Rowan

There was once a kingdom, just north of the great forest, ruled by an ageing, ailing king and his wife. They had three daughters and no sons. The rule of succession should have been obvious — though it was not. The king wanted a son and heir.

So when the queen became pregnant again, he hoped and prayed for a baby boy to whom he could pass on his legacy. He sacrificed to the gods of old. He consulted fortune tellers and Fae, seeking favours and boons, right up until the day the queen went into labour.

When news reached him, he rushed to her room — only to find the doors barred. He was not allowed inside. When he demanded an answer, one of his daughters replied, "It’s a surefire way to ensure it’s a boy." That was all he needed to hear. He boldly strode through the court, proclaiming to all who would listen that his son was on the way.

So it was only the queen, her daughters, and her attendants who knew the truth. The child born that day was another girl. A pang of despair filled the queen’s heart. Her husband wanted a son. Expected a son. Demanded a son. And still, she had not given him one.

“What am I to do?” she cried to her daughters.

“Your father will not understand. He will take this as a slight. He may even wage war on those kingdoms from which he sought boons. Not to mention the gods.”

“Father wouldn’t be foolish enough to wage war with the gods,” said the eldest daughter.

“He would,” said the middle daughter, fanning herself.

“Remember the harvest feast last autumn, when the crops weren’t as bountiful as they could’ve been? He swore vengeance on the gods and drew up battle plans on the spot. Had it not been for you, Mother—”

“Then your father would’ve been striking at air and splashing in water like a silly child with a stick. Yes, I remember. It took many words — and even more skill — to calm his fury. This time may be beyond even me.”

“We could help you, Mother,” said the eldest.

“Your father wouldn’t allow it. He barely allows me into his private talks. Never in council meetings. Most times, I learn of my own will after the rest of the kingdom — and never from my lips.”

“Then that is not your will.”

“That was Mother’s point, sister.”

The youngest daughter, who had been silent, now spoke — her eyes fixed on the carved rocking horse their father had commissioned for his long-awaited son.

“Why does Father have to know?”

“How, pray tell?”

“You just… tell him you gave birth to a boy.”

“Would that work?”

“It is only the eight of us who know, Ma'am. And we would never reveal Her Ladyship’s secret.”

"So lie to the king?" the eldest asked, exchanging worried glances with Ernest and her sisters. "… … … Isn't that treason?"

“It beats war and suffering.”

They all looked to the queen, who cradled the wriggling newborn in her arms.

“… … … On this day, a son was born. I think I will call him… Rowan.”

“Rowan? Hmm... I always wanted a brother.”

“Sister, she is still our sister.”

“I know. But he is also our brother. And it will do well to start saying it now — in case we need the practice.”

“You speak much sense, little sister.”

“Well, don’t sound so surprised.”

*********

Within the day, Prince Rowan was presented to the kingdom, swaddled in the finest silk and satin. The king laughed and beamed, holding his son aloft for all to see.

The queen stood beside him, waving and smiling — though it looked as if it pained her greatly. The king chalked it up to her having just given birth and sent her off to bed for the rest of the week, while he organised a public holiday in honour of his heir.

After all, he now had a son, and such an event demanded celebration. His friends and neighbouring rulers would need to be invited. Introductions would need to be made.

And who knew? A ceremony like this might even find husbands for his daughters.

Four birds, one stone.

*********
“Must I wear pink?” the youngest daughter whined, stomping around her bedroom and glaring at her dress.

“What colour would you prefer?”

“Red.”

“I’m wearing red.”

“We can both wear red.”

“Father wants to differentiate us.”

“For others? Or for him? I doubt he even knows our names, Helena.”

“If you want red, Agatha, you’ll have to duel me for it.”

“Lenora. Agatha. Helena. No one is duelling today.” Queen Erica said, dusting off her gown.

“Not even with words? Agatha is the best when it comes to duelling with words — the oldest duel of all. The ones that leave no dead but scar the mind and break those that lack quick wit and thought. Many have fallen in her wake.”

