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TEDROS (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)
How Not to Throw a Coronation (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)
Though he had no time for himself, no time for Agatha, no time at all, Tedros refused to get soft.
In his knee-length black socks and cut-off breeches, he snuck through the dark, muggy halls of Gold Tower, a towel slung over his bare, tanned chest. He knew it was vain and obsessive, this getting up at half past four to exercise, but it felt like the only thing left he could actually control. Because at six on the dot, Lady Gremlaine and four male stewards would barge into his room and from that moment until he slogged back into bed at night, he was no longer in charge of his own life.
He passed Agatha’s room, tempted to slip in and wake her up, but he’d gotten in trouble for that last night and he didn’t need any more trouble. His kingdom was already on the verge of revolt. That’s why he’d ceded Lady Gremlaine total control over the castle. As Arthur’s once-steward, she was a known face and gave people faith that the new king would be well-managed. But there was another reason he’d let Gremlaine keep him on a tight leash, one he could never say out loud.
Tedros didn’t trust himself as king.
He needed someone like Lady Gremlaine who could watch his every move, who would check his every decision. If he’d only listened to her at the coronation, none of this would have happened. But he was listening to her now. Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that there could be no more mistakes.
Last night had already been a serious blunder. Lady Gremlaine had warned him not to repeat his father’s errors and let a girl interfere with his duties as king. Tedros took this warning seriously. Up until yesterday, he’d done well to concentrate on his tasks and let Agatha concentrate on hers, even if it meant he’d had more freedom to see Agatha at school than he did now as king in his own castle. But then he’d gone and snuck into her room dead-tired, defenses down, and acted like a sniveling child. Tedros cringed, replaying the moment in his head. He’d brought Agatha to Camelot away from everyone and everything she knew, and he wanted her to feel safe and taken care of. He couldn’t let her see how weak and scared he was. He couldn’t let her see that all he wanted to do was run away with her. To hold her tight and shut the world out.
But that’s exactly what he had done last night.
And for the fleeting relief he’d found in her arms, he left his future queen anxious and worried for him and his steward angry and disappointed.
Stop acting like a boy, Tedros chastised himself. Act like a king.
So today he let Agatha sleep, even if it left a big black hole in his heart.
Tedros scuttled through the hall’s colossal gold passage and soaring arches, sweat sopping his wavy blond hair, his breeches sticking to his thighs. He couldn’t remember the castle ever feeling this stifling. Two mice darted past him into a hole in the plaster. A procession of ants wove around the friezes of famous knights on the wall, now damaged and missing limbs. When his father and mother were king and queen, this hall used to be minty clean, even in the August doldrums. Now it smelled like dead cat.
Down three flights he went, socks slippery on dull gold stone, before he hustled through the Gymnasium, a lavish collection of training equipment surrounded by weapons and armor from Camelot’s history, enclosed in glass cases. One would assume this was Tedros’ destination, but instead he scurried right through, his pure blue eyes pinned to the dusty floor, trying not to look at the large glass case in the center of the room … the one case that happened to be empty. Its placard read:
EXCALIBUR
He was still thinking about that large, empty case when he arrived at King’s Cove, a sunken bathing pool in the bowels of the castle. When he was a young prince, this manmade grotto had flowering vines around tall piles of rock and a steaming-hot waterfall. The balmy water once shimmered with a thousand purple and pink lights from fairies who tended the pool in exchange for safe shelter at Camelot. Tedros remembered his mornings here as a child, racing the fairies around his father’s statue at the center of the pool, his tiny opponents lighting up the water like fireworks.
King’s Cove was different now. The pool was dark and cold, the water algae-green. The plants were dead, the waterfall a drip, drip, drip. The fairies were gone too, banished from the castle by Arthur after Guinevere and Merlin had both abandoned him, destroying Arthur’s faith in magic.
Tedros looked down at the kettlebells he’d stolen from the gym and stashed by the pool, along with a sad, lowly rope he’d tied to the ceiling to practice climbing.
He couldn’t exercise in that other room. Not if he had to be near that empty case and think about where the sword was now.
Slowly, his eyes rose to his father’s statue in the murky pool, caked with moss and dirt—King Arthur, Excalibur in hand, staring down at him.
Only he wasn’t staring. At least not anymore. His eyes were gone, violently gouged out, leaving two big black holes.
Tedros endured a wave of guilt, more intense than the one he’d felt in the gym.
He’d done it.
He’d carved out his own father’s eyes.
Because he couldn’t bear the old king looking at him after what happened at the coronation.
I’ll fix it, Father, he vowed. I’ll fix everything.
Tedros tossed his towel onto the mildewed floor and dove into the pool, thoughts wiped out by the harsh, stabbing cold.
