Now the boy would be a king.

A husband.

And someday a father.

Tedros made a silent prayer: that he would do Good as all three, just like the man who made him. A man who he loved and missed every single day of his life. A man he’d give anything to touch one last time.

The chaplain placed the crown upon Tedros’ head and tears streamed down the young king’s cheeks while the crowd roared a passionate ovation that lasted long after he’d managed to get his emotions under control.

The chaplain patted his shoulder. “And now to seal the coronation and officially make you king, you must complete the ceremonial tes—”

“Do you mind if I say a few words first?” he asked the chaplain. “To my people, I mean.”

The chaplain furrowed. “It is a bit unusual to speak before the proceedings are complete, especially since no one will hear you.”

Something fell from above, right into the folds of Tedros’ oversized robe: a small five-pointed white star, like the ones Merlin used to lay in tribute at his father’s tomb in Avalon.

“Strange,” Tedros said, studying it closely. “Why would one of these be . . .”

His voice instantly amplified for miles.

The crowd gaped in astonishment, as did the chaplain, but Tedros knew full well where such sorcery had come from.

He looked up into the big blue sky and smiled. “Thanks, M,” he whispered.

Then he put the magic star on his shoulder so it would broadcast him far and wide.

“Felt funny looking down at all of you without saying hello,” he spoke, his voice resounding over the cliffs. “So, um, hello! I’m Tedros. And welcome to the . . . show.”

Crickets.

“Right. You know who I am. Same boy who used to stand here and fidget when my father gave speeches. Just older now. And hopefully a bit better looking.”

A ripple of laughter.

Tedros smiled, feeling the warmth of the crowd. They wanted to hear from him. They wanted him to do well.

He searched for Agatha below, but the sun washed out the faces. He was so used to having his princess by his side when it mattered. But after all they’d been through, he could feel her inside him even when they were apart. What would she tell him to say?

The same thing she always told him to say: the truth about what he was feeling.

Only he was never very good at that.

Tedros took a deep breath.

“When I was a boy standing up here with my dad, Good and Evil seemed so black and white,” he said, his voice steadying. “But of all the things I learned at school, one lesson proved the most important: no one knows what is good or bad until after the story is written. No one knows if a happy ending will last or if a happy ending is happy at all. The only thing we have is the moment we are in and what we choose to do with it.