“Did you enjoy the festivities last night?” Albin asked, flipping idly through the pages of an oversized tome.

Crow had changed into new clothes quickly in his room and arrived at his father’s private chambers to find that the table was covered once again with foreign literature. The time was drawing near for his “departure” to the kingdom of Gorm, so the king had chosen today to test how far his ambassador had progressed. Currently, he was poring over a number of books in search of texts that he deemed challenging enough to tell if the former thief was ready to handle a real negotiation in a second language. He’d stacked the acceptable ones in a pile that was creeping high enough to make his apprentice squirm under the mounting pressure.

Tearing his gaze away from the small mountain of tomes, Crow pondered Albin’s question. He had enjoyed some parts of the party, particularly the flavorful food and Penelope’s speech, but the discomfort of spending time with noblewomen who had been trying to flirt with him and then seeing Cedric kiss the one woman he wanted all to himself had casted a shadow over the memory. “Sometimes I forget that there’s more to nobility than routine and responsibilities. Last night was a nice break from studying,” he said, smoothly dodging the question with the vague reply.

Since the viceroy had come far in his lessons, the two conversed casually in Gorman, giving Crow the chance to brush up on his ability to talk without pausing to translate the words in his head first. He felt like he had been doing well so far. He still faltered sometimes and was aware that he had a thicker Brerratic accent than his father did, but for the most part, he could speak the language almost as fluently as his native tongue.

“Were you hungover when you woke up this morning?” a smirk crossed Albin’s lip, his gaze lifting from the open book to his estranged son’s face.

“No,” Crow shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not fond of drinking to excess.”

“Is that so?” the king mused and then chuckled. “I wonder if you’re really my son. When I was your age, I spent more time than I care to admit drinking in taverns with my friends.”

“If I’m not your son, my mother had a very specific type,” Crow smiled amusedly, meeting Albin’s identical green eyes. Although their lesson today was pointless—assuming the king would listen to Penelope’s petition and send him to Younis instead of Gorm—he liked talking with his father in the foreign tongue. It was the only time they were able to broach the subject of their shared blood, since the servants in the room and the queen couldn’t understand what they were saying.

Despite the warnings from his mother and John, he was steadily warming up to the king. Albin had a way about him that made it easy to relax. He was friendly and relatable, not at all the vision of evil that he’d braced himself to expect. Perhaps his father had been a horrible man at one point in time, but as far as Crow could tell, it seemed like he’d changed for the better.

Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door, and Albin called out in Brerratic: “Come in.”

Craning his neck, Crow watched as Hunter stepped into the room. The servant closed the door behind him and bowed deeply to his master. “Your Highness,” he greeted, straightening his posture again. “One of your lieutenants has requested an audience.”

“Which lieutenant?” Albin queried, nonchalantly thumbing through another tome.

“Penelope Vermillion.”

“I see,” the king frowned. He tapped his finger twice on the table, thinking for a moment before he spoke again. “Tell her that I’m busy, but I’ll make time for her sometime next week if I have an opening in my schedule.”

Crow casted his father a sideways glance. Albin probably knew what the knight wanted to discuss, since she had already brought up the subject of seeking a peaceful end to the war once before. The king was going to put off their next meeting until after he was sent on his way to Gorm.

“I think you should meet with her sooner,” he suggested before Hunter could leave. “She’s part of the group that wants the war to end, right? Maybe they’ll stop pestering you if you reason with her rather than go through with your plan without talking to anyone who opposes it first.” He bit his lip, hoping his father would take the bait.

Albin was quiet for another moment. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll meet with her this evening. Hopefully this will put an end to those ridiculous do-gooders.”

“Very well, My Lord,” Hunter bowed again and turned to leave the room.

Crow watched him go with a thinly veiled smile. He’d done as much as he could to help. Now, he just hoped his father would be receptive to the reasoning Penelope could come up with to convince him to negotiate with Younis.