More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
August 16 - August 20, 2024
“Free the five iron crows, and you will be queen.” I freeze. What the what? Iron crows? Queen? Marco’s blasé mien flashes behind my lids, eliciting a shudder. “Not only is the king betrothed—and clearly not to me—but also, I’ve no love for the male.” “I’m aware the Regio male you love is another.” This time, the goosebumps sink beneath my skin and bob along my chilled blood. “How?” “Because I see, child.”
they’re made of iron? And why in the world would a blacksmith model them after the pet birds of the mountain tribe that attacked us two decades ago?
“I should ask you for pointers, since I’ve yet to snag a man’s heart with my kisses.” “Perhaps because you kiss them below the belt, and hearts are higher up.”
“Don’t say that. It’s not true. You care, and one day, you’ll find someone worthy of all that love you have to give.”
“Then make sure your will isn’t governed by your heart.” “What’s wrong with my heart?” “It beats for the wrong man.”
I choke on my next swallow. “You bet that I’d have a threesome with a prince and a fisherman?” He grins. “A Fae can dream.” “You dream of me with two men?” “In my dream, I’m the one standing in your shoes.”
When the creature’s torso begins to lift, so does my optimism. If this works, I want a medal.
If you don’t untuck your fucking shirt, I’ll inflict bodily harm on every Selvatin who leers at you. Is that truly what you want?
“I’m top-heavy. We’ve all got our flaws,” I deadpan.
Rest, Behach Éan. “You still haven’t told me what that means,” I mumble against the pillow.
you least expect it. Have you forgotten that I can morph into smoke? Fine. No riding you. I’ll just have to get one of your bird friends to allow me to ride them. Morrgot’s pupils become pinpricks as though my suggestion has enraged him more than the prior one. Cauldron, he’s a moody one.
Tell the princeling to fucking concentrate on the road instead of on your body, Fallon.
Lore’s beak doesn’t curve, and yet I can feel his dark smile. That you, Little Bird, belong to the sky. The crow emerges fully from the rocking surf, dark and huge, larger than I’ve ever seen it, a monster of down and iron. And that the sky . . . it belongs to me.
“Tach ahd a’feithahm thu, mo Chréach.”
The gold ringing his pupils seems to churn. “You and I are just beginning, Fallon Báeinach.”
