Chapter Twenty-Four
“Your Majesty, the latch on the southern window is broken again.”
Finn glanced up from the breakfast table where he and Darragh were reviewing the day’s schedule. Gordon stood in the doorway, looking apologetic.
“I’ll take care of it.” Finn stood, already mentally cataloging which tools he’d need.
“I can send for the carpenter, Your Grace.”
“No need.” Finn headed toward their sitting room. “Won’t take me five minutes.”
He heard Gordon’s sharp intake of breath behind him, and imagined the weight of his adviser’s disapproval even without seeing his face. The familiar shame started to rise - inappropriate, beneath your station, embarrassing - but Darragh’s voice cut through it.
“King Consort Finn has valuable skills, and we’re not going to waste them.”
Finn turned. Darragh hadn’t looked up from his papers, his tone casual, but the authority in it was unmistakable.
Gordon blinked. “Of course, Your Majesty. My apologies.”
“None needed.” Darragh met Finn’s eyes and smiled. “Though if you’re fixing things, that loose board in the hallway outside the library has been driving me mad for weeks.”
Something loosened in Finn’s chest. “I’ll add it to the list.”
He found his old toolbox buried once more in the back of his wardrobe beneath the formal coats he’d forced himself to wear. The tools were still sharp. Finn ran his thumb over the handle of his favorite chisel, the wood worn smooth from years of use.
When did I stop being myself?
The window latch was a simple fix - the screw had worked loose again, nothing more.
Finn tightened it, tested the mechanism, and adjusted the alignment until it moved smoothly.
His hands remembered the work even if his mind had tried to forget it.
When he finished, he stood back, admiring the small repair with satisfaction that felt disproportionate to the task.
It wasn’t about the latch. It was about remembering that he was good at something, and that his skills had value even if they didn’t involve memorizing delegation hierarchies or navigating political minefields.
“All fixed?”
Finn turned. Darragh leaned against the doorframe, watching him with an expression Finn couldn’t quite read.
“I did tell you it wouldn’t take long.”
“I’ve missed seeing you like this.” Darragh crossed to him and touched Finn’s cheek. “Confident. In your element.”
“It’s fixing a window latch, not building a cathedral.”
“It’s you being yourself instead of pretending to be someone you’re not.” Darragh kissed him softly. “I’ll take it.”
/~/~/~/~/
The water damage in the east wing started as a small dark patch on the wallpaper, barely noticeable.
Finn spotted it when he was checking on the guest suites.
He could have reported it to Gordon and had it added to the endless list of castle maintenance issues that someone else would handle.
Three months ago, that’s exactly what he would have done. Hell, two weeks ago, he would have.
Instead, Finn found Trent in the servants’ hall, sharing tea with the castle’s head of maintenance, a grizzled man named Marcus who’d worked at the castle for forty years.
“That wall in the east wing.” Finn pulled up a chair, ignoring the startled looks from nearby servants. “The one near the guest quarters. I take it you’ve seen it?”
Marcus nodded slowly. “Aye, Your Grace. I noticed it last week, and it’s on the schedule to be investigated.”
“Do you mind if I help? I’d like to understand the building better, and I’ve got some experience tracing leaks.”
Marcus exchanged a glance with Trent, who grinned. “Your Grace, we’d be honored.”
They spent the next two hours methodically tracing the source of the water damage.
Finn climbed into the crawl space above the ceiling - ignoring Marcus’s protests about propriety and that some “boy” could do it - and found the problem.
It was, as he suspected, a cracked pipe that had been dripping for months, hidden behind old insulation.
“We’ll need to replace this whole section.” Finn backed out of the space, cobwebs in his hair, dust on his formal coat. “And check the others while we’re at it. If one’s cracked, odds are the rest aren’t far behind.”
“I’ll get a crew together.” Marcus looked at Finn with new respect. “Thank you, Your Grace. We’d have found it eventually, but by then the damage would’ve been much worse.”
