The Knights in front of the Duke’s study saw Julian approaching and almost felt threatened by the look in his eyes.

"Can I help you?" One of the knights asked. He has red hair and a scar on his chin, but his eyes are a bright brown.

He was handsome in any regard.

"Tell the Duke I need to speak with him. It’s important." He said, and the knight nodded.

He knocked on the door and said,

"Your Grace, the tutor wants to speak with you."

Following this announcement, a loud clatter came from inside the study, like a few things had been toppled over in shock.

It took a few more seconds before the butler came out and announced that the Duke was very busy, most likely the words of the Duke himself.

Julian looked inside the Study and saw the Duke ’pretending’ to be very busy.

"I don’t believe he’s too busy that he can’t come to the table and eat with his son," Julian said with a serious tone, and the Butler subtly glanced back.

He felt the fury in Julian’s eyes and didn’t really know what to say or do.

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling caught between a legendary war hero with a sudden case of social anxiety and a tutor whose eyes were currently sharp enough to cut through the Duke’s reinforced study door.

"The Young Master Astrea is correct," the butler whispered, almost to himself, before turning back toward the room. "But the Duke was quite adamant about..."

"Move aside," Julian said. It wasn’t a shout, but the sheer authority in his voice—likely bolstered by his determination to drag the Duke off his chair and towards the dining hall. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

And the authority in his voice, covered with confidence, forced the butler to step aside.

Julian pushed through and saw the chaotic scene inside.

Several scrolls had indeed rolled onto the floor, and a crystal inkwell was tilted precariously. Duke Alaric was hunched over his desk, his golden hair a mess as if he’d been running his hands through it for hours.

He didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on a tax report he was holding upside down.

"I said I was busy, Astrea," Alaric growled, though his voice lacked its usual bite. It sounded strained, almost panicked.

Julian looked at the upside-down tax report and then clicked his tongue in annoyance.

He marched right up to the desk. He didn’t see the Duke’s flushed neck or the way the man’s hand was trembling slightly against the parchment. All Julian saw was a father who was undoing all the progress they had made in softening the boy’s heart.

"You’re busy?" Julian asked, leaning over the desk and slamming his palms onto the wood. "With all due respect, Your Grace, is being busy enough to starve your son? I’d like to know if being busy is enough to let Lucius sit at that giant table alone, wondering if he did something wrong to make his father hate him again?"

At the mention of Lucius, the Duke finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, and the moment they met Julian’s, Alaric flinched as if he’d been struck, his brows knitting together.

> [Target: Duke Alaric — Affection: 37%]

> [Current Status: High-Level Agitation / Sensory Overload / Extreme Confusion]

What did that even mean?

Julian’s ’Empathic Resonance’ went haywire. It was like standing next to a furnace. The Duke wasn’t angry; he was overwhelmed.

A thick, sticky layer of guilt was wrapped around a core of intense physical awareness, but even when he knew this, he couldn’t make sense of it.

What exactly was going on through the Duke’s mind?

"He doesn’t think I hate him," Duke Alaric muttered, finally dropping the upside-down report.

"He does!" Julian countered. "He’s barely eating. He keeps looking at your empty chair, wondering when you’d come down. We worked so hard to get him to smile, and you’re throwing it away because of... what? A bit of work? Some ’important issues’ in the Capital?"

Julian leaned closer, his face inches from the Duke’s.

"If you can’t be a father for thirty minutes during breakfast, then why did you bring us here? Why didn’t you just leave him back in the cold so he wouldn’t have had hope from the start?"

Julian’s words were filled with spite. He was furious.

Duke Alaric’s nostrils flared. Up close, Julian smelled like the soap from the morning bath and a faint hint of the wine they had drunk together.

To the Duke, the scent was a sensory trigger, dragging back the vivid, golden-hued memory of Julian on the bed; his skin flushed, his voice muffled in a groan, and his lips twisted.

The ’elephant’ in the Duke’s pants threatened to stir again just from the proximity, making him very conscious.

"Get... get back," Duke Alaric choked out, pushing his chair away from the desk so fast it nearly tipped.

Julian blinked, stunned by the reaction. He stood upright, his brow furrowing.

"Are you... ill? Your face is red. Is it the heat of the South?"

The moment Julian felt the Duke might be sick, his anger melted, wondering maybe that was why he was avoiding his child. He didn’t want him to get sick as well.

He reached out, his hand moving toward the Duke’s forehead to check for a fever, and as soon as he dared to touch his forehead, he felt such a high temperature coming off the Duke.

"Your Grace.... You’re burning up."

"Don’t touch me!" Alaric barked, swiping Julian’s hand away.

The room went deathly silent. The knights outside peered in, and the butler held his breath. Julian froze, his hand still hanging in the air where the Duke had struck it away. He felt a sting of genuine hurt.

"I see," Julian said softly, his voice cold. "I apologize for my ’discourtesy,’ Your Grace. I forgot my place for a moment there."

It was almost comical that he could laugh, but he was too mad to laugh.

He turned around to leave, deciding he couldn’t talk to the Duke if he wouldn’t agree to communicate. He didn’t know why he was so angry, but he was definitely too pissed to continue this argument.

"I’ll tell the Young Lord that you’re too ’busy’ for him. Enjoy your solitude, Your Grace."

"Astrea, wait—" Alaric started, reaching out a hand, but Julian was already out the door.