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

The Emperor studied Alaric’s expression a bit, that sour bitterness, that piercing ice, all of which left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Seriously, Brother, I wasn’t even the one who pushed him into that pit. So why should his misfortune bother me so much that you come into my hall with blood in your eyes? Why do we have to argue over someone irrelevant?"

The Duke snapped, his brow clicking up as if it were bait that had been caught.

"Irrelevant?" he repeated, his words coming out low and jagged. "You called him irrelevant?"

"Of course. Because at the end of the day, he’s just a stranger who works in your household," he said, but then narrowed his eyes. "Though," his voice deepened, and that lightness faded into something toxic. "I suppose what I’ve been hearing makes it hard to believe that he’s just a worker."

He was openly testing the waters, trying to bait the Duke into a confession of affection he hadn’t planned, while trying to shift the topic, but the Duke wasn’t buying it. He knew exactly what kind of crafty snake Aurelian could be.

He stepped closer, his boots clicking with a predatory rhythm. "You act as if I should be on trial for a gravity-induced accident."

But the Emperor did not say anything. Like the Duke was putting up a little show in the mini theater he had erected.

"The matter is not resolved," The Duke hissed, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to shatter his brother’s composure with his fist. "And it won’t be resolved until both sides have gotten a bite from their cake."

Aurelian’s smile finally faltered, and his eyes narrowed. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a lethal, private hiss.

"I do not like variables, especially ones that make my brother look at me like an enemy," he said. "If he was going to die anyway, why didn’t he just die in that pit and save us the trouble of this... unpleasantness?"

The Duke frowned, and this time he nearly swung his fist, but what if this was what the Emperor wanted? What if this little mistake was what he wished Alaric to make and then lock him up so he is away from Julian, and then all the vultures will swarm around him?

He couldn’t let that happen. He had to be rational, for Julian’s sake.

"Julian is strong," he admitted, his eyes staring deadly into the Emperor’s. "He is the man who survived the neglect of his own King, after all," he added, stepping into Aurelian’s personal space, forcing the Emperor to either look up or back away. "He is the witness to a crown that has rotted from the inside out. You think your throne is high enough that the screams from those below won’t reach it? Well, listen carefully. The screams are everywhere, and it’ll definitely reach you soon."

Aurelian’s smirk completely fell. He hated this. Hated that Alaric was challenging him. Hated that the reason was for a man who had stolen his attention and affection.

Aurelian believed he had done everything to make Lucien happy. He gave him to a woman he didn’t like too and sent him to that damn North he wanted to go so badly. He endured it because Lucien seemed happy with her. Thankfully, she died soon before he could start a strategic demise, but she caused his brother great despair, and he cursed her for it.

And now there was this. This nuisance. This man was turning his brother against him. He believed. It was unpleasant. Disgustingly unpleasant.

He’d like to raise a charge against him now, but that would set his brother on fire. What to do? What to do?

What to do to get rid of the nuisance and not turn his brother against him?

His eyes were dark and scheming even as Alaric stared into them. He frowned, knowing his brother was definitely up to no good.

"Careful, Brother," Aurelian whispered, his voice dangerously thin as he forced his lips to curl. "You are speaking to the Sun of the Empire. If I say he is irrelevant, then he is a ghost. Whether he breathes or not is a matter of my whim."

"Then you’ve forgotten what kind of man I am, Aurelian," Alaric countered, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so hard the metal groaned. "If he becomes a ghost, then I am the one who will make sure he haunts you until you can’t close your eyes without seeing that pit."

And with that, he turns around, the flap of his mantle billowing behind him. Aurelian watched him, his fist clenching, and he bit the inside of his mouth, his composure shattering completely. He was the kind who didn’t like to lose, and he would definitely not sit back and endure a loss.

He ran his gloved fingers through his golden locks, his annoyed expression bleeding dry as he muttered,

"It seems I will have another audience with Marquis Astrea."

That definitely wasn’t a good sign.

Meanwhile, back at the Duke’s Estate, there was quite a commotion outside the guest wing where Julian was resting. Well, was resting, for now his peace had been shattered.

"I am his father! Move aside, you Northern brutes!"

The Marquis’s voice was a jagged blade cutting through the heavy door. Julian felt the sharp shring of steel echoing into the room as the guards outside drew their blades.

If this goes on, the Marquis might actually get hurt by the knights, and he would use that as an excuse to demand compensation from the Duke, creating an even bigger mess.

Julian pursed his lips, wondering. Should he just let him in and hear what he had to say?

Suddenly, Lucius stood up on the bed, his small face set in a mask of fury that was a perfect, miniature mirror of the Duke’s. He hopped down, his feet hitting the floor with a soft thud, and marched toward the door.

"Lucius, wait—" Julian rasped, reaching out, but he moved too abruptly, and a flare of pain pinned him back. "Ugh," he cursed the pain and looked towards the door.

No one was listening to him now.

"I don’t need the Duke’s permission to see my own flesh and blood!" the Marquis roared outside. "The Emperor himself said Julian is to be returned to the Astrea Estate if he cannot fulfill his duties! He is a burden to the North! Now, move!"

The door groaned as a heavy shoulder slammed against it from the outside. The lock clicked—the guards were being shoved back by the Marquis’s own personal knights, and Julian groaned. It seemed like they would try to carry him away despite his own effort.

This is very bad.