Chapter Text
Once upon a time, Rusty had thought that council meetings would feel easier if he attended enough of them.
He was old enough now to know that they didn't.
The chamber that meetings were held in was grand enough to make anyone feel small, with high vaulted ceilings, long windows letting in cold morning light, and a polished table stretching almost the full length of the room. The banners of the Kingdom of Solstara hung between the windows, each bearing the colours and crest he was meant to inherit one day.
He sat at Queen Mabel McCoy's right hand as he always did these days, trying his hardest to look like he actually belonged there.
Around the table, councillors argued about grain stores, road repairs, and a minor border dispute with a neighbouring Lord who had decided the river marked his land when it very clearly didn't.
Rusty listened, like he was used to. He was good at listening. Momma had told him many times that ruling wasn't only about speaking. A king who listened well could help his kingdom weather any storm.
The problem was that listening was meant to turn into speaking eventually.
"Rusty?"
His head lifted from where he'd been taking notes of everything that he'd heard.
Momma's voice was usually calm in council meetings. She was gentle, and rarely raised her voice, even when her councillors insisted on arguing about everything.
Every eye turned towards him, and Rusty straightened in his chair, fingers tightening around his quill. "Yes, Queen McCoy?"
Momma smiled patiently. "As we were just discussing the increased tariffs proposed on our Western trade," she started, nodding to one of the councillors, who was watching him with a pinched expression. "I'd like to know what you think about it."
He knew what he wanted to say.
He'd spent half of the meeting thinking that the tariffs seemed far too high, punishing merchants who were already struggling after the harsh winter. And with the roads so damaged, it didn't seem fair. But now that everyone was looking at him, that thought tangled up with several others.
What if he'd misunderstood the figures? Or if he was missing something political underneath it all and this was a necessary step?
His father would've answered without prompting, without needing to look down at his notes. He wouldn't have been shaking like a nervous child.
Rusty cleared his throat. "I think perhaps," he began, faltering slightly. He sounded weak, and weakness wasn't a good quality for a future king. "I mean… if the roads are still damaged, then raising tariffs now might only weaken trade before it has a chance to recover."
A councillor halfway down the table shifted, exchanging a dubious look with his neighbour. Another lowered his gaze to parchment in front of him, scrawling something.
Rusty swallowed, straightening his spine, trying to summon some of his father's authority. His cheeks heated up. "If trade worsens, then our poorer villages down South will feel it first. They'll suffer. Most of our crops are grown there, and if they can't manage to grow, we'll feel the effects even this far North."
A few councillors nodded approvingly.
Momma leaned back in her seat, considering him with a look that gave little away. "And what would you suggest instead?"
Rusty's stomach dropped.
He knew she was just trying to help him, drawing him out of his shell to really participate. She wanted to help him so he would stop doubting every word before he spoke. But sometimes it felt a little like standing at the edge of a cliff while she kindly encouraged him to jump.
"I… would repair the roads," he said, trying to sound confident. "Our treasury has the stores to manage it right now, so we could afford to put funds towards assuring smooth travel."
"And how do you intend to make that money back?" one councillor asked, frowning. "It's all well trying to appeal to the commoners, but your methods might drain our treasury dry."
Silence followed, as Rusty quickly scanned his notes.
He glanced at Momma, before speaking again. "We have some wealthy allies visiting very soon. We'll arrange a festival, to encourage them to lighten their purses during their stay." He looked around, relieved when no one argued. "Once trade has recovered, we could revisit tariffs that are proportional to the extra footfall in and out of the kingdom."
Momma inclined her head. "A measured response from my son," she looked at the councillor who had proposed this idea. "Do you wish to argue this? I welcome all voices in this court."
The councillor shook his head. "Not at all, your Majesty," he glanced at Rusty. "The Prince has offered an excellent compromise."
Momma nodded, satisfied. "Very well. Then we'll proceed with road repairs first, and I would like to begin planning a festival." She glanced to her other side. "Princess Dinah, perhaps you would like to arrange the preparations?"
"Really?" Dinah gasped, looking delighted, nodding. "Of course, Queen McCoy, I would love to." She paused, looking a little sheepish. "I mean, yes, I'll speak with the kitchens once the meeting concludes. I'll gather staff to assist me."
"Wonderful," Momma clapped her hands together. "Well, unless anything else needs to be discussed, then we can adjourn this meeting."
Quills scratched against parchment again, voices mixing in quiet agreement. And Rusty let himself breathe.
He stayed seated, even as councillors began gathering their notes, the low murmur of conversation filling the chamber. Across the table, Dinah was already leaning towards one of the councillors, asking something about shipments with an enthusiasm that Rusty had never been able to muster. The man looked mildly startled, then amused as he began explaining something to her.
Rusty smiled.
Momma rose from her seat, and the room followed suit almost instantly. Heads dipped, papers gathered, and the meeting dissolved into movement. Everyone filed out, talking among themselves.
Rusty stood a moment later, his thoughts still catching up.
"You did well."
He glanced to his side.
Momma wasn't looking at him directly, instead going over his parchment.
He huffed quietly. "I almost failed."
"You were uncertain," she replied simply. "You recovered well, and managed to field a question from one of my most difficult councillors."
