Page 42 of The Prince of Power

My jaw hardens. “Ah, yes. We’re back to hierarchy. You asked me if I like it in general. No, I don’t.”

His expression softens. “That’s one way we’re alike.”

I snort. “You love hierarchy. Obviously.”

“Only because I’m at the top. I’d hate it if I were in any other position.”

“So you only care about the evil in the world when it affects you personally.”

He stares at me for a long moment. “Oh, little Ava. Everyone is wired that way. People say they care about the suffering of those they’ve never met. They don’t. Self-righteousness is a drug, just like any other.”

I raise my chin. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Have you ended world hunger yet, my little zealot?”

I scowl. “I’m not delusional enough to think that I, as an individual, can make anywhere near that kind of change in the world.”

His smile is pitying. “So then what kind of tragedy do you work on in your free time?”

Petty satisfaction fills my chest. He probably thinks I do nothing but talk. “I do what I can. I worked in a home for domestic violence victims in high school—cooking meals, doing laundry, stuff like that. Before that, I participated in all of my church’s charity events. It’s about progress, not perfection. That’s how I was raised.”

When he bites his lip, looking like he’s ready to burst into laughter, my face grows as hot as an oven. Oh God, I really do sound silly, don’t I?

But everything I said is true. I do care about people I don’t know. Because I can imagine I know them. It’s empathy, forcrying out loud, and yet this megalomaniac is making me feel like kindness is some kind of naive defect.

He takes a step in my direction. “That’s an impressive resume, Ava.”

I take a step back. “Oh, shut up.”

His eyes narrow, and I put my hand over my mouth. The silence stretches between us until Damian’s lips press into a thin line. “Play the piano for me. Now.”

I blink. “What?”

“You heard me. It’s over there.” He gestures at the corner, but I don’t look.

My heart stumbles in my chest, but I force myself to meet his gaze, even as unease coils in my stomach. If this is my punishment for telling him to shut up, I can take it.

At least it’s not a spanking.

I take a slow breath, steadying myself. As I move toward the piano, Damian doesn’t follow. He stays rooted in place, his eyes never leaving me.

Damian

“Oh, shut up.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been so entertained in my whole life. It took everything within me not to laugh.

She reminds me of that little girl on the island. I don’t know how. I have no specific memories of her telling me to shut up.

But something about her words transported me back to those magical days when I was young.

I was a scared little kid. I couldn’t understand the world my father was trying to prepare me for.

I was weak.

And this girl soothed all of the fears. Made me forget about what I was born into.

No, notthisgirl.

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