“Vegetables?” Lancelot blurted, mouth full.
“Until your coronation as king is official, the Council of Advisors appointed by Arthur has full authority to decide who runs Camelot,” Guinevere explained. “But in a few hours you will be king and it’s not like there’s a rival with a claim to the throne they can summon out of thin air. That’s why the guards didn’t stop Lance from jailing them.”
Reassured, Tedros went back to assessing his reflection.
“Darling, enough with the mirror. You look beautiful,” his mother said. “Meanwhile, poor Agatha is getting ready by herself and surely needs a lady’s help. Why don’t I go to her and leave you here with Lan—”
“Agatha’s fine,” Tedros said, picking at an annoying pimple near his mouth. God, I’m almost as bad as Sophie, he thought. But he was about to have an entire kingdom judging him. Who wouldn’t be self-conscious? “Besides, it’s my birthday,” he added, “and I want to spend time with my mother.”
He saw his mother blush, still unused to him being nice to her.
“Sounds more like Little King’s afraid of being alone with me,” Lancelot cracked.
“Call me ‘little’ again and I’ll run you through,” Tedros flared, tapping Excalibur on his waist. “No one on earth would choose to be alone with you anyway.”
“Except your mother. Likes our alone time just fine,” said Lancelot tartly.
“Oh good lord,” Guinevere mumbled.
“In any case, Agatha has that strange steward woman helping her get ready, the one who greeted us when we arrived last night and reeks of perfume,” said Tedros, checking his teeth. “Wanted to help me get ready but I said I had you two. Didn’t seem happy about it.”
“What’s the story there, Gwen? Looked about as thrilled to see you as you did her,” said Lancelot.
“There is no story. She was my steward until after Tedros was born. I had her dismissed. Now she’s back,” Guinevere said curtly.
“Well, clearly something happened between you two—”
“Nothing happened.”
“Then why are you making the same face about her as you made around Millie?”
“Who’s Millie?” Tedros asked.
“A horny goat that used to chase your mother around the farm,” Lancelot said.
Guinevere kicked him.
“God, you two had a lot of free time out there,” Tedros muttered into the mirror.
“Lady Gremlaine is irrelevant,” said Guinevere, sobering. “A steward only has responsibility over a prince until his coronation. After you seal your coronation, you’re in charge and can remove Lady Gremlaine from the castle once and for all.”
“So what does that mean, ‘seal my coronation’? I repeat a few vows and give a speech?” Tedros asked, finally tired of looking at himself. He plopped on a sooty armchair next to the bed.
His mother frowned. “You said you knew what happened at a coronation.”
“That you didn’t need a ‘lecture’ from us,” sniped Lancelot.
“Well, is there something special about the speech I should know about?” Tedros said impatiently.
“There is no speech, you twit,” Lancelot retorted.
Tedros blinked. “Then when do I introduce you two as part of my royal court?”
His mother and Lancelot exchanged looks. “Um, Teddy, I don’t think that’s a good move—”
“It’s the right move and the right move is the Good move,” said Tedros. “It’s been years since what happened between you two and Dad. I’m sure the people have moved on.”
Lancelot drew a breath. “Tedros, it’s not that simple. You’re not thinking about all the—”
“If we live in fear, we’ll never get anything done,” said Tedros, cutting him off. “I’ll tell this Gremlaine woman to seat you on the stage next to me.”
“I’m sure that will go over well,” his mother said cryptically.
Lancelot gave her another curious look, but Guinevere didn’t elaborate.
Tedros let the point go. From his one interaction with Lady Gremlaine, he was confident his new steward would abide by his wishes.
“So if there’s no speech, then what is there?” he asked, reclining against the chair.
“The chaplain will swear you in and make you repeat your vows in front of the kingdom,” his mother said. “Then you have to complete a ceremonial test.”
Tedros’ eyes widened. “Like those written tests we had in Good Deeds class?”
“You really are clueless,” Lancelot grouched. “It’s a test of your father’s choosing, written in his will and revealed at the coronation.”
“Pfft, Dad told me about that. That’s not a ‘test,’” Tedros scoffed. “It’s a token gesture. Said he’d never pick something I couldn’t do. That he’d pick something to make me look as strong and commanding before my people as possible.”
“Make you look strong and commanding? That’s a test in itself,” Lancelot murmured.
Guinevere glared at him and moved next to her son.
“So I have to perform the test Dad left for me?” said Tedros. “And then … I’m king.”
“Then you’re king,” his mother smiled, ruffling his hair.
Tedros smiled back, his heart light as a cloud (even though he’d have to comb his hair again).
“But first there’s dancing monkeys,” said Lancelot.
“Oh hush,” said Guinevere, chortling.
Tedros glanced between them. “Very funny.”
His mother was still laughing.
“Very funny,” Tedros repeated.
“Presenting the Mahaba Monkeys of Malabar Hills!” the courtier shouted.
A cannon blew confetti on the crowd and the people cheered, at least 50,000 of them, packed onto the hills beneath the castle. Per tradition, the drawbridge had been lowered, inviting citizens of Camelot onto royal grounds. They’d been crossing over since the morning to witness the coronation of King Arthur’s son and yet there were still thousands who wouldn’t fit, leaving them stranded on the drawbridge or below the cliffs, peering up at the castle balcony and the beautiful stone stage built for the occasion.
Sitting onstage, however, Tedros knew full well it wasn’t stone. It was cheap, rickety wood, masked with paint that made it look like stone and it creaked hideously under the weight of his father’s throne. Even worse, hot wax dripped onto his sweltering robes from wobbly candelabras they’d nicked from the castle chapel to save on ceremonial torches. Still, he’d kept his mouth shut: Camelot was broke and splurging on a coronation would be irresponsible. But now, watching hapless performers from neighboring realms, he was beginning to lose patience. First there was a fire-eater from Jaunt Jolie who accidentally set her dress aflame; then a tone-deaf chanteuse from Foxwood who forgot the lyrics to “God Save the King”; then two portly young brothers from Avonlea who fell off a flying trapeze into the crowd …
And now apes.
“If they weren’t trying so hard, I’d think they were mocking me,” Tedros grumbled, itching under his robes.
“I’m afraid the