If I’d known this was the topic du jour, I might have just pretended the call dropped. Or asked for Sarah instead. The interview was burned into my brain like a bad tattoo, an indelible mark of awkwardness and confusion.
And the king… King Arthur. I hadn’t laid eyes on him since that intensely awkward, strangely captivating encounter. I’d been tethered to Lyta office all morning and well into the early afternoon, reviewing documents that blurred before my eyes, the words losing all meaning.
Not a single glimpse of the King. He hadn’t even made a fleeting appearance in his public office, where he usually conducted his daily affairs.
Pathetically, a part of me, a part I vehemently denied even to myself, desperately wanted to know his whereabouts. But I dared not ask. I didn’t want Lyta