“No. Now I need to check on Rowan. Ernest, make sure the girls don’t kill each other. Literally and figuratively.”

“I will try, ma’am.”

Ernest bowed as she left.

“Ernest, who’s coming today?”

“Everyone, I believe. His Lordship said everyone from far and wide has come to see the little Lord Rowan.”

“That’s a lot of people.”

“And a lot of kingdoms.”

“And a lot of prospective princes.”

“Ugh.”

“Who knows, Agatha, you might meet a charming Seelie boy. Or an elf.”

“Oooh! Or a hobgoblin. I’d love to meet a Hobgoblin.”

“Have you ever spoken to a hobgoblin?”

“Never.”

“Me neither."

“I have.”

“Rubbish.”

“I’m serious. They’re fond of poetry.”

“Hmm. Then we’ll have nothing in common. I detest poetry.”

“That’s not what your journal said.”

“I knew you’d been under my bed. I have half a mind to—”

“Here he is! Here is Rowan!”

Lenora interrupted loudly, stepping between her sisters to break up the argument.

“Look at him.”

“Why does he get to wear a red dress?”

“It’s a gown.”

“It’s still red!”

===========

The royal family gathered in the great hall, greeting representatives and diplomats from lands the three sisters had never even heard of. There were elves from Rin’wald, dwarves from Fin’guld, orcs, fae, and giants. Spiders. And a caravan of cat-headed people from the deserts of Ya’rn.

*********

"Lady Agatha. Your eyes shine like moon-drops in the silver night air of Rin. Or the lagoon so vast... so vast... so... erm..."

"Oh, do keep going. You were doing so well," Agatha said, sipping her wine, grateful the freckled bard had stopped rhyming.

*********
"So tell me, Lord Weaver — how has the Spider Commerce Guild been keeping? I was sorry to hear about the incident in K’ann."

"As were we. Unfortunately, deals can’t always be made the first time around. But we still have hope. They've offered some very interesting prospects for ourselves and our other clients. But I must admit, I'm surprised this piques your interest, Princess. I was told by your father that you were more into horticulture."

"That’s my sister, Lenora."

"Ahhh."

"I don’t suppose you have an opening in the guild? An apprenticeship, perhaps?"

"Would your father approve if I said I did?"

"He would absolutely not."

A smile played around Lord Weaver’s lips.

"Then there are no positions available. I am so sorry, Princess Helena. But... my son is looking for a wife. And should his wife decide to take a position in the guild, well — that is a different matter entirely."

"But, Lord Weaver — you have no son."

"... ... ..."

"I see. Then I would love to ‘meet your son.’"

"Splendid. Perhaps you, I, and your father should talk about this further."

"He’d hate it if I were there. He doesn’t think it’s my place to arrange my own marriage."

"Well, my son would like his wife to have a say in the matter."

"I think I’m going to like this arrangement very much."

*********
"Lady Lenora? Lady Lenora? Would you do me the honour of this dance?"

"No, pick me, Your Ladyship!"

"No, pick me!"

"Pick me!"

"Gentlemen. Gentlemen. There is one of me and five of you. How do you expect me to hear you all equally when you behave so brashly?"

"... ... ..."

"Well? None of you has an answer? Fine. Let’s see. I will dance with... you. And you. And you. And you. And you. Look at that — I have chosen all five of you. Now, are we going to dance, or do I have to mediate another argument? Because between dancing and mediating boys, I know what I would prefer."

*********

"My dear, I’ve been thinking — perhaps we should also sort out a suitor for Rowan."

"... ... ... Why on earth would we do that?"

"You know. Strike while the iron is hot."

"But the iron isn’t hot. It hasn’t even warmed up. Rowan is but a child. An infant, even."

"So? Imagine it — an arrangement with one of our fellow kingdoms. An alliance built on prosperity, trust, partnership... and marriage. It would be like our own unity!"

"When have we ever been uni---"

"Good. Glad we’ve agreed. Come. I think I have a few prospects in mind."

"... ... ..."

