CHAPTER 27

Avoidance Is Key
to Maintaining a Happy Sam

 

 

“I’M WORRIED,” Randall said a few days later while I worked on my Grimoire in the labs.

And because I hadn’t stopped thinking about a single word he’d said, I freaked.

“I’m going Dark side, aren’t I?” I said, sounding rather breathless at the horror of it. “I’ll have to go live in the Dark Woods and be broody and start to monologue about everything. I’ll try and trap people and then tell them all about my plans, thus giving them the means to stop me with, but I won’t be able to do a thing about it because I won’t have a fuck left to give! I knew this was going to happen! Why, just last night, I thought about taking the last strawberry scone on the plate even though I knew Gary wanted it. I thought to myself just how delicious that scone would be and how I wanted it in my mouth, and even though Gary asked if he could have it, I didn’t care. I didn’t care that my best friend wanted the last strawberry scone because I wanted it myself. I had to forcibly stop myself from taking it and lording it over him. I wanted to rub it in his face that it was my godsdamn scone. And don’t get me started on my other devious plots that I have bouncing around in my head.”

I waited.

Randall didn’t say anything.

I sighed. “You’re supposed to ask me about my other devious plots.”

“I really don’t want to,” he said.

“Randall.”

“Sam. You’re monologuing.”

“Oh. My. Gods. It’s happening! It’s happening. Randall. Randall. You have to kill me. You have to kill me before I lose control and come up with a ridiculous plan for world domination that relies on way too many moving parts and a completely ludicrous deus ex machina twist that makes no sense to the overall arc.”

“So. Like. Your whole life. Basically.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you seriously getting sassy with me right now?”

“I would never call myself sassy, Sam,” he said.

“This is serious!”

“Sam. You’re not turning into a Dark wizard.”

“You just said you were worried!”

“I did. About what you’re going to wear to the wedding.”

“I… you… what?”

“And are you bringing a date? I think you should consider bringing a date.”

“What the fuck—?”

“You are representing the King and Morgan after all. And by extension, me as well. Can’t have you looking alone and slovenly. Why, the rumors alone in the Court would be egregious.”

“Randall!”

“Yes, Sam. You may not be aware, but I am standing right next to you. There is no need to shout.”

“I will turn your nose back into a dick, so help me gods.”

He frowned. “Would that make you feel better? About the whole wedding thing? If it would, I wouldn’t be adverse.”

I gaped at him.

“Just don’t make it so big this time,” he said. “It was hard to officiate the ceremony last time when it kept falling in my mouth.”

“I can honestly say that I wish I’d never heard those words coming from you,” I told him.

“Can you do this?” he asked me seriously.

“Of course I can,” I said. I even almost believed my own words. “I’m Sam of Wilds.”

 

 

AND I thought I could do it. I really did. I told myself that the key to a happy Sam would be to handle my problems the way they should be handled. Maturely and responsibly.

So the solution was obvious.

Avoidance. Lots and lots of avoidance.

Now, let it not be said that I never faced certain… complications… head on. Many parties can probably attest that I often found myself in the thick of things, with no real idea as to how I got there (see gay fairy marriages and how every Dark wizard in existence seemed to want me dead). If someone I cared about was in danger, I’d fight my hardest. If I saw injustice, I tried to correct it. I spoke for those who could not, I helped those who could not help themselves, and I tried to be an all-around good person on top of it, regardless of the minor slipups I had where I ventured into morally gray territory.

However, when things got personal?

Well. That changed everything.

I offer the following evidence:

Five-year-old Sam said, “Hi, Mary. Why are you looking at me weird?”

Seven-year-old Mary said, “We should get married when we get older because I love you and you can stay at home and bake pie while I go to work at the mill, and I will have babies and you can raise them because my mom says that we don’t have to follow normal gender constructs.”

Five-year-old Sam said, “My mom is calling. I have to go. Bye. Oh, and I am moving to another country and if you see someone who looks like me after today, it’s not me, just someone who looks like me and is not really me and is probably my evil twin so just ignore him forever.”

And:

Nine-year-old Sam said, “We could be friends. I’ve always wanted to have friends.”

Ten-year-old Monique said, “We can start as friends, I guess. And then you can be my boyfriend. You must tell me I am pretty every day and kiss me on the lips and say things about how you like my eyes.”

Nine-year-old Sam said, “I don’t want friends that bad. My mom is calling. I am moving. Boy who looks like me is evil. Avoid at all costs.”

And:

Fifteen-year-old Sam said, “Who is that? Is that a new knight? What’s his name? Why does he look like my dreams?”

The hornless gay unicorn named Gary said, “Oh, girl, you’ve got a good eye. That’s Ryan Foxheart. Pulled up from the King’s Army.”

Fifteen-year-old Sam breathed, “I want to put my face on his face.”

The hornless gay unicorn named Gary said, “Um. What did you say?”

Fifteen-year-old Sam said, “Nothing! Nothing. Um. I have to go. Upstairs. To… touch. The walls.”

The hornless gay unicorn named Gary said, “Why don’t you just go introduce yourself?”

Fifteen-year-old Sam said, “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Good-bye.”

So. There’s a history there.

Granted, I’d never been in as deep as I was now.

Which made the avoidance that much more necessary.

And that much more ridiculously difficult.

