17
“I hope you are not a hypocrite, Harkell,” said Tarkyn, sipping his tea as he waited for the woodfolk to return from wherever they had disappeared to. Strangely, he didn’t feel any concern for his or their safety, and was sure they would return when they were ready.
Harkell eyed the prince as he leaned forward to poke the fire, sending a shower of sparks scattering into the air. “I wondered if Nightwind’s words would come back to haunt me.”
“And were her words true?”
Harkell gave a smouldering black piece of stick to Midnight so that he could use it to draw on a nearby tree trunk. Then he stood up on the other side of the fire, arms akimbo, to face his liege. “Yes Sire, they were.”
“So, if in your heart, you see all men as equal, does that not make your gestures of respect rather h
