Chapter 174: There is no need to apologize

Large, calloused arms seemed to wrap around his waist, pulling him back into a protective embrace that promised safety, and then a whisper filled with affection echoed in his ears softly,.

"Julian,"

Julian gasped and whispered, "Lucien..." his heart leaping into his throat.

He quickly turned in a frantic, desperate motion, his sleeve catching the edge of the washbasin. The porcelain washbasin crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand white shards as water exploded across the rug.

But the one Julian wanted to see as he turned around wasn’t there. His breath hitched as he scanned the empty room, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

There was no one.

The room was empty, the shadows of the Jade Wing mocking him with their stillness. The scent of pine was gone, replaced by the cloying, stagnant smell of the Palace’s incense.

"Lucien?" he called out again, believing that he was probably hiding. "Lucien," his voice broke. "Lucien, are you here? Please, come out. I can’t... I can’t see you!"

But no response came as he waited, his pulse drumming a frantic rhythm in his ears.

The realization hit him hard, and his eyes filled with heavy streams of tears. He sank to his knees amidst the broken porcelain and the puddles, his shoulders shaking with the force of a total breakdown.

He sobbed into his hands, the jagged edges of the shards mirroring the state of his mind.

> [Mental Stability: 19% — Warning: Persistent Hallucinations]

He was slowly going under, and he knew it. But there was a reason why his mind had not completely shattered yet.

It was thanks to the occasional sight of the children.

From his balcony, he could sometimes see Cassian and Liora in the gardens below.

They would look up, their small faces pale and anxious, and for a fleeting second, Julian felt like a teacher again—not a doll, not a ghost, but a man with a purpose.

But even that sanctuary did not last.

On the afternoon of the sixth day, a servant arrived with a summons that carried the weight of a final sentence. The Empress had invited him for tea again.

Julian stood at his mirror, his fingers fumbling with the laces of his shirt. He adjusted his coat and then looked at the amethyst on the vanity.

He was at least glad the Emperor had not ordered him to keep it on at all times.

As the guards led him toward the Empress’s conservatory garden, Julian stared at the sky. It looked like it would rain again. Ah, yet another storm was coming, and this tea was the last quiet moment before the Masquerade tore everything apart.

Yes, he could not wait for the masquerade. It would mark the end of his suffering within the palace walls.

So, he had to do all he could to give the Emperor a fitting excuse to keep him trapped for much longer.

If he had to stay locked up in these walls for another day after the Masquerade, he would really lose his mind. He knew it.

Julian greeted the Empress and sat down.

Across the table, the Empress looked notably weaker than at their last meeting, her skin the color of dry bones. Julian, however, knew he looked no better.

The shadows beneath his eyes were now deep, permanent hollows, and his pale skin was whiter than usual, like someone suffering from leprosy.

For a long moment, Julian’s mind drifted, and a lingering fog refused to dissipate despite how much he tried to focus his attention on the present.

He found himself staring at the steam rising from the untouched tea, seeing in its curls the silhouette of where he longed to be more than any place else.

The North.

"Master Astrea?"

The voice, thin and fragile, snapped him back to reality.

Julian’s head jerked up, his mismatched eyes wide and unfocused for a heartbeat before reality solidified. He realized with a jolt of cold shame that he had been absent-minded in the presence of the Empress.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," Julian murmured, his voice sounding as apologetic as he could.

He bowed his head low, the movement sharp and frantic.

"It was a grave discourtesy to be so... absentminded in your presence. I am just not myself. Please, pardon me."

The Empress didn’t scold him. She didn’t have the strength for it, or perhaps she simply didn’t care for the theatrics of power anymore.

She looked at him with a weary, knowing gaze that Julian found more unsettling than a threat.

"There is no need for apologies, Master Astrea," she whispered. Her hands, skeletal and trembling, rested on the arms of her chair. "It looks as though you have been through a great deal these past few days."

Julian managed a smile. It was a jagged, brittle thing that didn’t reach his eyes. A great deal. The words were a mockery of the truth. He had been through the valley that leads one to hell, and he was still walking through the embers.

"A great deal, indeed," he murmured.

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t tell her about the letters, the hallucinations of Alaric in the washbasin, or the way the Emperor’s scent still clung to his skin even after he scrubbed himself raw.

He couldn’t trust her. She was a ruler, a piece of the machinery that was currently crushing him. Even in her frailty, she was a part of the throne that demanded his submission.

He kept his walls up, his posture rigid despite the exhaustion screaming in his joints.

Then, he took a sip of the tea; it was bitter, coating his tongue in a way that made him want to retch, but he swallowed it with the practiced grace of a man who had learned to hide his pain behind a scholar’s mask.

> [Mental Stability: 18% — Status: Total Emotional Isolation]

The Empress watched him, her silence heavy.

"The Masquerade is tomorrow night," she said finally, her voice barely a breath. "Aurelian has spent a long time preparing your costume. He says it is... fitting for a man of your talents."

Julian felt a cold shiver race down his spine.

"I... I see,"

He didn’t ask what the costume was. He didn’t want to know what version of himself the Emperor intended to display to the world.

He just sat there in the stifling garden, a ghost sharing tea with a dying woman, both of them waiting for the storm to finally break.