"I mean no disrespect, but that isn't exactly reassuring," Rusty shrugged, smiling at his mother. "But… thank you for asking me. I didn't want to see those tariffs in place this soon after Winter."
"Me either, son," Momma shook her head, placing a hand on his shoulder. "People will have suggestions that you don't want to implement. And one of the most difficult jobs you will ever have is to find a solution that keeps everyone happy."
"Is that possible?" He asked after a moment. "Can you keep everyone happy?"
Momma's mouth curved into a smile. "You can't."
He glanced at her, frowning.
"But it's your job to try anyway," she continued, squeezing his shoulder, before letting her hand fall away. "You learn who you can and can't afford to disappoint, and you learn to compromise. It's not easy, but you did it today."
Rusty looked down at the parchment in front of him, at the notes that had smudged a little with how much his hands had trembled. "I don't know if I'm ready for it."
Momma didn't answer. And when he looked up, she was watching him carefully, smiling softly.
"No, you're not," she said.
Rusty blinked.
"But you're learning fast. And until you are ready," she continued, "I'll be by your side. I'll help you until you're ready to stand on your own two feet." She smiled, walking towards the door. "You'll get there."
Rusty nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced.
Momma placed a hand on the door handle. "Would you like me to send your guard in now?" She waited for him to nod, before smiling. "I'll tell him, then retire to my chambers before dinner then. Will I see you at the table?"
"Yes, Momma," he watched her open the door. "I'll see you at dinner."
"Good lad," she beamed at him, before stepping out.
Once the door shut, he turned and began to gather his things, rolling up the parchment now that the ink had dried. He closed his ink pot, placing it in its case, before straightening up and waiting.
Sir Porter Cole was prompt, as always, stepping through the doorway.
"Your Highness." He bowed politely, a hand on the pommel of his sword.
Rusty huffed under his breath, shaking his head as he tucked the last of the parchment under his arm. "You don't need to greet me like that every time, you just saw me an hour ago."
Porter's mouth twitched. "It's habit."
"Break it then."
Porter laughed. "I'll try… Your Highness."
"Great start," Rusty drawled sardonically, before grinning, the tension easing. "Please, let me feel like the weight of the kingdom isn't resting on my shoulders for this afternoon."
Porter smiled. "I think that might be above my station," he said lightly. "But I can try to make the afternoon feel less like a burden. Perhaps a walk in the garden? I hear there's new ducklings on the lake today."
Rusty nodded, eyes bright at that prospect. "I'll take it. Come on, before someone decides to come back and corner me with more questions about grain tariffs."
Porter stepped aside to let him pass, before falling into place at Rusty's side, two paces back. The corridor outside the council chamber was quieter than it had been earlier that morning, but it wasn't completely empty. A few servants crossed from one side to the other with folded linens in their arms, or baskets tucked against their hips, bowing politely before continuing onto their jobs.
Somewhere further down the hall, a pair of squires hurried by with practice swords clattering at their sides, heads lowered as they discussed something.
With every step away from the council room, some of the tension began to leave Rusty's shoulders.
Porter walked in silence for a moment, before humming. "So, was it that bad?"
Rusty pulled a face. "I didn't make a complete fool of myself this time, which I suppose counts as a success in Momma's eyes."
"Her standards are modest, I take it?"
"I'd say realistic at this point." Rusty rolled his eyes. "I'm waiting for the day she decides that I'm simply hopeless, and Dinah should be the crown Princess instead."
Porter let out a quiet laugh. "Would the Princess want the job?"
"No," Rusty said without hesitation, thinking of Dinah in the kitchens with flour on her sleeves and sugar on her cheek, sweet-talking the cooks into letting her stir things she had no business touching. "If Momma tried to get her to rule, she'd probably fake her own death and flee the kingdom first."
"How sensible of her," Porter mused, sounding at least somewhat sympathetic. "It can't be an easy job."
They walked in step down the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone. Portraits hung on the walls in heavy gilt frames, each one dusted so often that they never lost their gleam. His gaze caught on one in particular, and he slowed to a stop.
He and Dinah were children in that one, dressed very finely and posed stiffly in front of their parents. Rusty was probably no older than seven, trying and failing to replicate his father's solemn expression. And Dinah, all of three years old, was grinning so wide that her mouth had to be aching. Their mother had one hand resting on the back of Dinah's chair, and their father was behind them both, expression stern and composed.
Atop his head was the crown that Rusty was meant to inherit one day.
"My father never hesitated," he said quietly, lowering his head in quiet mourning. "He always knew what to say. In council, with visiting royals. He was the type of king who would walk into a room, and everyone listened."
He was breathing shallowly, looking back up. "He was maybe a little harsher than Momma would've liked, but…" He glanced at Porter. "People listened to him."
His gaze returned to the painted line of his father's mouth, the set of his shoulders, the perfect confidence the artist had captured there.
"I wonder sometimes," Rusty admitted, shame burning his cheeks, "if he'd be disappointed in me."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, really. Porter stayed silent for a moment, and when Rusty turned his head to look at him, his knight's expression had gone blank in a way that suggested he was thinking too hard.
"He had more practice," Porter said at last.
Rusty snorted.
"I mean it. It's true." Porter took a step closer. "People remember outcomes more than they remember uncertainty. Once a decision has been made, no one dwells on the waiting beforehand."
