Aayushi

“It’s going to hurt,” she said, “when the Maiden lets me go. When all the feelings I haven’t felt come rushing in. Are you sure you want to see that?” The moment held Elm in place. Even his breath had gone shallow. Ione dipped her hand into her bodice. When she pulled it back, the Maiden was between her fingers. “Do you?” He managed only one word. “Please.” Never breaking their gaze, Ione held a finger up to her Maiden Card. With three taps, she released herself from its magic.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“And Ravyn, like in so many other things he did, carried the iron ring so that Elm didn’t have to.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“I’m sorry for my brother, miss,” he said, lowering his eyes. “His behavior is inexcusable.” I stared at the tall, darkly cloaked man, my back stiffening. “Elm—my cousin—told me Emory had been drinking. I came to be sure all was well.” At my silence, the man raised his gaze, observing me for the first time. Like his younger brother, his eyes were gray and stood out brilliantly against smooth copper skin. He watched me down a long, formidable nose, his eyes searching my face. My breath faltered, a shiver crawling up my spine. Unmistakably handsome, he stood like one of the statues in his uncle’s garden—cold and smooth as stone. He did not introduce himself. He did not have to. I knew who he was. Ravyn Yew. The King’s eldest nephew. My father’s successor—Captain of the Destriers.”
― Rachel Gillig, One Dark Window

“Brother,” High Prince Hauth Rowan said in greeting, his gaze shifting from Elm to me. “Who is this lovely creature?” If my thoughts on Prince Elm were bleak, my opinion of Hauth was abysmal. The High Prince was a brute. Bathed in the red light of his Scythe Card, Hauth had no qualms forcing others to do his bidding, especially those who flouted Blunder’s laws. I’d heard he was fond of executing criminals with his Scythe, forcing them to do horrible things against their will. The High Prince would often call a great crowd at the edge of town. Then, with three taps of his Scythe Card, he sent the accused, without a charm, to die in the mist—lost to the salt and the ravenous hunger of the Spirit of the Wood.”
― Rachel Gillig, One Dark Window