In Zephyra’s time in the palace, she had come to learn many things. One, Josef had the final say over the other brothers. And while he was technically her keeper, he was often busy and let his siblings have her when he did not. Two, the twins could be reckless but at the end of the day, they did not want to break her because she really was their best form of entertainment. Three, Solomon did not like her. However, he had the decency to offer her some work in the form of his papers, square meals, and the key to his room which she had only used once before.

But perhaps the most important thing she had learned was Four. Four... Heinrey was to be feared. It was something she had found out quick by the man’s nature itself. But as her time had increased in the princes’ wing, the man had grown bolder in his harsher nature towards her. Which meant she couldn’t avoid him all the time lest she turn his ire higher. Around him, every moment was taut, fighting to appease him in every way possible for her own safety.

That morning, he had not been around nor had Josef, which yet again had the twins seeking her attention and entertainment. They were easy now, Zephyra knowing what they liked and preferred, though still demanded a lot some days, and today was one of them. But considering the others were busy as it seemed for the rest of the day, she planned on getting some rest in her room before Josef would probably take her that night. She was also becoming accustomed to Josef’s timing which, while not scheduled, did have a somewhat guessable rhythm to it.

However, it was on the walk for Ascalo’s room that Heinrey made his appearance, striding over and quickly wrapping a tight arm around her waist. “Well if it isn’t Ra! Come to greet me?” He laughed, pulling her from her path to her room towards his. His voice immediately put her on edge, considering there was a dark note to it as if there was some lingering rage from something in him. Had he taken her to her own room, she would have found a way to distract him long enough to grab Sol’s key and slip out to his room for sanctuary. Especially considering at the moment she was exhausted.

But she had no choice but to allow the man to take her into his own lavish room, but one that only ever brought her dread. He waved her to sit on the bed as he stepped away to pull off his shirt. Zephyra did as bidden, gingerly moving to sit on the luxurious covers, gaze falling to the hands in her lap. She was tired... tired and worried. Maybe if Solomon had taken her the night before or she had actually gotten sleep the last couple nights things would have been better. Or if the twins hadn’t been quite so bored in the morning. It really was just a lot of unfortunate factors coming together at once... and a brooding Heinrey.

It was a stinging slap across her face that brought Zeph’s head up sharply, eyes widening as she instinctively pulled away. “WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU, YOU ARE TO ANSWER ME! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?” His voice thundered as he reached out and snatched her wrist to keep her from further retreating. The woman hadn't even heard him speak... she hadn’t known he said something or else she would have responded immediately. She wasn’t even really aware that she had drifted off while sitting there, just that one moment she had been quietly sitting and the next she had been struck.

“I... I’m sorry m’lord... I.. I did not...”

Her words were silenced by another echoing hit, “YOU DO NOT SPEAK UNLESS I ASK IT OF YOU!” Heinrey yanked her to her feet, pulling her towards the door as he threw it open and swung her into the hall. His fingers dig painfully into her forearm and the woman was at a loss for what to do. For the first time, her mind was totally shutting down in lieu of complete and utter panic. The loud sound of his voice and sudden physical attacks were things of her deepest fears, and the one thing she could never come to terms with in her life... and she never knew why.

“YOU WANT TO SLEEP IS THAT IT? HUH?” He continued his shouting, making his way to her room. Her heart was racing and she only shook her head which resulted in yet another attack. “OH! I SEE! THE BITCH HAS AN ATTITUDE TODAY, IS THAT IT? WELL YOU WANT TO BE COMFORTABLE? FINE! LET’S BOTH GET COMFORTABLE IN YOUR BED, HOW ABOUT THAT?” She was roughly yanked forward again, peripherally catching the movement of his other hand. Instinct brought her free arm to her face just in time to offer some protection from the palm that came up.

That angered him more, her body getting slammed to the wall next to her room, seeing the fire dance in his eyes. The woman felt herself shrinking before him, “P...please...” It was desperate, begging, “Whatever you want m’lord... please... it was a mistake...” A cry escaped her as this time she was unable to block a rather heavy blow to the side of her head.

“A mistake?” His voice had dropped from yelling to a low menacing growl, which struck even more fear into her trembling being. “Oh darling... you don’t get to make mistakes... you pay heavily for those here...” For a moment, despite the darkness she heard, she hoped that perhaps that was the end of the being hit. If only. It seemed he meant to make his point, another slap echoing through the hall before he yanked her forward and reached for her door, his intentions more than obvious to prove he meant to have ultimate control.

It was in pure panic that she looked around, light hazel eyes catching sigh of one oversized beast of a man rounding the corner. There was no thought in what she did, yanking her arm free from Heinrey in a sudden act of defiance. But that only lasted long enough for her to turn tail and run, face and head aching, her arm sore and terror filling her very soul. It did not matter to her if Solomon became furious by her dash to him.... whatever Solomon did could not be worse than what Heinrey had done and had planned.

The woman barreled into Solomon, not even having noticed the papers in his arms... and even if she had she would not have stopped, her arm wrapping around his waist as she spun to stand behind him, clutching to him as if for dear life. And for dear life it may have very well been that she was opting to save. All she knew was she scared... scared beyond anything she had felt before, her face pressing against the man's back.

"Please..." It was said shakily, desperate for some kind of protection from the monster that had dragged her through the hall.

Solomon’s day was nothing out of the ordinary, just a series of the same, repetitive routine. When the sun rose, so did Solomon. And with it, he got ready for work and gathered the papers he had completed the day before to be sent out by courier. Once the papers were sent, he reported to the barracks to begin training his new lot of men, since many had been lost in the Bercasitt war. He switched out with Brom here and there, the colonel taking his place while the general haunted the war room. It was a familiar routine to him and was becoming mundane.

On the bright side, the training was a rather fun part. It allowed Solomon to exercise and expel some energy. That, and it gave him hope that war was drawing closer. What he wouldn’t give to pack up Ambrose and leave with Attikos that very afternoon. To be away from the palace and it’s stifling expectations… that would be heaven. But his only way of escape was to be on the battlefield and hopefully when all was said and done, Solomon would have the luxury of being stationed at a military fort where he could spend the rest of his career in peace.

But for now, he was stuck and today was a day for paperwork, it seemed. Janshai and Briggan had stopped sending more papers than necessary, which made things better. Even so, the stack of papers was still piled high, and currently, Solomon needed to fill some of it out to have it sent out by tomorrow. So, with Brom left with the men and Attikos and Juneau in the war room, the general was sent to his quarters to do the thing he despised most. It was a part of the job, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. No, Solomon quite despised paperwork.

