"Oh! Titus, Titus, why did you have to be Titus?"
The girl's murmurs still held the soft drowsiness of someone who had just woken.
Faint morning light passed through stained glass made in Myr, falling over a bed spread with orange-yellow brocade and scattering tiny patches of light-
Like a tranquil oil painting.
The person in the painting opened his eyes, their indigo depths looking somewhat profound in the gentle light.
Yes, why did I have to become Titus?
Before last night, he had still thought it was only a game, only a dream.
He had never expected that, when he woke again, the light of a new world would strike his face so forcefully, as though telling him in silence: Kid, you can't go back.
Titus said nothing. Still reclining against the soft pillows, he raised a hand to gently stroke the long crimson hair of the beauty in his arms.
Her hair spilled out like silk, half across his chest and half over the silk sheets embroidered with golden patterns. Among the slightly curled strands, which looked as though they had been kissed by flames, he could still smell the lingering fragrance of last night.
The red-haired girl gave her little head a coy shake, refusing to let him stroke her comfortably. Seemingly dissatisfied with her lover's silence, she wrapped her fair, silky arms around the young man's waist, brushed her small nose against his collarbone, and pleaded softly:
"O Titus, Titus, why are you so silent? Deny your father and forsake your name... Perhaps you are unwilling to do that. Then simply swear to be my love, and I will no longer be a Blamont."
Great. Not only was she a hopeless romantic, she was a hopeless romantic with a taste for melodrama.
Titus sighed inwardly as he composed his response.
From his "memories," he already knew that the beautiful girl in his bed, who bore the features of the Dornish "stony men," belonged to his own house's sworn enemies—the Blamonts. She was also the only daughter and heir of the current Earl of Blackmont.
Over the long history of Dorne and the Reach, House Blackmont, south of the Red Mountains, had fought protracted wars against the lords of the Dornish Marches to the north.
Most of the generations of "Vulture Kings," who repeatedly raided the Reach and rose from the ashes time and again, had come from Blackmont-their house's sigil was a black vulture clutching a pink infant in its talons.
The marcher lords had answered with "vulture hunts," and both sides had stained their hands with the other's blood.
As for him, he was one of only two lordly nobles in the Reach's Dornish Marches: Titus Peake, Earl of Starpike.
Having gathered his thoughts, Titus answered the girl's plea:
"If you truly love me, tell me sincerely rather than asking me to swear some oath. If you think I have yielded my heart too easily, then I will scowl, put on a stubborn air, and reject your kindness, so that you can sweetly plead with me. Otherwise, you know perfectly well that I could never refuse you..."
Despite his words, before the girl could actually begin to plead, Titus took the initiative, gently rubbing her reddened earlobe, his indulgent voice sweet enough to drip honey:
"...But if love makes me swear, why should I swear by love? Silly girl, all those vows of eternal devotion are empty words. You need only feel my true heart with your own. To me, that sincerity is an unyielding oak, but to you, it is a supple willow branch... Even without an oath, surely you wouldn't treat me as an enemy over those past disputes, as your father does?"
The girl's pretty face flushed, and her soft voice grew even more cloying as she hurried to explain:
"No, no, only your surname is my father's enemy. To me, even if you weren't named Peake, you would still be just as you are!"
Titus thought the girl was going a little too far. They had clearly enjoyed a wonderful night, yet she was still greedy for more at every turn. Why did she keep trying to meddle with his surname?
"Sweet Lora, stop saying such childish things. What does a name matter? Call a rose by another name, and it would smell just as sweet."
Yesterday, while hunting in the forest east of Starpike, Titus had unexpectedly encountered Miss Lora Blackmont, who had run away from home.
He was talented and she was beautiful, so naturally, they had fallen in love at first sight.
At the time, Titus had not known her true identity. He had assumed she was merely a runaway daughter from some knightly house. Only after they had bared themselves to one another had the girl nervously revealed her identity, and he, still mistakenly believing he was dreaming, had glossed over it...
Of course, if Titus were asked, he bore no responsibility whatsoever. Clearly, Lora had initiated everything. He had merely been moved by her passion and, unwilling to leave her hurt and disappointed, had not refused.
