To the stars who listen, Feyre. I brushed a hand over his cheek to wipe away the last of his tears, his skin warm and soft, and we turned down the street that would lead us home. Toward our future—and all that waited within it. To the
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“Come on. Live a little, Young. I promise it won’t kill you.” “No, but you might,” he muttered.”
― King of Pride
― King of Pride
Madison’s 2025 Year in Books
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