The Serpent and the Wolf (Dark Inheritance Trilogy, #1)

by Rebecca Robinson

Even warlords were men, after all, and men were almost always their own downfall.

Beneath her was no wolf—only a fool.

Thrones are as precarious as one’s humanity.

She had always been this way—sharp. Maybe that was why the magic had made a home in her.

“You married me against my will.” “I was not aware of your objections.” “Would it have mattered?” “It would have changed everything.” The world shifted at those simple words. It would have changed everything.

She hated every man who had put the world beneath their feet and decided they had a right to own it.

There it was again. Choice on a silver platter. The damn thing that had saved his life. Maybe she should have killed him. Maybe she’d be screwed if she had.

A game of blades he had asked for, and a game of blades he would receive.

“I was born on the ice,” she reminded him. “That doesn’t mean you deserve to be cold.”

To learn for learning’s sake was a privilege.

“Pick one you love,” the woman said. “For if you don’t love it, it will mean nothing to you, and it must mean something to you.” “Do notebooks have to mean something to us?” “They do, otherwise we will not use them. I will be back in an hour.”

Well that’s the most relatable thing I’ve ever read *gestures to stack of unused planners, crying in ADHD*

“Good,” Melisina said. “Perhaps it’s time you feel whatever that emotion is.” Was that what Vaasa had been doing? Hiding from her emotions and calling it survival?

“Just because this is all you have ever known, it does not mean it is all you will ever be.”

“You can inherit someone’s eyes, or their hair or their nose, but you cannot inherit their faults. You learn them. Which means you can unlearn them, too.”

“You call it anger, you call it fear, but it is none of those things. What lies inside of you is pain. The kind that burns worlds to the ground.”

“But I am not like my brother,” she repeated. Dominik had looked upon the world and decided it was his, and Vaasa knew nothing belonged to her at all.

“I have learned that home is seldom a place; it is people, the most unexpected of them, that give us roots.”

“Dismissing your emotions doesn’t make them disappear, it only gives them reason to rise later without your consent.”

“You’re in our coven now.” Amalie shrugged. “Your strength is my strength.”

“What is it?” he asked, finally giving up the ruse. “You want to be missed more than you want to be loved?”

“I have collected a thousand words, and yet I cannot find a single one to tell you what comes alive inside of me when you are near.”

“Do you not know the words, or are you just afraid to say them?”

To not want him was a futile endeavor. To not need him was a ship that had already set sail. “Of course I love you,” she whispered.

And maybe she was destined to lose everything she’d ever loved, maybe it would shatter her into a thousand small pieces, but that single look felt worth breaking for. So she whispered, “Remind me who I am. Where I am. Because I think you are the only one who really knows.”

And for a moment, she pitied him. How sad to spend a lifetime always afraid.

How sad to have spent a lifetime always afraid. To have looked upon love and kindness and feared it.