As he grew closer to his wing, the man heard yelling. Hollering that echoed off the walls and almost made his ears ring in its pitch. Heinrey. He would know his brother's voice anywhere, for the man had always been short-tempered. But the echoes were distorted and he could not tell what his sibling was yelling about. But it was enough to cause alarm, as anyone, even someone as stoic as Solomon, would be concerned about what was happening. For a moment, he assumed it was a fight between him and one of his other siblings, but he truly had no clue what he was walking into.

Solomon’s eyes landed on them as he rounded the corner, fingers clutching the papers a little bit tighter. Before he could even process what was happening and how to diffuse the situation, Zephyra sprinted for him. And for a moment, just a moment, he felt like calling out to her, to encourage her desperate flee from the one who was inflicting pain, but he didn’t. Not that it had mattered, for it wasn’t long before she collided with him, his papers flying around them in a white rain. The man scarcely moved, but he made a soft noise in shock, the whole situation stunning him more than he knew how to deal with. The man knew war and this was not that.

Several seconds passed in silence, her plea reaching his ears. Hands, tentative and borderline shaky, reached for where he felt pressure against his middle and that was where he found her arms, holding on to the man in a vice-like grip. In fact, her whole body was pressed against his, as if to meld and hide. For a few seconds, his palms, rough with callouses, rested against her arms, as if he was going to pry them off. His silence could have been easily mistaken for anger, but it was instead born of inner-conflict. Because those few seconds when he had been caught on unawares had chilled him.

They had chilled him because he had felt pity, sympathy, and there had been an ache. An ache he did not want to understand nor would have had the chance to. Solomon’s mind had recovered far too quickly for that. Instead, a hand moved to his pocket, the man taking his room key from it one hand and using the other to grab her hand. Unfurling her fingers, he pressed the key into her palm. “Go to my room,” Solomon instructed, turning his head even though he couldn’t see her, “You are safe, Zephyra.” And those words were perhaps the kindest ones he had ever spoken to her, soft and without his usual distaste.

It was only then he finally removed himself from her grip, although his papers were left discarded on the floor, forgotten as he approached his sibling. “Solomon…” His brother trailed, cautious for a moment before his confidence returned, “What are you doing?! Are you thick?! You’re siding with her?” Heinrey snarled, glare icy, though his dark eyes could never compare to the fire that burned in Solomon’s. “The whore of all people Solomon,” His brother laughed incredulously, for he wouldn’t dare yell at the general, "She really has you by the-”

“ENOUGH!”

Now it was time for Solomon’s voice to echo, effectively silencing the prince before him. Briefly, fear flashed in his brother’s eyes, which brought a sick sense of satisfaction to the elder sibling. Yes, fear me, his eyes seemed to encourage, for I am scarier than any nightmare. “She is here to serve you. A token to be used for pleasure. She is not something for you to torture and beat senseless,” Solomon’s voice was low but dangerous. There was threat in his tone and a promise of violence. “As for her defiance, I will handle her punishment since that cannot be tolerated and you are clearly unfit to do so.” He sneered, fingers curling around his sword handle.

“She is worthless Solomon, worthless. The dust on my floor has more value than this ridiculous whore and she has the audacity to disobey me. To ignore me. We are the only ones who give this utter waste of space some sort of purpose. It doesn’t matter what I do Solomon! If she died here nobody would remember her for anything but a few weeks of fun,” Heinrey threw his hands up in irritation and briefly, Solomon noticed his sibling’s palms had reddened from the beating, “This idiot of woman dared defy a prince. I was justified. She deserves everything she receives. She’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Solomon’s nostrils flared, lips beginning to curl into a snarl. “Well then, your highness, you are to not damage my trophy, as I am the one that won her in Bercasitt. If I spot any signs of harm…” A hand came up to cup his brother's chin, fingers squeezing his jaw in a manner that must have been painful, “You are going to understand why I am feared across nations. Do not test me Heinrey. I may not be the crown prince, but at least I am not a dirty omega.” He looked his sibling up and down, disgust evident in his features. “So be a good little dog and learn when to bow.” Solomon released his brother and shoved him away.

The silence that followed showed the elder prince he had won. Well… for a moment. For as soon as Solomon turned around he heard the soft sound of movement. Whipping around, he caught his sibling's fist midair and already, he could tell his brother regretted it. Not even Josef had been bold enough to swing at him. Not ever. And Heinrey had made a mistake that no one would certainly repeat. Solomon let out a noise that was purely carnal, twisting his brother’s arm so that the man cried out. But the general wasn’t done. No, his hands darted to the sides of his brother’s head, fully intending on kneeing the man in the face.

At the very last second, he hesitated, instead throwing the other man onto the floor. “Consider this mercy. This is the first and last time I will ever give you that privilege,” Solomon snarled, hands resting on his swords, “That is only because I know you would go crying to father. You were always a pansy.” For someone so quiet, he spoke an awful lot in anger. With this, the brother was left on the floor, clutching an arm that was possibly dislocated and was forced to watch the retreating crimson figure who had won before the argument had even begun.

And that was because Solomon never lost.

“Oh, and I want my papers collected. Now.”

The prince slipped back into his room with those parting words, well aware there would be a stack of papers waiting outside his door in due time. He would have to speak to Josef tomorrow morning. Heinrey would respect his word more than Solomon’s, even after what had just happened. The eldest brother would make it clear the toy was not to be abused. He ran a hand over his face and unhooked his swords from his waist to deposit them on the chest. “You will spend the rest of the day and tonight with me. Consider him dealt with.” He informed her, disappearing into the bathroom to fetch the woman a glass of water.

Solomon was aware she was probably shaken and knew drinking would help calm her nerves. The man did not question the way he suddenly felt obligated to help, knowing the answer would leave him more than dissatisfied. Not to mention the man snagged his robe, throwing it over the couch in an offering to help the woman feel more secure as he set the glass down on the table. Again, there was no explanation, as there never was, and he would deny whatever he had done later. It was clear there was some sort of conflict with the man, who always claimed she disgusted him, yet seemed to offer her sanctuary, notice her meals had been too small, and provide her with things she seemed to enjoy, even if they seemed mundane like books and paperwork.

Solomon Imona was a confusing man, to say the least. No one knew what was going on inside his head but himself. So the last thing he offered her was a book, retrieving one from his shelves to set in front of her as she hadn’t had the chance to bring one with her. The entire time he avoided her eyes, as if ashamed, and perhaps he was. Although, no one could tell. No, he instead turned his back to her as he began the fire. “I am not going to hurt you.” Why he felt the need to reassure that, he did not know, but it was evident he was unsettled.

