Chapter 155: Meeting the Emperor in the Imperial Bathhouse

The heavy silence of the room was broken by a soft, repetitive thud. Julian raised his head, his neck stiff and eyes burning. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting on the cold marble floor, his back pressed against the door as if he could still feel Alaric’s presence.

The light of the afternoon had long since bled into the black of the night.

"Master Astrea?" a small voice called from the other side of the door. "Dinner is prepared."

Julian swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was lined with glass. He forced his numb limbs to move, pushing himself up. His joints protested with sharp, clicking pops.

"You may... come in," he said, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears.

The bolt slid back—a sound that now triggered a Pavlovian spike in his heart rate. Two maids entered, their faces as expressionless as the stone walls, and their affection levels at 1%.

This was the best he could get, even with his Imperial Buff. But 1% was similar to 0%, so why even bother?

They set a silver tray on the table: roasted fowl in a rich glaze, delicate greens, and a crystal glass of wine. The scent of the fat and the sweet glaze hit Julian’s nose, and he had to turn his head away to keep from gagging.

It wasn’t like it was bad; it was just that he couldn’t muster the appetite to like the food from the palace.

He sat at the table, and every bite he took felt like he was chewing on ash. He managed to swallow a few morsels of bread, washed down with water that tasted faintly of copper, before pushing the tray away.

He was still staring at the unfinished meal, lost in a daze of exhaustion. He couldn’t do it. He knew he had to eat to gain strength in order to face whatever he was supposed to survive this night, but he just couldn’t bring himself to take another bite.

And just as he was staring at the food until it got cold, the door opened a second time. It had barely been an hour since the two maids dropped the food and left, and yet there was another maid he had not seen before.

"The Emperor has summoned you," the maid said. There was no ’if you are finished’ or ’at your convenience.’ It was a command that gave no room for excuses.

Julian felt a cold dread settle in his marrow. The challenge was already here. Perhaps this was what he had to ’survive’ tonight.

He stood, smoothing his rumpled coat and buttoning it to the chin, trying to pull his ’Royal Tutor’ mask back into place even though he was under confinement.

He followed the guards through the winding, torch-lit corridors, but as they bypassed the library and the private audience chambers, his internal compass began to spin.

They were heading toward the thermal springs. Wasn’t that where the Imperial Bathhouse was? Why there?

Gradually, the air grew thick and humid, heavy with the cloying scent of eucalyptus and expensive oils.

The moment they stepped into the outer chamber, the maids suddenly began to move with terrifying efficiency that Julian did not see coming.

"What are you doing?" Julian gasped as a pair of hands reached for his collar and another reached for his cravat with no explanation for their actions. "Unhand me! What is the meaning of this?"

He tried to pull back, to swat their hands away, but they were efficient and silent, masters at what they did as they simply dismantled him. His coat was stripped away, then his waistcoat. When they reached for the lace strings of his shirt, Julian’s breath hitched, unable to make heads of this, but it was clearly harassment.

"Stop!" he hissed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "I said stop!"

They ignored him. Their fingers were cold as they bruised against his skin while they unfastened his trousers, leaving him standing exposed on the heated marble floor.

In seconds, he was stripped of everything—his status, his protection, and his dignity. A thin, cotton robe was draped over his shoulders, but it was left open, hanging loosely as if to mock the concept of coverage.

Then, the three maids who had been in on this act stepped back and bowed in unison.

"The Emperor is waiting for you in the bath, Master Astrea," the lead maid whispered, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Julian’s heart dropped into his stomach right away. He was meant to see the Emperor here? Like this?

He clutched the robe closed with a tight grip, his legs trembling as he tried to process what exactly he was getting himself into. Then, he gulped and began to move his feet. What was the Emperor thinking? What was he planning?

That madman had a thought process he couldn’t comprehend at the moment.

He walked toward the large, sunken pool where the steam was rising in eerie columns. And then, through the white haze, he saw a silhouette.

Aurelian was already in the water at the far end, his arms draped lazily over the marble edge and resting his back, his head low. He didn’t look up, but the sound of Julian’s uneven, panicked breathing seemed to be exactly what he wanted to hear.

"You took your time, Master Astrea," the Emperor purred, the sound echoing off the damp stone walls.

Julian stood at the edge of the precipice, the heat of the marble floor seeping into his bare feet, yet he felt as though he were standing in a blizzard.

Aurelian finally lifted his head slowly, his golden eyes scanning Julian’s pale frame with a slow, predatory intensity.

The gaze lingered on his chest, on the curve of his throat, and then—with a sharp, visible tightening of his jaw—on the fading hickey Alaric had left near his collarbone.

"Drop the robe," Aurelian commanded, his voice as smooth and sharp as a razor. "I wish to see what my brother finds so... impressive about a common roach."

Julian froze, his body going rigid, and then his heart began hammering against his ribs so violently he feared it might crack them.

What?