WHAT WAS LOST
938 Words
What Was Lost
The North is quiet at night in a way that feels intentional.
Not empty.
Guarded.
Snow clings to the stone terrace outside the western wing, moonlight catching on frost like silver thread. A low brazier burns nearby, its heat gentle, steady—nothing like the roaring fires of the great hall.
Cassius stands at the railing, hands clasped behind his back.
I step beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. Almost.
“You always brood like this,” I say lightly, “or is this reserved for impressing your mate?”
He exhales through his nose. “I don’t brood.”
I hum. “You absolutely brood.”
His mouth twitches. He doesn’t deny it.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence is… comfortable. Dangerous, in a way I’m starting to recognize.
“You asked earlier,” he says finally, voice low. “About your family.”
I turn to face him fully. “You can ask now.”
He studies me—not cautiously, not suspiciously. Thoughtfully.
“I know about the rebellion,” he says. “The one fifteen years ago. I know your father and uncle were involved.”
I don’t flinch. I don’t bristle.
“They were,” I say. “They were young. In their twenties. They believed they were exposing leaders who didn’t deserve power.”
His brow furrows slightly.
“They weren’t trying to overthrow the crown at first,” I continue. “They hacked records. Gathered information. Leaked truths. Planted doubt where corruption already existed. They thought better people would rise.”
“And instead?” he asks quietly.
“Sebastian happened,” I say. “He was an old friend of my father’s. Someone they trusted. He took what they started and turned it into something cruel. Kidnappings. Executions. Fear.”
Cassius’s jaw tightens.
“When that happened, they left,” I say. “They tried to stop it. They failed. And even though they didn’t commit those crimes… we still paid the price.”
“Exile,” he says.
I nod. “Inherited guilt.”
He’s silent for a long moment.
“What was it like?” he asks.
I smile faintly. “Honestly? Normal. Not pack-normal. Human-normal. Small house. Quiet mornings. We were close. We had to be.”
“That didn’t feel like a loss to you?”
I shake my head. “I was born shortly after. I didn’t know anything else. When we came back… being around a pack again was strange.”
I glance at him. “Lysander’s family gave us our own house on royal grounds. They didn’t force immersion. They let us breathe.”
Something shifts in Cassius’s expression.
“That mattered,” he says.
“It did.”
I hesitate, then tilt my head. “Isn’t it strange to you?”
He looks at me.
“My family was considered traitors,” I say gently. “And something happened to yours. I know that much.”
His shoulders stiffen—not defensively. Internally.
After a moment, he speaks.
“We’re a large family,” he says. “Four younger siblings. Or… had.”
My chest tightens.
“I had a twin brother,” he continues. “Keaton. I was 11”
The name lands heavy between us.
“There was a criminal group,” Cassius says. “ He believed if our family was broken enough—if I was removed—we’d give up the crown.”
My breath catches.
“They planned an attack,” he says evenly. “But Keaton was outside. Alone. They got to him first.”
I reach out without thinking, my shoulder pressing into his.
“They had shown violence before,” he says. “We arrested some men but we haven't taken down the organization. But were close. I feel like if i take them down , my brother gets justice."
His voice hardens. “ Keaton would still be here if we were more careful.”
I lean my head against his shoulder.
“But that wasn’t your fault,” I say softly. “Or theirs.”
“I know,” he replies. “They didn’t act like it, though.”
We stand like that for a while. No urgency. No expectations.
Then—I straighten suddenly.
I study him with exaggerated concern.
“I don’t know, Cassius,” I say seriously. “I think this bond might be a mistake.”
His head turns slowly. “Explain.”
“I’m a Merrow,” I say solemnly. “We’re rebellious. Troublemakers. Historically inconvenient.”
I step back. “I should probably leave. For the good of the North.”
I turn as if to walk away.
A hand catches my wrist—firm, warm.
“You tried it,” he says dryly.
I grin.
“You’re already here,” he continues. “And it’s too late. Besides—your uncle said he doesn’t mind being exiled again.”
I laugh.
“Can’t have him thinking I drove you out,” Cassius adds. “That would damage my reputation.”
“Oh no,” I say. “Not the reputation.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. Lingers.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “You enjoy provoking me.”
“I do,” I admit.
His thumb brushes my wrist—slow, deliberate.
“And I’m beginning to enjoy responding.”
The air between us tightens—not rushed, not frantic. Earned.
And for the first time, I see it clearly.
This man isn’t ruthless.
He’s afraid of loving again.
And somehow… I want to stay anyway.
- Writer
