The Wicked King (The Folk of the Air, #2)

by Holly Black

I think of his horror at his own desire when I brought my mouth to his, the dagger in my hand, edge against his skin. The toe-curling, corrosive pleasure of that kiss. It felt as though I was punishing him—punishing him and myself at the same time.

THATS WHAT IM TALKIN ABOUUUUT

“Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”

oh my god. OH MY GOD. yes holly black a hundred times YES … THIS?? HELLO?????

“Tell me that you hate me.” “I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” He kisses me harder.

this is actually making me mind blank HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REACT TO THIS .. i am passing away

“I wasn’t kind, Jude. Not to many people. Not to you. I wasn’t sure if I wanted you or if I wanted you gone from my sight so that I would stop feeling as I did, which made me even more unkind. But when you were gone—truly gone beneath the waves—I hated myself as I never have before.”

i am so in love with cardan

“Deny it, then,” I yell. “Deny me!” He cannot, of course, so he does not. Our eyes meet, and the odd smile on his face is clearly meant for me. I remember what it was to hate him with the whole of my heart, but I’ve remembered too late.

i am genuinely at a loss for words