فصل 27

Chapter 27

TEDROS

The Unburied King

In the mists of dawn, the gates of Avalon, two mangled heaps, resembled twin jaws about to swallow them up.

Tedros heard the others in a pack behind him, the grunts of their frozen breaths, their feet crushing fresh-fallen snow. The fairies from school flocked around Tinkerbell like their queen, the only member of the League of Thirteen they’d managed to find. Peter Pan’s favorite nymph landed on Tedros’ shoulder, awaiting instructions— “Keep watch for us outside the gates, Tink,” said the prince.

Tinkerbell replied with twinkly gibberish. Alongside her fairies, she burrowed for warmth into the bright green apples hanging off vines, the one sign of life in Avalon’s endless winter. Tedros, meanwhile, led his group through the gates, crossing into the Lady of the Lake’s domain. The crash of the Savage Sea against rock echoed like a slow-beating drum. Over his head, Lionsmane’s promise of Sophie’s wedding glinted in the sunrise, a dead man her supposed groom. All this time, he’d been so obsessed with Rhian, thinking him the real threat, instead of paying attention to what was actually happening. Rhian had been a pig. But Japeth was a monster. A boy of no conscience, the murderer of his friends, a black hole of Evil. If Japeth could kill his own brother, his own blood, then with the Storian’s powers, he’d tear the Woods apart without mercy. He’d bring back the worst Evil from the dead and write Good out of existence. He’d watch the world burn with a smile.

The prince took a deep breath, trying to settle himself. The End wasn’t written yet. They’d gotten here alive. That was the first challenge. Now they had to convince the Lady of the Lake to let them cross her magical waters and dig up King Arthur’s grave. Tedros could feel oily nausea filling up his stomach. When he was a boy, he’d leaned in and kissed his father goodbye before they’d closed his coffin. To open that coffin back up like a graverobber . . . to ransack his father’s body and disturb his peace . . . His hand clamped at his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. And yet . . . he had to. He tried to focus on the next obstacle, on getting to his father’s tomb, step by step— A hand stroked beneath his shirtsleeve in just the right way.

“You’re brave to do this, Tedros,” said Agatha. “Your father would have done the same to protect his people. It’s why you’re his son. The son he raised to be king.” Tedros wanted to hold her and never let go. He knew what she’d said was the truth. Agatha never lied. That’s why he loved her. Because she didn’t just want him to be king. She wanted him to be a good king. And he wanted to be a good king for her. One day he hoped to tell her all this, when this moment was just a memory. . . . But for now, he could only nod, unable to speak anything in return. He glanced back at his mother, walking with Hort and Nicola. She, too, looked stricken, but more self-conscious and meek, as if questioning this entire endeavor or whether she should be here at all.

Still, she followed as Tedros walked the path around Avalon’s castle. The bone-white spires were connected in a circular palace, overlooking a maze of staircases leading down to the lake. Snow fell harder, covering the prince’s bootprints the second they formed. Somewhere here, Chaddick had died, killed by the animal who’d just taken the throne. Now his friend’s body lay in the grove beside his father, a grove Tedros wanted to desecrate. Emotions reared like a tidal wave, too high for the prince to wall in. He couldn’t do this. Not even with Agatha at his side. He needed Merlin. He needed a father.

“Shouldn’t we have heard from the witches by now?” he rasped to Agatha. “Shouldn’t we know if they’ve found Merlin?” His princess heard his desperation, because she clutched his palm gently. “The Caves of Contempo are difficult to get to. That’s why Reaper trusted the witches for the job,” she said, guiding him down the steps towards the lake. “But they will get there. They’re probably closing in as we speak.” “Or they’re dead,” murmured Hort.

