“There are exactly as many rules as there are, and you need to know them.” Jericho wasn’t unkind, but he wasn’t gentle either. “Again. How do you address the Marquess of Thornbury?”
“Lord Thornbury?”
“No. He’s a marquess. ‘Lord Thornbury’ is what you’d call his younger son. The marquess himself is ‘My Lord Marquess’ on first address, then ‘My Lord’ after that. His wife is ‘My Lady Marchioness.’”
Finn repeated it back, committing it to memory alongside the dozens of other variations he’d learned that morning.
They moved on to seating arrangements. Jericho explained the complex hierarchy that determined who sat where at formal dinners, how proximity to the king indicated favor, how certain people could never be seated next to each other due to political tensions or family feuds.
“Count Villiers should have been seated here.” Jericho pointed to a diagram he’d drawn. “Third from Darragh on the right side. You put him fifth on the left.”
“I didn’t know…”
“That’s why we’re doing this.” Jericho’s tone was patient but firm. “So next time you will know.”
The afternoon session covered safe conversation topics such as the weather, recent appointments to prestigious positions, and the arts. There was also a list of dangerous topics to avoid: Politics was a big one, unless a person was absolutely certain of everyone’s stance, religion, family scandals, and territorial disputes.
“What about jokes?” Finn asked, thinking of his comment about stuffy nobility that had offended Count Villiers.
“Never make jokes at court functions unless you’re absolutely certain everyone will take them the right way.” Jericho met his eyes. “Self-deprecating humor is usually safe. Jokes about nobility, customs, or regional differences are not. Even if you think they’re harmless.”
Finn absorbed this, another rule added to the growing list in his mind. He felt as though his mind was going to split open with all he had to retain.
They worked through dinner, then into the evening. Gift-giving customs - what was appropriate to give to whom, how to accept gifts gracefully. How to deflect uncomfortable questions without giving offense. The proper way to exit a conversation with someone of a lower rank.
By the time Jericho finally left, Finn’s head felt stuffed - so much of what he considered useless information all jostling for space. He fell into bed beside Darragh and barely managed to kiss him goodnight before exhaustion pulled him under.
/~/~/~/~/
The pattern continued for days. Every morning, Jericho arrived with new material. Political alliances between kingdoms - who supported whom, which royal families had marriage connections, and where the historic tensions lay. The proper protocol for receiving foreign dignitaries. How to read the subtle signals that indicate someone was offended, pleased, or being a nuisance for the sake of it.
Finn studied like he’d never studied for anything in his life. He made flashcards with nobles’ names, their titles, and their family connections. He memorized the seating hierarchy until he couldrecite it in his sleep. He practiced safe conversation openers until they felt almost natural.
“You’re getting it,” Jericho said approvingly after Finn correctly identified the proper way to address a visiting bishop. “You’re a quick study.”
Finn didn’t feel quick. He felt slow and stupid, like he was learning a language everyone else already spoke fluently. But he kept at it because the alternative - more incidents like Count Villiers, more tension with Darragh, more proof that he didn’t belong - was worse.
A week after they’d started, there was a small court function. It wasn’t much, just a reception for a visiting duchess who was passing through Safe Harbor on her way to a wedding in another kingdom. Finn dressed carefully in the formal attire his valet laid out, checked his appearance three times, and went downstairs with his stomach in knots.
Jericho had briefed him thoroughly that morning. Duchess Carolyn of Millbrook, who was traveling with her youngest son. Safe topics - her son’s recent appointment as magistrate in the western territories, the unseasonably pleasant weather, the upcoming royal wedding she was attending. Topics to avoid - her older son’s gambling debts, the duchy’s trade disputes with Safe Harbor, her deceased husband.
Finn stood beside Darragh in the receiving line, greeting guests with the exact phrases Jericho had taught him. When the duchess approached, he nodded to precisely the correct depth.
“Your Grace,” he said. “Welcome to Safe Harbor. We’re honored to have you.”
“King Consort.” She curtseyed. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Finn continued, his heart pounding. “Your son’s appointment as magistrate is a prestigious position.”
The duchess’s expression warmed. “How kind of you to mention it. Yes, Edmund has worked very hard. I’m quite proud.”
“The western territories are fortunate to have him. I’ve heard his reputation for fairness and diligence precedes him.” Finn had no idea if Edmund had such a reputation - Jericho had simply told him to compliment the son’s appointment.
“You’re very gracious.” The duchess smiled. “Safe Harbor is lucky to have a king consort who pays such close attention to the accomplishments of his neighbors.”
They spoke for another minute about innocuous topics - the weather, the duchess’s upcoming journey - before she moved on. Finn maintained his pleasant expression until she was out of earshot, then let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Well done,” Darragh murmured beside him.