For a while Solomon stared at the flames, having more to say but unable to find the words. He took a breath, unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging it off his shoulders, leaving only the sleeveless shirt beneath. “Are you hurt?” He finally questioned, “If it is anything minor, I have enough experience to handle it,” The scars that dotted across his arms were evidence to that, not to mention the one that crept out his shirt collar and up onto his neck, “But if you fear there may be something more serious, you will have to be taken to the infirmary.”

Those moments, pressed against Solomon's back and holding him in the few seconds of sudden silence, were dangerous. But at this point, Zephyra could not care, sure whatever Solomon's anger had to offer her was better than her fate if left up to Heinrey. As long as the older prince did not return her. There was no true reasoning when his hand rested over her arm to believe he would, even with the silence. That wasn’t his style as much as was evident by his past encounters with her, and yet she was too frightened and panicked to make mental sense of that, just clinging to faint hope that Solomon would save her.

It wasn’t his unfurling her fingers that brought her from the way she hid against him but the feeling of cool metal in her fingers combined with his instructions. Go to his room. Go to her sanctuary where she was safe from all of them. But what struck her deepest as some kind of promise was when he reassured her she was safe. His tone told her he meant that, but it was the fact that he used her name for the first time as if she were truly, truly a real person, offering her the truest sense that she would be alright.

“Thank you…” Her words were barely a whisper, still desperate and shaking but she allowed him to release her from his waist. Frightened eyes turned to the door and briefly in the direction of Heinrey before she made a small dash for the door as if the younger man would go after the moment she was out of arm’s reach of Solomon. As she fumbled with the lock for a second, she heard Heinrey's words before she managed to succeed and slip inside. The key was quickly placed on the center table as she found the couch… her spot. Her safe spot.

Solomon’s yell caused her body to jolt against the soft cushion, eyeing the door in her fright. Her head was pounding from the beating as it was but loud voices struck terror in her soul, and the older prince's was one she had never heard. It was not directed towards her, clearly towards the brother who was with him on the other side of the door, but it did not scare her any less. Her legs pulled up, knees hugged tightly as she fought with every ounce of energy to just hold it together, listening to the muted voices from where she was. The cry caused her to jolt once more but from there everything seemed to settle.

When Solomon walked in, Zephyra watched him with the fear still in her eyes, keeping note of where his hands were even when he did not near her at first. Even the simple toss of the robe made her flinch, though she quickly saw its purpose and pulled it on, its size successfully covering and giving her the most modesty she had been allowed since her capture. Not that in the moment her focus was on the aspect of modesty, but more the security it offered by practically engulfing her.

The woman’s gaze stayed pinned to him as the water was set down for her. But again, she was watching his hands, as if at any moment he could turn to finish what his brother started. But a beating by hand was better than going beyond simple palm to check, and that was one thing even in her state of mind that Zephyra knew. He would not finish his punishment in the way his brother had. But that did not make her fear any less, even when he went as far to offer her a book.

His words brought some security but she still had yet to move. It was as if she were frightened any kind of movement could make him change his mind now, so she only clutched at the robe she was covered in, not even daring to reach for the water or book. Her resolve was crumbling by the moment as she tried to reign in her emotions, desperately grasping at any semblance of okay-ness. But there was nothing there to grasp and her ability to hold herself together was plummeting with each passing second that proved the episode was over.

His question earned a shake of her head and a prompt, soft response, “No m'lord…” Was she hurt? She didn’t even know. She was hurting, that she knew. She could still feel where hand had made contact with her face and the side of her head and her body felt jarred after being forcefully slammed against the wall. But then again, she could not see her own face to see the deep red spot that offered evidence to a smack that was far too hard for the “crime” she committed. But it was the mention of being brought to the infirmary that caused the most reaction.

It wasn’t the idea of getting help if something more was wrong, it was the utter terror at the idea of leaving Solomon's room that struck her. And what finally broke her. Though at that point anything could have really broken her since she was already at the edge. All she could do was shake her head before beginning to sob, the shivering turning into a violent shaking as she held her knees even tighter and pressed her nose against them. Heinrey’s yelling still echoed in her mind, pulling her deeper into her distraught state.

“I want… I want to go home…”

It was a sentence broken up between her trembling and tears, said with no reason or realization. Zephyra wanted to return to Bercasitt, to her grandparents' house where her mother no doubt was. She wanted the familiar place, where she was cherished as a human and loved in a pure way. Where the voices were soft and considerate. Where she could be helpful and use her intelligence. Where she could be herself and never have to fear if she was ready for the next advance. The place where she would not be harmed. Something she knew she could never have again but yearned for, especially now, when she was desperate for comfort.

“I’m sorry.” She managed to whimper out the words as she tried to calm herself, only resulting in another onslaught of sobs. Her reaction was tragic, realizing she could not stem them. The woman pressed into the corner of the couch as if trying to shrink away as she tried to stifle herself in the rob. She had reached the point of double breathing, a mixture of the lack of oxygen that was a result of the crying and the panic that was no longer masked by the desperate adrenaline of the moment.

The breaths she did manage to be somewhat normal were quickly used up in broken, trembling apologies, sending her back into the gasping tears. Solomon liked silence…. His one condition had always been that she stay quiet and out of his way. She had always complied but she knew at this moment, she wasn’t and that too struck fear in her. Enough so that the woman’s breathing quieted, but it did not change in its hiccuped breathing as her lungs tried to get enough air to compensate for what she had dispelled.

There seemed to be some calming down, but it mostly came down to the fact that the already tired female had no energy left. No energy to even keep crying. Just the now occasional shuddering breath and her nonstop shivering. Zephyra wanted to explain what happened now, wanted to swear to him that it would never happen again and she would never disturb him like this again. But she was too scared to speak after Heinrey's reaction to her attempt to make amends.

And now every part of her was just pounding. The blood sounded like it was thundering in her ears, her head throbbed, and every part of her felt rattled and achy. She dared to unfurl some to take the water that had been left for her, enough sense coming back to know that was its purpose. Her hand shook as grasped it as best she could, but underestimated her own weakness and instability. As she was bringing it towards herself, her grip loosened involuntarily as she had shuddered, the glass slipping and cascading to the tile. And as glass never has a good relationship with hard surfaces, it shattered, releasing a small flood of water and shards everywhere. Ironically symbolic in a way.

But all Zephyra knew was that she had screwed up. She had never once broken anything of anyones, but then again, she had never done the simple task of dozing and it was clear how that had gone. Which sent her into another exhausted panic, quickly moving from the couch to the floor to try and gingerly sweep up the shards with her hands. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I’ll clean it up… I’ll find a way to pay for it… I’m sorry….” What few tears were left rolled down her cheeks as she shook her head. There was no finesse or charm that her usual nature left, not the determination and gratitude that she had been revealing as she got more comfortable with Solomon. Just the broken remnants of his brother’s act and kingdom’s cruel choices.

