“Though, according to the Snake, you may not be king at all,” noted the Vizier of Kyrgios, stroking his gold-flecked beard.
Tedros was about to implode. They were all right: he’d ignored them . . . he’d failed them . . . he’d let the Snake go unchallenged . . . but not because he’d been sitting on his bum and eating cake. Ever since he stepped foot in this castle, he’d tried to make the right decisions: from encouraging the people to forgive his mother and Lance at his coronation . . . to prioritizing Camelot’s problems over those of other realms . . . to staying behind and serving his kingdom while Agatha went into the Woods. . . . Even last night, he was sure he’d chosen the right course. He’d followed Merlin’s and Dovey’s advice. He’d met with the advisors, trying to get answers. He’d done precisely what a king should do! And it had led him right into a trap: a trap that nearly killed his princess, killed his friends, and made him look like a coward.
His whole life he’d thought being king was about doing Good.
But now that he was king, Good kept leading him astray.
Tedros could see Lancelot standing with his mother near the door. He’d told them to stay away from this meeting—that it was too dangerous revealing themselves when there was a bounty on their heads. But Guinevere hadn’t listened, insisting her son might need her. Nor had Lance, who was glowering at him, clearly still miffed and surely enjoying the sight of the young king spit-roasted by half the Woods’ leaders.
“If the Snake pulls Excalibur, we’re dead!” the Empress of Putsi pressured.
“How could Arthur have a secret son!” the Duke of Hamelin demanded.
“How do we find this Lion! He’s the one we need!” urged the Queen of Jaunt Jolie.
Tedros tried to quell his rage, spewing in all directions. He needed to think.
Last night, those three shrews had warned him what was coming.
“At the Four Point, the real story begins.”
Somehow, they’d plotted with the Snake from prison to trap Tedros last night while the Snake attacked Tedros’ princess, his friends, and his allies.
What must have Agatha thought, waiting at the gallows for him to come?
And who was this Lion who had saved her?
All he’d gleaned is that it was a boy his age who’d fought off the villain, then promptly disappeared. No one knew who he was. He’d asked no reward for his efforts. He hadn’t been seen since.
So who could he be, then? In Agatha and Sophie’s world, beyond the Woods, heroes came out of nowhere, riding in on white horses to save fair maidens from Evil. But not here. Heroes had motives in the Woods. Heroes had a history. And this hero seemed to have neither. He certainly hadn’t come at Tedros’ behest. So why would he risk his life to save a bunch of strangers? Had he been rejected from the School for Good and was trying to get his name in a fairy tale? Had he read about his and Agatha’s troubles and was making a move on his queen?
Don’t be a Never, always seeing the worst, Tedros thought bitterly. Maybe he’s just like you, trying to do Good in this world.
But no matter how much he told himself to be grateful, Tedros hated this boy for playing the part he should have played. For trying to do Good and actually succeeding. For showing him up like a fool. How was he supposed to prove himself the rightful king when there was a Snake in the Woods saying he wasn’t king and now an impostor Lion doing his job? He could feel his anger stoking again like wildfire while more voices shot at him from around the table, sharp as arrows, heckling and questioning— “Are you king or not?”
“Who is this Lion!”
“If you won’t fight the Snake, he will!”
“Be quiet,” said Tedros.
No one listened.
Tedros shot his gold fingerglow over their heads like a firework, scorching a hole through all the maps.
“I SAID BE QUIET,” Tedros roared.
The whole table fell silent.
“Thought there was a ban on magic at Camelot,” Putsi’s empress peeped.
A map smacked her in the head.
“Listen to me and listen clearly. The Snake is lying,” Tedros declared. “He says he’s King Arthur’s eldest son and rightful heir. If that were true, my father would have to have had a child before I was born. But my father was with my mother from the time he was a boy at school until he married her and she gave birth to me. It’s impossible my father would have another son. First of all, he loved my mother devotedly and would never betray her. Second, he would have never kept a secret like that from the woman he married nor from the son he groomed to be king. Whatever became of my father in his last years, he was a Good man—and an honest one. All of you know that to be true. It’s why your kingdoms turned to him to lead whenever Good and Evil faced a common threat. But there is more evidence that the Snake is lying. For instance, who would be the mother of this supposed heir? Certainly not my mother. And any other woman who’d have borne King Arthur’s son would have shouted it from the rooftops for gold or fame alone. And lastly, would a son of King Arthur—the king who fought to protect all of you—be out wreaking havoc and murdering my friends? This Snake is not my father’s son. This Snake is not my father’s heir. He cannot pull Excalibur.” His eyes went to Guinevere near the door. “Right, Mother?”
The entire table turned to her.
Guinevere blinked back. “Of course.”
The group murmured agreement. Tedros tried to feel relief, but then he saw his mother’s eyes shift to the floor, her throat bobbing.
Should have asked your mousy old mum, the advisors had said. She knows everything, no matter how dumb she plays. . . .
But now Tedros could hear the Ice Giant and the King of Bloodbrook murmuring over whether there was still a reward for his mother’s and Lance’s heads. . . .
Tedros glared daggers at them. “This Snake is a lying mongrel and yet he’s managed to divide us right at the moment when we need each other most. Good and Evil may be at eternal war, but we must also come together when our world faces an outside threat—something my father understood and fought for. We cannot let the Snake tear us apart. We must join as allies, build an army that I will command, and destroy him once and for—”
The door flew open, almost knocking Guinevere and Lancelot over, and a hawk and a horned owl whizzed into the room, spearing more holes in the maps, each bird carrying a scroll in its beak. The hawk dropped its scroll into the hands of the King of Foxwood and the owl dropped its message to the Prince of Mahadeva, both of whom opened them quickly.
“‘Snake and his band of trolls broke into castle, took your daughter hostage,’” the Foxwood king read, eyes wide. “‘Lion arrived and freed her. Trolls executed. Snake on the loose.’”
“‘Snake’s werewolves fed three guards to the man-eating hills,” the Mahadeva prince read from his scroll. “Lion saved the rest.”
A sparrow zipped through the door and dropped a note in the King of Camelot’s lap.