Because it had been a very long time since there’d been a royal wedding. The King and the Queen had been twenty and seventeen, respectively, so the decades that had passed since then were a long drought for those that lived for such things.

And unfortunately, it seemed most lived for it.

The City of Lockes was transformed into the City of Rainbow Fucking Sunshine Because Everyone Is Celebrating Team Rystin. Banners were hung around the City, the profiles of Justin and Ryan flapping in the wind. Blooms of flowers were placed at almost every corner. Garland wrapped around the streetlights. Vendors set up carts on the roads, selling Completely Authentic Rystin Merchandise (which, shockingly, was not authentic at all and was most likely made in Meridian City by an aging factory worker and was in no way, shape, or form endorsed by anyone from the castle). All the hotels sold out within a day. I hoped Todd and his father were pleased. I spared a brief moment to appreciate the memory of Todd’s ears.

But everyone was thrilled and merry and gay. There were smiles on people’s faces, a skip to their steps.

Well, until they saw me.

Then there were the looks of sympathy, a slight wince to their faces because apparently everyone knew my business.

So.

Avoidance.

“Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Do you need to talk to—?”

“Nope!”

“Oh, Sam. Maybe you should just—”

“Nope.”

“Hi, Sam. You don’t know me, but I want to offer you my condol—”

“No, thank you.”

“Sam. Forget Ryan Foxheart. My last name is Harding. Combine that and we’d be HaveHard. Doesn’t that sound… erotic?”

“Nope!”

Avoidance became my mantra.

I told myself it would be easier to get over this entire shitstorm if I didn’t have anything to do with Ryan and Justin leading up to the wedding.

With Justin, it worked out marvelously for the both of us because he seemed to be doing the same to me and was obviously far too busy with the wedding planners, discussing the food and clothes and decorations and music and lighting and vows and flowers—especially since my mother had looked at him, laughed, and walked away when he told her he’d be requiring her services. It was the first time in my life I’d appreciated a mutually beneficial arrangement I had going on with the Prince.

And Ryan?

Well.

Let me tell you about that motherfucker.

Avoidance is key to maintaining a happy Sam.

When problems of a lightning-struck heart are prevalent, avoid them until they go away all on their own.

Ryan did not get that memo.

While Randall was forcing me to elucidate, Ryan was right there, lurking like a fucking jackass in the corners.

“Can we help you?” Randall asked him once after he followed us into the library.

“No, no,” Ryan said. “Just looking for… this book,” he said, pulling one off the shelf. “To do… research.”

Randall looked over and read off the title. “Sex & Pregnancy: You Won’t Actually Poke the Baby. Huh. That’s… light reading.”

Ryan blushed, and it made me want to poke his baby.

Or something.

It was all very confusing.

“Yes, well,” he muttered. “Can’t be too careful.” Then he fled.

“Idiot,” Randall muttered, sounding strangely fond.

 

 

WHILE MORGAN and I were conducting our blood-on-shrooms experiment, Ryan just happened to need access to the labs to “continue the research” he’d done before he’d left the castle on the quest to rescue Justin. When Morgan asked Ryan to remind him just what that research had been seeing as how the wizard had never seen Ryan in the labs researching anything, Ryan mumbled something about poking babies and some such and then accidently set his trousers on fire when he leaned against a burner. It was very awkward (read: stimulating) because he was forced to take off said trousers to avoid burns and apparently had forgotten that day to wear undergarments, his top just long enough to preserve his modesty. Morgan sighed a little. I died a little. Ryan fled.

“Shall we continue?” Morgan asked, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“Oh my gods,” I said because I couldn’t quite compose my thoughts as I was pretty sure I’d just seen a hint of Ryan Foxheart’s balls.

“Sam?”

“Oh my gods.”

“And I’m pretty sure the experiment is over for the day.”

“Oh my gods.”

 

 

WHEN GARY and I plotted our plans to follow the rumors of unicorn horns, Ryan happened to be sitting at the table next to ours in the so-called War Room, obviously doing his best to feign ignorance as we pored over the maps. It wasn’t working. The book he was holding in his hands was upside-down. It’s like he wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

“And just think,” Gary said, far more loudly than what was actually necessary, “after we get done with these ridiculous obligations your station requires you to be present for—because let’s be honest, that’s the only reason we’re still here—we’ll leave this place far behind and you, my young kitten, will find yourself a man of the desert. Dark skin and dark hair. Big dick and awesome nipples. His name will be Matta and he will take you into his desert dwelling before he goes into your desert dwelling.”

Ryan’s hands tightened on his book.

“That was… unsurprisingly descriptive,” I said.

“Shhh,” the War Room librarian said. She had to be almost as old as Randall.

“Sorry, Griselda,” Gary said, sticky sweet.

“Matta, huh?” I said. “Can his first name be Wassa?”

Gary stared at me blankly.

“Because then his full name would be Wassa Matta.”

Ryan snorted loudly and covered it up with a very fake cough.

Gary knocked me off the chair. “You are not allowed to make jokes anymore.”

“Shhh,” Griselda insisted.

“Sorry, Griselda,” Gary said. And then, “Hey, Sam?”

“What?” I said as I picked myself up off the floor.

“Do you know what I find fascinating?”

“What?”

“How knights apparently can read books upside down.”

“Oh, mothercracker,” Ryan said and then he fled the room.

“I taught him that curse,” I said sadly.

