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R edcloaks, water wyverns, a mysterious boy with magic—I tell Quin the story of the violet oak. Of my first encounter with the young Prince Nicostratus.

“That’s the only memorable someone in your life?” Quin murmurs, his face turned away from mine. There’s an edge to his voice, but it could also be the effects of the thorn tea. “Have there been no others?”

I tilt my head back against the trunk and shut my eyes against the swaying world. “I slept with a prince.”

Quin coughs. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not, it’s true? I slept with a prince. Prince Nicostratus, my hero. Absolutely, definitely the only person I’ve fallen for.” My chest swells on a violent laugh. “But...”

The air shifts and so does Quin. Close, his breath combing the sensitive skin beneath my jaw.

My chest tightens, and I clench my fists to keep still. “Memorable. There has been another man like that.”

Dappled light over Quin’s face brightens, or maybe it’s the interest in his look. His eyes stay on mine, but he doesn’t speak.

I let out a sighing breath and glance across the grass and trees. My jaw tightens. “He was something else. Always hid his face, never trusted me. Rude, ungrateful; a right pebble in my boot. And he always took off before I was finished with him. Worst, though, I got used to him reappearing.” I laugh as the ache surfaces again. “So when he stopped...”

Quin watches me, still as a shadow, but the quiet stretches, pulling at something raw inside.

My voice cracks, words coming out like thorns dragged up my throat. “Anyway, it’s not like I kept going back to all the places we met. It’s not like I spent months searching for him, or think of him all the time. It’s not like I wonder where he is and what he’s doing and whether he ever thinks of me.”

I force out a laugh. “Memorable,” I mutter. “Doesn’t always mean fond.”

Quin finally shifts, his voice heavy. “I see.”

“And you? Before your wife, was there anyone? Or have you only had eyes for one person.”

“Only one,” he says, his voice soft but heavy. I hiccup again. “Like you, since I was young.”

I close my eyes on Quin and the trees, and hum. “Good for you. I wish you a long, happy life together.”

I drift off to Quin’s raw laugh...

Afternoon is filtering through the pear branches when I blink myself awake. Quin’s cloak is draped over me, warm as sun-soaked grass. I brush off fallen pear blossoms and scan around, but he’s gone. The teapot with our intoxicating tea lies empty on its side. I sit it upright with a grimace; pearl heart thorn-tea is more potent than I thought. So much for sharpening the mind!

I rub at the slight pounding in my head. My magic stutters, not on top form after the indulgence. Neither was I on top form while we were drinking. I blabbered my way into a temporary coma. I’m not sure how much I told Quin.

I shake off my scowl. The last impression I have is Quin turning a saddened face away... Or perhaps it’d been a tired face.

Grimacing, I stand and shake off more petals, Quin’s cloak hanging over my arm. I should return this, then it’s back to the apothecary to refill my chest with medicinal herbs. My half-day off is over.

Red flashes and I turn. A redcloak, marching through the trees, hard eyes swinging to me. “Make way.”

More redcloaks line the path leading to the king’s house, still more are planting themselves between the pear trees. My insides swoop up to the base of my neck. Which way is he coming from?

I retreat hastily; a bathhouse, it’s right there, and the door is ajar—I slink inside and the steam instantly engulfs me. I’ll hide here until the royal presence has passed.

This bathhouse is much, much fancier than the one in the scholar’s quarters. An elegant, timbered room sheltering a waist-deep pool. Natural light streams in from glazed panels in the roof, making the swirls of steam sparkle.

Mustn’t be seen. I sidle down the side of the pool, further from the windows. Movement under the water catches me by surprise; I almost knock a large basin of fragrant rose petals into the bath. I grab the bowl and settle it, then almost topple it again when Quin’s upper half lurches out of the pool in a spray of water. He halts abruptly at the sight of me, and I clasp a hand against my pounding chest. “Oh, thank heavens. It’s you. I thought I’d stumbled upon someone important.”

Quin sinks into the water, as though shielding himself from my gaze. His eyes remain fixed on mine, calm but assessing as his flutette submerges. “What are you doing here?”

“Hiding. I mean,”—I raise my arm with his cloak draped over it—“returning this. I’ll just...” I pause, glancing around at the swirling steam. “Midday baths. Lavish.”

The flicker of his smirk makes me wonder if he caught the slight tremor in my voice. “I have an important meeting. I stank of that tea.”

Oops. I chuckle and divert my gaze from the pool.

