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For every girl who can love a villain, so long as he’s handsome, hung, and good at groveling.
“If a wife cannot speak ill of her husband, then what joys are there left for her in marriage?”
Now get that damn knife away from me before you accidentally hurt yourself. Only I get to hurt you.”
“Life marks us all in one way or another.” Sebian dunked the cloth into the water. “The only scars truly ugly are usually the ones on the inside, anyway.”
“You have no kingdom, no crown. If you call this farce a court, then I can only assume that you’re its fool.”
“Should I tell him how wet you are for this, sweetheart? How needy your little cunt is for his shadows?”
What would it feel like to be loved with such intensity? Such unequivocal fortitude that not even death could impose conditions? I wanted to experience such a love so badly…
“Because you’re mine. Mine to hurt. Mine to agonize. Mine to break.” His cool, minty breath broke against my skin, sending a shudder across my heated body. “I will come for you, Galantia. May it take a year or a lifetime, I will come for you.”
“No matter how much you want to hate me, it’ll never measure up to the loathing my father clearly harbors for me. You think you rendered me worthless? Don’t flatter yourself, Malyr. I was born worthless.”
“Yeh ash valtem skalde ya.”
“If I ever find out who dared to court you, little dove, I shall cut off his balls and feed them to my ravens. And you will watch.”
“Yeh ash valtem sorg fer’ya.” Lips brushed against the shell of my ear. “I will forever care for you.”
“You are my betrothed, my wife before long, the future queen of Dranada and Vhaerya. Before the eyes of the kingdom, I will forever show you the honor and respect that is due.”
“But make no mistake, little white dove… I have every intention of being my cruel, cold-hearted self with you in the privacy of our chambers.”
“Yeh ash valtem flig ak’ya,” he said quickly, releasing his hold of me just as fast as he mumbled, “I will forever fly with you.”
“And if you run from it this time? Little dove, there will only be one set of arms left to run into. Mine.”
“The longer you make me look at you, little dove, the harder it is for me to remember what you are. And I fear that, if I look too long… I just might forget who you are."
“Don’t make me wait because my patience for the moment you finally come to me started wearing thin long ago.”
“To forget who I am and start seeing what we could be, if only you allowed it?”
What would it feel like to be loved with such intensity? Such unequivocal fortitude, not even death could impose conditions?
“See, there is no love for you here—not from me, not from him. There is no love for you anywhere.”
