Tiggy glared at just about everyone after that, as if they were all capable of needing a smashing.
“Maybe Morgan or Randall can fill in the blanks,” I said. “Since they’re obviously so knowledgeable on the subject.”
Randall and Morgan didn’t react. They were good. They were very good.
But right before I was about to be better (and undoubtedly make them break and wail in pain at the power of my appropriately demoralizing comments), Dad said, “Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Pete run that fast unless there was gravy involved.”
Which didn’t really make much sense in the current conversation.
We all turned, and sure enough, you would have thought we were all made of gravy with how fast Pete was hauling ass toward us. It was a sight to see, those thick tree trunk legs hefting up and down, his sloping gut falling side to side.
“Well, that can’t possibly be good,” I said.
“He’s going to give himself a heart attack,” Justin said, crossing his arms. “Shouldn’t he just retire already?”
“In his own time,” the King said to his son. “He’s just worried about getting bored.”
“What is it?” Ryan asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But there’s got to be a reason.”
It didn’t take long for him to reach us. His face was bright red and slick with sweat. He took in great gasping breaths as he bent over, hands on his knees.
“There, there.” Tiggy patted him roughly on the back. “There’s no gravy here, tiny Pete.”
“I don’t… only run… for gravy,” Pete gasped out.
“Mostly,” the King said. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”
Pete glared at him, but it only lasted a second. His gaze darted around until it settled on me, as I feared it would. Whatever had caused him to rush out here had to do with me. As if today couldn’t get any worse.
“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” I said, trying to be as preemptive as possible.
At least five people snorted at that. Which was okay, because that meant there were five fewer people I had to buy birthday presents for. Those assholes.
“There’s… a gathering,” Pete said. “In front of the castle gates.”
“A gathering,” the King repeated. “And what type of gathering had you running like you were on fire?”
Pete winced. “A protest.”
Justin frowned. “A protest? What in the name of the gods could they be protesting? No new legislation has been announced, and the Crown’s latest poll numbers have been higher than they have in years.”
“Yes, um. See? About that.” Pete swallowed. “They’re not protesting the Crown.”
“Out with it,” Morgan said. “We don’t have time for—”
“Sam,” Pete blurted. “They’re protesting Sam.”
Everyone turned slowly to stare at me.
“Uh,” I said. “What?”
“Oh snap,” Gary said. “Does this latest twist signal the end of our adorable yet whiny hero? Will we finally get to the point of this prophecy? Will Vadoma finally tell me where she gets her hair done, because girl, I want to avoid that place like the plague? And will the most handsome unicorn in all the land get laid?”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “Yes, he will.”
“Find out coming up next on… Castle Lockes. Annnnd… we’re clear. Hold up. Who are these bitches that think they can protest my babycakes? I will bring the pain down upon some motherfuckers, don’t think I won’t! Kevin! Hold me back. Hold me back!”
Kevin reached down and did just that.
“Godsdammit,” I muttered.
I HAD done many stupid things in my life.
That was an indisputable fact.
(Even if I could say most times that I was coerced by my companions.)
I could own up to my mistakes. If I did something wrong, I could admit to it. And then I’d try and fix it to the best of my ability. Sometimes I could. Sometimes I made things worse. But my heart was always in the right place, and I never tried to let anyone else take the blame for something I did. Not when it counted.
But for the life of me, I could not understand why dozens of people would be marching in a circle in front of Castle Lockes, all wearing coarse-looking shirts that had my face drawn on them with a bright red X slashed through it, carrying signs that said such fun things as: SAM OF WILDS IS A HORRIBLE PERSON! and SAM OF WILDS PUNCHES BABIES and SAM TRIED TO TAKE MY VIRGINITY AGAINST MY WILL.
“You tried to take what?” Ryan asked.
“I didn’t!” I sputtered. “I don’t even know who that is!”
And I really didn’t. I didn’t recognize any of them marching in the circle, shouting, “Hey, hey, ho, ho, Sam of Wilds has got to go! Hey, hey, hi, hi, we would like to see him die!”
“Well that’s just rude,” Mom said.
“And maybe a little uncalled-for,” Dad said with a frown. “Unless he did punch babies and we didn’t know about it. If that’s the case, then I should be marching with them.”
“I didn’t punch any babies!”
“I can vouch for that,” Gary said. “I have never seen Sam punch a baby.”
“Thank you, Gary,” I said.
“But,” Gary said, “I’m not with him all the time, so for all I know, he’s a secret serial baby puncher and I’m protecting a madman who commits unthinkable crimes.”
“I will put my foot up your ass,” I growled at him.
Gary’s eyes went wide as he pranced beautifully behind Tiggy. “Everyone, watch out! His baby-punching rage is forthcoming. Hide your children! Keep them safe!”
“This is the greatest day ever,” Justin said, looking rather pleased at the situation. I knew that, as my best friend, he would totally defend me, but as the Prince of Verania, he had to listen to his people and they came first. So of course he looked happy about this. He had to front, even though it was probably tearing him up on the inside.
There was a crowd starting to gather around the protesters, people whispering to each other, pointing at us. Though I suppose we weren’t very inconspicuous, seeing as we had a thirty-foot dragon standing behind us, wings folded at the sides so he didn’t scrape against the brick of the buildings that lined the streets. It probably didn’t help either that I was shirtless, my skin still covered in Vadoma’s runes, which were now smeared and flaking, my hair sticking up every which way. I probably looked like I’d just come from a sacrificial orgy where I’d punched at least seven babies and taken four virginities to sate my carnal cravings.
Ryan squeezed my arm and went to the outskirts of the crowd, saying something that I couldn’t hear over the din of the protesters.
“Fuck my life,” I muttered.
“Indeed,” Randall said. “I concur. Fuck your life, because this is getting ridiculous.”
I couldn’t even disagree with him. That was the sad part.