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Her hopeful expression crumbled.

“I wish I could,” I whispered with moisture growing in my own eyes as my heart ached in my chest.

She nodded, avoiding my gaze as she blinked away tears. “I understand. You are afraid of what others might think.”

“What?” That had nothing to do with it. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Heath explained it to me.” Tears gone, Mela regarded me somberly. “You are unmarried and unmarried women shouldn’t have daughters or people would think poorly of them.”

“Heath?” Lady Lyra’s voice cut through the weighty silence next to us.

I hadn’t realized that she had been listening.

Heath regarded his mother with solemn confusion. “The nursemaids were wondering if Mistress Rue was Mela’s—”

“Which maids?” Lady Lyra’s voice had lost all of its customary softness.

Heath’s eyes widened. “Surely you aren’t going to dismiss them?”

“No.” Lady Lyra’s voice immediately softened, but the sharp intent in her eyes spoke of a remaining resolve. “I will see that they receive a stern lecture. I won’t abide hurtful gossip in my household and especially not in front of my children or about my guests.”

“Mela can’t be my biological child,” I reminded the boy. “She is human and I am fae. A fae parent always produces an at least partially fae child.”

Heath’s confusion grew as he studied me. “But Father is fae, and Mother is not. They produced Jas, who is human.” The wrinkle in the boy’s forehead deepened. “Is—”

Lady Lyra interrupted him. “Jas is both your father’s and mine just as much as you are, Heath.” She squeezed her daughter to her. “Dullahans are a special kind of fae. Remember, your father started teaching you about them a month ago.”

“But he didn’t mention that part.”

Lady Lyra laughed. “He was probably waiting until you were old enough, which you clearly are now.” She reached out and ruffled her son’s hair. “I will be certain to tell him you are ready,” she assured him. “Now, what are your plans for the afternoon?”

Heath and Jas chatted with their mother about their plans for the next few hours. The whole time, Mela leaned heavily against my shoulder and pensively played with the trim on my sleeve. Thankfully, she agreed readily enough to leave with the nursemaid when the servant arrived to escort her and Jas back to the nursery. Heath soon left to join his tutors in the schoolroom, leaving us alone once more.

“My apologies for my children’s assumptions.” Lady Lyra rose and smoothed her skirts before smiling warmly at me again. “They are far more sheltered than I fear is good for them.”

I shook my head. “No, they are loved. Mela should be loved so well. Have no fear. You can teach them what they need to know when the time comes. Innocence is precious and should be preserved in young ones until the right time. Both of your children are far too young to know of all the harsh realities of life beyond your protection.”

Unlike Mela. My heart ached. I had tried to protect her from starvation and the ridicule of her station as a foundling, but I had long known that I could only manage it for a time. There would be an end to what I could do for her, and then she would have to face society’s judgment for things she had no control over, just as I had.

I sighed before straightening my shoulders and lifting my chin. But if I had anything to say about it, such trials would be a long way off.

Kent

That evening, I discovered something new about myself. I hated etiquette.

Our tutor was a dryad who introduced himself as Master Yardon. He dressed so elegantly that the satin of his britches swished when he walked, and he held a handkerchief to his face if anything displeased him.

“Etiquette is the language of courtesy,” Yardon announced. He paraded down the room as though displaying himself to Rue, Raven, and me. We were his only companions in the vast room. “It is also the language of politics, princes, and kings. Policies and alliances have been formed or destroyed based on how a noble or an ambassador is addressed. It is absolutely essential for a king to be a virtuoso in the intricacies of etiquette.”

Parading back to face us, he bowed deeply to me. “As heir apparent to the throne, we must all defer to you, honoring you in all things.”

“I am not a god,” I protested.

“Ah.” Yardon waved his handkerchief. “But as second only to the king himself, you will be the highest ranking male in every room you enter, except for your father.”

“If I acknowledge him as my father.”

Yardon whirled around. Worry lines marred his smooth forehead. “How can you not? Lord Greyson has proven your claim beyond a shadow of doubt.”