She smiled. “That sounds like BioChroma.”

You are more honest than BioChroma, he wrote. My Breath, it makes things more bright, but it isn’t mine. It was given to me. Yours is your own.

She felt her hair shift from the deep red into a golden tone, and she sighed softly with contentment, pulling herself a little closer to him.

How do you do that? he wrote.

“Do what?”

Change your hair.

“That one was unconscious,” she said. “It goes blond if I feel happy or content.”

You’re happy, then? he wrote. With me?

“Of course.”

But when you speak of the mountains, there is such longing in your voice.

“I miss them,” she said. “But if I left here, I’d miss you too. Sometimes, you can’t have everything you want, since the wants contradict each other.”

They fell silent for a time, and he set aside his board, hesitantly wrapping his arm around her and leaning back against the headboard. A blushful tinge of red crept into her hair as she realized that they were still sitting on the bed, and she was snuggling up beside him wearing only her shift.

But, well, she thought, we are married, after all.

The only thing that spoiled the moment was the occasional rumbling of her stomach. After a few minutes, Susebron reached for his board.

You are hungry? he wrote.

“No,” she said. “My stomach is an anarchist; it likes to growl when it’s full.”

He paused. Sarcasm?

“A poor attempt,” she said. “It’s all right—I’ll survive.”

Didn’t you eat before you came to my chambers?

“I did,” she said. “But growing that much hair is draining. It always leaves me hungry.”

It makes you hungry every night? he asked, writing quickly. And you didn’t say anything?

She shrugged.

I will get you food.

“No, we can’t afford to expose ourselves.”

Expose what? he wrote. I am God King—I have food whenever I wish it. I have sent for it at night before. This will not be odd. He stood, walking toward the doorway.

“Wait!” she said.

He turned, glancing back at him.

“You can’t go to the door like that, Susebron,” she said, keeping her voice quiet, in case someone was listening. “You’re still fully dressed.”

He looked down, then frowned.

“Make your clothing look disheveled at least,” she said, quickly hiding his writing board.

He undid his neck buttons, then threw off his deep black overrobe, revealing an undergown. Like everything white near him, it gave off a halo of rainbow colors. He reached up, mussing his dark hair. He turned back to her, eyes questioning.

“Good enough,” she said, pulling the bedsheets up to her neck, covering herself. She watched curiously as Susebron rapped on the door with his knuckles.

It immediately opened. He’s too important to open his own door, Siri thought.

He commanded food by putting a hand to his stomach, then pointing away. The servants—barely visible to Siri through the doorway—scuttled away at his order. He turned as the door closed, walking back to sit beside her on the bed.

A few minutes later, servants arrived at the room with a dining table and a chair. They set the table with large amounts of food—everything from roasted fish to pickled vegetables and simmering shellfish.

Siri watched with amazement. There’s no way they fixed it that quickly. They simply had it waiting in the kitchens, should their god happen to grow hungry.

It was wasteful to the point of extravagance, but it was also wondrous. It bespoke a lifestyle that her people back in Idris couldn’t even imagine, one representative of an uncomfortable imbalance in the world. Some people starved; others were so wealthy that they never even saw most meals that were made for them.

The servants set only one chair at the table. Siri watched as they brought in plate after plate. They couldn’t know what the God King wanted, so they apparently brought him some of everything. They filled the table, then retreated as Susebron pointed for them to go.

The scents were almost too much for Siri in her hungered state. She waited, tense, until the door closed. Then she threw off the sheets and rushed over. She had thought the meals prepared for her were extravagant, but they were nothing compared with this feast. Susebron gestured toward the chair.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.

He shrugged.

She walked over and took one of the blankets from the bed, then spread it on the stone floor. “What looks good to you?” she said, approaching the table.

He pointed at the plate of simmering mussels and several of the breads. She moved these, along with a dish that didn’t appear to have any fish in it—a bowl of exotic fruits tossed in some kind of creamy sauce—to the cloth. She then sat down and began eating.

Susebron carefully situated himself on the floor. He managed to look dig nified even when wearing only his undergown. Siri reached over and handed him his board.

This is very odd, he said.

“What?” she asked. “Eating on the floor?”

He nodded. Dining is such a production for me. I eat some of what is on a plate, then servants pull it away, wipe my face, and bring me another one. I never finish an entire dish, even if I like it.

Siri snorted. “I’m surprised they don’t hold the spoon for you.”

They did when I was younger, Susebron wrote, flushing. I eventually got them to let me do it myself. It’s hard, when you can’t speak with anyone.

“I can imagine,” Siri said between mouthfuls. She eyed Susebron, who ate with small, reserved bites. She felt a slight stab of shame at how fast she was eating, then decided she didn’t care. She put aside the fruit dish and fetched several pastries from the table.

Susebron eyed her as she began to eat one after another. Those are Pahn Kahl tinkfans, he wrote. One takes only small bites, making sure to eat a piece of bread between to clear away the taste. They are a delicacy and—

He broke off as Siri picked up an entire pastry and shoved it into her mouth. She smiled at him, then continued chewing.

After a moment of looking stunned, he wrote on his board again. You realize that children in the stories who gorged themselves usually ended up being thrown off of cliffs?

Siri stuffed another crispbread into her mouth beside the first, dusting her fingers and face with powdered sugar in the process, her cheeks bulging.

Susebron watched her, then reached over and took a whole one himself. He inspected it, then shoved it into his mouth.

Siri laughed, nearly spitting out bits of pastry onto the blanket. “And so my corruption of the God King continues,” she said once she could speak.

He smiled. This is very curious, he wrote, eating another crispbread. Then another. Then another.

Siri watched him, raising an eyebrow. “One would think that as God King, you would at least be able to eat sweets whenever you want.”

I have many rules that others need not follow, he wrote as he chewed. The stories explained this. Much is required of a prince or a king. I would rather have been born a peasant.

Siri raised an eyebrow. She had a feeling that he’d be surprised if he actually had to experience things like hunger, poverty, or even discomfort. However, she left him his illusions. Who was she to chastise?

You are the one who was hungry, he wrote. But I am the one doing all the eating!

“They obviously don’t feed you enough,” Siri said, trying a slice of bread.

He shrugged, continuing to eat. She watched him, wondering if eating was different for him, with no tongue. Did that affect his ability to taste? He certainly still seemed to like the sweets. Thinking of her tongue made her mind turn to darker topics. We can’t just keep going on like this, she thought. Playing around at night, pretending like the world isn’t going on without us. We’re going to get crushed.