“Yes, my great villan, my darling god. I will be as sober as a stone carving, just as soon as I can”
― The Wicked King
― The Wicked King
“It’s you I love,” he says. “I spent much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours.” He walks to the door to the royal chambers, as though to end the conversation. “You probably guessed as much,” he says. “But just in case you didn’t.”
― The Queen of Nothing
― The Queen of Nothing
“Go ahead. Insult me.”
His eyebrows go up. “I don’t take commands from mortals,” he says with his customary cruel smile.
“So you’re going to say something nice? I don’t think so. Faeries can’t lie.”
― The Cruel Prince
His eyebrows go up. “I don’t take commands from mortals,” he says with his customary cruel smile.
“So you’re going to say something nice? I don’t think so. Faeries can’t lie.”
― The Cruel Prince
“Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?” Cardan asks, leaning back in the elaborately carved chair, the warmth of his words turning the question into something like a compliment.
“No” I say, glad to be annoyed back into the present. “Tell me.”
"I can't.”
― The Cruel Prince
“No” I say, glad to be annoyed back into the present. “Tell me.”
"I can't.”
― The Cruel Prince
“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
Mortal Instruments & Infernal Devices Lovers!
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