“You have no idea, Mr. Hayes. How long were you in the military?” “Since I was fifteen.” “Do you have siblings?” “Two; I’m the youngest son.” “Fated to be a soldier.” I struck a nerve. The sharp line of his jaw hardened. “We seem to have strayed off topic,” he said. “I was telling you about Cleopatra. Unless you’d like to ask me any more invasive questions?” I’d learned enough. Mr. Hayes was the spare in his family, probably twice over if the wary bitterness that had crept in his eyes were any indication.
So he's royal?