Rusty frowned, considering his words. "Do you really believe that?"
"I do." Porter's expression didn't change much, but he looked a little more firm now. "The only time people seem to notice someone's hesitation is if it's followed by a mistake."
Rusty nodded, starting to walk again. They passed another portrait, this one just of his parents, painted before his hair had turned fully copper, and when Dinah had still been small enough to ride on their mother's hip. His father looked as imposing as he did in every painting, larger than life.
"I suppose that means I'll just have to avoid making mistakes, then." Rusty said.
"Everyone makes mistakes."
Rusty looked sidelong at him.
"I mean, if anyone expects perfection from you, then they shouldn't be in council chambers." Porter smiled. "I've heard my fair share of stories. I know how things go in there."
Rusty barked out a quiet laugh. "You're not very encouraging today, are you?"
"I try not to lie to royalty," Porter admitted, dipping his head.
They rounded a corner, and the corridor opened into a wider hall lined with tall windows that overlooked the eastern gardens. The afternoon sunlight spilled out, painting the floor warm gold. Outside, servant's children darted in and out of the hedge maze, shrieking with laughter as they popped up in front of each other.
Rusty slowed as he passed the nearest window, drawn for a moment to the noise and warmth. This was his favourite part of the kingdom. Not the meetings and figures and banners and expectations. It was children running in the gardens and kitchen staff sharing sugar almonds.
"I don't think I mind the work," he said eventually. "Not really."
Porter didn't interrupt, letting Rusty talk.
"I love Solstara," Rusty went on, quiet. "I love the people in it. I like knowing I can be in a position to help them, whether the roads are repaired quickly, or if villages have enough to eat. I care about them all." He let his fingers trail briefly along the windowsill as they continued walking. "It's just… the rest of it that I'm afraid of."
"The expectations," Porter murmured.
Rusty shot him a wry look. "Was it that obvious?"
"You're not subtle."
He sighed. "Everyone keeps arguing over what kind of king I'm meant to be. What I should sound like, or how I should carry myself. How I should solve issues." He shook his head. "It's hard trying to fit the picture everyone expects from me."
He hesitated, before adding, "I'm nothing like my father. And half the time, I don't think I'm enough like Momma either."
Porter was quiet for a moment, his footsteps the only sign that he was still there. Rusty assumed he wouldn't respond at all.
But then eventually, he spoke. "Don't be either of them."
Rusty turned his head to look at Porter, who met his gaze evenly.
"You're allowed to be your own king. You can decide how you want to rule, without people dictating your actions to you."
Rusty stared at him for a moment, before he shook his head, smiling. "You make it sound so terribly easy."
"I didn't say it would be easy," Porter murmured. "But it won't be impossible."
Rusty opened his mouth, then closed it again.
There was something almost infuriating about how simple Porter could make it sound. He seemed so put together about it all, and Rusty wished he was able to be that confident.
"You're a strange guard, Sir," he muttered at last.
"I've been told."
That earned a laugh from Rusty, some of the heaviness in his chest easing slightly.
They started walking again, exchanging the bright hall for one of the quieter wings of the castle. Most people who came this way were servants or messengers looking to avoid the main corridors. Rusty preferred it for the same reasons.
There were fewer diplomats lurking about here, and little chance to be cornered by some distant cousin or noble wanting to discuss trade routes or potential brides.
As they turned another corner, Rusty slowed, Porter stopping a moment later.
Dinah stood halfway hidden beside an old service corridor, the hood of a battered old cape pulled up, and a covered basket tucked against her chest. She looked like she was trying to be inconspicuous, but she was failing.
Porter's expression shifted with quiet recognition, and then with deliberate politeness, he turned his attention to a tapestry on the opposite wall, pretending the Princess of Solstara was not skulking nearby.
Dinah looked up at the sound of footsteps, and her whole face lit up at once.
"Oh, perfect," she said. "You're exactly who I needed!"
Rusty folded his arms across his chest. "That's never a promising start," he said dryly.
"I promise it is today." She lifted the blanket slightly, as if that explained anything. "I just need you to tell anyone who asks that I'm off doing something very proper and princess-like."
Porter made a thoughtful noise, though he was still pointedly studying the tapestry. "Such as?"
Dinah paused, thinking with an intensity the question didn't remotely deserve. "Embroidery," she decided finally. "Or, no! Embroidery sounds miserable. Devotional texts! I'm studying!"
Rusty snorted. "No one would believe that. Your tutor practically has to force you to stay in the library for longer than a candlemark."
"Then come up with a better lie," she said, unbothered as she peeked into the basket. "I've got things to do today."
Rusty stepped closer, lowering his voice instinctively. "You're going to the village again."
She nodded, nudging the cloth aside just enough for him to see the contents. Fresh pastries were nestled inside, still warm and sticky with glaze, the scent of honey and butter drifting up.
"I promised Mrs. Carter I'd bring more today," Dinah said. "And the children by the mill really liked the honey rolls last time."
Rusty sighed, though not with any real frustration. Dinah had always been like this. She would feed anyone who was hungry, sitting beside anyone who looked lonely. She was the type to bend unfair rules if she got the chance.
"You're going to get caught one day," he warned.
"She hasn't been caught yet," Porter chimed, and when Rusty turned to look at him, he lifted both hands in surrender. "It's merely an observation."