*********

"Queen Erica. It is an honour to see you again," said the tall Unseelie queen, dressed in black and leaning on a gnarled wooden staff capped with a glowing mushroom.

"Queen Sindella. How goes the Unseelie Court?"

"Very well indeed. We were making our annual pilgrimage when we received word. We thought it best to accept the invitation. We wouldn’t want to earn your kingdom’s ire."

"... ... ..."

"His ire is great. But it is also bluster. If that man acted on half his threats, we’d all be dead. Would we not, my queen?"

"I’m sure I don’t know what you mean."

"No?"

Sindella’s eyes flicked toward Rowan.

"What is it you want, Queen Sindella?"

"Hmm. It is not what I want. It is what you want."

"And what is it that I want?"

"I’m not your husband. You can tell me yourself."

"... ... ... For my child to live a happy life. Free from shame and lies."

Her words tumbled out before she could stop herself.

"I mean... I..."

"Does it feel good to say it out loud?"

"... ... ... Hmm. Very much so."

"I am glad. I may have something. A gift from the Court of the Unseelie."

Sindella opened her hand. In it lay a small black drawstring pouch filled with fine powder.

"Fairy dust?"

"Ha. Indeed. Yes. Magic."

"What... kind of magic?"

"The darkest kind. A curse."

"Why...?"

"Or a blessing. It is the intention that determines the spell — not the spell itself. Keep it. A gift from me to your child, on this day."

"How do I use it? When do I?"

"You’ll know. When secrets are too hard to ignore. When ignorance can no longer endure. Goodbye."

And with that, she was gone.

*********

"My dear! My dear! Lord Weaver’s son wishes to marry our Helena!"

Queen Erica just looked at the bag and grimaced.

================

Sixteen years later

"Rowan. Rowan. Rowan!"

Agatha shook them awake.

"H... Huh?"

"Happy birthday, little brother."

"Ugh..."

Rowan groaned, burying their head in the pillow. "Let me sleep a little longer."

"No can do. Father wants to see you."

"What? He's not here, is he?"

"No. He sent me to get you. But he may come find us if we take too long."

"Ugh... Fine. You win."

"I always do. Now come on and get your corset on. It takes the longest."

"Will there ever be a day I never have to wear that infernal thing again?"

"... ... ..."

Rowan bowed their head and sighed deeply.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

“... ... ...”

“Come on.”

Rowan began washing and dressing at the small mirror and basin in the corner of the room while Agatha talked.

"Oh, I have news. Helena is arriving later today."

"Is she bringing 'Lord Weaver Jr.?’ I would love to finally meet him."

"Ha! So would Father. Though he never seems to not be working in another kingdom. Father takes it as quite the slight."

"And Lenora?"

Rowan's voice was hopeful.

Agatha shook her head sadly.

"No... Lenora is... is... Well... I doubt she would be welcome even if she wanted to attend. Which ... I know she would."

"... ... ... I know. I wish things were different. Wish she didn't leave. Wish she were here. I ... I ..."

"I know. Mother does too. We all do. But today is a good day. It's your special day, after all."

"Ah, yes, a day I absolutely hate, in a place I absolutely hate. Pretending to be someone I, say it with me..."

"Absolutely hate. Yes, yes, I hear you. You say the same thing every year."

"And every year these feelings only grow worse."

"Well, maybe this year... who knows? Your luck may change."

"That sounds ominously prophetic."

"That's a big word for you. Can you spell it?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"Don't make me duel you."

"Oh, little brother, don't pick battles you can't win."

*********

"Helena. I see your husband couldn’t grace us with his presence," the king huffed into his goblet as he greeted Helena, noting her crisp garb from the Commerce Guild.

"And hello to you, too, Father. You look well."

She turned, eyes lighting up.

"Little brother!"

Helena beamed and swept Rowan into a hug, lifting them off the ground.

"Helena! How have you been? Where have you been? Have you seen...?"

"Ha ha. Calm yourself, little brother. There’ll be time for stories later."

"Sorry. It’s just... It’s so good to see you again."

"And you. Where is Mother? I need to speak with her about a matter of great importance."