“Shhh!” Griselda shouted at us.

“Oh calm the fuck down, Griselda,” Gary snapped. “We’re the only ones here, you ancient she-beast. You need to check yourself before you wreck yourself.”

Griselda kicked us out of the War Room. I didn’t blame her.

 

 

“NO, TIGGY,” I said. “There were, like, two verses before he started singing about cheesy dicks and candlesticks.”

Tiggy glared at me as we sat in the garden, sunning ourselves. There was the hustle and bustle of the castle around us as wedding preparations went on and on, but we didn’t give a shit about that. Gary had decreed that Tiggy and I were so pale that we were haunting his dreams and forced us outside to get some sun.

“Dicks and sticks,” Tiggy insisted. “Every line was dicks and sticks.”

“I think you’re misremembering, my friend.”

“You dismembered,” he grumbled.

“Not the same thing. One is forgetting. The other is getting your head chopped off.”

“No,” he said. “I use correct word.”

I gasped and covered my heart. “Well I never. Are you threatening me, Tiggy?”

“Yes,” Tiggy said, sounding smug. “Dicks and sticks.”

“Fine. Dicks and sticks.”

“And Knight Delicious Face.”

“And Knight Del—wait, what?” I turned my head toward him, but he was propped up on his elbows, looking toward the castle. I followed his gaze and sure enough, there he was.

“I’ve never had a stalker before,” I told Tiggy.

“I stalk you,” Tiggy said.

“Erm. I don’t think you do.”

“Stalking is following. I follow you everywhere. I stalk you. I stalk you so hard.”

“Tiggy, that’s not—you know what? I am not even going to argue with you on that. You can stalk me all you want. In fact, I am honored to have you as my stalker.”

Tiggy preened. “Pretty Sam. I’ll hide in bushes and stare at you.”

“Aww. You do that, buddy.”

“Knight Delicious Face isn’t subtle.”

“You can’t be called Knight Delicious Face and be subtle at the same time. It doesn’t work that way.” And really, he wasn’t being subtle at all. I was rather embarrassed for him, if I was being honest. And annoyed. And angry. And slightly turned-on, though I was loath to admit it.

Because he was standing at the other side of the garden, pretending to be interested in whatever the florists were saying to him (pointing out different arrangements of flowers for the wedding, hired because my mother had flat out refused to participate—she’s slightly vindictive, my mom is), but no one, and I mean no one, could miss the glances he kept shooting in our direction. It was getting to the point the florists were getting visibly annoyed with him because he obviously wasn’t paying attention to a single word they were saying.

He looked over at us again as one of the florists started in again on the power of petunias.

Tiggy and I waved sarcastically because we were awesome.

“What a dick,” I muttered.

“You love him,” Tiggy said.

“No,” I said. “I love only you.”

“And Gary.”

“And Gary.”

“And Mom and Dad.”

“Yes, and them.”

“And Morgan.”

“Sure. Lots.”

“And the King.”

“Yes, can’t forget him.”

“And Pete.”

“Pete! My castle guardian.”

“And Kevin.”

“Stretching, just a bit.”

“And Randall.”

“That’s not really true.”

“You love Ryan,” Tiggy said seriously.

“Motherfucker,” I sighed.

“Dicks and sticks,” Tiggy said.

“My whole life is dicks and sticks,” I said.

Ryan looked at us again.

We waved.

Tiggy called out, “Knight Delicious Face. Find your balls yet?”

I choked.

The florists looked slightly scandalized.

Ryan made fumbling excuses and fled.

“Not yet,” Tiggy said.

And then we made up many, many verses of “Cheesy Dicks and Candlesticks.”

 

 

“SO, CHAMP,” Kevin said, tossing the heavy twine ball back at me. “You have any crushes on anybody at school?”

“I haven’t been in school for years,” I said. “Since long before I met you.”

He shrugged, the sun starting to set behind him. “I know it’s hard, buddy. Having a new dad.”

“What the fuck.”

“I just want what’s best for you and Gary. Your mom works hard, you know.”

“First, Gary doesn’t work hard. At anything. Second, he is not my mom.”

Kevin nodded and caught the ball in his claws as I chucked it back at him. “All teenagers think the same thing about their parents.”

“I’m twenty! Why are we even out here!”

“Bonding,” Kevin said. “You said that we needed bonding.” Then he leered at me, his lip curling, tongue snaking out between his fangs. “Or perhaps you meant bondage? Is that what you meant, pretty? You need me to tie you up and choke you on my dick? Make you scream as I twist your little nipples? Make you—”

“That’s not what I meant at all.”

The leer disappeared. “That’s what I thought, sport. So, any boys or girls you want to get fresh with?”

“Get fresh with,” I repeated.

“You know. Take to the dance, or whatever.”

“The dance.”

“Sock hop? I don’t know what you kids call it these days.”

“I think that being with Gary has made you both actually mentally disabled. Like your magic broke both of your brains the moment you fellated him.”

“So much fellating,” Kevin agreed. “Oh look, company.”

I looked over my shoulder and sure enough, a small contingent of knights were coming out onto the sparring fields, even though I was absolutely positive there was no need for them to be here. Of course, Ryan was in the lead. Pete stood toward the rear, a look of amused exasperation on his face.

