Chapter 89: The Duke comes back to see guests

The moment Alaric’s boots hit the ground of his Estate, the air around the carriage seemed heavy, suffocatingly so. He didn’t wait for the door to be fully opened before he was out, his black mantle snapping in the wind like the wings of a predatory bird.

The Butler immediately rushed to greet him at the base of the stairs, his face trying to remain composed despite the woes that had taken place.

"Your Grace," the Butler began, struggling to keep pace with Alaric’s long, aggressive strides. "Marquis Astrea... he came again." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Hearing this, Alaric halted abruptly. He turned his head toward the butler, his eyes narrowing in a deadly gaze. The mere mention of that man being in here in his absence despite already sending him away once was enough to make the veins in his neck pulse.

"Where is Julian?" Alaric’s voice was a low, dangerous vibration.

"In the guest wing, Your Grace," the Butler responded quickly, sensing the Duke’s mounting volatility. "He is... safe for now."

The response gave the Duke a momentary small bit of ease, but it was quickly swallowed by a fresh wave of rage. "Is the Marquis still here?" He asked, his fingers twitching as he began to walk again with large strides. He was already planning exactly which part of the hypocrite’s mind he was going to shatter first.

"He has already left, Your Grace," the Butler said, bowing slightly.

"And he left without Julian?" The Duke asked, almost finding it hard to believe.

"Yes, Your Grace. He was chased away by a few... guests."

Alaric stopped again, his brow furrowing. "Guests?"

"The Prince and Princess arrived just before things became bloody," the Butler explained, his voice lowering. "They intervened and sent the Marquis away. They arrived with a full contingent of the Golden Guard Order."

Duke Alaric didn’t move for a second as his mind raced. The Golden Guard? In my Estate?

He believed this was one of the Emperor’s schemes again. And the Emperor hadn’t just sent his children; he had sent a literal piece of the Palace’s heart into his home to monitor him.

He was angry at the intrusion, but the worry for Julian forced his feet into motion again.

He hurried his steps, the clicking of his boots echoing through the halls. He didn’t care about etiquette. He didn’t care about the royal blood he might have to encounter in the room. He only cared about the man who was likely drowning in the chaos he’d left him in. If those children were going to be a danger to him, he would immediately throw them out.

He reached the guest wing and saw the Golden Guard order lined outside, facing the Northern Knights who stood in a straight line on the other side, facing the guards with golden helmets on.

"What is going on here?" The Duke asked, drawing their attention and breaking the stand off that had been going on.

"Your Grace," the knights bowed, but before they could say anything, the Duke was already in front of the door. The Golden Guards did not stop him, and this made him feel even more restless about the situation inside.

He threw the doors open with a violence that made the heavy oak groan.

"Julian!"

The roar shattered the artificial calm of the room.

Inside, the scene was almost surreal. Three of the Elite members of the Golden Guard Order—men trained to hold the front lines of a war—stood awkwardly in the center of the guest suite, their gauntleted hands holding delicate porcelain teapots as they poured tea into the teacups of a trio of children.

At the sound of the Duke’s voice, the room flinched. One guard’s hand jerked, nearly spilling the tea he was pouring as he stood in a defensive position to protect the Royal children, while the children bolted upright.

Liora gasped, her teacup rattling against its saucer as she stared at her uncle with wide, wary eyes. Cassian stood up so abruptly that his chair scraped harshly against the floor, his face flushing as he tried to summon the dignity of a Prince while being caught in the middle of a tea party.

Only Lucius remained seated, as if he expected this reaction from his father as soon as he arrived. He slowly turned his head toward his father, his gaze dark and heavy. He lifted a single finger to his lips, then pointed a sharp, accusing hand at the pale, unconscious Julian on the bed, blaming his father if Julian woke up to his scream.

Duke Alaric’s heart raced, and his momentum to fight died instantly.

The sight of the Duke of the North seemed to clash violently with the domestic stillness of the room.

"Uncle..." Liora whispered, her voice small and lacking its usual abstract cheer. She looked at him with the guarded respect one afforded a senior. It was a look reserved for just her father and her uncle. "You’re... you’re being very loud, Uncle. Master’s heart was tired, so he’s resting now."

Alaric didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on the bed. Julian’s heart was tired? What did that even mean?

Julian lay there, his pale skin contrasting with the dark silk pillows. He wasn’t just sleeping; he looked drained, as if life had been sucked out of him by what had happened in the room.

The Duke walked toward the bed, his movements suddenly slow and heavy. He looked at the Golden Guard holding the teapots, then at the wet cloth on Julian’s forehead. The fury in his gut was still hot, but it was being drowned by a cold, suffocating guilt.

"What happened?" Alaric asked, his voice dropping to a low, jagged whisper as he reached the bedside.

Cassian cleared his throat, stepping forward to bridge the get closer to his terrifying uncle. "The Marquis was... unpleasant. He said Master was a ’thing.’ Master tried to endure the pain and stand up for Lucius, even though he was shaking... and then his breathing got frantic before he stopped and fell asleep."

Alaric knelt by the bed and reached out, his calloused fingers hovering over Julian’s cold, damp forehead.

The fact that such a thing happened in less than an hour since he left made it clear he had fallen into a trap.

He did not touch Julian and clenched his fist instead, his blood boiling at the thought of that daring marquis.

"I left him," Alaric muttered, more to himself than the children. "I left him alone with that vulture."

The silence stretched for a bit, with the children staring at the guilty and heavy back of this man. Then, Cassian stepped forward and said,

"Uncle, I think there is something you should know."

The Duke slightly turned his head, silently waiting for what the prince had to say, and then he pointed at Lucius, who suddenly flinched.

"The Marquis definitely underestimates the Grand Duke’s household, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have laid his hand on your son." The Duke flinched, and Lucius stiffened.

"He hurt my son?" The Duke asked, his tone dropping in a deadly way as his eyes shifted in disbelief.

Lucius immediately began to shake his head, frantically shaking his hands in front of him, his eyes filled with a sense of panic.

"That’s a lie," Cassian said calmly. "Uncle, check his shoulder. The Marquis definitely hurt his shoulder."