Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive Chapter 82: See Yourselves Out of My Estate

"Your Grace, you are making a grave mistake!" the head healer cried out, stumbling backward as Alaric pressed forward. "With our abilities, Master Astrea would definitely get better. His recovery would be guaranteed!"

But even with those words, Alaric did not stop. He pushed the white-robed n until they were backed against the threshold of the hallway, away from the guest wing. Just as he grabbed the heavy handles of the door to shut them out, the head healer shouted one last, desperate question.

"Don’t you want to see Master Astrea whole and healthy again?"

The words hit Alaric, and he paused for a mont, his hand tightening on the doorfra until the wood groaned. The silence in that mont was agonizing.

Of course, he wanted to see Julian healthy. He wanted to see him stand, to see the pain leave those pale features... To see him walk through the castle gardens without a limp or a wince.

But not at this expense. Not if the price was Julian’s freedom, and certainly not if it ant Julian would beco a marked tool for the man who had already tried to discard him.

The Duke looked the healer in the eye, his expression shifting from blind rage to a cold, iron-clad resolve.

"I will see him healthy," Alaric stated, his voice low and unwavering. "But I will find my own way. Go back and tell the Emperor to worry about his ’real’ subjects instead of interfering in mine."

Since the Emperor did not consider Julian his subject when he found him in danger, it naturally ant that Julian was not one of the people he ruled. And to a subject who was not his own, he had no business interfering.

In other words, he did not help then, so he had no right to ’help’ now.

"See yourselves out of my Estate."

"But—" the healer tried to interject, his face flushing with indignation, but Alaric didn’t let him finish.

He glared at the group with eyes that felt like the edge of a frozen blade.

"If I see a single Imperial robe in this wing again, I will consider it a breach of my household’s sovereignty," Alaric growled, his voice vibrating with a dangerous, low frequency that seed to shake the very floor beneath the mages’ feet. "Leave!"

He slamd the door shut with such force that the boom echoed down the hallway like a cannon blast, rattling the very stone of the building. The silence that followed was thick and vibrating with Alaric’s fury.

He stood by the door for a long mont, his chest heaving as he stared at the wood, his hands curled into fists as if he could see the Emperor’s influence trying to seep through the cracks.

He wouldn’t let them touch him. He wouldn’t let that artificial, marking mana seep into Julian’s marrow under the guise of ’healing.’ He would find a way to fix Julian’s leg himself, even if he had to scour the farthest reaches of the continent for a healer who was just as good—no, one that was better than the healers from the Imperial Sanctum.

Julian watched him from the bed, his grip tightening on the silver spoon. He felt a wave of conflicting emotions—relief that the healers from the Imperial Sanctum were gone, but a cold, gnawing worry about the political storm Alaric had just invited into the room.

The pain in his leg flared again as he unintentionally moved, a constant reminder of his body’s current state. It was accompanied by a throbbing heat that made his vision swim in a haze. He almost wished to get rid of this pain and just accept whatever they would weave into his soul.

The pain made him desperate that he didn’t want to think of tomorrow and focus more on today, but as he looked at the Duke’s back, he realized that accepting anything from the Emperor was a debt that would eventually be paid in blood.

He had to be reasonable. He had to be wise. He had to put up with the pain for just a little longer. Knowing the Duke, he would probably find a solution soon.

So, instead of being a burden and a liability, he decided to be an anchor to help the Duke stay on his resolve.

"Your Grace," Julian whispered, his voice shaky and thin. "I... I didn’t want their help anyway."

Alaric turned, the furious jagged lines of his face softening only when his eyes landed on Julian.

The terrifying Duke of the North, who was probably thinking of starting a war to get what he wanted, quickly vanished, replaced by the man who had stayed by Julian’s side through the worst of the fever.

He walked back to the bed and sat down, his large, calloused hand reaching out to cover Julian’s shaking one still gripping the spoon hard.

"I know," Alaric said, his voice deep and certain, grounding Julian in the present. "And you won’t have to need their help either. I’ll see to it."

Julian let out a smile, though he couldn’t smile wider than he already did, given the kind of pain he was currently enduring.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he whispered.

The only thing he could use to show appreciation for what this man was doing for him was saying thank you, and though it was sowhat lacking, he knew the Duke appreciated it.

Lucius shifted as well, showing his silent support, and then he climbed onto the bed, making sure to be careful as he reached for Julian’s head and patted it with his small hand.

The action took Julian by surprise. This little boy did the only thing he was capable of to comfort Julian. The very sa way Julian had done to comfort him in the past.

A head pat.

Julian chuckled and said,

"Thank you, Lucius. I feel better already."

Lucius felt proud hearing that, and the little boy drove his face into the silk sheets on the bed, forcing Julian to laugh. He was adorable.