The Gentleman's Agony

The incident at the state dinner had consequences.

The nobles who had witnessed Silas's display of power were terrified. They started avoiding him, refusing to meet his eyes, treating him like a dangerous animal that might attack at any moment. Some of them began calling for restrictions on the bond, arguing that no one should have that much power, that it was a threat to the kingdom's stability.

The fear was palpable. Silas could see it in the way people moved around him, giving him a wide berth, making sure never to be alone with him. He could hear it in the whispered conversations that stopped when he entered a room. He could feel it through the bond, as Elara picked up on the anxiety and unease that surrounded them.

It was isolating. For months, Silas had been working to build relationships, to connect with people, to be seen as more than just a Proxy. And now, in the space of a single evening, all of that progress had been undone.

He was feared again. But this time, it wasn't because he was powerless—it was because he was too powerful.

The nobles who called for restrictions were led by Lord Pemberton, who had survived the exposure of the Preservation Society by claiming he'd been coerced into joining. He was now positioning himself as a voice of moderation, arguing that the reforms were necessary but needed to be implemented carefully, with proper safeguards.

"The bond between the Queen and Silas Vane is unprecedented," he said during a council meeting. "We don't fully understand its capabilities or its limitations. Until we do, we should implement restrictions on how it can be used."

"What kind of restrictions?" Elara asked, her voice cold.

"Magical dampeners, perhaps. Devices that would limit the amount of power that can be channeled through the bond. Or mandatory supervision whenever Silas Vane casts spells, to ensure he doesn't accidentally cause harm."

"You want to put a leash on him."

"I want to protect the kingdom from potential catastrophe, Your Majesty. Silas Vane has demonstrated that he can kill with a thought, without effort, without cost. That's terrifying. And it's irresponsible to allow that kind of power to exist without oversight."

Through the bond, Silas felt Elara's anger. She wanted to defend him, wanted to tell Lord Pemberton exactly what she thought of his proposal. But she was also aware that he had a point—Silas's power was dangerous, and it did need to be controlled somehow.

"The bond is already controlled," Silas said calmly. "By me. I choose when to use it, how to use it, and for what purpose. I don't need external restrictions."

"With respect, that's not reassuring," Lord Pemberton replied. "You're asking us to trust that you'll always make the right decisions, that you'll never lose control, that you'll never be tempted to abuse your power. That's a lot of trust to place in one person."

"It's the same trust you place in every mage in the kingdom. The same trust you place in the Queen herself."

"The Queen is bound by law, by tradition, by the oversight of this council. You're bound by nothing except your own conscience."

"My conscience and the bond. Elara can feel everything I feel, know everything I think. If I were planning to abuse my power, she would know immediately."

"And what if you both decide to abuse it? What if the bond corrupts you both?"

It was a question Silas had been asking himself for weeks. What if Lord Pemberton was right? What if the power was already corrupting him, changing him in ways he couldn't see?

"Then you'll have to stop us," Elara said, her voice hard. "But until that happens, until we actually do something wrong, you don't get to restrict our freedom based on fear and speculation."

"Your Majesty—"

"This discussion is over, Lord Pemberton. Silas and I will continue to use the bond as we see fit, and we will not submit to external restrictions. If you don't like that, you're welcome to resign from the council."

Lord Pemberton's face flushed with anger, but he bowed stiffly. "As Your Majesty commands."

The meeting ended, and Silas and Elara returned to her quarters.

"He's not wrong," Silas said quietly. "The power is dangerous. And I don't know if I can control it."

"You can. You have been."

"Have I? Or have I just been lucky? What happens the next time someone attacks us? What happens if I lose control and kill innocent people?"

"Then we'll deal with it. But Silas, you can't let fear of what might happen prevent you from living. You can't let Lord Pemberton's paranoia dictate your choices."

"It's not paranoia if the threat is real. And the threat is real, Elara. I have more power than any person should have. That's not paranoia—that's fact."

Through the bond, he felt her frustration and concern. She wanted to reassure him, wanted to tell him that everything would be fine. But she couldn't, because she knew he was right.

The power was dangerous. And they didn't know how to control it.

But there were others who saw opportunity in Silas's power. They approached him privately, in quiet corners of the palace, in shadowy meetings that were carefully arranged to avoid detection.

They offered alliances, suggested ways he could use his power to advance their political agendas, hinted that with his abilities, he could rule the kingdom if he wanted to.

"Think about it," one noble said during a clandestine meeting in the palace gardens. "You have the power to reshape the kingdom. You could eliminate the opposition to the reforms, force the nobles to comply, build the world you want to see."

"Through violence and coercion," Silas replied.

"Through strength and determination. The reforms are good, Silas. They're necessary. But they're being implemented too slowly, too cautiously. With your power, you could accelerate the process. You could save thousands of Proxies who will die while we're negotiating with nobles who don't care about their suffering."

