THE WEIGHT OF CHOICES
628 Words
The infirmary was quiet now.
Cassius lingered longer than necessary, watching Seren rinse her hands at the basin. The lantern light caught in her hair, softened the sharpness of the room. Too soft. Too normal.
Dangerous.
“You handled that well,” he said at last.
She glanced over her shoulder, amused. “That sounded suspiciously like praise.”
“It was,” he replied. “Don’t get used to it.”
She smiled anyway.
Cassius leaned against the counter, arms folded—not in defense, but habit. Silence settled between them, comfortable in a way that unsettled him more than conflict ever had.
“I wasn’t trained for this,” he said suddenly.
Seren turned fully toward him. “For what?”
“For… ease.” His jaw tightened. “For laughter in places meant for blood and pain. For wanting more than vigilance.”
She didn’t interrupt.
He exhaled slowly. “I was taught that affection is a distraction and clouds judgment. That getting too comfortable invites complacency. If I let myself enjoy life with you, with my family—would I become weaker? Would I not notice the things I should ?.."
Seren stepped closer, resting a hand over his heart—not pushing, not demanding, just in support.
“You don’t lose sharpness by being happy,” she said softly. “You gain something worth protecting, its not a bad thing.”
Cassius covered her hand with his own, grip firm—grounding himself.
“I don’t know how to stop watching for the fall.”
She met his gaze, steady. “Then don’t stop. Just don’t let it stop you from living.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then “You already make me… careless. Bad influence”
Her smile was gentle. Not triumphant. And somehow, that made it worse.
: The Bond Begins to Stir
Cassius noticed it on the third day.
Seren was still smiling. Still competent. Still sharp.
But she was restless.
She filled her hours with work that didn’t need doing, reorganized stores already in order, volunteered for rounds no one asked her to take. When she thought no one was looking, her fingers twisted together—just once—before she forced them still.
Cassius’s chest tightened.
Instinct, low and unfamiliar, stirred.
“You’re avoiding something,” he said that evening as they walked the eastern corridor.
She blinked. “Am I?”
“Yes.” He stopped walking. “And you’re doing a poor job of hiding it.”
She huffed a laugh. “You say that like it’s my first offense.”
His gaze softened. “What’s wrong?”
She hesitated—just long enough for him to notice.
“My family,” she admitted. “The attention. The whispers. They’ve been… unsettled. I thought staying busy would help.”
The bond hummed. Not loudly. Not yet.
Protect.
Before she could say more, Cassius spoke—decisive, certain.
“Have them stay here.”
She stared. “Cassius—”
“The castle has wards, guards, healers.” His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with intent. “Let them rest. Let them see where you are. Let them feel safe.”
“You’d invite the family everyone once called traitors… into the heart of the crown?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Something flickered across her face—relief, gratitude, disbelief.
“You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I am.”
Her hand slid into his, tentative. He tightened his grip without thinking.
And for the first time, Cassius realized something frightening.
It wasn’t just affection anymore.
It was instinct.
Bond-deep.
Unignorable.
And he didn’t want to fight it.
- Writer
