Harry looked at Rispah in horror. There were favors, and then there were favors.
“I can’t.”
The Queen of the Lower Alleys scoffed. “I have never heard those words come out of your mouth before, Harry, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear them just now.”
“But I’m really not good at this sort of thing,” Harry said, voice rising with anxiety. “I’ll completely mess it up.”
“Nonsense. I believe you will do a splendid job. And it’s only for a day, I promise, and not that hard. Why, you spend entire days working on a single potion! I have difficulty believing that that kind of focus and dedication can’t be easily directed somewhere else.”
Harry glowered. “I have been working with Potions since I was a toddler. I have never done a single thing like this in my life.”
“Then it will be good for you to try something new.” Rispah was unphased.
“Not this.”
Rispah sighed. Her bottom lip slipped subtly downwards, and affected the tiniest of trembles. Her eyes, rounded already by the dark liner, widened further and glistened slightly after several unblinking moments.
"You will not guilt trip me into this."
"Harry, I truly wouldn't ask unless I had a good reason," Rispah pleaded semi-honestly. "The Court needs someone tomorrow."
"I understand that, but why me?" Harry failed to see the logic.
"Please. Trust me. You're the best person for this."
Harry sighed, defeated. "Fine. I'll be your Regent."
Rispah smiled with far too many teeth.
In hindsight, Rispah’s easy promise that Harry’s duties for the day would be short enough to fit on a single piece of parchment sounded far too good to be true. Harry stood in the Dancing Phoenix, wearing new boots specially for the occasion, and stared at the cheeky paper tacked haphazardly on the message board.
Harry’s Duties:
Help Leo :)
Love,
Rispah
Helpful.
Harry took a seat at the Rogue’s table, the earliest member there, which was really no surprise. The Baneberry she was growing had to be harvested at exactly five a.m. to have the most potent effects, and afterward she really had nothing better to do.
Solom slid a fresh glass of milk across the table. “You’re early.”
Harry smiled. “Rispah needed me to fill in for her today.”
Solom’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. “Today?”
Harry’s smile strained. “What’s going on today?”
“It’s the Rogue’s Annual Festival. Leo started it after he took the Crown as a way to connect with his subjects.”
Harry felt her stomach twist in anxiety. “Am I even qualified to be filling in for Rispah?”
Solom snorted, and muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said I think you’ll be fine.” He glanced up. “I see you’re awake, Highness.”
“Yes,” said a voice behind her, tone somewhere between amused and annoyed. “I awoke to the most fascinating message from my cousin this morning.”
Harry grimaced, and turned to face Leo. “Surprise?”
Harry was on a throne.
Well, it was as close to a throne you could get in the Lower Alleys. A somewhat comfortable chair positioned strategically at the back of the Dancing Phoenix. The tables had been pushed to the edges of the room, and somebody had rolled out a faded, long red carpet. Leo sat in a slightly fancier chair to her left, and a few other members of the Court stood at their back.
The Rogue was Holding Court.
Leo usually did this once a week, but today it had a bit more pomp and circumstance. Slowly, a line of people wandered down the carpet, following an adorable Margo, adorned in even more flowers than usual. Today she held a tray with two flower crowns.
“Presenting Miss Margo, Bearer of the Crowns!” Marek said with obvious enjoyment.
Margo executed an interpretive curtsy, and confidently handed the tray to Marek. She carefully lifted the larger of the two crowns.
“To King Leo, I present a crown of dahlias, zinnias, and honeysuckle. Your enduring kindness and grace, your dedication to your principles, and lasting affection to those close to you characterize your reign.”
Leo bowed his head to accept the crown, a mix of purples and faint pink.
“To Queen Harry, I present a crown of irises, snapdragon and holly. Your hope, courage, and unexpected deviousness serve both you and your people well.”
Harry bent her head, and accepted the crown. It fit perfectly.
Margo curtseyed to them once more, and moved to stand behind them with other members of the court. The crowd cheered.
“Interesting that you have crafted a crown for Harry, and not Rispah,” Leo said from between his smiling teeth.
“Your Highness, the crowns had to be made fresh, this morning,” Margo innocently replied.
“Of course. How silly of me to think otherwise.”
The petitions from the people of the Lower Alleys were exhaustive and varied.
From small problems with food preservation storage, to large, bitter disputes between neighbors, Leo addressed them all with admirable, firm patience. The first time he had turned to Harry, clearly wanting her input, she had been thrown, and attempted to stutter out a somewhat helpful response. The next time, she was prepared, and near the end, she would occasionally give Leo a look, and he would incline his head in consent, and Harry would take charge in mediating whatever problem was presented.
It only lasted a few hours, but by noon, Harry was exhausted.
“I don’t see how you do this, Leo,” she said, allowing herself to finally slouch in the chair. “I enjoy helping people, but this is almost too much.”
He smiled at her. “It takes practice. And it’s always easier to have someone you trust to do it with you.”
Ignoring the small twitch in her chest, Harry groaned. “Well, it’s over now. What’s next?”
“Lunch,” Solom replied, placing a bowl of stew in her hands. “And then, you have a very important job being a cheerleader.”
Harry was stumped. “A cheerleader?”
If it didn’t have Freedueling, could you even call it an event?
