The Hero’s Guide to Storming the Castle. Christopher Healy

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      “You know, they have servants to do that,” Liam said when he saw her scraping bird droppings off the railing.

      “Sorry, old habits die hard,” she said. She turned to look him in the eye. “Just stay here.”

      “Things have gotten a little awkward, don’t you think?” he asked sheepishly.

      “What do you mean?” Ella asked in return, though she knew all too well what he was referring to.

      Liam sighed. “What’s the situation here? I assume you and Frederic are still getting married.”

      Ella glanced down at the servants locking up the palace gates three stories below. “To be honest, he and I haven’t talked about it in ages. It’s kind of an odd question to casually toss at somebody over lunch: Hey, remember that time you proposed to me and I said yes? Are we still sticking to that? I don’t know—maybe I haven’t asked because I’m not sure what I want his answer to be.”

      “I understand,” Liam said. “You two are still engaged. Just like me and Briar.”

      “Oh, come now,” Ella said, narrowing her eyes at him. “It’s nothing like you and Briar. I love Frederic. He’s a dear friend and a wonderful human being.”

      “I know that,” Liam said quickly. “I love the guy, too. Which is why hurting him is the last thing I want to do.” Liam turned away from her and stared off at the stars that were beginning to dot the indigo sky. “My mind’s made up. I’m leaving in the morning.”

      “But . . . ,” Ella started. There was so much she wanted to say to Liam—and so much she felt she couldn’t say. “But we had so many plans. We were going to drive the rat-owls out of West Thithelsford; we were going to track down the Gray Phantom in Flargstagg; we were going to break up the hobgoblin gangs in East Thithelsford. . . .”

      “Yes, you and I were,” Liam said. “Do you really think Frederic will ever be ready for dangerous work like that?”

      “But—”

      “Don’t worry. I’ll come back for the wedding.”

      Ella stepped back inside. She couldn’t let Liam walk away like this, but she knew he was too noble to put himself in the way of Frederic’s relationship with his father—or Frederic’s relationship with her. I’ll never convince him to stay on my own, she thought. He needs to hear it from Frederic.

      In his very grand bedroom, Frederic sat in a cushy chair by his vanity table, his head tilted back as Reginald, his lifelong personal valet, dabbed at the cut on his cheek with a gooey substance he referred to as tincture of thistle-thyme.

      “Do you really need to use that stuff?” Frederic asked. “It’s sticky. I’ve never handled stickiness well. I’m sure you remember the infamous cotton candy incident.”

      “The ointment will aid in the healing of your wound, milord,” the tall, thin servant said. “But I suspect this little scratch is not the greatest of your concerns right now.”

      Frederic looked his old friend in the eye. “Why is my father so cruel?” he asked. “I thought I’d proven myself to him. But he still treats me like a child. He still wants me penned in, to keep me afraid.”

      Reginald sat down on the edge of Frederic’s elaborate four-poster bed. “Why does that matter? You know what you’re capable of now. So do your friends. And Lady Ella.”

      Frederic shook his head. “I’m not so sure about Ella. I still don’t think she’s very impressed by me. How can she be when Liam . . .”

      “When Liam what?” Reginald asked.

      “Nothing,” Frederic said. He absentmindedly began fiddling with a cologne spritzer. “It’s just that Liam is trying to turn me into a true hero, so naturally my father can’t stand him. It’s only a matter of time until Liam gets banished. Father will stoop to anything to make sure I don’t mar his perfect royal image.”

      “The king is not all that bad,” Reginald said with sympathy in his voice.

      “You’re talking about the man who kept me in check as a child by hiring a circus tiger to terrify me.”

      “Point taken,” Reginald said. “But what I’m trying to say is that the king’s motives may not be as cruel hearted as you think. It’s about time you learned the truth about what happened to your mother.”

      “I already know. She died when I was an infant,” Frederic said. “A fatal dust allergy. It might be hereditary, which is why I wash my hands fifteen times a day.”

      “No, Frederic. That’s just the story your father gave the public,” Reginald said. “Adventure may not be welcome in these palace halls today, but that wasn’t always the case. Queen Anabeth regularly strapped a sword to her back and went running off in search of one lost treasure or another.”

      “You can’t be serious,” Frederic said, turning the idea over in his head. “My parents? Adventurers? At least that would explain how Father got all those medals.”

      “Ha!” Reginald couldn’t help but laugh. “Your father awarded all those medals to himself. They’re meaningless. Have you ever read what’s engraved on them? One is for hopscotch.

      “No, your mother was the only thrill seeker in the family. The king hated it. But even his objections couldn’t keep Queen Anabeth reined in. Shortly after you were born, she heard a legend about a solid gold duckling that was supposedly hidden away in an ancient ruined temple on the wastes of Dar. She wanted that priceless idol for you.”

      “I do like ducklings,” Frederic said in a bittersweet tone.

      “She took a small team of soldiers with her, trekked off to Dar, and never came back.”

      “Never came back? Does that mean it’s possible she’s still alive?” Frederic asked hopefully.

      “Sadly, no. One of her men limped back here weeks later, the only survivor. He explained how they’d accidentally set off a trap and the temple collapsed on top of the whole party. He only escaped because he was carrying your mother’s bags and lagging far behind. Your mother never packed light.”

      “I can’t believe this,” Frederic said. “It’s like something out of a Sir Bertram the Dainty story.”

      “It is nothing like a Sir Bertram story,” Reginald said. “Sir Bertram’s ‘adventures’ revolve around things like sorting socks and adding the proper amount of pepper to a casserole. Your mother lost her life! While treasure hunting. In booby-trapped ancient ruins. And I’m positive that her death has a lot to do with why your father is so overprotective. He doesn’t want to lose you the same way.”

      “Wow,” Frederic said. “Now I feel kind of guilty.”

      “Don’t,” Reginald added quickly. “You need to live your own life and do things your way. After all, you’ve got your mother’s blood in you. You need to know that. And it was time for you to finally hear the whole story.”

      A knock at the door interrupted them. “Frederic?” It was Ella.

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