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

After the Duke left, the Physician was brought in. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

The physician’s hands trembled slightly as he pulled back the silk of Lucius’s shirt. As soon as he saw it, he felt a chill run down his spine. It was worse than he expected.

The bruise looked worse than it had looked from a distance—a deep, angry purple that seemed to throb against the boy’s tanned skin. The center was already turning a deep, sickly plum color, and the skin was tight with swelling. But that wasn’t the only reason why he got chills. What made him feel even more chills was how Lucius didn’t flinch even as he pressed on the bruise to see how bad the situation was.

He almost misunderstood the situation and thought Lucius didn’t feel pain from the bruise until he saw the cold beads of sweat that began to break out across his forehead.

But even at that, he sat perfectly still, his small jaw locked, refusing to let even a huff of pain escape his lips.

The physician glanced up at the Northern Knights lining the room. They weren’t just standing guard; they were looming. He didn’t ask why they were so tense and just did his job silently.

His hands were steady but cautious as he worked on the shoulder.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small jar of cooling salve. He applied it with his fingertips, spread it in slow, circular motions over the collarbone and the joint. Lucius didn’t make a sound. His jaw was set tight, and the only sign of his pain was the thin layer of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.

He sat as still as he could, his eyes fixed on Julian, refusing to flinch even when the doctor pressed a bit too hard on the swollen tissue, but his eyes did falter; no matter how hard he tried to hold the pain, it still hurt.

The physician looked at him with more pity in his eyes, wondering why a child was enduring silently when he should be crying and screaming, acting his age.

Instead, he was trying to be a wall of steel.

The physician didn’t know if it was the weight of his title as the Young Lord that was forcing him to become this resolute or if there was something else.

He traced Lucius’s exhausted gaze toward Julian and wondered...

"You will be fine," the physician cleared his throat, his voice cracking in the heavy silence, and turned to the Knights. "As long as he does not strain the shoulder, nothing major will happen," he dropped the cooling slave on Lucius’s hand. "Apply this whenever the bruise starts to burn, and get lots of rest."

Lucius nodded.

Once the shoulder was bandaged, the physician turned to Julian and dropped his bag on top of the small table by his bedside. Then, he pressed his fingers to the pulse at Julian’s neck and frowned.

The beat of his heart was fast and erratic, skipping under his touch. And not only that, Julian’s skin was hot, and his breathing was shallow.

"His heart is too unsteady," the doctor muttered, reaching for his bag. "He needs a sedative to force the rhythm down, and something for the pain. It’s a miracle he isn’t screaming."

As he prepared the medicine, he felt the prickle of the knights’ collective gaze on the back of his neck once again. It was suffocating.

Why were they watching him like he was a common criminal when he was here to treat the patients? He worked quickly, his movements efficient but rushed. Once the medicine was administered, he packed his tools with a clatter that sounded too loud in the quiet room.

He looked at Lucius, who had already crawled back to the edge of the bed to watch Julian with worry in his eyes.

Seriously, this child. He should be worried about his own health. The physician thought, but left it as a thought and bowed his head lightly.

"You should take care, Young Lord," the physician said softly.

He didn’t wait for a nod. He practically fled the room, stepping into the hallway and letting out a long, shaky breath once the heavy doors closed behind him, finally free of those piercing eyes.

After a while, night fell over the capital, and while there was peace in the Duke’s estate once again, there was no peace at the Marquis’s estate.

In the main study, the Marquis was shouting. He paced the length of the room, his face dark with blood. He slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, making the inkwells jump.

"Children!" he spat, the glass shattering against the rug. "Mere children looking down on me! I don’t care if they are the Prince and Princess—in my day, seniority meant something! They have no respect! No decorum!"

His eldest son, Maxwell Von Astrea, stood by the door, his back straight and his expression carefully neutral, though his fists were clenched tight behind his back.

He had an uncanny resemblance to his father, with a small trimmed goatee on his chin. Being the heir of the Marquis family, he had to shoulder a lot of responsibilities and act with a grace that would not ruin the good reputation of the Marquis household.

In those days, he did not pay much attention to the squabble going on in the family, as he was more focused on making connections and trying to raise their family to their past glory.

And one of the things he did not pay attention to was his half-brother, who had a pretty face, but a dull presence. He was not active in anything, so he thought this brother of his would just fade to the background and be forgotten one day.

When he heard Julian had gone to the North to be a tutor, he felt nothing, believing that was as far as he went, and if he was lucky, he would not be a snack for the wolves. He just never expected this outcome.

The capital was in turmoil, and it was all thanks to his good-for-nothing half-brother. A stain on their family.

Maxwell’s mind was a mess of bitter questions.

How had Julian—the useless, discarded fourth son—managed to wrap the Duke of the North around his finger? And why was the Emperor suddenly so obsessed with making him the Royal Tutor? It made no sense. He clutched his arm tight. It wasn’t fair.

He had been the one going here and there, trying to be noticed, trying to lift their family’s prestige to its former glory. He had been doing that for years, so how was it that Julian managed to accomplish that feat in less than 2 months after leaving the house?

This couldn’t go on. He had to—no, he must snuff out that useless flame before it burned down all of his accomplishments.