Julian gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. He was acutely aware of the staff in the hallway, the three pairs of curious young eyes, and the sheer, overwhelming proximity of the man who was currently looking at the ’bite’ with a look of high-velocity smugness.

Please don’t, Julian pleaded silently, his eyes fixed on the map on the table. Don’t pull another stunt like the breakfast kiss. Not in front of the kids.

Alaric looked into his eyes, presumably reading his mind and understanding completely. Then, he leaned down to look at the map, but his face was inches from Julian’s ear. He could smell the lingering scent of the Duke’s cedar-wood soap.

"A big one, you say?" Alaric’s voice was a ghost of a whisper, intended only for Julian. "It must have been a very hungry insect to leave such a mark on such a... delicate skin."

He reached out, his hand hovering near Julian’s shoulder. For a heart-stopping second, Julian thought the Duke was going to pull the collar aside to ’inspect’ the bite. Instead, Alaric’s fingers just barely grazed the fabric of the high coat, a touch so light it was almost a caress. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"I shall have the maids check the room for pests," Alaric said aloud, his lips curving into a dangerous, beautiful smile. "I wouldn’t want your Master to be... disturbed... again tonight."

"That’s a great idea, Uncle," Liora added, beaming and not knowing the kind of mess she had landed her master in.

Julian felt the heat rushing to his face, a flush so deep it made his ears burn. He squeezed his pencil, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The Duke was enjoying this far too much. He was effectively ’playing’ with Julian in front of the entire class, and the worst part was that Julian couldn’t even snap back without triggering some kind of suspicion with these smart children.

"The room is fine, Your Grace," Julian managed to say, his voice tight. "I believe the ’pest’ has already been dealt with."

"Has it?" Alaric arched a brow, a flicker of a laugh dancing in his blue eyes. "I wouldn’t be so sure, Julian. Some predators are very difficult to discourage once they’ve had a taste."

Lucius, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, quickly scribbled on his slate and held it up: [FATHER, ARE YOU STAYING FOR CLASS?]

Alaric looked at the slate, then back at Julian’s flustered face. Then, he pulled out the large leather chair at the end of the table and sat down, crossing his long legs and folding his arms with a terrifyingly casual grace.

"I think I will," Alaric declared. "I’d like to see exactly how the Master handles... stubborn interrupters."

Julian closed his eyes for a brief second, praying for the System to grant him a ’Mute’ button for the Grand Duke.

"Very well," Julian said as he opened his eyes, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed indignation. "Since the Grand Duke is so interested in geography... Prince Cassian, show your Uncle the trade route through the Blackspire Pass. And explain why we don’t allow ’unauthorized’ pests to cross our borders."

Julian felt the temperature in the library rise by at least ten degrees the moment Alaric got too comfortable. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the Duke’s massive presence in the room.

​"As I was saying," Julian began, his voice a bit more clipped than usual as he tapped the map with his charcoal pencil. "The Blackspire Pass is the jugular of the North. If it’s blocked, the capital starves of ore. If it’s breached, the North loses its shield."

​To his surprise, Alaric didn’t try to interject with a witty comment or another subtle flirtation. Instead, the Duke leaned forward, his arms resting on the table surface, his eyes fixed on Julian with an intensity that was entirely different from the hunger in the bedroom. This was the gaze of a commander—focused, analytical, and remarkably respectful.

​"Prince Cassian," Julian called out, "the Duke is watching. Show him the secondary route through the Whispering Ravine."

​Cassian stood up, clearly feeling the pressure of his uncle’s silent scrutiny. He traced the line on the map, his voice slightly more formal.

"The ravine is too narrow for supply wagons. It’s a death trap for infantry."

​"And why is that, Your Grace?" Julian turned the question toward Alaric, challenging him.

But of course, this was less of a challenge compared to the real deal, so the Duke wasn’t taken aback.

He didn’t miss a beat as he responded. "Because the crosswinds in the ravine are unpredictable. You’d lose twenty percent of your men to the cliffs before the first arrow is even fired." He looked at Julian, his blue eyes shimmering with a quiet, genuine admiration. "Your Master is right to emphasize the geography. Most generals forget the mountain is a living entity."

​Julian felt a flicker of pride.

From then on, Alaric wasn’t just ’attending’ class; he was reinforcing Julian’s authority. Every time Julian made a point, the Duke would nod slowly, his gaze following Julian’s movements with a rapt attention that made Julian feel like the most important person in the Empire.

It wasn’t just the attraction; it was a deep, intellectual appreciation for how Julian handled the children that got the Duke interested.

He had attended Julian’s class before, when they were in the North. He had a way with making the class flow and using everything he could get his hands on to make a point.

​"Lucius," Alaric said suddenly, his voice soft but commanding.

​The boy looked up, his eyes peering innocently at his father.

"I recall you were working on something a while back," the Duke said.

Lucius flinched, his cheeks immediately flushing a bright, embarrassed pink. He hunched his shoulders, looking down at his lap as if he could disappear into his own chair.

"What is it? What were you making?" Liora asked, her curiosity piqued instantly. She leaned over the table, nearly knocking over her inkwell. Even Cassian shifted, propping his chin on his hand to get a better look at his cousin.

Lucius bit his lip, his fingers twitching toward the bag at his side. He looked at Julian, his eyes pleading for a distraction, but the Master only gave him an encouraging, steady nod.

Reluctantly, the boy reached into his bag and pulled out a leather-bound sketch pad—the one he’d been using to pass the lonely hours while Julian was confined to his sickbed.

He slid it onto the table, his head ducked low.