“Even if they save lives?”
“Even then. Because the cost is too high. The precedent too dangerous. You can't build a just society on the foundation of individual violence, no matter how noble the intent.”
He nodded slowly. “That's a very principled position.”
“I'm a prince. Principles are part of the job description.”
“So is diplomacy. And yet you seem quite passionate about this.”
Because it was personal. Because I was arguing against myself. Because every word was a condemnation of what I did in the dark while pretending to be civilized in daylight.
“I'm passionate about the rule of law,” I said. “About maintaining order in a world that's constantly threatening to descend into chaos. The vigilante might think he's a hero. But he's just another person who thinks his judgment is better than everyone else's. That hisviolence is justified because his motives are pure.” I leaned against the workbench. “History is full of people who thought that. They all left corpses in their wake.”
Akintola was quiet for a moment. Then he closed his notebook. “You make a compelling argument.”
“It's the truth.”
“Perhaps.” He moved toward the door again, hand on the handle. “One more question, if you'll indulge me.”
“Of course.”
“If you were the vigilante. If you were the one out there making these choices. What would you want someone to say to you?”
The question caught me off guard. “I'm not?—”
“Hypothetically.” His eyes held mine. “What would you need to hear?”
I thought about it. Really thought about it. About all the nights I'd spent running across rooftops, telling myself I was making a difference. About the weight of every arrow I'd loosed. About the way violence felt both necessary and unforgivable.
“I'd want someone to tell me it's okay to stop,” I said finally. Quietly. “That I don't have to carry the weight alone. That there are other ways to fight without becoming what I'm fighting against.”
“And would you listen?”
“I don't know. Probably not.” I picked up the box again, ran my fingers over the smooth wood. “Pride is a powerful thing. So is the belief that you're the only one who can fix what's broken.”
Akintola nodded. “Thank you for your time, Your Highness. And for your honesty.”
“I'm not sure I've been particularly honest.”
“More than you think.” He opened the door, paused. “The vigilante, whoever he is. He's going to get himself killed. Or kill the wrong person. Or cross a line he can't uncross. When that happens, I'll be there. I just hope he realizes before then that heroism and self-destruction aren't the same thing.”
He left. Door closing with a soft click.
I foundViktor in the security office, standing with his back to three monitors that cycled through palace feeds. His shoulders were locked tight, jaw working as he reviewed something on his tablet. He looked tired. More tired than usual.
“Viktor.”
He turned. Those steel-gray eyes found mine, and for half a second, something unguarded flickered there before the professional mask slammed back into place.
“Your Highness.”
I hated that title from his mouth. Made the space between us feel like miles instead of feet.
“I need you to accompany me somewhere,” I said. Kept my voice level. Reasonable. Not a command. Not quite a request either.
His eyebrow lifted. “Where?”
“St. George's Hospital. Children's ward.” I watched his expression, looking for... what? Judgment? Refusal? “The toys are finished. All of them. I need to deliver them tonight.”
