Margo was all too willing to let her best friend hurry the stranger along. After all, she’d acted like royalty long before she’d ever actually claimed a throne and Eliot was Brakebills royalty right along with her. She gave him a small smile. He really was a welcome sight.

Eliot’s state of dress must have caught Margo’s attention around the same time he caught sight of her clothes. She eyed him, grateful that he was in this mess with her, but seriously confused. He looked sharp as always, but didn’t look the part of High King. “What am I wearing? I think I’m rocking the Fillorian fashion. What are you wearing? Why did you change?”

Suddenly, she had the appearance of someone who’d been struck by a revelation. “This isn’t you, is it?” Margo rolled her eyes and gave a slow nod of her head. “The golem. Right. God, the stress of the throne is affecting my IQ.”