Cassain had noticed how stiffly Lucius used his right arm this whole time. And sometimes he would see him wince, but he brought it to no one’s attention and kept it to himself.

The Duke went silent for a while, looking at Lucius, who tried to deny this fact. Why hide that he got hurt? Or did the prince not see it clearly?

In any case, he just had to check it. And if it turned out the Marquis had truly hurt him, then may someone help him before he decides to server one of the Marquis’s bloodline.

And of course, Julian was out of the list.

Alaric’s gaze shifted from Julian to his son. Lucius looked small, standing still next to the tea table, and trembling like one who was about to be sent to an execution ground.

The boy was still shaking his head, his eyes wide with a frantic plea for his father to stop, to not look, to stay focused on Julian and let him be.

But the Duke’s eyes were already narrowed. The air in the room didn’t just feel heavy anymore; it felt like it was drowning with Alaric’s killing intent.

"Lucius," Alaric said. The name was a command, devoid of its usual softness. "Come here."

But Lucius did not move. He couldn’t. He was terrified of what his father might do—not because he feared the Duke’s hand, but because he feared the disappointment. He had failed to properly protect Julian, and worse, he had allowed himself to be hurt in the process.

The boy was carrying a responsibility that was far too heavy for his small shoulders, and the Duke saw through it instantly.

The rigid set of Lucius’s jaw, the way his eyes darted to his tutor worriedly as if his own body could act as a shield—it was all a desperate attempt to atone for his perceived weakness.

"Lucius," Alaric called, his tone softening this time.

He shouldn’t be so harsh on his son. He realized the boy was already punishing himself far more than any lecture ever could.

The Duke stood from his knees and approached him.

When the Duke reached him, Lucius flinched, his eyes looking down at his own feet. He looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him before he was discovered any further.

Alaric didn’t wait for permission; he gently but firmly reached out, his large hand finding the collar of the boy’s shirt.

With a slow, careful motion, he pulled the fabric back, and as Lucius’s shoulder came to view, the room went deathly still.

There, near the collarbone and spreading toward the shoulder, was a deep, sickening bruise. It was fresh and swollen, a mottled map of purple and angry red that bore the unmistakable shape of a man’s crushing grip. It was a violent mark on a child who had never known a day of physical harm in the North... not even from his father, who hated him.

Liora gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her golden eyes wide with a sudden, sharp horror. Cassian went rigid, his face pale as he stared at the injury.

Lucius’s knees finally buckled. He didn’t fall, but he leaned his weight into his father’s leg, his small hands clutching the Duke’s mantle. He didn’t make a sound, but his frame began to shake with a silent, ragged trembling—the kind of vibration that only comes when a child’s spirit is pushed to its absolute limit.

He didn’t explain; he didn’t try to shake his head, explaining. He simply looked up at his father, his big blue eyes glossing with tears he refused to let fall all this while, and then looked back at the unconscious Julian.

"I wanted to help him," his eyes screamed. "I wanted to protect him, but...." he trembled, his eyes meeting his father again with an apology his lips didn’t give. "Sorry, father."

Alaric’s heart felt a jagged crack. He understood. He understood everything without words being said. Could this be the father-son connection he had always heard about? Even so, why did it have to be like this? His grip on the boy firmed.

Lucius hadn’t just been caught in a scuffle; he had stood his ground until his own flesh gave way, choosing to be a shield for the man who had given him a voice through silence.

The Duke’s gaze shifted toward the Northern Knights standing at the door.

"What were you doing when this was happening?" He asked, his voice so low it was almost a whisper, yet it made the knights at the door drop to their knees as if struck.

"Apologies, Your Grace. We hesitated because the Marquis came on a Royal Mandate with him." The lead knight said. "But that does not excuse our inability to protect the young Lord. Please, punish us, Your Grace."

But the Duke did not say anything. He simply analyzed the situation and looked at his son’s condition.

Does a royal mandate cover harming the son of a Grand Duke? The nephew of the Emperor?

He highly doubted it.

"He said it was a mandate?" He asked.

"He... he did, Your Grace," the lead knight stammered. "He claimed parental authority over Master Astrea. We... we hesitated to strike a man holding the Sun’s emblem."

Alaric looked back down at the bruise on his son’s shoulder. The seal was a piece of wax. This purple bruised mark was a debt of blood.

He would definitely not stand for this.

"A paternal right," Alaric repeated, the words sounding like a slow-burning fuse.

He placed his heavy hand on Lucius’s head, finally offering the boy the comfort he was starving for.

"You did well, Lucius. You were a better man than any of the guards in this room." He said and turned his head slightly toward the Golden Guard, who were still standing by with their teapots. "The tea party is over. Butler! Take the Prince and Princess to the drawing room. Now."

As the room cleared of the Royal children, Alaric looked at his son, who was still trembling against his leg.

"I have to leave for a moment, Lucius," Duke Alaric whispered, his eyes flashing with a light that suggested the Marquis’s estate was about to experience a very different kind of ’paternal’ visit. "Stay here. Watch him. The physician is coming. He will tend to you."

Lucius nodded and then once again received a pat from his father, who gave him a reassuring smile.

"Don’t worry. I won’t take long this time." 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

And so, he turned around with the fire in his eyes. A fire that would likely set the Marquis Estate ablaze.