Why am I even here? I'm way too busy for this.

Walter lolled his head on the back of the chair and stared at the wood-paneled ceiling. Unlike the Pilgrim's Folly, which used well-fitted but bare planks, The elaborately carved and darkly-stained wood decorated the cramped rooms of Manticore Keep. He visited the keep often because the building hosted the city's sole minting and currency exchange, and his role as his tenant's mandatory banker trapped him.

You know what? I should talk Elin into renting a room there, for old time's sake. Wait, what am I saying? It wasn't that long ago.

If he restricted their banking needs to specific days, then he could have more free time, and he would be within his power to do so as the landholder. His bondservants would have to endure his decision. Since he directly provided for many of their needs, Princess Roselynde informed him he could, theoretically, limit their banking to once a month, the maximum restriction. She even hinted she would rule in his favor, against law and precedent, in a court if he wanted longer. Walter, however, grew up with ATMs, so he didn't want to lock up their hard-earned money, and often made trips so they could do personal business.

Things progressed with Elin, and I'm stuck here. It's weird saying that after I proposed to her.

"Am I boring you, Lord Walter?"

Princess Roselynde, the acting governor of Letun, stared, with intense disapproval, at Walter's inattentiveness.

Her behavior now is a far cry from the awe, fear, and deference she used to show. Well, she's still highly respectful and wary, I guess.

"Sorry. Guess I'm tired," Walter said. He shifted to sitting up straight.

"Well, as a lord, you should protect your health since you have duties, and the citizens rely on you."

Walter resisted the urge to flinch. I have way too many duties. How the hell do other lords do this? Not only that, but all I've done is be in charge. Have we done enough to be considered reliable?

Walter turned his head to scan the other officials present at the table. They looked back, each in turn, waiting and hoping for him to say something. Attention from Walter would springboard an outburst of grandstanding. He tried to remember their names, but the war with Rangville happened so fast that he couldn't retain them.

These men, and even the flippant Princess Roselynde, were experienced and comfortable making decisions that changed people's lives. Walter seized up. What if I do something that ruins a life? What if I have to order an execution? He didn't realize he learned it until this moment, but the image of a young soldier's face sprung into his mind, falling from Camp Bear's wall. Then another popped up, a man with a bird's nest of a beard. The meeting room shrunk, and he held his breath to fight his sudden claustrophobia. I killed someone. I killed more people in less time than it takes to boil a package of cheap ramen. I'm a killer. Everyone in this room has probably killed someone.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He stood fast enough that the heavy chair scraped on the floor. I need to talk to Elin--

--She's a killer, too.

"Why am I even here?"

One of the officials spread out his arms, "Lord Walter, if you wish, you need not worry. Delegate your portion of the responsibility to us, and sponsor--"

Do people in this world not have a fucking breaking point? Where do they draw the line?

Walter snapped, "What are you talking about?"

Silence dropped in the room like a guillotine blade. Everyone hoped the quietness wasn't for their necks.

"Meeting adjourned," Princess Roselynde said. When Walter turned to leave, she pointed, "Not for you."

He sank into his chair. The officials bowed, said their goodbyes to Walter and then the princess, and departed in order of rank.

"Sorry. As I said, I'm tired."

"You're not the first one to yell at an ass-kisser," her matter-of-fact tone matched the nail-admiring attitude, "One could argue they deserved it, for the grave crime of offending the highly-refined sensibilities of the Black Mage of Eovamund. Do you drink, Lord Walter?"

"Is that a trick question? Ale is all there is."

Princess Roselynde moved to a nearby table and lifted an ornate bottle of spirits. She shook it to declare its existence.

"Oh."

"Letun is poor, but thankfully not that poor. Lord Remont Manticore, Ouroboros consume his soul, may have been a criminal traitor and a wicked deviant, but he had good taste."

Without waiting for his approval, she poured two glasses and set one before him. As Princess Roselynde sipped, she settled her rear on the table. The hem of her skirt rose an inch and exposed her thigh. "Did you enjoy your trip to the Sanctuary, Lord Walter?"

Walter frowned and turned his eyes away.

She smiled, "Relax, dear hero. I won't force anything untoward. Our mutual friend might become jealous and cut me in half." Princess Roselynde gulped her liquor, then she leaned over Walter and swallowed his. "Conventions dictate I must be persistent. I shoulder royal obligations. You know how it is. Truthfully, men don't do much for me. I wanted to get back at my mother for having a girl, you see, and I discovered I preferred women. They're softer. They make cuter noises when you squeeze them. I don't hate men. Some can scratch certain itches. Most don't cut it. You don't."

"Then why keep this up?"

"Why would I jump on this table if you told me to, dry as chalk? I can probably tell you this without causing a heroic rampage. I've got a pretty good measure of you now. You're like this in bed, too, I bet, gentle but mind-numbingly tedious, like a rabbit pretending to be a fox, with loins as satisfying as hunger." She tilted the bottom of the empty glass at him. "The answer to that is the same as the answer to your question."

Walter gritted his teeth. "Huh?"

"You asked why you're here. You're the strongest. We all need you or something from you. You've seen what Eovamund is like now, so you know our survival depends on you." Her finger touched his chest. He flinched because he mistook the move to be another blatant attempt at seduction, but she poked him hard enough to hurt. Her fingernail scratched him, and the twin scars above his heart ached. "If you keep hesitating, then you'll make it worse for everyone. Nobody is kowtowing because they like you. People are waiting. You're the one that wanted to be a landholder, so stop bullshitting, and figure out what you should fucking do."

Princess Roselynde smiled and waved her hand away. "That's what I would like to say. I'm a princess, sugar and spice, so I have to play nice. I'll get scolded if I use harsh language on the most esteemed man in the kingdom. Don't worry about the other nobles here today because they already forgot your tantrum, and if they didn't, then I'll ensure it. Please forget that we forgot. Remember, you're always welcome to ask me for anything, absolutely anything." She readjusted her skirt and winked.

"Oh! My brother, Prince Peterby, will arrive in Letun soon. He requests an audience."