“I want to go home.”

There it was again, that ache. A hand reached up towards his chest, absentmindedly clutching the fabric his fingers found there. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. The man was silent and confused. His chest felt tight as if he were actually in pain and for once, he felt no confidence. There was nothing but empty. He opened his mouth to tell her the apologies were not necessary, but no words came. So the pair was left there, one staring at the fire with glazed eyes and the woman’s resolve destroyed by his brother’s attacks.

The only sounds were that of her sobs and the crackling of the fire, but the man could scarcely hear the fire itself. No, he was focused on her current state and the newfound pounding in his head. There were things… emotions… ones he didn’t want nor could have. Solomon may not have ever been attracted to the woman, but for a second, just one, the man hadn’t seen a whore that wasn’t worth his time. He had seen a person worth more than her treatment. As several moments passed, nothing seemed real. None of it seemed like it was possible, that the man had a sobbing woman in his room who’s only wish was for freedom. Solomon felt vulnerable.

He felt awful.

This… this is wrong.

But that was as far as his thoughts got, the man dragged back into his reality at the sound of a glass shattering. Wide-eyed, Solomon whirled around, nearly falling into the fire. It was probably the most emotion the man’s face had ever shown, how his face had flashed with surprise and a hint of fear. As if his thoughts had scared him and perhaps they had, but for now and hopefully forever, they were shoved away, and luckily she had been too focused on the glass to see his alarmed look. This was something he could never allow himself to think too deeply about. In fact, it was something he couldn’t afford to think too deeply about.

Briefly, he watched her begin to collect the shards but finally found it in himself to move. “Zephyra,” Solomon spoke, kneeling in front of her, “Zephyra, stop.” He demanded, though his voice wasn’t cruel in the slightest, only firm. His hands reached out to stop hers from touching the shards, but retracted his fingers as soon as they brushed against her skin, flustered. He ran a frazzled hand through his hair, but somehow managed to keep his face calm. “Just leave the glass, you’re going to cut yourself. It will be handled, just sit back down.”

Solomon shifted, boots crunching against the debris. “Just drop the glass and sit.” He reiterated, clearly not budging on the manner, “That is all I want you to do.” The man waited for her to move before he stood, briefly disappearing into the bathroom to fetch a small dusting brush that seemed too little for his hands and a little pan. And it was then he was in front of her again, gently sweeping the glass into the tray. He would have to move the couch at some point, but that would do for now. He padded wordlessly over to the trash can, dumping the shards inside of it. The puddle would dry itself.

The next time he returned to her he had a blanket, setting it gingerly on the cushion beside her. His movements were slower and perhaps he was trying to deliberately prove he wasn’t a threat, but not even he knew the purpose. But again the man came to kneel in front of her, squatting down, though his head tilted up to look at her, golden eyes silently demanding her own gaze. “Listen to me,” He spoke, breaking the silence, “You are allowed to have the rest of the day, tonight, and tomorrow morning even to feel however you please, but once you leave this room, everything must be normal.”

Of course, Solomon couldn’t force her to hide anything, nor would he react badly if she couldn’t. It was simply how it needed to be. If his brothers caught on to her weakness… “Everything must go on as usual, do you understand? You have to have yourself together. You must be strong Zephyra... because the weak do not survive here.” He told her and it was the brutal truth when it came to castle Imona. Fragility would not be tolerated. “And trust me when I say you do not want to be one of the weak. For that is a fate worse than any damage Heinrey could ever inflict.”

Solomon rose again to give the woman space, instead approaching his door to grab the stack of papers that was waiting for him, as expected. He hoisted them into his arms and took them to his desk to join the others. The man poured himself a glass of alcohol, feeling like he could use it at the moment. “I will talk to Josef about what occurred. Rest assured that Heinrey will not be disturbing you for a few days and will not harm you again. He is already aware of what will happen if he does.” He told her, though he couldn’t be sure that his brother wouldn’t get away with some abuse here and there. It seemed such actions were in his nature.

The woman was trying to be as careful as possible in her endeavors to collect the glass, but that did not change the deep-set terror that still gripped her soul. Being an annoying presence was one thing, breaking something of a prince's was another. Even if it was as simple as a glass. And after her experience with Heinrey, she was simply shaken truly beyond reason. At her name, she quickly looked up not wanting to accidentally make her previous mistake unintentionally and ignore him, but she was still attempting her rather pathetic clean-up.

At his demand, her hands stilled, though part of it came out of surprise that he had come down to her level. “I… I can clean it up…. m'lord,” she desperately tried to reassure him, barely noticing as he reached out before changing his mind at the feel of skin. But after his order she knew he wanted her to do nothing and finally obeyed, gingerly moving back onto the couch and pulling her feet up onto the cushions. She would have never waited so long to listen before but she was upset and panicked at the moment, wanting to try and fix the wrongs she had unintentionally caused.

Zeph continued to shake in her spot though she said nothing, holding the sleeve of the robe to her mouth as she cowered in the corner of the furniture. She wanted to make sure she made no sound… that she somehow didn’t make things any worse. Though she wasn’t sure how much worse it could get when Solomon himself began to clean up her mess. Her puffy eyes followed his movements with uncertainty, waiting for some kind of reprimand or sending her away. But it never came.

What did come was a larger blanket and the prince himself. His movements were slow and careful, but it disconcerted her when he squatted down to be below her as if trying to take up as little space as possible to prove he meant no harm. Her light hazel gaze hesitantly met the gold one that demanded her attention, though held no threat or promise of harm. Instead, he offered her sanctuary for the rest of the day, night, and following morning… why? She didn’t ask, nor would she, but even in her state she did not understand. Nor could she make sense of his warnings to be strong when it was all over, as if he was encouraging her to rally her spirits and had no interest in seeing something happen to her.

It didn’t truly make sense in her head as he did not like her. He had made that clear on several occasions, and while he allowed her mercies, she had never expected anything to this level. Even as the plush sleeve got wiped over her eyes, she nodded, “I understand.” But her voice still shook and did not hold the usual tones it did before the incident. Still, that did not change the fact that he was right, and somehow she would have to find the strength to gather the broken pieces and rally her courage. She had done it twice before… she would do it again. At least this time it did not involve chains or loss… just fear.

There was some comfort in knowing Josef would be told but very little. With the prince having moved away, she reached out and took the blanket, wrapping herself in it. With the robe alone she shouldn’t have been cold and yet she felt chilled to the very core. Josef would not be pleased, she knew that much but how far could it really go to protect her. She feared Heinrey more than ever now, especially knowing that there was a possibility for a deep-seated hate towards her after this incident. Which really was helpful towards her current state of mind.

