"Make a promise. A pinky promise."

The Duke’s brow furrowed into a scowl. "A what?"

"A pinky promise," Julian repeated, holding up his own weak hand to demonstrate. "If you don’t do it, I won’t believe you’ll keep it."

The Duke looked at Lucius, then back at Julian, clearly finding the ritual ridiculous.

But he sighed and held out his hand. Lucius, blushing with excitement, reached out his tiny finger and hooked it around his father’s enormous one. The contrast was absurd—the warrior’s scarred hand against the child’s soft one—but Lucius’s face lit up with a rare, bright joy.

One he hadn’t had since the night of the incident.

"Remind me," Alaric said, looking directly at Julian. "...In case I ever forget. I don’t want to break this promise."

Julian smiled, satisfied. That’s the attitude he should be having as a father.

He felt a sense of peace seeing them like that, and that allowed him to turn to his food.

He turned back to the bowl of porridge set before him, but as he took the first warm bite, a sharp, dry cough suddenly racked his chest.

His body jolted, and the wound in his thigh flared with an agonizing throb at his sudden movement.

He hissed in pain, but still coughed.

Alaric instantly placed his hand on Julian’s back, supporting him as Julian leaned forward, his face pale from the sudden pain.

"Slowly," Alaric whispered, his gaze locking onto Julian’s, and for a moment, the cough seized.

Julian looked at the Duke and then threw his face away.

"Th-thank you, Your Grace."

Julian couldn’t count how many times he had thanked the Duke today.

But he didn’t plan to withhold his thanks. Not to the man who was doing everything for him.

This time, the Duke picked up the spoon and then took up a spoonful, shocking Julian.

"Y-Your Grace, my hands are working fine." He said, but the Duke looked at him with an intensity in his eyes that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Julian gulped.

So they were at this target now? The stage of the Duke feeding him?

This was absurd... but even then, he did not hate it.

He pressed his lips firmly together and was about to open his mouth when charged footsteps approached in the hallway, and the door opened without permission.

They all turned their heads and watched Marquis Astrea step inside.

"Your Grace," the Marquis said, his voice smooth and full of his practiced concern. "I apologize for the intrusion. But I could not bear to be away from my son’s sickbed a moment longer."

The Marquis’s eyes swept the room—taking in the maid’s blush, the Duke’s outstretched hand with a spoon full of porridge, and the way Lucius was sitting right by the bed. His smile deepened, though it remained cold. This was better than he had hoped.

His ’discarded’ son hadn’t just survived the North, he had become the Grand Duke’s obsession.

Duke Alaric didn’t move. He remained seated, his eyes dark as he looked at the Marquis who had just interrupted Julian’s mealtime.

It just felt like the soft moment from earlier hadn’t happened. Or rather, it had been doused with ice water by the Marquis’s presence.

Marquis Astrea stepped further in, his boots clicking softly on the floor.

He didn’t look like a man who had spent three days indifferent to his son’s disappearance; he looked like a grieving father who had finally found his lost treasure.

He kept his hands clasped politely in front of his robes, his head bowed just enough to show respect to Alaric without appearing subservient.

"I could no longer stand aside while my son is in such a critical condition, Your Grace," the Marquis said, his voice smooth and perfectly modulated. "I really needed to confirm with my own eyes that he was awake, and seeing him now... it is truly a miracle."

He turned his gaze to Julian. It was a look Julian knew well—analytical, cold, and entirely devoid of the warmth he saw in the Duke’s eyes.

The Marquis hadn’t changed. He still had that 14% percent affection level hovering over his head.

And right now, he wasn’t looking at his son; he was looking at the way the Duke’s hand holding the spoon full of porridge was still suspended.

"Julian," the Marquis said softly, trying to come closer. "You look pale. I’ve brought the family physician to ensure your recovery is handled with the care only an Astrea can provide. Perhaps it’s time we moved you back to our own quarters?"

Julian felt a cold prickle of sweat on his neck. Move? Back to the drafty, isolated rooms of the Astrea estate, where he was treated like a punching bag? He gripped the silk sheets, his knuckles turning white.

"Marquis Astrea," The Duke spoke, finally putting down the spoon. "Shall I interpret your words as you claiming the Imperial physicians do not hold a candle to the Physicians of the Astrea house?"

Alaric’s voice cut through the air, low and dangerous. He didn’t turn to face to look at the Marquis; instead, he kept his eyes on Julian, watching his expression as he turned paler. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"No, how dare I, Your Grace?" He asked, realizing he had made a little slip there. "I am just a concerned father."

The word pricked at the Duke’s skin. A concerned father? He couldn’t even bring himself to laugh.

"Moreover, as for moving him... he is in no condition to be jostled. He stays here."

The Marquis didn’t flinch. He let out a small, patient sigh.

"Of course, Your Grace. Your hospitality is legendary. But I worry about the burden my son places on your household. And with the rumors of Julian being considered for the position of Royal Tutor... well, it would be best if he were under his father’s roof to prepare for such an honor."

The mention of the Royal Tutor position made the maid drop a spoon. It clattered against the silver tray, the sound ringing out in the sudden silence.

Julian looked at his father. The greed was there, hidden behind the polite, cold smile.

The Marquis didn’t want him back because he cared; he wanted him back because Julian was now a bridge to the Emperor and the Grand Duke.

Lucius, sensing the shift in the room, slid off his chair and moved closer to Julian’s good side, his small hand reaching out to touch Julian’s sleeve. He looked at the Marquis with a silent, instinctive distrust.

And more than that, he wanted the Marquis gone. Because he was causing Julian discomfort.

Julian saw this and wondered if he should be worried about Lucius’s change.

Julian felt he probably had to speak up now. So that his father would not spread word that it was the Duke withholding him from carrying out his father’s duties.

"I am fine here, Father," Julian said, his voice sounding firm. He looked the Marquis in the eye, refusing to look away. "The Grand Duke has been... very thorough with the members of his household. And I am comfortable. So worry not."