Two

The room went silent, and even more profoundly still. Toby looked like she’d just been punched in the gut—and I’ve seen that happen enough times to know what it looks like. Even though she was the one who’d asked the question, she was the only one who seemed surprised by the answer.

Mom stepped forward. Not much, barely a half step, but enough to set her skirts rustling. In the stillness and silence of the room, that was like clapping her hands for attention. All eyes went to her. “Please understand, Sir Daye, we are incredibly grateful for what you’ve done for our son. The change in his letters since he met you has been day and night. He’s blossomed. You’ve given him challenges to meet and quests to accomplish, and he’ll be a better king one day because of his time with you.”

I found my voice. “Imagine what kind of king I’d be if you let me stay,” I said. My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. It didn’t help. “I’m not ready for my knighthood yet.”

“You don’t have to be knighted to become High King,” said Dad. “When we step aside and the crown is set on your brow, no one will care if you knelt and swore before the rose and the thorn.”

“I’ll care,” I mumbled, glancing at my feet.

“What was that?”

“I said, I’ll care.” I lifted my head again, taking the risk and meeting his eyes. “I didn’t have to be a squire. I asked. I asked if I could take my training in that direction, because I wanted to. I made commitments. I made promises. Please don’t make me break them. Please don’t make me go.”

“Your first promise was to us, and you broke that willingly enough,” said my father. The warning in his voice was impossible to miss—the warning, and the confusion. When he’d sent me away, I would never have dreamed of arguing with him in front of people outside of the family.

What he didn’t understand was that these people, with the exception of Arden, were my family. Even Tybalt. Even if he did watch Toby’s ass when he thought I wasn’t looking.

“I didn’t break any promises to you,” I said.

“Didn’t you?” he asked. “When we sent you into blind fosterage, we told you the rules. They were very clear. You were to reveal your identity only if your life hung in the balance, and even then, you were to stay silent if there was any chance whatsoever that breaking your own silence would endanger your sister.”

It wasn’t as heartless as it sounded. Penthea had the same instructions. Losing one of us would be devastating. Losing both of us would have repercussions that could shatter the Westlands. There was a reason High Kings and Queens sent their children into anonymous exile, and it wasn’t because they wanted a little alone time.

“I know,” I said. I couldn’t stop my voice from dropping on the second word, withering until it was almost a whisper.

“Yet you revealed yourself anyway.”

“To his credit, he was showing forethought and wisdom when he did.” Tybalt sounded as smoothly unconcerned as ever, like he was commenting on something that was happening on television. His pupils, though, had narrowed to slits, and while his face hadn’t changed outwardly, his posture was less relaxed and more predatory.

Dad turned to frown at him. “This is none of your concern.”

“Ah, but you see, it is my concern, and more, I seem to be one of only two people in this room who may speak freely to you if I so wish—with the other being your lovely lady wife. A pity, milady, that your son did not inherit your coloring. Such beautiful hair you have, and such a charming manner.” Mom looked nonplussed again. Tybalt focused his attention back on Dad. “Your son is a credit to your house and name. All the more because, had I known his lineage, I would have refused to speak with him at all. A rose by any other name would still have thorns, and the relations between Kings and Queens of Cats and those who claim your High Thrones have never been smooth. Your boy is close friends with my nephew, who will be King in my stead one day. He is clearly a born diplomat, meant to join our disparate Kingdoms after centuries of dissent.”

Mom glanced to me. I shrugged. “He always talks like this. You sort of learn to put up with it or turn the volume up on the TV.”

“As you can see, his disrespect for me, a King of Cats, is also a credit to your house,” said Tybalt, not missing a beat. “When he revealed himself—when he broke, as you say, his word—he was not in immediate danger. No blades were held to his throat, no curses aimed at his heart. But he had something you do not, because he paid attention to what surrounded him.”

“And what is that?” asked Dad.

