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“You were joking about the whole please and thank you thing, right?" "Meant every word." A little light danced in his eyes and he very deliberately said, "Baby." No. He laughed. "You should see your face right now." "Don't call me that." "Would you prefer 'darling'? Or maybe 'cupcake'?" He winked.”

“You were just a boy on a bed in a room, like a kaleidoscope is a tube full of bits of broken glass. But the way I saw you was pieces refracting the light, shifting into an infinite universe of flowers and rainbows and insects and planets, magical dividing cells, pictures no one else knew.”

“You were just elevated beyond the mundane.” I snorted with laughter. “Is that what you’d call it?” His eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea how many blightborn women would literally kill to be in your place right now? I found you on a pile of corpses.” He sniffed the air with his hawkish nose, and his aristocratic features twisted in disgust. “You still reek of them.” I crossed my arms self-consciously. He was right. That didn’t mean he wasn’t also a bastard for saying so. “I haven’t exactly had a chance to take a bath. Someone was dragging me around in chains, as you’ll recall,” I pointed out. “Well, you’ll have all of the perfumed baths you want now. But there’s far more to the bargain.” “More than being chained to you for the rest of our lives? That is what those words meant, right?” I hesitated, then added, “And I’m not the only one, am I?” “Oh, you noticed Regan, did you? She looked delighted, didn’t she?” He shrugged. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll see to it that she falls in line.” “I won’t worry,” I said. “Because I don’t share. And I’m not your mate, no matter what your uncle or anyone else announced.” “Keep telling yourself that. But you felt the binding. You had no choice. Neither did I. Do you really think I’d have chosen this?” He looked me up and down, then shook his head. “You’re beneath me in every possible way. Whoever you are, whatever you are.” I snarled, surprising myself. “Good to hear. Because you won’t be touching me at any point. Let’s get that straight. You certainly won’t be breeding with me.” “I have no plans to touch you if you were the last woman in the Thralldom,” he snapped back, looking just as furious. “But if I did…” “Yes, yes, I should feel ever so honored, ever so grateful. Is that what you like to tell yourself as a woman lies beneath you? You think to yourself how honored she must feel? Gods, you’re a piece of work.” I shook my head. “I almost feel sorry for Regan.” He narrowed his eyes. “Regan is thrilled to be my future consort. She doesn’t need your pity.” “Right. I’m sure. So, what now?” I changed the subject abruptly. “Where are we?” “Ah, yes, your second question. If you’re finished trying to convince yourself you aren’t bound to me…” “I’m not, never will be.” “Whatever. This–” He gestured around us. “Is Bloodwing Academy.” I wrinkled my nose. “What?” “An academy. A school. They do have those where you come from, don’t they?” I glared at him. “I believe I’ve heard the words once or twice.” “Good. I daresay it’s too much to hope you can read and write, too, and aren’t secretly some swine herder’s daughter.”

“You were just worried about me." An exhale, relieved that I had understood. "Yeah" I turned. "Because you think I'm worth it" He put his fingers under my chin. "I absolutely think your worth it." "But you don't think you are." His mouth opened. Shut. "That's what this is about, Derek. You won't let us worry about you because you don't think you're worth it. But I do. I absolutely do.”

“You were kind of mean to Brittany,” Holly said. “Was I? Trying to be protective, I guess. I have a problem with cheerleaders, sorority sisters, gangs, committees, groups, anything pack-related.” She shrugged. “Yeah, you’re not really a joiner.” I was never much for cheerleaders or jocks myself, especially in high school. I always knew that kind of popularity was short term, but when you’re a teenager it seemed like the most important thing in the world. But Holly was only twelve.”

“You were loved because God loves, period. God loved you, and everyone, not because you believed in certain things, but because you were a mess, and lonely, and His or Her child. God loved you no matter how crazy you felt on the inside, no matter what a fake you were; always, even in your current condition, even before coffee. God loves you crazily, like I love you...like a slightly overweight auntie, who sees only your marvelousness and need.”

“You were meant to be right here right now...so make the most of it!”

“You were meant to first be subjected to the limitations of the flesh or the experience of NOT knowing what sensuality feels like [that’s why some of us at some point had to be alcoholics, some promiscuous, some rebellious, some married and then later divorced, some abused, some lied to, some cheated on and taken for granted, some abandoned] so that we would be able to know what sensuality DOES NOT feel like and then be delivered from that bondage of decay (or ignorance) into the liberty of knowing what sensuality really feels like.”

“You were my beloved lacrimarium, my purgatoryx, a red light candle night; a wide lost room in our love's dimension. You were the sunlight reflected upon the moon's eyes, the zephyr of dawn that fell down so conscious. You were my broken unguentarium, a paradox, my funerary and my resurrection. You were the sword and the wound; I was the pain and its sorrow. You were my beloved lacrimarium; once a funereal monody - now my heart's unguentarium and this eternal melody.”

“You were my guest until you drew your very fancy sword. Put it down and by my guest again.' 'Put it down?' says Madoc. 'Very well.' He slams it in to the floor of the brugh. A thunderous sound rocks the palace, a tremor that seems to go through the ground beneath us. The Folk scream. Grimsen cackles, clearly delighted with his own work. A crack forms on the floor, starting where the blade punctured the ground, the fissure widening as it moves toward the dais, splitting the stone. A moment before it reaches the throne, I realise what's about to happen and cover my mouth. Then the ancient throne of Elfhame cracks down the middle, its flowering branches turned in to splinters, its seat obliterated. Sap leaks from the rupture like blood from a wound. 'I have come to give that blade to you,' Madoc says over the screams. Cardan looks at the destruction of the throne in horror. 'Why?”