It was a seductive argument. Silas had thought about it himself, late at night when he couldn't sleep, when the weight of all the suffering he couldn't prevent pressed down on him.

He could end it. All of it. He could force the reforms through, eliminate the opposition, build a better world through sheer force of will.

All it would take was the willingness to use his power without restraint.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not going to become a tyrant, no matter how good my intentions are."

"That's very noble. But how many Proxies will die while you're being noble? How many lives is your moral purity worth?"

"I don't know. But I know that power gained through force is power that has to be maintained through force. And I'm not going to build a better world on a foundation of violence."

The noble looked disappointed but not surprised. "I understand. But the offer stands, if you change your mind."

Silas refused all of them. But the offers kept coming, and with each one, he felt the temptation growing stronger.

It would be so easy. He had the power to reshape the kingdom, to force the reforms through, to eliminate anyone who opposed them. He could end the suffering of every Proxy in a single day, could dismantle the entire aristocratic system, could build something new and better from the ashes of the old.

All it would take was the willingness to use his power without restraint.

And every day, that willingness felt a little bit closer.

It would be so easy. He had the power to reshape the kingdom, to force the reforms through, to eliminate anyone who opposed them. He could end the suffering of every Proxy in a single day, could dismantle the entire aristocratic system, could build something new and better from the ashes of the old.

All it would take was the willingness to use his power without restraint.

"You're thinking about it," Elara said one evening, feeling his thoughts through the bond.

They were in her private study, a room lined with books and maps, where she did most of her planning and strategizing. It was late, well past midnight, and they were both exhausted from another long day of political maneuvering.

But Silas couldn't sleep. His mind kept returning to the same question, the same temptation, the same seductive possibility.

"I'm not going to do it," he said.

"But you're thinking about it. You're wondering if maybe the ends would justify the means."

"Aren't you? Don't you ever think about how much faster we could implement the reforms if we just forced people to comply?"

"Of course I think about it. But thinking about it and doing it are different things." She moved to sit beside him on the couch, close enough that the bond hummed comfortably between them. "Silas, the moment we start using force to implement the reforms, we become exactly what we're fighting against. We become tyrants who impose our will on others without their consent."

"But we'd be imposing good things. Justice, equality, an end to suffering."

"That's what every tyrant tells themselves. That they're doing it for the greater good, that the people will thank them eventually, that the ends justify the means." She took his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. "But it's a lie. Because power gained through force is power that has to be maintained through force. And once you start down that path, there's no going back."

Through the bond, Silas felt her conviction, her absolute certainty that this was true. She'd studied history, had read about the tyrants and dictators who had justified their atrocities in the name of progress. She knew how that story ended.

"But what if we're different?" he asked. "What if we use force just once, just to implement the reforms, and then step back? What if we don't become tyrants?"

"We can't. Because the moment you use force to get what you want, you've established that force is an acceptable tool. And once that precedent is set, it's impossible to undo. People will expect you to use force again, will demand it when things don't go their way. And you'll be trapped in a cycle of violence that never ends."

"So we just keep doing it the slow way? Keep negotiating with nobles who don't care about Proxy suffering? Keep waiting for people to voluntarily give up their privileges?"

"Yes. Because that's how real change happens. Not through force, but through persuasion. Not through fear, but through understanding. It's slower, it's harder, but it's the only way to build something that lasts."

Silas was quiet for a long moment, processing her words. Through the bond, he could feel her emotions—her fear that he might choose the path of force, her determination to keep him grounded, her love for him that made her willing to fight him if necessary.

And he realized she was right. Not just intellectually right, but fundamentally right. The power he had was dangerous not because of what it could do, but because of what it might tempt him to do. And the only way to resist that temptation was to have someone like Elara, someone who would remind him of his principles when he was tempted to abandon them.

"You're right," he said finally. "I know you're right. But Elara, it's hard. Every day I see Proxies suffering, and I know I have the power to stop it immediately. Resisting the urge to use that power—it's one of the hardest things I've ever done."

"I know. But you're doing it. You're choosing the hard right over the easy wrong. That's what makes you a good person, Silas. Not your power, but your restraint."

"I'm not sure I'm a good person. I've thought about using the power. I've imagined what it would be like to just force everyone to comply."

"Thinking about it doesn't make you bad. Acting on it would. And you haven't acted on it, and you won't, because you're better than that."

Through the bond, he felt her absolute faith in him, her unwavering belief that he would make the right choice. And that faith was both comforting and terrifying, because it meant he couldn't let her down, couldn't give in to the temptation, couldn't become the tyrant he sometimes imagined himself being.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For being my moral compass. For keeping me grounded. For reminding me who I am when I'm tempted to become something else."

"That's what partners do. We keep each other honest, keep each other human, keep each other from losing ourselves to the darkness."

"Is that what the bond is? A way to keep us human?"

