He's flint, you're tinder.

There you are," Cardan says as I take my place beside him. "How has the night been going for you? Mine has been full of dull conversation about how my head is going to find itself on a spike.

You think I don’t deserve him,” I say to Cardan.He smiles slowly, like the moon slipping beneath the waves of the lake. “Oh no, I think you’re perfect for each other.

I knew little else, but I always knew you.

Bésame de nuevo. Bésame hasta que esté harto de ello.

She's my wife," Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. "The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile.

What is a king without a crown? That’s a riddle, but one to which we all know the answer: no king at all.

Most of all, I hate you because I think of you. Often. It's disgusting, and I can't stop.

But kissing Locke never felt the way that kissing Cardan does, like taking a dare to run over knives, like an adrenaline strike of lightning, like the moment when you've swum too far out in the sea and there is no going back, only cold black water closing over your head.