Julian wanted to reject him. He had a potion to make, his soul to save, and a growing fear of the way the Duke looked at him. But the Duke was already pouring the dark, crimson liquid into the glasses, the aroma of fermented berries filling the room.
It was as if he was saying, 'I don't plan to take a no from you.'
How was he any different from the Emperor when he does things like this?
"Sit, Astrea," Alaric commanded, gesturing to the couch opposite him. His blue eyes were fixed on the wine, his jaw set in a hard line. "Allow me to face my fears."
Julian stood there, the word 'fears' echoing in his mind like a riddle.
What could a man like Alaric fear? The Emperor? The past? Or the very man standing across from him?
He couldn't make sense of it, but seeing the Duke had no plans of leaving, he had to put his potion-making plans aside. As regrettable as it was, he couldn't help but do that.
He couldn't chase the Duke away with no valid reason.
And so, he sat down.
