She lay passive on his shoulder, her eyes, full of the fire of love immortal, found and held his.
"What shall I learn, Great King?" she whispered falteringly.
"To take even love from my hand," he said, bending closer.
Her whole body seemed to yield to him, she nestled closer, finding soft rest in his strong arms.
"Yea!" she whispered, raising her lips for the kiss. "I will take--all things from the hand of the King."
So, ere he could prevent it, ere, taken by surprise, his iron muscles could counteract the strong downward sweep of her right hand, his, clasping hers, followed the flash of the death-dagger of her race.
It found fit sheathing close to her heart.
"Âtma," he whispered sinking to his knees with the dead weight he held. "Âtma!"
He did not call her love or queen; he knew too well that she was slipping away from such empty titles.
A low murmur made him bend his ear closer.