Whisper tenses unexpectedly. “That won’t be necessary.”
Julien’s brow furrows. “What do you mean, ‘work for?’”
Confused, Bellamy looks between them. “Did I misremember? I thought you said you were a servant of Julien’s.”
“He what?” Julien whirls to glare at Whisper, leaning into his space. “You introduced yourself as myservant?”
Julien looms so aggressively over Whisper that Bellamy nearly steps in, appalled. What happened while Bellamy was in Draskora? He doesn’t remember Julien ever acting like this with servants.
But Whisper doesn’t flinch at Julien’s threatening posture. He just blinks up with an incongruous hint of coquettishness. “It was faster than explaining.”
Julien groans in exasperation and holds up a finger to Bellamy. “Give me one second, Bell.” He turns back to Whisper and growls, “I need to remind Whisper of a few details about his position.”
Whisper’s already tilting his face up when Julien presses him against the wall. The ensuing kiss makes Bellamy flush red and turn away. But even when he isn’t looking, he can’t escape the quiet whimper from one or both of them.
None of the oathguards in attendance look at all surprised.
Bellamy coughs. “I missed you too, Jules. Let’s talk later.”
Julien waves without looking up.
Bellamy continues his route towards the dining hall, and Nadine falls in step beside him. After a quiet stretch, Bellamy asks, “Are they…”
“Yes. The short answer is yes, His Highness and Whisper are together.”
“Wow,” Bellamy says. He can’t remember Julien ever seeing a man for longer than a week. “It’s not just another fling?”
“If only, Your Highness.”
Despite her words, Nadine wears a slight, fond smile.
***
The forest of Sandrelle rises around them a week later. While the greater forest spreads across miles of Sandry land, the palace itself sits inside a moat of clear silver water, keeping out wyrms. Stone and tree entwine to form the palace, both built and grown. Tall, broad trees rise in towers and bend to form the palace walls. There are chambers hollowed out entirely within the hearts of massive trees.
Queen Margot’s inherited magic permeates the entire forest, but the palace most of all. And for the first time in a long time, Bellamy can fully appreciate his birthplace’s beauty. Mother had offered to meet him outside of Sandrelle, in consideration of his past affliction in the palace, but that isn’t necessary today. A tendril of Rakos’s magic sits cool and comforting along the back of Bellamy’s collar. He can’t see magic or scalestone right now. Only the beauty of the forest. Wood and carved stone. Home.
They left Sarka playing in a nearby river under oathguard supervision. Bastard chose to stay with her. Bellamy spares a kind thought for the guards who think the dragon will be their biggest concern that day.
Rakos walks at Bellamy’s side. He’s fixed his hair, once more wearing his glorious mane of teal and blue. It glows in the autumn sunlight, all the more beautiful now that Bellamy knows exactly how it matches Sarka’s scales.
“What are you looking at, minstrel?” Rakos asks.
Bellamy elbows him. “The sexiest farmer in Silaise.”
Rakos grins. “Still think I could get away with telling your moms I’m a farmer?”
Bellamy grins back. “I would love to see you try.”
There are no other guests in the throne room when they enter. The great throne, grown from the trunk of the wall itself stretches across the entire far end of the hall. Upon it sits Queen Margot Sandry. Her dark hair is twisted up beneath her carved wooden crown, and her green armored dress is resplendent in the chamber’s golden light. Leaves drift slowly from the canopy ceiling above while the queen looks up in conversation with Lady Claude, who perches on the arm of the throne.
Bellamy resembles Claude more than his brothers do; he and his biological mother share the same lighter brown hair and lanky figures. Today, Claude wears her hair loose, and her pale green dress sweeps down to her bare feet.
Emotion wells up in Bellamy’s throat. He pauses at the door to give the world’s quickest bow—Mother doesn’t care, but Claude always insists on protocol—before rushing across the throne room. “Mother. Claude.”
Before he can say anything else, Claude jumps from her perch and meets him halfway. Margot descends the throne at a more sedate pace as Claude wraps Bellamy in a hug. “Bellamy, dear. I’ve been so worried.”
“I missed you too.” Bellamy hugs her tightly back. She’s a few inches shorter than him. He never really noticed that before.