For a little while, she did not dare speak or even really move, only wiping away the occasional stray tear and feeling utterly miserable. Much of the physical pain had disappeared except when she pressed her left cheek to any fabric which only caused a soft wince but no other reaction. There was something to consider good…. It was the start of the slow rallying of her spirits, categorizing that she came with minimum injury as a good thing.

“I started finding good things in every day when I first got taken,” Zephyra breathed out softly, not looking in Solomon’s direction but now having shifted to stare at the fire. She had gained enough courage to speak though her voice was still quiet and tentative. “Some days it’s harder but there is always something.” Why was she telling him this? Why was she even talking? It was a simple answer really… talking used to help her get through her nerves. When the kitchen pots and pans would clamber from a cabinet, creating a crashing sound that would terrify the girl, her father would always sit down his frightened daughter and make her talk through it.

The sleeve was wiped across her eyes again as she blinked back a few tears. “Some days it’s only something as simple as I managed to avoid any harm. But a lot of days, your kindness is what gives me hope. For another day at least…” she paused and felt the panic rising again in lieu of her voice, causing her to continue to try and stop it, “Josef is really the only one who remembers to send food my way. But you’re the only one who makes sure I truly have enough…” Did he care? Probably not but at least he was a tolerant man. At least towards her. But if he showed even a sign that he wished her to be quiet, she would promptly follow.

“When I was a girl, I used to love blueberry season,” Zephyra noted, continuing her train of thought about food out loud and taking the prince for the ride. Her own voice brought some soothing, or maybe it was just the memory connected with her father and home that did that. “I would sneak into to kitchen to find them. The cook always left them in the same place… a basket in the lower right cabinet.” She released a weary broken chuckle, but still quiet and soft in nature, perhaps even pleasant to hear if one was actually listening to it.

“My father caught me one morning eating the blueberries. You know what he did? He laughed, popped a few in his mouth before paying the cook to get up a little earlier and bake us a pie.” There was a note of longing for the time that would be no more, but the story still calmed her deeply. At first, she had stopped thinking about her old life because it hurt too much. Now it offered strength. Even that memory she had, which slipped out as well.

“The last time I saw him… my mother and I were visiting near the camp. He looked so weary but I had bought him a blueberry pie. He lit up like a Christmas candle.” While she blinked away a tear, whether from the aftermath of all that had happened or from the memory was uncertain, she was now smiling softly. “I helped with some of his paperwork that day and I remember leaving to him grinning.” Zeph fell silent there, suddenly feeling as though perhaps she had crossed her bounds and talked far too much. But it had offered her some peace. Was she okay now? No, but she was getting enough strength that by morning she hoped to be ‘normal'.

A brow cocked as she began to speak, the man taking another sip of his drink as he leaned against the table at the center of his workspace, confused. Solomon’s puzzlement only brought him frustration, as the man never did well with feeling lost. He didn’t want to feel like he wasn’t in control. He had always felt like he was in charge, that he was the best and nobody, nobody could challenge him. That he was always right. On that afternoon, the man had never felt more conflicted, like the situation was far beyond his grasp. And he wasn’t doing well with it.

So Solomon listened to her quietly, glad she couldn’t see him, not that she would've been looking in his direction anyway. No, the man could practically smell her fear and felt it was best to keep his distance, even if he was usually across the room from her anyway. But her mention of his kindness caused his fingers to tighten around the glass he held, forcing him to set it down before it shattered in his hand. Why that made him feel so… incredibly wrong he did not know. All of it seemed incorrect and Solomon definitely wasn’t built to take it.

Kindness. Could his actions really be considered kindness? To him, it had just been some sort of misguided courtesy. It had been the thought that even though she was a peasant whose very existence he despised, that he was still obligated to treat her like a human. But as she spoke… it didn’t seem like that was the case, at least with his brothers. In the beginning, Solomon had cursed her very existence, despising the fact she was sullying the palace. He had quickly realized that it wasn’t her fault for being there and at the very least, she could benefit him as well.

It had never occurred to him that she was treated more like a guest than anything and that in the midst of his own agitation around the situation in the hallway, his actions were rather caring. He was more than grateful when the conversation switched to something else, something about… fruit? Blueberries… He had heard of them before, but had never seen nor had them. His own curiosity regarding the fruit was enough to distract him for a little while, but soon enough Solomon tuned more into the story, which was yet another mistake on his part.

There was something about hearing of her past life that unsettled him. Not because it was some horrible tale, but because it wasn’t. It was normal. It was nice. And if Solomon wasn’t so convinced his life of status and luxury was the finest, he would have thought it to be better than his. It brought back that nagging ache that he had felt. Because although she was no longer having her breakdown, the thought that she had once been more than some object for pleasure was a difficult one. It wasn’t that Solomon was stupid enough to think she wasn’t something before the life she now lived, he just wasn’t the type to put much thought into it.

But now that he was listening, he was forced to deal with a conflict of morals. The man could slaughter hundreds of soldiers and feel nothing but the satisfaction of a job well done, yet when faced with the daughter of a former enemy who was struggling not to feel hopeless he nearly felt nauseous. He felt nauseous because again, it all felt so wrong. But he only listened. He listened and tried his best to keep a blank mind and stay detached. The man had hopped up to sit on the war table and by the time her story was done he knocked back the rest of his drink.

This was certainly not what he signed up for. “I respected your father,” Solomon admitted once she finished speaking. Why had he said that? The last thing she needed was the enemy telling her that he liked her father, yet he ended up dead anyway. But… that hadn’t been Solomon’s fault. He hadn’t made the order to have him killed, “He gave me a challenge when we clashed blades. It is unfortunate that not everyone considered his talents good enough to keep around.” Perhaps what he had said was insensitive, but it wasn’t intended to be that way. If anything, it was some form of twisted apology that the prince himself didn’t even understand.

“We weren’t allowed anything sweet growing up. I do remember that, but Luther, my eldest brother, would often find ways to steal us all desserts,” Solomon explained, not quite knowing where to take the conversation of why he was sharing, “He was the being who raised us. The queen was around when she could be, but Luther was there when she was not. We were close, but Father didn’t care for him much. He was too kind, too merciful. He would argue. He was the type that had sympathy for our enemies and would feed the world if he could.”

And he would have never agreed with the way you are being treated.

“I idolized him though, but not for those reasons. There were eight years between us, so for most of my childhood, I watched him train to become a soldier. I fought under his command… that is probably the thing in life I am most grateful for. That opportunity. But I always resented his defiance. The way he would disrespect the empire he fought for. Luther was foolish and his values were muddled, but his courage was something nobody could replicate.” Solomon admitted, hands dangling between his legs and head bowed so he could stare at the floor. It had been a while since he had talked about his brother.