“Unlikely,” said Nicola. “If we’re still alive, then Hester’s alive, because she’s smarter and tougher than all of us, including you.” Agatha pulled Tedros faster down the steps. “Look, we don’t know where anyone is or if they’re safe: witches, Beatrix, Willam, teachers, first years, even Anadil’s two rats. But it doesn’t matter unless we stop the Snake from becoming the One True King and killing us all. That’s why we’re here. To find a way to put Tedros back on the throne.” “Except there is no way,” said Guinevere’s voice. She stood at the top of the stairs. “Rhian might be dead, but Japeth is as much Arthur’s son as Rhian was. You witnessed the past with your own eyes, Agatha. You saw Evelyn Sader bewitch Arthur into giving her his sons. His heirs. Japeth is king, then. Nothing in the Past can change the Present. Nothing in Arthur’s grave can make Tedros king again.” Everyone fell quiet. Agatha included.

“Then why did Father’s sword give Merlin that message for me?” Tedros appealed to his mother. “Why did Father send me here?” “Did he?” said Guinevere. “Or was it the Lady of the Lake who gave Merlin that message? The Lady, whose loyalties we’re not even sure of?” Tedros’ breath caught in his chest.

He looked at Agatha, doubting himself, doubting everything— But it was too late.

Down below, the waters had started to churn.

THE LADY ROSE like a dragon, her bald head reflecting the fire of the sunrise. Black pits grooved beneath her eyes, her face more shriveled and deathly than Tedros had imagined it. No longer did she seem Good’s great defender, but instead a Witch of the Woods, haunted and bitter and enraged. She locked on Agatha, her low, deep voice hissing across the water.

“You promised. You promised to leave me in peace.” She flew across the lake, her tattered gray robes like shredded wings, and thrust her face in Agatha’s. “You’re a liar. A liar—” “Don’t talk to her that way,” Tedros retorted, shielding his princess. “You’re one to talk about promises. You broke your own vow. To protect Good. To protect Camelot. You’ve put our entire world at risk by kissing a Snake.” “He had the heir’s blood. The king’s blood,” the Lady spat at him, her breath salty and old. “And yet you come here, acting like I serve you. Like you’re the king.” “We’re not here for you,” said Tedros firmly. “We’ve come to visit my father’s grave. I have that right.” The Lady laughed. “You’re not king. You have no rights here. None. This is my domain. I could kill you all if I wish. I still have enough powers left for that.” Tedros felt Agatha back up behind him, Dovey’s bag to her chest, as if she took this threat seriously. The prince stood his ground. “Excalibur gave you a message for me. A command from my father. The king you served faithfully his entire life. I’ve come to obey that command. And if you loved my father, you’ll let me into your waters.” “You’re a fool,” the nymph lashed. “I loved your father because he was a good king. Better than any other that came before. That’s why I made Excalibur for him. A sword that rejected you. A sword that his heir, the true king, pulled from the stone.” “Wrong,” said Tedros. “Rhian pulled the sword from the stone and now he’s dead. His brother, his murderer, sits on the throne. The boy you kissed. Excalibur thought one brother was king; you thought the other brother was king. Both can’t be right. Even a fool would know that.” The Lady glared at him, her whole body starting to quake, her eyes steaming furious tears. “Go. Now. Before I fill these waters with your blood.” Tedros could see Agatha fiddling with Dovey’s bag. Why wasn’t she saying anything? He turned his ire on the Lady. “You made a mistake. A mistake that will destroy the Storian and end our world unless I save it. Take me to my father’s grave.” “You trespass here and accuse me?” the Lady seethed.

“I order you to let me pass,” the prince charged.

“This is your last warning!”

“And this is yours. Let me pass.”

“I’ll tear you apart!”

“Let me pass!”

“You liar! You snake!” the Lady screamed.

“LET ME PASS!” Tedros bellowed.

The Lady snatched him into her taloned fists and hammered him down towards the water with such force he’d tear into pieces the instant he hit the surface. Tedros thrashed against her, bracing for his death— —just as he saw his princess sprint across the shore, a crystal ball in her arms. With a flying leap, Agatha rammed her head into the Lady of the Lake’s chest. The nymph dropped Tedros into the lake, as the Lady and Agatha plunged underwater, knotted in each other’s limbs.

