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“The disturbing thing about Cardan is how well he plays the fool to disguise his own cleverness.”
― The Wicked King
― The Wicked King
“Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”
― The Wicked King
― The Wicked King
“You must be strong enough to strike and strike and strike again without tiring. The first lesson is to make yourself that strong.”
― The Wicked King
― The Wicked King
“Our eyes meet, and something dangerous sparks.
He hates you, I remind myself.
“Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”
I feel those words, feel them like a kick to the stomach. He sees my expression and laughs, a sound full of mockery. I can’t tell which of us he’s laughing at.
He hates you. Even if he wants you, he hates you.
Maybe he hates you the more for it.
After a moment, his eyes flutter closed. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself. “If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.”
He drifts off to sleep, but I am wide awake.”
― The Wicked King
He hates you, I remind myself.
“Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”
I feel those words, feel them like a kick to the stomach. He sees my expression and laughs, a sound full of mockery. I can’t tell which of us he’s laughing at.
He hates you. Even if he wants you, he hates you.
Maybe he hates you the more for it.
After a moment, his eyes flutter closed. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself. “If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.”
He drifts off to sleep, but I am wide awake.”
― The Wicked King
“Tell me again what you said at the revel,” he says, climbing over me, his body against mine.
“What?” I can barely think.
“That you hate me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me that you hate me.”
“I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
He kisses me harder.
“I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t think of anything else.”
― The Wicked King
“What?” I can barely think.
“That you hate me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me that you hate me.”
“I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
He kisses me harder.
“I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t think of anything else.”
― The Wicked King
Sol’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Sol’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
270 books
|
3 friends
187 books
|
2 friends
465 books
|
3 friends
133 books
|
2 friends
119 books
|
6 friends
419 books
|
9 friends
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