Crow followed Preston through the long corridors and down the stairs that led to his father’s council chambers. By now, he had memorized the route to get there and could have found it on his own, but the boy seemed to take his role as his guide quite seriously, so the thief let him lead the way. As they walked, he noticed that the guards’ scathing looks seemed to have been replaced with ones of confusion when they saw him being attended by a servant wearing the royal colors of Brerra. He wasn’t surprised. If their positions had been reversed, he probably would have been just as baffled by the sight of a criminal receiving a first-class escort through the palace.
However, the knights weren’t the only ones casting him strange looks. Crow noticed that Preston would also eye him from time to time, as if furtively studying something he wasn’t supposed to be looking at. At first, his glances didn’t bother the thief, but after a while, they began to grate on his already frayed nerves. So, the next time he caught the boy staring, he turned on him with an irritable frown. “What?” he asked defensively. “Am I doing something that amuses you?”
“No,” Preston blinked, looking up to meet his gaze.
“Then why do you keep staring at me like that?” Crow pressed.
“Well,” the servant mused. “I was just thinking that you look more like a peasant than a noble.”
Crow found himself gawking slightly at that. This boy was quite brazen to say something that would have—if he had said it to anyone else—probably gotten him whipped. He laughed. “That’s because I am a peasant,” he said with a smirk. “Did you not know that already?”
“No,” Preston answered with slightly raised brows. “All I knew was that I was assigned to be the next viceroy’s personal attendant, and that the next viceroy’s name would be Crow Lockton.”
“Is that so?” Crow eyed him with new interest. The boy was especially bold to have made the comment that he did if he hadn’t known who he was speaking to. He was also a bit surprised to learn that the servant hadn’t heard of him. “My name doesn’t ring any bells to you?”
“It does,” Preston tilted his head, taking on a contemplative look. “But I don’t remember where I might have heard it.”
Crow laughed again. He’d thought his reputation had spread throughout the whole kingdom, but apparently, he’d been wrong. “Maybe I can help with that,” he grinned. “I’m better known in the inner kingdom as ‘that damn thief.’”
That seemed to have connected in the servant’s head. His eyes widened, “I remember now. You’re the thief who got arrested two years ago.”
Crow grimaced. Of course the palace servant would only know him for his mistake. “I prefer to be thought of as the thief who’s avoided capture for nearly two decades aside from one menial blunder,” he grumbled.
If Preston noticed his change in attitude, he didn’t care. “Why are you going to be the next viceroy if you’re a criminal?” he asked, clearly unafraid to test the waters. “Why didn’t the king hire another nobleman?”
“Who knows?” Crow shrugged, averting his gaze as they approached the doors to the council chamber. He was glad that they had arrived, since he didn’t want the nosy boy learning anything more about his relation to the king.
Fortunately, Preston was willing to change the subject. “His Highness should already be inside,” he said, standing back to lean against the wall across from the door. “He had another meeting with someone else earlier, so he said he would just wait for you here.”
Crow nodded and turned to the door, wavering for a moment before he opened it and stepped inside. In the room, he saw that his father was seated at the far end of the long table, poring over some papers that he couldn’t read.
The king looked up at the sound of someone entering the room and then smiled as he recognized his son. “Good. You’re finally back,” he said, rising from his seat to meet the thief halfway in a fatherly embrace. “How was your trip to the outer villages?”
“Exhausting,” Crow shrugged, unable to stifle another yawn as he stepped back from Albin’s arms.
“I see,” his father chuckled. “Well then, I’ll try to be brief, so you can rest.” He gestured to the closest chair for the thief to sit.
“I’d appreciate that,” Crow nodded, sitting down rather heavily in the seat and leaning forward to rest on his forearms.
The king stepped around to the other side of the stone table to sit across from him. “I just have a few matters I wish to discuss before your titling ceremony tomorrow,” he explained, lacing his fingers together as he reclined in his seat.
“Tomorrow?” Crow echoed in surprise. He had expected it to be soon, but he hadn’t realized it would be happening the very next day.
