Jack of Harts

I grew up with the man you know as Charles Edward Wolf. He was a Hurst back then. He was trained to dress well, because dressing well speaks well of you. He was a Family scion through and through, the chosen heir of his father’s position in the Family, and first among equals to his entire generation. Girls wanted him, boys wished they could be him, and there I was, the joker at his side. I was the Roman scribe, whispering in the ear of a conquering general that the cheering of the crowds was temporary at best. Not that he really needed the reminder. He was smart enough to know all of that, even then. And you know the really amazing thing? He was smart enough to know that he should never let it show that he was smart enough to know. And that was the most carefully held secret of his entire life.

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