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“Not long ago,” Connak begins, shaking his head. “I was attacked by three beasts. I swung my sword, cut off an arm... And when it hit the ground, it wasn’t covered in fur.”
“It looked like your arm,” Zivol describes. “Like my arm. Ada’s arm.”
The hunter slowly nods, almost as if he doesn’t quite believe it. “Yeah.”
“They aren’t what we think,” Noctis states, his voice distant. “That’s why we stopped hunting them, why we opened the tavern.”
“What does one have to do with the other?” Connak inquires.
I lean back in my chair as I answer, “People talk. More so in bars than in bakeries or general stores. People drink, and their lips loosen. They spin wild tales, but all of those stories have some seed of truth to them.”
Kerr cracks a smile. “What do you know of taverns, goddess?”
The moniker, or possible title, takes me by surprise. I don’t know if he means for it to be condescending or kind, though somehow, it sounds like both.
“We call them by many names on Earth. Taverns, saloons, bars, pubs, nightclubs... But there is one universal truth.” I wobble my head. “Maybe two. People talk when you serve them alcohol.”
“And the second?” Zivol challenges.
“People fight,” I declare.
Noctis chuckles, and I find myself wondering how the coy queen ended up falling for such dark men. I suppose opposites attract and all, but the more I talk to them, the more odd her relationships with them become. Though one can probably say the same of my choices in men—past and present.
“Why haven’t you brought her to the tavern?” he asks Ecaeris.
“People fight,” the prince repeats. “Ada more than most. And she throws rocks. She can’t be trusted after drinking.”
I scoff. “You’ve never seen me after I’ve drank. I happen to be a bubbly, happy drunk.”
“With a pocket full of rocks,” he mutters.
I shrug. “They already have your name on them. I won’t waste them on anyone else.”
Ecaeris flourishes his hand in my direction as if to prove his point. But his parents only end up fighting to hide their amusement.
Zivol is the first to contain himself and speak. “The people do talk. They’ve seen things they don’t believe to be true. It goes against everything we told the previous generations when we began this dynasty.”
“Huh,” I huff.
“What is it?” Kerr asks, observing me as I try to count on my fingers.
It only works if I count centuries, though… So, I finally relent and ask a question I’ve refused to acknowledge until this very minute in time.
“You’ve been with Isolde since the beginning of her reign?”
Noctis sighs wistfully. “Followed her like lost children since day one. Not that she was going to let us walk away after she decided she liked us. It wasn’t easy, but we stuck like barnacles until she cared too much to cast us aside.”
Connak chuckles when I swivel my attention to Ecaeris. “Sounds familiar.”
“You know what I haven’t heard,” the prince begins, and I expect something snarky. “No one has come to get me about the attack.”
“That is strange,” Connak agrees.
“Go check it out,” Kerr tells us. “But if you don’t find them in the clinic, you'll soon find them whispering their tales at the tavern. You’re always welcome to join us, Ada. It’s not as rough as Ecaeris will lead you to believe.”
I tip my head as we stand from the table. “I like to make up my mind on my own. He doesn’t have as much sway as you believe.”
“She’s stubborn,” Ecaeris interprets.