“Who are you hiding from?” Quin asks.

I glance towards voices outside the doors.

Wait.

Could that important meeting be— Could the king stride in here to talk with Quin?

A sharper sound of footsteps at the entrance. I dart my gaze around the room, panicked. There’s no back door. No way out. No place to—

I eye the rose petals. The water. Quin, naked in its depths. Surely the king wouldn’t bathe with his subordinate?

The door starts to slide open.

“Cael,” Quin says. “I asked—”

No time for chitchat. I tip the heavy bowl and petals spill over the surface of the water.

“What are you—”

“Just... play along.” I abandon his cloak and slip into the water. “Forgive me.” I haul a deep breath and sink under the blanket of petals.

The water is warm and murky, but not so murky that I can’t make out Quin’s form mere feet away. I grab his good leg and hold tight, anchoring myself. His fingers tangle in my hair as it drifts upwards in the water; he clamps it against my head. Tightly. Like an admonishment.

I wince, the sting sharp but grounding, and my chest flutters with an unsettling need to laugh. I curse myself and slam my eyes shut not to see more than I already have.

Quin’s presence looms around me, every shift in the water quaking over me, and I bite my lip.

How long will I have to hold my breath? Could he do that bubble magic on me? So I could stay under here as long as possible? I tap his thigh, hoping he’ll get the point. His fingers scrunch up my hair. Alright, alright. I can hold on half a minute more...

I think.

I bash my hand against his thigh and sneak it up his stomach. The flutette. That might—

Quin pulls me up by the hair. My head breaks the surface and I gulp in air, spluttering, and glance around. No one here but me, fully dressed and dripping before Quin’s shaking head.

I sigh and stare at the vaulted ceiling. “Thank the heavens.”

Redcloaks erupt through the doors, marching down either side of the pool, and that darn gold-sash liaison stops at the upturned bowl. His impassive gaze slides over me.

“He has arrived, your majesty.”

* * *

His majesty.

I whip my head around. Quin’s gaze flashes to mine, dark, calm, serious.

He waves an aklo forward and orders his robes to be brought. “Where is he now?”

“Approaching the pear garden.”

Quin bites out a vicious laugh. “Of course. Tell him to forgive me, I’m on my way.”

The water ripples as Quin moves, each step sending soft waves against my legs. The cool breeze catches on the droplets trailing down his back, and I can’t stop my gaze from lingering—

A redcloak spell hits the back of my head, forcing my face downwards. I’m too numb to feel the throb of it.

His majesty.

The words coil around my throat, tightening with every breath. Quin’s soft, bitter laugh beside me—mocking, but not without a trace of regret—feels like a dagger in my chest.

I suck in a startled breath. He’s Nicostratus’s brother .

When my neck is released and I can lift my head again, Quin is dressed and holding his cane. Not just any cane. A cane topped with interlocking wyverns, the symbol of the kingdom. An imperial cane.

He tightens his grip around it. How did I not, even once, consider the possibility?

“Follow.”

Redcloaks drag me from the pool. An aklo spells my clothes dry, then I’m marched out of the bathhouse into blinding daylight, a dozen paces behind the king.

He stops before a bench overlooking the queen’s courtyards and the gala stalls along the canal. Seated there is a bearded man in rich golds and reds with boots up to his knees. There’s a sinister curl at his lips. “Nephew.”

The redcloaks beside me stiffen but remain quiet. No one dares.

Quin shifts his cane. I bite back my surprise when he delivers the duke a small, pathetic smile and stares glumly at his feet. His voice comes out thin with a small, sickly cough. “Sorry I made you wait. The water was so warm, I drifted off.”

“I won’t keep you long,” the high duke says, and after a pause, “You know I’ll always let you retire early.”

I baulk while the redcloaks and aklos practically become statues. And Quin... Quin nods, with another wet-sounding cough.

The high duke’s shrewd gaze slices towards me and my squeezing fists. “You. You must be worried for his health.”

I relax my hands.

“Come tend to my nephew’s cough.”

I glance at my vitalian robes and obvious green sash. It’s clear to all I shouldn’t tend to the cough of his nephew the king.

“I said, come!”

I bolt towards the smug glint in the duke’s eyes and stand beside Quin, head bowed. Quin’s knuckles whiten momentarily against his cane and return to limp passivity. He coughs again. “How kind of you to consider my health, uncle.”

The high duke’s gaze sharpens. “He’s always getting sick. Tell me why.”

