Julian stood up slowly, his legs feeling heavy.
"It's too dangerous. Elian... he'll see Lucius as another 'miracle' to exploit. He already called him pure."
"Then let him," Alaric countered, a grim, dark smile touching his lips. "If the 'Saint' travels with the young heir of the North, it isn't just a business trip anymore. It's a state visit. It forces them to maintain a higher level of decorum. They can't treat you like a prisoner if you are acting as the guardian of my son."
Lucius reached out a hand toward Julian, his small face hopeful, a silent question burning in his eyes.
"And," Alaric added, his voice softening as he looked at Julian's tear-stained face, "I cannot be there to hold you when the nights get cold in that white city. But he can. He is a piece of the North—a piece of me—that they can never take away. He will be your anchor, Julian. When their sermons get too loud, you just look at him, and you'll remember exactly who you are returning to."
