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“I’m not desperate enough that I need to soil myself with filth,”
learning the words of an enemy was as important as learning the words of a friend.
Only Laurent seemed immune. He was probably so jaded that this display did not even cause his pulse to flicker.
The methodical ritual of unlacing made Damen wonder, scornfully, if Veretian lovers suspended their passion for a half hour in order to disrobe.
If you got a woman pregnant and didn’t marry her, your career was over.
And what did it mean, to be a prince, if he did not strive to protect those weaker than himself?
It is your barbaric society that forced them into slavery, not mine.
“You would really sacrifice your pride over the fate of a handful of slaves?”
He was not inclined to believe that cruelty delivered with one hand was redeemed by a caress from the other,
“Is there anyone at this court who isn’t my enemy?” “Not if I can help it,”
Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. Torveld looked at him and saw a buttercup.
“You’re—in love with him?” “Not quite,” said Damen.
Laurent could inspire homicidal tendencies simply by breathing.
