He could tell her he loved her. He ached to shout it out loud for the gods and everyone to hear. Little good it would do. Better to trust in the moon… - Megan Whalen Turner

The magus might have heard me thinking. "He does have other skills to be proud of," he said. For instance, I thought, stealing Hamiathes's Gift not once but twice. Who else in history had done that? But the magus referred to the fight with the Queen's Guard at the base of the mountain. That wasn't a skill I appreciated much. If I'd been as inept with a sword as I was in a saddle, my father might not have driven me so hard to be a soldier and to let the title of King's Thief lapse forever. It had been meaningless for so many generations, and he'd felt strongly that it should disappear for good.

Why were these the only dances you knew?"
"Because no one would dance with me. Thieves are never popular."
I know why, thought Attolia, but aloud she asked, "Why are you familiar with the square dances?"
The music quickened.
"My mother taught me. We danced them on the rooftops of the Megaron. According to legend, the Thief and any partner the Thief chooses will be safe."
"You are king now," she pointed out.
"Ah, but they say that if the king dances, the entire court can safely dance with him."
"Spare me," said Attolia, "and my court, from dancing on the roof."
"It probably only works in Eddis.

He looks--" Attolia hunted for the word. "Defenseless" came to mind, but it wasn't the one she wanted, nor was "young," though he looked even younger when he was asleep.
"Quite guileless," she said at last.
"Oh, yes," said Eddis. "I'm always willing to forgive him anything - until he wakes up.