"Oh, Titus, Titus… why must you be Titus?"
The girl's whisper was soft and syrupy, still carrying the drowsiness of waking up.
Faint morning light passed through the colored glass crafted in Myr, falling across the bed draped in amber-gold brocade and scattering into gentle specks of light—
Like a quiet oil painting.
The figure within the painting opened his eyes. His indigo gaze looked deeper beneath the soft glow.
Yes… why did he have to become Titus?
Last night, he still believed it was all just a game, a dream.
But the moment he woke again, the light of this new world crashed down on him with blinding force, wordlessly declaring: Kid, you're not going back.
Titus didn't answer. He remained reclined against the soft pillows, raising a hand to gently stroke the crimson hair of the beauty in his arms.
Her long hair spilled like silk—half across his chest, half across the gold-embroidered silk sheets. The faint curls, kissed by fire, still carried a trace of last night's lingering fragrance.
The red-haired girl nuzzled obediently against him, displeased with his silence.
Her fair, smooth arms wrapped around his waist, her small nose brushing against his collarbone as she pleaded softly:
"Titus, Titus… why do you stay so quiet? Deny your father, cast away your surname… perhaps you don't wish to. Then swear yourself as my lover, and I won't keep the name Blaymont either."
Right… not only was she lovestruck, she was also a romance-obsessed melodramatic fool.
Titus sighed inwardly as he organized his thoughts.
According to the "memories" he possessed, this beautiful girl with the telltale traits of the Dornish Stoneborn belonged to his family's sworn enemies—the Blaymonts.
She was the current Lord of Blaymont's only daughter and heir.
In the long history between Dorne and the Reach, the Blaymonts, ruling from the south of the Red Mountains, had waged generations of war against the northern border lords.
Countless raids, endless cycles of conflict—the infamous "Vulture Kings," rising again and again, mostly came from Blaymont Castle.
Their sigil: a black vulture clutching a pink infant.
The border lords retaliated with their "Vulture Hunts," staining both sides' hands with blood.
And his own identity was that of one of the only two border lords of the Reach—Titus Peake, Earl of Starshuttle Castle.
Titus gathered himself and finally answered her plea:
"If you truly love me, tell me sincerely—don't force oaths from my lips.
If you think I fall in love too easily, then I'll put on a scowl, pretend to be stubborn, and refuse you… just so you'll coax me sweetly.
Otherwise, you already know—I could never refuse you…"
Though he said this, he didn't wait for her to beg. Titus leaned forward first, gently rubbing her flushed ear, his voice dripping with indulgence:
"…But if love itself makes me swear oaths, why should I swear at all? Silly girl, all vows are empty air.
Just feel my heart—its sincerity is an unmoving oak, though to you it may be a soft willow.
With or without promises… would you really treat me like your father does, hating me for old grudges?"
The girl's pretty face flushed as she hurried to explain, voice sweet and clinging, "No, no—only your surname is my father's enemy.
To me, even without the name Peake, you would still be you!"
Titus thought she was pushing it. After such a wonderful night, she still wanted to tamper with his name?
"Lola, my dear, don't say such childish things. What does a name matter? Give a rose another name and it still smells sweet."
Yesterday, Titus had been hunting in the eastern forest of Starshuttle when he stumbled upon a runaway girl—Lola Blaymont.
They were handsome and beautiful, so naturally they fell at first sight.
At the time, Titus had no idea who she truly was. He thought she was a knight's wayward daughter.
When she finally revealed her identity, he had been half-convinced he was dreaming and simply brushed it off…
And if Titus were to explain it now, he'd say he held absolutely no responsibility. Everything had been Lola's initiative. He simply didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings.
Though his words sounded like rejection, his tone grew only more tender, "My love, you know me. I have responsibilities.
I cannot abandon my name, nor can I leave Starshuttle behind to run to the ends of the earth with you. But my heart and soul—I can give those to you."
Lola's eyes reddened; her voice trembled with affection, "But I like you so much…"
"No, Lola… don't use that word. It frightens me. What is liking? What is love?"
Titus shook his head, "Love is noisy quarrels, tender complaints, everything created from nothing—
Heavy lightness, serious arrogance, neat chaos, feather-heavy lead, bright smoke, cold flame, sickly health, a waking sleep, an existing nothingness.
That is what love is to me."
He tightened his hold, drawing her closer, feeling her tremble.
"You say you love the rain, but you open an umbrella when it falls. You say you love the sun, but hide in the shade.
You say you love the wind, but close the windows when it blows… that's why I'm afraid when you say you love me too."
He smiled softly, "We don't need false rhetoric or useless promises. Heart for heart—nothing more."
Moved, Lola pressed her delicate body even tighter against him, her fingers gliding lightly across his chest before she lifted herself to kiss his cheek.
Her fiery hair cascaded around them as they tangled together, hiding the brief glint of amusement in Titus's eyes.
So naïve. She thought holding his hand could earn his heart? Without wondering whether he might have a thousand hands.
Honestly, it wasn't his fault.
Who could have foreseen this start?
Other people transmigrated to moons with blood-red skies or woke with holes in their heads, or saw recordings of knocking ghosts on a phone forum…
And him? He had to deal with love first, and with this intoxicated "Juliet."
Good thing the classics worked. Otherwise he'd have switched to modern tactics: If you think like that, that's on you.
Passion rose. Words soothed. Actions followed.
And like all fierce joys, climax arrived like fire meeting gunpowder—brief and blinding.
The sun rose higher, morning brightening.
In the lord's chamber of Starshuttle Castle, only quiet breathing and the rustle of silk remained.
The black-and-gold bedframe and down canopy shut out the world and its troubles.
Finally subduing the rebellious Lola Blaymont, Titus Peake held her close, overflowing with sweet words—until a sharp knock interrupted:
Tak… tak..tak…
"Who is it?" Titus called.
A low voice answered through the door, "My lord… it's me, Parker."
Parker. Right—his captain of guards.
The captain continued loudly:
"People from Blaymont Castle have arrived. A knight and twenty guards. They're searching for their lady. I've brought them to the front hall. Bowen is watching them."
Seven hells. The Blaymonts arrived fast.
Feeling Lola tense and pale beside him, Titus quickly composed himself.
He helped pull her slipping shoulder strap into place, still speaking gently, "Don't be afraid. Change your clothes, and I'll go with you to the hall. Whatever happens, I'm here."
While Lola dressed—quite beautifully—Titus began to plan.
Had he made a mistake? Yes. He had committed a mistake all men might commit.
But…
Rhaegar did it too!
Or… he soon would.
Thinking of the future prince's misadventures gave him a shiver. The parallels were too familiar.
He did not want to be accused of "kidnapping a noble lady," inspiring Rhaegar's future behavior, or sparking a new war between the Reach and Dorne.
Although… wealth and risk often walked together. Some wishes really shouldn't be spoken too soon.
Just earlier he thought his opening wasn't exciting enough?
Well—here it was.