Gawwin’s face is still deadpan, but he hesitates before he speaks. “Of course. I serve the prince, as well. We all do, those of us assigned on Earth.”
I arch an eyebrow and wish I hadn’t when the slight movement attracts the notice of the weirdo elf again.
“That is well, then,” Sol says. “Good luck hunting vampires.”
“I don’t need luck,” Gawwin says, and he stalks past us, only pausing when he’s at the end of the alley. “I detected the scent of your current company down at the docks earlier tonight,” he says. “As well as the scent of a vampire. You might want to keep a closer watch on her.”
Then he’s gone, leaving the two of us alone.
Sol looks at me, and I shrug. “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” I lie. “Though maybe one of the homeless guys I passed was just pretending to be a human.”
“Perhaps,” Sol muses, “though it seems unlikely a vampire wouldn’t attack you. They’re cold-hearted killers.”
That doesn’t seem to match what I saw of Wilder, but I don’t say that, flipping the subject.
“I’m not an expert on elven relationships,” I say slowly, “but if I were to venture a guess, I’d say the two of you aren’t friends.”
Sol exhales softly, his gaze flitting to where we last saw Gawwin. “We serve the king,” Sol says.
I wait for him to elaborate and prod him when he doesn’t. “Eldaren’s daddy?”
Sol arches an eyebrow at me. “Do you mean father?”
“Yeah. Same thing.”
“You have a lot of words that mean the same thing,” Sol mutters. “It’s confusing.”
“So you guys are a backwater lot who still live under the thumb of a monarchy,” I say. “That has nothing to do with Gawwin and that you don’t like him.”
“It does, actually,” Sol growls. “A lot. We serve the same king, so we aren’t enemies. But you are correct in assuming that we aren’t friends, either. Some things are stronger than rivalries and bonds. Our devotion to the king is one such thing.”
“That’s stupid. You guys are smart, powerful—”
“Good looking.” Sol wiggles his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes. “I think it’s just dumb that people as advanced as you guys live under a single ruler. You should be more intelligent than that.”
Sol takes my hand. I let him. We start walking, though I can’t tell where we’re going yet.
“Monarchies are usually a bad idea,” Sol says after a moment.
“Always,” I scoff.
“Usually,” Sol says. “But, what if you had a king who always made the choices he thought were right?”
“He wouldn’t,” I say. “It’s impossible to be right all the time.”
“No, I don’t mean the right choices. I mean the choices he thought were right. There’s a difference.”
I frown, working my brain around the distinction. I can see what he means, but I disagree with it. “That still leaves a lot of problems.”
“Yes,” Sol says. “So does democracy, and any other type of government you humans have tried. The point is to make sure that whoever is in charge actually wants what is best for his people.”
“Or her people,” I say defiantly.
Sol blinks. “The king is most definitely male.”
“I meant generally,” I say. “Some rulers in the past have been female.”
“Like, what, three?” Sol dodges my swat. “I’m just teasing you, Lyra.” His tone grows serious again.
“Earth history is full of rulers, and most of them selfish individuals,” Sol says. “But when you do have a good ruler, one who puts the people above him—or her—self, the world is better off for it. So it is for our king. He cares for his people. We can trust him.”
“You sound so sure of it,” I say. I can scarcely comprehend the idea of being okay with living under the rule of a king, but Sol seems calm about it.
Sol looks amused. “Do you think the elves would stand for any less?”
I fall silent. He’s right. I doubt he or Eldaren, or most of them, would settle for anyone less than an individual they respected enough to obey without question.
When I don’t respond, Sol pokes me in the ribs. “What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Admit it. You’re thinking I’m handsome.”
“I—what?” I sputter.
“You think I’m hot. My beauty has you speechless.”
I try to punch him in the stomach, and he blocks me, grinning widely. “Then tell me what you were really thinking about,” he says.
“I can’t even remember at this point,” I snarl.
“Because I’m hot, is that it?”
I punch him again. This time my fist connects with solid muscle. Rock-solid.
“You just hurt me,” I growl, rubbing my sore knuckles.
“I did not,” he laughs. “You did that.” He ruffles my hair. “Let’s go home. It’s late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.”
He’s right. It’s nearly dawn.
As if the knowledge of that is a summons for fatigue, I yawn widely. “I guess bed sounds pretty good, right now.”
“My bed’s particularly comfortable,” Sol says, completely unabashed. “If you want to try it.”
I snort and stalk past him.
“Oh, look, a food truck’s open,” he says, striding past me.
“Huh, this early?”
“Well, it is technically dawn,” he says. He pulls out a few faded dollar bills and puts them on the counter. “Two coffees, no sugar.”
“What kind of barbarian drinks coffee without sugar?” I complain.
“Handsome ones.” Sol passes one to me. “Too much sugar is bad for you, anyway.”
“Yeah, but it’s awesome,” I take a sip and grimace. “Two sugar cubes,” I say to the vendor.
“It costs extra,” is the reply.
“That’s fine; he’s paying.” I jerk my thumb at Sol.
Sol forks over some change, and I happily add the sugar to my coffee, watching the lump dissolve in the hot liquid.
“You know,” I say as we continue our walk, “I’m not that fond of coffee.”
“That’s because it tastes bad,” Sol says cheerfully, sipping his. “Fyit, that’s hot. Still, it does give one a
