Chapter 7: His Name

I realized something embarrassing that morning.

I didn't know his name.

For weeks, I had called him little wolf.

He had never complained.

Perhaps he had gotten used to it.

Or perhaps he simply didn't care enough to correct me.

Either way, the realization bothered me.

I was sitting beneath the rose-covered arch, trimming a few dead leaves when I glanced at him.

He was sitting a short distance away, watching me.

Or rather, pretending not to watch me.

Ever since what happened a few days ago, things between us had been different.

Neither of us had mentioned it.

Neither of us had spoken about how our faces had almost touched.

How his fingers had rested against my cheek.

How our lips had brushed for the briefest moment before the guard interrupted us.

But I remembered.

And judging by the way he occasionally looked away whenever our eyes met, so did he.

I cleared my throat.

"What is your name?"

He looked at me.

"My name?"

"Yes."

He seemed surprised by the question.

I lowered the pruning shears.

"Unless you've forgotten it."

A small smile appeared on his lips.

"I haven't."

"Then?"

He was quiet.

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer.

Then his gaze shifted toward the roses.

"Lycan."

I repeated the name silently.

Lycan.

It was strange.

I had spent weeks calling him little wolf, yet somehow hearing his real name made him feel different.

More real.

Less like a prisoner.

Less like someone who had simply been placed in my life by circumstance.

"Lycan."

His eyes returned to mine.

"You remembered."

"I have a good memory."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You forgot that you hadn't eaten."

I frowned.

"That was different."

"How?"

"Because I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Tending to the roses."

He glanced at the garden.

"You spend half your life with those things."

"They're important."

"More important than food?"

"Sometimes."

He shook his head.

"You're strange."

I scoffed.

"And you're annoying."

He smiled.

"You've said that before."

"Because it's still true."

He laughed.

I stopped.

For some reason, I found myself staring at him.

I'd heard him laugh before, but this time it was different.

Maybe because I knew his name now.

Lycan.

The sound of it seemed to belong to the person sitting in front of me.

His laughter was warm and unrestrained, nothing like the guarded expression he usually wore around the guards.

I realized I wanted to hear it again.

The thought caught me off guard.

I quickly returned my attention to the rose in front of me.

"Don't get used to it."

His laughter faded.

"To what?"

"Making me laugh."

He grinned.

"Too late."

I rolled my eyes.

But I was smiling too.

For a while, we continued working in silence.

Lycan carefully removed the thorns from the roses while I trimmed the branches.

Every now and then, our hands brushed.

Neither of us commented on it.

Eventually, he held out a rose toward me.

The thorns had all been removed.

I took it from him.

"You remembered."

He looked at me.

"You told me you hated getting scratched."

"I said the roses were dangerous."

"You said they were beautiful."

I paused.

"I said both."

He smiled.

"I remembered."

Something about those words settled strangely in my chest.

He remembered.

Not because he had to.

Not because I had ordered him to.

He simply remembered.

I looked down at the rose in my hand.

Then back at him.

"Thank you, Lycan."

His expression softened.

"You're welcome, Cassian."

I froze.

It was the first time he had said my name like that.

Not prince.

Not your highness.

Just Cassian.

Somehow, it felt far more intimate.

I looked away before he could notice the effect it had on me.

A few moments later, I heard him move closer.

"Can I ask you something?"

I glanced at him.

"You just did."

He smiled.

"Why do you keep calling me little wolf?"

I considered the question.

"I suppose I've gotten used to it."

"You know my name now."

"I do."

"So?"

I looked at him.

"Perhaps I like calling you little wolf."

He stared at me.

Then smiled.

"I think I like it too."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Because when you say it..."

He paused.

His eyes met mine.

"It sounds different."

My heartbeat quickened.

I didn't understand why.

Perhaps it was the way he was looking at me.

Perhaps it was the quietness of the garden.

Or perhaps it was because, for the first time, I realized something.

I had spent so long thinking of Lycan as someone who belonged inside these walls.

A prisoner.

A blood slave.

A werewolf.

But he was becoming something else.

Someone I wanted beside me.

Someone whose absence I noticed.

Someone whose voice I listened for.

Someone whose name now felt strangely precious on my tongue.

I looked at the rose he had handed me.

Then at him.

"Lycan."

He hummed.

I didn't know what I had intended to say.

So I simply smiled.

"Nothing."

He smiled back.

And somehow, that was enough.