Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive Chapter 218: Prince Zane wants to teach Julian how to expres

Julian felt a bit conflicted. Should he push him away? Should he scream? Being in a space alone with Zane reminded Julian of the Emperor’s oppressive mind gas.

His face flushed, not softly, but in sha as he recalled the embarrassing monts subconsciously.

He hated them.

"I didn’t co here to flirt, though your blush is quite tempting," Zane said, his voice dropping into a smooth, serious tone.

"I’m not blushing," Julian shot back. "And get away from . You’re not supposed to be in this library."

"Haha, I go wherever I want," Zane said, sounding the least bit intimidated.

Then, he leaned down, resting his tanned, dry palms on the desk, his fra hovering over Julian oppressively.

He was not the sa size as the Duke, but they shared a similar height and build.

"I ca to ask a question." Zane finally spoke, sounding more grounded than he had all through his stay. "My cousin is a mountain of a man, but he is a cold one. Do you truly love him, Master Julian? Or are you just grateful to the man who pulled you from the pyre?"

Julian felt a flicker of annoyance.

He doesn’t know anything about Alaric. While it may seem like he is a mountain of a man, a cold one that no one can easily approach, he fails to see that this sa mountain is a warm shelter to anyone who can get into its heart.

Who was this man to judge him when he knew nothing of Alaric’s hardships, and Julian’s too?

What right did he have to judge his feelings?

"My feelings for Lucien are not a matter for the Sultanate to dissect. I love him. That is all you need to know."

"Do you?" Zane’s grin turned sharp, a flash of white teeth. "Words are cheap in the South, and I imagine they are even cheaper for a scholar. You say you love him, but what have you done to prove it? Other than sharing his bed and teaching his son, how do you express a love that matches the intensity of a man who would burn the Empire for you?"

Julian went silent. He thought of the night before—the way he had finally confessed his love in the heat of intimacy.

He knew then that it was not enough. That it could not compare to the burning passion of the Duke and what he would do for him, but he had thought... he had felt... What had he even felt?

Now, hearing Zane’s blunt questioning made the seed of doubt grow even further in his mind. He had spent so long being the one protected, the one given, the one saved. What had he actually given Alaric?

What could he ever do or give to Alaric?

"I... I shall find my own ways to prove my love," Julian managed to say, though the words felt thin even to his own ears.

"You don’t know, do you?" Zane chuckled, moving closer until he was nearly whispering. "You people from the North and the Capital are so repressed. You think a confession is a destination. In the South, love is a fire that must be fed with more than just breath. I know a way to make it work. A tradition that would leave no doubt in Lucien’s mind that his soul is the only one you see."

Zane reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch from Julian’s hand. "Let teach you, Julian. I will show you how to express a love that even the North can’t freeze."

Julian pulled his hand away, standing up abruptly. The chair screeched against the stone floor and then glared at the prince who had dared to touch him.

His body should only be touched by Alaric and no other man.

He didn’t need the Prince’s ’traditions’, and he certainly didn’t trust the look in those amber eyes.

"I don’t need your help, Prince Zane," Julian said, his voice regaining its scholarly clarity. If at all, he was offering help and not throwing him into a pit. "My relationship with Lucien is ours alone. I will find my own way to show him what he ans to . Thank you for the... concern, but I have an evening lesson to prepare for."

He gathered his books, his movents hurried but precise as he shoved the chronicles in between the books.

He didn’t look back as he marched toward the library doors, but Zane’s parting words followed him like a trailing scent of saffron.

"The offer remains, Scholar. Don’t let your pride keep you from the fire."

Julian ignored him and stepped out into the hallway, the cool air hitting his flushed face. He walked quickly, his boots clicking a frantic rhythm on the stone. He tried to focus on sothing else, the Duke, dinner, the next day’s arithtic, anything. But Zane’s voice kept echoing in the back of his mind.

What have you done to prove it?

He passed a window and saw Alaric in the courtyard below, standing tall amidst a swirl of snow as he barked orders to his knights. The man looked like an ancient king, burdened by the weight of a province and the safety of a so-called ’Saint.’

Julian touched the cold glass of the window. He wanted to give Alaric everything. He wanted to be the heat that finally lted the Duke’s winter.

But as he turned away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still just a student, waiting for soone to teach him the one thing a book never could.

What should he do?

Who should he et?

Even if he was a student in this subject, he wanted to at least be able to choose his teacher. And among the lists of the teachers, Zane was definitely not in it.

Just then, he paused as he looked towards the path that led to the kitchen.

At this ti of the day, a certain nanny should be there preparing als.

Even if she didn’t like Julian, and Julian knew that for a fact, she was an old wife who had probably lived with all the ups and downs with her husband.

If he wanted to ask soone to teach him, maybe it could be her.