Though Titus spoke words of gentle refusal, his tone grew ever more tender:
"Darling, you know me. I have responsibilities of my own. I cannot abandon my family name, much less leave Starpike behind and flee with you to the ends of the earth. But I am willing to give my body and soul to fill that empty name outside myself."
Lora's eyes reddened, and her voice held a hint of tears, yet was full of dependence:
"But I like you so very much."
"No, Lora, please don't use that word. It frightens me. What is liking, and what is love?"
Titus shook his head gently. "Brawling love, loving hate, everything born of nothing, heavy lightness, solemn arrogance, orderly chaos, feathers of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sickly health, ever-waking sleep, existence denied. The 'love' I know is precisely such an indescribably complicated thing."
He tightened his arms, embracing the girl more ardently as he felt her delicate body tremble slightly with excitement.
"You say you like the rain, but you use an umbrella when it rains. You say you like the sun, but you hide in the shade when it shines. You say you like the wind, but you close the window when it blows... That is why I am afraid when you say... that you like me too.
"We don't need false flourishes or pointless promises between us. We need only exchange one true heart for another. Wouldn't that be good?"
Moved by his words, Miss Lora pressed her tender body closer of her own accord, her slender fingertips gently tracing Titus's chest. As though she felt this was not enough to express her love, she lifted her head and kissed his cheek as well.
Her red hair, dancing like flames, slowly spilled loose as the two entwined fiercely, also concealing the smile that flashed through Titus's eyes.
Naive girl. Did you think taking my hand meant winning my heart? Did you never consider that I might be a thousand-handed Guanyin?
To be fair, this wasn't his fault.
Who could have foreseen any of this?
Other people began by discovering crimson moonlight outside their windows and an extra hole in their heads, or by stumbling across a recording of an old man covered in livor mortis knocking on a door while browsing a forum on their phones... How thrilling and exciting.
But him? He had to deal with romance first, attending to this Miss "Juliet," who was hopelessly mired in love.
Fortunately, the classical tricks worked. Otherwise, he would have had to switch to modern techniques: If that's how you insist on thinking, there's nothing I can do.
As passion deepened, his verbal reassurance took effect, and Titus did not neglect the physical side either.
Violent delights often foretold violent ends, and in that instant of pleasure, like fire and gunpowder, they vanished with a kiss...
The sun rose higher, and the morning light brightened.
In the lord's bedchamber in Starpike's main keep, only their gradually slowing breaths and the soft rustle of silk bedding remained. The black-and-gold wooden bed frame and goose-down curtains seemed to shut away the room's lingering intimacy from the turmoil outside.
Having finally subdued the rebellious Lora Blackmont, Titus Peake held the beauty lightly in his arms. With a belly full of sweet words, he was just about to consolidate his gains when a somewhat urgent knock interrupted him:
"Knock, knock-knock..."
"Who is it?" Titus asked.
A low voice came through the bedroom door. "My lord... It's me, Parker."
Parker... As the familiar name reached his ears, Titus immediately recalled its owner. Oh, my captain of the guard.
Captain Parker continued reporting loudly from outside the door. "People from Blackmont have arrived. A knight and twenty guards. They say they're looking for their young lady. I've taken them to the front hall. Bowen is watching them with some men."
Seven Hells, were the Blamonts really that fast?
Feeling Lora's soft, fragrant body stiffen instantly as she looked at him with a pale face, Titus quickly composed himself. He adjusted her slipped shoulder strap, his voice as gentle as before. "Don't be afraid. Get dressed first. In a little while, I'll go with you to the front hall and see exactly what's going on. Don't worry. I'm here."
Leaving aside the alluring sight of the beauty changing, he had already begun making calculations inwardly.
First, had he made a mistake? Yes, he had to admit that. He had made the mistake every man in the world would make.
However...
Rhaegar had done it too!
At least... he would soon.
Thinking of the heir to the Iron Throne's name, Titus felt a little uneasy. After all, the sense of déjà vu was far too strong.
He did not want to be charged with "abducting a noble lady," then become an example for Crown Prince Rhaegar to follow, much less spark another war between the Reach and Dorne because of it... Huh? On second thought, fortune favored the bold. That might not be such a bad thing.
Sure enough, some things should not be said too soon.
Had he not just been complaining that his opening was not thrilling and exciting enough?
Heh. Here it was.
The opening illustration for "Titus and Lora" (view in the Qidian app):
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