”

“……”

His tone was calm, naturally assuming that others would follow his words. Doha silently followed Ulysses, who wagged his tail as he entered the room.

The room was larger than expected. A large armchair, where the man had likely been sitting moments ago, had a book resting on it, and the tall floor lamp cast a yellow glow over the chair. The dimly lit corners of the room were lined with shelves filled with countless records. Large speakers stood on either side of the wall facing the armchair, and a phonograph sat to the side.

“The speakers are quite good. Though they can’t compare to a live orchestra.”

Tristan Locke remarked. Only then did Doha realize that the thick walls and ceiling of the room were soundproofed.

Ulysses lay at the feet of the aristocrat, stretched out as if to envelop them. Tristan placed the book back on his lap but didn’t open it. Doha stood silently, a few steps away from the door.

Eventually, without looking at Doha, he spoke.

“I’m debating whether I should get some sort of stimulant.”

His tone was calm and composed.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get it up. I can deal with unpleasant sex, but that’s a bit concerning. Do you need a stimulant, Mr. Eden?”

“…That would be… bad for my health.”

Doha answered reflexively, whatever came to mind spilling out.

There was no response, but it felt like the man was silently laughing.

Doha barely managed to take a breath. As he tried to retreat without Tristan noticing, he stumbled. His heel hit the thick wall. Being face-to-face with him here made the raw, undeniable reality that Doha was desperately trying to push away come unbearably close, like pressing foreheads together.

“I…”

His words were cut off by a buzzing sound. Tristan reached out his pale hand to pick up his phone, listening intently to what seemed to be a brief report from someone.

Doha, who had turned to leave thinking it was a convenient distraction, hadn’t completely exited the room yet. His ankle, still within the threshold, was caught by Tristan’s voice.

“It seems that was the call you’ve been waiting for more than I have.”

“…….”

“It was Lowell. The test results are in.”

Doha froze in his tracks. A beam of light from the slightly ajar door sharply outlined the boundary on the floor. Beyond it, the darkness felt cold and damp.

***

In the late hours of the night, just before dawn, Doha crossed the dimly lit hallway in a white bathrobe and slippers.

The third-floor hallway, which he was walking down for the first time, had a different structure than the second floor, with an eerie, unfinished atmosphere, as if the place was under renovation. Closed doors passed by on either side. Tristan was the only one whose bedroom was on the third floor. No sounds could be heard from the lower levels, and the mansion was completely silent, as if everyone had gone to bed.

As instructed by the secretary, Doha reached the end of the left hallway, where a sliver of light was leaking out from under a black door. He paused in front of the heavy door, then raised his hand to knock.

“Come in.”

The man’s low voice came from within.

The bedroom was dimly lit by a crystal chandelier with the brightness turned down. The only furniture in the spacious, white room was a large, oversized wooden bed, a leather ottoman bench at its foot, and a slender-legged antique nightstand. A dying fire crackled softly in the fireplace.

Tristan Locke, in a gray dressing gown, was perched on the ottoman. When Doha stopped just inside the doorway, his gaze slowly lifted.

His beautiful face held an unreadable expression. It was hard to tell if he was displeased or deep in thought. His hair, still damp, appeared darker than usual, softly curling over his forehead.

“Come here.”

He spoke first, his voice quieter and deeper than usual.

“Sit down.”

A feeling of tightness seemed to grip around Doha’s ribcage, pressing down on his heart. He closed the door and approached the bed slowly, having no choice but to sit carefully on the edge since there was nowhere else to sit but the bed itself. He perched near the pillows, managing to keep almost two meters of distance between them. The luxurious mattress and bedding under him molded to his body as though they were tailored for him.

“You’re late.”

Tristan Locke commented, glancing at where Doha sat.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Tonight is Tuesday, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He sighed briefly, watching Doha.

“As promised, I’ll give you my time until next Monday night. I’ve heard that the area of skin contact and fluid exchange is important. In that case, we could attempt to treat this without penetration, but… that’s not what you want, is it?”

“…No.”

“I thought as much. Then we’ll have to go through with it, even if neither of us wants to.”

Tristan uncrossed his legs and stood up, making Doha flinch involuntarily. Though sitting next to him in the car had been closer in proximity, today, his height and build felt overwhelmingly large.

Ever since the Neim diagnosis, Doha had known that at some point, he would have to engage physically with Tristan Locke for the sake of treatment. But he had never concretely envisioned the act. Tristan Locke’s face, as seen in photos or videos, seemed entirely divorced from any notion of sexual desire. It was hard to imagine him having any sexual desires, and equally difficult to picture him as an object of someone else’s. His beauty was of a different caliber entirely from the glamorous appeal of movie stars or models in editorials. His was the kind of beauty that evoked a silent reverence, like gazing at a religious painting in the glow of flickering candlelight.

And yet, there was something completely natural about the sight of him now—sitting on the bed in a loose gown, casually removing a transparent plastic bottle from the nightstand drawer. As Tristan turned the bottle in his pale hands to read the label, he spoke without looking up.

“It’s a water-based lubricant. I asked to have it prepared just in case, though I think it might interfere with the skin contact needed for the treatment. I figured it could still be useful if we need it.”

“If it interferes with the treatment, then… I think we can do without it.”

He glanced up at Doha.

“Alright.”

Brushing his hair back from his forehead, he stood up from the bed, his expression completely businesslike, devoid of any suggestiveness. With a quick tug, he untied the knot of his gown and said tersely,

“You should take off your clothes too. Neither of us wants to do this, so let’s not drag it out any longer.”

Doha, trying to avoid looking at the now-opened front of Tristan’s gown, hurriedly untied his own robe. As the knot came loose and the front of his robe opened, he pulled his arms out of the sleeves, then glanced up.

Tristan Locke’s gaze was fixed on the space between his legs. Seeing the frown on his face, Doha hurriedly covered his genitals with the edge of his robe.

With a slight twist of his lips, as though he’d swallowed something bitter, Tristan muttered,

“Keep that covered as much as possible.”

“…Ah—.”

Between Tristan’s thighs hung a large mass of flesh, not yet aroused. Realizing what it was, Doha could hardly believe his eyes. In that moment, the world he had inhabited, where Tristan Locke was not a sexual being, shattered completely.

“…….”

A wave of nausea rose in his stomach. Though Doha had dated a man in high school, they had never had penetrative sex. And the senior he briefly dated back then was nowhere near the size of what he was now seeing.

“Your stare is quite obvious.”

Tristan pointed out smoothly. Doha quickly looked away from between his legs.

“I’m sorry.”

“You must think this is some sort of cure-all.”

Tristan leaned casually against the head of the bed, the grotesque size of his member hanging incongruously between his otherwise graceful legs.