Six months before, the day of the coronation had been brilliant and warm.
Tedros was utterly spent after everything that had happened leading up to it—reconciling with his mother, fighting a war against an Evil School Master, and making an all-night ride from school to Camelot in time for him to be crowned king the next day.
And yet, despite feeling like a sore, sleepless zombie, he couldn’t stop smiling. After so many false starts and twists and turns, he’d finally found his Ever After. He was the ruler of the most legendary kingdom in the Woods. He’d have Agatha by his side forever. His mother (and Lancelot) would live with them in the castle. For the first time since he was a child, he had a full family again—and soon a queen to share it with.
Any one of those would be a wonderful enough gift on this, his sixteenth birthday. But the best present of all? Sophie, his old friend-enemy-princess-witch, had been appointed Dean at the School for Evil far far away, where she’d remain at a safe distance from him and Agatha. Which meant no more Sophie thuggery, no more Sophie skullduggery for the rest of their lives. (He’d learned from experience that he and that girl couldn’t be in the same place without killing each other, kissing each other, or a lot of people ending up dead.)
“Hmm, can’t Merlin do a spell to make this smell better?” Tedros said in front of his bedroom mirror, sniffing at his father’s old robes. “This thing is rancid.”
“Whole castle is rancid,” groused Lancelot, gnawing on a slab of dried beef. “And I haven’t seen Merlin since he hopped out of the carriage in Maidenvale. Said he’d meet us at the castle. Should be here by now.”
“Merlin runs on his own time,” Guinevere sighed, sitting next to Lancelot on her son’s bed.
“He’ll be here soon. Can’t possibly miss my coronation,” Tedros said, holding his nose. “Maybe if we spritz this with a little cologne—”
“It’s a coronation gown, Teddy. You only have to wear it once,” said his mother. “Besides, I don’t smell anything except whatever it is Lance raided from the pantry.”
“Oh be serious, Gwen,” Lancelot growled, smacking at the bedsheets and spawning a dust storm. “What happened to this place?”
“Don’t worry. Agatha and I will fix everything,” Tedros declared, combing his hair. “We knew what we were coming back to. Dad’s advisors let the castle go to waste and lined their pockets with the kingdom’s taxes. Would’ve loved to have seen their faces when Lance threw them in the dungeons.”
“Oddly calm, to be honest. As if they expected it—or at least knew better than to fight,” Lance said, with a loud belch. “Insisted I don’t have the authority to jail them until Tedros is king. Told them to sod off.”
“They’re right,” Guinevere clipped. “And if you can’t eat like a proper human, I’ll have the kitchen put you on a vegetable diet.”
Tedros and Lancelot gaped at her.
“They’re right?” Tedros asked incredulously.
“Vegetables?” Lancelot blurted, mouth full.
“Until your coronation as king is official, the Council of Advisors appointed by Arthur has full authority to decide who runs Camelot,” Guinevere explained. “But in a few hours you will be king and it’s not like there’s a rival with a claim to the throne they can summon out of thin air. That’s why the guards didn’t stop Lance from jailing them.”
Reassured, Tedros went back to assessing his reflection.
“Darling, enough with the mirror. You look beautiful,” his mother said. “Meanwhile, poor Agatha is getting ready by herself and surely needs a lady’s help. Why don’t I go to her and leave you here with Lan—”
“Agatha’s fine,” Tedros said, picking at an annoying pimple near his mouth. God, I’m almost as bad as Sophie, he thought. But he was about to have an entire kingdom judging him. Who wouldn’t be self-conscious? “Besides, it’s my birthday,” he added, “and I want to spend time with my mother.”
He saw his mother blush, still unused to him being nice to her.
“Sounds more like Little King’s afraid of being alone with me,” Lancelot cracked.
“Call me ‘little’ again and I’ll run you through,” Tedros flared, tapping Excalibur on his waist. “No one on earth would choose to be alone with you anyway.”
“Except your mother. Likes our alone time just fine,” said Lancelot tartly.
“Oh good lord,” Guinevere mumbled.
“In any case, Agatha has that strange steward woman helping her get ready, the one who greeted us when we arrived last night and reeks of perfume,” said Tedros, checking his teeth. “Wanted to help me get ready but I said I had you two. Didn’t seem happy about it.”
“What’s the story there, Gwen? Looked about as thrilled to see you as you did her,” said Lancelot.
“There is no story. She was my steward until after Tedros was born. I had her dismissed. Now she’s back,” Guinevere said curtly.
“Well, clearly something happened between you two—”
“Nothing happened.”
“Then why are you making the same face about her as you made around Millie?”
“Who’s Millie?” Tedros asked.
