Cedric sat down heavily on the edge of the cot, glancing toward the row of figurines.
“Look—woodcarving is not a royal requirement. You’ve got enough on your plate without adding whittling to your curriculum.”
Thalen stepped closer, his eyes bright and infuriatingly earnest. “But I insist.”
Cedric almost choked. “You… insist?”
“Yes. If I’m to be king, I must understand all kinds of people. That includes servants. And their crafts.”
It was delivered with such seriousness that for a moment Cedric wasn’t sure whether to laugh or swear. Probably both.
“Right,” Cedric muttered. “That’s noble. But your father—His Majesty—probably wouldn’t be thrilled with the idea of a glorified shadow like me teaching his heir how to stab tree bark.”
Thalen crossed his arms. “Then we won’t tell him.”
Cedric stared at him. “Is that your solution to everything?”
“No,” Thalen said primly. “But it works more often than you’d think.”
Cedric exhaled through his nose. Gods help him, the kid was sharp. Too sharp. Sharp like Alaric when he was fifteen—though with less attitude and fewer scandals.
“You know,” Thalen remarked thoughtfully. “I watched Prince Alaric on the hunt today. He’s nice… but he doesn’t move like a soldier.”
“Oh?” Cedric managed, leaning back slightly, a slow grin creeping across his face. “Really?”
There was a wild, almost juvenile satisfaction bubbling up in his chest—something he hadn’t felt since the last time Alaric tripped over his own feet in front of a Varantian duchess. Absolutely he was passing this on.
Thalen pointed a very decisive finger at him. “Yes.Youmove like a soldier.”
Oh…perhaps the Royal Menace wasn’t so bad after all. Cedric smirked lazily and resisted an urge to puff his chest.
Thalen added, quite seriously, “That’s why I have a request. I want you to teach me how to fight.”
“No.”
“But—”
“Nope.”
Thalen blinked, clearly not used to being shut down. “But why not?”
“Because I’m a ghost. A servant. A passerby in a hallway of important people. You have fencing masters and protocol tutors. Go bother one of them.”
The boy’s shoulders drooped, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They say I’m too weak to lift a sword.”
Cedric opened his mouth. Closed it again.Damn it.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Then start with a wooden sword.”
“Here, you can fight only when you can hold a real sword,” Thalen looked up. Bright-eyed. “But if you know that, then youarea soldier.”
Cedric exhaled slowly. “I talk too much.”
“No,” Thalen replied with earnest finality. “You’re a good person.”
Cedric stared at him like he’d just declared the sky was made of soup. “I’m what?”
“Mama says people with eyes like mine are good people.”
