they’re content. Money doesn’t bring them happiness. Working the land with their hands does.” He presumed to buy them? Purchase their loyalty and devotion with his soiled gold?
His smug grin struck her, the resultant welts enflaming her fury. “Your father and brothers offered to purchase the villagers’ farms. Can you guess their response?” She paused and arched a brow. “They’d rather die working the land they love than give them up. There’s a pride, my Lord, in honest work that means more to these people than any amount of money.” She snorted and added, “You ran a pyrate ship. Your wealth is ill-gotten.” Her indignation flamed. He thought to stroll back into their lives, dump a load of stolen gold on them, and expected to be called their savior. The villagers were loyal because their honor demanded it, not because their Lord filled their pocketbooks.
“Well, mayhap you should’ve accepted their offers,” he growled. “You might learn a thing or two about business , my Lady. For instance, you cut their taxes in half. Instead of selling those failing farms, you let the castle go to ruin.” He flung his hands out from behind his head, waving to the walls around them. “You employ half the number of servants I used to. What of those men and women? What about their livelihoods?” He shifted forward in his chair, his hands gripping the pages with pale knuckles.
“Unlike you, my Lord.” Ice frosted her tone as she scoffed. “I am not in need of a maid to dust every vase hourly. This is an enormous castle, far too large, and we , Lucian and I, do not require this entire space. The west wing is enough for us.” She leaned over the desk, glaring at him, unwilling to be intimidated this time. “As for those servants, I can assure you they are content working in the village. Which, by the way, is thriving. Its numerous shoppes have become an established part of the trade route throughout Thessaly. You would know as much, if you’d been here.” She should have trembled, yet righteousness bolstered her courage.
Thereus shot to his feet, so they were nose to nose across the desk. The fury of his breaths blew hot against her skin. “Well, rest assured my Lady, I shall see for myself and these,” he tapped several of the names in the ledgers, “these villagers will be made to pay what they owe me. Thank the gods I came back, before your charity had them living in the castle.” He snorted and rose to his full height. “They’ve been abusing your softness. What they require is the heavy hand of a man, before the whole village is in tatters.” He slammed his fist on the desktop.
She jolted and fought the quivering of her lower lip. “Westgard isn’t in tatters.”
“Not yet, wife, but in a few years it will be. They’re scraping by, not turning a profit. You’ve offered too many loans without receiving repayment.” He narrowed his cold, unyielding stare on her. “We’ve a phrase, we pyrates, ’tis ‘no quarter asked and none given.’ ’Tis the law of survival, sweetling. Best you learn it.” He crossed his arms and continued to glare at her.
She slumped in the chair behind her, sitting on her hands to hide how they trembled. This was the real answer she’d been seeking. No quarter asked… Quarter was the pyrate word for mercy. Perhaps the old Thereus would have forgiven her, but not this fierce male before her. He was different. Hardened. Too hard to show mercy to someone like her.
His growl dismissed her presence and he paced to the bookcase, shoving his hands through his hair. Was he as distraught as she? Had her words cut him as deeply as his hurt her? Her heart tugged in opposite directions. She dug her nails into her palms to prevent her hands from reaching out to him.
Her gaze darted to the bookcase, to the scrolls penned in the impeccable handwriting of King Cheiron. Words clearly stating centaur law—and the punishment for impersonating nobility.
Death.
Thereus had
His smug grin struck her, the resultant welts enflaming her fury. “Your father and brothers offered to purchase the villagers’ farms. Can you guess their response?” She paused and arched a brow. “They’d rather die working the land they love than give them up. There’s a pride, my Lord, in honest work that means more to these people than any amount of money.” She snorted and added, “You ran a pyrate ship. Your wealth is ill-gotten.” Her indignation flamed. He thought to stroll back into their lives, dump a load of stolen gold on them, and expected to be called their savior. The villagers were loyal because their honor demanded it, not because their Lord filled their pocketbooks.
“Well, mayhap you should’ve accepted their offers,” he growled. “You might learn a thing or two about business , my Lady. For instance, you cut their taxes in half. Instead of selling those failing farms, you let the castle go to ruin.” He flung his hands out from behind his head, waving to the walls around them. “You employ half the number of servants I used to. What of those men and women? What about their livelihoods?” He shifted forward in his chair, his hands gripping the pages with pale knuckles.
“Unlike you, my Lord.” Ice frosted her tone as she scoffed. “I am not in need of a maid to dust every vase hourly. This is an enormous castle, far too large, and we , Lucian and I, do not require this entire space. The west wing is enough for us.” She leaned over the desk, glaring at him, unwilling to be intimidated this time. “As for those servants, I can assure you they are content working in the village. Which, by the way, is thriving. Its numerous shoppes have become an established part of the trade route throughout Thessaly. You would know as much, if you’d been here.” She should have trembled, yet righteousness bolstered her courage.
Thereus shot to his feet, so they were nose to nose across the desk. The fury of his breaths blew hot against her skin. “Well, rest assured my Lady, I shall see for myself and these,” he tapped several of the names in the ledgers, “these villagers will be made to pay what they owe me. Thank the gods I came back, before your charity had them living in the castle.” He snorted and rose to his full height. “They’ve been abusing your softness. What they require is the heavy hand of a man, before the whole village is in tatters.” He slammed his fist on the desktop.
She jolted and fought the quivering of her lower lip. “Westgard isn’t in tatters.”
“Not yet, wife, but in a few years it will be. They’re scraping by, not turning a profit. You’ve offered too many loans without receiving repayment.” He narrowed his cold, unyielding stare on her. “We’ve a phrase, we pyrates, ’tis ‘no quarter asked and none given.’ ’Tis the law of survival, sweetling. Best you learn it.” He crossed his arms and continued to glare at her.
She slumped in the chair behind her, sitting on her hands to hide how they trembled. This was the real answer she’d been seeking. No quarter asked… Quarter was the pyrate word for mercy. Perhaps the old Thereus would have forgiven her, but not this fierce male before her. He was different. Hardened. Too hard to show mercy to someone like her.
His growl dismissed her presence and he paced to the bookcase, shoving his hands through his hair. Was he as distraught as she? Had her words cut him as deeply as his hurt her? Her heart tugged in opposite directions. She dug her nails into her palms to prevent her hands from reaching out to him.
Her gaze darted to the bookcase, to the scrolls penned in the impeccable handwriting of King Cheiron. Words clearly stating centaur law—and the punishment for impersonating nobility.
Death.
Thereus had
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