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His gaze dropped to me then and stayed there.

“And it didn’t fall because of her.”

My breath caught.

“When my world was burning, when I had given myself up to the certainty that all was lost, a mortal woman crossed worlds she was never meant to cross to reach me. She walked through a labyrinth that has swallowed warriors whole. She bargained with kings and faced down monsters that would have broken lesser souls. And when the last of us had nothing left to give, she alone found a way to win a war I could not.” His voice roughened, just slightly, just enough. “I owe her my crown. I owe her my brother’s life. I owe her, quite simply… Everything.” The adoring way he said this brought tears to my eyes, and all I had it in me to do was whisper his name.

“Atlas.”

He raised the goblet higher, and every soul in that hall rose with him, hundreds of glasses lifted into the candlelight.

“To the woman who saved Theïkós.” A pause, and then, softer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“To my queen!”

“To the queen!” the hall thundered back, and the cheer that followed was loud enough to rattle the windows in their frames. And in return, I was going to spontaneously combust. I was certain of it. Death by mortification, right here on a borrowed throne.

And then Lazaros, who had appeared at the foot of the dais with a glass of his own and a grin like a fox in a henhouse, lifted his voice over the din.

“And to hope!” he called. “Survival, victory, and…” he paused, milking it shamelessly, eyes sliding to me, “…soon enough, if the gods are kind, a royal wedding!”

The hall went absolutely feral.

“Lazaros,” I groaned, but it was swallowed entirely by the fresh wave of cheering that swept the room, by the stamping and the laughter and the goblets pounding against tabletops.

I grabbed a fistful of Atlas’s sleeve and tugged him down toward me, hissing through my fixed, panicking smile, “Right. That is quite enough of that, thank you.”

But Atlas only sank into his throne beside me, caught my hand, and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, entirely unbothered.

“I am being serious, you know,” he said quietly, just for me, all the teasing gone from his voice. “I want you here, Alexandra. I want you to stay.” My breath caught at this and somehow got lodged in my throat until I forced myself not to choke.

“Atlas.” His name came out as a warning and a plea, my heart lurching.

“I know.” He squeezed my hand. “Let us not speak of it here.” His mouth softened into something that made my chest ache. “Tonight, let us enjoy the evening. That is all.”

I let out a slow, grateful breath and nodded.

And mercifully, that was when the food arrived.

A procession of servants swept into the hall, moving in perfect, gliding formation, each one dressed in dark livery bearing the king’s crest. Each was carrying a tray aloft with such practiced grace that it looked rehearsed, and two brought a table to sit in front of our thrones as well as an extra chairs either side of us.

Silver platters gleamed beneath domed lids that released clouds of fragrant steam as the lids were lifted. Roasted meats and fruit as bright as jewels, spiced root vegetables, miniature pastries dusted with sugar. There were also bowls of steaming soup and baskets of warm bread, all of it placed with a small bow and a synchronicity so smooth it was very nearly a dance.

I had absolutely no idea where to start. Everything looked at once familiar and entirely foreign. It was like food from my world glimpsed through a dream, and it smelled so good my stomach actually growled.

As if he could read it straight off my face, Atlas reached for my plate.

“This,” he said, lifting a skewer of meat, “is lamb souvlaki, marinated in herbs from the castle gardens and citrus from its own trees. Best dipped in tzatziki…”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that one. I like that one,” I said, watching him spoon a generous amount onto my plate.

He gave me a slow smile and carried on. “These we call Star-bloom pastries. The crust is flaky and gets absolutely everywhere, but I assure you, it is worth it. Sheep’s cheese, Star-bloom herb, and wild greens.” He picked one up, turning it over in his long fingers, putting it on my plate and then sucking a finger clean, making my mouth go dry for an entirely different reason. One that might have brought back a particular memory of the last time I saw him sucking his fingers clean.

“And this is…” He stopped. “Are you even listening to me?”

I dragged my gaze up from his mouth to his eyes and felt my face go hot all over again. A low laugh from my other side told me Lazaros had seen the whole thing.

“Imagine,” he said dreamily, propping his chin on his hand.