"I’m losing him," Julian whispered as the tears rolled down from his eyes and fell on the rug. "I’m losing... me."

He was waiting for the madness or whatever was trying to eat at him to finally take him. He was tired. He didn’t even know if he could make it to the next day.

He didn’t know if he would get to see Alaric once again.

But just then, a faint sound tapped against the silence behind the heavy oak wardrobe.

A part of the wall shifted, and Rowan stepped through. The aide looked exhausted, his eyes darting back toward the secret passage as if expecting a shadow to follow him.

"I can’t stay," Rowan whispered. "I have a letter for you, brought by Sir Kaelen."

Julian jerked up, his messy tears smeared over his face.

"You..."

"Don’t ask me why I took it," Rowan said. "He was waiting near the servant’s entrance, and it would’ve been troublesome if the Emperor heard he was there."

That was all he said and left out the part where he took the letter after making Kaelen promise to listen to a ’wish’ of his later in exchange.

A flicker of something complicated, similar to frustration mixed with a strange, tired fondness, crossed Rowan’s face before he masked it.

He held out a small, worn out envelope and dropped it on the table.

"He said it’s urgent. Read it, and for the love of the gods, burn it once you’re finished. I can’t be involved with you any more than this."

Julian stared at the letter on the table, his heart seizing. He didn’t reach for it immediately because his mind flashed back to the wooden box, to the Duchess’s letters, and to the way ink on paper had become a tool for his torture.

"Who?" Julian gasped, his voice a dry rasp. "Rowan, who sent this?"

But Rowan was already gone, the secret panel clicking shut with a finality that left Julian alone in the dim light.

Who else would’ve sent it except Kaelen’s Lord? The question was like a mockery of his mental state.

It was so obvious, but for fear of putting his hopes up only to be dashed, he didn’t want to have high expectations.

Julian looked down at the envelope on the table. He expected to feel that familiar dread, the weight of another dead woman’s thoughts. But as he picked up the paper, it felt different. Very different.

It didn’t smell of old dust or the Emperor’s scent; it smelled of the capital’s rain and a faint, lingering hint of tobacco.

His eyes widened, growing teary and soft as he felt the familiarity of the scent.

No, he wouldn’t jump into conclusion until he read it, he said to himself, but it only took the first line of the script to get him tearing up completely.

It wasn’t the elegant, flowing hand of the late Duchess. It was the blunt, steady, and unmistakably familiar handwriting of the man at the manor.

"My love, Julian..."

The words hit him like a physical warmth.

"I am sorry that I have failed you, and left you to face a burden we could’ve run from. I will come get you. I will come to your side and we shall never be apart again. Please... wait for me."

Julian let out a jagged, choked-off sob, pressing the parchment to his lips. He wasn’t alone. Alaric had sent a letter to assure him and keep his mind from fracturing any further.

Just these few words were enough to act as an anchor.

Julian crawled onto the bed, curling into a tight ball. He gripped the letter against his chest, right over where his heart was beating the hardest, and let the Duke’s voice echo in his mind.

In the gloom, the System interface flickered into existence.

> [MAIN QUEST: THE GOLDEN CAGE]

> [Objective: Survive the Emperor’s malice]

> [Status: Mental Stability 18% (Slightly Stabilized)]

> [Time Remaining: Less than 24 Hours until the Masquerade]

The numbers pulsed in his head. Less than twenty-four hours.

Julian closed his eyes, the letter acting as a thin, silver thread holding his mind together.

With this, it was enough. If he held on to the letter like this, and held on to the words he had forgotten, he would be able to make it past the night and once the morning came... once the morning came, he would finally see his lover again.

His eyes teared up and he cried a bit more.

Even as the warmth of Alaric’s words filled his chest, he could not stop the rain that had already begun to fall.

The night was long, but for the first time in six days, the silence didn’t feel like it was trying to swallow him whole. Julian lay curled on the bed, the ashes of the letter already cooling in the fireplace, but the words—My love, Julian—were branded into his mind, providing a thin, glowing barrier against the dark.

When the morning light finally bled through the heavy curtains of the Jade Wing, the Waking Madness still came, but it was different. The constriction in his chest was there, but it didn’t feel like an iron band; it felt like a weight he could finally carry because he knew someone was reaching out to help him hold it.

Then, the bolt slid back, announcing the break of the solitude.

The door swung open to reveal a small army of maids, their faces pale and set in rehearsed neutrality. They carried a massive, silver-trimmed garment bag that seemed to absorb the morning light.

"Master Astrea," the lead maid whispered, her head bowed and her eyes refusing to meet his. "The Emperor has requested the final fitting."

Right, even though the war was drawing to an end, the enemy would not back down yet, not until the last flag was raised.

He got down from the bed, stood up, and prepared himself to fight the last battle. Now, what kind of ’costume’ did the Emperor prepare for him?

It wouldn’t be strange if it were a ’dress’ since this would be his last attempt to strip Julian of his masculinity.

Julian was weak, his movements slow and ghost-like, but he followed their instructions. He allowed them to strip away his sleep-muddled clothes and layer him in the Emperor’s vision.

And thankfully, it was not a dress.