Chapter Two-Hundred-And-Twenty
**3rd Person POV**
Whenever Harlin needed to clear his mind he would visit Roman, his sword master. He usually felt a lot better after sparring with Roman but today nothing seemed to be working.
“Something on your mind son?” quipped Roman after they had sparred for an hour. He could tell that the young prince had a lot on his mind.
“It’s just… I’ve been thinking about the throne a lot and it's made me think of my mother. You were here when she was queen, right? What was she like? What kind of leader was she?” asked Harlin. He had heard a lot of stories from his aunts but he had a feeling that most of them were made up. It was unsettling how no one ever spoke of his mother.
“Queen Irvette? She was on the throne for a very short time, Prince,” this was a stall and Harlin knew it all too well. Roman was trying to decide how much he ought to tell the Prince.
“Is there something I ought to know about my mother? Why does no one talk about the past?” questioned Harlin. Roman only sighed. He could not give the Prince details even if he wanted to; it was better to spare the young prince the burden that came with knowing.
“What matters is that you are here, son. You are going to be Alpha very soon and then king and I know that you will be a fair king,” the older man smiled at Harlin.
“Was my mother a bad person?” he asked. Roman looked away. He had never been a fan of Queen Irvette but he had to admit that she had not been a strong and capable leader. In his opinion, she was a better leader than Alison who seemed weak against the Lowells. He was not too worried however about Alison’s leadership because he knew that Harlin would be succeeding her soon.
“She was a capable leader. She was decisive and took great risks to protect her own. She was fearless, she would be proud of you,” Roman said with a smile.
Harlin left Roman with a heavy heart and a bleeding hand. The bandage on his hand was soaked in blood. He had been avoiding Aunt Alison since his injury. He was not sure what story he would tell her. How could he have suffered a burn injury from his sleep? It made no sense to anyone; if someone had told him such a thing was possible he would have laughed them to scorn.
He was so removed from reality that he had not seen Lady Francesca approach him until she was near him. His guard looked at his face, his face was asking if he should stop her or not.
“Lady Francesca,” he called out politely.
“I hope that it is my sight that has caused your countenance to be so dour,” momentarily he forgot about all the things that had been weighing heavily on him. He was reminded instantly of the attraction that had first surged through his body when he’d seen her for the very first time. He tried to think of all the things she represented given the relationship he suspected she had with Lowell but his mind chose instead to focus on her beautiful eyes. His mind played images of them dilating as he had ridden her climax after climax.
“Francesca, can we speak later? I'm in a hurry,” returned Harlin. Everything in him screamed at him to take her somewhere quiet and have his way with her but he could not do that; there was too much at stake.
“You’ve been in a hurry since that night, I thought we shared a special connection,” Francesca looked into his eyes as though she was searching for something.
“You did not strike me as the sentimental type. If I had known you would be this way, I would never have f*cked you,” Harlin bit the inside of his cheek after uttering those words. They had come out harsher than he intended them to and he could see her blink her eyes in disbelief and hurt.
She was looking at him as though waiting for him to apologise for what he had said but he said nothing. He still remembers quiet when she stories away in anger.
When she was out of sight, Harlin released a breath he had not known he'd been holding in. He told himself that this was for the best. He could never have a meaningful relationship with Francesca anyway.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say that my dearest nephew was avoiding me,” Alison’s voice broke Harlin out of his reverie. He wondered if she had left the palace so she could meet him on the road. He put a smile on his face and put his bad hand behind him. If he was lucky, his hand would heal before she ever saw it.
“That's nonsense, aunt. I would never do such a thing,” he tried to sound pleasant but he worried that he sounded dull.
“Is this about Lowell? You know, Harlin, you can tell me anything,” that elicited a genuine smile from Harlin. He could never forget that those exact words had put him in serious trouble once. There was no way he was going to ever fall for it twice.
“It is not. I'm just worried about everything, you know,” he returned with a weak smile, hoping that his voice was convincing enough.
“I understand, son.”
They continued walking in silence for a while until Harlin could not bear to remain quiet.
“Aunt Irene,” he paused so he could watch his aunt's reaction closely. He could see that the name made her flinch; it caused her pain although she hid it so well. Harlin felt bad for even bringing up the name.
“She's been treated where she is, right?” Harlin asked.
“Of course,” came Alison's response. However, Harlin had not failed to note the hesitation in her voice. It sounded like she had run out of options.
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