He blinked faster. “That’s what happened to my father, isn’t it? He made my mother see the king as long as he could, until she saw underneath the power and good looks and saw what was really inside of him . . . Arthur . . . just Arthur, who wasn’t even worth a goodbye to her. What if I’m the same as my father, Agatha? What if you see what I am when you take away the prince and it isn’t good enough? Maybe that’s why you’ve been fighting with me so much the closer we get to Camelot. Because underneath the prince, you see I’m . . . I’m . . . nothing.” He smeared at his eyes. “I’ve always been the Prince. Without that Prince, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to get Sophie alone. I don’t know what to say to her, I don’t know how to convince her to trust me, I don’t know how to get her out of this castle without the School Master killing all of us.”

Agatha looked into his tear-streaked face. “And I don’t know how to get your sword,” she said.

Tedros couldn’t help but laugh through his sniffles.

Agatha cozied her head under his soft arm, her big, boyish palm wrapping his delicate hand.

“When I look at you, I don’t see a prince,” Agatha breathed. “Even when you’re at your most handsome and macho and charming, I can’t see a prince. Because if I see a prince, then I’ll have to see the king, and if I see the king, then I’ll have to see myself as a queen . . . a queen of the most famous kingdom ever known . . .” She could feel the panic rising and held it down. “That’s why I struggle so much. That’s why I said what I did to Princess Uma. Because to be with you, I have to pretend you’re not a prince. I have to pretend it’ll always be you and me like we were those first few days in Gavaldon, an ordinary girl with an ordinary boy, and no kingdom waiting for you. And I can only do that by looking closer, beyond what’s in front of me, to the heart and soul that made me fall in love with you. A soul that’s sensitive, honest, and deep feeling. A heart whose love is like a big golden sun that makes you feel so warm when you have it and so cold when it’s gone and all anyone wants to do is find their way back to it.” A tear slipped down Agatha’s cheek. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl. It doesn’t matter who your father is or where you come from or what you look like. Here you are worried that I’ll leave when I see your real self . . . when that’s the part of you that lets me stay.”

Tedros propped up on his elbows and gazed at Agatha, his blue eyes wide and wet. Even though their bodies hadn’t changed, Agatha didn’t feel like a boy anymore and Tedros no longer felt like a girl. As he slowly leaned towards her, she smelled his minty breath and closed her eyes . . .