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“Allow me to strip things of their pretense, Efendim,” Naime put mockery in the superlative, “so you find it easier to understand. You mock us for our restraint and our pretense, meanwhile you almost reveal yourself because you lack such restraint. You understand we are a country of powerful mages but have not considered what that means. We are polite, we are reserved, because passion and power are tied to each other. If we brawl, if we let ourselves do as we please, if we give in to our passions, we lose control and people die. These traditions are the lock and key that contain our violence
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“You are the most beautiful thing to ever happen to me.”
“I cannot decide if it will be your sweet touches or your unbearable words that will be the end of me.” He shifted, rolling to his side and pulling her with him. “Should I not say them?” “No,” Makram said. “Say them all, so I have them when I cannot remember the way your touches feel.”
“I have noted that your brother is exceptionally agreeable and mild mannered for a Charah. Perhaps because of that you have forgotten what the wrath of a high-order mage feels like.” Naime
“If you say yes to me, there is nothing I cannot do, would not do, to stand beside you. You believe in me too, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I love you. You cannot tell? I did name you my consort.” “I hoped, but“—he brushed his hand down her cheek—”even for me you are difficult to read. Remember you must tell me. Often.” His beautiful, coffee eyes crinkled at the corners. “At least twice a day.”
“Today, in this place, with my Council and generations of Chara’a as my witness, I command that when I am gone, my daughter will take my place. Queen Sultana.”