"Maybe. Or maybe it's just a connection between two people who care about each other and want to do the right thing. Either way, it works."

They sat together in comfortable silence, connected by the bond, supporting each other through the constant temptation of unlimited power.

And Silas made a decision. He would use his power, but only in ways that Elara approved of, only in ways that aligned with their shared principles, only in ways that built rather than destroyed.

It was a difficult commitment to make. But it was necessary.

Because power without restraint was tyranny. And he refused to become a tyrant, no matter how good his intentions were.

The next day, Silas made a public announcement. He declared that he would not use his power to force the reforms, that he would respect the autonomy of the nobles and the people, that he would work within the existing system rather than trying to overthrow it.

The announcement was met with mixed reactions. Some people were relieved, grateful that he wasn't going to become a dictator. Others were disappointed, frustrated that he wasn't using his power to implement immediate change.

But Elara was proud of him. He could feel it through the bond—her pride, her respect, her love for him that had nothing to do with his power and everything to do with his character.

And that was enough.

More than enough.

Because at the end of the day, the opinions of strangers didn't matter. What mattered was staying true to his principles, maintaining his humanity, and being worthy of Elara's faith in him.

Everything else was just details.

"So we just keep doing it the slow way? Keep negotiating with nobles who don't care about Proxy suffering? Keep waiting for people to voluntarily give up their privileges?"

"Yes. Because that's how real change happens. Not through force, but through persuasion. Not through fear, but through understanding. It's slower, it's harder, but it's the only way to build something that lasts."

Through the bond, Silas felt her conviction, her absolute certainty that this was the right path. And he felt his own doubts and frustrations warring with her certainty.

"What if we don't have time for the slow way?" he asked. "What if Proxies keep dying while we're trying to persuade people who don't want to be persuaded?"

"Then we work faster. We find better arguments, we build stronger coalitions, we demonstrate the benefits of the reforms more effectively. But we don't use force. Because the moment we do, we lose the moral high ground. We become just another group of people using power to get what we want."

"Even if what we want is good?"

"Especially if what we want is good. Because good ends don't justify evil means. They never have, and they never will."

Silas was quiet for a long moment, processing her words. Through the bond, he could feel her emotions—her fear that he might choose the path of force, her determination to keep him grounded, her love for him that made her willing to fight him if necessary.

And he realized she was right. Not just intellectually right, but fundamentally right. The power he had was dangerous not because of what it could do, but because of what it might tempt him to do. And the only way to resist that temptation was to have someone like Elara, someone who would remind him of his principles when he was tempted to abandon them.

"You're right," he said finally. "I know you're right. But Elara, it's hard. Every day I see Proxies suffering, and I know I have the power to stop it immediately. Resisting the urge to use that power—it's one of the hardest things I've ever done."

"I know. But you're doing it. You're choosing the hard right over the easy wrong. That's what makes you a good person, Silas. Not your power, but your restraint."

"I'm not sure I'm a good person. I've thought about using the power. I've imagined what it would be like to just force everyone to comply."

"Thinking about it doesn't make you bad. Acting on it would. And you haven't acted on it, and you won't, because you're better than that."

Through the bond, he felt her absolute faith in him, her unwavering belief that he would make the right choice. And that faith was both comforting and terrifying, because it meant he couldn't let her down, couldn't give in to the temptation, couldn't become the tyrant he sometimes imagined himself being.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For being my moral compass. For keeping me grounded. For reminding me who I am when I'm tempted to become something else."

"That's what partners do. We keep each other honest, keep each other human, keep each other from losing ourselves to the darkness."

"Is that what the bond is? A way to keep us human?"

"Maybe. Or maybe it's just a connection between two people who care about each other and want to do the right thing. Either way, it works."

They sat together in comfortable silence, connected by the bond, supporting each other through the constant temptation of unlimited power.

And Silas made a decision. He would use his power, but only in ways that Elara approved of, only in ways that aligned with their shared principles, only in ways that built rather than destroyed.

It was a difficult commitment to make. But it was necessary.

Because power without restraint was tyranny. And he refused to become a tyrant, no matter how good his intentions were.

The next day, Silas made a public announcement. He declared that he would not use his power to force the reforms, that he would respect the autonomy of the nobles and the people, that he would work within the existing system rather than trying to overthrow it.

The announcement was met with mixed reactions. Some people were relieved, grateful that he wasn't going to become a dictator. Others were disappointed, frustrated that he wasn't using his power to implement immediate change.

But Elara was proud of him. He could feel it through the bond—her pride, her respect, her love for him that had nothing to do with his power and everything to do with his character.

And that was enough.

More than enough.

Because at the end of the day, the opinions of strangers didn't matter. What mattered was staying true to his principles, maintaining his humanity, and being worthy of Elara's faith in him.

Everything else was just details.

End of Chapter 23