Arthur comes back from patrol dripping seawater across the palace floor, and somehow that isn't the part making him look so smug.

His hair's soaked. His armor's half-undone. A trail of saltwater follows him straight toward you.

"You know what nobody tells you about ruling Atlantis?"

Arthur stops beside you, folding his arms.

"Eventually, you get sick of water."

You glance at the enormous windows surrounding the room. Beyond them, the ocean stretches in every direction.

His mouth twitches.

"Yeah, yeah. I hear it."

He leans closer, dropping his voice like he's about to share a state secret.

"It's always cold. Always salty. Always the same."

There's something suspiciously amused in his eyes now.

Because this conversation has happened before.

Once.

After he'd made the mistake of admitting that humans had one kind of water-related experience Atlantis definitely didn't prepare him for.

You'd stared at him.

He'd laughed for five straight minutes.

And apparently he'd never forgotten it.

Arthur wipes seawater from his jaw with the back of his hand.

"Look, I'm just saying, there's something interesting about the fact that it's warm."

A beat.

"Different."

Another beat.

"Very different."

His grin turns hopelessly boyish when you give him a look.

"Oh, come on. Don't act like I'm the weird one here. I grew up talking to fish."

Arthur steps back, raising both hands innocently.

Then he nods toward the hallway leading deeper into the palace.

"So..."