Marco PoV “Don’t pretend, Spock,” I sneered at my father’s servant, even though he’s more of a friend than a servant to my father, “you’re not here to join my team, you’re here to spy on me.” He’d met me in my chambers as soon as I left my father’s presence. I’m pretty certain my father sent him. “Marco,” he sighed, “I won’t pretend that I won’t report the progress of the mission to my father, but I really am here for you. I’m here to stop you from repeating your father’s mistake.” “And what was his mistake?” I scoffed, “apart from being weak and undeserving of the throne.” “Bleeding on those who didn’t cut him,” Spock replied gently. “Sometimes,” Spock, I shook my head and went to pour myself a drink, “I wonder how my father manages to understand your words. Want a drink?” I offered him a cup. “Thank you, your highness,” Spock replied, bowing gently before he accepted the cup from hand. Spock saw me through my childhood. In the absence of my father, he played the role of fathe
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