Unlike the past summer, Harry was not a participant in this small tournament, but the judge. Not only would the duelers try to win, they would attempt to gain Harry’s fickle approval. How each contestant went about this was incredibly unique.
Some regaled her with poetry.
“Roses are red
The queen makes potions
And yet not the strongest brew
Could fake my emotions”
Some charmed her.
“My lady, I humbly ask that you bestow a simple kiss on my knife,” a woman said. “Your mouth never fails to strike true at the hearts of powerful men.”
And some did outlandish, risky things during the duel, just to prove they could.
But Leo.
Leo ended his duel, opponent trapped in the middle of the arena. With a seemingly innocuous foot movement, he scuffed a final line into the sand, which had already been abraded from a curiously dusty duel. With that movement, flames erupted across the arena, hidden runes lighting up to form a somewhat wobbly cauldron, in which his unfortunate opponent sat as an unlucky potion ingredient.
Ah. Imitation, the highest form of flattery.
At the end, Harry stood, and addressed the assembled competitors with a dramatic gravitas.
“You have all fought today. Some of you fought well, some of you fought cleverly, and some of you fought in ways I have never seen before. But unfortunately, only one of you has fought like the Rogue. King Leo, the tournament goes to you. Come, and receive your reward.”
Leo stepped forward, smile bright and eyes bearing a somewhat wary anticipation. Sweat dampened the collar of his shirt, and his shoulder heaved a bit with exertion, but otherwise he was the picture of health.
“Give me your hand.”
Leo presented his hand, and Harry saw that he had scraped his knuckles. Catching his eyes, Harry gently lifted Leo’s hand, and slid his fingerless glove off, taking care to avoid the open wounds. Continuing to hold his gaze, she carefully, lightly pressed her lips to his knuckles. A small wave of healing magic spread from her lips to Leo, wiping all traces of injury. Another burst of magic followed, a rush of flames hissed, unburning, up his arm. The magical flames twisted and danced for a few seconds, and faded into his skin, embers condensed into small pinpricks, a small constellation of new stars. They did not fade. Stepping back, she admired her unintentional art, her magic having simply done what it pleased.
Leo tightened his grip in Harry’s fingers. His eyes barely flicked to his newly tattooed arm.
“Lass,” he rasped. One word, and infinite meaning behind it.
Instead of familiar anxiety, Harry felt only peace, and wry satisfaction.
“Your subjects await you, Your Highness.”
“They can wait.”
“How long?”
“As long as I have.”
Leo’s subjects did not actually end up waiting that long, as Aled came over and clapped Leo hard enough on the shoulder that he staggered. “Well done, Highness. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. We always knew you had Harry’s favor.” He winked.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “A bold comment, from someone whose own position of favor is shaky, at best.”
Aled bowed deeply. “Please accept my deepest apologies, Queen Harry.”
“Bring me a glass of your finest milk, and I shall consider bestowing my forgiveness.”
The concluding feast at the Dancing Phoenix gave Harry a confusing mix of warm comfort and crippling anxiety. She and Leo sat ensconced between other members of the Court, their typical round table in a corner substituted for a far more pretentious set-up, resembling the High Table at Hogwarts. The fires cast orange light on the worn wood. Dishware clinked and clattered. Marek started up a bawdy tune, and soon the whole room was stomping along. This was all fine.
It was the gifts that Harry didn’t know what to do with.
Person after person approached Harry and Leo, and presented them with some small bauble. Gradually, they became surrounded by flowers, small charms, the odd bit of metalwork, ribbons, and more. Many of the gifts congratulated Harry and Leo on, well, it varied.
“I’m kind of done with all the symbolism for today,” Margo said, when she approached with her gift. “So, here you two are. Red roses. For love.” An even more outlandish curtsy, and she twirled away.
And then Rispah made an appearance with Eleni Hurst.
“Cousin, I know we may not have always been on the bestest of terms, but I assumed I would be invited to your engagement party!”
Leo spluttered, turning red, but Harry simply raised her brow.
“How can you be sure that this isn’t the wedding?”
Eleni laughed. “Never change, Harry.”
“Lovely to see you now, Rispah. Better late than never,” Leo snarked.
“Oh Leo,” Rispah said. “I wish I could’ve made it, but your mother needed help today at the clinic. How could I say no?”
“Technically, you couldn’t, because I didn’t ask,” Eleni commented, amused.
“Anyways, don’t think I came over here for nothing. I need to present the King and Queen with their gift, of course!”
“Rispah…” Leo’s voice held danger, a danger that the woman in question gleefully ignored.
“Attention!” Rispah’s voice projected with a well-placed Sonorous. “I present to you His Highness, King Leo, and the Queen of our Alleys, Harry, in opening our first dance for the night!”
The crowd cheered. Harry sighed. There was no return from here.
Leo clearly knew the same. He stood, and held out a hand to Harry. The arm sparkled with the fire of Harry’s magic, unfaded even hours later.
“Will the Queen honor me with a dance?”
“I’m not even the Queen. I’m just the Regent,” she protested. “And it’s just Harry.”
Leo grasped her hand, and much in the same way as she did earlier, pressed a kiss to her stained knuckles. “Harry. Lass. I don’t think you could be ‘just’ anything.”
“Cliché. But charming. Shall we?”