Aurelian's fingers lingered at the nape of his neck, deliberately slow as he clicked the clasp shut.
The Amethyst Teardrop rested exactly over Julian's pulse. It felt freezing, a piece of the North's winter heart pinned against his skin by the man who had stolen it.
> [Mental Stability: 22% — Status: Total Subjugation]
Aurelian stepped back, his hands coming to rest on Julian's shoulders. He looked at the reflection in the side mirror—the pale scholar in his undone laces, the dark bruises of exhaustion under his eyes, and the royal purple of the Duchess's stone.
"There," Aurelian said, his eyes meeting Julian's in the glass. "Now you look complete. The mourning scholar, wearing the jewels of the woman who died to give his lover a son. It's a poetic image, don't you think? You look like you belong to the dead."