"Oh... O...okay. She’s ... She's over there. Trying to stop Agatha from duelling Ernest."

"Hmm. What did he do this time?"

"The usual."

"Ah, yes... I can see Agatha now... In THAT pink dress. And the dagger slits. Still, his stitching is impeccable. You can barely tell she was using it for target practice. Not unless you squint."

Rowan laughed.

"I’ll speak with her later, then. Now, I must go. See you shortly."

"Yeah... See you after."

*********

"Ah, Princess Tula. This is my son, Prince Rowan. Strapping lad, isn't he?"

"Princess Mira. You remember Rowan, don't you? He turns sixteen today."

"Princess Olympia. Might I---"

"Father..." Rowan interrupted gently.

"Can I have a minute? The air in here is quite... stifling."

"Oh? Are you unwell? Then yes, of course. I shall keep the princesses entertained until your return. Do hurry back."

"... ... ..."

*********

Rowan stepped out onto the balcony and sighed deeply.

"A frown? On your birthday?"

They spun around and grinned.

Perched among the gargoyles, dressed in black and red, was Lenora. Her skin was chalk-white, with black veins threading across her face, arms, legs, and hands. Her golden eyes glittered.

"Len---!"

"Shhh!" She put a bony finger to her lips, returning a playful smile.

"I didn't think I was going to see you. I've missed you so much."

"Oh, I wasn't going to miss this day. After all, today is a special day. Your special day."

"Hmm... Everyone keeps saying that."

"Well, that's because it is true."

"Lenora...?"

Lenora hopped down from her perch and hugged them tightly.

"Enough talk, little brother. We don't have long. And I still have to give you your gift."

From her pocket, Lenora pulled out a small pouch—the same one Erica had once received from Sindella.

"Is that... .... ... Mother's pouch? ... ... Helena? ... Agatha? Mother?"

"Yes... ... ... Are you ready?"

"... ... I'm... I'm scared."

Lenora hugged them tighter.

"Don't be scared, little sibling. All will be well. You hear me. All will be well."

Rowan closed their eyes and nodded.

"I'm ready."

With a single breath, she blew the black powder into their face.

Rowan coughed and sputtered. The world tilted and spun.

And then—they fell into darkness.

"Sleep well, little sibling. May all your dreams come true."

*********

"How long will he sleep for?"

"I ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?!"

"It's magic, Agatha. It's not the most precise of art forms. And every enchantment is different."

"... ... ..."

"Rowan needed time. You needed time. So, I gave you time."

Erica, Agatha, and Helena were seated around Rowan's bed.

Lenora sat on the windowsill, one leg dangling, idly letting dust slip through her fingers.

"What did Queen Sindella tell you? When she gave you the pouch."

"When secrets are too hard to ignore. When ignorance can no longer endure."

"That's ... cryptic. Lenora?

"Only that that spell, Aurora's Nightfall, will break for the one who truly sees Rowan. Really sees them."

"That's easy enou---"

"It's Father, Agatha. Father has to be the one to lift it."

"Oh, wonderful..."

"We did right, didn't we?"

Erica's words were little more than a whisper.

"It's a little late for that now. They're already asleep."

"Agatha. Please?" Helena shook her head.

"Hmm... ... ...  I don't know, mother. I really don't. But... it feels ... right."

"I guess so. Hmm... ... ... Yet another decision I have come to question, when it comes to my child."

"We. We question. We all started this. And perhaps, it's our duty to end it. Not for us ... but for Rowan."

"For Rowan."

*********

"Let me in! Let me in! I demand to see my son!"

The king barged into the room.

"My love, I---"

"Aside. Move aside. What has happened to him? He looks so pale."

"He's always been that pale."

"Silence!"

The King snapped, rounding on Agatha.

"Don't talk to her like that!"

Helena shot back.

"You dare tell me what I can and can't do in my palace! This is my kingdom. Not yours---"

"Do you wish for this curse to be undone, little king?"

He turned, startled—only now noticing Lenora.

"You!" he hissed, jabbing a finger at her. "What have you done to my son, you witch?!"

