When the doors to the inner hall opened, and Alaric stepped out with Julian at his side, Zane didn’t even look at Alaric first. His eyes, a bright, amber-gold, went straight to Julian.

"By the Weaver’s thread," Zane called out, his voice rich and melodic, echoing off the high stone arches.

He ignored the dozen swords pointed at his chest and strolled forward with a wide, white-toothed grin.

"The rumors didn’t do him justice. I thought the merchants were exaggerating about the ’Saint,’ but you actually look like you were carved from a diamond."

Alaric stepped firmly in front of Julian, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The air around the Duke seemed to drop ten degrees.

"That’s enough, Zane. You’re a month early and ten degrees too far North. What do you want?"

Zane finally flicked his gaze to Alaric, his grin turning sharp and mocking.

"Cousin! Is that any way to greet family? I nearly lost a toe to a frost-wraith just to bring you condolences for the Empress."

He leaned to the side, trying to peer around Alaric’s massive shoulder to get another look at Julian. "But seeing the prize you’ve been hiding up here... I think I understand why you haven’t answered any of Father’s letters. You’ve been busy playing ’Scholar and the Beast,’ haven’t you?"

Julian felt Alaric’s entire body go rigid. The Duke’s sword lifted from its sheath by an inch, the ringing sound of steel sharp in the silent hall.

"Master Julian," Zane said, raising his voice so Julian could hear him clearly over Alaric’s tectonic growl. "My name is Zane. I’ve traveled three thousand miles because I heard the North had a man who could outshine the Pope of the Holy Empire himself. Now that I’ve seen you, I’m starting to think the North is far too cold for someone with such a warm light. How would you like to see a world where the sun actually stays in the sky?"

Alaric’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a murderous intent. "If you say one more word," Alaric hissed, "you’ll be going home in a jar."

Zane just laughed, a bright, unafraid sound. "Always so grumpy, Lucien. No wonder the Saint looks like he needs a vacation."

Julian blinked.

This man...

He had a little resemblance to the Duke, and yet, they were just so different. While Alaric was the winter that fell in the North, Zane was the sun that shone harshly in the South.

Zane noticed Julian looking at him observantly, and then he winked.

Julian blinked, completely taken aback by that action. Did he just... Did Prince Zane just flirt with him?

The wink was a spark of static electricity in a room already filled with gunpowder. Julian felt the air in the hall thicken, the temperature dropping as Alaric’s presence expanded into something truly suffocating.

Alaric’s cloak brushed against Julian’s arm as the Duke stepped further into his line of sight, blocking him entirely. Alaric didn’t just stand in front of him; he eclipsed him, effectively erasing Zane from view.

"You’ve had your fun, Zane." Alaric’s voice was no longer a growl; it was a dead, flat promise of violence. "You will be escorted to the guest wing. You will stay there until I decide whether to host you or hang you. If I catch you looking at him—much less gesturing—I will consider it a declaration of war."

He was serious.

Alaric had already had enough of having another man covet his lover, for whatever reason, whether to break him or own him.

Zane didn’t look the least bit intimidated. He simply adjusted the leopard-fur cloak over his shimmering silk shoulders, his eyes dancing with a mischievous light that seemed entirely out of place in the grim stone hall.

"War? Over a wink, Lucien? You really have become a creature of the frost," Zane sighed, though his white-toothed grin remained.

He looked toward the Northern guards, then back toward the shadow where Julian stood. "Very well. I shall retire. The trek through the pass was... let’s call it ’refreshing.’ But Master Julian? Do think about my offer. The South has a way of melting even the deepest of frost."

As the guards closed in to lead the Southern delegation away, Zane threw one last lingering look over his shoulder, his amber-gold eyes scanning Julian with a predatory curiosity.

And Julian shrank back, hiding behind the Duke.

Once the heavy oak doors had thudded shut behind the ’Peacock’, the silence that remained was heavy. Alaric didn’t turn around immediately. He stood with his hand still clenched tight on the hilt of his sword, his shoulders heaving with a slow, controlled rage.

"Lucien?" Julian whispered, reaching out to touch the dark wool of Alaric’s tunic.

Alaric turned then. The tenderness from the morning was buried under a layer of glacial fury. He grabbed Julian’s hand, his grip firm—not painful, but desperate, as if he were checking to see if Julian was still physically there.

"He is a snake," Alaric rasped, his eyes searching Julian’s face with a frantic intensity. "My mother’s people... they don’t see people as individuals. They see them as treasures to be hoarded and gained from. That was why my mother was sold to the previous Emperor."

The words left him before he could even filter them, and Julian’s breath hitched.

His mother... Alaric had never spoken about his mother before. And this time, it looked like he didn’t want to talk about it. Like it was a memory that was better off being forgotten in the past.

"Zane did not come here to offer condolences. He came here to scout you for the Sultan."

Just like that, he brushed off the topic of his mother, but Julian understood him. Some things were better off buried in the past, but he still felt a pang of guilt.

If the prince was here because of him, then wasn’t this a problem?

He had wanted the peace to last, but he realized now that he was getting some sort of reputation as a ’saint’, and it was a beacon that would draw every power-hungry player on the continent to the North.

Who was next after the prince? The Pope?

Julian sighed, not even wanting to think of that tragedy.

"I’m not going anywhere, Lucien," Julian said, his voice steadying as he stepped into Alaric’s space, pressing his forehead against the Duke’s chest. "A wink won’t change that. And a kingdom won’t change that either."

Alaric buried his face in Julian’s hair, letting out a long, shaky breath.

"It isn’t just him, Julian. If the South is here, the Holy Empire won’t be far behind. They won’t let a ’Saint’ stay in the hands of a ’Beast’ for long."

Julian shivered. He had just thought it in passing, but it seemed like Alaric was having the same thoughts as him.

He looked toward the frosted windows, thinking about the Chronicles of Astrea book he had hidden away.

If things go wrong, and he gets desperate for answers, he might just...

"I guess we’ll just have to face them together," Julian murmured. "But first... we have to go find Lucius. He’s probably wondering why his breakfast is so late."

Alaric let out a dry, humorless huff and pulled back, his eyes finally softening just a fraction.

"Always the teacher. Come on. Let’s find the boy before he decides to declare his own sovereignty over the kitchen."

Julian chuckled.

Yes, even if things start going wrong, he will do his best to steer them in the right direction.