food. At one point, I find Kallias watching me out of the corner of my eye. When I turn my head, he only grins when caught staring. “What are you looking at?” “That should be obvious. Perhaps you’d like to ask me what I’m thinking instead?” His eyes are liquid fire, and I wonder just how dangerous it might be to ask that very question. But I do anyway. “I’m thinking,” he answers, “that you are quite beautiful, and every man at this table wishes he were me right now.” My stomach starts to flutter. “You are king. Every man does wish he were you.” “No. Every man wishes he had you at his side.”
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