"Your son sleeps. In peace and bliss. Waiting not for some true love's kiss. But something just as prudent, true, he waits for you to know THEM too."

"What are you babbling on about? Just tell me how to free my son from this curse!"

"Darling---"

"Tell me!"

"Darling---"

"I SAID, TELL ME!"

"DARLING!"

Erica stood abruptly, her seat toppling over with a giant crash.

He turned to face her, and for the first time, his eyes were wild with desperation.

"Erica... I... I don't understand. I ... I don't know what's going on. Why ... why ... is this happening?"

"Gabriel... There is something we must tell you. Something you must know... about our son... Our child."

"... ... ..."

"Sixteen years ago, to the very day, I gave birth to a beautiful baby. Do you remember that?"

"Of course, I remember. We had our little Rowan. My son. My heir."

"No. No... We had our child. But---"

"But what?"

"Rowan is your child. But they are not your son."

"I don't know wh... what? What?"

"He's not your SON."

"No. No. He's... he's... he's..."

The king slumped onto the bed beside Rowan.

"Gabriel. You wanted a son so badly that we decided—wrongly—that we would give you what you wanted. But in doing so... it's been too much. Taken too much of a toll on all of us. To keep alive a lie that only you wanted."

"Rowan... Rowan is..."

"Your heir. You raised them to be your heir."

"But... He... He... He... ... ... She?... ... ..."

"They are Rowan."

"I ... ... ... I can't deal with this."

And with what dignity he had left, all the effort he could muster, the king rose and swept from the room.

"What are we going to do now, mother?"

"... ... ... I don't know. I'm so sorry, Rowan. I'm so, so sorry. Forgive me."

===========
Gabriel sat in silence, staring at the family portrait they had all posed for when Rowan was thirteen. He remembered how troubled his youngest child looked then — so tired, so haunted. How uncomfortable they were with all the attention. How desperate to escape.

“Rowan... Rowan...”

For three days, he did not leave his chambers. Food was brought, but left untouched. Erica knocked, receiving no answer. The kingdom’s affairs ground to a halt.

He just sat. And reflected.

Rowan at seven, asking why only boys could be knights. Gabriel’s dismissive laugh: “Because that’s how it’s always been, son.”

Rowan at ten, flinching every time someone called them “Your Highness” or “young lord.” Gabriel assumed it was modesty, pride swelling at his “humble” son.

Then he remembered Agatha’s trade proposals, dismissed without a second thought. Helena’s letters about commerce were filed away as “unsuitable interests.” Lenora’s healing spells were forbidden as “unladylike.”

His daughters. His brilliant, capable daughters. And he had seen them as... what? Disappointments? Burdens to be married off?

And his wife... he had taken them all for granted.

*********

On the second day, Gabriel found himself holding one of Rowan’s tunics. Even at sixteen, Rowan was "small-framed" and "delicate" - as one of his fellow sparing partners in sword practice had remarked. Gabriel had always blamed it on youth, assuming that, in time, his son would grow to be broad and strong, just like him. But now… he noticed the careful tailoring, the way the clothes hung to disguise rather than reveal.

How long had his child been hiding? How long had they all been shielding him from his blindness?

*********

By the third day, Gabriel was weeping. Not just for Rowan, but for the daughters he had failed, the wife he had silenced, the kingdom he had ruled with stubborn ignorance.

*********

On the fourth day, Lenora appeared in his room like smoke.

“Fae.”

She stepped out of the shadows at the end of Gabriel’s bedchamber, two goblets in hand.

“I’m a fae. Not a witch. Not that that matters now... ... ... Father.”

She offered him a goblet.

He drank deeply, his hands shaking.

“Father? No. Not a very good father. Or husband. Or king. If I were, I'd ... I’d have more successes to my name. A legacy. And what do I have instead? A family so scared of disappointing me that they had to lie. At least two daughters I’ve pushed away. A wife who… I don’t even know how she still stands by my side... ... ... I… I did this. This is all my fault. And now my… my… my Rowan… ... ...”

