Chapter 150: no jokes this time

Chapter 150 — No Jokes This Time

Liam was waiting at the corner of the old library the next afternoon, hands in his pockets, and he did not wave. Roxanne noticed that first. Usually he announced himself from fifty paces, with a bow or a shout or some invented title, and today he simply watched her approach with his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. He led her round the back of the building to a quiet seating area, where a few mossy benches stood beneath a half-bare tree and nobody ever came because the pigeons had claimed it.

"You look suspiciously serious," she said, sitting down.

"I’m considering becoming a respectable member of society."

"I’ll believe it when I see it."

He laughed, but it went out of him too quickly. He sat on the far end of the bench, turned a fallen leaf over in his fingers, and for a moment said nothing at all. A pigeon strutted past, regarded them both with open contempt, and moved on. It was so unlike Liam to be quiet that Roxanne let the silence stand, folding her hands in her lap and waiting the way she had learned to wait with Nora, and Lucien, and anyone else who needed a little room before the words would come.

"I’ve been invited to a royal youth leadership programme," he said at last. "Over the academy break."

She had expected a different sort of news. "That sounds like something you’d be excited about."

"I haven’t decided whether to accept."

"Why not?"

He explained it in pieces, the way people do when they have rehearsed the speech alone and found it fell apart in company. Several weeks of public appearances, leadership sessions, meetings with representatives from the other packs. His family expected him to go. It was a perfectly good programme, he said, and he did not want it to sound otherwise. Plenty of people would give a great deal to be asked.

"It’s only that I’d be presented as another charming Moonstone prince. People already know who I am before I open my mouth." He tore the leaf gently along its vein. "When I joke, I’m unserious. When I behave, they congratulate me for finally acting like a prince. There’s no middle ground. I’m either too frivolous or surprisingly mature."

"Maybe stop performing for people who have already decided what you are."

Liam looked at her.

"That’s annoyingly reasonable."

"I can be unreasonable, if you’d prefer."

"Please. I came here for your wisdom."

She smiled, and waited, and he went on more slowly. "There’s something else I’ve been thinking about, and I haven’t said it aloud to anyone."

"You don’t have to."

"I want to. It’s strange." He took a breath, and let it out, and watched it fog faintly in the air. "There’s a youth sports initiative connected to the academy. Activities for younger wolves, and for students from smaller packs who don’t get much chance to play. I’ve been helping a little, quietly. I like it. I’m good at it, which is disconcerting."

"Why disconcerting?"

"Because I’m not sure my family would consider it an appropriate use of my time."

Roxanne turned it over. He did not look miserable. He looked like someone who enjoyed a good deal of his life and had only just started to wonder who was choosing the rest of it. There was no complaint in his voice, only a kind of puzzled honesty, as if he were reading a map and discovering a road he had never noticed. "Is the leadership programme something you really want," she asked, "or something you think you should want?"

He opened his mouth, and shut it. "I haven’t given myself much time to find out."

"That seems like a place to start."

A little while later, he turned toward her. "What do you think I should do?"

"I’m not going to decide for you."

"You’re supposed to be helping."

"Asking for advice doesn’t mean handing someone responsibility for your choices."

Liam laughed, properly this time, and leaned his head back against the trunk. "You’re becoming dangerously good at speeches."

"You’re becoming dangerously bad at making decisions."

"I’ve always been bad at it. I used to let my brothers choose for me."

"And look how well that went."

"I’m very well dressed."

"That was Isla."

"A fair point."

The old banter had come back, easy and quick, but something had shifted beneath it. He seemed lighter now that he had said it aloud, as though the problem had been a heavy coat he had finally been allowed to put down on a bench. They stayed another half hour, trading nothing important, while the sky went the colour of weak tea and the pigeon returned to see whether anyone had brought crumbs.

Roshan found him later that day outside the training grounds, where Liam was lacing his boots with unusual slowness. Roshan stopped a few paces off, a book under his arm, and asked, "Have you decided about the programme?"

"Still considering my options."

Roshan did not press. "The family will probably support you if you present a thoughtful alternative. They are less likely to listen if you simply refuse."

"You make everything sound like a royal council meeting."

"You make everything sound like a comedy show."

Liam grinned, and pulled the last lace tight. Roshan watched him a moment longer.

"Choosing a different responsibility does not make you less committed to the family," he said. "It only means you are committed in your own way."

He walked on before Liam could answer, which was how Roshan always ended things that mattered. Liam stayed crouched over his boots a moment longer than necessary, then stood up and rolled his shoulders as if shaking off rain.

That evening Roxanne’s phone buzzed on her desk.

I’m thinking of speaking to my family about combining the youth sports initiative with the leadership programme. Haven’t committed to anything. But I’d like to propose something I actually care about.

She read it, and typed: That sounds like a reasonable place to start.

I expected you to tell me to follow my dreams.

I’d rather you make a decision you can live with.

A laughing emoji arrived. Then, a few seconds later:

You know, you’re not nearly as terrible at advice as you pretend.

And you’re not nearly as unserious as you pretend.

The dots flickered for a long time. She waited, watching them appear and vanish and appear again, as though he were writing and rewriting something small. At last the message came.

Don’t tell anyone. I have an image to maintain.

Roxanne smiled and put the phone away.

The next morning she was halfway through her porridge when a notification appeared from the student activities office. The workshop coordinator had forwarded an announcement. The academy was looking for students to contribute short original pieces to its upcoming Winter Arts Evening.

She read it twice. Then she set down her spoon.

For the first time, she wondered about sharing something she had written herself. Not performing someone else’s words, or helping a friend shape a scene, but putting her own on a page and letting it be seen.

Her own.