“Of course.” Jason bowed his head, turned back and smiled softly at me, then left, offering David a scowl as he passed.

“David?” I said, slapping the covers.

He dropped his shoulders, a smile breaking out across his stone mask. “Did you see the look on his face?”

“Yes. That was mean.”

He sprung up on the bed, letting his human weight jiggle it a bit, and wrapped both arms around me, sweeping me into his chest. “I know. But it was funny.”

“I don't think he found it funny.”

“I didn't find it very funny that he was sitting by your bed, confessing his love for you.”

“Oh, come on, David. You know how he feels.”

“Yes,” he said into my brow, kissing me after. “And I know you are too careful of people’s emotions to tell him that’s inappropriate.”

“I do tell him that.”

He kissed my head again. “I'm sure you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I sat up a little, wincing at the dull ache in my hip.

“I mean—” He rolled me onto my back and lifted my top, his face hovering just above my waist. “I don't believe his affections are one-sided.”

My heart stopped. “Why would you think that?”

He smiled down at my skin, tracing a line over it. “Perhaps I know you better than you think.”

“Ouch.” I rolled up a little and looked down. “Why did you pinch me?”

“Did you ever suffer from eczema as a child?”

I frowned, thinking. “Yes. When Mum used certain laundry detergents.”

He nodded. “I might go speak to housekeeping.”

“Why?”

“You have a mild rash coming up.” He lifted my top a little more, showing the red, raised rash on my hip, just below my underwear.

I placed my fingertips to it; it was hot. “Do immortals get eczema?”

He laughed, pulling my top back down. “Guess they do.”

“It’s itchy.”

“It’s only itchy because you know it’s there. It wasn't bothering you a second ago.”

“It hurt a second ago.”

“No.” He sat back on the pillows, his arms behind his head. “That was your bone. Your hip was completely shattered, Ara. You’re still healing.”

“Ouch.” I rubbed my hip. “So, who fixed me up?”

“Arthur, Morgaine and I.”

“What did you do—just pour blood down my throat?”

“We actually administered it intravenously. We had to stitch you up, too. You just kept bleeding everywhere once we got your heart started again.”

“It stopped?”

His chest sunk, his belly no longer moving with his gentle breath. “You were dead, my love. Completely dead. Your soul left your body.”

“Really?” I sat up, crossing my legs under me.

He nodded. “And we learned something new about your kind from that.”

“What?”

“That you can not only die from having your head chopped off and kept off, nor just from having your heart removed, but if your soul leaves your body—even if it’s perfectly intact, you will slowly decompose and become, essentially, dead.”

“Like, until my soul goes back in my body or something?”

“Right. See, if your body is taken apart, your soul cannot re-enter, but, you, my love, have this magic talent where you can choose to leave your body—almost like your soul isn't tethered to this form. But if you stay out too long, you die.”

“And, if I did die from staying out too long, can I ever go back in my body?”

He swallowed. “I'm not sure.”

“Well, how long does it take me to die?”

“Arthur thinks it’s about twenty-four hours or so.”

“So, how do you know my soul left my body?”

“Because we saw it.”

“Huh?”

“You stood right there like some freaky ghost, haunting us.”

I looked at where he pointed to the foot of my bed. “I did?”

“Uh-hu.” He tucked his hand back behind his head. “I actually think you can do it on command. In fact, I think you’ve done it before.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You always disappear from your own head. A part of me wonders if you might actually be gone—maybe you have no recollection of it when you return.”

I looked down at the backs of my hands, then my wrists and up the length of my arms. “I remember a dream I had once—where I felt my soul pull away from my own body, and when I looked back, I was watching myself sleep.”

“Exactly.”

I nodded. “Wow. I might try to do that a little more often.”

“No.” He grabbed my wrist, his eyes wide. “Don't. We weren’t sure you were going to come back.”

“I’ll always come back.” I slid my wrist through his grasp until my hand fell into his. “As long as I have you to come back to.”

His fingers closed around mine. “And what if you didn't? What if, say…Drake killed me—what then?”

“Then I’d kill myself and come after you.”

“What if you had a child to care for—our child?”

I thought about that for a second. “I…”

He smiled, looking off to the wall across the room. “Good thing we don’t have to worry about that, right?”

“Yeah,” I said shakily and laid on his chest, stuttering a little as I noticed my wedding ring—back in place. I wondered if Jason had given it to David—told him he took it off me, or if he just slipped it on when no one was looking. “Sure is,” I finished.

Emily skipped into the throne room and held up her mobile phone.

“What?” I frowned at her.

She pointed dramatically to it, mouthing some word with a round sound between two short mm’s.

“M…m…Mum?” I jumped up off my throne. “Is that Vicki?”

She nodded.

I waved my hands around in a criss-cross through the air.

Emily nodded.

“No,” I whispered gruffly. “I'm not here, Em. I’ll let something slip if I talk to her.”

“Ara,” she said through her teeth. “You need to tell them the staying in Paris plan.”

My shoulders dropped. “Fine. Give it to me.”

She placed the phone in my hand, practically jumping out of the way after.

I held it just by my ear and centred myself, taking a deep breath. “Vicki. Oh, my God, hi!”

“Ara!” she practically yelled. “How are you? You didn't tell me Emily was on holiday over there with you. What have you been up to, when are you coming home?”

