A stolen idea
«Do you resent me, boy?» the Emperor asked me.
For sure, I couldn't show him my true heart. My resentment accumulated through two lives. He killed my parents twice.
Yet, I kept control over my face muscles. I wouldn't have allowed anyone to notice my thoughts.
It was a matter of survival.
Only after a minute of that astounded royal face, I remembered that I was barely sixteen. A teenage boy isn't supposed to control his reactions like this.
«I am sure your majesty made the best choice,» I said, cold and composed. As if I didn't care about what had happened.
He was going to die in six years at most. His illness would have consumed the last bits of rationality way sooner.
For the time being, he was only paranoid. Hiding from him would have been enough to escape his rage.
But I wasn't too cautious, even if my two lives should have made me wiser.