Chapter 87: Ah, that is your business

"He taught us the Secret Mirror. And how to stand like ostriches. It was very educational."

The Marquis blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Ostriches? Secret Mirrors?

This sounded like the babblings of children, and yet, the way they stood—the sheer, unshakable dignity radiating from their small frames—was terrifyingly effective.

It was not like the lack of mannerism he had heard about them.

The children were known for never keeping a tutor for more than a week, and they had a lot of dislike for nobles.

And so, it was hard to get on their good side.

Right now, they weren’t just playing and acting out their rights as the prince and princess; they were performing authority.

Liora walked past the Marquis and finally peered into the room, looking at Julian, who barely sat up on his bed, gripping the bedpost.

"Master Astrea," she called out, her voice dripping with delight. "This ’Cheesy man’—I mean, the Marquis—says you have to leave. But we haven’t finished our lessons yet! And you promised to help us with Lucius!"

Inside the room, Julian felt the weight of their attention. He was speechless, in all honesty, but he could tell the Children did not come to harm him.

The Marquis looked toward the doorway with growing resentment.

The affection level on his head flickered, the 4% trembling as if it might drop into the negatives. He felt betrayed—not just by Julian, but by the fact that his ’pathetic’ son had cultivated a bond with the future of the Empire right under his nose.

"Julian," the Marquis hissed, though his voice lacked its previous venom, replaced by a desperate need for answers. "What have you done? Since when do you have the ear of the Prince and Princess?"

Lucius, seeing the Marquis’s distraction, didn’t wait.

He stepped forward and placed his small, firm hands on the Marquis’s thigh, giving him a slow, deliberate shove backward.

It was a staggering insult to a Marquis, but with the Golden Guard Order and the Royal heirs watching, the Marquis couldn’t dare strike back. He stumbled back a step, his eyes wide with shock until he was out the door.

Lucius then turned to Cassian and Liora. He stepped aside, clearing the threshold, and made a sharp, welcoming gesture toward the bed where Julian lay.

He was inviting them into the sanctuary, effectively locking the Marquis out of the conversation.

The Marquis, who moments ago held the life of his son in his hands, now stood paralyzed as the Golden Guard Order—the Emperor’s own elite guards that were tasked with ensuring the Children’s safety outside the Palace—stepped forward to form a literal wall of gilded steel between him and the guest wing.

"Keep them out," Cassian commanded, his voice high but ringing with an authority that gave no room for argument. "The Marquis and his men are no longer invited to this conversation."

The Marquis’s face contorted. He scrambled for his last remaining shield.

"Your Highnesses, wait! I am here on Royal Orders from your father, the Emperor himself! Surely, you do not mean to obstruct the Sun’s own will?"

The Golden Guard hesitated, their heavy boots shifting on the stone. They were sworn to the Emperor, and a Royal Order was the highest law.

The Marquis saw the pause and felt a surge of desperate hope. Even if they were the ’Little Suns,’ they couldn’t exactly defile their father’s mandate.

But the Marquis had drastically underestimated the rebellious streak—and the sharp wits—of the children.

"Ah, that is your business," Liora said, her hands positioned together before her with an elegant, practiced grace.

She smiled.

She didn’t look like a child playing dress-up; she looked like a cunning sovereign who had just moved a chess piece and was going for the king of the opposing faction.

"And this is our business. We have traveled quite a distance, and we would like to have our lesson. Now, please excuse us."

"But he is not the Royal Tutor yet!" the Marquis barked, his composure falling. "He is not qualified to teach you unless he is officially sworn in at the Palace—"

Cassian’s frown deepened, a dark shadow crossing his face that looked dangerously like his father’s temper.

"Master is the only one qualified to teach us," he stated flatly. "I don’t care about your official papers. Now, get out."

The Marquis felt a vein throb in his temple. He was furious, his knuckles white as they clenched tightly into a fist, but the law of the land was a cage.

Those of the direct bloodline were untouchable. To even accidentally graze the Prince or Princess while trying to push past would be viewed as high treason—an execution-worthy offense that even the Emperor might not bother to stop if it meant maintaining the sanctity of the bloodline.

His pride was wounded. These mere children... for them to treat him this way...

He blamed Julian. None of this would’ve happened if Julian hadn’t tried to deceive him and the rest of the people with his feigned ’I do not want to be the Royal Tutor’.

Just look at him now. He had the prince and princess wrapped around his fingers. What excuse did he have for this?

"I... will see myself out," the Marquis hissed through gritted teeth.

He turned on his heel, the flap of his mantle snapping behind him. As he walked away, he cast one final, venomous look back into the room.

He didn’t see a son anymore. Instead, he saw a bothersome, lucky ’thing’ that had somehow managed to enchant every powerful person it touched.

Inside the room, Julian watched the text floating above his father’s head flicker.

> [Target: Marquis Astrea — Affection Level: 1% — Status: (Livid / Spiteful)]

The drop was cold and final. 1%. It was a lethal number—a level where a father looks at a son and sees only a target.

Sees only a burden.

Julian gripped the bedpost.

Well, at least he didn’t fall into the negative.

But it was just as bad.

As the sound of the Marquis and his Knights’ heavy boots faded down the hall, the tension didn’t vanish; it just changed shape.

The Golden Guard remained outside, and the three children—Lucius, Cassian, and Liora—turned as one to look at the bed where Julian lay, pale and broken.

Liora was the first to break the silence. She rushed to the bedside, her regal mask slipping just enough to show a flicker of genuine worry.

"Master! You look even worse than I heard." She was anxious. "Are you dying? You shouldn’t die. You’re a good person."

Lucius hurried to the other side of the bed, his small face tight with a silent, frantic concern, his eyes searching Julian’s face for any sign of a new injury.

While Cassian just stood there. He still hadn’t gotten over the way Julian had dismissed his wishes for him to become their tutor.

But then again, he thought. Why refuse the honor?

He just couldn’t understand it.

Slowly, he walked to the bed, and by this time, Julian was already wheezing. He wasn’t in pain. But it looked like he was having a panic attack.

"Master," Cassian called, the inept emptiness on his face fading into worry. "What’s wrong?"