The days leading up to the delegation’s arrival were not filled with the peace Julian had hoped for. Instead, the manor became a place of hushed whispers and avoided gazes.

Alaric had not taken the violation of the study lightly. He had become a cold, methodical force, moving through the servants’ quarters like a winter storm.

Julian found him in the servant’s hall, his large frame casting a long, intimidating shadow over the staff. Martha was there, her hands twisting in her apron, her eyes red from the stress of being questioned.

"Lucien, stop," Julian said, his voice firm as he stepped between Alaric and the trembling Nanny.

Alaric turned, his eyes hard and flat.

"Someone walked into your sanctuary, Julian. Someone in this house is eyes and ears for the people who want to take you. I will not have a snake under my roof."

"You’re terrifying everyone," Julian countered, placing a steady hand on Alaric’s arm. "Martha has been with you for the longest time, has she not? If you tear this house apart looking for one shadow, you’ll lose the light of the people who actually love you. Please. Let it go for now. We have bigger problems to worry about."

Alaric looked at Martha, then back at Julian. The tension in his shoulders didn’t disappear, but it shifted. He gave a sharp, curt nod to the staff, dismissing them, but the heavy atmosphere of suspicion remained.

"I cannot stand the thought of a traitor within my home," he growled, and Julian nodded.

"I understand. But you won’t find the traitor like this," his eyes softened. "You’ll only make everyone uncomfortable, so for now, just let it go."

Alaric placed his hand behind Julian’s head and pulled him in for a hug. He pressed Julian’s face to his chest and then let out a gruff huff.

"Fine, Julian. I’ll let it go," he said, and Julian nodded, sinking into the hug.

"Thank you."

The ’cleansing’ had left the manor feeling less like a home and more like a fortress under siege.

And because of that, the foreboding for the arrival of the Delegation from the Holy Empire grew thicker.

The morning of the arrival was bitingly cold. The gates of the manor creaked open as the carriage of the Holy Delegation rode in.

Then, one by one, they got out, filed in lines, and in the front was Purifier Elian, and he was a striking sight.

He was young, perhaps only a few years older than Julian, with a face that looked as though it had been carved from marble.

His most catching feature was his hair—silver-white, just like the other priests Julian had seen, just like the priest who had healed his leg in the past.

But this hair seemed to dazzle even brighter than the rest Julian had seen in the past, signifying more of his purity than the rest, as they seemed to catch the pale winter light.

Elian’s eyes were a pale, watery blue, holding a clarity that felt both peaceful and unsettling.

Alaric stood behind Julian, his hand resting on his sword hilt, his presence a heavy warning as he looked at them with cold eyes.

"The North welcomes the delegation," Alaric said, his voice a low, heavy rumble. "But we will keep the formalities brief."

"Of course, Your Grace," Elian replied. His voice was soft, like falling snow. He bowed to Julian, his gaze lingering with an intensity that made the back of Julian’s neck prickle. "We are here only to witness the grace that has been reported to us."

Alaric’s eyes twitched at these words, but he said nothing of it.

He turned, his mantle billowing in the wind.

"Then, let us head in."

They moved to the drawing room, and while they walked, Elian struck up a conversation with Julian.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Saint."

"Ah, just call me Julian," Julian said, finding the title saint too much to handle. He was by no means a saint.

Elian did not respond to that and asked,

"What do you think about spiritual consultation? Have you agreed to our request?"

Julian tilted his head the other way. Spiritual consultation. The words sounded grand, but they only made his head throb. Is this another word for an interrogation? He wondered.

"I don’t see any issues behind it as long as you respect boundaries, Purifier," Julian said, and Elian brandished a polite, respectful smile, nodding his head forward with a graceful bow.

"Of course. I would not dare to cross your boundaries."

Alaric watched from the corner of his eyes, and a low rumble vibrated in his chest. He didn’t like Elain one bit.

When they finally got to the drawing room, the priests and purifiers all filed in, standing behind the chair Elian was about to sit on, when the Duke spoke quite rigidly.

"I will be staying," Alaric stated, his voice hard and flat as he blocked the doorway.

Elian shook his head gently, his silver hair shimmering.

"Your Grace, a consultation must be pure. It is a dialogue between the Saint and the priest, who is an envoy of the Heavens. The presence of a man of war disrupts the sanctity."

Alaric’s jaw tightened, and his brows knitted together.

"You think I’m leaving him alone with you? After your kind almost sent him to the pyre?"

"Lucien," Julian said softly, stepping in before the Duke could draw his blade. "It’s alright. Just stay right outside. If I so much as raise my voice, I know you’ll be through this door before they can blink."

Alaric looked at Julian, his eyes filled with a raw, protective ache. He hated the way these priests looked at Julian—as if he were an object for a pedestal. He hated it even more so that Julian was very understanding of them.

But what could he do? Julian was the more rational one, after all.

Alaric finally stepped back, but his voice was a dangerous whisper as he said to Julian,

"If anything happens, I will not care for diplomatic rules."

And then, he left.

Once the doors clicked shut, Julian was alone with the Purifier. Elian didn’t move for a long moment. He just stared at Julian with a look of profound wonder.

Julian sighed, feeling the heavy gaze stuck to the back of his head.

"It is true," Elian whispered. "The light follows you even here, in the dark." He stepped closer, moving with a slow grace. "Saint, may I?"

He held out his hand, palm upward. Julian hesitated. He looked at that hand, and for a moment, he felt uncomfortable.

He wondered what kind of road he would be walking if he took that hand, away from the politics, the Emperor, and the weight of the North.

But that wasn’t what he was about to do. He wasn’t taking Elian’s hand. He was simply giving his hand to the priest, who wanted to ’check’ whatever he wanted to check.

Slowly, Julian placed his hand in Elian’s.

The moment their skin met, a hum of warmth vibrated through Julian’s arm. It reminded him of the very warmth he felt when the priest from the past had healed him.

Comforting. Very comforting.

He felt as if all his fatigue and aches had vanished in an instant. Including the dull thrumming waist ache that persistently reminded him of his activities at night with Alaric.

Ahem.

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about such things when in front of a priest.

Elian’s eyes drifted shut, his fingers trembling as he held Julian’s hand as if it were a holy relic.

He could feel something... something Julian was very much not aware of.