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That’s the thing about power, Lore, is that for those who seek it, there can never be enough.”
choose anger, Lore,”
As long as she had this, the sun on her face, then she had hope.
“I’ll be the sun to your moon,” he murmured, his dark eyes searching hers. “I can’t think of anything I want more than to rule with you at my side.”
“Why settle, when I can be both sun and the moon?”
Drown the witch.
“They will be punished for their crimes against you, Lore Alemeyu. But their deaths will be on my hands, not yours.”
“I can’t believe I had you, and I lost you . . . I’ll never stop hating myself.”
Was this how she died? Imprisoned by the male she’d once loved? Drowned in bloodied water? No. She wouldn’t fucking have it.
And then, from the depths of that horrifying mouth, a melodic note resonated through the room, cold and seductive, a guarantee of oblivion.
“Are you my savior, my captor, or my end?”
Without the grimoire, Lore was nothing. Worse than nothing. She was someone who had tasted power and now did not think that she could live without it.
Would they know that they had murdered two people before giving them a chance to know what love really was?
“Your Majesty, do you perchance have a library?” The queen grinned and turned to her life partner. “Jaladri, will you take them to your greatest pride?” She looked at Lore, then said in a mock whisper, “His greatest pride after me, of course.” Queen Naia winked.
Really, could anyone blame her? The male looked gorgeous perusing a library.
“Once again,” he retorted, taking another step closer, “I am telling you that I’m not letting you go alone. I’ll never stop you from diving headfirst into danger.” He placed a hand on the shelf beside her, his grip tight, and leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “As long as I’m there to dive with you.”
She could never give herself to him while she did not belong to herself.
Why was she okay to give herself to Asher tho??
Mother Pearl’s radiance undeniably falls upon you. Your life, risked for strangers, for beings apart from your own, shines brighter than even our royal jewels. We, who witness your valor, stand in your debt.”
His shirt was black and formfitting, his pants black, his boots black. Tall, dark, and handsome.
Syrelle flinched as if struck. “I understand,” he said softly. “But know this, Lore. If you ever need me, all you must do is ask.” His voice wavered, and he gazed upward for a moment, collecting himself. “You won’t believe me, you can’t believe me, and that’s my fault . . . but I will always choose you.”
The love she felt for him was written on her bones. This she would fight for with her every breath. She would give up everything on the quest to save Duskmere—save this. She would never, could never, give him up.
“Remember, Lore. The grimoires did not give you their magic; they were simply the key that unlocked the magic within you. You are magic, Lore. You can harness the power of a million stars in the sky, a million suns. Craft your own paradise.”
