Flames of embarrassment scorch the back of my neck. “Essentially none.”
“I thought you grew up by the sea.”
“By the sea. Not on it.”
He suppresses another chuckle. “Don’t worry. I have no plans to bring you into the Bay of Blood for a clash with Frostlander longships.” He pauses. “Not today.”
With that rather foreboding remark, Soren turns his attention to the ruddy-cheeked sternman—who introduces himself as Deke—as he guides us swiftly out into the constant stream of boat traffic. They chat animatedly about a mutual acquaintance’s most recent trade run to the Southlands, which is due back with several months’ worth of coffee, sugar, tybae leaf, and other imported pleasures. Enough to keep citizens stocked for the summer. I am content to sit back and listen, well occupied by observing the bustling marketplace that streams to either side of our small vessel.
Occasionally, Soren directs our smiling captain to approach a barge, and he steers us in close enough to barter. Each vendorwe visit beams with unguarded pleasure at the sight of their king. Soren greets most by name and speaks to them with a familiarity that surprises me—asking after family members’ health, joking about the unseasonable conditions when they clutch their thin cloaks tighter and grumble about the chill. Though they make a fuss about not accepting payment, Soren continuously forks over fistfuls of coin in exchange for all manner of things—which, in turn, he promptly shoves into my hands for consumption, along with a one-worded order.
“Eat.”
I happily comply, if only to have something to do with my mouth besides gape at him. Who is this man? I thought I knew, but the mercurial monarch who smiles and laughs with his people is a stranger to me. For their benefit, he tucks away the darker side of himself I know exists—the one that bubbles up from the depths on the rare occasions he allows his charismatic facade to slip—and gives them a lighthearted version of himself instead. Showering them with his favor.
Two things become inarguably clear as the morning progresses. First, that King Soren is utterly beloved by his people. And second, that he is treated less like a sovereign than any I have ever met. Even Pendefyre, for all his hatred of royal protocol, is greeted with a grave sort of reverence when he walks the streets of Caeldera. Bowed heads and downcast gazes of respect. Yet every Hylian we come across acts as though the man seated so close beside me is a long-lost friend, not a liege lord. Despite complaints about the pervasive cloud cover, whenever Soren appears, those who spot him light up like the sun has finally emerged.
I lose count of the barges we stop at, of the delectables I consume. I scarcely have time to swallow before Soren deposits something else into my hands. A cup of green tea so flavorful itmakes my tongue tingle. Two hot pink fruits I have no name for. A handful of steaming nuts seasoned with fiery pepper. A crispy seaweed wrap stuffed with rice and crabmeat. A skewer of succulent grilled shrimp that the vendor assures us he caught just before sunrise.
The shrimp in particular are so delicious, I very nearly beg our sternman to go back for a second helping.
I am too busy chewing to talk to anyone, but Soren does enough for the both of us. Even after Deke steers us out of the market onto a quieter canal, Soren continues to call out greetings to people walking along the banks, passing in their own craft, and, a few times, throwing open their second-floor windows to wave and smile at us.
Swallowing the last sip of my tea, I set down my cup on the low-slung table bolted to the boat’s bottom and press my hands to my stomach. I feel full enough to burst. It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten so much, and so well.
“So? What’s the verdict?” Soren asks, settling back against the cushions beside me. His arms snake along the top of the bench, his boots cross at the ankles—a position of utter repose. “How was your first Llyrian breakfast?”
“Unlike any breakfast I have ever had before.”
He grins.
“Can I ask you something?”
The grin fades somewhat, but he nods. “You can ask me anything.”
“How is it you can do this?”
“I’m not certain I follow.”
“How can a king move so freely through his city, as though…well, as though he is not a king at all?”
“I didn’t realize you were acquainted with so many kings.”
“You know what I mean.”
He sighs. “You would have me—what, exactly? Hide out in my villa? Live entirely separate from the people I am meant to rule? Lord over them from above without emerging from my privileged cocoon long enough to learn who it is I am responsible for? Make decisions for them without bothering to ask about their needs and desires and fears?”
I blink at him, stunned. “No. No, of course not. I only meant…”
His brows rise.
“Where is your royal guard?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have one,” I repeat, voice thick with disbelief.
“Haven’t you heard? I’m by far the most menacing thing in this city.” He winks playfully. “Perhaps in all the realm, if you put much stock in Midlanders’ rumors.”