“A horny goat that used to chase your mother around the farm,” Lancelot said.
Guinevere kicked him.
“God, you two had a lot of free time out there,” Tedros muttered into the mirror.
“Lady Gremlaine is irrelevant,” said Guinevere, sobering. “A steward only has responsibility over a prince until his coronation. After you seal your coronation, you’re in charge and can remove Lady Gremlaine from the castle once and for all.”
“So what does that mean, ‘seal my coronation’? I repeat a few vows and give a speech?” Tedros asked, finally tired of looking at himself. He plopped on a sooty armchair next to the bed.
His mother frowned. “You said you knew what happened at a coronation.”
“That you didn’t need a ‘lecture’ from us,” sniped Lancelot.
“Well, is there something special about the speech I should know about?” Tedros said impatiently.
“There is no speech, you twit,” Lancelot retorted.
Tedros blinked. “Then when do I introduce you two as part of my royal court?”
His mother and Lancelot exchanged looks. “Um, Teddy, I don’t think that’s a good move—”
“It’s the right move and the right move is the Good move,” said Tedros. “It’s been years since what happened between you two and Dad. I’m sure the people have moved on.”
Lancelot drew a breath. “Tedros, it’s not that simple. You’re not thinking about all the—”
“If we live in fear, we’ll never get anything done,” said Tedros, cutting him off. “I’ll tell this Gremlaine woman to seat you on the stage next to me.”
“I’m sure that will go over well,” his mother said cryptically.
Lancelot gave her another curious look, but Guinevere didn’t elaborate.
Tedros let the point go. From his one interaction with Lady Gremlaine, he was confident his new steward would abide by his wishes.
“So if there’s no speech, then what is there?” he asked, reclining against the chair.
“The chaplain will swear you in and make you repeat your vows in front of the kingdom,” his mother said. “Then you have to complete a ceremonial test.”
Tedros’ eyes widened. “Like those written tests we had in Good Deeds class?”
“You really are clueless,” Lancelot grouched. “It’s a test of your father’s choosing, written in his will and revealed at the coronation.”
“Pfft, Dad told me about that. That’s not a ‘test,’” Tedros scoffed. “It’s a token gesture. Said he’d never pick something I couldn’t do. That he’d pick something to make me look as strong and commanding before my people as possible.”
“Make you look strong and commanding? That’s a test in itself,” Lancelot murmured.
Guinevere glared at him and moved next to her son.
“So I have to perform the test Dad left for me?” said Tedros. “And then … I’m king.”
“Then you’re king,” his mother smiled, ruffling his hair.
Tedros smiled back, his heart light as a cloud (even though he’d have to comb his hair again).
“But first there’s dancing monkeys,” said Lancelot.
“Oh hush,” said Guinevere, chortling.
Tedros glanced between them. “Very funny.”
His mother was still laughing.
“Very funny,” Tedros repeated.
“Presenting the Mahaba Monkeys of Malabar Hills!” the courtier shouted.
A cannon blew confetti on the crowd and the people cheered, at least 50,000 of them, packed onto the hills beneath the castle. Per tradition, the drawbridge had been lowered, inviting citizens of Camelot onto royal grounds. They’d been crossing over since the morning to witness the coronation of King Arthur’s son and yet there were still thousands who wouldn’t fit, leaving them stranded on the drawbridge or below the cliffs, peering up at the castle balcony and the beautiful stone stage built for the occasion.
Sitting onstage, however, Tedros knew full well it wasn’t stone. It was cheap, rickety wood, masked with paint that made it look like stone and it creaked hideously under the weight of his father’s throne. Even worse, hot wax dripped onto his sweltering robes from wobbly candelabras they’d nicked from the castle chapel to save on ceremonial torches. Still, he’d kept his mouth shut: Camelot was broke and splurging on a coronation would be irresponsible. But now, watching hapless performers from neighboring realms, he was beginning to lose patience. First there was a fire-eater from Jaunt Jolie who accidentally set her dress aflame; then a tone-deaf chanteuse from Foxwood who forgot the lyrics to “God Save the King”; then two portly young brothers from Avonlea who fell off a flying trapeze into the crowd …
And now apes.
“If they weren’t trying so hard, I’d think they were mocking me,” Tedros grumbled, itching under his robes.
“I’m afraid the more skilled acts were out of budget,” Lady Gremlaine said from her seat beside him, sipping at a goblet of sparkling water. “We did pay for the monkeys, however. They were your father’s favorite.”
Tedros peered downstage at the six monkeys in red sequined fedoras, scratching their privates and wagging their bums out of synch.
“Was this before or after he started drinking,” Tedros said.
Lady Gremlaine didn’t laugh.
