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“What about asking a servant to put a very sharp pebble in your boot?” he asked, expression annoyingly serious.
It hurts a little to watch, because Oriana no more gave birth to Oak than to me or Taryn, but she is very clearly Oak’s mother while she has steadfastly refused to be ours.
“It seems I have a singular taste for women who threaten me.”
It occurs to me that maybe desire isn’t something overindulging helps. Maybe it is not unlike mithridatism; maybe I took a killing dose when I should have been poisoning myself slowly, one kiss at a time.
Kill him, a part of me says, a part I remember from the night I took him captive. Kill him before he makes you love him.
