“You’re Princeps. Don’t you just…you know…get to do whatever youwant?”
“There are constant problems among the people and the land, we’re at war with Koerlyn, and there are endless politics to suffer through at home. The politics are what takes the most time,” he replied dully.
I snorted. “I’m sure sitting around a long, rectangular table, discussing the next tax collection and punishments for misused titles with your cabinet of Lords is a riveting use of time for you.”
“Of all my responsibilities, that one is my favorite.”
“You strike me as the type.”
“If that’s so, those enchanting eyes of yours have clearly damaged your perception,” he drawled.
My brain caught on theenchanting eyespart, spoken so offhandedly in that deep, assured voice. Were these eyes truly mine and not those of someone else, it would be a compliment.
I didn’t know how to feel about that.
“You’ve told me about the city. What about the rest?” I asked, moving the conversation away from the offhand comment that ricocheted in my mind.
“I live in the Citadel. It’s particularly fortified, sectioned off by walls that are taller than those surrounding the city. A bit dramatic for my taste, but the previous Princeps thought it a necessity.”
I, too, would have thought it a necessity if Harthon was coming for my head. Apparently, the walls hadn’t been effective.
“It’s big inside. Halls and galleries that waste space, meeting rooms and bedrooms, and training grounds. A good portion of our army resides in the city, and many of them live within the Citadel. With so much space, it’s generally quiet.”
“Do you like the quiet?” I don’t know why I asked. I shouldn’t care about Harthon’s personal preferences. But the question sat in the air regardless.
Harthon answered without hesitation. “I do. It invites thought.”
The simple response only elevated the threat of the man behindme. Wielding blades made a man deadly. But wielding both blades and intellect made him unbeatable. “The gossipers would faint if they knew your attacks came from thought rather than mindless rage.”
“Do you not believe the rumors?” he questioned.
“Not anymore.” Maybe it was the comfort of our easy conversation, but I kept going. “You’re terrifying when you fight. No common soldier, and certainly no villager, stands a chance against you. Your men are good, too. I think that’s where the rumors might come from. But it’s clearly based in strategy, and we both know that makes you more dangerous.”
“Those who are wise fear someone who thinks, but most fear the mindless barbarian. Considering how valuable fear is as a weapon, I oftentimes thank those gossipers for what they spread. It makes things easier.”
The shrewd response was a strong reminder to filter my thoughts. Someone who weaponized fear wasn’t someone I should reveal vulnerable thoughts to. Not that it was a big giant secret that Harthon’s capabilities scared me. He’d scare anyone with a shred of survival instinct. But still, I’d never been one to reveal vulnerabilities to anyone. There was never any point. When you were responsible for your own survival, bringing sadness, fear, or whatever weaknesses to light changed nothing. It only jumbled your mind and stole room from the thoughts that mattered. Now, here I was, with Harthon, changing my habits and confessing my honest thoughts after only a few days.
What waswrongwith me?
“Why did you never leave your village?” Harthon’s question pulled me from my thoughts.
“There was no need.”
“But was there a want?” he asked, as if he genuinely wanted to know.
I sighed, long and slow. “Not really. Our life was one of daily survival. I had what was necessary for that right where I was. There was no point in leaving.”
“Younger people flock to cities for opportunities. That didn’t appeal to you?”
“What’s so appealing? Living in crowded homes, fighting for social status that means nothing, and working to make others wealthy? Half of those who live in cities thrive, while half suffer worse than villagers do. There were better odds where I was.”
“Some people are drawn to those risks for the chance of reward.”
Taking risks for a mere chance at reward was for fools.
“Before you were Princeps, did you ever spend time in cities?” I asked, wishing I knew as much about him as he now knew about me.
“Not often.”
