What?

The question screamed in Julian’s mind, but his throat was too constricted to let it out. This was madness. This was a violation that had nothing to do with etiquette or Lucius’s ’assault’ in the Solvar.

"I... Your Majesty, I do not understand," Julian managed to say, his fingers white-knuckled as he clutched the cotton sash. "How does this... how does this serve as atonement for the Young Lord’s actions?"

Aurelian tilted his head, a slow, mocking smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You were the one who so boldly agreed to take his place, Master Astrea. You said you would do anything to atone. Or was that merely a scholar’s empty rhetoric?"

The Emperor’s gaze sharpened, his voice deepening, cold and absolute.

"I do not intend to repeat myself a second time. If you wish to protect the boy, you will show me exactly what it is you are guarding so fiercely."

Julian’s breath came in shallow, ragged hitches. He looked at the steam rising in eerie columns, then back at the Emperor. There was no escape. The doors were bolted, the maids were gone, and the Duke was miles away, unaware that his lover was being stripped of his last shred of dignity in a room filled with the scent of eucalyptus and humiliation.

With hands that shook so violently he could barely find the knot, Julian slowly began to unbind the sash of the robe.

He hated this situation and wished he could run from it, but... in the palace, there was nowhere to hide from the Emperor.

As he undid the knot of his sash, every movement felt like a year of his life being carved away. The cotton finally loosened, and then he felt the humid air hit his skin, a feeling that suddenly made him want to retch.

He bit his lip so hard he tasted the blood of the previous wound, his eyes stinging as he stared at a fixed point on the far wall, refusing to meet that golden, mocking stare of the Emperor.

And then slowly—agonizingly—he let the robe fall.

It slid off his shoulders and piled at his feet in a silent heap of white fabric.

Julian stood there, exposed and trembling, his pale frame illuminated by the flickering torchlight. His skin was mapped with the faint, hickeys Alaric had left—marks of passion that now looked like marks of shame under the Emperor’s cold and precise inspection.

Aurelian didn’t speak. He simply watched, his eyes roaming over every inch of Julian’s body with a slow, agonizing deliberation. The silence stretched until it felt like a physical weight, the [Mental Stability] meter in Julian’s vision plummeting toward the red.

> [Stability: 30% — Warning: Psychological Trauma in Progress]

Julian squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving as he fought the urge to curl into a ball. He had never felt so small, so utterly discarded, as he did standing naked before the sun of the Empire. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"Julian Von Astrea," the Emperor called, his voice chilling in the hot room, and his golden gaze striking like a blade to Julian’s heart. "Come closer,"

Julian’s breath hitched. He didn’t want to, but he could not disobey.

And so slowly, he dipped his feet into the pool.

The steam hung in the air like a heavy, suffocating shroud, clinging to Julian’s skin as he placed his second leg into the water. Every inch of him felt exposed, not just to the heat of the thermal spring, but to the predatory weight of the gaze waiting for him.

Each step toward the far end of the pool was a battle against his own legs, which threatened to buckle with every ripple of the water.

He finally came to a halt directly in front of Aurelian.

The Emperor didn’t move at first. He remained lounging against the marble, a golden god in a grotto of his own making. Then, slowly, he stood. The water cascaded off his body as he rose, his height and sheer physical presence effectively swallowing the light.

Julian felt the shadow fall over him before he felt anything else.

He kept his head bowed, and his chin almost touching his chest. His hands were clenched in hard fists beneath the surface of the water, trying to steady himself against the visible trembling of his own frame. He was a scholar, a man of logic and letters, but here, stripped of his robes and his status, he felt like nothing more than prey.

Then, a finger found his chest.

Julian flinched, a sharp, choked breath escaping him as Aurelian began to trace the faint marks the Duke had left behind.

What was the Emperor doing?

Julian trembled even more, even though he tried his best to fight the tremor.

The touch was slow and utterly devoid of warmth, making the violation feel deeper and more aching than if it had been a blow.

Julian would honestly prefer it if the Emperor hit him instead of tormenting and humiliating him like this.

"I truly do not know what my brother sees in you," Aurelian finally spoke, his voice smooth, with a low vibration at the edge. "You are skinny, almost without flesh. I see nothing that justifies Lucien’s obsession with you. No impressive attribute that justifies his descent into madness. Except..."

The Emperor’s hand shifted, fingers hooking under Julian’s jaw with a strength that gave room for no resistance. He forced Julian’s head up, tilting it back until their eyes met—the Emperor’s burning gold clashing with Julian’s unsteady gaze.

Aurelian’s eyes narrowed, studying the odd, mismatched pair of Julian’s eyes.

"Lucien has always been obsessed with pale skin," he whispered, his thumb grazing the line of Julian’s throat. "Think of the late Duchess. She was a ghost of a woman, wasn’t she? Pale, fragile, with a pair of striking purple eyes that bewitched Lucien the moment he looked at her. You carry that same curse. Is that the trick? Does he look at you and see the woman who once owned his soul?"

The Emperor leaned in closer, his breath warm against Julian’s ear.

"He mourned her for seven years and then all of a sudden, he was over her death once someone with a similar feature arrived." He said and Julian’s heart hammered. "He did not care for their gender and fell just because of the appearance of pale skin and that sickening purple eye."