“That one,"-he nodded toward the closed door-" will rule more than just Attolia before he is done. He is an Annux, a king of kings.”

“You will make the boy Thief king?" he said. "When you could have had me?"Attolia allowed a slight smile."A fine revenge for the loss of a hand," said the Mede, close to snarling."I will have my sovereignty," said Attolia thinly."Oh, yes, a fine one-handed figurehead he will make," spat Nahuseresh. Then he remembered Attolia's flattery earlier that morning. "Or do I insult your lover?" he asked."Not a lover," said Attolia. "Merely my choice for king.”

“Lilies, I rule, heads, you do," he [the King] said, and threw the coin into the air."Lilies, you rule, heads, you throw again," said Attolia.The coin dropped. Eugenides looked at it and then showed it to her. "No need," he said. The coin sat in his palm, obverse, showing the lilies of Attolia. He flipped it again and again and again. Each time it landed showing the lilies. ...(Relius)He wanted to dismiss the coin toss as slight of hand. Any circus performer could control the drop of a coin, but he'd been puzzled. The queen had been undismayed; she had seemed almost vindicated in her manner. It had been the King who was more disturbed with each toss of the coin. He'd looked almost sick, Relius thought, by the time he put the coin away....Walking away along the arcade that lay perpendicular to the one where Relius lurked, the king pulled the coin from his pocket. He looked at the gold stater in sudden disgust and pitched it hard between the columns of the arcade into the shrubbery.”

“He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.”

“I didn't think about being king,” he said, his voice hoarse.Eddis stared. “Your capacity to land yourself in a mess because you didn't think first, Eugenides, will never cease to amaze me. What do you mean you didn't think about being king? Is Attolia going to marry you and move into my library?”

“Muse of poetry, come to his aid, I thought. Could the man produce one more metaphor of husbandry? He seemed to be trying."Green wood," I suggested, but even he sensed that there was something unfortunate about a metaphor for a king in which you dry out your royalty before you set fire to it.”

“He limped slowly over to his own wooden sword and stooped awkwardly to pick it up. Trailing it on the ground behind him, he limped toward the queen, and the courtyard quieted as he approached and was silent again as he dropped to his knees before her and laid the sword across her lap.“My Queen,” he said.“My King,” she said back.Only those closest saw him nod his rueful acceptance. He lifted his hand to brush her cheek softly. As the entire court listened breathlessly, he said, “I want my breakfast.”The queen’s lips thinned, and she shook her head as she said, “You are incorrigible.”