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“A dimwitted king is a dead king.”
“Make them underestimate you. Make them overlook you until you want to be seen.”
“If you cannot endure suffering, you are unfit to dole it out, Enforcer.”
“Oh, darling, as long as you still think I’m pretty, I don’t give a damn what I look like.”
But just because a fear has been conquered, doesn’t mean it’s enjoyable to be confronted with again and again.
“Remind me to make you smile like that again, when you aren’t dying, and I have all the time in the world to memorize it.”
So I said her name, again and again. I finally let myself do it. Let that last piece of attachment to her lock into place. Just saying her name felt intimate, personal, somehow. And now I forever want her name on my lips and rolling off my tongue until I’m drunk on the taste and sound of it.
When he finally answers, his tone is dry. “I never wanted this. Never wanted to be what I am today. But monsters are made, not born. And I had no choice in the matter. I have no choice in the matter.
She’s so stunning, yet so stubbornly oblivious to how the sunset behind dulls in comparison to the vibrance that is her.
What is your favorite color?” I spin her if only to give myself some time to think. I’d never thought about what my favorite color was before. It never seemed important. Not until I looked into a pair of ocean-blue eyes and realized that perhaps drowning was a beautiful thing. Not until I looked into a pair of fiery blue eyes and realized that perhaps burning was a painless thing. Not until I looked into a pair of sky-blue eyes and realized that perhaps falling was a peaceful thing. I’d never thought about what my favorite color was before because I hadn’t seen one that was worthy of the
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“And I’ll save your life again and again, aimlessly hoping you will allow me to stay in it.”
‘The strongest weapon a woman has at her disposal is that she is often underestimated.’
Training and torturing have kept me sane over the past couple of days, though I’m well aware that only an insane person would admit that.
His next words are a murmur, as if he’s muttering his innermost thoughts while his thumb continues to wander over my lip. “Will you forever be the prize I am aimlessly trying to win?” I inhale sharply, staring him down as I say, “Is that all I am to you? A trophy?” A small smile twitches his lips as he shakes his head at me. “Oh, darling, a trophy implies that I won it, earned it, deserve it.” He leans in farther, a certain reverence reflecting in his gaze. “But if I get to have you, it will be because you let me.”
I duck my head and smile. “I could get used to you being a gentleman, Azer.” He’s quiet for so long that I think he might not respond. But when he does, I hear the smile in his voice. “And I could get used to being one for you, Gray.”
His eyes flutter shut; his head falls back, allowing the rain full access to his face. The smile on his lips and the column of his neck make me swallow. His head is still tipped toward the sky, speaking to it as he says, “Only you can make my name sound worth saying.”