"Don't encourage her."
Dinah grinned. "At least your knight likes me."
Rusty rolled his eyes, before looking past her. "What about yours? Where is he?"
Dinah cleared her throat. "He is currently… occupied."
"With?"
"With finding something that may or may not exist."
Rusty stared.
She gave him an innocent smile that would've been more convincing if she wasn't suppressing giggles. "So when he asks where I am, I'd appreciate it if you told him something better than the truth."
Rusty shook his head, smiling despite himself. "If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're with the seamstress and require complete privacy while trying on gowns for the festival."
Dinah's eyes brightened. "That's perfect." She leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping past them both, quick and graceful as she ducked into the service corridor. "I'll bring you something back," she promised over her shoulder.
Then she was gone, disappearing quickly into the tunnel.
Rusty watched after her until she disappeared from sight entirely. "One day, she's really going to get caught."
Porter approached, humming. "And I'm sure you'll be the one explaining it to the Queen."
"Oh, absolutely. That's my role in life. Worrying about her, and explaining."
They resumed walking, leaving the side corridor behind, and going back to the louder main corridors. The castle was louder today, small clusters of guards stood talking in low voices where they ought to have been more spread out. Two servants hurried by with their heads close together, going abruptly quiet at the sight of him.
As they passed another pair of soldiers, Rusty caught fragments.
"…another report this morning…"
"…someone's still passing information…"
"…couldn't catch them…"
He glanced at Porter at once, but his knight gave the smallest shake of his head, expression blank. He mouthed 'not here' as the soldiers got further away.
Rusty didn't push, continuing to walk, though his ease started to fray. Whatever this was, it didn't seem to be mere servant's gossip.
They reached the grand doors leading out to the gardens. Porter stepped ahead to open one for him, and as soon as Rusty stepped out, cool air washed over him.
The gardens stretched wide before them in carefully cultivated symmetry. Clipped hedges and early-spring flowers nodded in the breeze, a gravel path stretching out among the greenery. Beyond that lay the lake, the sunlight sparkling on the water, water birds skimming low over the surface before landing, honking at each other.
Rusty kept walking until the noise of the castle dulled behind him. Only when they reached the path curving around the water's edge did he finally slow.
A pair of swans drifted through the reeds on the far side, bright white against the darker green. Somewhere in the rushes, a duck let out a rough sound, and ducklings chirped at their mother.
Rusty smiled as he slowed down, folding his arms, then unfolding them again. He was too restless to hold still for long. The whispering from the corridors still echoed in his mind, as he thought about what could be going on.
He looked out over the lake, sunlight rippling across the surface, as foreboding settled over him.
For a little while, neither of them spoke.
While Porter stood behind him, Rusty stayed by the water's edge, watching the swans cutting through the reeds. Out here, with the noise of the court dulled to almost nothing, it felt far too easy to imagine that the whispers he'd overheard in the corridor belonged to someone else's life.
He considered the idea that maybe, he could just ignore this. Pretend he'd heard nothing, and move on with his day.
But instead, he looked back at Porter. "You can tell me now. There's no one here to overhear us."
Porter didn't answer. He stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the tree line, in what was either a guard habit, or avoidance.
"Sir Porter, I don't expect to ask twice." Rusty tried to summon whatever authority he could, and it seemed to work, Porter letting out a quiet breath through his nose.
"I'm not really meant to be speaking about it," he admitted.
Rusty turned around, the foreboding sharpening. "So there's something going on."
Porter hesitated, then continued. "It's not exactly one thing." He looked behind him, scanning the paths, before lowering his voice. "At first, it was little enough that people were willing to dismiss it. A merchant caravan was robbed clean at a spot that shouldn't have been targeted by bandits. And then deliveries started being missed. It looked like chance, or just a stretch of poor fortune."
Rusty folded his arms, brow furrowing. "But they think it's more."
Porter nodded. "A few diplomats were attacked after leaving the castle. The only thing stolen was a case of sealed parchments containing secrets. Their fineries were left untouched. Another had his escort attacked by people who seemed to know exactly which road he'd been sent down and when."
Rusty stared at him.
"The council started putting reports side by side," Porter continued. "Comparing times, routes, correspondence, trade ledgers. There were too many incidents that would only make sense if someone outside the castle already knew what was happening inside it."
The world narrowed around them, as the words registered.
"The council knew," he said.
Porter stilled, before he managed to hide his expression.
"Does my mother?"
A nod.
Rusty took a step back towards the lake, staring at Porter in disbelief. "And no one thought to tell me?"
"It's…" Porter frowned. "It's more complicated than it seems."
Rusty laughed, the sound hollow. "That isn't an answer." His voice came out a little sharper than he intended. "If information is being passed out of the kingdom, if diplomats are being ambushed, then why am I only hearing about this because some guards were whispering in a corridor?"
Porter didn't flinch, but he didn't look away from Rusty, spine straightening a little. "I don't think it's because anyone believes you incapable."
"That isn't what it feels like." Rusty turned away from him, looking back over the lake to hide the childish tears pricking at his eyes. One of the ducks had finally managed to shepherd her ducklings away from the rushes, the group swimming towards the centre of the water, and Rusty folded his arms tighter as he watched them. "It feels like I'm being sat at the council table so I can look the part, while everyone else decides what I'm allowed to hear."
