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“Maybe you’re right,” Aiden admits. “Maybe this doesn’t make much sense. But sometimes peace doesn’t make sense, and these days, I’d much rather senseless peace than senseless violence.”
It’s because you lot have gotten soft, I almost dare to say. But there’s no point in antagonizing a man this powerful. Especially not when a part of me understands that I’m probably the one who’s in the wrong.
“I don’t believe there was ever going to be any peace,” I tell him, shoving my way through all of the antiques and memorabilia that I have stuffed down here. “The Greeks are trying to trick us. Someway, somehow. There is deception afoot… and I’m going to figure out just what the fuck is going on.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“Through interrogation,” I say, stepping onto the main floor. “I’ve got the head of the chicken locked up in my tower, after all. If the Xiphias princess doesn’t have some answers for me, no one will.”
Aiden doesn’t respond right away. And while he considers my words, I make a quick stop by the kitchen to pick up a steaming plate of roasted chicken and rice.
Captives can’t think straight on an empty stomach. I need Sophia to be completely present. No matter what it takes, I’m going to get something out of her. Anything.
“Very well,” the great young don finally responds.
As if I needed his blessing. Still, it’s nice to know I won’t have to fight my allies on this anymore. At least, not for a little while.
Right now, my fight is with Sophia. That’s a fight I can easily win… right?
“I’ll keep you and your brothers updated on my progress,” I tell him, lugging my stuff up the stairs to the caged princess. “In the meantime, stay on guard. I mean it when I say I don’t believe the Greeks are actually interested in peace.”
“That’s the thing about being king,” Aiden says, and I can sense the heaviness in his words. “We’re always on guard, aren’t we?”
“It’s the weight we carry.”
“Carry it carefully.”
“Will do.”
Our call ends just as I step up to Sophia’s door.
Placing everything down on the floor, I unbolt the lock.
Really, there was no reason to trap her in here like that. She was already tied to the bed. This was only adding insult to injury.
Hopefully, my little bit of cruelty has taught the spoiled princess some humility. She’s going to need it.
“What the hell is that?” she immediately asks, when I barge inside with the tripod over my shoulder.
“None of your business,” I mumble.
Marching to the wall that’s directly opposite her bed, I set up the tripod so that the camera on top covers most of the room.
“You’re going to film this? What are you, the fucking Taliban?”
“You wish I was the Taliban,” I snap at her. “Then there might be a chance someone could rescue you. But I don’t hide out in dinky caves with half-trained sheep-herders…”
“That’s right, you hide out in a tacky mansion with gold plated picture frames,” she snaps, hardly missing a beat.
To my surprise, her comment makes me smile, and not in a cruel, taunting way. This smile is unexpectedly genuine.
She’s right. The décor of this place is tacky. But it reminds me of back home. It reminds me of the palace I grew up in, back in Russia, back when my family was still together and full and unfractured.
“I just wanted you to feel at home, princess.” I tease, my genuine smile turning back into a taunting smirk.
“I don’t know what you’re going to do with me, but I’m telling you right fucking now, if you keep calling me princess, I am not going to cooperate.”
“You’re cooperation is not optional,” I say.
