“And if I were king?” said Sarcean. “If you were king . . . ?” He reached up and took a lock of that long gold hair, like sunlight spilling through his fingers. The words were soft, too soft to be entirely playful. “If I were king, would you be my queen?” “You dream.” Anharion smiled, as if he indulged his friend’s whimsy, though his cheeks burned. “A pleasant dream,” said Sarcean.
