Your lower lip wobbled, and your eyes filled with tears. “Because…”
“Because?”
“Because I wanted to cut him,” you said in a rush of passion and quickly looked away in shame.
I recalled the bandage across Carter’s knuckles and immediately understood. You’d goaded the boy into conflict for a sampling of his blood.
“I didn’t bite him,” you said with a look of contrition.
“But you cut him with your teeth?” I asked and you nodded slowly. “Did youtastehim?”
You nodded, eyes pooling. “I told him if he didn’t let me, I’d tell on him for hitting me.” You swept your tongue across your lips as though trying to collect whatever flavor might remain. “Please don’t tell Daddy. Or Papa.”
The dam broke then, and you burst into tears. The temptation was simply too great. I unbuckled our seatbelts.
“I won’t tell them, darling. Come here.” I reached out for an embrace. You scrambled over the center console to hug me, throwing your sweaty arms around my neck and squeezing tightly. When you were calm, I drew your gaze toward mine and whispered softly,“I will not cut people with my teeth.”I said it twice more as I pet your head soothingly.
“I will not cut people with my teeth,” you repeated in a daze. Your black eyes, still rimmed with tears, blinked slowly as if waking from a dream. I prayed my seduction would hold.
A few days later, I asked how your relationship with the boys was progressing, hoping there’d been no more physical altercations or spilled blood. Your report was less than enthusiastic.
“It’s fine, but I don’t want to sit with them anymore. They’re too boring.”
“Vincent,” I reprimanded.
“I know. Mater told me already.”
“Told you what?” A prickle of fear raised the hair on the back of my neck.
“She said a prince must spend time withallhis subjects.”
“Mater said you were a prince?”
You glanced over at me with uncertainty. “Yes.”
Was this another of Lena’s schemes? The fact that I didn’t know her intentions had me analyzing her every word and deed, veering from obsession to paranoia. But I didn’t see any harm in you believing yourself a prince. It was the truth, for our bloodline was certainly royal—descended from gods.
“Mater is right. And as a prince, it’s your job to be aware of everything going on in your kingdom, including Boylandia.” You giggled at that. “So, you should sit with the boys at least once a week. That’s how you maintain diplomacy.”
“What’s diplomacy?”
“Diplomacy is being polite to people you might not like.”
You sat with that for a bit. “If I’m the prince, does that make Papa and Daddy the kings?”
“Papa and Daddy are your parents, but they are not the kings. Mater is the queen, which makes you a prince.”
“Then you must be a prince too?”
I considered it, but ultimately rejected the notion. “I’m your knight, like Lancelot and King Arthur. My job is to protect you and make sure you are able to reign one day as king.”
“I have to knight you,” you said excitedly. You dashed inside the house and retrieved your fencing sword and a crown you’d fashioned for one of your many cat funerals. It resembled, not accidentally, a Papal tiara. Knotted around your throat was an extravagant-looking silk fabric that rippled and flowed like crimson waves behind you. I could only imagine Santiago’s displeasure at discovering you’d dragged his expensive bedsheets along the dirty ground.
You instructed me to kneel in front of you, and I had to go down rather low so that you might stand taller than me—you were a slight thing. Your cat clan surrounded us as you announced in a regal voice, “I, Prince Vincent Rodrigues of Miamiland, dub you, Henri Cherusci, my number one knight.”
Your foil passed from one shoulder to the other as I bowed deeply and took my oath with more reverence than you could possibly imagine.
“I accept you, Vincent Rodrigues, as my prince and future king. I pledge before this royal court to serve you with absolute loyalty and defend you with my life.”