I glance at Quin, who keeps half-lidded, lethargic eyes on his uncle as he offers me his wrist. The cough sounds real enough, but I’ve spent too much time with him today to be fooled. He’s playing this up. Lying.

Like he’s been doing with me. Today, yesterday. Every time we’ve met.

Heat flushes through me—humiliation, hurt. The things I’ve said to him. I slide my fingers along his wrist and feel his pulse. Except for the permanent blockage in his leg, he’s in fine health. “Your majesty...”

Quin’s head remains slumped and heavy-like, but I catch his warning side-eye. He wheezes, “Tell me.”

He wants me to play along.

I press my lips together. “Perhaps you’d prefer my diagnosis in private?”

“Don’t hold back. My uncle is family.”

I hesitate, putting on a show of anxiety, until the duke commands me to get it out. “You’re of a sickly disposition. Not just”—Quin’s eyes are fixed on me now. I whisper—“Not just physically unstable. Mentally, too.”

Quin coughs abruptly, hard at first, then weakly. “The headaches I’m plagued with.” Another darting glance just for me, and with quite a kick to it. “I do wish they’d calm down.”

I bow my head sombrely and lift my gaze with a kick of my own. “They’ll need much attention to calm down.”

“Possible?” His voice is tight, and he coughs again for the duke.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Just address the cough,” the high duke says, lips quirking in disgust as he fans a hand before his nose. “Don’t want to catch anything, too busy for that.”

“I have a new technique for dispelling such maladies.”

Quin croaks quickly, “The traditional spell will be sufficient.”

I pause, then nod. “I understand. The new method may work faster but it is uncomfortable.”

“You’d be doing me a great favour, nephew,” the duke says, his tone honeyed but his eyes hard. “Swift action is what your people expect, after all.”

Quin’s knuckles whiten around the cane, but his expression remains impeccably serene. “Go on.”

I still have rosehip reserves; I call them all up from my veins into a bright pink flame and channel it into Quin’s chest. Harmless to his health, but potent enough to make his innards itch like mad.

Immediately, Quin starts writhing in his seat.

I stop abruptly, bowing low. “Should I continue?”

He delivers a tight smile that promises later consequences.

I hide a responding smirk, then rise and sink the rest of the spell into him bit by bit as he writhes.

For the pearl heart.

For enjoying it.

When it’s done, I shuffle back, bowing to take my leave, but Quin stops me.

“Stay there,” he says, still affecting a sickly shade to his voice, “in case the cough reappears.”

“That shouldn’t—” He throws me a sharp look and I stop. “Yes, your majesty.”

Quin plasters on a smile and addresses his uncle. “What brings you... here to visit?”

“I thought we agreed, in return for my support on Nicostratus’s birthday, the spring gala would take place.”

“Isn’t it happening as we speak?”

“I’ve heard your aklos and aklas have been ordered not to attend on the final day.”

“With rogue water wyverns about and the gala being along the canal, I want to keep them safe.”

“You can always attend the gala yourself.”

Quin rubs his chin, as if thinking hard about it. “You have stopped a number of attacks, that’s true.”

“Of course. The kingdom and the safety of its people are paramount.”

Quin smiles weakly. “I’m not sure I could stop the wyverns though. It’s been a long time since I practiced controlling them. I was young, the last time I went to Hinsard.”

“Your father and I both thought after—” the high duke looks pointedly at Quin’s poisoned leg. “We believed focusing on your academic education was more important.”

“You did what you thought was best, I know. You are always looking after me and helping my mother.”

The high duke’s lips twitch slyly; he smooths it into a gracious smile. “No one could anticipate the arrival of rogue water wyverns in the royal city.”

I wonder if the handle of Quin’s cane will need replacing after this meeting.

“Seeing I will be attending the gala,” the high duke says, “you should feel assured. This is the event of the year for the aklos and aklas. They do so much for you. They deserve this day. Don’t you agree?”

“They are invaluable to me.”

“So reward them!” He laughs robustly.

I shiver.

He continues, “I’m sure your mother would tell you the same thing.”

Quin’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes; his grip tightens again on the cane. “If only the vitalians were half as useful as you, uncle,” he says. His tone is brittle with affected weakness, but there—the shift of his hand over his cane, a glimpse of restrained venom.

“I’m sorry she must rely on me.”

“I still don’t understand how she can’t fight it off when you did.”

