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“No.” Radu spoke slowly and carefully. He was not certain how so little had been communicated. Had it been neglect on his part, or negligence on theirs? “My men are setting up to defend the capital. It is vital that we hold it as our seat of power as a signal to all of Europe who the true prince is.”
Aron looked deeply suspicious. “The true prince?”
“You,” Radu prodded. “Of course. You are to be crowned prince. But to be prince, you need to rule from the capital.”
“I would not feel safe there.”
“It is not about feeling safe. It is about appearing to be strong. If we cannot fool others that we are confident in your rule, why would they trust us enough to stand at our side? We pretend at strength until we have actual strength. It is a lie that will become truth.”
“You seem an expert in these matters,” Andrei said drily.
Radu was. He had pretended his way into Murad’s favorites. He had pretended his way through enemy territory in Constantinople. And he had pretended his way through a lifelong friendship that he had wished was ever so much more.
And now? He would have to pretend in order to rebuild the country that never even so much as pretended to care whether he lived or died.
Aron shook his head. “I would still prefer to run things from my estate. You can divide your men.”
“I will not.”
Andrei sat up a bit straighter, and Aron stepped closer. He was smaller than Radu, though, and his attempt to loom fell short, literally. “I am here with the support of the sultan, am I not? What did he leave men for, if not to do my bidding?”
Radu smiled benignly. It was a good thing he had so much practice pretending, because if he were to be honest, he would laugh in Aron’s face. “The sultan left his men here to provide stability. He left them under my command, and I will use them as I think wisest. Which, right now, is protecting Tirgoviste and reestablishing it as your capital.”
“I am your prince,” Aron said, lifting his chin proudly.
“Actually, you are Wallachia’s prince. I am a bey of the Ottoman Empire, and am only here as a personal favor to you. I owe you no allegiance.”
Aron and Andrei shared a look that was alarm on Aron’s part and menace on Andrei’s. “We want money,” Andrei said. “We know the sultan left you with funds. As prince, my brother should be able to dictate where those funds go.”
“The money is for fighting my sister.”
“And by becoming prince, is my brother not fighting her? Therefore, he should be able to decide how best to put it to use.”
“You can see,” Aron said, holding out his hands in a placating gesture, “how it is concerning that, while I am prince, you seem to control all the men and all the gold.”
Perhaps Radu had been wrong to assume these two had outgrown their childishly aggressive competitiveness. They had always been polite to him while among the Ottomans. But Radu had more power than they did there. Here, in Wallachia, they were determined to prove they mattered more. It was like the forest games they had been forced to play as children all over again. Only this time, Lada would not jump out of hiding to beat them for hitting Radu.
And this time, he did not need her to.
“I can understand that,” Radu said. “The sultan has donated my men’s time and resources. I have never seen him so generous with another vaivode prince. Our fathers certainly received no such level of support from Sultan Murad. I think that provided you follow the sultan’s wishes by setting up in the capital and beginning your rule with absolute confidence, you can look forward to a beneficial lifelong relationship with the Ottoman Empire. And I can ask him to forgive the debts that Wallachia is several years behind on paying.”
Radu did not voice what would happen should Aron decide he was not satisfied with Mehmed’s generosity. But he could see in the shift from aggression to overly demonstrative smiles that he did not have to.
“Of course,” Aron said. “We want the same things the sultan does. I am sure you will communicate that.”
Radu had no desire to play politics with the Danesti brothers. He wanted them to have the country. But he had a job to do, too. Regardless of how he felt about Wallachia, about Lada, about Mehmed, he would discharge his duties here to the best of his ability. He owed that much.
Radu inclined his head. “Please let me know if there is anything we can do to ease your transition into the castle. It has been thoroughly cleaned. The whole city is clear and ready for life to resume its natural pace. While you are settling in, I will find the remaining boyars and bring them back as your support system, so that, with their help, you can begin reestablishing order. I know—as does the sultan—that you are the prince Wallachia needs.”
Aron nodded as though everything Radu proposed had been his plan all along. “Very good. I will consider our return and send word when we are ready.” He paused. “If we are going to pretend, though, I will need to put on a better show. I need new clothes more befitting my throne, as does my brother. We should also have livery for our servants with our family crest. And new horses, as well.”
Radu could practically see Aron holding out his hand for gold. And if Radu agreed to this, he could only imagine the vital needs Aron would generate in the future. But he had to make some sort of concession, and it did play into the image they were trying to project. Aron was clever.
Radu was cleverer.
“It would be an honor to arrange that. I will have it waiting in your castle for your return.” Radu bowed to cover the smile threatening to break free. He had missed playing court games a bit, after all.
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