“Sam,” he said, once they passed through the gates. The others headed toward the weapons shed, but Pete dragged behind them. Ryan almost was able to make it all the way to the shed without looking at me but failed miserably at the last minute.

“Pete,” I said, ignoring Ryan completely. “Late training?”

He rolled his eyes. “It appears our illustrious Knight Commander felt we’d been slacking off recently.”

“Is that so.”

“Quite. And apparently, it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, and we had to go to the fields right away. Been here long?”

“An hour or so.”

“Funny, that,” Pete said. “Right around the time the Knight Commander came up with this idea.”

I rolled my eyes. “Go do knight things.”

“Nah,” Pete said with an easy shrug. “Getting too old for this shit. I’ll just observe.” He looked over at the dragon. “Kevin. Nice evening for a game of catch.”

Kevin nodded sagely. “It is, Pete. Always a nice evening when I get to be with my boy.”

“So that’s still a thing, huh?” Pete asked me.

“No,” I said crossly. “It is not a thing. It was never a thing.”

“Forgive him,” Kevin said, frowning at me. “He’s a bit cranky tonight. I think he likes this boy from school, but I can’t get a name out of him.”

Ryan was apparently listening into the conversation like a creep, because he dropped a heavy long sword on his foot.

Everyone stared at him as he grimaced. “It slipped,” he said.

“Oh boy,” Pete said. “This just gets sadder and sadder.”

“And I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

“Ah,” Pete said. “We’re at avoidance.”

I grinned at him. “There’s nothing to avoid because there’s nothing there.”

Pete sighed and shook his head fondly. “So what boy does he have a crush on, then?” he called out quite loudly to Kevin.

Ryan tensed.

“Don’t know,” Kevin said, tossing me the ball again. “But you can sure as shit bet I’m going to meet him before he takes Sam out. Instill the fear of the gods in him, I will.”

“Your life is so weird,” Pete said to me.

“Right?” I said.

“Hey, Sam,” one of the knights called out. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, all charm and a wicked glint to his eyes. I thought his name was Nat or Nate. “You ain’t seein’ anyone, right?”

“Right.”

“I could take you out,” he said, looking me up and down. “Show you a good time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You, me. Candlelight. See where it goes.”

“I think I have a good idea of where it might go,” I said. “You just licked your lips. Lasciviously.”

“Think of the other things I could lasciviously lick—”

“Get in line,” Ryan snarled at him.

Nat or Nate winked at me and followed orders.

The knights started going through their paces. Ryan called to Pete, but Pete rolled his eyes and waved him off. “I’m retiring in four months,” he said. “I don’t have time to be a part of your weird flirting.”

Ryan sputtered and then fled to the other side of the sparring fields, his knights following and laughing behind his back.

“They think he’s an idiot,” Pete said as he watched them go.

“The knights? Why?”

Pete shrugged. “For what he did to you. They think he made the biggest mistake of his life and give him shit for it. Nobody fucks with Sam of Wilds.”

I gaped at him as he walked away, whistling a jaunty tune.

 

 

THE WEEK before the wedding, I was in the gardens with my mother, helping her weed and water her flowers. It was good work, hands dirty and smelling of earth, muscles in my back and arms burning. We were back in the secret parts of the garden, the area where few ever ventured. Ryan and I had been here once, speaking of wishes and stars.

“Mamia loved her flowers,” my mother said, tending to the crocus and the tulips. “She could grow them year-round, even in the snows. She kept a greenhouse, the first of its kind. She built it herself, refusing help from the men and women. She said it was hers, and as the rom baro of our clan, she would lead by example. She understood helping others, but also showing that one could stand on his or her own feet.”

“I’ll meet her one day,” I said.

She smiled at me. “Of course you will. You are a part of her just as much as I am. I may not be allowed back, but you will be.”

“Do you regret it? Choosing Dad over your roma.” Because when all else was stripped away, that is what had happened. Mom had fallen in love outside of her roma—her clan—which was expressly forbidden by gypsy law. She’d been outcast, shunned by her people when her choice had been made clear. She had chosen to follow my father instead of her own people. But my mother was always clear in the fact that there was never animosity after she left, and that her mother had held her tight and whispered in her ear how proud she was of her daughter, how wonderful she thought she was, how sad she was to see her go.

“No,” she said simply. “Not ever.”

“How did you know it was the right thing to do?”

She sat back on her knees, a smidge of dirt on the tip of her nose, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. I thought she’d never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment.

She said, “I didn’t.”

“What?” Because what?

“I didn’t know it was the right thing to do.”

“But. You and Dad always….” I trailed off because I didn’t know how to finish. I always thought that what had existed between the two of them was sure and strong, even from the beginning. To find out there was doubt really threw me.

“I was young,” she said, smiling quietly. “So sure I knew more than mamia as to the ways of my heart. And I knew that I’d already given my heart away to your father. That was never in question. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I was his and he was mine.”

“But?”

She shrugged. “But you can never be sure, Sam. No matter how hard you wish something to be so, there’s always going to be risk involved. I knew that if I followed him, I would be cast out from the roma. I would have the man I loved. I would lose my family. Or, I could stay with the roma and never see Joshua again. The choice was easy for me. Even if I didn’t know it was the right one at the time.”

“Now?” I asked.

She looked down at her flowers, fingers grazing along the petals. “Now,” she said. “Now I know it was the right choice. Hindsight can be a wonderful gift, Sam. Or a terrible curse.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. “I just…. Mom. I don’t know what to do.”

