Strong people…?
Arzhen's mind halted and the growl died in his throat.
At that moment, Roarke saw the bait land.
Heh. The prince's tired, fractured mind latched onto those two words like a drowning man grasping a rope. Strong people.
Of course. Arzhen Vasiliev was many things, but above all, he was proud. The pride of the Vasiliev bloodline, the Tiger Prince. He would never, ever admit that he had fallen.
"Everyone with grief, responsibility, and crushing burden… leaders, elders, people who carry the weight of others, often lose sleep from their fears and guilt."
Roarke's hand was still on Arzhen's forehead. Checking his temperature. Then, he moved to check his pulse.
"I am not one to tell the story, since I am but a healer… but, well." Roarke paused with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I understand a little bit. I too have my own regrets. And my own fears."
"What do you know?" Arzhen's hiss was weak now since the fury had drained out of it.