“Context,” said Tybalt. “Your son watched the world around him, and saw that should Queen Windermere refuse her throne, the nameless usurper who had stolen it from the Windermere line would not cease her efforts to destroy Sir Daye—and all who stood with her. The woman’s hatred of milady has never been explained to my satisfaction. That does not make it any less real. She had banished Sir Daye shortly before the missing heir was found. As October’s squire, Quentin would have been expected to go with her, or explain his reasons why. As the false queen was both Banshee and Siren, he would not have been able to lie to her. Allowing October’s banishment to be carried out would have made him either exile or target—and lest you think ‘exile’ would have been the kinder option, I knew this lying regent of old. She would have placed a price upon milady’s head before the border closed, that Sir Daye might never return. Your son saved his life when he spilled his secrets. Be sure of that.”

“Do you think he sits around coming up with lists of things to call each of us, in case he needs to make a speech, so he never has to use the same one twice?” asked May, leaning toward Toby. “Like, ‘lying regent’? Who thinks like that?”

“Tybalt does,” said Toby fondly. Those words seemed to break the seal on her tongue, because she took a step toward my parents, burying her hands in her skirt, and said, “And he’s right. I don’t think we’d be alive right now, either of us, if we hadn’t managed to convince Arden—I mean, Queen Windermere—to take the throne. The false Queen was running out of options by the end, and she’d hated me for years. She was going to take me down no matter what.”

“So our son is in danger when he’s with you.” Dad made the comment sound mild and absolutely damning at the same time, like it resolved the whole matter. The conversation was over: Toby had condemned herself.

She laughed.

Mom blinked, taken aback. So did Dad, although he looked more angry than confused. Toby stopped laughing.

“Are you going to try to play that card now?” she asked. “When I was asked to be his knight, I’d already escorted him on a field trip through Blind Michael’s lands and gotten him shot. Like, with a bullet that came out of a gun and put a hole in his shoulder and everything. He’s not in more danger now than he was when I agreed to take him on, and Duke Sylvester Torquill told me, in so many words, that his parents approved of me standing as his knight. So either my liege lied to me or you’re ignoring the part where he’s always been in danger because he’s in my company. I’ve never pretended otherwise.”

“She hasn’t gotten me killed yet either,” I piped up, earning myself a glare from Dad and a concerned look from Mom. It was like they’d just realized I wasn’t kidding when I wrote home about the dangerous stuff Toby and I did together—and that Toby had been serious when she’d said basically the same thing.

I decided it was better to be hanged for something I’d actually done than something they were assuming, and pressed on. “When I came to the Mists, I thought I was better than everybody. Changelings weren’t as good as purebloods, Cait Sidhe were beasts pretending at having a monarchy, and I was going to be the best king ever, because I knew what the hierarchy was. And now I know it’s not what you are, it’s what you do. Changelings are just as good as anybody. Cait Sidhe are loyal and smart and will die for the people they care about. Raj and I met in Blind Michael’s lands, and he’s my brother now. What we saw there, what we went through together? He’s my brother. Even if you take me home right now, you can’t change that. I would have been a terrible High King. I thought most of the people who are going to be my subjects were less than I was. That’s not how you lead. That’s how you start a revolution.”

Dad started to speak, and stopped as Mom reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

“He’s right,” she said gently. “You know he’s right, so don’t embarrass us both by arguing with him. When we agreed to send them into blind fosterage, it was to protect them, but it was also to show them a world outside the castle. We wanted them to mature enough to be good leaders someday. He’s doing exactly what we sent him here to do.”

“He’s revealing himself,” Dad said.

“I’m not twelve anymore,” I said. They both looked toward me again. “I know five years doesn’t seem like much when you’ve been alive for centuries—”

“Tell me about it,” muttered May.

“—but for me, five years is more than a quarter of my life. I’ve been here for a quarter of my life. I’ve learned a lot. I’m still a kid, but I’m not a little boy. When I told them who I was, I knew it was going to change things.” Those words couldn’t encompass how much I hated the way Toby sometimes looked at me now, like she was afraid of saying something that could be construed as treason. How much I hated knowing that Arden would never see me as anything but the Crown Prince. Sometimes, things have costs. “No one forced me. No one knew what I was going to say. I made my own choices.”

