Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive Chapter 151: The Duke’s rage

"Don’t let it happen," Julian called out, his voice cracking with a desperate plea.

Rowan paused, his hand tightening on the heavy brass handle. He didn’t turn back imdiately. In his mind, he wanted to scoff—to say that he was rely an aide, a paper-pusher for a madman, and that the movents of High Dukes and Imperial Armies were far beyond his pay grade.

He would like to sit this one out. He had ddled enough.

But then, the image of Sir Kaelen flashed in his mind and the top of his ears burned a soft red. He rembered the way the knight had looked at him as they arrived with the carriage—not with the typical disdain a warrior held for a bureaucrat, but with a sharp, piercing intensity that made Rowan’s own heart skip a beat. He knew that gaze ant nothing and he was just doing his job, but he couldn’t help paying attention to him.

And then there was the cold reality of the imperial dungeon. Ah.

If the Duke spilled blood, his knights would be there as well and Sir Kaelen would be among those who would be executed for his master’s treason.

It would be a sha if the first person he had ever shown interest in to fall unfortunately like that.

Rowan’s shoulders slumped further. "Let’s see," he murmured, his voice barely audible, so as not to insinuate anything to the guards who were listening.

He stepped out, and the bolt slamd with a final, echoing thud.

Julian was left in the gathering shadows of the Jade Wing. He looked at the clear, shimring vial on the nightstand, then at Lucius, who was still lost in a heavy, trauma-induced sleep. The silence was absolute, but it didn’t last.

He let out a shuddering breath and looked towards his trembling hands.

If he could fix this ss sohow, he would, but he was useless, with a system that gave him no real solution in his quest for survival. He looked up at the quest window. It gave him a quest and yet again no solution to aid him in completing the quest.

Just what was he going to do?

And then as he dove deeper into his thoughts, he didn’t know noon had co.

It was the knock on the door that disrupted his unproductive thinking.

Since it was past noon, it was lunch ti, and it looked like the Emperor didn’t plan to starve them.

The maids laid out a lavish lunch—silver trays of roasted ats and delicate pastries that slled like a mockery of Julian’s twisted stomach.

Lucius had woken up only monts ago, his eyes wide and alert. He hadn’t touched a bite of the food. Instead, he stood by the table, his head tilted as if listening to sothing far away.

Then, the sound hit.

It wasn’t a single noise, but a cascading series of crashes and shouts that signaled the breach of the Palace’s outer defenses. The Imperial guards, usually so stoic, were suddenly shouting orders in the hallway outside the suite. The sound of heavy, armored boots sprinting past the Jade Wing’s doors was constant.

The Duke had arrived and he was raging mad at the entrance, loud enough for the entire Imperial Palace to hear.

Julian scrambled to the balcony window, his heart hamring against his ribs at a frantic ’38% Stability’. Below, the courtyard was a sea of chaos. The Golden Guards, the Emperor’s elite, had ford a defensive phalanx, their golden-crested shields gleaming under the midday sun. But they were being forced back.

At the head of the black-cloaked invaders of the North was Alaric. He was mounted on his massive, black mare, looking less like a Duke and more like a god of war. He had already carved a path through the 4th Division at the front gates, and now he stood at the precipice of the inner sanctum.

"Aurelian!" Alaric’s voice thundered, a raw, terrifying roar that made the glass in the balcony doors rattle in their fras. "Give him back, or I will tear this marble down stone by stone!"

The sheer weight of Alaric’s presence seed to dim the brilliance of the Imperial architecture. He looked up, his blue eyes—cold, lethal, and burning with a predatory light—searching the windows of the wing.

Julian gripped the stone railing, his knuckles white. He could see the Golden Guards leveling their halberds, their tips pointed directly at the Duke’s chest. The afternoon air was thick as the sun was high above the sky, and it was kinda like the frequency of a brewing slaughter.

"Lucien..." Julian whispered, his voice lost in the din.

Beside him, Lucius had scrambled onto a stool to see over the railing. The boy’s face was pale, his eyes fixed on his father. He didn’t look scared; he looked like he was waiting for the first strike, at least not now when no blood had been spilled. He was just glad to see his father had arrived to their rescue.

From the shadow of the throne room balcony across the way, Julian caught a flash of gold and turned his head but he could not see clearly who it was. But it was the Emperor, watching with his arms crossed, and a thin, amused smile on his face as he watched his brother commit treason in the na of a roach.

That amusent was bitter on his lips, his grip on his arm tightening. Why? Why was Julian so important to him? How was he so important? He wanted to know so badly, and he would keep him in these grounds until then.

The air in the courtyard was no longer breathable; it was a static-charged void, thick with the tallic scent of unsheathed steel and the looming threat of a massacre.

Alaric sat atop his horse, a contrast that made the sun-drenched marble of the Palace look sickly and pale.

Kaelen’s report had been the final broken glass shard pierced into his heart—the news of the forced kiss, the blood drawn from Julian’s lip, and the brazen ’confinent’ in the guise of ’consideration’ had stripped away every layer of the Duke’s last restraint.

How dare he? How dare that golden-crested pretender lay a hand on what belongs to ?

"Aurelian!" Alaric’s roar didn’t just echo; it forced the very foundations of the Palace to tremble. "Show yourself! Or I will paint these white walls red with the blood of your ’Elite’!"