Julian spent the next hour in his study, not decoding the Chronicles, but searching through his own trunks.

He needed to make something for Alaric and pour his heart into it.

Martha said anything was fine, but showing how much he loved the Duke depended on how great his handmade gift was.

He found a yawn of fine, silver-blue wool he had brought from the Capital—meant for repair, but never used.

He didn’t know how to knit, but he knew how to weave. And so, he began to work, his fingers moving awkwardly at first as he tried to create a simple, braided cord—a ’Tether’ of his own making, infused with his own warmth.

But as he worked, the library door creaked open again. Julian froze, expecting Zane’s amber eyes to be locked on him with their mocking sneer.

But instead, it was Alaric.

He looked exhausted, his hair damp with melted snow, his face lined with the stress of the day.

He saw Julian, and immediately the tension in his shoulders dropped. He walked over, not saying a word, and simply buried his face in Julian’s neck, breathing him in.

Julian felt his heart swell. He hid the wool behind his back, looking at the man who seemed to carry the world on his back.

"Rough day?" Julian asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"The South is pushing," Alaric muttered into his skin. "Zane is pushing," he growled, and Julian could feel the annoyance in his tone.

"What... what happened?"

"He is demanding a tour of the mountain mines tomorrow. I know he’s here to cause trouble, Julian, and I don’t want to show him the mines. But he will cause trouble regardless."

Julian held him tight, feeling the cold metal of Alaric’s breastplate against his chest. He realized then that Martha was right. He was feeding everyone, while having them lean on him, with no one to feed him or lean on.

Even this... he knew... was not enough to balance the Duke’s heavy and exhausted heart.

He needed to be held... properly.

"Let the mines wait," Julian said, pulling back to look Alaric in the eyes. "Tonight, the Duke is off duty. It’s the Eve of the First Frost, Lucien. I believe I owe you a gift."

Alaric blinked, a rare look of confusion crossing his face.

"A gift?" The thought of it suddenly made him excited, getting a gift from Julian, but then he realized it might be a lot harder than it seemed.

After all, it was all handmade, and Julian wasn’t exactly the crafty type. He was a scholar.

"Julian, you don’t have to—"

"I want to," Julian interrupted, his voice firm. "Now, go get out of that armor. I’ll meet you by the fire."

Alaric looked into Julian’s eyes, and then he pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"You really don’t have to push yourself."

"Did I tell you I was pushing myself?" Julian asked, his eyes bright and warm.

There was no hesitation, and Alaric could see it. He wouldn’t win this one, he felt. So he gave up.

"Alright, I’ll meet you by the fire."

Julian felt a surge of purpose as he watched Alaric’s retreating back. He spent the next hour meticulously preparing.

He had dismissed the servants, dimmed the lights to a warm, flickering amber, and even managed to find a rare bottle of Northern plum wine.

He wanted everything to be perfect—a ’Hearth-Gift’ of peace and absolute devotion.

But as the night wore on, the ’perfect’ evening began to fray at the edges.

Julian had tried to prepare a traditional Northern restorative tea Martha had mentioned, but he’d over-boiled the herbs, turning the brew into a bitter, undrinkable sludge. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

When he tried to stoke the fire to the ’perfect’ degree, a sudden gust of wind blew into the chimney from above and blew a cloud of soot, ash, and grey powder from the fire across the rug he’d just straightened.

Even more so, he had forgotten to close the balcony window since the air had been calm, but the wind also blew from there and spread the soot over the entire room.

"No, no, no, no," Julian rushed to close the balcony window, but by the time he had closed it, everything had become a mess.

Even the wool scarf he had managed to weave had begun to burn from a tiny piece of flying fire that came from the fireplace.

"No!" he rushed to save what was left of it, tapping on the flames with his bare fingers and not minding the fact that he would get scalded.

And by the time he had put out the fire, the wool scarf had been burned in all corners. It was ruined.

Julian knelt there, soot all over him and the room and the day he had planned ruined before his eyes.

I can’t... do anything right. He thought, tears welling up in his eyes. Is this how much my love amounts to? At that moment, Alaric entered.

He stood frozen in the doorway, the quiet domesticity he had expected shattered by the sight of the room.

The scent of charred wool and bitter, over-boiled herbs hung heavy in the air, a sharp contrast to the peaceful sanctuary he’d imagined.

He didn’t look at the soot-stained rug or the ruined tea. His eyes went straight to Julian, who looked so small kneeling in the center of the wreckage.

"Julian," Alaric said, his voice low as he moved toward him.

"It was... supposed to be a gift," Julian whispered again, his voice cracking.

He held up the remains of the hand-woven silk-wool scarf—the ’Tether’ he had spent hours meticulously braiding.

The edges were blackened and curled, the delicate silver-blue threads melted into ugly, hard knots in the middle.

"The Hearth-Gift I prepared. Martha said... she said you needed someone to hold you. I wanted to be the one to do it. I wanted to give you something that wasn’t a lesson or a ledger. Something from my heart."