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Morien the Last was a name that stuck to the darkest parts of the city, whispered in alleyways, swirling on the dockside breeze.
Didn’t mean it wasn’t funny.
He was a prince royal who couldn’t so much as ask his houseguests to leave.
Any good thief knew when he’d glimpsed something he shouldn’t. Something that should have stayed in the safe.
“As long as I am by your side, and we are by hers, I do not question that I am where I am needed.”
“Do you not flout authority with your very vocation?” “With my very— Shit, Shiny, listen, we can’t—”
One was busy nuzzling her new friend’s throat, sticking close to his side and giving Rags the side-eye whenever he got too close, or snorted in confusion, or waved his hands at no one to release his overwhelming feelings of fuck you, fuck him, and fuck me most.
Rags grinned. “It is good to see you smile,” Shining Talon murmured. Rags stopped grinning immediately.
Was it better to be cut down alongside your family? Better to die with than to survive without?
All living things feel pain.
What use was a prince who didn’t understand anything happening in his own kingdom?
“Me and him”—Rags jerked a hand Shining Talon’s way—“at court?” “Morien can glamour Shining Talon so he doesn’t look so . . .” Inis paused. Rags snorted an ugly laugh. “So fucking fae?”
“Except that we’re glamoured in a fuck-ton of sorcery, and have a fae prince and two big-ass silver beasts of unknown power and origin with us,” Rags replied. “Other than that, we’re not suspicious in the slightest.”
what the fuck, why not, this is my year of bad decisions.”
After a long, wretched silence, Inis let out a shaky breath. “I hate that you’re not as stupid as you look,” she said. She wasn’t the only one.
This wasn’t a play. And if it were, it would be a tragedy.
We do not fear pain, not like those who haven’t lived inside it. We are pain.
No one can stop us when we fight, Two said. No one can stop us because of what we fight for, Inis replied.
