Even though Quentin was disappointed he wasn't the true high king, he wasn't actually surprised. He was twenty-two and still unpresented, and the role of high king was jam-packed with expectations of 'destiny' and 'power' that reeked of something reserved for an alpha.

An alpha like Eliot.

Eliot wasn't a traditional alpha, who were stereotypically all oblivious and obnoxious muscle-men shoving their strength around to get what they want. Yet, he still had that air of unquestionable authority people expected from alphas. Quentin had no doubt about what his secondary gender was when he saw him lounging outside of Breakbills that first day, elegantly draped across the wall like he owned the place. He moved with a certain majesty and aloofness that captured a room. Quentin had seen even the self-proclaimed toughest of rowdy first-years shrink back in Eliot's presence.

He already ruled the entire physical kids house, so of course he would be the one whose destiny was to command a kingdom.

Quentin had even less reason to be bitter when he accounted for the fact that even though ruling wasn't his 'destiny', that, because of Eliot, he still got to be a Fillorian king.

So why did something inside him still feel so hollow and unfulfilled?

Quentin was sitting in the throne room twirling an empty royal goblet in his hands, pretending to examine the intricate designs crafted into it as he actually contemplated his brain's latest rebellion against his happiness. He would've simply written off as another depressive patch, but it was… deeper then that. Ever since entering Brakebills, he'd been able to keep his mental condition in check to a degree where the most his anxieties plagued him was an occasional few days of feeling extra 'done' with the world. This felt like an emptiness at his core, craving something to fill it. Not simple numb sadness. He'd blame it on another throne curse if it wasn't for the fact that he now checked his seat with a few revealing spells every time before he sat down.

The quick steps of nervous approaching feet broke him out of his contemplation. Tick stood before him, wringing his hands.

"Your majesty?" His eyes landed on the cup in Quentin's hands. "Would you care for more wine?"

Quentin shook his head. "Um, no, thank you, I'm fine." It was a tempting offer, but unlike Eliot, he dealt with his issues with more self-pitying sulking, less drinking.

Tick's nervous hand-wringing increased. "Are you certain? There are some particular sensitive issues that must be discussed, and perhaps if your majesty had more wine, he would feel more comfortable talking about them-"

Quentin's brow furrowed. "If there's something you need to tell me, you can just say it."

He was a bit worried now. Glancing around the throne room, he was saw that it was still empty. Eliot and Margo were off being fitted with new outfits worthy of a high king and queen in anticipation of an arriving delegation, and Alice was no doubt off enjoying the spoils of a new large library to explore. It didn't seem right that he was being addressed regarding anything important without them. True, he was a king in his own right, but usually he was only consulted when someone wanted a third, or fourth, opinion on matters.

"It's regarding what I believe you call on earth your 'secondary gender'. You see, the Sunerian delegation arriving later this week has some very specific ideas about how alphas, betas, and omegas should dress." Tick's level of discomfort with the conversation seemed to be increasing as he spoke. "Right now, we're having a bit of trouble finding a suitable outfit for your majesty, as it seems we're not exactly certain what your secondary gender actually is."

Something on Quentin's face must've shifted without him realizing it, as Tick hurried to add, "Of course, we would never be so invasive to ask your majesty such a personal question if it wasn't essential. As you know, the Sunerian control the supply of oil for both lamps and cooking, and it's crucial that they think of us as equals so we can continue to trade with them, which is why we have to show respect to their customs. Also, there are also protocols regarding dynamic behavior in the Sunerian religion to be discussed-"

Quentin cut him off before he could continue. "Yeah, um, I get that. That it's important. But the thing is that I'm not really sure any of that applies to me?" Quentin shifted in his seat anxiously as the confusion on Tick's face intensified. "I, um, haven't actually presented… as anything." Quentin finished lamely.

A physical weight of nervousness seemed to lift off of Tick, even as his face lit up. "Truly? Is that all it is? We were worried that you had been cursed impotent by the purple popflies of the bandiland briar marsh or some other sort of mystical malady."

Quentin was startled, and maybe a tiny bit offended, by how relieved Tick was to hear that no, he hadn't been struck by colorful magic bugs or whatever other weirdness Fillory had to offer, his body had managed to fuck up his dynamic all on its own.

