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How strange. I hated him at first. Perhaps a part of me still did. But one thing was certain... He was the air I breathed. I could not live without him.
You could tell a great deal by what a monarchy chose to remember about its own history–and even more by what it chose to forget.
“Whatever might have happened to you, you’re choosing to fight back. I don’t see how that’s a bad thing. All of life is a fight. There’s no point in avoiding it.”
“I’ll deal with the body.” He was already kneeling beside Florian. He glanced up at me. “Don’t think about this fucker. Stop thinking about any of it. Now go.”
“I burn for you, Morgan. You've set me aflame...” “Then let the flames consume us,” I whispered back.
I imagined exaggerating the story when I retold it to Galahad and saying two half-naked griddle-cake-scented, dazzlingly handsome men had been fighting over me.
Vesper’s words had sounded like a vow. The kind a knight gave his king. Or his queen.
