He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. “We’re going to a public house. Having a few drinks.”
She pulled her head back. “A public house?”
“What, surprised a king would deign to interact with his own people? Don’t think too highly of me. My people haven’t seen me looking this healthy before. No one will recognize me as their beloved monarch. To them, I’ll be just an old soldier out for a drink.”
Annoyance prickled her skin. “I wasn’t thinking about you at all. I was more concerned with the fact that I’m dressed in a night robe.”
He wrinkled his nose as he studied her, as if he hadn’t truly looked at her until now. “Worry not. You’ll do. People from all around come to Syrus, either to visit or take up residence. I offer my citizens a way of life not often found elsewhere—but you’ll see for yourself. The point is there are no standards of fashion here, with so many outside influences. No one will look twice at your clothes.”
With that, he proceeded again.
Gritting her teeth, she followed him. She was barefoot too, but the streets were surprisingly clean, and the cobblestones were well-maintained. Besides, being barefoot outside wasn’t an oddity for her. The Forest People valued physical connections with nature and relished any opportunity to set their shoeless soles on soil.
As they navigated the narrow, winding street that lined the sloping cliff, Cora cast her attention up the hill this time, taking in the ever-climbing incline. More rows of buildings stretched above her, and at the very top stood a bell tower beside a crenellated wall. Behind that rose an enormous white dome. The entire structure was illuminated with lanterns, making it a beacon of beauty. She wondered if that was Darius’ palace.
She looked from the bell tower above to the sea below and determined they were only midway up the hill. She couldn’t imagine how breathtaking the view might be from the top. As much as she craved such a sight, she was grateful they kept to the outer street that ran horizontally across the hill and not one of the streets that led to the higher levels. She was in no mood for a hike.
Sounds of raucous laughter and the clink of plates and glasses grew louder, as did the frequency of light streaming from the windows. Crowds filled the streets ahead, either from groups of men chatting or couples dining at the small tables set beside the wall. Cora hadn’t had many experiences in cities, as she’d often stayed behind with the commune when the Forest People had gone to trade in nearby villages. To see so many figures gathered around so late at night, so animated, so energetic…it was a bit overwhelming.
That reminded her to reconnect with the elements and strengthen her mental shields. She wanted to keep a close read on Darius’ energy, but that could wait until they’d settled in at their destination.
She wove through the crowded sidewalk. He was right about no one noticing him as their king. In fact, the people barely noticed either of them. Finally, Darius paused outside a building of pink stucco. More sounds of chatter and laughter echoed from behind the heavy wooden door, above which hung a sign.
The Dragon’s Arms Public House.
“Here we are.” Darius pushed open the door and strode inside.
Cora followed, anxiety fraying the edges of her mental wards. The pub was packed with patrons filling nearly every table in the room. Ale and smoke infused the air, making the dimly lit room seem even darker. The walls were a cream plaster, recessed with small alcoves that held decorative bottles or oil lamps. The red tile floor was sticky beneath her bare feet.
Darius swept through the crowd with ease, while Cora shuffled in his wake, her heart racing as she skirted around the busy tables. A trio of men rose from their table at the same time, chatting as they closed in toward her, paying her not a lick of heed. She was forced to go around and lost sight of Darius. She shuffled this way and that, then finally spotted him at a small table at the back of the room.
With a weighted glare, she rushed the rest of the way there and planted herself in the empty seat, making an effort to pull it as far away from him as space allowed. She fought to catch her breath, seething at being put in such a position.
Darius leaned back in his chair, as if the pub were his home and not a loud room filled with inebriated strangers. His ease mocked her, making her want to hide her discomfort. If she admitted how flustered she was, she’d have to confess she’d never done this before. Never entered a public house or dined with commoners.
She’d never considered herself a sheltered person. Her early hardships had matured her in many ways, while life with the Forest People had given her the sense that she was self-sufficient and well-traveled. Only now did she realize how few of life’s mundane experiences she’d had. How truly sheltered she was. How little she could relate to the average citizen.
She was a terrible queen.
True, she’d only been queen for a matter of months, and before that, she’d lived with a secretive commune. Guilt plagued her nonetheless.
A willowy serving woman approached their table, dressed in a floral-patterned skirt and white top that hung off her shoulders. A red kerchief tied back auburn hair to display a sun-browned face adorned with freckles. Her eyes dipped to Darius’ black coat, with its high collar and stiff shoulders. Now that Cora was closer, she noted the gold pins at his lapels, showcasing a dragon in a circle of flame. That must be Syrus’ sigil. A strange sigil for a king who was rejected by every dragon he’d tried to bond. Did he still hold out hope he’d gain their approval after he became Morkaius?
Something brightened in the serving woman’s expression. “Welcome, esteemed soldier. You honor us with your great presence. What can I get for you this evening?”
“Zaran wine, 170 Year of the Eagle,” he answered with a charming grin.
The woman arched a brow at Cora.
“Nothing for me.”
“Ale for her,” Darius said.
The woman flounced off, slapping a patron upside the head when he pinched her backside.
“Lively, happy, healthy.” Darius gestured toward the nearby tables. “No one has been beheaded in the streets or drawn and quartered by moonlight. Who would have thought?”
She maintained a stony expression at his continued attempt at sarcasm. “Just because I don’t trust you doesn’t mean I assumed you were a bloodthirsty king.”