She reached out and took my hand in hers. She said, “Sam, I—”

I never got to hear what she would have said then, because we were interrupted as Ryan pushed through the low-hanging trees and stumbled into the rear garden. He looked harried, eyes wide, hands shaking. He saw my mother and me and took a step backward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know anyone would be here. I’m sorry. I’ll just….” He turned, shoulders stiff, back toward the entrance.

“Ryan,” my mother said and he stopped. Took a great breath. And then another. And then another.

She asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, though it wasn’t believable at all.

“You’re not fine,” she said with a frown. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long few weeks.”

“I can imagine.”

“Why are you here?” I blurted out.

He tensed even further but didn’t turn around. “I needed a place to go,” he said. “To get away. Just for a little while.”

“And you came here,” I said. “Because my mother showed you this place.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “I hope it helps. Mom, I have to go.”

Now he turned. He said, “You don’t have to leave. You were here first. I can—”

“You need it more than I do,” I said. “It’s fine.”

“Sam,” my mother said. “Are you sure?”

I looked her in the eye and said, “Sometimes, you know what’s right, even when it hurts you the most. Just… keep him calm, okay? He doesn’t have… I don’t know. Sing him a song from mamia.”

She looked to her flowers and nodded.

I stood and went to pass Ryan. Of course, he reached out and grabbed my arm, fingers curling around my bicep. I didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at me. But he held on tight, his body a solid, warm line against mine.

He said, “You don’t have to go.”

“I think I do,” I said.

He said, “I don’t want you to go.”

I said, “And that’s why I have to.”

“Sam.”

“Stay here,” I told him. “Listen to my mother. She will keep you safe for now.”

I pulled away, and Ryan let me go.

I didn’t look back as I fled.

My lightning-struck heart thundered in my chest.

I never asked what they spoke about.

 

 

TWO DAYS later, my dad said, “I like getting drunk with you,” the noise of the tavern rolling all around us.

I grinned at him, knocking our beers together. “And I like getting drunk with you.” Though, I wasn’t anywhere near as drunk as he was. Apparently, the stout he’d been slamming back was pretty strong.

“I’m so glad we had you,” he said, his smile a little sloppy. “So glad you’re what came out of me and your mom.”

“Dad. Gross. What the hell.”

“Right, right. Sorry. You know I don’t drink very often.”

“You’re such a lightweight.”

He scowled at me. “I am not. I’m a big man. A huge man! That’s what your mother says.”

“Dad!”

He grimaced. “Sorry, sorry. It’s the beer.”

“Yeah, maybe no more beer for you.”

“You touch my beer, I’ll make sure Kevin is your new dad.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, spawn of my loins.”

I didn’t touch his beer.

“Now,” he said. “Man-to-man talk.”

I took a long drink because I needed it for whatever was going to come out of his mouth. “All right,” I said after I’d drained my mug and signaled for a refill. “Hit me.”

“You love Ryan.”

Wow. “You sure didn’t ease into that one.”

His nose wrinkled in disgust. “I mention Ryan and you talking about easing into things? Sam, there are some things a father should never know.”

“Oh my gods.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he said. “You know I don’t care who or what you ease into, as long as it’s consenting.”

“Oh my gods. What do you mean who or what?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t discriminate. You put it where you want. Ryan. A fairy. A tree.”

“Oh for the love of—”

“Sam!”

“What!”

“You love him.”

I sighed. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“And he loves you.”

“Maybe. Not enough, apparently.”

“Fuck him.”

“That was the whole idea and why did I just say that to you!”

“I know about sex, Sam,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Your mother and I—”

“If you love me, you will not finish that sentence.”

He closed his mouth.

“I love you too,” I said, patting his hand.

“I just don’t like it when you’re sad,” he said. “And you’ve been sad for a while now.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess. But isn’t that all part of growing up? Your first isn’t always going to be your last.”

“It was for me,” he said, “and I want it to be for you.”

That stung and made me feel warm all at the same time. I was so happy my parents found each other like they did. “It’s okay, Dad. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

He reached up and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me until our foreheads touched. “There’s someone out there for you,” he said. “Someone who will love your hair and your words and your eyes and the way you still scrunch up your nose when you’re thinking hard on something. He will love you for all of the things that you are and all of the things you aren’t. He’ll love you beyond all reason and will be convinced that you hung the sun and moon. He will see the stars and wish for only you. Someone will love every single part of who you are, and my gods, I can’t wait for the day to meet him to tell him thank you.”

“Yeah?” I asked hoarsely.

He squeezed my neck. “Yeah.”

And I believed him because he was my father and he would never lie to me about such things.

He pulled away, smiled at me. And then the smile slid away and his eyes narrowed. “You,” he snarled.

“Eep,” I said, sure my father had lost his mind.

But he wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was over my shoulder, and before I could turn around, he was reaching past me and grabbing hold of someone. I felt them collide with my back and I almost fell off my stool at the bar. Whoever my father had a hold of was dragged around me as my father stood.

It was Ryan.

Because of course it was.

“I am so not up for this right now,” I groaned. The barkeep looked like he was about to intervene, but I just waved him away. “It’s cool. Just my dad and my… Ryan.” Wait. “Not that he’s my Ryan or anything. He’s his own Ryan. Nobody else’s. Except for maybe the Prince. Yes. That is the Prince’s Ryan and my dad and everything is cool.”

