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The man yanked off his cap and twisted it in his hands. “He’s done a fine job, sir. Much better than the last sheriff.”
I snorted. That wouldn’t be difficult.
Countless onlookers nodded, though their support was muted.
Dispersed whispers emerged from the crowd. “Fair… Tolerant… Strict but understanding…”
“But…?” The king circled his hand impatiently.
The man continued twisting his cap. “Well, you’ve seen it yourself, sir. He’s a dragon.”
“And that big one over there is a bear.” Someone else indicated John.
A third pointed to me. “Him, too. I saw him turn into a lion.”
I stood perfectly still, because what exactly did one say to something like that? Yes, as a matter of fact. I am a lion. Want to hear me roar?
I sighed inwardly. Probably not a good time.
“They’re wild animals, sir. It’s just not natural.”
My heart sank, and I fully expected the king to nod solemnly.
But he didn’t. Instead, he grinned — grinned! — then winked.
“My dear man, why do you suppose they call me Lionheart?”
I stared. Robynne stared. Daniel too. Everyone stared — except Marian, the king’s men, and a woman at the side of the crowd, who fainted. So technically, she wasn’t staring. But the other however-many-hundred people did.
“You mean…you mean…” A handful of people backed away, but most held their ground.
The king sighed loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Consider the evidence. Who did these animals, as you call them, fight for? What did they fight for?”
Nervous murmurs sounded, though no one spoke up. No one but Robynne.
“We fight for the people of Nottingham. For our king. For justice. We always have, and we always will.”
More staring ensued, and someone whispered, “We?”
Robynne touched her chest. “Fox shifter.”
For a moment, everyone remained speechless. Then Marge, the stout, bossy basket vendor, spoke in a voice honed from years of calling out over the din of the marketplace, “Ha. A fox and a woman. No wonder she’s so cunning.”
Her tone applauded Robynne, who grinned back.
“But…” a man murmured.
Marge elbowed him. “But nothing. Without Robynne Hood, we wouldn’t have fed the children this winter. And without the sheriff extending the deadline, we would still be scraping pennies together for taxes instead of milk and bread.”
The king shot a stern look at Daniel, who gulped. “Short-term extension, sir. Enough to get your subjects through the winter.”
I sucked in a breath at the subtext: The subjects you haven’t been here to look after.
To his credit, the king looked penitent. Hopefully, the message that he was needed at home more than at the Crusades was coming through loud and clear.
“But…but… They can’t be trusted,” someone else said.
“Trust?” a rotund, strangely pale man retorted, drawing everyone’s attention.
