Do you warn him not to offend the gods?" "There was no need," said Attolis, smiling, "He couldn't offend the gods with a pointed stick. - Megan Whalen Turner

"Gen-" Sophos started to ask another question, but I interrupted him.
"No," I said, "not Gen. Eugenides from now on. I never, never, want to hear Gen again in my life."
The magus laughed while I shook my head.
"You haven't spent any time in the king's prison," I said. "And you haven't had to drink your way through every disreputable wineship in the city of Sounis. I cannot tell you how sick I have been of cheap wine and of being dirty. Of talking with my mouth half closed and chewing with it open. Of having bugs in my hair and being surrounded by people who think Archimedes was the man at the circus last year who could balance four olives on his nose."
The magus looked around the books piled in my study. "I remember that Archimedes. I think it was five olives," he said with a straight face.
"I don't care if it was twelve," I said.

In the shocked aftermath, I said, "We'll give them a second chance."
With my right hand, I reached to the other pocket. I had known as soon as I lifted the false bottom of the gun case and looked underneath what it meant. I had tried without ceasing to find some alternative to Attolia's ruthless advice, and I had failed. Gen's fit reassured me that I had not failed for lack of trying. He had seen no other solution himself.
I lifted out the matching gun and read the archaic inscription. Realisa onum. Not "The queen made me," but "I make the king."

Unable to guess the answer, she asked, "Who am I, that you should love me?"
"You are My Queen," said Eugenides. She sat perfectly still, looking at him without moving as his words dropped like water into dry earth.
"Do you believe me?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered.
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"I love you."
And she believed him.