That was a valid point. I didn’t answer.
“Relax and rest your head,” he repeated.
Utterly drained, I did as told, leaning into the cushioned chair. “You don’t exactly inspire relaxation.”
He brought the cloth to my lips, dabbing at the skin. “Why is that?”
“You’re…you.”
“That was specific.”
I sighed, too tired to worry about unfiltered thoughts. “You’re too good with knives. And intimidating. And known for being ruthless. And you punish people who mess up. Nothing that tells me to relax.”
He was quiet as he moved to the bow of my lips. It was intimate, him stroking my lips as he did. No one had ever done that, and I’d been determined to never have intimate moments with any man. I’d never seen the point.
Harthon sighed. “Do I scare you?”
Chapter 11
Ithought carefully about his question. Back when he first found me, he did scare me. With his ferocity in battle, scarred muscles, and owned power, he would terrify any man or woman with a desire to live. But since then, I’d unconsciously lowered my guard and defied him on multiple occasions. Sure, he’d been angry every time, but all he ever did was care for me. It was easy to assume that was only because of my use to him, but I was beginning to think he wasn’t as much of a monster as he was made out to be. When we’d entered the city, his people had welcomed him with overflowing gratitude, and the men we’d traveled with clearly respected him.
“Not really. Except when you fight, like in the kitchen,” I answered honestly.
“That was no fight.”
I shook my head. Of course, for him, killing those men had been too easy to be considered a fight. “Maybe not for you.”
He pulled the cloth away and picked up a hand. My fingernails were jagged at the edges, blood seeping from a few small wounds. I winced. Stone floors weren’t kind to clawing fingers.
“Frightening people has been beneficial, but I would never harm you.” Dampening the cloth again, he brought it to the small wounds, wiping carefully.
My hand looked delicate in his grip. It was the same hand that’d chopped wood, skinned animals, cooked, cleaned, and worked every day. Never once had I thought it to be fragile.
Never once had I thought myselfto be fragile, until I was placed next to Harthon and thrown into battles and kitchen fights. I hated it.
“Why did you run?”
I tugged at my hand as he approached a particularly gnarly fingernail. His grip grew firm, eyes meeting mine until I acquiesced. With light pressure, he dabbed around the nail.
“I told you. I don’t want any part in changing the order of things and making someone king,” I said, omitting the part about Merelda. Harthon wouldn’t physically hurt me, but he was tactical, and holding Merelda against me would be an effective strategy.
“There’s more to it than that. Your village life leaves little to be desired. There’s something else you want to return to badly enough to almost die descending three stories with a makeshift rope.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised that he read right through me. “You may not scare me, but I don’t trust you.”
He dropped the cloth and grabbed the scissors, bringing them to a cracked nail. There was a slight tug as he snipped the mangled end, and then he moved to my other hand. “Would changing the order of the world be such a bad thing?” he questioned.
“Change could make things better, but they can make them ten times worse. We can’t afford worse.”
He paused, studying me for a moment. “Right now, resources are running lower and lower each day, people starve, and the Territories fight. Getting into Centralis would give us access to food and supplies that we can disperse to those who need it. Things would improve. People could thrive. It would be better, not worse.”
All of that was true, but only if the man who entered the Domustruly intended to do all of those things with a benevolent spirit. Taking Centralis could also mean holding those resources over the other Territories’ heads, forcing compliance and ruling with an iron fist.
“You told me, back when you first took me, that you were not a good man. Can you blame me for questioning the goodness behind your motives?” I said carefully.
He finished his methodical ministrations with a snip, and then he rinsed the cloth and went to my cheeks, which were still speckled with the dead man’s blood. His eyes slid to mine, the fabric hovering above my skin. “I am not a good man, but I care for the people. It’s why I’m here, in the Citadel, as Princeps. It’s why I took Tamen’s throne.” He shifted his attention to my cheek and began to clean.
“What were you doing before you took his place?”
