Mrs Miller studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"My husband said you were different. I didn't believe him." She nodded, a gesture of respect that felt more meaningful than any formal bow. "We'll see if the road gets fixed. That shall tell us more than any amount of pretty words."
She returned to her husband's table, and Frederick turned to find Thomas watching him with an expression that might have been approval.
"What?" Frederick asked.
"Nothing. Just......You handled that well."
"I told her I'd fix a road. That's not exactly a heroic accomplishment."
"You told her you'd fix her road. The road that affects her livelihood, her family's security. To her, that's more important than all the grand gestures in the world." Thomas took a sip of his ale. "My brother used to say that nobility was measured in small acts, not large ones. Anyone can make a speech or fight a battle. It takes real character to listen to a miller's wife complain about drainage."
The chandler wanted to know if the manor needed any repairs to its candlestick fixtures, which led to a surprisingly technical discussion about brass versus silver plating that Frederick found himself genuinely enjoying. The man, Mr Thornton, had been making candles and candleholders for forty years and had strong opinions about the relative merits of different metals.
"Silver's prettier, I'll grant you that," Mr Thornton said. "But brass holds up better. You can polish silver for years, and it'll still tarnish the moment you turn your back. Brass just needs a good cleaning now and then."
"Is that a metaphor for something?" Frederick asked.
"It's a statement about metalwork, Your Grace. Not everything has to mean something." But Mr Thornton's eyestwinkled. "Though if you want to find deeper significance in candlestick maintenance, I won't stop you."
Even the children began to lose their wariness. Two boys who couldn't have been more than six crept closer and closer to the table, daring each other to get within arm's reach of the duke. Frederick pretended not to notice, keeping up his conversation with Thomas while the boys edged nearer.
Finally, the bolder of the two worked up the courage to speak.
"Are you really a duke?"
Frederick turned to face him with appropriate gravity. "I am. Is that surprising?"
"You don't look like a duke."
"What does a duke look like?"
The boy considered this. "Bigger," he decided. "With a crown."
"I'm afraid I left my crown at home. It gets heavy after a while."
"Do you live in a castle?"
"A manor house. It's like a castle, but with fewer dragons."
"Are there any dragons?"
"None that I've found. But I haven't checked all the rooms." Frederick leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's a tower that I've never been brave enough to explore. Perhaps you could help me investigate it sometime."
The boy's eyes went wide. "Really? I could come to your house?"
"If your parents allow it. I'd welcome the assistance. Potential dragon investigations require a team."
The boy ran off to share this extraordinary news with his friends, and within moments, a small cluster of children had formed near the door, all of them looking at Frederick with expressions of wonder and excitement.
"You're going to regret that," Lydia said, smiling despite herself.
"Probably. But they looked so serious, trying to figure out if I was a real person or some kind of exotic animal." Frederick watched the children whispering together. "When I was their age, I wasn't allowed to speak to adults unless spoken to. I certainly wasn't allowed to ask impertinent questions about crowns."
"That sounds lonely."
"It was. Everything was lonely." His voice was soft. "That's why this matters so much. Not just you, though you matter most of all, but all of it. The village, the public house, the children asking if I have dragons. I've spent my whole life being set apart, being told I was different, being kept at a distance from everyone and everything. And now..." He trailed off, struggling for words.
