CHAPTER 313: ANCIENT LOVE-II

That night, Arabella sat on the rooftop, lost in a daze as she watched the moon slowly swallowed by creeping darkness. Her green eyes, fixed on the dimming sky, could only remember how the moon once looked, so full and luminous, gleaming like silver jewelry against velvet black. But back then, she hadn’t been alone beneath it.

Cassius had been with her.

She could still feel the ghost of his lips brushing her neck, his large hands wrapping around her like a shield. His touch had always been cold, just a little too cold, but she had grown to welcome the shiver it sent through her. Somehow, it had always felt good.

Being near him made her happy. His touch comforted her. His smile, rare and fleeting, had a way of settling the storm in her chest.

And now... that same man would either be sentenced to death by tomorrow’s court or stripped of his throne.

Which fate was better?

Neither.

Cassius had told her plainly, he never put the throne above her. And she believed him. But that only deepened the ache inside her, because she didn’t want to be the reason he lost it either.

The thought of him giving up everything for her—

It tore her apart.

She heard the soft sound of someone struggling out on the balcony, grunts and the scuffle of boots as they tried to climb up to where she sat on the rooftop. Arabella turned her head, and a smile tugged at her lips when she saw the familiar glint of blond hair catching what little light remained.

"Sir Atlas," she called out teasingly.

Atlas froze mid-climb, his blue eyes peeking over the edge like a startled child caught sneaking sweets. The way he fumbled his way upward only proved what kind of royal he was, pampered, protected, always cared for by others.

"Wait a second," he huffed. "I do know how to climb."

He said it with such urgency, as if clarifying that somehow made him more dignified. Then, as he hoisted himself up with effort, he added, "You know, Circe always loved high places too. When this castle was first built, I thought of creating a garden at the very top... maybe just for her. A place where she could see the flowers and the moon at the same time."

He paused, breathless from the climb, and offered a sheepish smile.

"But... well, plans remain plans. Sometimes they get forgotten. Buried under everything else. Sometimes not forgotten just it couldn’t be done-"

Arabella watched him quietly as Atlas turned his gaze to the moon. For a moment, his expression softened, eyes distant, filled with a kind of silent yearning. It made her wonder if she wore that same look whenever thoughts of Cassius consumed her... when all she wanted was to wrap her arms around him, to hold his hand, to press his head gently against her chest and feel him breathe.

"You loved her," Arabella whispered.

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

At her quiet observation, Sir Atlas turned to her, his blue eyes widening just slightly in surprise.

"I—" he began, but his face disappeared into shadow as a veil of gray clouds passed over the moon, cloaking his expression in darkness.

Only his voice remained, hesitant and low, almost lost to the wind.

"How could I not?" he said softly.

There was sorrow woven into his voice, the kind that belonged to someone who had loved deeply and lost completely. Someone who knew he would never see her again.

"When she told me I’d have to stay in that glass coffin... for a hundred years, maybe more, I wasn’t afraid. Not even a little." He exhaled slowly. "No, now that I think of it, I’ve never feared death. It always felt like the natural end for someone like me. After all, I’ve taken so many lives with these hands... It only felt fair."

Atlas slowly sat down beside her, careful to leave a small space between them. He drew his knees to his chest, curling inward, and in the quiet, Arabella saw not a king, not a royal figure, but simply a man, a man who had once hoped for a different ending.

She turned to him, her voice quiet with concern. "Why did you decide to stay in that glass coffin?"

Atlas turned his head slightly, the shadows softening his features as he looked at her.

"She..." he began, his voice barely a breath. "She fell in love with my brother."

A pause.

"He was a good man. Still is, I suppose. Handsome too."

He gave a faint, humorless chuckle, then looked away again, back toward the moon that now peeked out from behind the clouds, pale and fragile.

"He was just like his mother," Atlas murmured, eyes distant. "We had different mothers, of course. His was the youngest daughter of a Duke, graceful, well bred, everything a noblewoman should be. Rafael, that is his name, spent most of his time buried in books, always in the library... and despite hailing from such a perfect mother, he had always been kind towards me, a bastard of the royal family. Without me knowing, despite how busy he was in studying, he still found time to care for Circe. Maybe it started then, between the pages and passing glances. While I... I didn’t notice it happening, not until it was too late."

He gave a small laugh, but it came out brittle and hollow, like something cracked long ago and never quite healed. Arabella felt the weight of it settle on her chest.

It hurt to hear.

"Unlike me," Atlas whispered, frowning up at the moon. His voice was softer now, like he was letting go of something he’d never dared speak aloud. Years of silence woven into the words.

"Unlike me, Rafael came from a proper family. He had a name, legacy, power, polish. A son of a King and a noblewoman. And me... I was born to a whore in the gutter. I clawed my way into a crown that never truly fit."

Arabella remained still, barely breathing as she listened. She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or to the stars, but his voice pierced through her like frost creeping into her bones.

"Of course she’d fall for someone like him," he went on, quieter now. "It shouldn’t have surprised me. But some foolish part of me believed... maybe she stayed because she loved me. Because she saw more than the throne."

He paused, swallowed hard. His throat moved, dry and tight, and for a moment he looked utterly human, raw and exposed.

"But it wasn’t love. Not the kind I wanted. She stayed out of pity. Out of duty. Maybe even affection... but never enough to cross that line."

Arabella’s heart ached. Not just for him, but for the version of herself reflected in his pain. She knew too well what it meant to wonder if someone stayed because they chose to, or because they felt they had to. She thought of Cassius, how tightly he held her, how cruel he sometimes was, how tender he had learned to be.

She thought of what she meant to him.

Her fingers twitched against the rooftop tiles, as if reaching for something just out of reach. And for a moment, she wished she could have offered Atlas a different story. A different ending. One where love wasn’t shadowed by duty, or pity, or class.

Just love. Pure and brave.