Porter sighed. "I think the Queen is trying to keep the circle of people who know as small as possible," he said at last. "If someone inside the castle is leaking information, then the fewer people who know, the less chance it is that the wrong people will find out."
Rusty looked over his shoulder to see Porter was closer to him now. "So what? Am I a suspect? Is that why?"
Porter shook his head, almost looking sympathetic. "The Queen is concerned for yours and Princess Dinah's safety. She doesn't want either of you being targeted for what you may or may not know."
"So it's better I'm kept in the dark?" He snapped, hurt twisting in his chest. "I'm not a child who needs protecting!"
"I mean no disrespect," Porter started, frowning. "But to Queen McCoy, you are her child. And she doesn't want you put at risk when your time is better spent handling other matters."
"Like fixing roads?" Rusty sighed, rifling a hand through his hair. "I know she means well, I get it. But how am I meant to learn how to manage crises when I'm not allowed into the room to learn about it?"
Porter didn't interrupt.
"How am I meant to be ready one day if I'm only trusted with the gentler pieces of rule?" He gestured towards the castle. "A king should be facing problems like this, not arranging road repairs."
"You're right," Porter said. "But Her Majesty worries about burdening you with a problem that she doesn't understand yet. She wants to have the facts before bringing it to you officially."
Rusty looked away, nodding slowly.
That made more sense. While it didn't stop the sting of the situation, at least it was an explanation.
For a while, he stood there, listening to the passerine birds singing overhead. He watched the ducklings bob after their mother, one of them drifting too far before hastily paddling back into line. He smiled, relaxing somewhat.
Rusty let out a long breath finally, tension finally draining from his shoulders. "I understand," he said after a moment. "I don't like it, but I understand." He looked back at Porter. "Thank you for telling me. I'll keep it quiet."
An anxiety that Rusty hadn't noticed eased from Porter's expression, and he bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Highness."
Rusty glanced down at the grassy bank beside the path, then lowered himself onto it without much ceremony, stretching his legs out toward the lake. And after a moment, he looked up at Porter. "You can sit too, you know."
Porter blinked. "I'm on duty, I'm not meant to-"
"I'm allowing it," Rusty offered, smiling. "Surely the Prince's permission should overrule your commands?"
"That's not usually how this works," Porter suppressed a smile, before stepping off the path to sit beside him, leaving just enough space for them to feel proper.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, before Porter finally relaxed a little.
"Thank you, Your Highness. This is a nice place to sit."
Rusty beamed, letting his stress drift away. "I know. Dinah and I used to come sit here when things got difficult in the castle." He closed his eyes. "I hope she's okay, whatever she's doing right now."
"Princess Dinah is resourceful," Porter offered. "From what I understand, she stays within the limits of the village. She'll return later tonight, with some story to tell about the village children." He looked a little sheepish when Rusty turned to look at him. "She's chased off her fair share of knights with her antics."
Rusty nodded, laughing. "She's always been that way. Even when we were little, she'd sneak away when we were meant to be in lessons." He looked back at the lake, at a duckling who was currently straying away from its mother. "Our tutors would find her standing on three sacks of flour in the kitchens, trying to knead bread dough."
He looked back at Porter, sighing. "We should go back in. I'm starting to get hungry, and the skies look like they're going to open."
Porter nodded, standing up, holding one hand out to help Rusty up. "Of course, Your Highness."
He took Porter's hand, standing up and brushing dirt off his trousers. "You can call me Rusty, you know."
Porter's grip tightened briefly around his, before he let go. "I know," he said. "But I'm trying to maintain some level of decorum."
Rusty smiled, starting to walk. "I'll get you to drop some of this formality in private one day," he promised, as they made their way back up the path.
The breeze stirred up more, tree leaves rustling as more grey cloud rolled overhead, darkening the sky. Rusty glanced up, frowning. "Hopefully Dinah makes it back before the rain starts. It wouldn't do to have her catch cold due to the weather."
Porter laughed, then stepped ahead, speeding up somewhat to reach the doors first, pulling one open. The first low roll of thunder sounded in the distance, and Rusty crossed the threshold, Porter behind him.
"Walk with me to dinner?" Rusty asked.
Porter bowed his head. "Of course."
By the time they reached the dining room, the storm had properly broken over the castle, thunder rumbling in the near distance.
Rain tapped steadily against the tall windows, the sky so dark that servants had set candles along the walls, and lit a fire in the hearth, the dining table set more simply than it was for formal meals.
Momma sat at the head of the table, a goblet in one hand. Her crown was gone for the evening, probably left somewhere in her chambers. She looked less like the Queen of Solstara like this, and more like the woman who had tucked him and Dinah into bed during storms, when they were young enough to be frightened of the thunder.
Rusty had taken his usual place to her right, Porter a little way behind him, quiet and watchful as ever. And a plate had been set for Dinah opposite him, though it remained empty.
Momma glanced toward the door for perhaps the third time they'd sat down, a fond expression on her face. "Your sister is late again," she noted. "You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"
Rusty cleared his throat, reaching for his goblet. "Last I heard, she was rushing off to the seamstress, intending to try on gowns for the festival." He took a sip of his spiced wine, the liquid warming him through. "She was excited, from what I was told."
