As the nights went by, Cassius was increasingly more restless. His dreams were even more vivid, sometimes making it hard to tell what was real.
In the dreams, Lilian was always there—enticing him, whispering sweet words that felt like a caress, her touch igniting a fire deep within him. Her kisses were soft, but burning, as if they held the power to unravel him. They embraced in a way that left him breathless, each movement pushing him closer to the edge of something dangerous.
The evenings were the hardest. After waking, still tangled in the remnants of the dream, it was a struggle to look Lilian in the eye. His thoughts were clouded by the memory of her warmth, the feel of her hands on his skin, and the sound of her voice calling to him in ways that made his heart race and his blood heat. His body betrayed him—longing for the closeness that had only been real in the dream. And it was a longing that grew stronger with each passing day, an ache that gnawed at him, impossible to ignore.
His usual composure seemed to falter more often now. His gaze would slip, lingering on her longer than it should, before he would hastily look away, forcing himself to focus on something—anything—that could distract him from the temptation she represented. He had to keep his distance, had to maintain control.
But the more he tried to push the desire down, the more it seemed to rise, just below the surface, like a storm waiting to break. And as much as he tried to ignore the pull he felt toward her, the yearning, the desire, it only grew stronger—until it was all he could think about, both in his waking hours and in his dreams.
Lilian had started to notice his restless state. His gaze had become distant, his once composed manner slipping into something more erratic. She would catch him staring out of the window, lost in thought, or pacing the corridors, his eyes unfocused.
Cassius knew he couldn't tell her or anyone the truth—that the dreams, those haunting visions of her, were slowly consuming him.
The truth was, he was starting to fear what he felt. The closer he got to Lilian, the more he seemed to slip away. The closer he came to loving her, the more he feared the monster inside of him would break free.
Some times he questioned whether these were just dreams or prophecies—warnings of what he might become if he let this pull, this connection, draw him further into her orbit.
In its contradiction, the only person who seemed to bring him any relief was Lilian. Despite the constant turbulence inside him, it was her presence that anchored him, pulling him into the present moment, away from all the haunting thoughts that lingered in the corners of his mind. She had this unique way of speaking, of being, that calmed the storm inside him. Her soft words, her careful questions, drew him in, allowing him to focus on her and nothing else. It was a grounding force, as though she could ease the weight of everything he carried.
But it wasn't just that. There was a playfulness to her, a teasing side that kept him on his toes. She tested his patience, nudging him out of his guarded shell with her lighthearted provocations. It was a delicate balance—her considerate nature made him feel vulnerable in ways he never expected, pulling him into a place where he felt comfortable enough to show her the truth of who he was. Yet her teasing broke through the seriousness that had ruled his life, lightening his burden in ways he hadn't realised he needed. In those moments, he felt like a child again lost in the joy of something so simple as a shared joke or playful challenge.
It was a feeling he couldn't quite describe but cherished nonetheless—a momentary escape from the complexity of his existence. And it was Lilian who offered him that escape.
Once Cassius regained his composure after yet another dream that left him burning from within, he would seek out Lilian in the labyrinth of the castle. And it was always a small victory when he found her in yet another newly discovered corner, each one becoming its own kind of adventure.
As time passed, the moments he spent with Lilian became even more awe-inspiring. One evening, as the sounds of distant music echoed off the tall marble walls, he stepped into the vast ballroom. There, at the back of the room, Lilian sat on a bench in front of the piano, her fingers dancing across the keys with a practiced grace. The music flowed like a river, and then she began to sing—a voice so beautiful it seemed to shatter the very air around them.
Cassius stood, frozen, in awe. Her voice was more than just sound—it was something that reached deep inside him.
The melody and her voice came together in perfect harmony until, all too soon, it came to an end. Cassius was left speechless, as he often was around her, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of her being—her thoughts, her talents, everything that made her who she was. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words didn't come. Instead, he clapped, a small gesture of admiration for her, for the song she had sung—a song that could have been compared to the haunting call of a siren, one that he would willingly follow to his own demise.
