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The sparrows were just starting to come back; it had been a long few months and spring was slow to start. There was probably something poetic in that. Nealan of Queenscove didn’t try to figure out what that sentiment was. He was just starting to drift into birdsong instead of his reading when the knock sounded at his door.
"It’s open," he called. Technically, he was not a page yet. Just a lazy, layabout noble with a fraction of a university education, who just happened to be occupying a room in the pages’ wing of the palace. There were worse things than a young man of his class forgetting his matters.
"You could answer," a mild voice replied. Neal glanced up and inclined his head gently out of respect. Roald II of Conté had never asked for the trappings of royalty and they were friends, but he was still a crown prince. A crown prince currently wavering uncertainly at the threshold of the room. The corner of Neal’s mouth fluttered up at the edge, and he gestured to the chair. Roald took a seat only after bid, perhaps a little too polite for his station.
It was a sight that melted some of the tension from Neal’s shoulders. He sat a little straighter and carefully laid his book page down on the bed. “I’m still free of obligations for another day, and see no point in denying myself the luxury of rudeness.”
Roald chuckled. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”
His words were light but he looked uneasy, as much as he’d allow himself. There was a certain unnatural rigidity to his posture, and his fingers were twitching in his lap. Neal was about to ask, but Roald looked too breakable at the moment, so he kept silent.
"— I overheard my father the other day."
"Oh?"
A heavy sigh slipped from Roald’s lips, like a cloud casting a shadow. Instead of delaying any further, he pressed right into the matter; “We’re getting a female page.”
"… Oh?"
It was definitely news. Only in ancient times did women ever serve any position openly. The entire court had been holding its breath since Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau had revealed herself to be a lioness rather than a lion, and many had objected to the very hypothetical. Roald had not been one of them. Neither had Neal. So why — ?
“Oh.”
Roald’s deep blue eyes held a sadness beyond his years, but one still tempered by electric youth. “How am I supposed to tell Kally?”
It was not an unfamiliar discussion. Roald and Neal had been close for a very long while, and it was only a year or so prior that the prince had been thoroughly shaken by a rather severe argument between king and princess about Kalasin of Conté’s future. Knighthood was now a legal path for girls, but as much as she wanted her shield she’d been consistently persuaded against it.
There were probably a hundred things Neal could say, not the least of which the begged question: why Roaldhad to be the one. But lethargy stole his tongue. His usually sharp gaze was dully fixated on the corner of the chair he faced, and he thought for a few long moments before he spoke.
"Is she still upset?"
Roald sighed again, and in the sound Neal could hear hints of a future king. Something like pride glowed briefly in his stomach.
"I think so. I don’t know — she’s always been… she has so many interests but this was different. I’m not sure if she ever meant to carry it out, but when father said no it was like the lights went out of her eyes."
Sunny, jubilant Kalasin may or may not have had the fiber of knighthood. But now she’d never know, and having to watch someone else do what she never could… Neal understood how painful that would be.
"I’m sure his Majesty has his reasons," he replied. Roald blinked, cocking his head to the side in confusion.
"That’s awfully sensible of you to say."
Neal huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “I like to surprise people now and again with a sensible mind.”
Even Roald had to chuckle at that. “You’re not wrong — Kalasin’s the eldest daughter, and with the kingdom so torn apart and stretched in every direction, I’m assuming our next war will be a political one.”
They could be even more dangerous, the quiet battles, and even more prone to falling apart. But Neal couldn’t help the relief that swelled at the thought. Perhaps it was selfish or cruel, but if there had to be more fighting, a little less death would be a nice change of pace.
"Well, it’s a good thing Kalasin’s terribly intelligent. I’m sure she knows how important she’ll be in the future."
When he finally met Roald’s eyes, Neal was gratified to learn that the prince was smiling. It was a small expression, barely reaching his eyes, but it was there and that meant progress.
"Besides," he continued, "This’ll be exciting. To say the least. And it means the lady Lioness will be back at court — father’s always liked her company.”
Roald shook his head. “No, she’s protesting. She’s not allowed to talk to the page, so she’s staying away altogether.”
“What?" That had Neal sitting forward, legs swinging off the edge of the bed. Lady Alanna was already half a ghost at court, so it wouldn’t be that different for her to be gone. But this was the first openly female page in acentury. Denying her the tutelage of the only person in the world who’d understand — that was even crueler. “That’s awful!"
"I told Sir Myles as much. And I think he agreed — it’s sometimes hard to tell."
"Gods above." Neal swept a hand through his hair, letting the pieces fall into erratic locks throughout its length. Roald was twisting his fingers together.
"She’ll have a rough time — once the whispers start, once she’s here there’ll be plenty of trouble. She might even be hurt.”
Roald had told him stories of the bullies among the page numbers, but even if he hadn’t Neal would not doubt that to be true. There was no barrier on malice; class nor status prevented the worst of human nature. If anything it just gave freedom for depravity.
"I wish I could sponsor her — not just for Kally, just — she’ll have the hardest time…”
"But you can’t make waves." A crown prince could ill afford to create such a stir, let alone the fact that causing trouble was anathema to Roald’s own nature. Neal leaned forward to place a comforting hand on his friend’s knee.
"It’ll be alright. You’ve got enough to worry about. I’m sure there has to be some around here who aren’t the absolute worst. Mad, sure — we all have to be to go through with this. But madness and kindness are not mutually exclusive.”
"I’m not sure why, but I believe you.” Roald was still looking at Neal like he’d grown stormwing feathers, but after a moment confusion melted into something quiet and sad that Neal did not like one bit. “And please pass my condolences onto your father for me.”
It was unnecessary. Roald had gone himself weeks ago, after his parents, to deliver that particular sentiment in person. He did not speak now for Baird and Neal glanced away, waving a hand as some show of gratitude.
"I will. He’ll thank you for it, I suppose.”
The prince huffed a chuckle and stood, smoothing out his breeches. “Oh, and you’d better change tomorrow. My Lord Wyldon makes no exceptions.”
Neal’s page uniform was neatly pressed and in his dressing-room. He’d feel particularly silly in the same hose as those four years his junior, but he knew what Roald meant and this was easier to swallow than the previous.
There might have been a glimmer of something playful in Neal’s eye. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of disrespecting his lordliness. Besides, black has never been much my color.”
"No, it hasn’t." Roald gripped his shoulder once, warmly, then slipped quietly out the door.
A girl page. Wouldn’t this be fun.