CHAPTER 60: CHAPTER 60: A POUND EACH.

Aiden finally came near. His expression not so happy.

"Boys..." he growled.

He tried to remain calm, but the urging roar in his voice was hard to hide. The vibration of that single word pressed into the air like the hum of a blade pulled too far against its sheath.

"...can you let her go? She is someone... dear."

He voiced it steady, but Amber’s ears caught the strain in him. Each syllable struck her like the toll of a heavy bell. Dear. That word alone pulled the breath from her chest.

Her eyes widened, her lashes trembling as a heat unfamiliar yet irresistible bloomed across her ribs, spreading to her throat.

But the three guards did not feel warmth. They felt the opposite.

The always-smiling, always-charming Aiden was not smiling anymore.

Their hearts clenched in their throats, stumbling over themselves in panic. Their grip on Amber faltered as though her skin burned. They let her go at once, stepping back quickly.

Smack!

The sound cracked against the alley wall. One of them—the dark-haired one who had pressed the hardest—punched his own comrade to the ground.

"I told you not to harass women!" His voice shook, torn between anger and desperation. "Why don’t you ever listen?"

"But... but..." The one sprawled on the stones gawked, confused, betrayed by the sudden turn.

The man ignored him, heart pounding like a trapped bird. He stepped toward Aiden with frantic urgency, bowing his head.

"Aiden... no, master Aiden! I—I’m sorry. I was just telling these fuckers not to harass every bitc—every woman they see!"

His tongue stumbled, his attempt at justification falling apart under the chill of that golden stare.

Aiden’s eyes held him without a blink. Cold. Silent. They burned not with fire, but with weight—the kind of gaze that pressed a man to his knees without lifting a hand.

"...John," Aiden beloud.

The voice cracked like thunder across stone.

From the side, John came quickly, boots scraping as he approached.

His posture shifted the moment he recognized the faces—their faces. Familiar ones. His people. The merry guards of his old platoon.

And the way Aiden had said his name... It wasn’t a call. It was a sentence. Rage. Irritation. No room for question.

John’s eyes darted once to the corner where Amber stood trembling. That was enough. He pieced it together instantly.

’...you guys are fucked,’ John thought, lips tightening with pity.

"Yes, Aiden..." John voiced, coming to his side, fists clasped before him. "What do you want me to do?"

Aiden paced forward slowly, each step echoing heavy on polished stone, his shadow stretching like a beast crawling loose.

His gaze bore down on the three men until they quivered like candles before a storm.

"I think the guards of Leonidus fief are lacking manners," he said. Each word was deliberate, ground out of his throat with disdain. "So I think they need more... discipline."

The guards recoiled, their chests locking with panic.

"No... no, it was our fault! We are sorry, we are sorry, master Aiden—"

They staggered back as he advanced.

For more than John, for more than the knights—they feared him. Not because of his fists. Not even his knife. They feared the emptiness he could bring to their pockets.

Since working odd jobs under Aiden’s command, coin had flowed into their hands like water.

Real money, silver heavier than bread. For once, they had stopped drinking piss-wine, stopped gnawing on stale crusts. For once, they had tasted fat meat and warm beds.

And now? Now all of it felt like it would burn to ash beneath those disapproving golden eyes.

"Sorry?" Aiden’s voice sharpened, slicing through them. "Where was that sorry when she said no?"

He stepped closer, boots grinding against loose gravel.

"It was our fault? Of course it was your fault. Accepting it doesn’t diminish it, you fuckheads!"

The roar tore out of him raw, cracking the composure he had tried to cage. His voice lashed like a whip across their skin.

The dark-haired man’s chest heaved. His sweat turned cold, soaking his collar. Words crumbled in his throat.

He stepped back again, stumbling, panic tuning the rhythm of his breath. His heel caught on a loose stone and he fell, crashing backward onto the cobblestone.

"...s-sorry," he stammered, voice shrill now, body trembling. It was the only word left in his mind, the only fragment he could cling to.

Aiden crouched low, his hand clamping onto the man’s hair, pulling his face upward until their eyes locked.

