Chapter 260: Locked in a gilded cage once again

So that was the important position he didn’t want to mention. Ah, he said it was no big deal, but this is a really big deal, Castor. What were you thinking?

Someone deemed as the Pope’s successor needed to have a vast amount of holy energy.

And it seemed like ​Castor was bottling up all this power because he was terrified of disappearing. He just wanted to remain himself.

"Castor," Julian muttered with pity. But then he firmed his resolve, stepping into range and closing in on the space between him and the boy.​ "Castor!" He yelled, grabbing the boy’s wrists.

​The contact felt like a jolt of electricity. It burned, but Julian didn’t let go. He could feel the raw energy inside Castor screaming to get out.

​"Let it go," Julian hissed, his teeth clenched against the pain. "But you don’t give it to the Church. Just give it to me. I’ll hold it for you."

​"I can’t," Castor gasped, his eyes glowing a blinding white and more white tears streaming down. "If I let go, I... I’ll turn white. I’ll be empty. I don’t want to be like them, Julian!"

​"You won’t be," Julian promised. He focused on the warmth of his own life, thinking of the cold winds of the North and the words of the letter he had read. He acted like a ground wire, letting the excess power flow through his body and into the stone floor.

​The marble beneath their feet cracked and turned black as the volatile energy drained away.

Slowly, the wind died down. The blinding light in Castor’s eyes faded back to a dull amber and he collapsed, his weight falling entirely against Julian.

Castor was breathing hard, his face pale, but as Julian looked down, he saw that the boy’s hair was still brown. He hadn’t been ’bleached’ yet.

​"You’re okay," Julian whispered, his own heart thumping wildly. "You’re still you."

​Castor let out a weak, shaky breath. "You really... You really didn’t have to do that."

​Julian didn’t answer. He looked up and saw the circle of priests closing in, with the Pope at the front. Their faces weren’t full of relief; they looked like they had just seen a valuable tool break.

​Julian realized then that his quiet month was officially over.

He had saved the boy, but he had also just interfered with the Holy Empire’s most important ritual.

The Pope stepped forward, his white robes brushing against the blackened, cracked marble underneath her feet. He didn’t look at the debris; he looked at Julian, who was still on the ground, supporting the exhausted Castor.

"A remarkable display, Saint Julian," Clement XII said, his voice smooth and carrying across the garden. "You have stabilized the Successor when our own prayers faltered. It seems your ’Light’ is quite remarkable."

Julian didn’t buy the praise. He could feel the glares from the high priests at the edge of the garden—especially the ones who had been forced to share their secret meat with him. They looked at him with a mix of fear and hatred.

"He needs to rest," Julian said shortly, helping Castor find his footing, but the boy was weak and slowly losing consciousness.

"Indeed. And since you have shown such a unique ability to settle his power," the Pope continued, his smile never reaching his eyes, "it is only right that you stay close to monitor him. You and the boy will move to the Inner Sanctum. It is... much more secure."

It was a gilded cage. By making Julian ’responsible’ for Castor’s stability, the Pope was effectively putting both of them under house arrest, where they could be watched 24/7.

​Julian sighed. He had been put under ’room arrest’ so many times that it’s starting to get old. What was with the plot and keeping him in gilded cages? It seemed even the Kind Pope was not without conviction to keep Julian tied to the church.

Well, he had already gone through it enough times to know how to handle it. So, he said,

"Then, I shall take care of him. But in that moment," his eyes darted from one priest to the other before landing back on the Pope. "Please do not interfere with the child’s recovery."

​The Pope’s smile remained fixed, a mask of perfection. "The Sanctum desires nothing but the Successor’s health, Saint Julian. We leave him in your... capable hands."

Julian nodded and began to walk away while holding the fainting boy close to him.

​The ’Inner Sanctum’ quarters were far more lavish than their previous room. The walls were inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and the silk sheets felt like water. But the presence of guards at every exit made the luxury feel heavy.

"Master, are we staying here now?" Lucius asked, and Julian sighed.

"It appears so, Lucius." He replied. "But do not worry. We are safe here."

​For the first few days, Castor was mostly bedridden. The strain of holding back years of holy energy had left his muscles weak and his spirit frayed. Julian found himself playing the role of both scholar and nurse, much to Lucius’s fascination.

​"Is he going to sleep forever?" Lucius whispered one afternoon, sitting on the edge of a chair and watching Julian press a cool, damp cloth to Castor’s forehead.

​"He’s just tired, Lucius. When he’s no longer tired, he’ll wake up. So for now, don’t mind him. Just go back to your maps," Julian said gently. "Okay?"

Lucius nodded and hopped down from the chair, running excitedly across the room to where their study table was set up.

​Julian watched him with a smile, but as he turned back to his patient, he noticed Castor’s eyes flutter open, revealing his soft, hazy amber eyes.

​"Julian?" Castor’s voice was a mere rasp.

​"I’m here. Drink this," Julian said, lifting the boy’s head slightly to help him sip some herbal tea.

​As Julian leaned over, his fingers brushed against Castor’s jaw to steady him. He felt the boy’s skin prickle. Suddenly, Castor reached out, his hand trembling as he caught Julian’s sleeve, pulling him just a few inches closer.

​"Your eyes," Castor murmured, his gaze fixed on Julian’s face with an intensity that made the air feel thin. He looked between the purple and blue eyes and muttered, "They aren’t like the others. They have... flickers of gold in the dark. I love them, Julian."

​Julian felt a sudden, sharp heat climb up his neck. His heart gave a strange, erratic thump against his ribs. Castor complimenting his eyes shouldn’t mean anything, but then why did his heart skip a beat?

He pulled back slightly, checking the boy’s pulse with his hand, but his own fingers were less steady than usual.

He brushed against Castor’s pulse point on his neck and Castor’s face heated up at the contact.

​"You’re flushed," Julian noted, his voice sounding a bit too clinical to his own ears. "Does your head hurt? Or is it a fever?"