Momma nodded, though he could tell she didn't entirely believe him. "I see… Well, I do hope she shows up before she misses the first course."
As if on cue, the door opened in a rush, just as one of the servants stepped forward to refill Momma's goblet.
Dinah slipped in carefully, a guilty look on her face. Her hair was freshly dried, though it was messy, her curls a little wilder around her shoulders. The collar of her dress was damp against her throat, and there were dark patches near the shoulders and sleeves where she hadn't dried herself properly before rushing to pull it on.
Rusty hid his smile in his cup.
Dinah shut the door behind her with exaggerated care, before turning and clasping her hands in front of her. "I know I'm late," she said at once, before Momma had a chance to begin her interrogation. "I'm very sorry, I had my servants draw a bath, and assumed I had longer than I did."
Momma raised one brow.
Dinah's expression became even more innocent. "The water was very warm."
"The rain, then?" Rusty said lightly, setting his goblet down. "Did you get caught in it after trying on dresses?"
Dinah glanced at him, eyes brightening in gratitude. "Yes," she said quickly. "I was so very cold."
Momma looked between the two of them, clearly unconvinced, but she only sighed and gestured to Dinah's seat. "Sit down before the food gets cold."
Dinah beamed. "Thank you, Momma."
She hurried to the table, skirts gathered in one hand so she wouldn't trip, and slid into her place opposite Rusty. Up close, he could see the faint flush in her cheeks from the hot bath she'd taken the moment she'd crept back in from the rain, and there was a lingering smell of lavender soap in the air.
Servants stepped forward, setting down fresh plates of food. Slices of roasted boar, and honey-glazed vegetables were served, along with bowls of broth and a basket of freshly baked bread.
Dinah thanked them warmly, tearing off a piece of bread to dip into her soup before she'd even properly sat back in her chair, a sign that she'd neglected to eat enough while out in the village.
Momma shook her head, before picking up her cutlery, beginning to eat.
For a little while, the room was full of nothing but the sound of the storm and the crackle of fire in the hearth, interrupted only by the soft clink of cutlery against plates.
Rusty smiled as he ate, the food as delicious as ever. Quieter evenings like this were his favourite, when the warmth in the room could ease the tension in his body.
Eventually, Momma broke the silence, setting down her cutlery. "Dinah, how much progress did you manage to make with the festival today?" She picked up her goblet, sipping at her wine. "Rusty told me how excited you were."
That was enough to pull Dinah's attention fully away from her soup. "A fair bit, actually." She sat up a little straighter. "I spoke to the kitchen staff after the meeting, and the cooks agreed that if we're expecting a number of visiting nobles, then we'll need something elegant but simple enough to make." She tore another piece of bread absently. "Our hunters have agreed to hunt wild game. Perhaps peacock and swan could make a fantastic centrepiece?"
Rusty nodded. "Perhaps some venison too?"
"Yes!" Dinah beamed. "And of course, if we're to have market stalls and musicians, then perhaps we could have sweet buns decorated with the kingdom colours." She turned to her meal. "And I'd like to arrange for the village to engage in a festival also. As the nobles would pass through, it would be delightful for them to see our people celebrating."
Momma dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "That sounds like a wonderful decision, darling."
"Of course it is," Dinah said. "Imagine the village draped in gold and purple. Oh, this is going to be lovely! Thank you for asking me to plan it."
Momma smiled over the rim of her goblet. "You sound as though I've handed you a crown jewel."
Dinah beamed. "I love this more than any jewels." She looked down at her food. "If the visiting nobles are going to be here, then they ought to see Solstara at its best." She looked at Momma. "I want all of them to see us, and remember that our people are happy."
Momma's expression softened. "You have the instincts of a Queen, my dear."
Dinah smiled, though she looked a little flustered at the comment. "Oh, I'll settle for Princess." She reached for her goblet. "I was thinking that before the festival, the children of the kingdom could weave ribbons through market stalls. The little ones would love to feel a part of it all, and it would cost very little if we give them leftover fabric from the seamstresses."
Rusty smiled fondly at his sister. "That would certainly be a cheerful sight." He looked at Momma. "The nobles will open their wallets for sure."
Momma let out a quiet hum of agreement. "I'd like you to offer your proposals in court tomorrow, I look forward to seeing how your plan works out."
Their dinner settled back down, as servants cleared away plates, and replaced the main course with dessert. Red wine poached pears and candied dates were arranged on the plates, and Rusty couldn't resist taking a bite.
After a few moments, he spoke up. "If we can arrange to repair the roads in time, perhaps we could send word to the villages further south might want to bring in traders of their own."
Momma glanced at him, interested. "Do you think they can manage it on short notice?"
"With enough warning." Rusty shrugged slightly. "I can speak tomorrow about the budget to urgently repair the roads. We could send word to the villages. Once they know about increased traffic through here, some will make the trip just for that."
Dinah beamed, spearing a plum and popping it in her mouth. "I'll have to speak to the cooks about preparing some dishes to the taste of the southern villages too."
Momma nodded, looking proud to see her children arranging this. She sat back in her seat. "I fear tomorrow, I'm going to have little space to talk in court. You two seem set to take command of the discussion."
Rusty laughed sheepishly. "I'm sure the councillors will turn everyone's attention onto some new matter or another."
