Before they moved farther in, Resme reached into the cart and drew out a plain robe.
"Your Highness," she said quietly. "If you go like this, they won't let you walk."
Metheea understood immediately.
She had seen the looks already. The way people had paused. The way attention gathered too quickly. If she stepped farther in openly, the square would fill again, and nothing honest would be left to see.
She slipped the robe over her shoulders, the fabric simple and loose, the hood drawn just low enough to soften her features without fully hiding them. Her crown had already been removed. Without it, without silk and ceremony, she looked… less untouchable.
Yise watched it all with open, unapologetic interest, his gaze lingering where it had no business lingering, his mouth curving with the sort of lazy amusement that suggested he was entirely aware of the effect he had and saw no reason to temper it.
"A shame," he said lightly, almost fondly. "I was enjoying the admiration."
