❛ don’t i? ❜ he can play this game too, and better than she can. all he has to do is wait, and in three, two, one… there it is. so easy to predict, for all she thinks otherwise. it’s almost as clear a reminder of her non-belonging as the healthy shine of her hair and flush on her cheeks. he wonders, sometimes, how long she would have to stay here for it to fade like the rest of his city.
❛ you are supposed to wait for me to take you to the king. ❜ his speech remains even, despite the flare of annoyance he feels. the rule is for her safety, and her blatant disregard of it a privilege no child in this world keeps past their second year. it reminds him of the young antari of red london, in their one and only prior meeting. ❛ or perhaps your king would not mind receiving his letter alongside the remains of a dead messenger, rather than in the hands of a live one? ❜
her days are made of waiting, it seems. she's never bothered to count the minutes she spends loitering in front of one closed door or another, waiting for each world's illustrious sovereigns to deign to bestow another letter upon her and send her on her way again. she should be grateful, she knows - it is, after all, much better to wait around on plush carpets than on rainy pavement -, but lila bard is eleven years old, and time for her passes slow as molasses.
❛ i didn't even leave the building, ❜ she protests, still trotting along. even if holland were trying to match her pace, his legs are still longer, and each of his steps twice the length of hers. ❛ if there's someone dangerous so close to your king, you should be worrying about him first, not me. plus, i'm not as strong as you yet, but i can disappear quicker. ❜