"You aren’t a weapon for a Duke to hide, Julian," Elian breathed, his voice thick with a sudden, sharp conviction. "You aren’t meant for ledgers or the hidden cage of the winter fortress. Have you ever considered that you were spared for a greater purpose? Have you ever considered taking the vows? Becoming a priest of the Holy Empire?"

Julian immediately pulled his hand back, his heart thumping against his ribs.

Elian... it seemed this purifier was looking to claim him for the Holy Empire.

Why was it that every man he met these days was trying to claim him for one sick, debauched, or greater good reason?

He was sick of it.

He just wanted to be a tutor and nothing more.

"I am a scholar, Purifier," Julian said, his voice trembling. "I belong in the library."

"The Heavens might have a different library in mind for you," Elian replied with a small, knowing smile.

Outside, the heavy thud of Alaric’s boots against the stone was the only sound in the hallway.

Julian could hear it, and it was like a grounding force, causing him to stay rooted on his feet and not get swayed by the light in Elian’s eyes.

"I apologize, but I will have to disappoint that call. My place is in the North."

Whatever the reason was, that ’pious life’ was a golden cage—one that would most likely separate him from Alaric forever.

And that was a trade he was not ready for.

"That is quite unfortunate. But I guess it is your choice."

Julian nodded, though his expression remained guarded.

"If that is all for the spiritual consultation, Purifier, then I believe the Duke is waiting for me."

Elian didn’t seem bothered by the dismissal. He stood, his silver-white hair catching the dim light of the room, looking more like a marble statue than a man.

"It is truly a shame," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk. "But I will not press you today. Just... think about it, Saint. A soul like yours was not meant to be buried in the snow."

"Is that all?" Julian asked, his voice tightening.

He didn’t want to hear anymore, but it seemed like Elian still had a lot to say.

"Your spirit and your ’faith’ are already sufficient for now," Elian replied with a small, knowing smile.

Julian felt a flicker of unease at the mention of fate. The word felt heavy, like a stone dropped into a deep well.

He remembered the priest again. At that time, he said something regarding fate.

To be healed and receive the grace of our god, one must have faith, the man had whispered.

Julian hadn’t understood it then, and he didn’t quite understand it now. He only knew he had a lot of faith. Faith in living... Faith in seeing tomorrow... Faith that his bones and flesh would be knitted together by the divine... Faith that a miracle can happen at any time, anywhere because he had his system.

He was all about faith.

Julian thought it had ended there, but unknowingly to him, a man with such broad faith that took the light and warmth of the divine was like a vessel being filled by that very divine.

He didn’t know that the healing had acted like a seed, or that his life as a good person, and a man who always looked up to seeing tomorrow with ’faith’ even when his heart and mind were breaking little by little had been watering that seed every day.

Touching Elian had been like opening a sluice gate he didn’t even know existed.

And that... will bring yet another hurdle in Julian’s life.

The doors of the drawing room finally opened, and Julian lifted his head as he walked out.

Alaric was leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor, his arms crossed over his chest, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light from the narrow windows.

The thud of his boots had stopped the moment he heard the door click open. His eyes—usually a cold, fortress-blue—were dark with a frantic, unvoiced question.

He didn’t wait for Elian to exit. He stepped past the silver-haired priest as if he were a mere ghost, his focus entirely, almost violently, pinned on Julian.

"Lucien," Julian breathed. He felt exhausted just from having a short conversation with the priest.

It felt like he had been messing with his mind somehow, trying to ’convince’ him.

Alaric’s hand dropped on Julian’s shoulder and pulled him forward, his thumb pressing hard into the fabric of Julian’s robe.

He was searching Julian’s face, his jaw working as he ground his teeth together. He didn’t say a word to the Purifier, but the air around him felt thick, like the moments before a lightning strike.

"Your Grace," Elian’s voice drifted from behind them, smooth and unruffled. "The Saint is quite safe. We have merely... discussed the nature of his calling."

Alaric’s head snapped toward the priest, his eyes narrowing.

"His ’calling’ is to his own life. Not your altars. You’ve had your hour. Now, get out of my sight before I forget my hospitality."

Elian offered a small, knowing bow, his silver hair shimmering. He didn’t look offended; he looked like a man who had already won.

He was already plotting a way to win the heart of the saint.

Without another word, he and his silent priest attendants filed down the hall, the hem of their white robes rubbing lightly against the stone.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Alaric turned Julian around, his hands moving to cup Julian’s face.

His palms were rough, but they were gentle and trembling.

"What did he do?" Alaric rasped. "Julian, tell me. Did he touch you?"

Julian leaned into Alaric’s palms, the Duke’s frantic heat finally beginning to drown out the holy warmth Elian had left behind.

"He just held my hand, Lucien. It was... it was a check. A consultation, as he said."

"And?" Alaric pressed, his forehead dropping to rest against Julian’s. "What did he find?"

Julian hesitated. He thought of the way his fatigue had vanished, the way the dull ache in his waist—the sweet, lingering reminder of Alaric—had been washed away by a light he didn’t ask for.

The relief made him feel like a traitor to his own body because it was done by a priest whom he did not want to get involved with.

"He asked me to take the vows," Julian whispered. "He wants me to go to the Holy Empire and that I might belong in their library... not yours."

The sound that came from Alaric’s throat was a low, wounded growl. He pulled Julian into a crushing embrace, burying his face in the crook of Julian’s neck. He held him so tightly that Julian could feel every frantic beat of the Duke’s heart against his own ribs.

"I won’t let them," Alaric vowed, his voice muffled against Julian’s skin. "I’ll kill every man in white silk before I let them put a veil on you. You aren’t their miracle, Julian. You’re my life. Do you hear me?"

Julian didn’t answer. He just gripped the heavy wool of Alaric’s mantle, closing his eyes.

"Yes, Lucien." He whispered.

It seemed like their days of peace were really over, because the delegation planned to stay for a moment longer.