He scarcely mentioned Luther nowadays, too consumed with work to think about him in any sort of light but the military one. His tactics were ones that Solomon used religiously and were the very basis of everything he knew. “He was never the son my father wanted him to be and his idiocy is what killed him… yet no one could deny he was our military's finest. Luther proved to be a controversial character. You wanted to hate him… but he was difficult not to like.” Solomon sighed, shaking his head. He reached for the bottle next to him, pouring himself another glass. “But what’s done is done,” Solomon spoke again, taking a drink, “Do you want something to eat? Or drink?” He questioned, figuring it was a safe offer now that she was calming down, “I can have your meal ordered whenever.”

Staring at the flames after she had spoken, Zephrya expected to be plunged in total silence. But to her surprise, Solomon spoke. Not only did he speak, but he told her that he respected her father. Still holding the blanket tightly around herself, her light hazel gaze shifted away from the fire to look towards the man. But what struck her was that Solomon had met her father... the prince wasn’t there during the takeover which meant there had been another time and they had both walked out alive. Who had spared who and why had her father never told her about it?

It distracted her some from her shaken state as it brought something to think about. Maybe she should have been angry that the man spoke so simply of her father as if his empire hadn’t been the reason he was dead. But the prince had not been the one to kill him and had just spoken good things. She was not so dense to not realize what high praise it was for a general, a prince no less, to compliment a general from an opposing country.

Yet, even as many questions as she had lingering in relation to that, her interest was further peaked as the story moved on. No sweets? As he talked, she was struck by one thing. In her mind, it seemed she had been raised with a much finer life than a prince himself. Parents who didn’t care for their children themselves? A father who was did not like a son because he was kind? It seemed so twisted, though she wasn’t sure what she expected considering how they treated her. But it still brought sympathy towards them all.

Her chin rested on the back of the couch, settling more as she listened to him talk about his eldest brother. Zeph was memorized by the description of the man given. Were his values actually muddled or did they only seem so to a family who had few? And the fact that he was a man you wanted to hate but couldn’t help liking? It really was simple curiosity in her mind, too well-grounded in life these days to fantasize about who this man may have been. Perhaps years ago, had she heard his description she would have imagined something romantic. But romance was dead to her and reason had come back to her muddles mind. Luther was simply interesting.

At the offer of some food, she was about to deny it before thinking better of it. She didn’t feel like eating but after all that happened, she knew it would be wise to get some kind of sustenance. “Something to eat would probably be best,” she offered gently, her voice having evened out finally though it was still weak. “I won’t have much I’m afraid. If you order a big meal, you could always just give me a small portion and you can have the rest.” The woman suggested it tentatively, wiping her face once more to just take away any moistness that was left.

She winced softly as the sleeve brushed against her tender cheek but made no noise over the pain or discomfort. But her attention shifted back to what had been said of Luther. Solomon had seemed fine with the idea of talking, making no reprimands when she had spoken and continuing the conversation himself. It felt like a long time since she had an intelligent conversation of sorts and she wanted to continue, to keep her focus well away from the terror that had seized her shortly before.

“You said your brother was the type that had sympathy for our enemies and would feed the world if he could.” Zephyra started slow as if testing the waters to make sure it was still alright to go on and continue. “I mean not to challenge you in any way, but I am curious. What is so wrong with that? What greater peace is there than to have sympathy for those who are against you?” She tilted her head slightly, the life and intelligence seeping back into her gaze.

“Is it better to consume your life with hate or to take the feelings of sympathy? Which is easier? The harder something it is, it is usually the better choice and the one that makes you stronger.” The woman paused again, for a moment her expression flashing with the realization that perhaps she had said far too much. This was not a philosophical conversation with anyone in her family, this was her being allowed to spend her time in a room that was not hers with safety she did not deserve.

“Forgive me m’lord. I’ve spoken too much.” Her gaze turned away back to the fire and dancing flames. She pressed into the comfort, safety, and warmth of the blanket. Zeph had a niggling worry of what could come of speaking so plainly, silencing her effectually and causing her to hope that he would not be angry. One frightening encounter was enough for her for a life time.

Solomon nodded as she answered his request for food, deeming it sufficient that they could share whatever that was brought. The general wasn’t hungry himself, but he would need to eat later, having not eaten at all. It was difficult to feel hungry after what had occurred, but he knew he wouldn’t want to order again later. So, with the rope in the wall pulled, a servant arrived quickly and Solomon ordered, asking for an extra plate and silverware. He was prepared to return to silence, but as soon as the door closed, the woman spoke again.

It surprised him that she was brave enough to carry on the conversation, speaking of Solomon’s fallen brother. Luckily, he did not have conflicting emotions on the topic. Many would have thought the deceased prince deserved no recognition, but to his younger sibling, he was still his hero. He had made a mistake and he had paid for it with death. Luther had paid his price and his achievements did not deserve to be tarnished because of it. So, there was no bitterness in Solomon’s gaze nor resentment as he approached the war table again, perching on it once more and taking the glass in hand.

He listened thoughtfully, leaning back and staring at the ceiling, focusing on her words. Although his gaze fell back in her direction as she apologized. He crossed his legs over each other, nibbling on his lip for a moment. “Kindness is weakness,” Solomon spoke, swirling the liquid in the glass as he stared into its depths, “And it is easier to be weak than strong. It is in the nature of humans to be soft. Malleable.” He took a sip, glancing down at the scars that dotted his forearms, “They are easy to hurt and their lives can be taken in a single blow…”

How many times had he struck down an enemy, stolen his breath and life with a single strike of his sword? Too many to count. To remember. Every face was a blur of features and hair colors, of bitter eyes and fear. “Yet despite this, they are not inherently defensive. They respond to pain with sympathy and tragedy with compassion. And then they are hurt. They have their souls shattered and they are sick with betrayal. I do not see us as a disease, nor do I think we are monsters. But when you are kind, you are easy to abuse. To hurt and destroy. We may be kind by nature, but I find it is a flaw in the psyche.”

He set the glass down with a soft clink against the table, leaning back on his palms again. “So you learn. You learn that it is a weakness and that mercy is a luxury you cannot afford,” Take everything, give nothing, “I have spent the last decade of my life in war. You take prisoners of war and when they beg you for freedom you must be strong enough to look them in the eyes and deny them their wish.” Have no mercy, “You must have the strength to execute them and understand that the only reason they spent their last moments with their neck in a rope was that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Take no prisoners…

“You also mentioned hate. I hate very few things and none of them are people so I suppose there is some liberty in that. It does not pay to hate the race that gave you life.” He gave a soft shrug, shifting again to sit straight, reaching for his drink once more, “Corruption and betrayal. I have no tolerance for either, but Hatred does not make you strong, but compassion makes you weak.” Fingers reached for where his swords usually hung to feel over the gems, but they were not there. Instinctively, eyes flickered over to where they lay. When… When had he taken them off?