"...Sorry ain’t gonna cut it." His tone was venom. "You want to take something of mine? Then you gotta give something."

The man’s pupils shrank. Terror spilled across his skin.

Aiden rose slowly, extending his hand behind him. John understood at once, pulling a small knife from his belt and pressing it into his palm.

The guard’s breath hitched. The glint of steel caught lanternlight and his heart thundered so loud he thought it might burst out of his chest.

Aiden leveled the blade, pointing it at each of them in turn, one by one, deliberate as a judge.

"You lot!" His voice thundered.

Each man flinched as the point lingered on him.

"Each one of you fucking bastards... give me a pound of your fucking flesh."

The words landed heavier than stone, vibrating in their bones like a sentence carved into fate itself.

He turned the blade back to the one before him—the dark-haired man still sprawled on the ground.

"One. Pound. Each."

He dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the cobblestones near the man’s quivering hand. The sound rang long, the echo like the toll of a funeral bell.

His words burrowed deep, an order they could not mistake. An order not from a friend, not from a comrade, but from a god cloaked in human skin.

Aiden turned to John.

"Make sure it’s one pound each."

John’s throat bobbed. He said nothing, only nodded. There were no setbacks.

No refutals. No buts. No ifs. He knew this side of Aiden—when the golden gaze turned cruel, when the calm cracked and rage slipped free. There was only obedience.

Aiden nodded back once, final, before turning away. His steps softened as he approached Amber. She still stood at the corner, her hands clenched together in front of her chest, her lips pale.

"...Amber." His voice shifted, soft now, the rage melted away like snow under sunlight.

Her relief crashed into her chest, nearly toppling her knees. That terrible anger—the violence that had frightened even her—was gone, dissolved the moment he looked at her. And she was glad. Glad because that rage had been for her. Because they had touched her. Because she was his.

"...It’s been a while," she whispered, the sadness threading her tone. "I thought you left me for good when I didn’t see you in the morning..."

"...Had a deadline," he murmured, his steps drawing him nearer, nearer. "Can’t argue with my lords."

Amber’s breath caught. She could smell him now—his perfume richer tonight, almost dizzying in its intensity.

It curled into her lungs, quickening her pulse. Her heart hammered so hard she thought he might hear it. Like a magnet, she leaned forward, inch by inch, unable to resist.

"...We are in public, Amber," he whispered, low.

Her eyes widened, snapping her back to reality. She startled when she realized her chest was already pressed against him, her body tilting toward his heat without thought.

She pushed herself back quickly, crimson flaring across her cheeks. "Sorry... it’s just... I was surprised. You rarely leave the mansion."

"...Today was special." Aiden’s gaze lingered on her, unreadable. "I wanted to visit the Slayer Guild."

Amber’s eyes flickered up through her lashes. "...Oh. You want a guide? I know where it is. I have a friend there."

Aiden’s eyes brightened, golden light glinting. "Of course!" he beloud, clasping her hands eagerly. "I can always count on you, Amber."

Her cheeks deepened to scarlet. "O-of course. I’m... actually famous around there," she mumbled, her voice shrinking with shy pride.

Aiden didn’t let her hand go. His grip was warm, firm, as he turned toward the alley where John had dragged the guards.

"John! I’ll head first. Finish the job and come fast."

From the shadows, John peeked out. His face was flecked with fresh blood, streaks still wet across his jaw. His brows lifted when he saw Aiden holding Amber’s hand, saw the intimacy unhidden.

"You can’t be patient?" John muttered, half-amused.

Amber’s cheeks glowed hotter, but she nodded, lips trembling with a small smile.

John sighed, waving them off. "...Okay, okay. Head first. I’ll finish things here. No worries." He turned back into the alley, his voice carrying after them.

"Boys... boys... we’re still in grams! Put more meat on it!"

Aiden smiled, satisfied, his thumb brushing over Amber’s knuckles with unthinking ease. He leaned closer, his voice a velvet murmur.

"Shall we?"

Amber’s face burned red, her throat too tight to answer. She only nodded, helpless against the warmth of his hand, as he led her away toward the Guild.