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Quote by Holly Black

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The Wicked King

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Author

Holly Black
Holly Black

Holly Black, born on November 10, 1971, is a renowned fantasy fiction writer from the United States. Her works are known for their unique imagination and profound emotional depth, which have won her a large fan base. more

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“Of course I want to be like them. They're beautiful as blades forged in some divine fire. They will live forever. Valerian's hair shines like polished gold. Nicasia's limbs are long and perfectly shaped, her mouth the pink of coral, her hair the colour of the deepest, coldest part of the sea. Fox-eyed Locke, standing silently behind Valerian, his expression schooled to careful indifference, has a chin as pointed as the tips of his ears. And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest, with black hair as iridescent as a raven's wing and cheekbones sharp enough to cut out a girl's heart. I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe.”

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“Later when Cardan, Locke, Nicasia, and Valerian sit down to their lunch, they have to spit out their food in choking horror. All around them are the less awful children of faerie nobles, eating their bread and honey, their cakes and roasted pigeons, their elderflower jam with biscuits and cheese and the fat globes of grapes. But every single morsel in each of my enemies' baskets has been well and thoroughly salted. Cadan's gaze catches mine, and I can't help the evil smile that pulls up the corners of my mouth. His eyes are bright as coals, his hatred a living thing, shimmering in the air between us like the air above black rocks on a blazing summer day.”

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Book:The Cruel Prince
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“We can enchant you to run around on all fours, barking like a dog. We can curse you to wither away for want of a song you'll never hear again or a kind word from my lips. We're not mortal. We will break you. You're a fragile little thing; we'd hardly need to try. Give up.' 'Never,' I say. He smiles, smug. 'Never? Never is like forever- too big for mortals to comprehend.”

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“Cardan is waiting for me when I get off the field. I am struck suddenly be his height, by the arrogant sneer he wears like a crown. He would seem like a prince even dressed in rags. Cardan grabs my face, fingers splayed against my neck. His breath is against my cheek. His other hand grabs my hair, winding it in to a rope. 'Do you know what mortal means? It means born to die. It means deserving of death. That's what you are, what defines you- dying. And yet here you stand, determined to oppose me even as you rot away from the inside out, you corrupt, corrosive mortal creature. Tell me how that is. Do you really think you can win against me? Against a prince of Faerie?' I swallow hard. 'No,' I say. His black eyes simmer with rage. 'So you're not completely lacking in some small amount of animal cunning. Good. Now, beg my forgiveness.' I take a step back and tug, trying to wrench free of his grasp. He holds on to my braid, staring down in to my face with hungry eyes and a small, awful smile. Then he opens his hand, letting me stagger free. Individual strands of hair flutter through the air.”

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“Cardan is wearing his usual scowl, accessorised with kohl under his eyes and a circlet of gold in his midnight hair. He has on a long black coat with a high, jagged collar, the whole thing stitched with a pattern of constellations. Valerian is in deep red, cabochon rubies sparkling on his cuffs, each like a drop of frozen blood. Nicasia's hair is the blue-green of the ocean, crowned with a diadem of pearls. A glittering cobweb net covers her braids. Locke brings up the rear, looking bored, his hair the precise colour of fox fur.”

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“Cardan has stopped beside a boy with long copper hair and a pair of small moth wings- a boy who isn't bowing. The boy laughs and Cardan lunges. Between one eyeblink and the next, the prince's balled fist strikes the boy hard across the jaw, sending him sprawling. As the boy falls, Cardan grabs one of his wings. It tears like paper. The boy's scream is thin and reedy. He curls up into himself on the ground, agony plain on his face. I wonder if faerie wings grow back; I know that butterflies that lose a wing never fly again.”

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“I leave my books and cross the grass toward them. Cardan half-turns and I shove him so hard that his back hits one of the trees. His eyes go wide. 'I don't know what you said to her, but don't you ever go near my sister again,' I tell him, my hand still on the front of his velvet doublet. 'You gave her your word.' I can feel the eyes of all the other students on me. Everyone's breath is drawn. For a moment, Cardan just stares at me with stupid, crow-black eyes. Then one corner of his mouth curls. 'Oh,' he says. 'You're going to regret doing that.' I don't think he realises just how angry I am or how good it feels, for once, to give up on regrets.”

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Book:The Cruel Prince
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