Page 25 of Coronation
“You survived, though, right?” I giggle, and even the nerves aren’t enough to lessen my smile.
Ben is saved from coming up with a scathing reply to this as the pub door opens yet again as we approach. The man leaving is intent on lighting his cigarette and barely glances in our direction as he holds open the door with his shoulder, mumbling something in greeting under his breath as he clicks the lighter.
As the door swings shut behind us, Benedict and I pause just inside, taking it all in.
The entire pub seems to be included in one large room. Iron lanterns hang over a line of booths at one end of the spaceand above the glossy wood bar on the other. A set of stairs to our right leads to more seating on a balcony, which winds around the entire perimeter of the room, overlooking the area that’s been cleared for dancing.
A few dozen couples are mopping their brows or fanning their flushed faces, all wearing breathless smiles. In the corner, a four-piece band is gearing up for another song, taking swigs of beer, and talking amongst themselves as their audience recovers.
Ben leans down to speak directly in my ear. “Come on,” he mutters, wrapping an arm around my waist, keeping me close to his side as we edge forward. I can feel the tension in his body as we make our way through the noisy crowd of pub-goers to the single, empty table just off the makeshift dance floor. The top is sticky with beer residue, and, shoved off to the side, a tiny LED tealight sits dark in its stained holder.
No sooner have we taken our seats than a red-bearded man appears, a pad and pen at the ready. “What can I get you?” he asks in an accent so thick I can barely understand him, waving a large hand toward the board of food options above the bar.
I crane my neck around him to see, but Benedict saves me from having to scramble for something to order, telling the man we’d each like a pint of a beer I’ve never heard of, without looking up at him even once.
“And to eat?” the man prompts us with an air of impatience that we haven’t memorized the menu.
I lean past him, peering at the menu, and my heart lifts at the sight of a single vegan option. I order the dish eagerly, and I’m surprised when Ben asks for the same.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I blurt out as the man vanishes into the crowd. “You should have something you like.”
Ben dismisses this comment with an exasperated look. “I’m sure I’ll like this fine.”
In the corner, the band kicks off another lively song, prompting cheers from the pub-goers around us as more people flood into the center of the space to dance. A part of me wants to turn and watch, to take in the new culture I’ve stepped into, but I don’t.
Instead, I bite my lip and lean back in my chair, gazing at the man across from me. The disparity between this man’s public image and what I’ve seen from him so far is kind of astounding. Since arriving in Stelland, and even a bit at home, I’ve seen plenty of commentary on the new king, and very little of it is positive. “Are you normally this sweet?” I ask, and Ben snorts, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’m not sure there’s a single person on this planet who would call me sweet, Zelda.”
There is now.
Sliding my hand over the grubby tabletop, I lace my fingers through his, and my heart flutters at the way his expression softens. “You can be prickly all you like, I’m not fooled, Benedict.”
“Oh dear, my full name?” His lips twitch. “This must be a very serious matter.”
“Whatisyour full name? Do kings have surnames?”
He snorts. “Of course they do.”
“Well?”
Clearing his throat, Ben leans closer, his expression full of poorly suppressed amusement. “Benedict Alexander Hugo Ashwell.”
“That isextremelyfancy. Wow, with your accent and everything? I’m wildly intimidated right now.”
Ben scoffs. “No, you certainly aren’t. Alright, California, what’s your full name, now that we’re on the topic.”
“Zelda Moon Flowers.” I should probably be way more insulted by the laugh that booms from his chest, but I can’t help but join in, even as I pull my hand free from his towhack his arm playfully. “Excuse me! I didn’t laugh at yours!”
“Mine isnormal.”
“It’s really not.”
Both of us start as two frothy pints of beer are placed down on the table before us with a heavy thud. “Thank you,” I tell the barkeep, but my heart sinks as I glance up, only to find him frowning suspiciously at Ben.
“You ever hear you look like the king?” asks the man, frowning beneath his thick beard.
“People tell him that all the time.” I laugh. “Maybe you’re a distant relative, honey.”
