“Not my style.”
“And why is that?”
He slowed his step so that I walked beside him. “Waste of resources. That, and I hate parties.”
“That appears to be a rarity among Princepes.”
“Just as you are a rarity amongst women,” he replied.
“I would not compare myself to a woman.”
I didn’t like the smile that hitched his mouth as he said, “Of course not,magvis.”
Maybe I was reading into it too much, but the “magvis” felt intentional. It reminded me how suspicious he was of mymagvisstatus when we last met. I needed to play my part well.
“What do you know about me, Etarla?” he asked.
“Very little,” I answered honestly. “You’ve never concerned me.”
I knew he was a powerful Princeps, strong in battle and capable as a leader, and I assumed the scar on his face came from a fight. I also knew he’d inherited his position, but that was all.
“My father was a rather brutal man,” he said, leading us around a corner. “He killed for sport—men, women, animals. He found it thrilling—the chase, the anticipation of capture, that moment where you hold something’s life in your hands and break it.”
Sounded like a lovely person.
“That is the man who raised me, and while I am not the same as he, it would be impossible to escape the influences and environments I learned and grew in. Because of that, frilly parties give me no satisfaction.” He halted us outside a set of double doors. “My indulgences lie elsewhere.” Hauling a door open, he ushered me inside.
Unease settled in my gut as I met the very indulgences he likely referred to. The stone walls were adorned with rows of tall glass cases, each containing bones.
Not just bones.
Entire human skeletons, every single one propped up, legs long and arms hanging by their sides, as if they were standing. Some wore jewels and capes, some were missing limbs, and others were painted gold.
I glanced at Harthon, who took in the scene with disinterest. His lack of concern helped me settle—as much as one could, given Aric displayed skeletons on his walls liketrophies.
At least there was no flesh on those bones.
Feigning apathy, I said, “You consider yourself different from your father, yet you hunt men, too?”
Aric walked over to a small table holding various carafes. “Only in battle. These were all won fairly, my dear.” He lifted an empty goblet. “Wine? Spirits?”
I declined.
Harthon said, “Pour me what you’re having.”
Aric smiled broadly, then gestured to a group of upholstered chairs near a roaring fire. Twenty pairs of empty, soulless eyes followed me to my seat, like they were warning I might be the next skeleton to join them.
Aric needs this alliance.
But Harthon’s skeleton would also make a damn good trophy.
“This is some of my best. It was made before King Donon’s time,” he informed Harthon, handing him his cup while sipping from his own.
Harthon ignored the offering. When Aric finished drinking, Harthon reached for his used goblet instead.
Aric withheld. “How can we have a secure alliance without trust?”
“Alliances are about power, not trust,” Harthon replied flatly.
