“They’re talking about you, you know.”

Once more, Samuel was seated in the dining room of the Gold Dorm with Cecilia. It’d been days since he’d last invited her out. He hadn’t been entirely sure that it was appropriate, given their last conversation, but there were few people he trusted enough to confide in.

The reason he needed a sympathetic ear was all around them. As a prince, Samuel was used to drawing attention, but since the previous weekend, it’d gotten almost unbearable. Everywhere he went, gazes followed him and whispers tickled his ears. Samuel was under constant scrutiny in public and there was an intensity to the attention that unnerved him. The eyes, they were…bright. Hopeful.

He was used to calculating gazes, harsh gazes, even indifferent gazes. He didn’t know what to do with the rampant admiration that had infected the acolytes.

Cecilia didn’t share his concerns. She seemed worn down, her blonde hair pulled into a thoughtless bun and her clothes more casual than he’d ever seen, but she smiled as she subtly scanned the room. A lazy finger pointed at him. “You want to hear my personal favorite?”

“No.”

“The Spinach Prince.” She chuckled. “Isn’t it great?”

“It’s the opposite of great,” he grumbled. He waved off the server that arrived with the wine he ordered, along with two glasses. He hastily filled one and gulped down the contents, uncaring about the crass image it presented.

“You don’t like being fawned over?” Her tone said she wouldn’t believe him if he said no.

“Fawning is fine in moderation, but this is something different. They’re…they’re…”

“Showering you with sincere compliments rather than empty flattery? Horrible.”

The prince frowned. “You jest but it is horrible.” Because with those compliments came expectations. Samuel leaned forward, dropping his voice though a part of him wished someone would eavesdrop on the conversation. “I’ve done nothing deserving of their praise. Orum created that field of his own accord. If anything, I was his excuse. They’re looking at me for answers and they shouldn’t. I don’t have any.”

The noblewoman considered his words as she poured herself a generous drink. “Do you think leaders are born or made?”

“What?”

“Leaders. Heroes. Legends. Do you think they’re born or made?”

“What does this have to do with—"

“Just answer the question. Come on. Humor me.”

“…I suppose they’re born.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You can’t become a hero without talent and talent is decided at birth.”

“That’s true. But heroes don’t come out of the wound smiting monsters. Saints don’t save the innocents while they’re crawling. To bring the metaphor to a more personal level, kings are just little princelings before they put on the crown.”

“Everyone has to grow up. That doesn’t change the natural gap between those who can and those who can’t.”

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“Yes, but those that can’t, can learn. Or those that with that natural ability you put so much faith in can choose to live mundane lives, squandering their talents.”

The prince sighed. “I still don’t see how this helps me, but for argument’s sake, I’ll agree that great figures are made. There. Now, what does that have to do with my situation?”

“Come on, Prince Samuel. You’re no fool. Leaders are made by their circumstances and decisions. Perception is influence. Influence is power. Therefore, perception is power.”

“You don’t need to echo our childhood lessons.”

“Don’t I? You are the source of an action that has saved the lives of quite literally more people than I can count. Who cares if you meant to do it? You’re a hero now, your highness. The people’s perception of you has been drastically raised, giving you incredible power. Quest is in a dangerous place, one step away from another tragedy. You’ve just become one of the people who has a say in the future of this city, no, the future of the kingdom, and you’re upset about it?”

“I never asked for that responsibility.”

“There was a time you wanted nothing more than the ultimate responsibility.”

“I never—" Samuel stopped himself before his voice could get too loud. “I never wanted the throne,” he hissed. “I wanted…” He wanted to be more than the second prince, the spare. He wanted to prove he was good enough. But the realities of ruling? Those, his brother was more than welcome to.

Cecilia sighed. “That’s a shame. Truly. As your friend, I feel like I have to tell you that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that you’re throwing away. But…as your friend, I will also support your choice. So, I remind you, you are the one with the power. If you don’t want it, then it’s yours to give away.”

Samuel scoffed. “I can’t just give…” He trailed off as her words sparked an idea in his mind. “An endorsement.”

The noblewoman took a long sip of her drink, waving for him to continue the thought.

“I call a meeting to talk with the refugees, tell them that the field wouldn’t have been possible without the Hall’s assistance and reassure them that the Hall is doing everything it can to help them,” he mused. “I give them my good reputation.”

“It won’t erase the legend of the Spinach Prince but if you tell people to go to the Hall for answers enough times, eventually, they’ll stop coming to you.”

“…no.” The prince was a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t come up with such an obvious idea on his own and hoped it could be blamed on his better reasoning subconsciously disregarding the plan for its flaws. “The reason the people are latching onto me so strongly is because they don’t trust the Hall. They blame them for the attack, for not doing more to protect them.”

“Then give it to someone else who can make use of it.”

“Who?”

Cecilia chuckled. “While I’m flattered in your faith in me, I don’t know everything, your highness. It might require a bit of effort, but I’m sure there are plenty of people trying to help the city. If a pampered lady like me is willing to get her hands dirty, I’m sure there a dozen budding heroes in the ruins of Quest, waiting for the chance to save the day. Sponsor them. Sponsor the person who will sponsor them if you want to keep a distance. Or you can relax and wait it out. Even legends die.”

“…hm. Thank you. Your advice has proved insightful.” As he knew it would. Cecilia always had a calm mind capable of seeing a straight path through chaos. She never let her emotions get the best of her. A trait that had no doubt let her expertly handle his attentions over the years.

“I’m glad I was able to help. Really, I’m glad that you felt comfortable calling on me.”

“I had no one else to turn to.”

“Oh? Not even the man who has sworn to sacrifice his life for yours should the need arise?”

Samuel shook his head. “Please. Ewan and the rest of the soldiers are my father’s men. Or rather, the kingdom’s.” He doubted the knights, who each wielded enough power to decimate a hundred soldiers, had much respect for his very ordinary father. “If I brought my concerns to him, he’d push me to ‘act for the benefit of the kingdom’ or something of that sort. And you are well aware of how trustworthy my apparent friends are.” One of them had been plotting the prince’s death from his side.

“…I’m sorry if my outburst in the past strained things between us.” He was starting to understand what she meant about his feelings getting in the way of what they could become. It still hurt to be around her, her rejection a soft echo in his thoughts no matter the topic, but there was more between them than his broken heart. Something he’d regret letting go. “If you don’t mind, I would ask for more of your time. To discuss this further.”

“Then we better order dinner,” she said, waving down a server.