Some princes don't become kings – allie (18+)

He laughed. "I'm not always a dumb jock," he teased, "sometimes I do use my brain, like it or not." It was a fun afternoon. They took it slow, just chatting and enjoying the sights the city had to offer. Elise's story about his father's creepy business party made Cato frown, but he chalked it up to just...nobles being weird about things. A lot of these old geezers were so out of touch with reality these days, he wouldn't be surprised if they didn't even know they were creepy. 

The restaurant was pretty, even if it wasn't as fancy as the usual ones he'd go to. The private corner they had was pretty, and he was glad it was away from the other noisier guests, so they could converse on their own. While Elise had ordered a lobster, he had gone for the steak, a classic. 

"I guess so," he agreed with Elise, "if I didn't know you well, I'd think you were trying to persuade me that normal people's lives are better than the stuffy nobility and all their responsibilities." It was true. As much as his father went on about how common peasants had to struggle, constantly going on about the drudgery of their lives, the horrible conditions they had to survive...it didn't look that way today. They had their own joys and struggles and obstacles, similar to the rest of the nobles. 

Living a normal life didn't seem so horrible after all, Cato thought, despite his own preconceptions. 

He laughed. "So I'm trying to win you over with martinis by the beach and a huge mansion, while you're telling me to take a break," he hummed, "I guess we can negotiate our lifestyle once we're married sipping martinis in Maline." The humour was sparkling in his eyes. "I admit, sometimes the rustic farmhouse life does seem attractive, but I doubt I'd be good at scooping up chicken poo." 

The humour seemed to leave as she asked her next question, his expression turning serious again. He didn't mean to hide anything from Elise, but he knew the dangers of talking about his family to others. It was rule number one in the Rotherhithe book; never let an outsider know what happens behind closed doors. He was the only one old enough to really understand this rule, and despite how much he trusted Elise, his family name still came first. He contemplated the question. What was his father like? 

Strong, he thought. He was a man of his word, a man who understood the way the world worked. He was a man capable of anything. Great things, with the sheer amount of magical force he had–after all, look at Carina and her ability as a child, he thought dryly–but also great cruelty. He turned a blind eye to what happened around the house, but that didn't mean he was clueless about what his father did to ensure his children held the same power he did. Cato was born lucky, and so was Carina. Cassian? Not so much. There was a certain brand of cruelty their family had, and he knew he had the same darkness his father had, the one that often ended up turning the younger boy into the scapegoat cast out into the desert to compensate for the sins of their family. 

If that was so, he thought dryly, then he was the sacrificial lamb. 

"My father," he started, his expression still contemplative, "he's not an accommodating man. He...he knows what he wants, and he knows people, most importantly. As much as he's part of the nobility, he's a capitalist at heart, I think. Business means getting what you need and what you want, even at the expense of everything else. It's...admirable. I suppose you have to be shrewd to survive where we are. I doubt we'd have nearly as much to our name if he wasn't that way, you know? How else would a noble family in Vela compete with the others in the capital?" 

He didn't answer her second question. Frankly, he didn't know how to answer it.