Tiffany (Bluestocking)

“Will you be that for me, Ildiko,” he said. “That beacon in the void?”
― Grace Draven, Radiance

“She was ugly; she was beautiful, and she was his. “My Ildiko,” he whispered.”
― Grace Draven, Radiance

“You don’t think me a handsome man?” She shrugged. “I’ve only seen your hands and eyes. For all I know, you’re hiding the face of a sun spirit in that hood.” Brishen scoffed at the idea. “Hardly.” He’d never lacked female company, and his people thought him well-favored. Certainly nothing as wretched as a sun spirit. He slid the hood back to his shoulders. The woman’s eyes rounded. She inhaled a harsh breath and clasped one hand to her chest. Her mollusk skin went a far more attractive shade of ash. She remained silent and stared at him until he raised a hand in question. “Well?” She exhaled slowly. The space between her eyebrows stitched into a single vertical frown line. “Had you crawled out from under my bed when I was a child, I would have bludgeoned you to death with my father’s mace.”
― Grace Draven, Radiance

“She was halfway through the book, her eyes heavy with sleep, when the bedroom door opened.  Brishen stood at the threshold, dressed down to undertunic and trousers, his feet bare and his hair damp.  He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms.  “Woman of day, you waited for me.”

Ildiko closed her book and offered him a drowsy smile.  Relief and happiness coursed through her.  “Prince of night, you’ve come back to me—your head intact.”

“I promised I’d try.”  ”
― Grace Draven, Radiance