Chapter 179: One more trap set by the Emperor

Julian finally lifted his head, slowly as he trembled and his eyes widened.

Across the vast expanse of the ballroom, standing near the water that danced under the crystal light, was the charcoal-grey figure he had been searching for. Alaric stood there like a pillar of granite in a room of silk.

The Duke’s black domino mask was fixed squarely in the direction of the Emperor, and his eyes were fixed on the figure in midnight blue, his jaw set so tight it looked like it might shatter.

He knew it—even if Julian was covered from head to toe with a different identity—he could feel it right away that that was his lover. That... was his Julian.

Julian’s heart did a little flip, and his expression softened and even melted behind his mask.

Lucien.

He hadn’t seen him in a week; he had suffered, cried, pleaded, but he never appeared. But now here he was.

My Lucien.

Julian’s mind whispered, a silent prayer that finally reached his lips in a ghost of a breath.

Aurelian felt the shift immediately, and his jaw tightened. Even if he could not see Julian’s expression due to the mask, he could see how his eyes were burning with a new blaze.

It was just too bright to ignore.

Aurelian had expected Julian to wither under the weight of his judgment, to cower as a broken doll in his brother’s presence. Instead, Julian looked even steadier now. He was

blooming

.

The Emperor’s hand clamped harder around Julian’s waist, his fingers digging into the midnight velvet with a sudden, sharp possessiveness. This was not the script. Julian should have shattered; he should have been an empty husk by now.

Why was he still

blooming

? Why was there still light in his eyes when he should be a hollow doll? Where was the void he had been so proud of seeing a moment ago?

"You are far too resilient for your own good, Master Astrea," Aurelian hissed, his voice dropping into a jagged, dangerous snarl.

"What?" Julian felt an eerie feeling crawl down his spine. He didn’t like the sound of that.

Instead of leading him down to the floor to greet the guests, the Emperor abruptly turned. He led Julian away from the grand staircase, cutting through a side gallery and toward the heavy curtains that covered the glass doors of the balcony.

He could feel the heat of the Duke’s gaze burning into the back of his neck—a murderous, focused intent that was already moving. He knew the Duke would follow them at his point, and that was exactly what he was hoping for.

The balcony was high and cold, the night air snapping against Julian’s heated skin as they stepped out. The roar of the ballroom was muffled behind them, leaving only the sound of the wind and the frantic thud of Julian’s heart.

"Your majesty," Julian finally found his voice, his heart hammering in panic. "What are you doing?"

But Aurelian did not respond. He took one good look at Julian, unable to understand why his brother was so stubborn.

He clicked his tongue and then spun Julian around, his back hitting the stone railing with a dull thud.

Before Julian could even gasp, the Emperor’s hand flew to the porcelain mask, ripping it away.

The cool air hit Julian’s tear-streaked face—from tears he didn’t even know he was shedding—his mismatched eyes wide with a sudden, sharp terror.

He didn’t need to ask a second time; he could already see the intent in the Emperor’s eyes. And knew exactly what this was. He saw the trap laid out in the Emperor’s predatory smile.

Aurelian leaned in, his shadow eclipsing Julian’s vision.

"Let’s see if he still wants you after he sees you like this," he whispered.

Then, he pressed his lips to Julian’s in a harsh, violating kiss.

The doors to the balcony burst open with a crash that sounded like a gunshot in that very moment, as if timed, and Alaric stood there, his domino mask discarded, his face a mask of raw spite. His hand was already on the hilt of the dagger in his coat, his shoulders bunched like a wolf about to tear out a throat.

"Get your hands off him," Alaric roared, the sound vibrating in the very stone of the balcony.

He lunged forward, discarding the thought of the consequences that would come after. His eyes were fixed on his brother’s head, ready to commit treason that would instantly cost him his head, but before he could reach them—before the dagger could leave the sheath and seal his fate, as well as the fate of all those related to him—Julian moved.

With a strength born of pure desperation, Julian shoved the Emperor back. He didn’t run to Alaric. Instead, he stepped

between

them. He stood directly in the path of the Duke’s fury, his arms spread wide, his chest heaving as he shielded the man he despised from the man he loved.

Alaric immediately came to a halt, his boots screeching on the stone. He looked stunned, the murderous fire in his eyes flickering into a deep, agonizing confusion.

His hand trembled on his weapon as his gaze searched Julian’s face for an explanation he couldn’t find.

Why?

his eyes screamed.

Why are you protecting him?

Julian looked at the Duke, his eyes pleading, overflowing with a silent, frantic message that the tears welling up did not help convey properly.

Don’t, Lucien. Please. Not like this.

The Emperor’s plot was clear as day, and even he, who hated the Emperor and wished him dead more than anyone else, could not help but protect him.

We can’t harm him,

Julian thought, his mind racing through the consequences.

If you strike him, you give him the excuse he wants. He’ll lock you away in a place where no one will find you. I can’t be apart from you any longer than I have already endured. Please... Lucien... put it down.

He stood there, a thin barrier between two brothers who wanted to kill each other, his heart breaking as he watched the hurt darken the Duke’s eyes.