Just how was he going to escape that madman?

If the system was right and Alaric couldn’t break them out, then Julian was truly on his own. He thought of the Duke—furious, pacing the manor floors, his blue eyes likely burning with a cold, lethal fire. Alaric would come for them surely since the Emperor was ready to risk a civil war by holding the Royal Tutor and his own nephew hostage. But the Emperor would probably be prepared for him, so he had a plan, and that might as well lead to the Palace becoming a slaughterhouse.

The Emperor wouldn’t care if he lost one guard or two. And once the Duke struck first, he was giving the Emperor grounds to hold him responsible and make an issue out of all of this.

With the Duke’s temper, that outcome was very likely.

Oh, Lucien. Julian thought softly and regretfully.

That was probably why the system was confident he would stay for seven days.

And then there was Seraphina.

Julian’s mind kept returning to that 56% affection level. It was an anomaly—a glitch in the narrative he couldn’t explain. She was a woman whose reputation was in tatters, yet she looked at him as if he were the only solid thing in her world that was falling apart.

Why?

He closed his eyes, trying to recall even a single significant interaction with her. But there was nothing. He had been a ghost at the debutante ball, avoiding the spotlight until the very end.

Suddenly, a soft, deliberate knock sounded at the door—not the heavy bang of a guard, but something much more subtle.

Julian tensed, his hand tightening on Lucius’s shoulder. The child didn’t stir, finally having fallen into a deep, trauma-induced sleep.

"Master Astrea?" a voice whispered from behind the heavy wood. It was faint, muffled by the guards outside. "The physician is here. We’re opening the door now."

It was Rowan’s tired voice.

Julian set Lucius to lie properly on the bed and waited for them to come in. It wasn’t like he was sick, but they wanted a physician to check him by all means, as if to make this act of ’consideration and care’ look as real as it comes.

The heavy bolt slid back, and the door swung open just enough to allow two figures in before the guards outside pulled it shut again, the sound of the bolt making Julian sit on edge.

Rowan entered first, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the Emperor’s erratic cruelty was physically crushing him. Behind him stepped a middle-aged man carrying a worn leather medical bag—the Royal Physician. He looked terrified, his eyes darting toward the closed door, as if he had just walked into a trap without knowing it.

"Master Astrea," Rowan said, his voice a weary monotone. He didn’t look Julian in the eye, instead focusing on the sleeping Lucius. "This is the physician. He will ensure you are well and able to rest."

The physician approached the bed. "If I may, Master..."

Julian sat rigidly as the man began his examination. As he took off his coat and pulled down the lace string of his white shirt, Rowan saw the marks on Julian’s body.

Marks that suggested he was in a rather ’blossoming’ relationship with a lover who was overpassionate.

So, the Emperor caught a glimpse of one of these marks, and that was why he went crazy. He thought, but shrugged it away. He still had a lot of paperwork, and the Emperor’s personal affairs were not included in it.

The physician did not linger on the marks and minded his business, doing his job before he got scolded. But he was rather curious.

He pressed the cold stethoscope against Julian’s chest, and the shining light in his eyes felt like further violations, an extension of the Emperor’s touch. He didn’t like it. And every time the physician’s fingers came near the bruised, bitten swell of his lip, Julian flinched instinctively.

"A deep contusion," the physician muttered, his voice barely audible. He began to apply a cooling, bitter-smelling salve to Julian’s lip. "And your pulse... it is far too rapid. Are you perhaps taking any... stimulants?"

Julian stiffened. He couldn’t mention the sedative or the System’s internal warnings.

"I am simply tired, Doctor. The events of the morning were... unexpected."

The physician nodded quickly, clearly not wanting to hear any details that might cost him his tongue. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small glass vial—not the dark, herbal brew Alaric had given him, but something clear and shimmering.

"This will help with the inflammation and the... nerves," the doctor said, placing it on the nightstand.

As the physician turned back to his bag, Rowan stepped closer to the bed. For a brief second, the aide’s tired mask slipped, and he leaned in, his voice a ghost of a whisper that barely reached Julian’s ear.

"I spoke with the knight before they were sent back," Rowan murmured, his eyes fixed on the physician’s back to ensure they weren’t being overheard.

Julian’s heart did a thud. Why did the Emperor’s aide speak with the knight?

"Do not ask me why I spoke with him," Rowan said, intending to keep his own reasons to himself. "But he said the Duke will not stand for it and there would likely be a bloodbath given how much the Duke cares for you."

Julian’s heart kept hammering frantically, and he held his breath subconsciously.

"I understand that this is quite the violation of your right as a citizen, but I would like to drop a piece of advice. If the Duke spills any blood on the palace grounds, he would be giving the Emperor exactly what he wants, and Sir Knight, ahem, I mean all the knights that come with him, will be detained. You do not want this to happen at your behest, do you?"

Julian gripped the sheets. Before he could utter a response, the guard looked at them, marking the end of their conversation.

"I was already on my way," he said. "Just making sure the guest is not uncomfortable."

Rowan straightened up as the physician finished. "We shall leave you to rest now. Is there... anything else you require?"

As he strode towards the door, Julian called out, "Wait!"

Rowan paused on his steps

"Don’t... Don’t let it happen."