Everything was not cool.

My dad was furious. (And drunk.)

Ryan looked resigned to whatever fate my father would bestow upon him.

I was sure this would end in bloodshed, one way or another.

So imagine my surprise when instead of kicking Ryan’s ass, my father pulled up another stool, sat Ryan down between us, and ordered him one of the regional beers on tap.

All in the space of about five seconds.

“I don’t even question things anymore,” I said.

“Good,” my dad said. “It’ll make things easier.” He turned his glare back at Ryan. “Now you will sit here. You will drink this beer. And you will be happy about it.”

Ryan drank his beer without question.

“Now,” my father said. “What are you doing here?”

“Besides following me,” I said.

“I’m not following you,” he said weakly.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not!”

“So you just happened to be in the same place that I am. Again.”

“Maybe you’re following me!”

“Yeah, because I have so many reasons to want to see your stupid face.”

“Oh please. You think my face is delicious.”

“Children!” Dad barked at both of us.

We were sufficiently cowed.

“Ryan, you will tell me why you’re here,” he said. “Sam, you will let him speak, and then, when he’s finished, you may resume your back and forth that is supposed to be snarky banter but is in actuality snarky foreplay.”

“Dad!”

“More stout please,” my father said to the barkeep. “I’m going to need it with these two idiots.”

“No more for him,” I said. “He’s cut off.”

“You’re cut off,” Dad said as the barkeep filled his mug.

“You guys are so related,” Ryan said.

“Shut up,” I said. “We are not.” Then, “Wait. Yes we are. But shut up.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked, sounding amused.

“No.” I was. “I’m not at all.” I was pleasantly buzzed. “Sober as a kitten.”

“Sometimes,” my dad said, “you don’t make sense when you speak, but that’s okay because I love you anyway.”

I said, “I make sense. And I love you too.”

“Regional beers are awesome beers,” he said, taking another drink. “Now. Ryan. Speak.”

“He’s not a dog,” I grumbled. “Mostly.”

“It’s my bachelor party,” Ryan said. “Next door at the hotel.”

“Ah,” Dad said. “And how is that working out for you?”

“Okay, I guess,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I had to get out of there for a bit.”

“Uh-huh.”

I was annoyed, and I couldn’t quite figure out why. “Why wasn’t I invited?” I said, sounding sufficiently outraged.

Ryan snapped his gaze up to mine. “Would you have even gone?”

“Well, no. But still. Semantics. And rude.”

“I wanted to invite you,” Ryan said. “But I chickened out. It’s mostly just knights. Some army buddies.”

“That’s….” I didn’t know what that was. So I decided on “Weird.”

“You make me weird,” he grumbled.

“Were there strippers?” Dad asked sympathetically. “Strippers also make things weird.”

“My dad is a lightweight,” I explained.

“This much is true,” Dad said.

“So,” Ryan said, “pretty much like you, then.” I thought I saw the hint of a smile.

I rolled my eyes at him. “No. I can handle my booze.”

“I’ve seen you handle your booze. That’s not handling.”

“No reminiscing,” I warned him. “That’ll just make me leave faster.”

That almost smile disappeared. He looked away again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

“Both of you shut up,” my dad said. “Because I’m about to lay some truth on you.”

“This is probably going to be awkward,” I told Ryan.

“I’m used to your family’s awkwardness,” he said and his knee touched mine briefly.

“So much foreplay,” my dad grumbled. “Okay. Truth time. You ready?”

“Bring it, Pops.”

“You,” Dad said, pointing at Ryan a little unsteadily, “are a fucking dick.”

“Whoa,” Ryan said.

“Dude,” I breathed. “That’s my dad.”

“And you,” Dad said, pointing at me, “are pretty damn awesome.”

“Ha!” I said.

“But you’re also a fucking dick.”

“Hey!”

“S’true,” Dad said. “And what do you get when you put two fucking dicks together?”

“I don’t know if I like where this is going,” I said.

“Absolutely nothing because you’re choosing to be fucking dicks instead of fucking each other’s dicks!”

“Dude,” I said. “What.”

“He is so your father,” Ryan said, sounding rather awed.

“Truth time, boys,” Dad said. “Life is all about chances. It’s all about these little moments that add up to greatness. And there are times when you have to grab greatness by the balls and say, ‘Hey! Greatness! I’ve got your nuts and you can’t do a single godsdamn thing about it!’”

“This is going in a direction I did not expect,” I said.

“I am mercurial,” Dad said.

“Oooh,” I said. “Word porn.”

“You’re being stupid,” Dad said to Ryan. “So fucking stupid. You have the chance. The little moments. The greatness. You just need to grab some balls and never let go.”

“I don’t know quite what you’re telling me to do,” Ryan admitted.

“I don’t think anyone does,” I said.

“You’ll figure it out,” Dad said. “Now. My son is going to take me home so my wife can yell at me for getting drunk and pretend to fight off my advances even though we both know that old-people sex is awesome sex.”

Gods. “So many lines have been crossed,” I groaned.

“Do you guys need help or….” Ryan looked unsure.

I shook my head. “Go back to your party. I’m sure they’re missing you.”

I didn’t look at him again before I grabbed my father and fled.

