Christophe's smiling the next day at breakfast like nothing happened, just like when we were kids, washing his little hands when no one is looking. He silently links his hand with mine, giving me a sweet smile in front of everyone. I try not to scowl and dump his hand in my coffee, because I want to, oh Lord I want to snap his hand off, snap it off so he never has to touch Castiel again. Castiel eats quietly, not contributing to the conversation Sir Robert is trying to force onto him.

"Castiel, what happened to your arm?" The question comes, my fork hitching in midair; I'm hoping Castiel doesn't have a visible reaction like I do.

"Nothing," he brushes it off, eyes not meeting Robert's, I see the doubt swimming around in his eyes, "just a little accident."

"Looks a little bit more serious." Christophe speaks casually like nothing happened yesterday, and again that thick tension is there.

"You would know." Castiel says, voice laden with tension.

"Castiel." Sir Robert goes, obviously noticing the way Castiel addresses Christophe, "that's your brother."

"Sorry." Castiel says under his breath, but I know he doesn't mean it, after all the atrocities Christophe has committed these last few months, I don't blame him, I wouldn't really mind Christophe casually taking a stroll through the Dome either.

"Did something happen between you two again?" Sir Robert asks, and again I'm biting down on my bottom lip, resisting the urge to spill everything about Christophe.

"You know, Castiel, father. He's just in another one of his moods." Christophe answers smoothly. Yeah, so were you, last night.

"Of course, I'm in a mood. Tell it to the maid you're going to masochistically abuse tonight." Castiel lets it slip, and I see him instantly regretting it.

"Castiel, I won't tolerate you speaking to your brother like this. Do you want to end up in isolation again?" Sir Robert speaks, serious.

"Yeah, Cas. Wouldn't want that, now would we?" Christophe's got that edge to his voice again, and it scares me because he's squeezing my hand under the table, giving me that look he was giving me last night. The one where he said he wouldn't miss.

"My apologies, father, Christophe. My insomnia's bad again." Castiel spins the lie easy, and Sir Robert gives his hair a little bit of a ruffle afterwards as he plays around with the food in his plate.

"We'll be sure to get you some more sleeping pills then, Castiel." He says fondness in his voice.

"As long as Christophe isn't distributing it. Now, may I please be excused? I've got matters to attend to." Castiel says, his voice clipped and quick, urgent to get away from Christophe before he does something he's going to regret later.

"Of course, Castiel." Sir Robert says, and with that Castiel is already halfway gone. He gets up so quickly, leaves so fast that I almost find myself thinking if he were there in the first place.

"I'd like to speak to you after breakfast, Anaise. Bring Cas along." Christophe whispers in my ear when my father and Sir Robert have engaged in conversation again, my entire body stiffens, and I'm up and out of my chair faster than my father can object, running to the nearest bathroom to lock myself in there forever. I observe myself closely in the mirror, in between my father's knocking and my shaking hands. At least I'm not crying again, I run a shaky hand over my cheek bone and swallow hard as I see the dark circles under my eyes becoming more and more visible, all those sleepless nights thinking about my little boy's future, and the things that Christophe has done is showing.

"Anaise! What is the meaning of this, open the door!" My father exclaims loudly, and I inhale, keeping it in my lungs and closing my eyes for a couple seconds and then exhaling long and slow.

"I'm sorry father, I didn't feel well." I lie through my teeth, easy and quick, it's becoming easier and easier the more I do it, the more I keep lying to my father.

He's quiet for a second, mulling my answer over, "I hope you're better now."

"Just the hormones, Papa." I say, using my pet name for him because I know it softens him up. He utters a soft, hum of agreement as I sink down against the door. I hate feeling like this, it's like the entire incident all over again. I begin to think how different it would have turned out if I were set to marry Castiel and not Christophe or even one of the bulky princes from all over. Come to think of it, I would much rather have the carrot-haired one smoking in my face than Christophe aiming an arrow at Castiel's heart. My chest constricts at the thought as I choke back a sob, I'm not doing this again, I've cried so many times about Christophe and his damn antics!

"Hey little one," I find myself going, "I'm sorry about all this pressure I'm putting on you, it's not my fault. Your father is a little bit unstable, you see, he's got a lot of problems and I don't know how to solve them." I'm crying again, of course. Why am I so weak?

"I promise it will get better, baby. You just stay in your warm, little cocoon and I promise I'll make it better when you come out, okay? Hang in there, little one." I say, and then burst into tears again, I can't believe I'm back here, isolating myself from everyone, crying on my own again. I wish I could go back to the small cottage in the Fjords, with Castiel's steady hand on my stomach and the soft sounds of the fire rustling in the background, because right now the gold linings burn my eyes, and make me want to throw something.

