“Was this before or after he started drinking,” Tedros said.
Lady Gremlaine didn’t laugh.
Agatha would have, he thought peevishly. Not only that, but for a woman who’d been determined to spend time with him, Lady Gremlaine didn’t seem to like him much.
When they first met last night, he’d assumed she thought him handsome and charming and would do anything he asked. But now that they were seated together, she kept throwing him skeptical looks any time he spoke as if he had the brain of an oyster. It was undermining his confidence right when he needed it most.
“I don’t understand why Agatha can’t sit here with me,” he said, squinting at the royal gallery below on the lawn where she was just a shadow, cooped up with the dukes, counts, and other titled nobles. “Or my mother for that matter.”
Lady Gremlaine straightened her turban. “Agatha is not your queen yet. After you’re married, she can join you at official events. As for your mother, given her and Lancelot’s ignominious flight from the castle, I thought it best to keep them out of sight and withhold news of their return until a more appropriate time.”
Tedros followed her eyes to a white scrim curtaining off the balcony behind them. Through the scrim, he could see his mother and Lancelot watching the ceremony with a few maids and kitchen boys.
“It’s a wonder news hasn’t leaked,” Lady Gremlaine added. “Lancelot made a spectacle throwing those advisors into the castle jail last night.”
“Who cares if it had leaked?” Tedros countered. “The sooner we tell the people my mother and Lance have returned the better.”
“Once you are crowned king, you can make your own decisions.”
“It’s just stupid having my own mother confined like a leper while I sit here with you,” Tedros badgered, glancing up at a cloud blocking the sun. “As if you’re my queen or something.”
Lady Gremlaine pursed her lips.
“When Merlin gets here, give him your seat, as he’ll be my real advisor once I’m king,” Tedros piled on.
“Merlin won’t breach the gates of Camelot. After he deserted your father, Arthur had him banned from the kingdom,” said Lady Gremlaine.
Tedros gave her a bewildered look. Neither Merlin nor his father had ever told him that.
“Well, Arthur also put a death warrant on my mother’s head and she’s very much alive,” Tedros said brusquely. “I don’t follow an ex-king’s edict and neither does Merlin, even if it was my father’s.”
“Then why isn’t Merlin here?” Lady Gremlaine challenged.
Tedros bristled, wondering the same thing. “He’ll be here. You’ll see.”
He has to be, the prince thought. The idea of ruling Camelot without Merlin was unfathomable.
“I wouldn’t bet on it. Defying banishment is punished by death,” said Lady Gremlaine crisply.
Tedros snorted. “If you think you can execute Merlin while I’m king you’re as clueless as those monkeys.”
A sequined hat hit him in the face and he swiveled to see the chimps in a violent brawl, pummeling each other as the crowd tittered.
“Is this really the best we can do?” Tedros moaned. “Who planned this idiocy?”
“I did,” said Lady Gremlaine.
“Well, let’s hope you’re not planning the wedding.”
“The wedding is planned entirely by the future queen,” Lady Gremlaine said, her face a cold mask. “I hope she is capable.”
“That’s a bet I’m willing to take,” said Tedros defiantly, trying not to frown.
Agatha: the wedding planner? Hadn’t she dressed as a bride for Halloween? If it were up to her, they’d marry at midnight in a boneyard, with that satanic cat presiding. …
She’ll be fine, he thought. Agatha always found a way. She’d no doubt share his opinion of Lady Gremlaine and his determination to prove her wrong. Plus, once Agatha saw how he handled his coronation, with royal decorum and integrity, she’d follow his example for the wedding. Soon Lady Grimface would be eating her words.
A long while later, after the monkeys had been soothed with a vat of banana pudding and dragged from the stage, Tedros took his place before Camelot’s chaplain, perilously old, with a bright red nose and wiry hair growing out of his ears. The chaplain put his hand on Tedros’ back and guided him to the front of the stage, overlooking the teeming hills.
On cue, the sun broke out from behind the cloud, spilling onto the young prince.
An awed hush fell over the crowd.
Tedros could see the legions gazing up at him with wide-eyed hope: the boy who vanquished the School Master … the boy who saved the Ever kingdoms … the boy who would make Camelot great again.
“I’m king of all these people?” Tedros rasped, the weight of responsibility finally hitting him.
“Oh, oh, your father asked the same thing, lad! Fear is a very good sign,” the old chaplain said, hacking a laugh. “And luckily, no one can hear us from way up here.”
The chaplain turned to a skinny, red-haired altar boy, who carefully handed him a jeweled box. The chaplain opened it. Sunlight ricocheted through five spires like a web of gold, eliciting gasps from the mob. Tedros gazed down at King Arthur’s crown, the five-pointed fleur-de-lis, each with a diamond in the center.
Once, when he was six, he’d stolen it from his father’s bed table and worn it to his lessons with Merlin, insisting the wizard bow and call him King. He assumed Merlin would put an end to his mischief—but instead the wizard obeyed his command, bowing eminently and addressing him as Your Majesty, all the way through math and astronomy and vocabulary and history. Perhaps the old wizard would have let him be king forever … but soon the young prince removed his crown and sheepishly returned it to his father’s table. For it was too heavy for his soft little head.
Now, ten years later, the chaplain held out the very same crown. “Repeat after me, young prince. The words might sound a bit funny, given it’s an oath that harkens back two thousand years. But words aren’t what make a king. That fear you feel is all you need. Fear means you know this crown has a history and future far bigger than you. Fear means you are ready, dear Tedros: ready to quest for glory.”
Legs quivering, Tedros repeated the chaplain’s oath.
Like the old man warned, he tripped over the strange syllables and sounds, without knowing what he was saying. And yet, somewhere in his heart he did. His eyes welled up, the moment getting to him. Just a few years ago, he was a first-year boy at the School for Good and Evil, full of bluster and insecurity.
Now the boy would be a king.
A husband.
And someday a father.
Tedros made a silent prayer: that he would do Good as all three, just like the man who had made him. A man who he loved and missed every single day of his life. A man he’d give anything to touch one last time.
The chaplain placed the crown upon Tedros’ head and tears streamed down the young king’s cheeks while the crowd roared a passionate ovation that lasted long after he’d managed to get his emotions under control.
The chaplain patted his shoulder. “And