“And yet you never speak of what you want.”
“A want is a luxury, one that I cannot afford.”
“That is what they tell women as well,” she said. “That wanting is indulgent. That contentment should be enough.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Society is not kind to those who step outside their assigned roles.”
“No,” she agreed. “I know that better than most.”
That earned the faintest hint of a smile, though it vanished almost at once. Cassandra leaned back in her chair, folding her hands together.
“You know, when I was younger, I believed that if I behaved well enough, if I proved myself capable, someone would eventually ask me what I hoped for.”
“And did they?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “They informed me instead.”
He nodded, as though this confirmed something he already suspected.
“You speak as though men are spared this,” he said. “But there are expectations placed upon us as well. They are simply framed as obligations rather than limitations.”
“Is that how you see yours?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “An obligation does not ask whether one desires it.”
“And if it breaks you in the process?” she asked.
He did not answer immediately. She wondered if he would at all, given that he had already tried to dismiss her once.
“The higher the title,” he said finally, “the fewer choices one is permitted. People assume privilege equates to freedom. It does not. It only raises the stakes of every action taken.”
“You speak as though you are correcting something.”
“I am,” he said. “Constantly.”
She leaned forward again, curiosity overcoming caution.
“What was broken?”
His gaze sharpened.
“That is not–”
“You said titles come with mistakes,” she pressed. “Mistakes of those who held them before. Yours did not begin with you.”
“One man inherits a name,” George said slowly, “and with it a reputation, a ledger, a set of expectations he had no hand in shaping. He is judged not on who he is, but on whether he can repair what others damaged, and whether or not he can hand down something better.”
“That sounds lonely.”
Her voice had softened. Something in his expression flickered. Surprise, perhaps, or recognition. Regardless, she knew that he could see through her words and knew her intentions perfectly well.
“You wish to understand me,” he said. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” Cassandra replied simply.
“And why is that?”
