“He is rotund, Your Majesty. There is simply no denying it. You have spoiled the poor thing right out of his natural instincts. He doesn’t hunt, he doesn’t roam. Instead, he spends the day lazing about in the sun like he’s the ruler of this kingdom, not you,” Kaladin grumbled, shifting the bundle of fluff and claws in his arms as he trailed behind you towrda the throne room.

You hadn’t been the monarch of Faelor for very long—the title bestowed upon you with the passing of your elderly father. A man who had clung to life with more tenacity than any other Kaladin had ever known. Where your reign was just beginning, Kaladin had been in service to since childhood, ever since he’d come of age to wield a sword in your name. It had come as a surprise to many in the court when you rejected all other suitable candidates in favor of choosing a commoner’s son to be your personal knight.

But following tradition was never your way, much to the dismay of your parents, the late queen and king. May their souls rest in peace after having raised someone as unconventional as you.

Poppet, your cat, had been your most recent venture to reject the precedent of old. Royal pets hadn’t been allowed under your father’s rule—no matter how many wounded birds, snakes, and rabbits you’d tried to sneak into the palace over the years. But one stray cat had wandered onto the grounds, and you’d claimed him without hesitation.

And as much as Kaladin wished it were untrue, he found himself growing rather fond of—and worried for—the temperamental creature. “You don’t need to give him a treat every time he meows. It’s almost shameful, seeing our ruler failing to recognize the manipulative whims of a cat.” Kaladin shook his head, his tone teasing but his eyes fond as he adjusted Poppet’s weight in his arms. “From now on, he’ll sleep in my chambers. That way, I can be certain he is not overfed.”