[Alistair glances up from the book he's currently examining--a newly acquired history of Asgard, because it pays to be prepared--to find his suitemate standing in a state of disarray, grinning at him madly.

A state of disarray showing off a lot of leg, Maker. Eyes on the face, eyes on the face, and try not to look startled.]

I'm not king of anything here, you know. You can just call me Alistair.

[They're clearly going to be spending a fair amount of time together, as evidenced by the fact that she's in his room in the first place. He can't imagine being your Highnessed by her; he's still getting used to it in general.]

And no, I haven't. What's so magical about it?