The room fell into an easy silence after that, the three of them busying themselves with their dessert, more spiced wine filling their goblets.
They were so busy that no one seated noticed that the guards had stiffened.
Rusty only noticed when one of the knights nearest the far wall turned his head towards the servants' entrance, hand drifting towards the hilt at his side. Another took a step forward, enough to get Momma's attention.
The Queen set her goblet down slowly. "What is it?"
No one answered, before the door burst open, slamming against the wall.
Dinah startled in her seat, and all eyes turned to where a figure rushed in from the dark corridor beyond, hidden by a rain-dark cloak, holding something silver in his hand.
It took a moment for Rusty to process what he was seeing, but when he did, he went cold.
The intruder wasn't running for Momma.
He raised his hand, the knife flashing in the torchlight.
Rusty shoved back from the table, chair scraping against the floor. "Dinah!"
Dinah gasped, half rising from her seat. Porter leapt over the table, and one of the guards lunged from the wall, but the intruder was faster, thrusting the knife forward.
And then another body slammed into his path.
Rusty barely saw where the knight had come from, only that one moment, the knife had been flying for Dinah's chest, and the next, the knight had driven into the attacker and wrenched his arm out of its socket.
The dining room exploded into motion.
Dinah stumbled backward with a cry, nearly toppling her chair as she tried to get away from the table. Rusty was around it in an instant, grabbing hold of her shoulders just as Porter crashed into the attacker from the side. The knife clattered across the floor, skidding beneath the table.
Momma had stood as well, one hand braced against the polished wood of the table, her face cold. "Take him alive," she ordered, glaring at the downed intruder, who was struggling wildly.
The intercepting knight drove him down to his knees, while two other guards seized his arms. Porter stepped toward the servants' entrance, sword raised in case another would-be assassin tried their luck.
Rusty hardly noticed any of it though, because Dinah was trembling like a leaf.
"It's alright," he said quickly, heart pounding so hard he could barely hear himself over it. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her as she clung to his shirt. "It's alright, I've got you."
Her breathing was ragged, grip tight. "He had a knife," she whispered, voice thin with shock.
"I know." Rusty closed one hand at the back of her neck, holding her close. He could feel how badly she was trembling, and he couldn't imagine he was faring better. He'd seen how close it had gotten. If that knight had been half a step slower, this may have gone very differently.
Across the room, the attacker had been hauled upright by the guards, his hood torn back in the struggle. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto the floor, blood darkening his lip where someone had struck him. The knight who'd intercepted him stood in front, breathing hard, one hand still holding a drawn sword.
Momma's gaze fixed on the knight. "You stopped him," she said, voice grateful.
The knight straightened, though he still looked ready to lunge again if given a reason. He bowed his head. "I did what was required of me, Your Majesty."
Momma's eyes flicked briefly to Dinah, then back again. "Your name?"
"Sir Greaseball."
Rusty looked up, in time to see Greaseball turning to glance at Dinah, assessing her safety. Dinah was looking back at him, eyes wide.
The guards set to work, dragging the prisoner aside, and Momma gave the order to take him to the dungeons.
Only when the danger was gone did Greaseball drop to one knee before the Queen.
"If Your Majesty will permit it," he said, voice low. "I would offer my life in service of Princess Dinah's protection."
Momma studied the kneeling knight for a long moment, expression unreadable. She glanced to Porter, and then another knight on her other side, who both nodded.
"Dinah, as this attempt was made on your life, it's your decision," Momma spoke, looking at her daughter. "This brave knight is pledging to defend you."
Dinah drew in a shaky breath, slowly untucking herself from Rusty's chest. Her hands were still trembling, but she slowly rose, smoothing down the front of her dress.
"He saved my life," she said softly, swallowing as she stepped away from Rusty, going to stand by Momma. "If Sir Greaseball is willing to take on that duty, then I would be glad of it." She approached the kneeling knight. "And eternally grateful."
Greaseball bowed his head lower. "Then you have my sword, Princess."
Momma watched him for another moment, before nodding. "Very well." Her voice was louder now, the sort of formal tone she took in council meetings. "From this night on, you will serve as Princess Dinah's personal knight. I will have your commander bring your belongings to an adjacent room."
Greaseball rose smoothly to his feet, and Rusty approached, nodding gratefully.
"You saved my sister, I cannot thank you enough for protecting her."
Porter finally lowered his sword from his position as another knight whispered something to him. "The room is secure, Your Majesty."
Momma inclined her head. "Double the guard outside the Princess's chambers tonight." She looked at Rusty and Dinah. "There are urgent matters we must discuss tomorrow. But tonight, I'd like for you both to get some rest."
"Of course, I'll come find you in the morning," Rusty said, before he glanced at Dinah. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head quickly. "No. No, I don't think so." She looked down at herself, shaking still. "I'm just frightened."
Rusty let out a relieved breath, watching as Momma gathered Dinah up in a hug, before making eye contact with Porter.
He had an idea of what Momma wanted to discuss with them both tomorrow, and he dreaded to imagine what could've happened if the assassin had attempted this when Dinah was unprotected in the village.
Porter nodded subtly, returning to his side in an instant.
Dinah clung to Momma for a moment longer, before stepping back, flinching at the sound of servants pushing the chairs back in at the table.
