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“You made this?” Rolf asks.
“She did,” I say, patting my wife’s hand.
“We both did,” she corrects. “It was just a fun project to pass the time, but you’re our very first guinea pig. If you’ll pardon the expression.”
Rolf nods generously, then turns the bottle over in his hands. He then looks up at me with a strangely chagrined expression. “I was looking forward to serving under you once you became King. I rooted for you, young man.”
My throat feels scratchy all of a sudden. “I know you did,” I say to the man who was more of a father to me than my own father. “I hope I do you proud, even if it’s not in the way you expect.”
He holds up the bottle. “I’d love to see what you’ve done with the place.”
“You’re welcome to visit any time.”
And now, it’s time to face my father and mother.
At the sight of Torben, Hailey, and Flora rounding the corner from the east garden, my tense shoulders relax.
We meet them at the top of the stairs and exchange hellos. Kala presents them with more gifts from our little project, and the women break off to chat in the entry hall.
“Seeing you here makes me feel much better about the audience with the king,” I say.
Torben looks pleasantly taken aback. “Wonderful of you to say so, brother.”
And because I’m still an asshole, I add, “Only because he’s far more pissed at you than me.”
Torben guffaws, and I’m relieved he can take me with much more humor than he used to.
Or maybe I’m far less of an asshole than I used to be.
Time will tell.
* * *
The five of us find my parents waiting for us in the salon. Uther is there, leaning down low from his obnoxiously tall height, listening to murmured instructions from my mother the queen.
On some new orders from the queen, Uther disappears on some unknown mission.
I don’t miss the look that Uther and Flora exchange before he exits. I make a mental note to explore that later, but I’ve got to get right to the point here.
“Father, I want you to put a stop to these ridiculous speculative stories today. Right now.”
The king leans back in his chair and sips his tea. “As if I have any control over what the media does or doesn’t print.”
Servants sweep silently about the room, presenting a selection of teas and finger sandwiches.
“Have a seat, dears,” the queen says.
Instead, I take a step forward. “Who else would have planted those rumors that I’m not your biological son?”
“I couldn’t say.”
The king turns sharply toward my wife, who is standing by the window overlooking the east gardens, and who’s just made a noise of derision.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “She’s done nothing wrong. She’s here as my wife and a witness.”
“A witness to what?” Mother asks.
I unfold the document and cross to the queen, showing it to her first.
