No fairy tale, this. This was by no stretch of the imagination a polished fantasy. This was a searing, living force, rough around the edges, unfamiliar and bittersweet.And precious.

Southern gentleman,” he said aside to him in Arabic. “Do you wish for me to continue this for you?”Caine’s temper shifted to a low simmer in his chest. “Your way takes too long.”“Ma’aleyk, and your way hurts my ears,” he argued.

He wanted to die. He prayed for it. Through the roar in his ears, he begged for it.

I know I am flaky, I accept that—and I know, as well, that I can mangle the good king’s English like no one else in my or the next ten governesses’ acquaintances, but that will not prevent me from speaking! I may not be as wise as you in the ways of the world, I may not have wounds that run as deeply or scars to wear upon my chest like medals of valor, but at least I don’t retreat and hide the moment a soul comes within reach of my fingers!

I've crossed a world of sand and tears in search of you.

She was an extension of his dreams. A sprinkling of magic dust, of unfeasible wishes, on his stable existence. The one thing-the one bright, marvelous thing-he wanted more than the world, but didn't deserve. However much he was tortured for her sake, however much blood he had spilled to protect her, the bruises to his body and the thrashings to his sanity, it would never be enough to make a wretch like him worthy of such a miracle.

Kas was right: a woman could destroy a man. This one could do so, simply by knowing his name. She could do so, simply with her eyes.

It was a question of insurmountable proportions. A single word that held every fear he had ever had-and every wish he had ever made on those cursed stars. She needn't say more. In a single syllable, she had said more than he wanted to hear in an entire lifetime.

He smelled the salt on his own lips and the orange blossoms in her hair. Real ones, he could see now, tucked into the curls with cheap, native combs. The sight of them gave him hope.