seat, as he’ll be my real advisor once I’m king,” Tedros piled on.
“Merlin won’t breach the gates of Camelot. After he deserted your father, Arthur had him banned from the kingdom,” said Lady Gremlaine.
Tedros gave her a bewildered look. Neither Merlin nor his father had ever told him that.
“Well, Arthur also put a death warrant on my mother’s head and she’s very much alive,” Tedros said brusquely. “I don’t follow an ex-king’s edict and neither does Merlin, even if it was my father’s.”
“Then why isn’t Merlin here?” Lady Gremlaine challenged.
Tedros bristled, wondering the same thing. “He’ll be here. You’ll see.”
He has to be, the prince thought. The idea of ruling Camelot without Merlin was unfathomable.
“I wouldn’t bet on it. Defying banishment is punished by death,” said Lady Gremlaine crisply.
Tedros snorted. “If you think you can execute Merlin while I’m king you’re as clueless as those monkeys.”
A sequined hat hit him in the face and he swiveled to see the chimps in a violent brawl, pummeling each other as the crowd tittered.
“Is this really the best we can do?” Tedros moaned. “Who planned this idiocy?”
“I did,” said Lady Gremlaine.
“Well, let’s hope you’re not planning the wedding.”
“The wedding is planned entirely by the future queen,” Lady Gremlaine said, her face a cold mask. “I hope she is capable.”
“That’s a bet I’m willing to take,” said Tedros defiantly, trying not to frown.
Agatha: the wedding planner? Hadn’t she dressed as a bride for Halloween? If it were up to her, they’d marry at midnight in a boneyard, with that satanic cat presiding. …
She’ll be fine, he thought. Agatha always found a way. She’d no doubt share his opinion of Lady Gremlaine and his determination to prove her wrong. Plus, once Agatha saw how he handled his coronation, with royal decorum and integrity, she’d follow his example for the wedding. Soon Lady Grimface would be eating her words.
A long while later, after the monkeys had been soothed with a vat of banana pudding and dragged from the stage, Tedros took his place before Camelot’s chaplain, perilously old, with a bright red nose and wiry hair growing out of his ears. The chaplain put his hand on Tedros’ back and guided him to the front of the stage, overlooking the teeming hills.
On cue, the sun broke out from behind the cloud, spilling onto the young prince.
An awed hush fell over the crowd.
Tedros could see the legions gazing up at him with wide-eyed hope: the boy who vanquished the School Master … the boy who saved the Ever kingdoms … the boy who would make Camelot great again.
“I’m king of all these people?” Tedros rasped, the weight of responsibility finally hitting him.
“Oh, oh, your father asked the same thing, lad! Fear is a very good sign,” the old chaplain said, hacking a laugh. “And luckily, no one can hear us from way up here.”
The chaplain turned to a skinny, red-haired altar boy, who carefully handed him a jeweled box. The chaplain opened it. Sunlight ricocheted through five spires like a web of gold, eliciting gasps from the mob. Tedros gazed down at King Arthur’s crown, the five-pointed fleur-de-lis, each with a diamond in the center.
Once, when he was six, he’d stolen it from his father’s bed table and worn it to his lessons with Merlin, insisting the wizard bow and call him King. He assumed Merlin would put an end to his mischief—but instead the wizard obeyed his command, bowing eminently and addressing him as Your Majesty, all the way through math and astronomy and vocabulary and history. Perhaps the old wizard would have let him be king forever … but soon the young prince removed his crown and sheepishly returned it to his father’s table. For it was too heavy for his soft little head.
Now, ten years later, the chaplain held out the very same crown. “Repeat after me, young prince. The words might sound a bit funny, given it’s an oath that harkens back two thousand years. But words aren’t what make a king. That fear you feel is all you need. Fear means you know this crown has a history and future far bigger than you. Fear means you are ready, dear Tedros: ready to quest for glory.”
Legs quivering, Tedros repeated the chaplain’s oath.
Like the old man warned, he tripped over the strange syllables and sounds, without knowing what he was saying. And yet, somewhere in his heart he did. His eyes welled up, the moment getting to him. Just a few years ago, he was a first-year boy at the School for Good and Evil, full of bluster and insecurity.
Now the boy would be a king.
A husband.
And someday a father.
Tedros made a silent prayer: that he would do Good as all three, just like the man who had made him. A man who he loved and missed every single day of his life. A man he’d give anything to touch one last time.
The chaplain placed the crown upon Tedros’ head and tears streamed down the young king’s cheeks while the crowd roared a passionate ovation that lasted long after he’d managed to get his emotions under control.
The chaplain patted his shoulder. “And now to seal the coronation and officially make you king, you must complete the ceremonial tes—”
“Do you mind if I say a few words first?” he asked the chaplain. “To my people, I mean.”
The chaplain furrowed. “It is a bit unusual to speak before the proceedings are complete, especially since no one will hear you.”
Something fell from above, right into the folds of Tedros’ oversized robe: a small five-pointed white star, like the ones Merlin used to lay in tribute at his father’s tomb in Avalon.
“Strange,” Tedros said, studying it closely. “Why would one of these be …”
His voice instantly amplified for miles.
The crowd gaped in astonishment, as did the chaplain, but Tedros knew full well where such sorcery had come from.
He looked up into the big blue sky and smiled. “Thanks, M,” he whispered.
Then he put the magic star on his shoulder so it would broadcast him far and wide.
“Felt funny looking down at all of you without saying hello,” he spoke, his voice resounding over the cliffs. “So, um, hello! I’m Tedros. And welcome to the … show.”
Crickets.
“Right. You know who I am. Same boy who used
