The king set his carafe down on the table and traipsed to the window, glass in hand. It wasn’t long before she drifted over to stand beside him at the pane. He glanced down. She was holding his full bottle of whiskey.
“Forgetting something?” She side-eyed him, swaying the carafe.
Shaking his head at her antics, he asked, “Would you like a glass?”
“Oh.” She feigned innocence. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He just laughed and used his magic to pull a snifter out of the air for her. Blue crystal, to match her eyes.
They stood in companionable silence for a while, enjoying their drinks and watching life down in the city of Rohilavol.
“You have a beautiful town,” Lady Hevva murmured, forehead practically pressed up against the panes.
“You, too. Both of them, Stormhill and Kabuvirib.”
“Ah, but they are yours too . . . in a way.”
“True. But you, and your family, manage the day-to-day of those towns. They are your people.” He spied the reflection of her smile in the windowpane. “You love them.” It wasn’t a question.
“I do.”
He nodded, understanding.
A few more minutes passed in silence and then the king sighed. It was one thing to care for these people, from his hall atop the hill. But he couldn’t ignore the yearning to break free from noble constraints and experience the city as the common folk did. It was a longing that whisperedto him like the chaos of the world swirling around him—the very essence he manipulated to create objects at will.
“I used to revel in the streets during my Institute days,” Ehmet admitted, eyes lingering on the distant lights of town. “But now, when I should have the most freedom, I find myself confined to the halls of Hewran...or Kirce.”
“Except when you dash out and play hero on occasion?” She turned away from the window to face him.
“Except that.” He smirked.
Eyes sparkling with mischief, Hevva egged him on, “Why notrevelagain? It's magical walking among the people, leaving duty behind. It’s one of my favorite things to do in Kabuvirib...or anywhere, really. My mining town is casual, they know I expect no pomp or circumstance from them, so I can be myself.”
“Ah, I wish I could.”
“And why can’t you?”
King Hethtar chuckled. The idea of being Ehmet in the midst of the festival was enticing. Lady Hevva’s spirit resonated with him, and he found himself considering the possibility, toes wiggling in his boots. “The people will recognize their king.”
“Psh.” She dismissed his fears with a wave of the hand. “They recognize your crown, your fine clothing. Your face is not on any coins yet.”
“True.” He was still debating which of the two portraits he should use.
“Plus...” With a delicate fingertip, she trailed the line of his unshaven jaw. “You already have a disguise.”
Her touch, gone too soon, sent static shivers spreading across his skin. “A disguise? Do you not go out as yourself?”
Casually, she lifted a shoulder, then answered his question with a question, “How do you know what your people need?”
“What do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes, recognizing the cheekiness creeping back into her demeanor.
“Without walking among them as a common man, how can youpossiblyknow what they are in need of?”
“They petition me at court, or by letter.”
“Psh.” She waved him off again. “Of course, because the common fisherman from Kashuvol caneasilyshape letters to write to you, or make it to Serkath to go to court.”
“If they cannot, they can always petition their local baron, earl, or duke.”