Before Tedros could take a breath, the lake around him exploded with blue light.

Guinevere pulled Hort and Nicola away from the shore; Tedros could hear his mother screaming his name, but he was sucking in a wad of breath and dunking underwater, glimpsing Agatha as she seized the Lady of the Lake’s hand and touched it to the glowing crystal ball, the two of them evaporating inside the portal. Already the bright blue light was fading, the portal starting to close; Tedros flung forward, kicking his legs like a dolphin tail, stabbing out his fingers as the crystal darkened— Pain exploded through his chest and he fell backwards, splayed in the blinding light, before he felt cold glass catch him from beneath, puddling with the water off his skin.

In the wet reflection, he watched his princess kneel down and help him to his feet inside Dovey’s ball. She grimaced, still unsteady herself, neither of them recovered from the crystal’s assault. But Agatha’s eyes weren’t on him. They were on the Lady of the Lake, posed silently on the other side of the ball, her hands caressing the thousands of tiny glass droplets arranged in the phantom’s mask, as if she was instinctively versed in the crystal’s magic.

Tedros and Agatha moved towards her, but the Lady paid no attention, the old crone hunched over as she studied scenes inside the crystals, brushing past any with the prince and princess and fixing instead on her own. . . . Forging Excalibur from her own silvery blood. Bestowing the sword on Tedros’ father. Talking intimately with Arthur on the shores of her lake. Surging across a battlefield at Arthur’s side like his warrior angel, obliterating the king’s enemies . . . In all of these she was beautiful, powerful, so rich with powers that Tedros could see her eyes sparkle, gazing into these magic mirrors of time. There were no scenes of her present or future. Her soul only knew the past.

Then the Lady froze.

It was a crystal near the phantom’s edge.

She backed away from it, her hands starting to shake.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Tedros realized. “The moment you lost your powers.” The Lady of the Lake didn’t move.

“We need to go inside,” said Agatha.

The Lady turned, the fever of rage broken, replaced by anguish and grief. “No. Please.” “It’s the only way we’ll know the truth,” said Agatha.

The Lady appealed to Tedros. “Leave it be.”

Tedros looked back at the haggard old witch who had just tried to kill him, a witch who had let his knight die and protected a Snake. A witch whose sword had rejected him. He wanted to feel anger. He wanted to feel hate. But deep in her eyes, all he could see was someone as flawed as he. Both their stories had taken detours into darkness. Both their futures were unclear. He reached out and clasped her decrepit palm.

“He is my father’s son. The boy you kissed,” Tedros spoke. “But I am Arthur’s son too. So if you see my father in me, even a trace of that king you served so loyally, then help us. We need you, even without your powers. Good needs you.” The Lady searched Tedros’ face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her lips quivering, but no sound came out.

Slowly she reached up and pulled down the crystal.

She held it out to Agatha, the Lady’s breaths shallow, her fingers tremoring.

Without a word, Agatha took the glass droplet into one hand, then Tedros’ palm into the other.

Raising the crystal, Agatha stared calm and still into its center.

Light broke through like a sword.

HARD, WET SNOW pelted Tedros’ cheek.

He glanced down and saw his boots floating on top of clear water, Agatha with him at the edge of the lake, his princess still holding his hand. Behind them, the portal’s gash of blue light glowed strong. They were inside the Lady’s crystal, two ghosts revisiting the past.

Sounds came from the shore: metal into skin . . . a wheeze of breath . . . a sword hitting snow . . .

Slowly Tedros and Agatha looked up.

The Snake rose from Chaddick’s dead body, his scaly black suit and green mask flecked with blood. He walked towards the Lady of the Lake, who floated over her shores, her silver hair thick and flowing, her dark eyes pinned on Chaddick’s killer.