“Of course,” Albin smiled at him amusedly. “You need to begin your training as soon as possible, and that can’t happen until you formally accept the position. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
“No,” Crow shook his head, forcing himself to keep a neutral expression despite the flutter of nervousness in his stomach.
“Good,” the king smiled warmly. “Now then, I only have a few things to go over with you before I let you retire for the night, the first being what you should expect on the day of the ceremony.”
As his father went on to describe the preparations and rituals he would have to go through, Crow tried his best to pay attention, but found it to be rather difficult as his attention wandered to other things. Ceremonies were dull, and he could see the knights in the courtyard doing their training exercises through a window behind the king’s chair. By the end of the speech, he found himself tempted to nod off, but Albin drew his focus again with a question:
“So, do you think you understand?”
The thief blinked, hesitated for a moment, and then nodded impulsively.
“Good,” the king said again. “That just leaves me with one more matter of concern.”
“Which is?” Crow prompted, hoping to end the meeting quickly so he could go to bed.
Albin studied him for a moment before leaning forward in his seat. “Your name,” he said in a more serious tone.
Crow stiffened slightly, unsure where his father was going with his remark, but certain he didn’t like it. “What about my name?” he asked warily.
“Come now, son,” his father waved a hand. “I know that no mother in her right mind would name her child after a bird.” He held the thief’s gaze as he went on, “I certainly can’t allow my viceroy to be addressed by such an informal title either. Now that you’re going to be my representative, you’re going to have to don a more respectable name. So,” his lip quirked upward in a smile. “Tell me, Crow. What is the name that Madeleine gave you?”
Crow felt the color drain from his face, and he sank into his chair uncomfortably. He hadn’t been expecting his father to ask him such a personal question, and he really didn’t want to give him an answer. If he told the king his real name, he knew that it would no longer be a private part of himself. Everyone would learn it. He would no longer be Crow; he would be Collin. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to give that piece of himself away.
“That was the name she gave me,” he finally bluffed, holding the king’s gaze evenly as he spoke.
Unfortunately, his father saw right through him. “Don’t lie to me,” he sighed, as if disappointed. “I know that isn’t your birth name. Why won’t you just tell me what it is?”
Crow shuffled his feet beneath the table, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. “Why should I tell you?” he suddenly asked with a defensive edge to his voice. “The name I go by now is perfectly fine. I don’t see any reason why I should change it.”
Albin frowned, seeming to grow impatient. “If it was any small matter, I swear to you that I would let you keep your name,” he said slowly. “However, I cannot have an ambassador that is named after a bird. It does not reflect well on myself or on this kingdom. If you’re going to take this position, you must go by a respectable name.” He tapped his index finger on the table. “Now then, I’ll ask once more: What is your name, son?”
Crow fidgeted with the hem of his tunic and averted his gaze to look out the widow again. He hated the thought of giving up one of his most deeply kept secrets, but it seemed his father wasn’t going to give him a choice. Besides, he thought suddenly. It’s not really as secret as it used to be anyway. Thinking back on it, there were a few people who knew his real name now. He’d told Penelope; Gavin and Olivia had found out while he’d been drugged by Hazel’s medicine; and John had figured it out when he’d written it on paper. He let out his breath in a relenting sigh. Perhaps it was time to let go after all.
Returning his gaze to his father’s face, Crow took a steeling breath and answered in a low voice: “My name is Collin.”
“Collin,” Albin repeated slowly, seeming to taste the word on his tongue. His warm smile returned, “A handsome name. I expected nothing less from your mother.” He rose from the table and stepped over to the door, waiting for the thief to join him. “From today on, you, Collin, will be my ward,” he announced, resting one hand firmly on his son’s shoulder. “I’ll be sure to make the guards aware that they are to treat you with the same respect that they show any of my other children.”
Crow nodded wordlessly, still feeling a bit dazed after giving up one of his most personal secrets.
“Go ahead and get some supper,” Albin went on, opening the door for him. “The kitchen servants should still be serving food in the great hall. I will see you tomorrow afternoon in the throne room for your titling ceremony.”
Crow nodded again and stepped out of the room, where he was joined by Preston as he made his way absently to the great hall for supper.