“Sleeps.”

“… … … How can I fix this?"

“I already told you the answer.”

"No. Not that. I mean ... ... How do I just undo sixteen years of… blindness? He is my son. How do I truly see ... them? How do I know who they are when I’ve been so… wrong about everything?”

“Do you love Rowan?”

“I… I do. Of course, I do. Not that I’ve shown them any affection. Not shown any of you…”

His voice cracked.

“Lenora. ... ... ... I don’t even know why you changed. Why did you leave? What did I do to you?”

“Hmm ... Simple. You showed me I wasn’t welcome as I am… … … You told me a woman’s place was to be seen and not heard. You told me my ideas about magic and healing were ‘unseemly.’ You told me I should focus on finding a husband instead of studying with the court wizards.”

“I remember now. You were young - so full of questions, of wonder, of kindness - and you had just healed that stable boy’s broken arm with a spell you’d learned from the court mage. Instead of expressing pride at your accomplishments, at helping someone out of the goodness of your heart, I… I forbade you from studying magic.”

“Because it wasn’t ‘appropriate’ for a princess.”

“So you---”

“Found my own path. The Unseelie Court values knowledge over convention. They saw me, Father. They saw what I could become.”

Gabriel stared at his eldest daughter.

“I failed you, too.”

“Hmm… It’s not too late. You can still choose differently. You can still help Rowan. After all, they are your heir.”

“But he’s… she’s… ... they’re... ... ...”

“They are your heir. Hmm... Have they really changed? Yes, you know the truth of their birth. But everything else… ... ... that is them. All them. The child you raised. That you love.”

“But what you ask goes against everything this kingdom is built on.”

“Why?”

“Because it does.”

“But why?”

“It just does.”

“But why, Father? … … … Who made these laws? Who decided only sons could rule? Who determined daughters were less valuable than the son you so desperately wanted?”

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. In all his years as king, he had never truly questioned the traditions he inherited. They simply… were.

“I… I ... I don’t know.”

“Father. You had three daughters who would have bled for this kingdom. Helena has built trade relationships across six kingdoms. Agatha understands economics better than your treasurer. I could have been your court mage, your advisor on magical affairs. But you thought us inferior to a son you didn’t even have.”

“I never thought that.”

Lenora just raised an eyebrow.

“Is that really how you felt?”

“… … …”

“… … … I see. I truly am the most foolish of men. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Prove it.”

"What?"

"Prove it."

“… … … How?”

“You know what must be done."

"... ... ..."

"Take a look at some of the other kingdoms. The ones who have queens who rule. Princesses who inherit. Have they collapsed into anarchy? No? They prosper and thrive, just as well as we have done.”

Gabriel was silent for a long moment, thinking of Queen Sindella, the cat-headed diplomats from Ya’rn, all the capable women who had visited his court over the years. And of his family…

“I have much to do. So much to rebuild. With your mother, you, your sisters... Rowan.”

“Hmm… … … Yes. But you do not have to do this alone. You never did.”

*********
Gabriel finally entered Rowan’s chamber on the fifth day. Erica, Helena, and Agatha sat vigil beside the bed.

“My love,” Erica whispered.

Gabriel nodded to her sadly and sat beside Rowan’s still form. He took their hand gently in his own.

“I’ve been thinking about all the moments I missed. All the times I looked but didn’t truly see.”

He stroked Rowan’s hair.

“My child… ... ... I don’t know if you can hear me, but I want you to know… I ... I ... I... understand now. You are exactly who you’re meant to be. My heir. My beloved Rowan.”

Tears fell from Gabriel’s eyes onto Rowan’s hand.

“Come back to us ... ... ... Come back to me. Let me make this right.”

Rowan’s fingers twitched slightly.

“I love you, Rowan. However, you are. Whoever you are.”

Rowan’s eyes fluttered open, meeting their parents’ faces.

“F... father?… ... ...Mother?”

“I’m here. We’re all here. Oh, thank heavens!”

“H... how long---?”

“Five days,” Erica said, tears streaming down her face. "Welcome back."

