Most of the time I do a reasonable job of maintaining an illusion. That I care about the things I’m expected to. That I want the things I should want. It’s what’s required of nobility, after all. That I nod and smile at the proper times, pretend to enjoy the same tired old stories, make them all think I am a warrior for Quel’thalas, a man happily in love, and a man of leisure who looks forward to the next party.
It’s a delicate balance, one that grows tedious after a while. I retreat into my work mostly so I can let my guard down, without fear of reprisal.
I could tell that Traejan was uncomfortable when I turned the the tables on him last night. I told him only the truth. Had he been a mage when he was alive, I’d have found the rumors of his adventures appealing. Perhaps enough to seek him out and toy with him myself. Some of those rumors! Strength…and that ass described in that one book. A spellbreaker, though. It was beneath me. And now he’s dead. A pity, that.
I honestly couldn’t tell whether he was upset about my mention of his former master or my attention to his person. I can’t think of any other reason he’d be upset.
Rose and I are close, after all, but it is clearly a relationship based upon mutual physical attraction and a mutual love of power. She has her late husband she still loves. I…well, romance, in that capacity, has never interested me.
I suppose we’ll see what happens.
I did take The Spellbreaker with me. I hadn’t read it yet, and it would have been a pity to leave it in the bushes.