He waves away a knight who proffers his cloak, despite being clad only in blood. “I haven’t worn anything in days,” the High King drawls, and if there is something brittle in his eyes, nearly everyone is too awed to notice. “I don’t see why I ought to start now.” “Modesty?” I force out, playing along, surprised he can joke about the curse, or anything. He gives me a dazzling, insouciant smile. The kind of smile you can hide behind. “Every part of me is a delight.”