“I have a stronger constitution.” The high duke reaches out and pats the shoulder of the king. “It’s just a thimbleful of blood; I don’t mind helping out when I can.”

Quin inclines his head reverently and the high duke breathes deeply, like the air tastes magnificent.

“I shall take my leave. Rest up. Enjoy the gala... festivities.”

He sweeps away with half the redcloaks in tow. Those remaining, Quin dismisses. I start to scramble, only to be delivered a flat look. “You stay.”

When we’re alone, he turns to me. “Mentally unstable? You’re not afraid of me at all.”

“I can’t say I’m not afraid of your uncle. He’s planning something for Sunday’s gala.”

“To be sure.”

My stomach rolls. “Are you truly rusty at controlling the wyverns?”

“That is, in fact, his hope. He wants me to lose credibility, publicly. He wants to claim I’m not my father’s son.”

“So prove him wrong. Control the wyverns. Have your men help if necessary.”

“That’s his back-up plan. If I have to act, he’ll know who my supporters are. He’ll make sure they all succumb.”

“If you force the wyverns into submission alone?”

He stares out at the vista of the royal city. “Quietly manipulating better outcomes for my people will be over. He’ll know my true strength, doubt my every move. He’ll be determined to be rid of me. But not before he stops giving my mother her antidote. Not before he makes me watch her suffer until she...”

I close my eyes, briefly. “What will you do?”

Quin stares hard at the long canal and the colourful stalls set along its bank. He sighs, looks at me, and steps forward. “We have other things to discuss.”

I cast my gaze to the grass between us.

“Don’t act shy now.”

“Shy?” I snort, stepping back. “Playing the part of your dutiful subject. Isn’t that what you like?”

“Scathing.”

I snap my head up and swallow a retort over the sudden fiery lump in my throat.

“Go on. Let it out.”

I don’t know where to start. I throw my hands up and ask, “ Quin ?”

“My aunt—Frederica—she calls me that, from my middle name. Constantinos Quinlaus Gaillot. I never reveal my true identity when I’m outside the royal city... unofficially.”

“I’ve been here a while.”

“And I expected you to find out.”

“You could’ve told me,” I say, my voice low, laced with both hurt and disbelief. “But I suppose the king doesn’t owe explanations to his subjects, does he?”

“You made the assumption I was waiting for the king and you were rather vocal about not wanting to meet him. I confess, I wanted your opinions when your guard was down.”

“You teased me.”

“And what was that with your itching spell?”

“You enjoyed making a fool of me,” I snap, crossing my arms.

His smirk deepens, maddeningly unrepentant.

“Not just enjoyed,” he says, leaning closer. “Relished.”

I’m quiet, my cheeks hot. My chest is throbbing with humiliation. But also sympathy, and a hoppy, nervous kind of... frustration . I want to step back, haul in lots of fresh air. My legs don’t move. I’m trapped.

“You had no idea, and I played along. Even had an aklo dress in my robes and move around in my chamber to see how you’d react.”

The feet between us become inches as he moves forward, and my eyes start to hurt along with my throat. My chest feels about to burst.

“I enjoyed prolonging your punishment.” He leans forward—

My palm meets his cheek with a sharp crack, the sound reverberating through the clearing. For a moment, his face remains turned, his breathing slow and measured—too measured.

The second Quin touches his face, I realise what I’ve done.

I fall to the grass and slam my eyes shut. I can still feel the throb in my fingers. “I couldn’t help it. You still feel like Quin to me, not...”

He doesn’t speak for a long time, the only sounds my uneven breaths and the flutter of breeze-blown grass around my burning ears.

He steps back a foot.

Tentatively, I push to my haunches, staring hard at my knees.

“Nicostratus also hid his identity,” Quin says, no hint of anger in his voice. “Were you this upset?”

“ He told me himself.”

“If I had told you today?”

Slowly, I lift my chin. “It’s different.”

Quin stares at me, his eyes dark and thoughtful. His usual arrogance seems softened, and something sad and wistful lurks in those depths. He rips his gaze away and squeezes his cane.

He laughs to himself and waves me away with his hand. “Consider the matter of the pearl heart settled.”

I wobble to my feet and turn, then turn back. “Your face—” I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat. “Let me make sure it doesn’t bruise.”

Quin turns slightly, his profile sharp against the sunlight, but his silence feels like a dismissal.

“ Go ,” he says, the word clipped and final. But as I turn, I catch the faintest tremor in his voice.

That tremor lingers long after I’ve fled into the trees.