Sir is the first to wake out of his shock. Of course he is. He starts spitting orders at everyone. “Finn, Greer, Henn, Dendera, Mather—to the armory. If any of the Cordellans give you trouble about getting gear, come find me. Alysson, stay with Meira. Neither of you are to leave this palace. Prince Theron—” Sir starts, then realizes he has no responsibility to order Theron about.
Theron looks at him, teeth grinding together. “Armory too.”
Sir turns to Mather. “I want you battle-ready in fifteen minutes.”
Mather nods, his face set in a mask that could hide a plethora of emotions. Fear. Anger. Regret. Everything. He drops my hand and jogs down the hall after Finn, Greer, Dendera, and Henn, not looking back at me or letting me know at all what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s not thinking, can’t think, after all this.
Sir points at me. “Meira—”
I grimace. “Stay in the palace—I know.”
His jaw clenches. “I was going to say be careful too.”
My mouth falls open. But Sir has already hurried down the other end of the hall, toward the front doors that Noam just exited.
Theron sets the letter on his father’s desk. “I didn’t know,” he promises when it’s just us and Alysson and a few soldiers down the hall.
I inhale, amazed at how hollow I feel. Like the chaos of the past few seconds has drained everything out of me. “It doesn’t much matter now, does it?”
Theron looks up at me, something working behind his eyes. A few quick steps through the study and he bursts into the hall, grabbing my hand. “Lady Alysson, would you please accompany us? I will place you under watch of my personal guards.”
Alysson gapes at him. “Your Highness—” she starts but Theron is already walking, dragging me down the hall. She follows, but soldiers come from around the corner to fall in behind Theron and me, cutting us off from Sir’s wife as they stand guard over their heir.
Theron pulls me closer to him and we stop at the entrance of the ballroom. “Shall we head to the armory?” he asks. His voice is low enough to be blocked from Alysson by his wall of soldiers.
I look up at him. He keeps his eyes on me, a strange light glowing behind them.
“But Sir—” My voice falls out from under me as the gleam in Theron’s eyes intensifies. In the aftermath of all that happened, in the midst of all that is happening, it’s such a warm relief that I smile back.
Theron shakes his head. “Wants you to stay in the palace? You and I both know that’s not where you’ll do the most good.”
I stare at him, letting his words roll over me. “You’ll let me fight?”
“Once we get to the gate, whether you fight or return to the palace is up to you. But I’m not going to hold you back, if that’s what you mean.”
“Why?”
Theron’s mouth twitches. “Because I’ve been at my father’s disposal my entire life,” he whispers. “And I will not stand for this game monarchs play. These are our lives. I will not let my father or William or even Angra continue to tell us that they aren’t.”
His poem rushes back to me, his jerky handwriting on the parchment in the library. Theron cocks up a corner of his mouth, studying me in a way that doesn’t feel possessive or condescending. It feels equal.
Warmth gathers in my stomach when I smile back. It’s hardly the time for smiles and lingering gazes, but I can’t help it. It kicks away a small bit of the anxiety of facing Herod, as if having Theron beside me will keep me safe through this. Not as a protector—as an equal. I’m not the only one caught in this. I’m not alone.
My mind flashes to the last time someone helped me like this, when Mather faked an injury so I could be the one to go to Lynia and get the locket half. Mather did it because he knew I wanted it, but Theron is doing this because he knows he would want it.
I look up at Theron. They’re so similar. And yet so not.
Theron nods at the soldiers behind him. “Escort Lady Alysson to safety.”
“Yes, my lord,” one of them says and turns. Alysson starts to walk away with them, assuming we’re somewhere in the hodgepodge of men. The moment her back is turned, Theron and I slip in the opposite direction, diving through a door and into the servant’s halls.
I know what I have to do to prove that I can be useful as both a future Cordellan queen and myself—fight in this battle. Protect this city and the Winterians. Sir will hate it.
At this point, I couldn’t care less.
We wait for Mather, Greer, Henn, Finn, and Dendera to get their gear and leave before we enter the armory. But it turns out Cordell doesn’t have armor suited to my small stature, so an extra layer of padding later, I’m marching beside Theron out of the armory with one of the beautiful metal crossbows strapped to my back. Too few of Cordell’s soldiers use the Autumnian weapon, and I’d stand out in the ranks of the army. The longer I go without Sir noticing me, the better.