“Father, I… I heard you. In the darkness. I heard your voice.”

Gabriel just pulled them into a careful embrace.

“I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. That ... that it took me so long to understand.”

“… I… I thought you would hate me if you knew.”

“Never!... ... ... Never.”

========
Rowan sat by the window, gazing at the robin perched in the olive tree.

“Can I join you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you happy? Living as… as you have been?”

“No. I haven’t been happy for a long time.”

“Then we’ll change that. However, we need to.”

“But the laws… the traditions…”

“Are just ink on parchment. We can write new laws.”

Gabriel’s voice grew stronger.

“Tell me—if you could rule this kingdom exactly as you are, what would you do?”

Rowan’s eyes widened.

“I… I would listen to people. Really listen. I’d want advisors who aren’t afraid to tell me when I’m wrong."

“What else?”

“I’d want to help those who feel like they don’t fit. Who feel like they have to hide who they are… I’d want our kingdom to be a place where anyone can find their true self.”

Gabriel smiled.

“That sounds like exactly the kind of ruler we need.”

“But what will people say?”

“Let me worry about that. You worry about being yourself—fully, completely yourself. Can you do that?"

Rowan nodded slowly.

“I want to try.”

“Then we’ll try together.”

*********
Over the following days, Gabriel began rebuilding relationships with his family.

He met, first with his wife, and then with each of his daughters individually, listening — truly listening — for the first time in years.

*********

With Helena, he discussed trade routes and economic policies, marvelling at her knowledge and insight.

“I want you to head our trade council. Your knowledge of commerce surpasses anyone in the kingdom."

"I... Am sure I can make some time for that, outside of my duties with the Guild."

"You are not going to ask your "husband?"

Helena nodded slowly and drank from her goblet.

“Hmm... guess I'm not. No. But I know he won't take it personally. After all, he's a very busy man, is Lord Weaver Jr. A very busy man indeed. So busy in fact that, maybe, he might be too busy for you to ever meet him.”

“Hmm… I know, Helena. Your mother told me. You’ve built something so very remarkable on your own. And I couldn’t be prouder.”

*********

With Agatha, he reviewed the kingdom’s finances and agricultural policies.

“Your analysis of the grain market saved us from a terrible mistake,” he admitted. “I should have listened to you from the beginning.”

“You’re listening now. That’s what matters.”

*********
With Lenora, the conversation was far more difficult. Years of hurt couldn’t be healed overnight.

“I ... I ... I want you to come home… I want you to be our court mage and advisor on magical affairs. I want to learn from you. Hear your council. Your wisdom. Yours and your mother's.”

“Hmm... ... ... The Unseelie Court is my home now,” Lenora replied. “But… … … I ... I could visit. I could advise. On my terms.”

“On your terms,” Gabriel agreed.

Lenora smiled and pulled him into a hug. And for the first time since seeing her again, he did not recoil.

*********

Finally, with Rowan, he began the delicate process of discussing their future. A future, not for the prince he had imagined, but for the heir they truly were.

“How do you want to be known?” Gabriel asked one evening as they watched the sunset

“I... I don’t know yet. I’ve been ‘Prince Rowan’ for so long, that ... ... ... I’m not sure who I am beneath it all.”

“Hmm ...Then we’ll figure it out. Together. There’s no rush.”

“What ... will you tell the kingdom?”

“Hmm? The truth. I guess. That you are my heir, chosen and beloved. That the kingdom will be blessed to have you lead it, exactly as you are."

“Do they have to know? I mean ... ... ... What if they don’t accept it?”

“Then we’ll work to change their minds.  And if we can’t change their minds, we’ll change the laws. And if we can’t change the laws…” Gabriel smiled. “Well, I have a very powerful fae daughter who specialises in making stubborn people see reason.”

Rowan laughed — the first genuine laugh Gabriel had ever heard from them.

"But, you never know. People can surprise you."

“... ... ... Father?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you… … … for seeing me.”

Gabriel took their hand.

“No. Thank you…  for being patient while I learned how to look."