Painted Devils (Little Thieves, #2)

by Margaret Owen

I haven’t bedded anyone yet because I haven’t desired it, and for much of the world, that means there must be something wrong with me. That the older I get, the more

becomes something to get over with instead of something to want for myself. That the reason can’t be because I rarely desire people that way; it must be that I’m undesirable.

Bóern is the largest territory in the southern empire, and when its margrave binds himself to literal nightmares to attempt overthrowing the Blessed Empress, word’s bound to get out. I suppose I just never thought it would make Emeric Conrad a household name. I don’t know how I feel, that no one’s saying mine.

“Please,” he says. “I know what you are. And only you can help me.”

suppose I’ve figured out this much about Helga: She’ll roundly deny doing anything for any purpose beyond self-interest, but that doesn’t mean I should believe her.

“First of all: He is not my boy, he is a strong, independent young protractor,”

“It’s not true at all, Vanja dear. We have plenty of uses for you.” “We’d already kept you too long,” said Godmother Death.

The worst part isn’t that I’m used to it. People always act like they’re the first one to call you ugly, when you’ve been navigating a world that won’t let you forget. The worst part is that, even so, it rips at the scab every time. Part of me still chokes up. Will