Julian stood up slowly, his legs feeling heavy.

"It’s too dangerous. Elian... he’ll see Lucius as another ’miracle’ to exploit. He already called him pure."

"Then let him," Alaric countered, a grim, dark smile touching his lips. "If the ’Saint’ travels with the young heir of the North, it isn’t just a business trip anymore. It’s a state visit. It forces them to maintain a higher level of decorum. They can’t treat you like a prisoner if you are acting as the guardian of my son."

Lucius reached out a hand toward Julian, his small face hopeful, a silent question burning in his eyes.

"And," Alaric added, his voice softening as he looked at Julian’s tear-stained face, "I cannot be there to hold you when the nights get cold in that white city. But he can. He is a piece of the North—a piece of me—that they can never take away. He will be your anchor, Julian. When their sermons get too loud, you just look at him, and you’ll remember exactly who you are returning to."

Julian looked from the towering Duke to the small boy who had just defied his own trauma. The logic of the scholar fought with the instinct of the protector, but the heart... the heart had already lost.

"I’ll make sure he stays with me at all times," Julian said, his voice barely a murmur. "I’ll do my best to protect him and that he doesn’t get entangled with the church."

"If they touch him," Alaric’s eyes turned into shards of blue ice, "the two-month deal is void, and I don’t care about the Pope or the Emperor. My knights and I will ride our horses without stopping until either the horses drop dead or we land on their doorstep."

Julian took a deep, shaky breath and reached out, taking Lucius back into his arms. The boy clung to him immediately, burying his face in Julian’s neck, his small body finally relaxing.

"Alright," Julian whispered, closing his eyes. "We will go together."

He held the boy tight, feeling his frantic yet small heart beat.

"I will not leave you. So do not worry," he murmured. "But you have to listen to me the whole time, do you understand?" He brushed the boys back. "Your father won’t be there with us, but I’ll do my best."

Lucius nodded and then lifted his head.

"I... I will," he spoke, and his small, shy voice made Julian’s heart skip a beat at the sound.

It wasn’t a teary, cracking plea anymore; it was a promise.

The boy was trying so hard, forcing his unused voice into the air just to reassure the person he loved most. Just so he wouldn’t be left behind.

"Good," Julian whispered, his own voice thick with emotion as he pressed his forehead against the boy’s. "That’s my brave Lucius."

Alaric watched them, his expression a turbulent sea of pride and agony. He had wanted the peace to last. He had wanted Julian to be by his side for every waking hour, but... the world seemed to be against their happiness.

He reached out, his large hand covering both Julian’s shoulder and Lucius’s back, hugging them and forming a warm family bundle with their bodies.

"It’ll be fine," he whispered. "Just like before, we’ll get through this and once again regain our peace,"

"Lucien," Julian whispered. "I promise to come back."

"I believe you," Alaric pressed his forehead on Julian’s, and they closed their eyes. "I’ll wait until you return,"

"Hm,"

The final days in the North were a blur of ’Saint’ duty by day and desperate, feverish intimacy by night.

Julian spent the daylight hours in the courtyard, his hands busy with medicine and then the healing warmth from the strange resonance that continued to pull the sick back from the brink.

He gave everything to the people, but when the sun dipped below the jagged peaks of the mountains, he gave everything else to Alaric.

In the late nights, the manor was silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace and the intimate sounds behind the heavy oak doors of the Duke’s chambers.

Julian tangled his body with Alaric’s, his breath hitching as he called out the Duke’s name in muffled moans. He dug his nails into Alaric’s broad, scarred back, trying to anchor himself to the man who was both his sanctuary and his sorrow.

Alaric was relentless. He moved with a raw, beastly intent, as if he could brand Julian’s skin with his touch.

He wanted to make sure every curve of Julian’s body, every shiver of his nerves, remembered exactly who it was that was holding him.

He kissed the hollow part of Julian’s throat, his voice a gruff, low vibration against the skin.

"You belong here," Alaric groaned, his grip on Julian’s waist almost bruising. "To me."

"Always," Julian gasped, his eyes clouding with pleasure and tears. "I am yours, Lucien. Only yours."

It was like that every night, reminding each other whose hearts and bodies belonged to.

Julian didn’t care about his status as Saint; after all, he never asked to become a saint to begin with.

"Are you going to miss me, Lucien?" Julian asked, reaching his trembling hands up, and Alaric caught them, pressing them to his lips.

"I already miss you, Julian. Your face, your body, your heart... I miss how you smile at me, how you tremble underneath me. I miss all of you," his eyes grew teary, but he didn’t let them fall. "I’ll look forward to meeting you in my dreams when you’re no longer here by my side."

Julian’s breath caught at the vulnerability in Alaric’s voice.

He freed his hand from Alaric’s grip and traced his fingers over the sharp line of the Duke’s jaw, wanting to memorize the texture of his skin even more, the heat of his gaze, and the way the firelight danced in those icy blue eyes.

The way the Duke could only look at him and no one else.

"Then I’ll make sure to find you there," Julian whispered, pulling Alaric down for a kiss that tasted of salt, fear, and desperation. "In every dream, until it becomes our reality again."

"You always have a smooth line for every word I say, don’t you?" Alaric asked as he laughed, and Julian laughed.

"I’m the scholar here, remember? I might as well chase being a poet," Julian teased.

"It’ll suit you," Alaric murmured, his head pressed against Julian’s forehead, and then he began to move again. "Bring a poet and say all those fancy lines, it’ll definitely suit you."

"Haa, Lucien, I... Roses are Red," his breath hitched, and he moaned. "Violets are Blue," he couldn’t think straight because Alaric was continuously hitting that sweet spot. But he tried his best. "I may not be—mmph—here, but I’ll... Lucien, I’ll... always belong to you," Julian finished, tears trailing down the corners of his face as he began to cry.

He wasn’t crying because of the sex; it was the way his heart broke when he thought about being away. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to be away from Alaric. Why did he have to go ahead and bring up the idea of going with them back to the Holy Empire?