Momma's expression softened as she reached up to smooth a curl back from Dinah's face. "Go with Sir Greaseball," she said gently. "Let him see you safely to your room. More guards will watch over your room tonight, no more attempts will be made on your life tonight."
Dinah glanced at Greaseball, then back to her mother. "Thank you."
Greaseball bowed again. "I'll see the Princess there safely, Your Majesty."
Rusty watched as Dinah stepped to his side, looking up at her newly appointed guard.
"I'll see you in the morning," Rusty said quietly, waving at Dinah.
She waved back, before vanishing down the main corridor, her knight keeping pace without hesitation.
Rusty watched her leave, before turning towards the servants' entrance where the assassin had burst in, then to the knife currently being collected by a guard.
Momma sat back down slowly, tense. She looked at Porter. "You said the room is secure?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." Porter kept his voice steady. "The prisoner has been taken below, and additional guards are being placed in the corridors and the Princess's room as ordered."
Momma nodded once. "Good." She looked at Rusty, looking more like a frightened mother than a Queen. "You should go to your rooms as well. It would be foolish for intruders to make another attempt, but I would feel better knowing you're safe."
Rusty wanted to argue, to stay and help. But he was still shaking, and Porter was sheathing his sword, walking to his side.
He nodded, sighing. "I'll come to you first thing," he said instead. "I promise."
Momma looked relieved. "Good."
The servants had begun quietly clearing the ruined meal now, moving with lowered eyes. Rusty watched them, aware this would be passed along to each guard, news that the leaked information had likely led to an attempt on the Princess's life.
Momma turned her attention to Porter. "See him to his room, Sir." She sounded so worried that Rusty didn't protest.
Porter bowed. "Of course, Your Majesty." He looked at Rusty. "Shall we?"
They took off together, walking down the hall. Porter was by his side now, no longer two paces back. Rusty didn't want to admit it, but he was grateful for the added security.
"Do you think he was alone?" Rusty asked, keeping his gaze ahead.
Porter paused, before responding. "No one else has been spotted in the castle. The other knights did a thorough sweep, so I don't think he had company."
Rusty nodded, a little relieved. "Momma will want answers."
"She'll get them," Porter responded. "Tomorrow, I'd imagine there'll be much to discuss." He looked at Rusty, moving a little closer. "If you'd like, I'll stay inside your chambers tonight, to ensure you're well guarded."
Rusty glanced at him. "You don't need to do that," he said automatically, even though the thought of being alone in his room tonight made something cold and unpleasant burrow into his stomach. "I'm sure the guards outside my door will be enough."
Porter's expression didn't change much, though Rusty suspected he was shaken by the events too. "They may be. But I'd still rather remain close."
Rusty looked away again, focusing on the corridor ahead. The stone walls felt different, every alcove deeper, and every shadow darker. He'd lived his whole life in this castle, and yet one man with a knife had managed to make it feel strange.
"Yes," he said after a moment. "I'd like that."
Porter nodded. "Then I'll guard you well."
They reached his chambers eventually, the thunder distant now. Even the rain had slowed by now. Two guards were stood outside his doors, straightening at once when they saw him coming.
Porter opened the door for him, then followed him inside before shutting it firmly.
The room was warm, the fire already lit by a servant while he'd been at dinner, and he sighed in relief. His bed had been turned down already, a fresh jug of water and basin waiting on the washstand.
Porter crossed to the windows first, checking the latches, then moved to the adjoining sitting room and then bathroom, before finally seeming satisfied.
"You're safe here," he said, standing a respectful distance away. "Would you like me to call for a servant to prepare you for bed?"
Rusty shook his head. "No, thank you. I think I'd rather not have anyone else in here tonight."
Porter dipped his head, accepting that without question. "Of course."
Rusty sighed softly, before finally reaching down to start undoing the fastenings of his outer layers. It all felt strangely ordinary after the evening's events. He set aside his belt, tugging off his boots one by one.
Porter, to his credit, looked away as soon as it became clear Rusty was preparing for bed, turning his attention to the door.
Once Rusty had changed into something softer, he sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his face with both hands. He was thoroughly exhausted, and he knew he'd be retiring early tonight.
When he looked up again, Porter was still standing.
"You can sit, you know," Rusty said quietly. "If you're staying."
Porter hesitated, then nodded, taking the chair closest to the hearth. He kept his sword within reach, expression sharp.
Rusty smiled at him. "You really mean to stay awake all night?"
"If necessary."
Rusty frowned. "At least rest then. I don't want to see you exhausted over this." He settled back onto his bed, drawing the blankets over himself, before settling against the pillows.
"Sir Porter?"
Porter looked over at once. "Yes, Your Highness?"
Rusty studied him for a second in the firelight. "Thank you. For today. For… everything." He closed his eyes, burrowing into the sheets. "I'm lucky to have a knight devoted to my safety."
"I don't need thanks for doing my duty," Porter murmured, voice soft.
"Maybe not," Rusty responded, sleep already tugging at him. "But I wanted to."
For a moment, Porter was silent. And then he shifted in his seat. "Then you're welcome."
Rusty let himself relax after that, listening to the storm easing outside. Tomorrow would surely bring questions, but tonight, he could relax, knowing Porter was watching over him.
For now, that was enough.