Attolia looking at her Thief wonderingly, as she always did when he slept. During the day, he was infuriating, tactless, and rude to everyone in the palace, but at night... At night he was hers. His mask dropped, far more easily than her own, and he allowed himself to be Gen, the boy who fell in love with her all those years ago. The boy whose hand she had cut off to secure her throne. The man she had loved, even then, though she didn't know what she was feeling.
The queen would always be queen, no matter where she was. She didn't have Eugenides' way of dropping titles and dignity at the drop of a hat to do or say whatever he pleased. It was only here, with him, that she felt a bit of that act crack, and she could be the woman she never had a chance to be elsewhere. Smiling, she kissed her Thief's cheek and closed her eyes, astounded at the favor of the gods that he would love her.