“A king stands before me,” said the Lady. “I smell it. The blood of Arthur’s eldest son.” “A son still alive thanks to your protection,” said the Snake. “The usurper’s knight is dead.” “A usurper your father believed would be king,” the Lady remarked. “Arthur never spoke of you to me. And yet, Excalibur remains trapped in stone. A coronation test unfulfilled. Waiting for you, it seems. Arthur had his secrets. . . .” The Snake moved closer, stepping into the Lady’s waters.

“As do you,” he said. “The kind of secrets only a king could know.” “Oh? Then why wear a mask, King of Secrets?” the Lady asked him. “I smell the blood of a Good soul, the blood of a Lion. Why wear the guise of a Snake and attack your fellow kingdoms? Kingdoms you are meant to rule?” “For the same reason you wish to be a queen instead of the Lady,” the Snake replied. “For love.” “You know nothing of my wishes,” the Lady scoffed.

The Snake removed his mask, revealing Japeth’s ice-blue eyes and smooth, sculpted face. The Lady gazed at him, transfixed.

Watching from the shore, Tedros’ blood boiled, his body ready to attack, unable to discern Present from Past.

“Come with me,” Japeth said to the Lady. “Come to Camelot. Leave this lonely cave behind.” “Precious boy,” she cooed. “Many a king has flattered me with promises of love. Your father included. Perhaps to make me even more devoted and passionate in my service. But none ever meant it. How could they? None could accept the costs. To love me means I must relinquish my powers. No king would abide that. I’m more valuable here. Good’s greatest weapon.” “I can protect myself,” said Japeth.

“Says the boy who just admitted he’s alive because of my protection,” the Lady replied, glancing at Chaddick’s corpse on the shore.

“And yet here I remain,” said Japeth. “Why? I don’t need anything more from you. I can walk away right now. But I sense a kindred heart, imprisoned by magic. A heart that can give us both what we want.” He stepped deeper into her water, his breath misting towards her, their bodies so close. The Lady leaned in, inhaling him. “Sweet, sweet blood of Arthur . . . ,” she sighed softly. “And what of my duties to Good? My duties to defend Camelot beyond your reign?” “Good has grown arrogant and weak,” said Japeth. “You’ve defended it for too long. At the expense of your soul.” “My soul,” the Lady bantered, touching his cheek. “A boy claims to see my soul. . . .” “I know you are lonely,” said the Snake. “So lonely you’ve started to feel bitterness over your place here. You feel yourself changing. No longer do you hold the purity of Good within your heart. You dip into darkness and desolation, the fuels of Evil. All because you won’t give yourself what you want. Stay here any longer and you’ll begin to make mistakes. Instead of protecting Good, you’ll come to harm it. Evil will stake its seed in your heart. If it hasn’t already.” The Lady looked at him. All playfulness was gone.

“You yearn for love as much as I,” said the Snake. “And yet, neither of us can attain that love without another’s help. Someone who can bring that love to life. Otherwise, that love will remain a ghost, a phantom, beyond the rules of the living. I will do anything to find that love. Anything. As will you.” The Lady’s skin flushed. “How do you know? How do you know I would do anything for love?” The Snake met her eyes. “Because you already have.”

He kissed her, his hands pulling her down, as the Lady fell into the Snake’s embrace, the lake’s waters curling up around them like the petals of a flower in full bloom.

But then something in the Lady’s face changed. Her body went rigid, resisting her new love’s. Her mouth pulled away, the veils of water collapsing. She stared at the boy who’d kissed her, her big black pupils jolting with surprise, panic . . . fear.

Japeth grinned.

Instantly, the Lady began to dwindle, her body blighting, desiccating. Her hair fell out in clumps; her spine contorted and crackled . . .

All as the Snake calmly walked away.

Tedros felt Agatha’s hands on him, pulling him back into the portal.

