The King had left the maps where they fell across his desk since the night his daughter went missing, so the smoke of three burned-down candles still hung in the curtains.
An untouched glass of wine waited beside his hand while Didi stood at the desk with her posture correct to the inch.
He studied her, then he leaned back into the carved chair until the wood complained.
"Tell me about this boy," he said, turning the glass a quarter turn without lifting it.
"What about him?" Didi asked, without a breath of delay in front of it.
"You know exactly what I mean," he said, giving her the look he saved for treasury officials.
"He walked into my throne room dressed like a beggar," the King continued without heat, "after carrying my daughter out of a forest that killed trained knights."
He lifted the neglected glass at last, watching the candlelight travel through the dark of it.
