"Because you, little prince, are a far more interesting opponent than any other I've faced."
Bellamy blinks, taken aback by the unexpected answer. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Ivah says, leaning forward as much as his chains allow, his voice taking on an almost reverent quality, "that you have the courage of men twice your size and the loyalty of an entire kingdom despite not being the sovereign. You are honorable to a fault, little prince—even to a savage barbarian who would have slit your throat without a second thought."
"You're not like that," Bellamy says quickly, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. "You didn't slit my throat. You did have a second thought."
The moment the admission leaves his lips, Bellamy realizes what he's revealed. Heat floods his face as he sees the way Ivah's expression shifts—not with triumph or satisfaction, but with something deeper, more knowing.
Ivah says nothing, just looks at Bellamy with those dark eyes that seem to see straight through to his soul. The silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken understanding, and Bellamy feels exposed in a way that has nothing to do with physical vulnerability.
This is manipulation again, isn't it? This careful praise, this gentle probing, this way of making Bellamy reveal more than he intends. The rational part of his mind screams warnings, but his heart refuses to listen.
"I'm leaving," Bellamy says abruptly, turning toward the door before he can say something else that will give Ivah even more power over him.
"Good night, little prince," Ivah calls softly after him, and there's something in his tone—gentle, almost fond—that makes Bellamy's steps falter for just a moment.
But he doesn't look back. He can't afford to look back, because he knows if he does, he'll see those knowing eyes watching him, and he'll be lost completely.
As he climbs the stairs and returns to his chambers, Bellamy realizes with growing certainty that whether it's manipulation or genuine feeling, it doesn't matter anymore.
He's already lost.
The pattern continues for a week. Every night, Bellamy tells himself he won't go. Every night, he finds himself drawn back to that cell like a moth to flame.
Their conversations grow longer, more personal, more dangerous. Despite every rational voice in his head warning that this could all be an elaborate ruse—a way for Ivah to earn his trust and engineer his escape—Bellamy finds himself falling deeper and deeper into the Barbarian King's orbit.
Ivah proves to have a sharp wit and a surprising gentleness that emerges only when they're alone. He asks endless questions about Bellamy's life, his dreams, his fears, listening with an attention that's both flattering and unsettling. In return, Bellamy finds himself equally curious about this man who defies every expectation.
"Tell me about your homeland," Bellamy says one night, settling into what has become his usual spot against the wall. "What's it really like?”
"Harsh," Ivah replies without hesitation. "Beautiful in its own way, but unforgiving. The winters can kill you if you're not prepared, andthe summers are brief and precious. My people have learned to value strength because weakness means death."
"Is that why you became king? For strength?"
"I became king because someone had to unite the clans before they destroyed each other completely." Ivah's voice takes on a distant quality. "And because I was the only one willing to do what needed to be done."
Bellamy finds himself leaning forward, drawn in despite himself. "What about the stories? The ones that paint you as a monster who kills without thought?"
Ivah shrugs, a gesture made awkward by his chains. "My enemies are dead regardless of what they thought of me. What does it matter what stories they tell?"
"But do you regret it? The reputation, the fear?"
"Fear keeps my people safe." Ivah's dark eyes meet his. "Would you rather I be loved by my enemies and watch my children starve?"
The question hangs in the air between them, and Bellamy finds he doesn't have a ready answer. "Does it keep you awake at night? The things you've had to do?"
"I would sleep far less if I didn't do what was necessary to secure safety and peace for my people," Ivah says matter-of-factly. "A ruler's burden isn't the weight of what they've done—it's the weight of what they've failed to do."
This supposed barbarian speaks of leadership with a clarity that most of his mother's councilors lack.
"You're nothing like what I was told to expect," Bellamy admits.
"And what did you expect?"
"A monster. A mindless brute who killed for the pleasure of it."
"Perhaps I am still those things," Ivah says with a slight smile. "Perhaps I'm simply a monster who reads poetry in dead languages and knows the songs of northern birds."