The instant the glass of Dovey’s ball appeared beneath Tedros, he was on his feet, pointing at the old crone— “Your face . . . I saw your face . . . ,” he panted. “You knew something was wrong. . . . You knew it!” The Lady was cowering in the corner, head in her hands.

“It was the king . . . the heir . . . ,” she defended. “Arthur’s blood . . .” “You felt something when you kissed him!” Tedros cried, charging for her. Agatha held him back. “What was it!” “Let me out,” the Lady begged.

“Tell me what you felt!” Tedros assailed.

The Lady pounded on the glass. “Let me out!”

She bludgeoned the crystal with both fists—

“Tell me!” Tedros yelled.

The Lady slammed the walls, tapping the last of her powers, her fists bashing Dovey’s crystal harder, harder, until it cracked.

“No!” Agatha shrieked, she and Tedros dashing for the Lady too late as she raised her fists one last time— Glass exploded.

Tedros and Agatha launched backwards, the lake rushing in and filling their shocked mouths. Choking, they thrust out hands for each other, Tedros hanging on to Agatha’s dress, Agatha gripping his thin white shirt. Then came the storm: thousands of glass shards crashing down on them, plunging them into the deep. Thrashing in vain, they sank under the mass of crystals, screams unheard. The Lady of the Lake watched them, robes floating over her head like a reaper’s, her silver tears clouding the sea.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, her voice resounding. “Forgive me!” She thrust out her hand—

Dark water swirled around Tedros and Agatha, a chasm ripping open in the lake’s center like the mouth of a snake, before it swallowed them both inside.

DEW COATED TEDROS’ lips, the rich, fresh smell of grass mixing with the scent of Agatha’s hair, his princess spooned in his arms. He opened his eyes to see a lush green heath, sparkling under the sunrise. Agatha stirred, her prince helping her up.

“We’re . . . here,” she breathed.

Tedros still felt like he was underwater, the Lady’s last words reverberating. . . . “Forgive me!” She had nearly killed them.

Dovey’s crystal was destroyed.

And yet, she’d let them pass.

She’d stayed true to Good.

He thought of the way she’d embraced the Snake . . . the way she inhaled Arthur’s blood in his veins . . . the way her face darkened once their lips touched. . . .

What does she know? he asked himself. What does she know that we don’t?

Across the moors, the old farmhouse where Lancelot and Guinevere once lived lay dormant and overgrown. Sheep, cows, and horses grazed unbounded on the hills.

“It’s like we never left,” Agatha sighed.

For a brief moment, Tedros wished he and Agatha could hide here, like his mother and her true love once had. Past is Present and Present is Past, he thought. . . .

“Tedros?”

He looked at his princess.

She squeezed his hand.

There would be no hiding today.

THE GRAVE LAY in shadow, sheltered by a small oak grove. A shining glass cross rose out of the ground between two trees, marking King Arthur’s tomb. Garlands of white roses draped the cross, along with a glowing five-pointed star resting against the base. There were more of these stars strewn nearby, ashy and burnt out, as if Merlin returned to lay a new one whenever the old had grown cold.

But there was a second grave now, Tedros realized, only a short distance from his father’s, deeper in the shadows. A grave he hadn’t seen before, marked with a second glass cross.

“Chaddick,” said Agatha quietly. “This is where the Lady buried him.” Tedros nodded. “It’s where he belongs.”

His knight. His friend, valiant and true. He shouldn’t be here at all, Tedros wanted to say. Chaddick was too young, too Good to die. He never should have tried to take on the Snake. He never should have tried to do a king’s work.

Tedros swallowed the knot in his throat.

Work still left to be done.

His eyes roved back to his father’s plot.

“Merlin enchanted the tomb to preserve him,” he said. “Whatever we find, there’ll be hexes and curses to break through. A test I have to pass.” His voice thinned, his palms sweating. “But first, we have to dig him up.” He raised his fingerglow to his dad’s grave, his heart jittery, his stomach lurching. His finger started to shake, his gold glow unsteady— Agatha stepped in front of him, her own gold glow lit.

