Page 29 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne

“You didn’t actually call her Aunty Lucy, I hope?” Dad asked tentatively.

“No.” She shoved a whole piece of bacon into her mouth. “I only said she was my mother’s favorite author.”

“Good. Cyril and Lucinda are … not family friends exactly, but that doesn’t mean we want to make them family enemies either.”

“We won’t finalize our quest until we speak with the Good Wizard,” I explained.

Father’s eyebrows arched. “I didn’t know he’d already been invited.”

“Fitz sent him a message yesterday when we realized we’d need more guidance.”

“You’ve accomplished quite a lot already.” His voice grew quiet, his expression solemn. “We thought it would take much longer for you to decide anything.”

“It probably would have if anyone else was in charge,” I explained. “Fitz is—”

“A controlling, overbearing, research monkey.” Delilah stabbed her eggs, and her fork scraped against the plate.

“Delilah, do you ever actuallylikeanyone?” I demanded.

“I like you when you aren’t an asshole.”

“I like you when you aren’t a cat.”

She frowned. “I’m always a cat, whether I wear the ears or not.”

“Which is probably why we never like each other.”

She snickered and grinned at me, and I bumped my shoulder against hers.

Father watched us with a bemused expression. “I never know whether you’re genuinely fighting or getting along.”

“Neither do we,” we said in unison. I stole the last piece of bacon from her plate, and she hissed at me, and breakfast carried on as usual.

“Welcome to Day Two of Quest Preparation,” Fitz announced. Despite his enthusiastic welcome, puffy circles surrounded his brown eyes, and his tawny hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times. Several wrinkles marred his shirt and waistcoat, which I suspected were the same ones he’d worn yesterday.

Maximus frowned and asked quietly, “Did you sleep last night?”

“Irrelevant,” Fitz replied, adjusting his glasses. Either he needed to have them refitted or someone should get him something else to occupy his hands.

Delilah pushed her face in close to Fitz’s, her eyes narrowed. “Are you undead? Undead don’t have to sleep.”

Fitz leaned away from Delilah, holding up a hand to ward her off. “I’mnotundead. And who are you to judge, Princess Cat? Or are we only allotted one not-totally-human champion at a time?”

“Can wepleaseget to the point?” Angelica demanded. “The more time you spend bickering, the more time I have tolistento it.” She shuddered deeply, like that was the worst punishment in the world, despite her horrendous personality starting more than half of yesterday’s arguments.

“As I was saying.” Trying to escape Delilah’s suspicion had knocked Fitz’s glasses askew, so this time when he had to fix them, it wasn’t his fault. “Today we should figure out our supplies based on budget, weight, and necessity.”

Delilah thrust her hand into the air. “Are we going shopping?”

“That won’t be necessary. The castle’s pantry is wellstocked and—”

“I don’t have quest-appropriate attire,” Angelica interrupted. “And we should get potions and … weapons and … things.” She circled her hand in the air vaguely.

“I agree with Angelica,” Delilah said, which was the most shocking statement to ever come out of her mouth. “We might not know what we want until we see it. Shopping will provide us with a wider selection and help us generate ideas.”

Fitz tapped his pen on his note paper. “I suppose … an excursion wouldn’t be a bad idea. It’ll give us a chance to travel together without killing each other.”

“Travel?” I asked, my brow furrowing. “Aren’t we just going to the market? We passed one on our way into the capital.”