When we got to the street, I put my arm around my father’s waist and said, “That hangover you’re going to have tomorrow? Penance, my friend. Pure, magnificent penance. And I shall be there with bells on. Literal bells.”

My dad just laughed and laughed.

 

 

TWO DAYS before the wedding, I stood in the throne room, watching as the King regally posed next to a stained-glass window. I had the easel set up a few feet away from him as I studied him closely, wanting to make sure I got his likeness just right.

“Oops,” I said.

“Oops,” the King said. “What oops?”

“Okay, so, how would you feel if you looked like you had boobs?”

“Is that a hypothetical question?”

“Hypothetically… no. More like that’s what I painted somehow and will now be a part of the finished product because I don’t know how to fix it. Nor do I know if I want to.”

“Am I busty?”

“Very. You also have three of them.”

“Good. Proceed.”

“Excellent,” I said, putting more puce on the canvas, because if there was one thing the world needed more of, it was puce. “I am such a good painter.”

“Well,” the King said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“You should hire me to do all the royal paintings.”

“I could never ask of you such a thing. For all our sakes.”

“I should teach others how to paint.”

“The arts would weep at such a thought.”

“Oops,” I said.

“Oops?”

“So, hypothetically. Okay, that was a lie. It’s not hypothetical. I painted you to be as big as the Great White and you’re destroying Meridian City like a giant monster. My muse is obviously a surrealist and I must follow her into the artistic abyss.”

“Am I breathing fire?”

My eyes widened. “You could be. I have so much puce.”

“Make it so.”

He let me focus for a while, the sounds of the castle bright and loud around us. The throne room looked immaculate, banners hung and chandeliers polished. Many had thought the wedding would happen in the church, but apparently Ryan had refused, saying he didn’t follow any specific religion. I didn’t know what, if any, arguments had come from that, but it didn’t matter in the long run. One, I didn’t care (mostly). And two, the King had agreed to host the wedding in the throne room, followed by the biggest ball of the season. It would be a magical day for all those involved.

And unfortunately, I was a part of that magic.

I didn’t have to do much. My job was to stand up in front and look pretty next to Morgan and keep my mouth shut. The King would speak, and Randall would speak, and then the ceremony would happen and everyone would live happily ever after.

I might have put far more puce than was actually necessary.

The King must have seen my artistic outlet for what it was and asked, “Are you okay, Sam?”

“Of course,” I said.

“I’ve known you a long time.”

“You have,” I agreed.

“I know you very well. Better than most.”

“You do.”

“I’m glad you agree. So then maybe you can also agree that I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Drama king,” I muttered.

He turned to look at me.

“Stop moving!” I snapped at him. “You’ll ruin the painting and no one will forgive you because this is a masterpiece that will be treasured for generations.”

“Normally, I would only feel the need to encourage any pursuit you feel is necessary,” he said. “I don’t know that art is one of them.”

“You say that only because you haven’t seen this yet.”

“How many breasts do I have in your painting?”

“Three.”

“And how many do I have in real life?”

“What? You don’t have any—oh, I see what you did there. It’s called artistic license.”

“Sam.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. And it’s okay not to be.”

“Thanks. I wouldn’t have known that otherwise.” I winced. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

His lips twitched. “You could be pooping in buckets for taking that tone with me.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the mighty King and all that.”

“I could even have your head.”

“Sure. Because that’s a thing you do.”

“Could see a return of it. A good old-fashioned beheading in the courtyard.”

“My blood would cause a revolution.”

He smiled, looking far less regal and all the more awesome. “Of that I have no doubt.”

He watched me and waited. He knew me very well.

I sighed. “I’m fine. Or, I will be.”

“Will you?”

I put down the paintbrush. “I will. Because there’s no other alternative.”

“There is,” he said. “You can be not fine. That is something you’re allowed to do.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

I took a step around the easel so he wouldn’t come toward me and be able to see the work in progress that would be hailed for centuries as a modern marvel. He watched me approach with curious eyes. He was smart, my King. “I have to be.”

“Why?”

“Because if I’m not, I’m of no use to anyone. And if I’m of no use to anyone, then I might as well be back in the slums.”

He shook his head. “Sam, how can you possibly think it’s not okay for you to not be okay?”

“Because I’m Sam of Wilds,” I said, though it was beginning to sound like an excuse. “I’m always okay.”

He stepped down from the platform where he’d been posing for me. His hands came down onto my shoulders and gripped me tight. He said, “You’re Sam of Wilds. But you’re also human.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to have the answers to everything.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I worry about you, sometimes,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve built up this shell around yourself. This exterior made up of sass and wordplay. You wear your heart on your sleeve, but you’ve disguised it so that only those that are close to you can ever hope of seeing it. You show so much without actually showing anything at all.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “That your expert opinion, doctor?” I asked, cringing as soon as the words left my lips.

“Sam,” he admonished lightly.

“Sorry,” I muttered, looking away.

“I would fix this for you if I could.”

“Would you? Because that would be at the expense of your son.”

He looked troubled at this. He appeared to choose his next words carefully. “I don’t know that Justin is in this for the same reason you are.”

