(Alright, I’m thanking everyone who made it this far, and honestly glad you’re enjoying this little fiasco. To commemorate hitting a hundred Chapters, think about showering this author—ahem, I mean this book—with gifts. Hehe, I hope to see you even as we clock the 200th Chapter at a later date. Thank you.)

"My father bruised your heir, a child. It’s only right that you did the same to him. In my eyes, it was a fair trade."

A visible wave of relief washed over the Duke. It wasn’t that he regretted the act—Alaric Lucien Blackspire didn’t regret shedding blood for his own—but he had been terrified that Julian would find him repulsive for it.

Seeing Julian’s lack of blame was like a weight being lifted off his chest.

"I suppose it was," Alaric murmured, a small smile touching his lips.

Julian’s attention, however, was already back on the crinkled newspaper. He smoothed out a fold near the bottom of the front page, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a smaller, more discreetly placed column.

"Wait," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave. "There’s more."

He pointed to a section titled ’Imperial Inquest into the North’s Military Allocations’.

This made Julian frown instantly. What was this?

"It’s not just about me," he whispered, reading rapidly. "The Marquis isn’t just crying about his ’stolen’ son. He’s added a footnote claiming that you’re using my ’genius’ to recalibrate the Northern supply lines and military logistics without the Emperor’s permission. He’s framing our relationship as a strategic coup."

It was absurd.

The Duke leaned in, his face darkening as he read over Julian’s shoulder. The proximity was close enough that Julian could feel the heat radiating from the Duke again, but he tried not to be distracted at this point.

"He’s trying to force the Emperor’s hand," Alaric hissed. "If it’s just a family dispute, the Emperor can take his time. But if it’s a matter of the North building an independent military advantage using the ’Imperial Tutor’... the Golden Guard will be at the gates before sunset."

Julian looked at the golden-striped letter again. It wasn’t just an invitation to a hearing anymore. It was a lure. If Alaric went, the estate would be raided. If Alaric stayed, he was proving the "strategic coup" theory by defying the crown.

"Your Grace," Julian called, but the Duke’s brow slightly furrowed down and Julian immediately knew what that meant. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Lu-Lucien," Julian said, the name coming out so foreign his heart still gave a small thump.

He wondered when he would ever get used to calling the Duke by his name.

"They’re trying to turn the whole Empire against you because of me." He said, his voice soft and wary.

Alaric didn’t flinch at those words. He simply reached out and took the newspaper from Julian’s hand, crumbling it up into a ball and tossing it toward the fireplace.

"You..."

"I have no hidden motive, and my conscience is clear." The Duke said.

"But they will come with inquisitors, just to investigate you and even put you on trial." Julian had valid concerns, but even these, the Duke did not care.

"Then let them come," Alaric said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm tone. "I’ve spent my life protecting the borders of this Empire from external monsters who might evade at any moment. I suppose it’s time I dealt with the ones sitting on the throne."

Julian paused. He thought the Duke had been slacking off in the North for seven years, but he guessed not.

The Duke looked back at Julian, his hand finding Julian’s waist through the sheets, and grounding him to ease his worries and the stiffness of his bones.

"Ah—!" Julian let out an embarrassing sound and immediately closed his mouth, looking towards Lucius, who was about finishing his meal.

Then, he shot a glare at the Duke, warning him not to try anything like that again with his eyes, but the Duke simply let out a relieved smile.

"Worry not, Julian." He said. "We have sixteen hours until the priest arrives, and when you are healed, there will be no one to point accusing fingers when you show up to testify yourself."

Julian guessed that was right. But it was his healing that worried him more. People would talk. They would point fingers and speculate. At that time, there would be yet another battle to face.

"We just have to hold the gate until then." The Duke said and kissed his forehead. "Now, time for breakfast."

Julian was worried something bad would happen at any moment, but what he should’ve really been worried about was how he was going to face yet another embarrassing bathroom break with the Duke.

Since he still couldn’t use his legs without a sharp, stabbing pain, he was entirely at Alaric’s mercy. He had hoped the Duke would get tired of the routine or maybe hand the task off to a strong retainer, but Alaric didn’t seem to trust anyone else to even touch him.

He had made it clear that he was the only one who could touch Julian that way, even if the servants intended to help him.

"I can try the crutches today," Julian suggested, his voice small as he avoided looking the Duke in the eye.

There was no way he could manage the pain, but he wanted to get away from this embarrassing situation. He couldn’t handle it, especially not during the day and with Lucius watching.

But the Duke gave him a flat and curt, "No,"

Before Julian could protest any further, the Duke moved. He slid one arm under Julian’s knees carefully and mindful of his thigh, and the other behind his back, lifting him off the bed in one smooth motion.

Julian instinctively grabbed Alaric’s neck, his face heating up as he felt the Duke’s steady heartbeat.

Just as they were halfway across the room, a knock came on the door.

"Your Grace, we would like to change the sheets," they said, and Alaric invited them in without a second thought.

"Come in." Julian’s eyes widened.

"Wait, no—" but his words were unheard, and the door opened.

A group of maids walked in, carrying fresh, linen sheets and new pillows, ready to get rid of the one on the bed, when they stopped dead in their tracks on seeing the spectacle in front of them.