"Um, yeah, no flies, just me. So what does that mean? Am I exempt from the rules?"

"Unfortunately, no. Actually, without a dynamic, the Sunerians will likely see you as an abomination and an offense to their religious morals and either call for your execution or break off all relations with Fillory. But there is good news."

"How is there good news?!"

"Because of the low constant opium content in Fillory's air, it's not uncommon for young Fillorians to have trouble presenting here. We long ago developed a potion that we use to treat anyone with an unrevealed dynamic who is past the normal age of presenting. It sometimes leads to an initial, say we say, exacerbation, of some gendered traits, but it fades within the first few weeks."

Quentin heart began racing. It couldn't be that easy. "So you're saying all I have to do is take this potion, and I'll immediately know what my secondary gender is?"

"Well, it takes a about a day to take effect. Since the delegation is arriving in less then three, the best option would be to give you the potion now and then brief you on the customs for all the dynamics, at least until we discover which applies to you. Or, -" Tick mouth scrunched back up into a stressed line for a moment. "If you'd prefer, you could always choose to leave Whitespire while the delegation is here. There's a chance that they'll still be offended and it'll affect the negotiations, but won't be enough for them to start a war with Fillory."

Quentin felt like his brain was about to short out. He had (sullenly) come to terms with his unfortunate dynamic situation long ago. When he woke up this morning, he hadn't expected to be offered the chance to have his world turned upside down. As much as he disliked, and was frequently embarrassed by, his lack of a secondary gender, it was all he knew. His had spent years programming his mind and body to navigate the biological inconvenience, and the prospect of having to relearn all of that was daunting. He certainly didn't want to experience that while facing a group of outsiders with whom his interactions in part the fate of the kingdom hinged on.

But then again. He knew if he took the easy way out and put off making the choice by fleeing into the woods for the next week, life would become much more difficult for his fellow royalty. He vividly remembers when he first arrived back in Fillory, popping into the throne room via Penny and catching Elliot unaware. He had been pouring over economic documents, one hand tangled in his dark curls while his crown rested on the table beside him. The typical shadows that lingered under his eyes had seemed a little deeper in the candlelight. In that moment, even though he had somehow managed to look no less majestic, he had appeared much less like a king and more like an ordinary stressed graduate student cramming for a big exam. He supposed that in some ways the situation was like a test, only the stakes were a bit higher then a pass/fall mark.

Elliot – and the rest of his friends – had been through enough lately without him adding to that stress. Besides, whether it was now or later, Quentin was certain that in the end he'd eventually chose to take the potion. He knew he wanted to have his dynamic, the only real question was how much more time and stress he was going to put himself, and in this case his friends, through before he let himself have it. It wasn't going to be easy, but goddammit, he had helped slay the Beast, and he was technically a king of Fillory now. He might as well make at least one decision where he acted like it.

"Okay. Okay, I'll take the potion. What do I need to do?"

Tick, who had resumed this anxious shuffling during Quentin's moment of hesitation, seemed to barely resist jumping up into the air in joy. "Excellent! There's nothing special you need to do right now, but if I could just take that for a moment-" He plucked the wine goblet from Quentin hand, and before Quentin even had time to react, was scurrying off. Headed to wherever they kept the secret magic gender potion, he supposed. The thought that this was going to happen right now, with so little prelude, almost got his anxieties sputtering to life again, but before they had time to fully start up, Tick appeared back in the chamber.

"Here you are, your majesty." He thrust the goblet at Quentin with two hands. It was now full of an opaque blue liquid with glittery trails of red and yellow swirling through it. He took it reluctantly from Tick's hands.

"Um, it certainly is colorful." Up close, the glitter was even more prominent. He thought it looked a bit like unicorn puke.

"That would be the sparkling snail slime." Tick added helpful.

"The wha- Actually no, please don't tell me." Quentin said, slightly horrified, but also weirdly comforted by Fillory being, well, Fillory.

And it was time to take advantage of Fillory's weirdness to solve one of his life-long issues. Even if it maybe meant the start of another. Resolutely trying not to think of how glittering slug slime could possibly be harvested, Quentin tipped the goblet up to his lips.

"Well, bottom's up."