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“It’s easy to be born on the top floor of the castle and claim you are better than a villager born in a humble farmhouse.”
“He’s always late. Isn’t he taking advantage when he makes everyone wait on him?
it wasn’t as if he and Rowan had ever been actual troublemakers. They just wanted some space to make their own choices.
It was oddly calming to have someone so large and murderous on your side.
Why did the hunter remind him of places he wasn’t sure existed except in his own mind?
The High King wore a sturdy leather sheath and plain-hilted sword. Once he’d achieved the high rulership he’d hung up the gilded sword gifted to him by the Questing Beast and settled to the less glamorous but more difficult task of ruling well.
it was just like her to immediately leap in to take care of an emergency she hadn’t created.
“Loyal friends forever, just as we pledged that day we fell into the moat and never told anyone.”
“Before I go, I want to warn you I’ve heard people talking about you.” “My dear Will, do you think I don’t know what they say?
“If you ask me, it’s odd how everyone praises Father no matter how often he’s late or if he forgets someone’s name, but if Mother forgets herself and frowns once because she’s a bit tired that day, then there are always whispers that she’s envious or angry or ill or stole a shard of Father’s glory to become Queen.
The other courts think loyalty or persistence or courage or strength are enough, but without knowledge none of these suffice.
She didn’t look old—elves never did—but there was an indefinable air of great age and ancient exasperation as she glared, hands on hips, at the young elf who was speaking to the council.
“Do you have a name, my friend?” The hunter blinked as at a slow measure of thought. At length he said, “I do not remember.”
Suddenly they were engulfed in a violent storm blowing past them. But it was no storm. The hunt poured forth from the dragon’s skull. Elvish riders and their steeds jostled past, horses with eight legs, two-headed goats, big cats with horns on their sleek heads, slithering serpents with a hundred eyes, silent chimera on rooster legs, and bleating rams as big as draft horses.
Vein by vein the hunter’s flesh cleared of the curse until he was nothing more than a silent corpse with matted hair and dirt-smeared skin. Dead but free.
For all its heart it could not outrun the hunt, not on Midwinter’s Night.
“No one can gain five knighthoods without dying at least once.
We should have told them long before this.” “But we didn’t,” he said in the tone of a reasonable man who wants you to see how reasonable he is being.