Raj had known, of course; Raj had known who I really was for years. A cat may look at a king, and it turns out a prince will recognize his own kind, no matter how hard that second prince is trying to hide.

I took a steadying breath. “I’d be in danger at home, too. Maybe more, because I’m not old enough to be an adult. I still need training. Duke Torquill says my blood magic and illusions are improving, but they’re not good enough to keep me alive. Sir Etienne has been helping with my fencing lessons. I’m not good enough there, either. I’m doing really well for a seventeen-year-old boy, but for a prince on home ground with all the rest of the nobility in the Westlands gunning for me? I’m not ready.”

“And there’s one thing everyone is leaving out here, which is that we love him,” said May. We all turned to look at her. She looked back, unrepentant. “He’s our Quentin. We don’t care that he’s a prince. He’s just the kid who hogs the TV on Saturday mornings, and argues with Toby about who ate the last of the Pop-Tarts. He’s your son, and please believe me when I say we would never belittle that connection, but we love him, too. We care about him, too. We only want what’s best for him, and right now, what’s best for him is staying exactly where he is.”

“It’s rare for a prince to be among those who love him for who he is, and not for who he may one day become,” said Tybalt, and there was an old sorrow in his words, almost buried in the haughty tone he always assumed among strangers. “Please believe me when I say that your son is blessed beyond words to be who he is, where he is, surrounded by people who met his revelation with shrugs and an absolute lack of concern.”

I snorted. Toby’s response to finding out I was the Crown Prince had been anything but unconcerned. But that wasn’t the point now, was it?

“I’ll probably get him shot again before his training’s over,” said Toby. “That’s sort of what I do. I’m a knight errant. It’s not even that I’m a magnet for trouble; it’s that when there’s trouble, it’s my job to go and hit it until it goes away, and right now, it’s Quentin’s job to follow me and see how not to die. If you want to know that he’ll be absolutely safe and protected and never get bruised or scarred, I’m not your girl. But I think . . . I think you knew that when you trusted him to me in the first place. And at this point, there’s no one in the world who’ll fight harder to keep him safe, except for maybe the two of you.”

“Maybe?” said Mom, raising her eyebrows.

Toby shrugged. She seemed to have gotten over her fear of insulting my parents and moved into her usual “treason is just another word for Tuesday” mode of interacting with the nobility. That was a relief, even though it meant her greatest fear had already come to pass. They were talking about taking me away from her. After that, very little held any terror in her eyes.

“I don’t quite get pureblood childrearing techniques, Your Highness,” said Toby. “I think this is one of those cultural differences you can’t talk your way around. If Quentin were my son, I would never have been able to bring myself to send him away, not even for his own protection. It would have killed me.”

“It nearly did,” said Mom softly. She glanced at me, and her eyes were bright. Her cosmetic spells meant I couldn’t see if she was crying. She always said that was good. Gave her an edge when she was facing lesser nobles who didn’t want to do as they were told. “Sending my children away was harder than I ever thought it would be, but it was something I knew I was risking when I married the man who would be king. I love my boy, Sir Daye. You and I are alike in that. We both want what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for me is right here,” I said. “This is where my friends are. Raj, he’s a Prince of Cats, but he’s really cool. We have movie nights. And there’s Chelsea, we just found her, she was a changeling and now she’s not—”

“What?” Mom whipped around to stare at me. Dad did the same, but more sedately, like he was afraid of making a sudden motion and attracting her attention. “What did you just say?”

“Um. Chelsea? She’s a friend of mine?” I glanced helplessly at Toby, who shook her head, looking as lost as I felt. It occurred to me that maybe Mom wasn’t as blasé about changelings turning into purebloods as the rest of us. She didn’t live here, after all. “You know this Kingdom has a hope chest, right?” Which we hadn’t used, but I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell her that.

“Yes . . .” she said.