“Look away,” she said.

She began burning through the dirt.

Tedros kept his eyes on the glass cross at the head of the grave, reflecting Agatha’s calm face as she worked. At the base of the cross, Merlin’s glowing white star mirrored Tedros’ fidgeting shadow, his square jaw and sweep of curls. He was thankful for his princess, thankful it was just him and Agatha that had made it this far. As much as he loved his mother, his father wouldn’t have wanted her here— He broke out of his thoughts.

Merlin’s white star. His shadow in it.

It was still moving.

Only he wasn’t.

He glanced back at Agatha, her glow burning away more and more earth.

“They must have buried the coffin deep,” Agatha murmured, tense with concentration.

Tedros turned back to the star and leaned closer, the shadow inside receding from him, as if to lead him somewhere.

“This doesn’t make sense . . . ,” Agatha’s voice rasped.

The prince reached for the star. His fingers brushed the warm white surface and sank right through— “Tedros, the grave is empty. There’s nothing here.”

By the time Agatha turned to her prince, he was halfway in.

She lunged in horror, grasping her hand for him, but all she found was a cold star, the light snuffed out, like a sun fallen into a sea.

TEDROS TASTED CLOUDS in his mouth, feather-soft, dissolving like spun sugar, with the sweet tang of blueberry cream. He lifted his eyes to see a silvery five-pointed star shoot past him across a purple night sky, lit by a thousand more of these stars. The air was toasty and thick, the silence of the Celestium so vast that he could hear the drum of his own heart, like it was the beat of the universe.

A rustle of movement . . . then an intake of breath.

Tedros grew very still.

Someone else was on the cloud.

He looked up.

King Arthur sat on the edge of the cloud in his royal robes, his hair thick and gold, his beard flecked with gray, a Lion locket sparkling around his neck.

“Hello, son,” said his father.

Tedros was ghost-white. “Dad?”

“Merlin kept this place a secret from me when I was king,” said his father, gazing up at the sky. “I understand why now.” “This . . . this is i-i-impossible. . . .” Tedros reached out a shaking hand towards the king. “This isn’t real . . . this can’t be real. . . .” His palm touched his father’s face, quivering against Arthur’s soft beard. The king smiled and pressed his son’s hand into his.

Tedros stiffened. “But you’re . . . you’re supposed to be . . .” “Here. With you, just as you need me to be,” said his father, his voice soothing and deep. “In the way I wish I’d been for all the days I had with you, up to the very last. Our story didn’t have the ending we wanted.” Gently, he brushed Tedros’ hair out of his face. “But I knew long ago that there might come a time when you needed me. A time beyond the Present and your memories of our Past. Yet how can a father see his son beyond the Rules of Time? That’s where it helps to have a wizard as your dearest friend.” “So you’re a . . . ghost?” Tedros asked.

“When most kings die, they embalm the body to preserve it,” King Arthur replied. “But no one can truly preserve a body against time. In the end, all graves are raided or neglected or forgotten. It is the nature of things. Leave it to Merlin, then, to suggest getting rid of my body entirely. To preserve the soul instead. This way you could find me when the time came. The magic was limited, of course. My soul could only reappear to the living once, for the briefest of meetings, before it dispersed forever to the source from which it came. Until then, I would live amongst the stars, waiting patiently for the Present to catch up with the Past.” Tears grew in Tedros’ eyes. “How brief a meeting?”

His father smiled. “Long enough for you to know how much I love you.” Tedros panicked. “You can’t go! Not after I’ve found you! Please, Dad . . . You don’t know the things I’ve done . . . the mess I’ve made. . . . A Snake sits on the throne. A Snake that’s your son.” His voice cracked, his posture sinking like he was weighed down by a stone. “I failed your test. I never became king. Not the king you wanted me to be.” Sobs choked out of him. “Only I didn’t just fail the test. I failed Camelot. I failed Good. I failed you—” “And yet, you’re here,” said King Arthur. “Just as I asked you to be.” Tedros lifted his wet eyes.

