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

by Holly Black

Cardan gives me a look up through his lashes that I find hard to interpret and then rises, too. He takes my hand. “Nothing is sweeter,” he says, kissing the back of it, “but that which is scarce.” My skin flushes, hot and uncomfortable.

“I don’t care if you did or not,” I tell him, too angry to make sense of my feelings. “I just care that you enjoyed it.” “And why shouldn’t I delight to see you squirm? You tricked me,” Cardan says. “You played me for a fool, and now I am the King of Fools.”