Florina

“His Majesty needs a can-I girl anyway. And I'm not it."
"A can-I girl?" Andrea frowned.

I leaned back. "'Can I fetch your food, Your Majesty? Can I tell you how strong and mighty you are, Your Majesty? Can I pick your fleas, Your Majesty? Can I kiss your ass, Your Majesty? Can I..."

It dawned on me that Raphael was sitting very still. Frozen, like a statue, his gaze fixed on the point above my head. "He's standing behind me, isn't he?"

Andrea nodded slowly.

"Technically it should be 'may I'," Curran said, his voice deeper than I remembered. "Since you're asking for permission."

Why me?

"To answer your question, yes, you may kiss my ass. Normally I prefer maintain my personal space, but you're a Friend of the Pack and your services have proven useful once or twice. I strive to accommodate the wishes of persons friendly to my people. My only question is, would kissing my ass be obeisance, grooming, or foreplay?”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Strikes

“The phone rang. I picked it up.
“Are you sitting down?” Curran's voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Click.
I listened to the disconnect signal. If he wanted me to sit, then I'd stand. I got up. The chair got up with me and I ended up bent over my desk, with the chair stuck to my butt. I grabbed the edge of the chair and tried to pull it off.
It remained stuck.
I would murder him. Slowly. And I'd enjoy every second of it.”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Bleeds

“As he passed me, he leaned to Curran and handed him a paper fan folded from some sort of flyer.

Curran looked at the fan. “What?”
"An emergency precaution, Your Majesty. In case the lady faints.”

Curran just stared at him.

Raphael strode toward the Pit, turned, flexed a bit, and winked at me.

"Give me that,” I told Curran. “I need to fan myself.”
"No, you don’t.”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Strikes

“Then you remember the dream,” Mencheres stated. “That bodes ill.”
 
The fear of that made my reply snappy. “Hey, Walks Like An Egyptian, how about for once you drop the formal stuff and talk like you live in the twenty-first century?”
 
The shit’s gonna splatter, start buggin’, yo,” Mencheres responded instantly.
 
I stared at him, then burst out laughing, which was highly inappropriate considering the very grave warning he’d just conveyed.”
― Jeaniene Frost, Destined for an Early Grave