“You passed a test far greater than pulling a sword,” said his father. “A test that is only the beginning of many more.” Tedros swallowed, barely able to speak. “But what do I do? I need to know what to do. I need to know how to fix this.” King Arthur reached out his hand. He put it to his son’s heart, pressing firm and strong, its warmth filling Tedros’ chest.

“A Lion roars within,” he said.

Tears slid down Tedros’ cheeks. “Don’t leave me. I’m begging you. I can’t do this alone. I can’t.” “I love you, son,” his father whispered, kissing his head.

“No . . . wait . . . don’t go . . . ,” Tedros gasped, reaching for him— But the prince was already falling through clouds.

“TEDROS?” A VOICE said.

The prince roused to the smell of rich, dense earth and the comfort of a deep bed.

He opened his eyes.

Agatha looked down from high, oak branches swaying above her, dappled by the sun.

Then Tedros understood.

He was in his father’s grave.

He was in his father’s grave.

Instantly he was on his knees, scrambling out of the hole Agatha had dug, dirt crumbling beneath his hands and boots, crashing him back down, before he finally managed to claw himself out. He collapsed against his father’s glass cross, the white star cold against his cheek as he heaved for air.

“What happened?” Agatha hounded, dropping to his side.

He couldn’t answer. How could he answer? He’d seen his father. He’d smelled him and touched him and felt his dad’s hand upon his heart. Tedros thrust his palm under his shirt, where his father had left his mark. But now the moment was gone, his father lost forever. And Tedros was left with only the memor— The prince paused.

Beneath his shirt, something brushed against his hand. Something that wasn’t there before.

“Where were you?” Agatha asked, her arm around him. “Where did you go?” The prince rose to his knees and pulled down his shirt. A Lion locket hung around his neck, lit by a stream of sun.

Agatha let go of him. “But that’s . . . that’s your father’s . . .” Tedros fingered the gold Lion head at the end of the chain, its two sides fused together. All those years as a child, he’d tried to get it open, day after day, testing any trick he could think of, failing every time, until one day . . . he didn’t fail. His dad had given him the most assured of smiles, as if he’d known it was only a matter of time.

Slowly Arthur’s son slipped the Lion’s head into his mouth like he had that day, a long time ago. . . .

“I don’t understand,” Agatha pressed—

He felt the gold magically soften, his teeth prying at the crease between the two sides at just the right angle . . . until the locket popped open. Bit by bit, his tongue probed the inside of its case, searching for something from his father, a note or a card or— His eyes froze.

Or that.

He lifted it onto his tongue, tasting the cold, hard surface, savoring the deep grooves along its side, holding it in place as he let the locket slip out of his mouth.

“Only three swans left,” Hort’s voice echoed. “Or was it four.” “Tedros?” Agatha asked, seeing his face. “What is—”

He kissed her.

So softly, so delicately, he saw her eyes widen as it moved from his mouth to hers. A glow sparked like a flame in her big brown gaze, the two of them silent and still, sharing this moment as one.

Carefully Tedros drew his lips from hers. Agatha kept his stare as she reached shaking fingers and pulled it out.

The ring.

The ring with the Storian’s symbols.

The ring that had never been burned, but instead gifted across time.

A king’s true coronation test for his son.

“Tedros . . . ,” Agatha whispered, her eyes aflame. “Tedros . . .” Blood rumbled through the prince’s veins, from the forgotten corners of his soul, pounding at the door to his heart, harder, harder, demanding to be let in.

His princess held out the ring, shining like a sword.

“Now it begins,” Agatha vowed.

The prince’s eyes reflected her steel. “Now it begins.” He took the ring onto his finger, the door to his heart ripping open, a Lion awakened, a Lion reborn, before Tedros gnashed his teeth to the sky and unleashed a roar that shook heaven and earth.