Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

Julian rubbed his neck, his face still slightly flushed. Maybe he shouldn’t cater to all of Alaric’s whims, he felt. But those whims, he couldn’t seem to get enough of them either.

Now the Duke had succeeded in leaving a mark on his neck where Lucius could see.

He was incorrigible.

Now Julian had to come up with yet another reason to believe that there were flying mosquitoes in the cold weather of the North. Great. The child was no fool, but he listened to everything Julian said like his word was law.

That cute child.

As he walked toward the East Wing, his boots clicking softly on the runners, he noticed the head butler, Mr. Henderson, overseeing the polishing of the grand chandelier.

Months ago, the man wouldn’t even look Julian in the eye, treating him like a stray cat who would not last long due to the weather and the child’s lack of proper response. He and the Nanny felt everything they did was for their Lord... and it was perfect, until Julian interfered.

Whereas the Nanny was still holding a grudge, it seemed like the Butler had finally decided to let go of the grievance of the past and accepted that his ways were... wrong.

And now...

"Master Julian," Henderson called, bowing low—his back perfectly straight, and his eyes fixed on the floor. "The kitchens have prepared the ginger tea you requested for the young master’s study. Shall I have it brought up now?"

"Yes, please, Henderson. And make sure Lucius has those extra honey biscuits he likes. He’s been working hard on his geography."

"At once, sir."

Julian smiled to himself as he walked away. It was strange to be ’Master Julian’ to such an old butler.

It was even stranger to have his suggestions for the manor’s winter ledgers actually listened to.

He had spent the last week helping the administrative staff reorganize the grain distributions for the mountain villages, using the basic logic from his old world to make the process smoother.

They had looked at him like he was a wizard, but he was just a teacher who knew how to balance a spreadsheet.

He adjusted the heavy, fur-lined cloak on his shoulders. He was cold.

And about the winterizing balm?

When the System had been active, he had relied on them to keep the biting chill at bay, terrified of the Northern frost.

But these days, he wasn’t using a lot of the last winterizing balms because he knew he could never restock. So, he was using them sparingly.

Now, he was down to just two balms left.

He had a spare in his coat, just in case Lucius was getting too cold in his hands, and he realized he hadn’t opened one in three days. That was why he felt cold.

He was learning to breathe the cold, to let his skin adjust to the sharp reality of the wind little by little. He didn’t need a magical buffer anymore; he had a fireplace, a home, and a man who wouldn’t let him freeze.

Julian finally arrived at the study and found Lucius, who was already excitedly waiting with his slate.

"Alright, Lucius, today’s lesson is quite a special one," Julian said as he made his way to the desk. "I’m glad you’re in high spirits because we’ll be talking about Foreign Delegations and Diplomacy."

Julian leaned over the desk, tapping a finger on a map of the continent he had spread. His scholarly persona was in full swing, and despite the lingering flush on his cheeks from the hallway encounter, his voice was steady and friendly.

​"Now, Lucius, imagine a foreign delegation arrives at our gates. They bring silks, spices, and smiles. What is the first thing you offer them?"

​Lucius paused, his quill hovering over his slate. He scribbled a single word: Wine.

​Julian chuckled. "Wow, that’s a good start, but no. You offer them the ’Principle of the First Hearth.’ You show them the warmth of our hospitality, let them sit by the fire and eat our bread. You make them feel like guests—but," Julian leaned in, his mismatched eyes narrowing slightly, "you never let them forget that the fire belongs to you."

One can’t let a foreign delegation do whatever they want and feel like they can walk all over you when they are merely guests in your land.

"You listen to every word they say, but you keep your own reserves under lock and key. A smooth partnership is like a dance, Lucius. You have to see the person behind the fancy title before you let them see your cards."

​Lucius was scribbling notes fast, nodding as his eyes lit brightly with interest. But then he paused, twisting his little lips and patting his quill against his chin as he contemplated something deeply.

Julian could practically see the gears moving.

"Is there something you’re curious about, Lucius?"

Lucius looked like he was about to ask if the Emperor counted as a ’fancy title’ when the heavy study doors creaked open.

​Alaric intruded, leaning his broad shoulder against the doorframe with a look of pure mischief.

Julian winced. What was he doing here now after the stunt he pulled earlier?

​"A smooth partnership also requires knowing when the scholar is working the student too hard," Alaric said, his voice low and teasing.

​Lucius dropped his quill, his head whipping around toward his father.

It looked like he had been listening in from the crack of the door this whole time, so he knows when to intrude.

​"The lesson is brilliant, Julian, truly," Alaric said, his eyes twinkling as they swept over Julian’s slightly disheveled state and the mark he had left on his neck. "But the sun is actually peaking through the clouds for once. It’s a rare miracle. I suggest we go out and test the ’warmth’ of the North ourselves."

​Lucius didn’t even wait for Julian’s permission. He scrambled off his chair, his slate nearly sliding off the table, and looked at Julian with wide, pleading eyes, nodding his head so fast it was a wonder it stayed on his shoulders.

​"See?" Alaric laughed, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward them. "The student has reached his limit. And honestly, the teacher looks like he could use some fresh air to cool down his face."

​Julian felt his ears turn red, but he remained composed and folded his arms. "I was right in the middle of explaining trade deficits, Lucien!"

​"Trade can wait. The snow won’t," Alaric countered, reaching down to scoop a giggling Lucius up onto his shoulder. He looked at Julian with a challenge in his gaze. "Are you coming, Master Astrea? Or do I have to carry the teacher out, too?"

​Julian sighed, though a smile was already tugging at his lips. He began to stack the parchments.

"If I end up with a cold, I’m blaming the Duke."

​"I’ll accept the charges," Alaric grinned. "Now, let’s move. Before the sun changes its mind."