“Uh—” I tucked my neck into my shoulders and walked back to my throne. “It turns out we’ve been having such a good time, we’ve…well, we’ve decided to stay in Paris.”

“What!” she shrieked. “Why?”

“David got a job, and I got accepted to university after I sat a test—even though I didn't finish high school, and—”

“So the honeymoon to Paris that turned into a world tour, has now become permanent?” Vicki yelled down the phone. “Ara, we haven’t seen you since March. How do we even know you’re still alive? I mean, you ran out on your own wedding—” she softened her tone to a reasonable level. “Now, I understand that you realised your flight times were booked wrong, but you didn't even say goodbye, and now you're telling me you're not coming home?”

“Vicki, I'm sorry, but David landed a great job. We’d be silly to leave now.”

“Can’t you at least come home for a week? Just a week. I’ll pay for the ticket, and…”

“Vicki. I can't. I'm starting school this week.”

“But you don't even speak French.”

“I do now—a little,” I lied.

“Well, what does Mike think of this whole arrangement?”

“He’s happy. He and Em have been keeping my house safe for me, and he made me promise to come for a holiday next month.”

“Next month?” she asked softly.

“Yes. I promise. But David's really happy about this job, Mum. It could mean setting us up for the future.”

“Well, I don't like it,” she muttered.

“I’ll be fine, Mum. David and I are happy, and I really love Paris. I’ll come home in a month, okay?”

“You’d better.”

“I will. So, how's dad’s conference been going?”

“He almost didn’t go, since we hadn’t spoken to you in a while.”

“But he always goes.”

“I know. That’s how worried we’ve been.”

“I'm sorry. I just lose track of time here; it’s so lovely and there's so much to do.” I looked around the empty courtroom. “I’ll take more care to call, okay. But I better go. I have to be somewhere in ten minutes.”

“Okay. Well, you take care then, and keep sending emails or letters. I’ll be checking the post daily.”

“Sure, Mum. I will. I promise.”

“And tell Emily to take a picture of you holding a sign with the date on it to prove you're not just a voice recording.”

“Okay.” I laughed.

“Bye, Ara-Rose, and say hi to David for me as well, send him our love.”

“I will. Bye.” I hung up with my thumb and glared at Em.

“I'm sorry.” She shrunk. “She’s been calling my phone for, like, a week, leaving panicked messages ‘cause she can never reach you on the number you gave her; she said she was going to call the police. I didn't know what to do. I answered the next call, and I panicked—told her I was in Paris.”

“Well, she’s going to figure out the truth when she checks her phone records, Emily. That wasn’t an international call.”

“I know.” Emily winced. “I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I pulled my phone from the pocket of my light denim jeans. “I’ll get David to take care of it.”

“I'm really sorry, Ara.”

I shook my head, resting the phone to my ear. “Like I said, don't worry about it.”

The Upper and Lower House filed into the courtroom and took their seats. I nodded to each one, keeping the phone to my ear, then looked at Emily. “He’s not picking up.”

“You could send Jason,” she suggested.

“Okay.” I hung the phone up and dumped it in my pocket. “Go tell him, please.”

“Sure.” She bowed, then stopped. “Uh, I mean, yes, Your Majesty.”

I smiled, shaking my head.

“Morning, Queen Amara.” Morgaine bowed as she passed.

“Morning, Morg.”

“Where’s soon-to-be King David?” she asked.

“He’s on a conference call with the FBI,” Walter said, without even looking up from his notepad.

“Oh, right.” She slapped a palm to her head. “Forgot about that.”

“Not hard when you have half a brain,” Blade scoffed, pushing past her.

“Shut up, Butt-face!”

I watched Blade walk over and sit down at the council table, then looked back at Morg. “Things didn't work out?”

“No,” she said quietly, hugging herself. “Turns out he’s just a big fat jerk like the rest of the men around here.”

“Hey!” Mike scoffed as he walked in.

Morg smiled at him. “You don't count, Mike.”

“What, as a man or as a jerk?”

She bumped him with her elbow and they walked over to the table together.

“Ara?” Emily stood behind me, her arms behind her back, her eyes to the ground.

“Yeah?”

“Jason’s taking care of that thing for us.”

“Good.” I turned away and readied myself for Court, half noticing Emily walk off quietly and take her seat beside Blade.

* * *

“Ara?” Jason called as I reached the front door. “Wait up.”

“Did you take care of the phone issue yesterday?” I asked, opening the door.

“Yup. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He followed me outside. “Where are you going?”

I held up my book. “To the fountain; peace and quiet time.”

“Why the fountain?” He frowned.

“I like the sound of running water—it’s soothing.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, can I sit with you for a bit?”

“That kinda defeats the purpose of peace and quiet.”

“I won’t talk.”

“You just said you wanted to talk to me about something.” We stepped off the porch step into the hot August sun. “So what’s it going to be? Talk or quiet?”

“Is something wrong, Ara?” He stopped walking. “You've been pretty cold to me today.”

With a short huff, I sat on the edge of the fountain, setting my book down beside me. “It’s nothing. I'm just a little moody.” Itchy was the right word. I scratched my hip. “Anyway, what did you wanna talk to me about?”

“Emily.” He sat beside me.

“Emily?”

“Yeah. She was crying last night.”

“Why?”