Typically the man didn’t take them off until he retired for the night if at all in the cases he slept at his desk. But it didn’t matter, he was more interested in the conversation, for once. It was the most he had spoken in what felt like whatever, his voice low and soft, but enough to carry. “And the weak do not survive here,” He repeated his words from earlier as if it were some sort of mantra, something hammered into his head over years, “The weak have their purpose… and in war… that is, unfortunately, death. To war we are meat and the weak must be culled from the herd. It is the same in all walks of life. You simply cannot survive if you are fragile.”

Perhaps it was his calmness that was the oddest about it all. That he could say such things without… feeling anything. It was as if he were just stating facts. To him, he was. To him, this was his education. It was the learning he had received and it was easy to believe why he was such a finely trained man for murder. “My brother’s weakness was that he never learned his heart got in the way. That his emotions blinded him to our greater outcome,” Fingers dug into the fabric of his pants, but Solomon wasn’t angry. No, he was hurting. For he may have been a twisted man, but there had been love where his brother was concerned.

“He freed a set of prisoners. He was accidentally killed in the process, but the heavens were merciful that night,” Solomon took in a shaky breath, but his tone was stable, “For if he had not been shot down by a crossbow, I have no doubt our father would have killed my brother himself. He may have been a prodigy, a general whose prowess was renowned, but as a person? Luther became obsolete. Useless. He broke his vow and betrayed his empire for prisoners who were dead within minutes.” Solomon’s gaze fell to the floor and his hands were left dangling between his legs. It was clear that despite all he had voiced, there was much more to share.

The prince may not have usually been a talker, but he always had ideas, things to say. “His sympathy resulted in death. His weakness resulted in the failure of himself and his empire...” Solomon trailed as there was a knock on the door, hopping off the table to greet the maid. The food was taken to her silently, placed on the table before he returned to his spot and his glass. One could have thought the alcohol had made him loose-lipped. “My father’s word is law and my oath as a soldier is my life. The rest of my siblings may seem frivolous and like children obsessed with a new toy, but all of us would lay down our lives for this empire if necessary.” Again it was another rather chilling admission, that children would die at the demand of their father, but it was true.

“So I suppose my answer to your overarching question is neither. Your inherent goodwill makes you weak, but hatred isn’t necessarily good either. At the end of the day, every person must choose for themselves. No matter what path you choose, you must be able to live with your actions and ask yourself if it was worth it in the end,” Solomon concluded, staring into the contents of his glass once more before knocking the rest of its contents back, satisfied with the blanket of wool that seemed to be placed over his mind, not enough to be inebriated, but enough to shove away any unwanted emotions. “And for me… it doesn’t matter whether I die on the battlefield or live long enough to retire, as long as I fight for my empire and make it a great one… it will all be worth it in the end.”

Her apology went without comment, instead the prince continuing the conversation, encouragement that tonight at least, talking was accepted. Zeph noted his words, mentally storing different phrases away. Her gaze moved back towards him, chin returning to rest on the back of the couch. Every part of her had begun to relax, snuggling into the warmth of the blanket and the calming shadows and glow cast by the fire. Chestnut hair fell to frame her face and for once, she felt totally human. Human, safe, and getting a chance to share thoughts.

Every word out of his mouth felt so twisted and warped to her, but not in a way that distressed her or upset her. Just in the way that gave her... compassion. What would it be like to have such a cold narrow-minded view of life, that anything tender and sweet was weakness and had to be destroyed? Those were the scruples she was raised on, to be kind, gentle, and compassionate. And they had served her well thus far.

Tired eyes closed to listen as his words shifted from how he saw the world back to his brother. Solomon’s voice may have been soft, but she could hear it clearly. His brother had released a set of prisoners. Why? Zeph was sure there had to be a reason as even though she was kind, she felt there was also logic in every decision a person made. Perhaps the rest had been too blinded to see what the prince had seen to do what he had done. And in her eyes, he had died as noble a death as her father. How ironic was it that everything that made Luther a true human, was what Solomon saw as reasons he was nothing?

The story seemed to be cut short, causing her eyes to flutter back open. Not that there was really a chance for him to decide whether he truly wanted to go back and reveal more or not, the food arriving about the same time. Zephyra turned as he brought it over, taking the extra plate and putting it next to the tray. She noted what he said about his father and brothers as she used the utensils to move a small portion to her plate. She could see Josef giving his life one-hundred percent and even the twins. However, she did have doubts about Heinrey, not because she thought the man had any kind of morals, that was clearly not the case. But deep down she considered him a coward.

As he finished his talking, his last sentence struck her the most. What would be worth it? She saw no love or true happiness in him. But then again, she supposed perhaps he did find that in just... fighting. As she mulled this over, for the first time she unraveled herself and reached for the tray, rising with it firmly in her grasp. Zeph was finally steady as she brought it over to him, placing it on his table before slowly returning to the sofa. It was a move of faith on her part after what had happened, but she still held to her belief Solomon would not harm her, especially for something so simple as bring his food over to him.

Once she was seated again, the woman re-wrapped herself in the blanket and took some of the food. There was much she wanted to say, but first she wanted to sort through it and choose her words wisely. It was catching up again in the form of simple exhaustion and the need to sleep through the rest of the day and through the night. But something in her felt it was important to speak while she could, sure there really wasn’t going to be another opportunity like this. Not that she was trying to change the prince or necessarily make him feel his thoughts were wrong, but she wanted to give him a chance to mull over the reality of the other side.

“You are correct to say kindness at least seems a weakness,” Zephyra finally spoke, sure of what she wanted to say. “In many ways it seems so. People who will die for something as silly as to save another life when they should have had the courage for their own. Or for a man to feel compassion and act upon it. It seems such a weak thing to hurt for another person who is not yourself, a sign that clearly a person cannot handle themselves.” There was a purpose to what she was doing, making what she considered wrong seem logical. Because at the end of the day, one could make anything seem logical. But the best way to make a point was to defend both sides... and leave the other to decide which side had the stronger defense.

There was a short pause, long enough for her to take a bite and quickly swallow it before continuing, once more making sure she had her thoughts processed. “I knew a person who was faced with the very decisions we speak about. They were young and could not truly defend themselves physically but they were smart. They were attacked and abused and they had the courage and the wit to escape and made it a good distance before they were recaptured. It was a harsh response they got. In your opinion, were they weak because they were caught? Or strong because they had the courage to live and escape? They cannot be both. But maybe continuing will help you decide.”

