Sophie raised her brows. “You’re supposed to execute your own mother and it’s not something you think about?”

“Look, my mother’s a cold, selfish deserter, but she’s not vicious,” said Tedros, puffing on his thick blond bangs. “Last place she’d come back to is Camelot, knowing her son would have to kill her.” His face clouded over. “Doesn’t stop her from invading my dreams though.”

Sophie knew what it was like to be haunted by a mother that was gone forever. “What was she like? Beautiful, I imagine.”

“Not at all. That’s the odd part. Dad was so much more handsome, dynamic, and fun. Mother was gangly, anxious, and mousy. Only came alive when she was talking about books or tending animals. Zero clue why Father or any other man fawned over her,” said Tedros, grimacing. “But it serves Dad right for picking a girl who wasn’t good enough. Lancelot was more on my mother’s level. Had a horrible face, poor chap, but simpleminded and a sturdy knight. Mediocrity needs mediocrity, I suppose.”

“I can’t sympathize,” Sophie sighed. “Could you ever imagine leaving someone charismatic and beautiful for someone perfectly average?”

She saw Tedros stiffen and glance away, as if shutting down this conversation.

Suddenly Sophie understood.

Tedros didn’t need to imagine leaving someone beautiful and charismatic for someone average. He already had when he left her for Agatha their first year.

Sophie thought of the way he’d flinched when she mentioned her friend’s name back in Gillikin—just like he was now, his cheeks blotched red.

“We’ll” didn’t mean him and Sophie.

“We’ll” meant him and Agatha.

It didn’t matter if he’d promised to give her a chance.

Words couldn’t change a prince’s heart.

A heart still in love with his old princess.

“I’m trying to imagine you as a queen,” Tedros mused, as if he’d suddenly remembered she was there. “You’d probably have your own wing with twenty servants drawing you hot baths of goat’s milk, massaging your feet every hour with fish eggs and pumpkin puree, and picking every last cucumber in the kingdom.”

Sophie stared at him, aghast.

“Made Agatha tell me about your beauty routines,” he quipped. “Helped us laugh after fights.”

“Glad to see I’m the court jester!” Sophie lashed, tears rising. “Is that what you think of me? A slave to beauty, an empty ball gown, a bubbleheaded sidekick who isn’t worth a second thought?”

“Sophie, you’re wearing a short skirt on a winter hike!”

“Because you haven’t seen me as a girl in a very long time and I want you to remember you loved that girl once!”

It came out before Sophie could stop it and she saw Tedros freeze on the path.

“You promised to give me a chance,” Sophie breathed, dabbing eyes with her bearskin coat. “Even if you still love Agatha. You promised you’d give me a chance.”

Tedros lifted Sophie’s chin, his blue gaze honest and unblinking.

“I am giving you a chance, Sophie. I’m here with you, aren’t I? I haven’t mentioned Agatha once on our entire trip. You’re the one who keeps bringing her up. But instead of worrying about her or worrying about what I see on your outside, maybe you should be trying to show me your inside.” His tone was serious and mature. “So tell me, Sophie of Woods Beyond. What would you do for my kingdom as queen?”