“I’m not in anything. That much has been made clear.” I almost told him about what Justin had said at the dragon’s keep, about feeling he was trapped in the shadow of his father and myself, that he’d felt forced to make a decision. But it wasn’t my place. I could not speak for the Prince. Whatever issues there were between them were just that: between them. Not me. The King had already told me he could do nothing to break the oath Ryan had sworn to Justin, much like no one else could break the oath that Ryan had to the King.

I really fucking hated oaths.

The King said, “I don’t—”

“Did you paint this?” an incredulous voice asked from behind us.

I turned and looked over my shoulder.

Ryan stood in front of the easel, looking horrifyingly amused as he studied my painting. I hadn’t seen him since the night of his bachelor party a few days before. His hair had been cut in advance of the wedding, looking more regal and coifed versus his usual floppy mane. He still appeared exhausted, but he was biting his bottom lip and I realized he was trying not to laugh.

I narrowed my eyes at him because the last time I checked, he was not an art critic.

“Yes,” I said. “It is a work in progress. You can’t judge it until it’s completed.”

“Oh,” he said. “I’m not judging.”

“Uh. Hello. I have eyes and I can see your face. You are so judging.”

“No, no,” he said innocently, eyes wide. “I would never think to judge something of this… caliber. There’s a lot of… red.”

“It’s called puce,” I said.

“Ah. Because that makes it better.”

“Don’t be jealous of my talent. It’s unbecoming of you.”

He looked up at me, unable to hold back the smile any longer. “I don’t know that jealous is the right word. Horrified, maybe.”

“Horrified?” I said with a scowl. “There’s nothing horrifying about it!”

“You gave the King breasts,” he said. “Three of them.”

“Yes, well. It’s commentary on the state of postmodern feminism.”

“Uh-huh. And the chest hair he still seems to have?”

“He’s very manly.” I looked back at the King who was gazing back and forth between Ryan and me with a thoughtful look on his face. “You’re very manly,” I told him.

“Thank you,” the King said. “I don’t know if I want to see the painting.”

“Traitorous lies,” I said.

“So he’s a manly feminist?” Ryan asked.

“That’s a thing,” I insisted. “Everyone knows that’s a thing.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” the King said.

“You don’t get to have an opinion,” I told him. “You’re just a king of an entire country who has an infinite amount of responsibility and a wealth of knowledge far beyond my own and are pretty awesome. You wouldn’t know anything about it.”

“How I treasure you,” the King said, smiling quietly at me.

“The feeling is mostly mutual,” I said. “Art appreciation notwithstanding.”

“Is he toppling Meridian City?” Ryan asked, still studying the painting. “While shooting fire from his mouth?”

“It’s me taking a strong standpoint against consumerism,” I said.

“You’re profeminist and antiestablishment.”

“Exactly.”

“By having the King being a three-breasted monster shooting fire.”

“See, when you say it like that, it makes me start to regret my life choices.”

He didn’t stop the laughter that time, the smile now as wide as I’d ever seen it. “That’s the thing that causes you to regret your life choices. Nothing else. That.”

And it hit me then. How close this was to being like things once were. When I could harbor my secret love in my secret heart and banter back and forth for hours on end. My magic was an underlying current that was saying yesyesyesyes and moremoremoremore. It felt good. It felt right. I felt whole.

And I couldn’t have it.

It’s why the avoidance had been key. But somehow, Ryan had wormed his way back in.

And gods, how I loved him for it.

How I hated him for it.

I said, “Opinions aside, you’ve encroached upon a private discussion. Perhaps you should find someone else to bide your time with until your nuptials instead of wasting mine.”

It was as if I’d slapped him. There was shock on his face. Then pain. Then anger, whether at me or himself or the situation, I didn’t know. I told myself it didn’t matter. I had to do what I had to do to protect my head and heart, and if it meant being crueler than I ever thought I could be to Ryan Foxheart, then so be it.

He took a step back.

I turned away from him in what was obviously a dismissal.

He said, “Sam.”

I said nothing.

I heard his footsteps echo in the throne room as he fled.

The King watched me for a moment. Then, “I told you something once. On the night of his promotion ceremony.”

“You told me many things,” I muttered, ashamed of the way I’d just acted. Ryan deserved it. Maybe. But that didn’t mean I needed to act like he did.

“I told you he doesn’t smile. Not a real one, anyway. Not one that’s not forced or for show.”

I remembered that. I remembered because I’d thought how odd that was as I’d seen him smiling several times that day alone.

“Until you,” the King said, sounding as sad as I’d ever heard him. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Especially since it was right in front of me. But anytime he smiles, anytime it’s real, it’s because of you. He lights up brighter than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of my words.

“No,” he said. “I don’t suppose it is.”

“Fix this.”

He looked stricken. “I can’t. He made the oath of his own volition. He’s a knight. It’s what’s expected of him.”

I nodded once and turned to walk away.

Before I got two steps, he said, “I tried.”

I stopped but didn’t turn around.

“I tried, Sam.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I asked Justin to release Ryan from his oath.”

“Why?” I managed to choke out.

“Because I wasn’t lying the day I told you that I thought of you as a son. And my heart breaks for you. Your pain will always be my pain, and it is sharp within me. I wanted something better for you, but I’ve failed. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

I spun back around and threw myself at him. His arms came up and he held me close.

I couldn’t find the words to say how I didn’t blame him. I couldn’t find the words to say how much I loved him. I couldn’t really find any words at all, so I just held him for a very long time and hoped he understood all the things that were not said.