“Just doing what makes sense.” Finn brushed dust off his sleeves. “Marcus, I’d like to spend some time each week learning more about the building’s infrastructure. Would that be possible?”
“You want to work with the maintenance crew?” Marcus’s eyebrows shot up.
“I want to understand how things work. I can’t make good decisions about the castle if I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Finn met his eyes steadily. “And I miss working with my hands. It helps me think.”
Marcus grinned, the expression transforming his weathered face. “Your Grace, you’re welcome anytime.”
Word spread fast. By the next day, half the castle staff knew the king consort had crawled into a ceiling space to find a leak. The other half heard he’d spent an hour discussing foundation maintenance with the groundskeeper.
Helena found him in the north tower, examining a crack in the stonework.
“Are you creating a new scandal?” She didn’t sound disapproving, just amused.
“Just learning about my new home.” Finn traced the crack with his finger, felt the slight give in the mortar, and then looked up at her and smiled. “I had always felt like a guest here, and it’s time to change that. This needs repainting before winter.”
“The staff are talking.”
“Let them.” Finn turned to face her. “I spent months trying to be what I thought everyone expected, and honestly, it nearly destroyed me. I’m done pretending I’m something I’m not.”
Helena studied him for a long moment. “Good. Authenticity suits you better than performance ever did.” She paused.
“Though I should mention that three servants have already asked if you’re hiring for your personal staff.
Apparently, working for someone who understands their challenges is appealing. ”
Finn blinked. “I haven’t thought about personal staff. No one ever mentioned it. I’ve been here for months and…”
“You’re the king consort. You’re entitled to your own staff.” Helena smiled. “Consider it. Think about how much more comfortable you might be if you had people around you who value your practical skills instead of expecting you to hide them.”
/~/~/~/~/
“We’ve got so much to do.”
Finn crossed his arms, facing down Darragh across the breakfast table. “Back when we got married, you promised me one day a week. We were supposed to spend it together, and it’s been months since we actually took it.”
“The summit starts in three days. I know the bulk of the work is done, but…”
“I know you’re too busy to come with me, but the summit starting in three days is exactly why I need this.” Finn softened his voice. “Please, Darragh. I haven’t been home once since our wedding. I’m asking for half a day. I need to go home.”
Darragh’s resistance crumbled. “Winrone?”
“Just for a few hours. I need to remember who I am before I face delegates who think I’m not good enough.”
“I’ve told you more than once that you’re more than good enough.”
“Touching base with the village will help me even more.”
Trent had the carriage ready within the hour. They rode in comfortable silence, the familiar landscape of Winrone coming into view as they crested the final hill. Finn felt something in his chest loosen with every mile.
Mrs. Weatherby was in her garden when they arrived, wrestling with a basket of vegetables. She looked up, shaded her eyes, and her face split into a delighted grin.
“Finn! Oh, you wretched boy, you missed my birthday.”
Finn climbed down from the carriage, submitted to being thoroughly scolded and enthusiastically hugged in equal measure. “I’m sorry. I sent a gift…”
“A basket. Very fancy, very expensive, and absolutely impersonal.” She swatted his arm. “I wanted you, you foolish man. Title or no title, you’re still my Finn.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” And he was. “Let me make it up to you. What needs fixing?”
“The garden fence is falling apart, the gate won’t latch, and there’s a board loose on my front steps.” She eyed him critically. “But you’re all dressed up fancy now. You probably can’t…”
“I came prepared. Trent, have you got my tools?”
“Always.” Trent produced the familiar toolbox from the carriage.
Finn stripped off his formal coat, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.
His hands remembered the rhythm - measure, cut, fit, and secure.
Mrs. Weatherby brought him tea and homemade cookies, sat on her porch, and told him all the village gossip he’d missed.
Who was courting whom, whose roof needed repairs, how the harvest was looking, and all the other little bits and pieces of village life that Finn had once known intimately.
