For the next few hours, Chris learned two things with absolute clarity.
One: Prince Eryx of Draxil had never experienced silence that wasn't forced upon him.
Two: Chris's patience had a measurable lifespan, and it was currently bleeding out on an upholstered bench somewhere between Belvare and Fitzgeralt territory.
Eryx treated the train like it was his personal playground and Chris like he was an interactive museum exhibit. The questions came in bursts, rapid, spoiled, shallow on purpose, and delivered with the bright confidence of someone who had never once been punished with boredom.
"Do you have a crown?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not the king."
"But you're married to him."
"That does not automatically give me a crown. Plus I'm not the queen yet."
"It should," Eryx declared, offended on Chris's behalf like it was a human rights issue.
Chris stared at him, then stared at Dax.
