Amelia reached across the counter and gave me a hardy slap on the back. “She may be a noble, but don’t give up, sonny!” she told me in a whisper so Elizabeth couldn’t hear.
“Um… Th-Thank you.”
I’m higher ranking than her, but we’re already a perfect match on that front…
Amelia sighed. “Ah, youth! I’ve forgotten what it must be like for you kids.”
“Oh, c’mon, you’ve got your hubby!” King Ricardo replied with a grin.
“That old oaf’s about as sensitive as a slab of rock. Why, he didn’t so much as bat an eye at the news of His Royal Highness’ wedding parade!” She turned to Elizabeth. “You’ll be attending, won’t you, miss?”
I nearly spewed the meat I was chewing and had to forcefully swallow it prematurely. I hadn’t anticipated the change in topic, much less such a question. Elizabeth seemed equally troubled.
“I believe I’ll be there, yes,” she cautioned.
Amelia sighed. “Of course you will! I wouldn’t miss it for anything myself. I’ve never seen them before, but I can only imagine how charming the prince must be, much less the beauty of his bride! Why, it’ll be wonderful!”
Stop grinning at us like that, Ricky! I get it!
Amelia looked past me as I fumbled for a reply, smiling warmly at Elizabeth. “If I may be so bold, miss, I imagine you’ll be quite beautiful without those glasses in the way.”
Elizabeth stiffened, a blush tickling her cheeks. “What? Y-You think so?”
“And you,” Amelia continued as she turned to me, “if you got your hair a little more in order…”
I hurriedly grabbed Elizabeth by the hand and led her a few steps back. “Th-Thank you for treating us! It was very good!”
So she’s the nosy, overly helpful type…not that she’s wrong. We’re drabbing down on purpose—especially sweet Elizabeth.
“Later, ma’am!” King Ricardo called with a wave as he followed us away. “I’ll be back!”
Amelia waved amicably to us, paying no mind to the strangeness of our retreat. “See you later, Ricky!”
At least the capital’s people are friendly…
We continued down the main street, peeking in at stalls of herbs and potpourris and admiring the street art as we went. Harold had released King Ricardo from his leash as we walked, but the two were still arguing at the front of our group.
“Oh, relax! The contract says—”
“If the contract truly covered everything, my life would be a hundred times easier. You must consider your position more.”
King Ricardo grinned. “You sound just like Mariabel… I think I like that.”
At least someone’s enjoying himself… Harold? Maybe you shouldn’t be looking at a foreign king with such malice?
“C’mon,” King Ricardo continued, “isn’t it important to get to know your people? Y’know, letting go of all that stuffy formality, trusting your gut… My country nearly split in half because the nobles didn’t do that enough.”
Harold’s eyes narrowed. “I know playing hooky when I see it. Do they not call you the Prodigal King back in Nieve?”
“Man, you’ve grown up smart!” the king grinned, running his hand roughly through my manservant’s hair. “I wish I had an aide like you!”
From the pleasure on his face, I gathered that he was enjoying their interaction.
Er. They’ve really hit it off, haven’t they?
I had little time to mull it over, however, as King Ricardo whipped about to look at me. There was a mischievous hint of a smile on his lips.
“Now, here’s a question for you. How long has that stall been in business?”
He pointed down at my hands, and I looked down to see the name of the store marked on the wrapper—Mother Polka’s Meat Meet.
How long has it been in business? I’ve checked the dates on all historic buildings in the area, but none have a built-in kitchen like that, and even then, I have no way of knowing about that particular store.
“I…”
I started to say I had no idea but stopped myself. Something was tapping at the back of my hand, soft as an angel’s feather. It was one of Elizabeth’s slender porcelain fingers.
Wh-What? Why here, why now?!
My eyes went to her in surprise, but she was pointedly facing away as though she hadn’t heard our conversation. I was overcome with joy that she would do such a thing, even if subconsciously—but no, of course, there had to be a reason for such immoral touching. Now that I was paying greater attention, I realized she was tracing a consistent pattern—first six, then seven. It was the answer he was seeking.
“Er… Sixty-seven years, was it?” I ventured.
I’m rather impressed they’ve been in business so long.
“What about the palace?” the king prompted. “When was it constructed?”
Even in my current state, I knew that answer.
“If I recall, twenty years ago.”
He nodded. “Excellent. This humble store, then, is far older than the so-called center point of the capital itself!” he announced, snapping his fingers emphatically.
I remained nonchalant, even though my mind continued to spin. I couldn’t fathom how Elizabeth knew such a thing.
“It’s rather famous as the supposed beginning of the capital’s street food culture, isn’t it?” Elizabeth questioned. “Supposedly, they’ve used the same barrel of sauce since the stall’s inception. The building was left intact during the city’s reconstruction and is famous to this day as a remnant of the old city.”
So it’s that famous amongst the people, is it?
I listened attentively to her explanation. That kernel of knowledge once had a home within my head, and I found myself grateful she was so attentive in her queenly studies.
King Ricardo smiled warmly at her. “An excellent answer, but there’s a very real limit to what books can tell you. A king does not a kingdom make, after all. You need to connect with the people, see the places they love, the sights they see, the food they enjoy. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a critical part of being a ruler.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I suppose I’ve never had it before now.”
She seemed to believe his words. Harold seemed to half doubt him still, but even he seemed to concede there was some wisdom to it. I had to agree myself. He had his own ambition and his pride as ruler of his country.
I paused in my tracks. I didn’t have any such pride myself. In fact, I hadn’t spared so much as a thought to my future reign, as I had been focusing on Elizabeth’s happiness.
“Ah!”
I snapped out of my reverie and looked up to find King Ricardo ahead, staring intently through the window of a store. His hand was on his chin in a gesture of modest observation, but he was trembling with joy. The signboard had the mark of a winged rabbit against a laurel motif—the mark of Mother’s house. We had arrived at a general store that specialized in wares of Mother’s design, it seemed.