Trent joined him after the first hour, and they worked side by side the way they had a thousand times before. No titles, no protocol, just two friends fixing a fence.
“You look a lot happier.” Trent hammered a nail home. “That smile is a damn sight better than the pinched lips you had going on when I had to come looking for you.”
“I feel like myself again.” Finn tested the board and found it solid. “I lost that somewhere along the way.”
“You letting them change you?”
“I was trying to do the changing.” Finn moved to the next section. “I thought I had to become someone else to fit. But that someone else isn’t me, and I can’t sustain it. I’ll always fail if I’m trying to be something I’m not.”
“So be yourself.”
“Darragh keeps saying that.”
“Darragh’s smart.” Trent grinned. “He married you, didn’t he?”
By the time they finished, the fence was solid, the gate latched properly, and the front steps were safe again. Mrs. Weatherby fed them lunch and made him promise to visit more often.
“You’re happy?” she asked quietly as they prepared to leave. “With him up at the castle? With the fancy life?”
Finn thought about Darragh’s laugh, his kindness, the way he’d held Finn through the worst of the stress. “Yes. I am. It’s been really hard, and I’ve made mistakes, but I’m happy.”
“Good. You deserve to be happy, Finn. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
The ride back to the castle felt lighter. Finn watched the countryside roll past, his hands tired in the best way, his mind clearer than it had been in months.
“Thank you,” he told Trent. “For staying. For reminding me who I am.”
“That’s what friends do.” Trent bumped his shoulder. “Though I expect you to return the favor when I inevitably do something stupid.”
When they arrived back at the castle, Darragh was waiting. He took one look at Finn - dusty, disheveled, grinning - and pulled him into a kiss that tasted like relief.
“Better?”
“Much better.” Finn leaned into him. “I’m ready to face the summit now.”
“As yourself?”
“As myself.”
/~/~/~/~/
The entertainment plans for the summit had been a point of contention.
Helena wanted classical musicians, refined performances that would impress the delegates with Safe Harbor’s cultural sophistication.
But sitting in the planning meeting, reviewing the proposed schedule, Finn realized they were doing what he’d been trying to do - be something they weren’t.
“What if we don’t?” he said, interrupting Helena mid-sentence.
She blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to be refined and sophisticated. What if we showcase what Safe Harbor actually is?” Finn leaned forward. “Our strengths aren’t classical music and formal balls. It’s practical skill, shipbuilding, and harbor culture. Why are we hiding that?”
Aldric frowned. “Because other kingdoms view those things as provincial…”
“Let them.” Finn surprised himself with the force of his conviction. “We’re not going to change their minds by pretending to be like them. But we might earn their respect by being excellent at what we actually are.”
Darragh was grinning. “What did you have in mind?”
“Sea shanties from the harbor workers. They’re incredible - I’ve heard them, and they always stir the soul.
We could have a demonstration of traditional boat-building techniques.
Put our focus on local performers, to go with our local food and culture.
” Finn met Helena’s skeptical gaze. “Safe Harbor’s identity is practical excellence.
Let’s own it instead of apologizing for it. ”
“Guests such as Princess Marielle will have a field day if she faces entertainment like that,” Jericho warned. “She’ll call it provincial and unsophisticated and probably write home about how Safe Harbor confirmed every stereotype.”
“Let her.” Finn shrugged. “If she can’t appreciate authentic culture, that’s her limitation, not ours.”
The confidence wasn’t forced. It came from something deeper - from remembering he was good at things, that his perspective had value, that being himself was not only acceptable but necessary.
Helena studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. We’ve been approaching this wrong. Safe Harbor’s strength is authenticity. We should showcase it, not hide it.”
“The Northern Collective might actually appreciate it,” Aldric added, clearly warming to the idea. “They value practical skill over empty formality.”
“Then it’s settled.” Darragh looked at Finn with pride that made his chest tight. “We do this as ourselves.”