I find him later in the library, that damned library where it all started. I see him desperately trying to distract himself by reading but not quite succeeding, I seldom see Castiel having trouble with something, he's usually so in control and always on top of everything, but now I see him waver over the pages of the book, struggling to keep his focus centered on it. And then he snaps, the book is tossed to the floor and his teacup raised high above his head, ready to be obliterated into a million small pieces on the floor. But he can't, I see his eyes close, and a breath exit his lungs, breaking him down bit by agonizing bit. I see him collapse onto the ground. There he is, my Cas, my sweet, troubled Cas. Before I can process anything, I'm already next to him, dirtying my dress in the puddle of spilled tea, but I don't care because Castiel sits horrifically weeping like the world's about to end. We stay like that for a while, Castiel only pausing every now and then to breathe, I don't say anything, and I just let him cry because I wouldn't know what to say in the first place. I know why it happened, we've both been hit with too much on our plates, I mean, Castiel almost died yesterday and he had to be stuck with my weak weeping all over him after it happened. I feel guilty for never listening to him, but then again, when does Castiel ever tell anyone what he's feeling? He stops after a while, putting his hand down like he's ready to get up, but he tries to push himself up on the arm that Christophe hit yesterday and instead of rising with swift grace like he usually does, he instead let's out an involuntarily yelp of pain, falling back down. There he lies in the spilled tea, tears and the book he was supposed to be reading. My sweet Cas, my poor, sweet Cas.

"Damn it," I hear him swear, "I can't believe he did that."

"Cas..." I trail off, watching him try to scrape himself back together.

"I'm a mess, aren't I?" He laughs bitterly, "I could kill him, that ass. Take that little bow and arrow and-"

I stop him before he gets ahead of himself, "doing that would only end in you having to walk the Dome, and nobody wants that, Castiel." I say, not wavering only because he means so much to me and having to watch him walk through the Dome might just kill me too.

He breathes out a curse-word, and then sighs, "I don't know how I'm going to control myself, Anaise."

"Just a little while longer, Castiel." I say, trying to convince both Castiel and I, because I've had the urge to bash Christophe's head in or simply to accidentally have him walk through the Dome. Some part of me would enjoy seeing him suffer the way I have.

Castiel laughs again, this time breathless, shaking his head afterward, he leans his head back as he laughs and I see how the sun reflects on his sticky, tear-stained cheeks.

"Let me help you up." I say softly, and he nods, as I rise and help him up with me. His hair is tousled and his eyes rimmed-red, but he still manages to plaster on a half-smile, looking straight at me.

"We're a mess." He says, smiling almost.

"But at least we're trying to clean each other up." I find myself saying, and then he leaves a soft kiss on my forehead.

"Just to be safe, you know, if Christophe's patrolling the hallways again." He says it like it's funny, but we both know it's not. So I pull him in for a hug, taking in all that is Castiel. I take in the texture of his tie and the way the buttons of his blazer feel cold on my chest, and I take in his familiar smell and relish in it. At least I still have Castiel, I would for sure have taken the easy way out and offed myself by now if he hadn't been there to catch me every time I seem to fall back into the dark corners of my mind. We stay close for a while, his fingers lingering along the lines of my face again, and this time I don't try and lean up to kiss him again although I wish I could. He stares down at me with those melancholic blue eyes, and the look burns into my brain even when I'm up early into the morning, feeling rather weird about everything. The worst part about being up late is the paranoia, the paranoia of knowing someone will hear you if you breathe too loud, or if you shuffle around your quarters noticeably. I take my breaths cautiously, trying not to exhale too loud or inhale too quick, holding one of my pillows close to my chest. The music in my ears is soft, and slow but the noise from next door is loud and fast-paced. Even when I change the song to one I'm too familiar with, it doesn't block out the begs and pleas for end coming from the room next door, it doesn't block out the poor maid's screams and Christophe's manic expression, no matter how damn loud I set it to be. Just like I can't seem to get the blood off my hands from yesterday, just like I can't seem to get Christophe's expression removed from my brain, just like I can't get Castiel's forlorn eyes out of my head, and just like I'll never get those four words out of my head. Next time, I won't. With the insinuation of a next time comes the dark, daunting figure in my dreams again, with the white teeth and the deep, blue eyes, haunting my every move, telling me he loves me. He loves me. He goddamn loves me.