“Thank you,” said Tedros.
“Don’t think I need this anymore, Your Highness,” said his knight, handing Tedros his Lion mask. He bowed to his king. “My name is Rhian.”
“You mean Sir Rhian,” said Tedros.
His knight’s steely gaze softened, a blush rising on his amber cheeks.
But now his king had seen his princess out of the corner of his eye. Without a word, he swept towards her, lifted her off the ground, and kissed her like it was the very first time. Agatha kissed him back harder, until they both ran out of breath.
“No more going at things alone,” she said. “No more spending time apart.”
“That goes both ways,” said Tedros. He kissed his princess again.
Meanwhile, Sophie had cozied up to Rhian, who still looked dazed from his exchange with Tedros.
“So now the Lion has a name,” she cooed, holding out a kerchief from inside her dress.
He took it and wiped his forehead, his blue-green eyes gazing fervently at her. “And a lady-in-waiting, I hope.”
Sophie touched his chest. “A lady who is waiting for you to ask her on a real date . . .”
But Rhian wasn’t listening. He was looking past her, at Tedros. The king’s expression had slowly changed, as if the triumph of the moment had worn off, giving way to cold reality.
“Teddy, what is it?” Agatha asked.
The king was breathing shallowly now, unable to get words out.
“Your Highness, are you okay?” Rhian said, rushing to his side, almost pushing Agatha out of the way.
He seemed to smell something on Tedros, because he put his nose to the king’s neck and then quickly pulled off Tedros’ jacket— Tedros was drenched in blood.
“You’re hurt!” Agatha cried.
“No.” Rhian put his hands on Tedros’ shirt, feeling beneath it. “There’s no wound. It’s not his blood.”
Agatha and Sophie stared at him.
“Whose blood is it?” said Agatha.
Her prince didn’t look at her.
Agatha’s face changed.
“Tedros . . . ,” she rasped. “Where’s Lancelot?”
Slowly Tedros lifted his eyes.
That’s when he started to cry.
24
TEDROS
Sides of a Story
A few hours earlier, Tedros had been riding with his father’s knight across sun-drenched hills.
The two had made good time through the night, moving east from Camelot through the outskirts of Pifflepaff Hills, before curving north towards Nottingham.
They’d traveled in silence, each in a long, black coat, with hoods shadowing their faces, so that even the few riders they encountered hurried past, avoiding eye contact, no doubt thinking they were minions of the Snake.
At night, the Endless Woods usually left Tedros tense and on edge, especially with WANTED posters of Lance’s and his mother’s faces coming in and out of the dark at him, tacked to trees as he passed. But the young king was distracted by the sheer freedom of being on open land. It was the first time in six months that he’d left the castle. He hadn’t realized how claustrophobic he’d been, sealed inside that crumbling compound, no matter how vast it was. Nor had he realized how relieved he would feel to be away from Excalibur taunting him at all hours of the day, despite having to replace his hallowed sword with a middling blade he’d scrounged from the Armory. And though he could sense the tension inside him building, as if a storm was coming, he felt unshackled out here, more capable and kingly than he ever did in that castle—even when he and Lance galloped through Camelot’s slum cities spattered with graffiti and effigies denigrating his reign . . . even when they skirted the shells of towns ravaged by the Snake’s attacks . . . even when his conversation with his mother kept pulsing in his head. . . .
“She grew too close to your father, Tedros. . . .”
“. . . always insinuating herself between your father and I . . .”
“There was something about that room I never liked. . . .”
All through the ride, Lancelot’s black horse stayed neck and neck with Tedros’ blue-gray one, though the king rode at a reckless pace, not stopping once to eat or sleep. Tedros kept glancing over at his knight, but Lance was always there, right beside him, his face as placid as Tedros’ was clenched.
And indeed, as they reached the outskirts of Nottingham, it was Tedros who finally halted first, his back hurting, stomach aching, and bladder bursting. He almost fell out of the saddle, darting behind a shrubby tree, while Lancelot opened a bag and laid out a late breakfast of smoked salmon, toasted bread, and fresh pears.
“How much longer to Nottingham?” Tedros asked impatiently when he sat, lumping salmon between pieces of bread and scarfing it down.
“You’re not due in Sherwood Forest until six,” said Lancelot, watching Tedros stuff more food in his mouth. “No need to give yourself indigestion.”
“I have business in Nottingham first,” said Tedros.
The knight snorted. “No one has business in Nottingham.”
“I need to see Lady Gremlaine.”
“Thought we were rid of that woman.”
“I have questions to ask her.”
“About what?”
Tedros glared at the knight. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Lancelot took his time putting salmon on his toast. “You’re right. None of my business if you think your steward had a child with your father.”
Tedros stopped eating, mouth full.
“You don’t think I’ve thought it too? For a half-second, at least,” said Lancelot. “You not pulling Excalibur. Guinevere hating that woman. The Snake saying he’s Arthur’s son. All the clues are there.”
“And yet . . . ?” Tedros said.
“They don’t add up. You didn’t know your father when he was young. When he came to the School for Good, he was shy, anxious, and a newly crowned king. No matter how popular he became or how much muscle he built or how cocky he might have acted, he was always that same Arthur inside, asking why he was chosen to pull Excalibur over everyone else in the Woods. It was Arthur’s greatest strength: he relentlessly questioned himself and wanted the brutal Truth. It’s why he chose me as a best friend, a greasy, pockmarked lout who would tell him that Truth instead of all the refined Everboys who’d lie and say whatever he wanted to hear. And it’s why he chose Gwen over all the other girls who just wanted him for his crown.”
“But Mother said Lady Gremlaine was in love with him—” Tedros argued.
“Doesn’t matter. Arthur followed his heart,” the knight returned, pawing at his unruly curls. “He was too faithful to the Truth to sneak around with this Gremlaine creature. Gwen and I were the ones who traded in Lies. Not Arthur. Whoever this Snake is . . . he’s not your father’s son.”
“I want to make sure of it,” Tedros pressed. “I want to hear it from her mouth—”
Lancelot put down his food. “Sometimes the last person you should ask for the Truth is the one who knows it.”