And Jonathan would certainly use this to his advantage.
“My security is sound.”
“Yet armed men made it to the Citadel’s center.”
Harthon was quiet for a moment. “Do the Lords fear that they may also be targeted?”
“Naturally.”
“Yet they have never been threatened.”
Jonathan tilted his head. “Our meeting space is close to where the attack occurred. If an area as central and guarded as the kitchens was infiltrated, is anywhere safe?”
Harthon straightened, a slight crease in his forehead. I was certain Jonathan was dramatizing the situation, but there were valid concerns there to address.
In politics, image mattered, and Harthon’s now contained cracks.
“Stay vigilant. I’ll need you again soon. Very soon, in fact,” Harthon told him.
Jonathan bowed. “I am your ears, Princeps.”
I turned to Harthon once he left us. “How did this information get out?”
His gaze trailed after Jonathan before sliding to me. The troubled wrinkle on his forehead was gone. “Who says itgotout?”
What was that supposed to mean?
“Lord Jonathan,” Harthon bellowed. The name bounced off the arched walls, filling the space.
Conversations stopped. The musicians halted mid-melody. Trepidation made my skin tingle with warning.
Jonathan halted just steps beyond the platform.
“Byvery soon, I meant now. Join me here,” Harthon clarified, demanding nothing but obedience.
The Lord pivoted, red creeping across the pale, drooping skin of his cheekbones. Under the scrutiny of every guest, he pasted pleasantries across his face. “Of course, Princeps.” Hiking up his chin, he retraced his steps with as much grace and dignity as one in his position could muster.
Earlier, he’d hobbled up the platform steps. Now, with an audience, he tried to walk them smoothly. If not for the knots in my belly, I would have smirked at his attempt. I forced my shoulders to relax as he neared. I was as front and center as he, and while the back of my neck itched with unease, I couldn’t show it.
Feigning calm, I looked to Harthon, who watched Jonathan’s approach with shadowed irises. From the uncertainty threatening to crack the Lord’s fake smile, he was as perturbed by Harthon’s expression as I.
“Princeps,” Jonathan said, offering a deep bow. That jeweled necklace around his head almost dropped to the ground. He righted it with a quick hand. The gemstone was designed to reflect the light, I imagined, but it fell flat, a dull red against his skin.
Rather than addressing him again, Harthon spoke to the room. “Today is a day of celebration.” He remained relaxedon his throne, an image of casual confidence, but his deep voice rang with authority. “A celebration of many things. The overthrow of a tyrant. The triumph of those who are strong. The new beginning for this Territory and its people. Continued success and progress. The acquisition of powerful alliances and additional lands, reinforcing our dominance. And, of course, those who have played an integral role in this journey.”
“Our fierce soldiers. Our farmers who work tirelessly to provide. Our villagers who fight for something greater than survival. Our military leaders. Our minister. Ourmagvis.” He glanced at me but offered no smile. No—his lips didn’t curl until he added, “And, of course, our cabinet.”
At that, Jonathan stood even straighter. He’d angled his body so he faced both us and the audience, as if he shared in delivering this speech.
“A Territory is only as strong as its people. If our villagers were weak, we would have no provisions. If our soldiers were weak, we’d be overthrown by enemies. If our leaders were weak, we would regress or cow to others. And if our cabinet was weak, new concerns would not be addressed.”
Harthon took a drink from his goblet, savoring his wine before swallowing. “Some of that power comes from our nature. The innate instinct to survive. But much of it comes from above. It is granted. Shared. Passed down, all the way from the top—from me. Because if I have no power over our enemies or our lands, it is impossible for you to have power over them.”
His goblet suddenly met the table with a clatter. The sound sent my heart straight into my abdomen.
With predatorial grace, he rose, a vision in black, the sharp gold tips upon his head glinting in the torchlight. Unhurried steps began to carry him around the table. “But sometimes, there are people who think there is a third source of power: personal will. They think they can steal it. Take it by force,by undermining those who actuallyhaveit. And they’re foolish enough to think it will work without consequence.”
He stopped next to Jonathan, the Lord with the faux crown whose posture was beginning to crumble. Those standing near the platform edged back, any merriment from earlier wiped from their faces.
