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Agni chuckles. "You want to purchase a glass sculpture of The Horned King in action?"
"I think it's always important to remember what someone is capable of. He may be our benevolent king," Kairon's sarcasm nearly bleeds through, though Agni doesn't seem to notice, "but he's also the most powerful necromancer and warrior our people have had in centuries, possibly ever."
With great effort, I keep from rolling my eyes. None of us need the reminder of what he's capable of. Power practically rolls off of him in waves. Everyone notices him as he walks by, even if they've no clue who it is that's drawing their attention.
As the king makes his purchase, I notice a man watching us with even more interest than the rest of the buyers and sellers in this market. His Royal Majesty makes polite conversation with Agni, complimenting his work and discussing where the inspiration comes from, while my eyes keep drifting to the man standing unmoved in the distance, staring at us.
The king asks Agni to hold on to the piece, explaining that someone will come pick it up at the end of market hours today. Then, with a final handshake from the king and a friendly wave and thanks from me, Agni pivots to his next possible customer.
"You've bought something from every seller we've visited," I comment as we walk along the aisle, looking for our next stop. I continue searching for the man who was staring, but for the moment, he's out of my line of sight.
"And you've bought nothing," he replies. "If you want something, you need only ask."
Each person whose skin accidentally grazes mine sends a flood of emotions through me, leaving me struggling to keep focused on our conversation. I blink through the immense sorrow of the woman I nearly crashed into, looking up to see the king watching me closely.
"Are you alright?" he asks, eyes narrowed.
"I'm fine. I just…" Clearing my throat, I prepare the answer I've given hundreds of times to explain away my discomfort. "I have a hard time in large crowds."
"You're a politician," he calls my bluff immediately. "Your livelihood has you surrounded by people constantly."
"Well, yes," I concede. "But not quite like this. It's the touching part I struggle with."
He nods, taking another bite of the sweet concoction he bought. "You don't like physical contact. Understandable. I had a cousin with a similar affliction."
Curiosity gets the best of me. "Had? What happened to them?"
"I killed him."
Other than a slight pause in my steps, I hold in my reaction to how cavalier he is when he speaks of such things. "Oh."
He chuckles quietly. "He was a staunch supporter of the former king and stood between me and the throne. So he had to be eliminated."
"I see."
The king sighs. "Save your judgment, Elva. You do not yet understand how things work here."
"I'm not judging," I argue, to which he looks at me with a flat expression of disbelief. "Your Maj- Kairon, I'm not. I'm simply... processing. You're correct that I don't understand, but I'd like to. Truly."
An almost pleased smile takes over his face, "You will. In time, I think you'll find that there's a sense of freedom in how things are done here."
"Freedom? In violence?" I scoff.
He laughs, the chuckle at my expense making my blood run hot. "Not exactly." He drags me around a large tent, pulling me into the shadows with a scalding hand on my lower back. Once separated from the throngs of people, he releases me and turns me to face him. I feel utterly trapped between him and the canvas behind me, staring up and wondering what madness he'll spout next. He leans in slightly as if sharing a secret, and I hold my breath lest I inhale his intoxicating scent. The salty sea air, lavender, and freshly pressed leather. And whatever that deliciously dark something that is both bitter and sweet at the same time.
When he speaks, low enough for only me to hear, I feel the warm, deviantly delicious air escaping his mouth as it hits my cheekbone and ear, "There's a freedom in taking off the mask. Letting your wickedness run rampant. Embracing the monster beneath your skin that's begging to be let out."
"The only one who wears a mask is you, Your Majesty," I stutter out, the proximity of him drowning me. I barely manage to hold still, my body simultaneously begging him not to touch me even while part of me hopes he does.
"I don't think so." He seems to crowd even closer if that's physically possible. He whispers directly into my ear, somehow still managing not to touch me, even though I feel him everywhere. "Will you show me what lies under yours, my Elva? Show me what darkness hides inside you?"
My lungs cease working altogether, the words a sinful caress against my skin, taunting the parts of me that I never let anyone see. They try to lure me, pull me in to play with him and the wicked freedom he promises.
Before I can make what is sure to be a terrible mistake, whether by allowing just a taste of this desire or by spouting more insults, screams and the sound of gunfire jar me out of my stupor. Within seconds, people run around the corner, nearly trampling us in their fleeing. The king and I get separated, and I hear him shouting my name as I'm pushed against the canvas behind me. The last thing I feel before I fall against it is overwhelming terror, the fear of every person running from the massacre bumping against me as an elbow hits my cheek and another grazes my bare shoulder.
The wood beams holding the tent up creak before snapping entirely, my weight taking the whole thing down in a crash of canvas and sticks. Seconds before I hit the ground, a warm palm manages to cradle my head, barely keeping it from slamming against the hard floor. The impact of it still stings, knocking the wind out of my lungs and leaving my head spinning.
When my eyes focus again, all I see is King Kairon. Surrounding me, on top of me, holding my head, and searching my eyes for signs of cognition. All around us, people scramble, shouting and screaming. He grunts in pain from being kicked or tripped over more than once in the few seconds we lie there staring at each other.
