"He did not care for their gender and fell just because of the appearance of pale skin and that sickening purple eye."

The Emperor’s tone went under, expressing his loathing of Julian’s appearance.

"I wonder though... would he lose his interest if I were to scorch this pale skin?" Julian went riding right away, and his heart was no longer just hammering; it was like a caged bird trying to get out. "If I were to pluck out that purple eye so he could no longer see her in you, would that do? What would be left of his devotion when you no longer remind him of his Achilles heels?"

The smirk on Aurelian’s face was sharp, a jagged edge of genuine maddening curiosity. He moved his thumb, pressing it hard into Julian’s bottom lip, right over the wound he had left earlier. He pushed until the skin threatened to tear again, his eyes darkening.

"In any case, I hate you, Julian Von Astrea," he hissed, the mask of the mocking fox finally falling away completely. "You should have died in that pit. My brother... he shouldn’t be trapped in whatever charm you’ve woven. You are a blemish by his side, and a new curse to the North."

The [Stability] meter in Julian’s corner vision flickered a sickly, red warning. He was naked, trapped, and at the mercy of a man who viewed him as an infection to be excised.

A man who could wipe him out at any minute.

"Julian Von Astrea, you should know your place." He pressed his thumb even more until the wound finally broke, and it stung. "You are a shadow, nothing but a ghost of the North. A reminder of a lingering attachment and nothing more." The Emperor hissed.

Julian swallowed the metallic taste of his own blood, his voice coming out thin but laced with a desperate, quiet defiance.

"If I am merely a ghost," Julian murmured, his mismatched eyes finally taking the courage to bore into the Emperor’s, "then why does Your Majesty spend so much effort trying to break a shadow? If I am truly as unimpressive as you say... why do you look at me with such genuine fear that I might actually be... more?"

He knew he was dancing on the edge of a blade. One more word could force the Emperor’s hands to shove his head into the water, but he couldn’t let the Emperor have the satisfaction of total silence.

Aurelian’s thumb finally stilled against Julian’s lip.

The Emperor didn’t flinch at Julian’s defiance; instead, his smile widened, stretching into something thin and raw that didn’t reach the cold gold of his eyes.

​"Fear?" Aurelian repeated the word as if tasting something bitter. He leaned in until their chests were nearly touching, the heat of the water between them feeling like a shared fever. "You mistake caution for terror, Master Astrea. A scholar should know better."

​He moved his hand from Julian’s chin, his fingers trailing upward to trace the bone beneath Julian’s purple eye.

​"Even the most useless, harmless shadow can be mistaken for a monster or a giant if the light hits it at the right angle," Aurelian whispered, his voice dropping into a low, melodic hum. "A shadow has no substance. It cannot bleed, it cannot hold a sword, and it certainly cannot rule. But if it is reflected on the right wall, it can instill fear in the strongest of men. It can make them see a threat where there is only... emptiness."

​He leaned closer, his nose nearly brushing Julian’s.

​"You are that shadow, Julian. You are a trick of the light reflecting off my brother’s grief. You aren’t a giant. You are simply the dark space where his sanity used to be."

​Aurelian’s hand suddenly plunged into the water, his grip tightening painfully on Julian’s hip, right where a faint bruise from Alaric’s hand still lingered.

Julian gasped, his back arching as he was pulled flush against the Emperor’s cold, wet skin.

​"The problem with shadows," Aurelian hissed, his eyes narrowing, "is that they only exist as long as there is a light to cast them. If I snuff out the candle—if I break the man who looks at you—you simply cease to be. You vanish into the dark, forgotten as if you never occupied the air at all. That is your fate."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of Julian’s shallow, ragged breathing. The water around them felt like it was beginning to simmer, or perhaps it was just the feverish intensity of Aurelian’s gaze.

Julian felt the bite of the Emperor’s fingers on his hip—a bruising, possessive grip that sought to claim territory already marked by the North. He was trapped against the Emperor’s chest, his own skin slick and vulnerable, and yet, despite the crushing weight of the situation, the defiant man in him wouldn’t be completely silenced.

"Then why keep me?" Julian asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He forced himself to meet those golden eyes, even as his [Stability] flickered precariously at 29%. "If I am so easily snuffed out, why go through this elaborate charade? Why the confinement? Why the seven days?"

Aurelian’s grip tightened just a fraction more, his smirk turning into something sharper, more sinister.

"Because," the Emperor whispered, his lips nearly brushing the shell of Julian’s ear, "even a shadow can be a distraction. And I want to see how long it takes for my brother to realize he is worshipping a void. I want to see the moment Lucien looks at you and realizes there is nothing behind those mismatched eyes but the dust of a dead woman’s memory."

He let go of Julian’s hip as abruptly as he had grabbed it, the sudden lack of support making Julian stumble back a step in the waist-deep water.

Aurelian watched him with a cold, detached amusement, as if he were observing an insect struggling in a web.

"Wash yourself, Master Astrea," Aurelian said, his tone returning to that terrifyingly calm, imperial monotone. "Scrub every inch of your skin until the scent and traces of my brother are nowhere to be seen or smelled, or I shall do it myself."