There was no demeaning in her voice, just curiosity as if she were laying out a puzzle that whatever he decided, she would not argue with. “This person was not killed but they were promised death and far worse things before that if they tried to escape again. They did not. They knew if they tried anything or fought back in any way, it would result in many horrors far worse than death, and then death. Perhaps that was weakness, or perhaps it was the strength of hope that helped them forward instead of the weakness of panic that could have caused them to try and flee again. That is for you to decide.” There was much grey area, and even at times she wondered if not continuing to fight back had been a weakness.

“They were still mistreated mind you, but they learned ways to get around much of it and used they’re brain to their advantage. They persevered despite all that had been done to them. And deep down, for these people who mistreated them so, they had a sympathy and offered kindness when they could. How much easier would it have been to spit curses at them? Was it a weakness to be willing to risk a little to offer a caring hand when needed or strength that despite all that had been done, they did not allow anger or hate or despair to take them but transferred it into gentility and a willingness to show mercy in lieu of hate?”

There was another very short break for her to mull over how she planned to finish before she decided and wrapped it up. “They ended up in a place of extreme uncertainty. Some did show them slight favor, others lived to use them. And every day they continued on, fought through exhaustion and fears. I know of a time they came close to breaking but there was kindness shown to them. What you consider weakness did save them. This person continued to offer what they could when they could and somehow always found something to be grateful about. Perhaps this person was weak and is better off dead or maybe they were strong to keep pushing on and even in the darkest of times find something to smile about, but I leave that decision for you to make. I know not what will become of this person though. Perhaps they will fall. And perhaps not. Time will tell their fate as it will tell yours one day.”

And with that, she fell silent and focused on her food. Zephyra was curious what he did think of her story. Most she knew who had seen her experience from the outside did think her weak, but she believed she had some kind of strength to have come this far. Some kind of strength to rally her spirits after she had been so frightened, and would forever hold a deep set fear of Heinrey. But she knew she would make it through another day at least.

The man nodded a silent approval as she set the tray on the table next to him. He did not move to eat, instead scooting it away from himself so he didn’t knock it over in an unexpected bout of clumsiness. Instead, Solomon remained perched on the table, legs crossed as he listened to her speak again, the woman adding her point of view once more. It was odd to think that things had calmed so quickly since he had taken the woman to his room to save her from his violent brother, but he assumed it was only a testament to her own resolve.

It seemed the woman was telling her tale, as the words were far too personal and far too detailed to be just a friend. Though Solomon was not looking to expose her, nor would he, only because that would be pointless and petty when it came to the conversation. He listened as she spoke to him, mentally keeping track of the many questions she asked, looking for his views on it all. It was clear the woman and man had different views on what was considered weakness, or she wouldn’t have told the story in the first place. Which to Solomon was fine. Because at the end of the day, one of them was considered an object for pleasure and the other was revered as a God of war.

But Solomon’s goal wasn’t to rub in his status and how much better he considered his life compared to hers, not the type to be needlessly cruel. So he listened silently, eyes pinned on her though she did not dare his gaze, eye contact seeming to be a rarity with her. So it seemed the story ended in the castle, where she was now. After she finished talking, there was silence for several moments, the man mulling over her words and coming up with his own response. It had been a while since he’d carried on a conversation that long, though he would never admit to enjoying it.

“There is not one definition of weakness, nor is there one of strength. I believe that when it came to their plan of escape there was strength in their will and courage to go through with fleeing, but there was weakness in their desperation and ignorance. That was what made them sloppy and resulted in recapture,” Solomon explained, running his fingers over the little scars that dotted his forearms. The man tended to fidget when he was thinking, though it was scarcely noticeable actions, “Everyone is both strong and weak in a way, as no one can go without flaw, but one must outweigh the other and in that situation, I would have considered that person’s attempt both weak and laughable.”

Solomon knew he might have been too harsh, but it was true. If the woman had been caught with his men she would have been murdered to make an example. “As for offering kindness to captors… it is a way of defense that can serve one well and make them appear harmless, but to do it with genuity? To treat their captors nicely and offer unneeded kindness for nothing more than to be nice? To be so submissive and easily walked upon means that they have succeeded in their plans to break one's mind and soul,” He told her, face wearing the faintest of frowns.

“Or perhaps they were just so easily influenced from the beginning, in which I would consider them simply agreeing to bend to any will would be weak,” Solomon added, pausing to think over it all and aware they would probably never agree. And to him, that was fine. “I suppose that in the end, if such a strategy served them well in the grand scheme of things, it could be considered strength. Sometimes, things must be done that we do not necessarily like to make our lives easier in the end. I believe in their case, if it aided them in a future escape or resulted in a benefit to them of some sort, they are strong to have found a way to survive, even if their person has thus far proved to be weak.”

One could have considered Solomon’s views hypocritical or controversial, but he didn’t care. No, the only expectation was for him to have an answer, although he knew she wouldn’t have pushed it if he didn’t. “I was captured once, years ago. I was abused for information and often beaten to the point of unconsciousness. It was my life for two months, so I do have some insight into what it is like to be a prisoner. It is unpleasant and difficult, but that is the point.” His explanation was rather in vain because she was well aware that being a prisoner was both difficult and unpleasant. After all, she was one.

Solomon never spoke much of his time imprisoned at the Eastern Isles, which was the cause of many of his innumerable amounts of scars. “I did not cave and give them the information they wanted, though we lost the war without any disloyalty. I was later able to kill my captors, but that is unimportant. What mattered was that I did not give them what they wanted. Because in that situation, I could not afford to do so and my silence was worth the pain I endured. To me, there was strength in my resilience and dedication to my home, while their strength was in that of self-preservation.” He crossed his arms over his chest, finding some satisfaction in his answers. They may not have been perfect, but they would work.

“In the end, strength must be judged by yourself. There is no perfect definition, nor will there ever be, because there are many shades to everything. When it comes to fighting in war, I have seen those more emotionally inclined fall. Having sympathy for your enemies, or even just a bit of hesitance, results in losing your life. When you are playing a game of life and death, your heart makes you question your decisions. It makes you overthink and falter. It makes you sloppy.” The last part came out a little harsher than intended, though his tone wasn’t towards her. If anything, one could have inferred it was towards his brother who’s wrongdoings he often tried to forget.

“To fight with your mind and separate yourself from emotion grants you the power to take charge. You are then allowed to fight without second-guessing and makes victories come easier. Not every situation in life is war, but there are always wins and losses and those who are sensitive and emotional tend to fall behind or disappear altogether. Kindness and sympathy come from the heart, hence why I consider them to be weaknesses.” For the first time he reached for a piece of fruit on the plate, chewing on it thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing, “But I can concur that time will tell, though no matter the outcome, I will be happy knowing I made my contributions.”