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

"Stay in the light with me," Alaric declared.

"Even if it’s a light that burns?" Julian choked out.

"Then let it burn," Alaric whispered, his fingers tightening at the nape of Julian’s neck, pulling him even closer until they were breathing as one. "I would rather be consumed with you than stand alone as a cold mountain. Do you feel the same way?"

Julian thought about it. Would he be able to willingly be consumed with Alaric? Yes. Yes, he would. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

He nodded, slowly and painfully.

"That’s good. Then from now on, just look at me."

Julian looked up, seeing the raw, unshielded devotion in Alaric’s gaze. He saw the Duke—not as a legendary warrior, but as a man who was just as terrified of losing his heart as Julian was.

"I don’t want to be a diamond trying to be coal anymore," Julian breathed, his voice finally steadying. "I want to be enough for you, Lucien. Just as I am. But I feel I’ll only keep failing you with my little understanding."

"You could never fail me," Alaric vowed, leaning down to press his forehead against Julian’s once more. "The only way you could fail me is by leaving me behind in your heart. Promise me, Julian. No more secrets. And that you will no longer go to collect ’lessons’ from people who don’t even know the color of your soul."

"I promise," Julian breathed, his hands sliding up to grasp Alaric’s wrists. "No more secrets, Lucien. I’m sorry. I was just... I was so lonely in my own head."

"I understand. I should’ve seen your lonely heart. Sorry, Julian,"

Julian shook his head. "Don’t apologize, Lucien. You have done all for me."

Alaric pulled him into a kiss—not a possessive claim, but a slow, grounding promise. It tasted of salt and soot and a love that was too big for books or traditions.

"Julian, I love you," Alaric declared, his lips brushing against Julian’s. "And nothing will change that,"

Julian’s eyes drifted shut, his forehead resting against Alaric’s as the weight of those words settled into his bones. It wasn’t the fleeting, golden heat of the South, nor the suffocating, demanding light of the Capital. It was the steady, enduring warmth of a hearth in the middle of a blizzard.

"I love you too, Lucien," Julian whispered, his voice finally finding its anchor. "More than I know how to say."

Alaric squeezed his hands one last time, a silent pact sealed in the quiet of the library. He never wanted to let go of those hands. Never.

In the afternoon, the sun struggled to pierce a heavy, grey mist that had rolled in, swallowing the mountain peaks and turning the manor into a silent island.

Julian walked through the halls with an unhurried stride, his leather-bound notes tucked under his arm. He had missed the morning lessons with Lucius, so he had rescheduled them for the afternoon.

His mind was still replaying the raw honesty of the morning, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

It was a relief, but it wasn’t like the relief had erased the burden in his heart and the intrusive thoughts in his head. He had just decided to listen to Alaric; he had decided to trust the Duke and let his existence serve as the tether they needed to hold this relationship together.

He was just turning the corner toward the study wing when a hand shot out from the shadows of a recessed archway.

Before Julian could even gasp, he was pulled sharply to the side. For a split second, he expected the familiar scent of pine and cold mountain air—the playful tug of a Duke who loved to startle him into a flush.

But instead, a strange, cloying scent hit him: sandalwood, heavy musk, and the sharp tang of a foreign spice.

It was Prince Zane.

The Prince was leaning against the cold masonry, his golden silk robes a jarring, flamboyant contrast to the grim Northern stone. He didn’t let go of Julian’s arm immediately, his amber eyes dancing with a persistent, mocking glint.

"Why didn’t you come find me, Julian?" Zane asked, his voice a low, melodic drawl that felt like a physical intrusion. "I was quite sure we still had a significant portion of our curriculum to cover. The ’Tether’ is a complex art, after all. You haven’t even learned how to properly breathe yet."

Julian’s face didn’t flush with embarrassment this time; it hardened with cold disdain. He didn’t hesitate as he shoved Zane’s hand off his arm, stepping back into the center of the hallway.

For a moment, Zane was taken aback.

"Thank you, Prince Zane," Julian said, his voice clipped and resonant, echoing off the stone walls. "But I don’t need your lessons anymore. I’ve realized that the ’love language’ you speak is one I have no interest in learning. My life is quite full enough without your interference."

The shock faded, and Zane chuckled, a dark, vibrating sound in his chest. He took a single step forward, his predatory grace undeterred by the rejection. "Are you sure? Lucien is a mountain, Julian. Mountains are grand, but they are unchanging and cold. Eventually, you’ll find yourself shivering in his shadow and—"

The sound of steel sliding against leather cut through the air like a whip.

"Another step, Your Highness, and I’ll be forced to see if Southern blood is as golden as your clothes."

Kaelen had stepped out from the shadows behind Julian, his hand resting firmly on the hilt of his sword. The knight’s face was a mask of professional lethality, his eyes fixed on Zane with a cold, unblinking intensity that promised violence.

Zane halted, his hands rising in a mock gesture of surrender, though his smirk remained firmly in place.

"Ah, the watchdog. Does Lucien truly trust his Saint so little that he needs a shadow to follow him to a child’s classroom?"

"His Grace trusts the Tutor implicitly," Kaelen countered, stepping forward to partially shield Julian. "It’s the snake in the hallway he doesn’t trust. By the Duke’s direct order, I am to remain with Master Julian at all times. And I have been given explicit permission to remove any... obstacles... that hinder his path."

Julian felt a strange mixture of relief and a lingering prickle of unease. He understood Alaric’s intentions, but pointing a sword at the prince from the south like this...

Did he really intend to spill his cousin’s blood? Well, he was very close to spilling his brothers, the Emperor, so why not?

"Go on, Master Julian," Kaelen said, not taking his eyes off the Prince. "The Young Lord is waiting. I’ll ensure the Prince finds his way back to the guest wing. Or the dungeons. Whichever is more convenient."