King Mattias maintained a stoic expression. He leaned back in his throne and the deep scrutiny faded. “I meet with my council in three days. I’d like you to attend. You are not a voting member, but your perspective is one I’m curious to hear.”

Although Bastiaan had hoped for this response, he still registered disbelief at receiving it. His spirit lifted and a burden melted from his shoulders. He’d done the right thing with King Vämbat. Bastiaan would prove his worth. He would show this young king the lengths he would go to for the people of Fairhoven and all of Winterune.

Behind King Mattias the queen summoned a militair and whispered in his ear. A moment later, that militair strode to where Runt stood against the wall and said something to the boy. Runt shook his head and pointed to Bastiaan. The militair put a hand on his sword hilt and spoke again. Runt edged away with another shake of his head.

Bastiaan was so distracted by this exchange he almost missed King Mattias’s dismissal. “You may take your leave.”

He bowed. “Majesteit.” Then he hurried toward the militair who gripped Runt’s forearm. Another person took Bastiaan’s place before the king, bringing a petition or request.

Bastiaan reached Runt and the militair at the same time as the queen. “May I be of assistance?”

Runt stopped struggling. “He’s trying to take me away, Bastiaan!”

Queen Anouk laid a hand on the militair’s shoulder. The moment he realized the hand belonged to his queen, the militair released Runt.

“I requested a private word with the boy,” she said in a voice as soft as lamb fleece. She made eye contact with Runt—as though they were equals. He lifted his chin in defiance. She smiled. “It was a request, young sir. You may refuse.”

Runt was not yet mollified. “As I told your oaf of a militair, I must ask my master’s permission first.”

Queen Anouk lifted her fair gaze to Bastiaan. “One cannot purchase such depth of loyalty. You must be a noble master.”

“That he is,” Runt answered before Bastiaan could unearth a response.

“He and I are equals,” Bastiaan said. “We have an equally noble queen, Runt. Your decision is your own.”

Runt sighed and turned to her. “What do ya want?”

She took him aside and they conversed in private for several minutes. Bastiaan didn’t bother trying to eavesdrop. Runt would relay the entire conversation upon their departure.

A militair interrupted to deliver a folded note to the queen. She concluded her discussion with Runt and thanked him, but while Runt made his way back to Bastiaan, Queen Anouk opened her letter. Her eyes skimmed the page faster and faster and she paled, then hurried from the throne room.

She seemed to hold as many mysteries as Bastiaan did.