The Dust Archive was a place where sunlight went to die. Meaning, it was a dark, cavernous room filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of unsorted records, the air thick with the smell of old parchment and the stagnant scent of secrets left to gather dust.

It looked similar to the Imperial Library, but only that this place was not accessible to the public, whereas the Imperial Library was open to all nobles.

Aurelian was already there.

He wasn’t sitting at the grand desk in the center of the room. He was leaning against a stack of crates, a small, locked wooden box balanced on his knee.

He looked utterly at home in the gloom, his golden eyes seeming like the only source of warmth in the suffocating grey space. To Julian, the Emperor’s presence was no more than a predatory looming in this dark space. And that ’warmth’, well, it was a heat that made the skin on his neck prickle.

The Emperor noticed him approaching and raised his head.

"You seem so bold keeping the Emperor waiting for you, Julian Von Astrea," Aurelian spoke, his eyes narrowed, and Julian bowed his head low.

"I greet the Sun of the Empire, Your Majesty," he said. "And I apologize for my tardiness,"

"That means you won’t make me wait for you next time, right?" He asked, and the hand on Julian’s chest nearly crumbled his coat.

Next time.

He didn’t want there to be a next time.

"You look pale," Aurelian remarked, his voice a low, melodic hum. "Did the sweets not agree with you? Or was the broth perhaps... too quiet for your tastes?"

"I am well, Your Majesty," Julian lied, his voice thin and low.

Aurelian smirked, a sharp, knowing expression. He tapped the lid of the wooden box.

"I found something during my morning rounds. A collection of misdirected thoughts. Things that were meant for my brother’s ears, but somehow... stayed here. With me."

Julian flinched, but not visibly. Things meant for his brother’s ears? What did that mean?

He watched as the Emperor unlocked the box with a silver key and pulled out a stack of yellowed envelopes, scattering them over the table.

Julian’s heart gave a painful, heavy thud.

It wasn’t what he was thinking, was it? He felt bile rise in his throat again, but he swallowed it down. It was too soon to conclude. It could be anything else, it could be...

"Why the look, Master Astrea?" The Emperor asked, already enjoying the reaction he was getting. "It seems like you already know what these are. Why? Have you received a letter from the late Duchess before?"

Julian felt his core shake. The late Duchess? Bellanora? Those letters...?

He could feel his heart throbbing and his stomach churning, attempting to spill out the meal he had not yet had.

What was this?

"Sit," Aurelian commanded, gesturing to the chair across from him. "I have a sudden urge to hear these words spoken aloud. My brother always said you had a ’scholar’s clarity.’ Let’s see if you can give these ghosts a voice."

Julian’s body trembled, but he did his best to steady himself and sat.

"Now, shall we begin?"

Julian’s hands felt like lead as he reached for the first letter.

The parchment was thin, almost translucent, and it felt unnervingly warm.

"My Dearest Lucien," Julian began, his voice trembling on the name.

Aurelian’s eyes narrowed. Lucien. The name only Alaric’s closest could call him. It had become such an intimacy, a secret language between that husband and wife, that the Emperor kept growing more annoyed by the day whenever he heard it.

And after she died, he thought he was the only one who could call the Duke like that, but it seemed he had jumped the gun too quickly because another nuisance cropped up.

Julian began to read. He read about the first snowfall in the North, about how the Duchess missed the way the Duke looked when he was focused on his maps, and about the quiet, terrifying loneliness spent while her husband was at war.

The words were warm, filled with so much intent, so much longing that Julian felt he was trespassing into another person’s heart.

These letters that should’ve reached the Duke while he was at war were here in his arms, scattered like wasted parchment, and he... was defiling them with his own eyes.

Then, Julian remembered meeting Bellanora’s ghost. He remembered the fierce, protective sorrow in her eyes when she scolded Alaric for neglecting Lucius.

These letters were the bridge to that ghost, the bridge to a love so profound it had lingered beyond the grave.

He felt very strange. He felt out of place. He felt... he shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t trespass on the letter’s contents, the ones Alaric never got to read, but then... he couldn’t stop. The Emperor would not let him.

He reached a letter dated only weeks before Lucius’ birth.

"Lucien, the healers say I must rest, but my heart is too restless for sleep. I have a secret I wanted to tell you in person, but I don’t know how long I can last."

It looked like the first letter she sent to finally let Alaric know about the baby she was carrying.

In all the previous letters, she dropped hints, but never said for sure that she was pregnant.

If the Duke had gotten these letters, if he had figured out he was going to be a father, would he have hated Lucius any less once he came and found out his wife was dead?

Would he have anticipated the child’s birth just like his wife did?

The Emperor... took the chance to know from him.

"I’m pregnant, Lucien," the letter continued. "And our little star keeps moving within me, a constant reminder of the life we built in the frost. I am afraid, my love. Not of the pain, but of the silence if you aren’t there to break it. If I cannot welcome you home, please... Please promise me you will see the light in his eyes. Our star."

Julian’s voice began to break, shattering slowly as he read that last part.

He finally stopped, the parchment crinkling under his tightening grip. The sincerity in the words was a blow to his heart. He thought of Alaric’s confession—"I love you, Julian"—and the crushing guilt he’d felt ever since. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

He wondered: If I don’t feel this ’fire’ for the Duke, am I just a pale imitation? Am I failing her? Will I... ever be able to love Lucien as sincerely as this?

He bit his lip and then shut his eyes.

"Why did you keep these?" Julian whispered, his head still bowed. "He spent seven years hating the child she begged him to treasure. You knew. You had the words that could have saved them both, and you kept them in a box. Why, Your Majesty?"