"Thank you," Lilian said, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment as she noticed him standing there. She quickly tried to shift the focus away from herself, asking, "Do you know any songs?"
Cassius nodded, still in awe of her, but surprised when she pointed to the bench beside her. "Please, entertain me," she asked, shifting over to make space. The invitation, simple yet sincere, made his heart skip. He sat beside her, suddenly nervous about performing in front of her—his soulmate.
He placed his fingers on the familiar keys of the piano and began to play. Lilian began to play along. The synchronisation between them was effortless, a perfect harmony that few could create, but between Cassius and Lilian, it had begun to feel like a second nature. The melody came together, each note a reflection of the tug on his soul, pulling him deeper into her world.
But it wasn't just the music that found its rhythm. They found a rhythm in their daily routines, too. Shared meals, late-night conversations, stolen moments in quiet corners of the castle—they were becoming a part of each other's lives, entwining their existence.
Cassius glanced sideways at Lilian, the quiet ache in his chest deepening. The urge to lean in, to taste her lips and pull her into his arms, was almost unbearable—but he shut it down before it could fully take root. He wouldn't allow himself to indulge in a fantasy that felt too precious to touch. The longing that stirred within him wasn't just physical; it was the echo of his growing love.
But with every passing day, as his love for her grew, so did the weight of his restraint. He knew what she meant to him. He knew what she was to him. And yet, the more he felt, the clearer it became—how selfish it would be to claim her. To bind her to the burden he carried. She deserved more than what his love could offer. And so he loved her silently yet fiercely.
As Cassius's bond with Lilian deepened, so too did the attention it drew. It didn't go unnoticed, least of all by Julius—his advisor, his oldest confidant, and now, his most persistent critic.
The concern first came subtly, hidden beneath layers of formalities. But soon, it took on a sharper edge, surfacing at the close of their meetings.
"My other concern is that you allow Lilian free roam around the castle. What if she finds anything she shouldn't?" Julius asked pointedly, arms crossed, eyes scrutinising.
"There is nothing in here that she shouldn't know," Cassius answered, his tone taut with irritation.
"Did you disclose to her your past, then?" Julius countered. Cassius didn't respond. "No?" Julius tilted his head. "Shall I tell her?"
"Do not dare," Cassius growled, a dangerous edge flaring in his voice.
Julius stepped back slightly, chastened but not defeated. "I see."
"If she ever ends up staying here, I'll tell her," Cassius continued, quieter now, the conflict eating at his resolve. "But not now. She doesn't need to know. She is merely my guest."
"She is your fated. If you ever want her to—"
"She doesn't know she is my fated," Cassius interrupted, sharper this time. "And I won't force it on her. If she learns to love Ironwood, then maybe… maybe she'll choose to stay. But until then, she's free. I won't bind her to this life. Not out of obligation, not even out of fate."
Julius frowned. "Cassius, she is your fated. There is no reason for her to leave. Make your intentions known—"
"She's human," Cassius said through clenched teeth. "She knows nothing of our ancient laws. I cannot claim her unless she wants to stay of her own will. I won't imprison her just because she is my soulmate. I…" he paused, exhaling, shoulders slumping with the weight of it all, "I'll let her go if she asks. If she wants to leave, I'll let her. But until that moment comes, I just want to cherish what little time I've been given. Days. Weeks. Whatever it is. And in that time, she doesn't need to know everything. Especially not the parts that would make her hate me."
There was a long silence, and then Julius murmured, "It aches me to watch my friend surrender what the gods have gifted him. As I've said before, I wouldn't mind a royal wedding." He bowed stiffly, then turned and left the room.
Cassius stood alone, the silence folding around him like a shroud.
He knew what it meant to be given a fated mate. He knew the rarity, the power, the ancient magic behind it. But what good was fate, if it came at the cost of Lilian's freedom? How could he ask her to stay, to sacrifice a life among her own kind, just to exist in his haunted world? He couldn't. And so he bore the cruelest truth—that sometimes, love meant letting go before you ever had the chance to hold on.