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If correct, it would still be a contribution to the kingdom and its people.

As we marveled over the possibility of Aspen’s implication, the door blew open. Lyrik entered, burdened by a red-spotted bandage strapped diagonally across his chest and hooked over his shoulder, the cloth peeking beneath the unlaced neckline of his long-sleeved tunic.

The bodyguards growled, “You cannot!” and “Halt!”

The Court Physician dashed in behind the rogue, sputtering about rest and infection.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Lyrik grumbled at them. “I’m fine...” He trailed off when he noticed Briar and Poet. “Oh. Wasn’t expecting royalty.”

I gave Lyrik a foul look until he bowed. “Sorry,” he muttered awkwardly. “Was looking for a knight, a puppet, and songb—”

Aspen sprang to her feet and embraced him without discretion. “After what you did, I don’t think I hate you anymore.”

He flinched, uncomfortable with praise. His strong constitution had managed to spare him from a tragic death, when it could have easily gone the other way. To say the very least, it relieved us all to see him alive.

Briar and Poet rose upon his entrance, an action they rarely took for strangers. They knew Lyrik had saved their son, even if he’d participated in tonight’s unlawful mission, which had endangered Nicu in the first place.

I could sense their mutual temptation to clasp his hand. However, they could sense his desire for them to do no such thing. Wisely, they restrained themselves.

With her thanks, Briar dismissed the physical and guards, then invited Lyrik to join us. The squatter balked, not knowing how to accept such an invitation, studying the hobby horse in the corner.

“It belonged to Nicu when he was a child,” the princess informed him as he took liberties, approaching the toy and tracing its ear with a finger. I caught it from my corner of the room, that gust of wistfulness.

Briar reclaimed her seat beside Poet. “We’ve been told your name is Lyrik.”

“That’s right,” he replied.

“And you hosted our son in the treehouse colony.”

“Wouldn’t say I was much of a host.”

“Care to explain?” the jester inquired, picking up on the tone and eyeing the young man’s profile with sudden shrewdness.

“He’s brooding and can’t take a compliment,” Aspen said.

“Be that as it may, we’re sitting over here,” Briar asserted, drawing Lyrik’s reluctant attention, holding it until he submitted. “Thank you,” she said, her voice softening. “Thank you so much. You came to Nicu’s aid tonight. You protected him. For that, we’re beholden to you.”

“I could use an upgraded cauldron.”

With a flourish, Poet stood. He retrieved an item from his pocket, then proceeded to juggle it, not in the air but with complicated twists and turns and flips of his fingers—all while stalking up to Lyrik, whose eyes followed the movement.

One final flick, and the item rolled from Poet’s elbow, up his forearm, and struck a pose between his fingertips, which he held aloft to the squatter’s face. “Does this look familiar?”

It was a cylinder charred at the ends. When Lyrik said nothing, Poet cocked his head. “Nicu tells us you’re a potioneer.”

“Something like that.”

“He told us more than something like that. We’ve heard animated tales about your brews and stews. Is this one of them?”

“Comes in handy when you’re trying to break a friend out of jail. The sentinels will wake up, so no worries.”

“And Aspen’s manacles?” I interrogated.

“Had something for those, too.”

“From what our son says, I’ve never heard of another to match your skills,” Briar said. “It rivals the scientists in Winter. Why do you live in isolation, rather than to exhibit your potions to the world?”

“He’ll not respond,” I predicted.