“Give me the book,” says the Ash King, hand outstretched. “No, my Lord.” His eyebrows rise. “Do you realize how often you deny me the things I ask? I am your king, you impertinent vagabond. Obey me.” “Your Majesty.” I hand it over, but when he grips it, I tug a little on my end. “Will you give it back later, so I can finish it?”