“If I may,” said Tybalt, interjecting himself before things could get ugly. “Young Chelsea is the daughter of a Knight of Shadowed Hills and a mortal woman. He was unaware that their brief tryst had borne fruit, and when Chelsea reached her teenage years, she manifested her powers in a rather impressive way. It was necessary to neutralize her without killing her, as she is a quite lovely girl, and didn’t deserve such a fate.”

“She was punching holes in the walls of the world,” said Toby. “It had to stop.”

“Yes,” said Mom. “So you . . . changed her? Did she consent?”

“Fully,” said Toby. “She had to go one way or the other—she was too dangerous as she was—but she got to choose.”

“I see.” Mom looked at me again, then at my father. “The situation here seems to get more complicated every time we take our eyes off it for an instant.”

Arden laughed bitterly. I jumped. I’d almost forgotten she was there. She might be a queen now, but she’d been a mortal retail employee for a long time, and she knew how to blend into the background when she wanted to. “Welcome to my life,” she said.

My parents looked even more perplexed. It had probably been a long, long time since one of their vassals dared to say something like that in their presence. There was another point to be made there, but I couldn’t think of how to phrase it without angering my parents and embarrassing Arden. So instead, I forced a smile and said, “Toby is good at complicating things. That’s why she’s been such a good teacher for me. By the time I’m High King, I’m going to be completely unflappable.”

“This is the most ridiculous conversation I have ever been involved in,” muttered Dad.

“Also a pretty common side effect of the company we tend to keep,” said May. “Look, I get that this is all a lot to take in, and that you don’t have all the time in the world. We really, really don’t want you to take Quentin away from us. How long are you staying?”

That was Arden’s cue, and she met it admirably. “We’re still opening the knowe. Most of the chambers will be unsuited for habitation for another few months, so I am afraid I can’t offer you the type of housing you deserve, but we’ve cleaned and reopened my father’s quarters. I would be honored if you chose to rest upon the hospitality of my house, and spend the day.”

Mom frowned. “We can’t take your room.”

“I don’t sleep in my father’s quarters.” Arden grimaced. “I’m sure this is another of the cultural differences Sir Daye mentioned, but it wouldn’t feel . . . right . . . for me to sleep in his bed. I have a smaller room near the library. I think it’s going to be a while before I feel comfortable in anything larger.”

“Too late to refuse to confirm her just because she grew up surrounded by humans,” said Toby quickly. “No backsies.”

“I don’t believe there are ‘backsies’ where thrones are concerned,” said Tybalt, sounding amused.

Toby was unrepentant. “I don’t care. I want to be sure.”

“You want a great many things,” said Dad. He looked to Arden, and nodded. “We’ll accept the hospitality of your house for one day. That will give us time to speak with our son, and decide what’s to be done. Sir Daye?”

“Yes?” said Toby. There was a sudden edge in her voice. Then she glanced at me, and I realized that it wasn’t so sudden; she had just been doing her best to hide it. She was scared.

And so was I. When my parents had said they needed to come to the Mists in order to confirm Arden as the new Queen, I had been looking forward to a fun reunion. Not . . . this. Not the threat of removal.

“If you will excuse us, I feel the need to spend some time with my son,” said my father. “Please return in the morning. We will share a light meal, and give you our decision.”

Toby swallowed, hard, before bowing. “Yes, Your Highness.” She looked to me one more time, making no effort to hide the bleakness in her eyes. “Behave yourself, squire.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, and bowed, as deeply and formally as I knew how. My form was perfect. I knew that much. I was showing her the kind of honor I’d be expected to reserve for kings and queens when I was grown, and I was doing it on purpose. I wanted my parents to see.

I was still bowing when the door closed. I straightened to find myself alone with my parents, and with Queen Windermere, who stood uneasily in the space between them and the wall.

“I’ll have my seneschal show you to your rooms,” she said, and was gone, stepping through a hastily sketched circle in the air. It smelled, ever so faintly, of redwood trees. Toby would have been able to pick it apart in an instant, telling me which redwood trees, and which parts of them. I couldn’t.

I looked at my parents. They looked back at me.

“We have a lot to talk about,” said Dad, and he’d never said anything so honest in his life.