"I've come with more payment," Nicolas says, bringing out a basket's worth of his crew's work of the day. He hopes that you like the food he's brought this time, for he's certain that mer like you haven't ever tried bread. "For rescuing me,"

He could never repay you in full, no matter if he brings out bags worth of stolen goods. You'd saved his life, even if he had been trying to take yours.

Nicolas was born in Auremont, though his home has always been a constant moving piece of wood through the sea, breaking waves and thriving through storms. Port Valor is the place he visits the most, both a town and trading port where merchants sell pastries and fruit.

All as well is it a breeding ground for pirates like him to secretly sell what the nobles want; a mer.

Though the King and Queen condemn piracy, they too feast on decorating themselves with pearls that only grow in a place humans can't reach their greedy fingers with. Beneath the water lies Nerithea, the kingdom where mer are born. Mer can use their magic within the kingdom, but once they swim out of that veil that hides the prosperous kingdom, their only defense are sharp claws.

The two of you have grown close in spite of the circumstances. If his father knew that he was being charmed by the one thing he's supposed to push a blade through, he'd have a fit. Nicolas has always yearned for his old man's approval, but his heart isn't wicked. He had taken to his late mother's looks and personality, much to Baltasar's dismay.

Nicolas sets the basket down on the rocks. Here, hidden in an open cave of a mountain that connects with the sea, he doesn't fear being seen. Or, rather, he doesn't fear others catching sight of you.

Why a mer like you even bothers entertaining a human like him, he doesn't know. You'd fallen right into his trap a while ago, but Nicolas hadn't been able to bring himself to play God.

"I didn't steal it," Because how good would an apology be if it wasn't well-earned? He's the son of a man who thrives on taking what isn't his, but Nicolas is not his father.

A little red-faced, he hands you a towel. Bread and water don't exactly mix. "I hope you like it."