The Prisoner’s Throne (The Stolen Heir Duology, #2)

by Holly Black

Oak’s family was soaked in blood, the lot of them.

“Crawl to me.”

Her gaze locks with his, and he can feel the frisson of something between them. Something that might well be terrible, but that he wants more of all the same.

Oak has proclaimed his love to people before, but that felt like play and this feels like pain. Maybe it’s because she sees him, and no one else has.

“But…,” Tiernan says, and hesitates again, running a hand through his short blackberry hair. “What I feel is not like the ballads.” “Not an affliction, then?” Oak raises an eyebrow. “No fever?” Tiernan gives him an exasperated look—one with which the prince is very familiar. “It is more the feeling that there is a part of me I have left somewhere and I am always looking for.”

“Have you ever wondered if anyone truly loved you?”

“I shall be the politest of monsters.”