The morning after the snow fight, the manor was encased in a fresh layer of frost that turned the windows into sheets of opaque crystal.

Inside, the fireplaces roared, the scent of burning pine and beeswax filling the corridors. Julian sat in the sun-drenched corner of the grand library, a room that had become his true sanctuary. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

On the table before him lay a collection of parchment, ink pots, and a half-eaten plate of honey biscuits. Across from him, Lucius was hunched over a map of the Northern territories, his small brow furrowed in concentration as he traced the trade routes with a charcoal pencil.

Julian often noticed the way Lucius’s nose crinkled when he was frustrated, and the specific way he tapped his slate when he had a question he felt was too silly to ask.

Lucius looked up, his pale eyes meeting Julian’s. He didn’t reach for his slate. Instead, he simply tilted his head, his gaze drifting to the window where the wind was whistling through the eaves.

"The weather is turning," Julian said softly, answering the unspoken worry. "But the walls are thick, Lucius. It can’t get any colder than this inside the manor."

Lucius nodded and was about to go back to his work when he paused. He reached for his slate, the quill scratching against the parchment wrapped board and he asked,

[Does Father love you more than he loves the North?]

Julian blinked, the bluntness of the question catching him off guard. He felt a faint heat creep up his neck. He looked at the boy, seeing no malice, only a deep, quiet curiosity.

Lucius had spent his life never getting the chance to meet his father, but he watched him from afar and knew him as a cold, immovable mountain who focused mainly on the affairs of the North. That is, since his tutor came.

But then again, as a child, he could not quite understand, and all of it felt like a puzzle. Without understanding a puzzle, one can’t solve it.

He also loved his tutor so much, even more than he loved his father. But that was because no one loved him before Julian came. So his heart had been vacant, only to be filled all at once by his master’s presence.

But for his father, who loved the North before his tutor came, was it the same? Which did his father love more?

"He loves us differently, Lucius," Julian explained, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "He loves the North because it is his responsibility. But he loves... he loves me because his heart chose me and I..." he felt awkward. "I accepted him." Yes, it was very awkward talking to the child about this, so it was better to switch the topic. "And I think, in a way, he loves you most of all because you are the future of everything he protects."

Lucius stared at the slate for a long time. Then, he erased the words and wrote something else.

[I like it better now. You look very happy, master. And you don’t have any black eyes, you don’t look tired. You seem more... alive.]

Julian’s breath hitched. He realized then that even a child had been very worried when the waking madness got worse, and his complexion fell. When he looked like he was fighting demons in his sleep, he could never get fully rested.

The fact that he was finally ’present’ was the greatest gift he could give this boy.

The heavy oak doors of the library creaked open, and Alaric stepped in. He was in a simple black tunic, his wild golden hair slightly windswept. He looked less like a Duke and more like a man who had just finished a long day of work and would very much like to retire with his lover in his arms.

"Lessons still in progress?" Alaric asked, walking over and ruffling Lucius’s hair.

Lucius beamed, leaning into the touch. It was a small gesture, but Julian remembered a time when Alaric wouldn’t have even touched the boy’s shoulder.

"We’re finishing up," Julian said, starting to stack the parchments. "We were just discussing... the North."

"Is that so?" Alaric pulled out a chair and sat down, his thigh brushing against Julian’s under the table. Then, he reached out and snagged a honey biscuit from Julian’s plate, biting into it with a smirk. "And what did the scholar conclude?"

"That you’re a thief of biscuits," Julian joked, swatting at his hand, and Lucius giggled.

"I am a fan of sweets," Alaric stated. "There cannot be a honeyed biscuit in front of me, and you expect me to unsee it."

"Well, next time, ask for permission first. No more biscuits for you," he said, though he could not help the smile that found itself on his lips when he watched the Duke pout. "Alright, fine. You get one more."

"Feed it to me," Alaric shamelessly insisted, and Julian’s eyes widened, sweeping towards Lucius, who had taken some sort of signal and was now scribbling on his slate. "Come on, don’t be shy." He whispered, inching closer, and Julian palmed his face away.

"Fine, I... I’ll do it." He said, keeping half an eye on Lucius.

He picked up a honey biscuit, his hand slightly trembling and his heart racing. But he was too slow, and Alaric caught his hand.

Julian flinched and watched as Alaric ate the biscuit out of his hand, but he didn’t let go of Julian yet, and instead of just taking the biscuit, he took Julian’s fingers as well.

"You..." Julian’s body trembled, and he quickly lowered his voice. "What are you doing? The child is here,"

But Alaric did not answer and simply licked the fingers, his other hand squeezing on Julian’s thigh.

How could he be so brazen in front of his child?

"As expected," Alaric finally said as he let go of Julian’s hand. "The biscuit tastes the best when you feed it."

"Nonsense," Julian flared, turning his face away but he did not clean his hand. Instead, he looked at it, dripping with the Duke’s saliva.

This... was very indecent.

He shoved away any lewd thought from his mind and wiped his hand.

Alaric chuckled, the sound rumbling in his throat. Julian was cute. So cute he could eat him up.

"Don’t just eat the biscuits," he whispered, his face flushed. "Let’s eat the broth and bread too."