“Not all battles are fought with weapons.”

“In all this time, he [London] has not woken. He needs someone, Tanda. Perhaps you are that someone." She gazed at me with uncertainty and regret, but there was love for London as well, even after all these years. She nodded, taking the chair at his bedside while I stole into the hall. It was for her that he finally opened his eyes.”

“I understand the influence you have all too well. The commander will do exactly what you want, bend to your will. That alone should prove to you that strength is a woman's endowment, not a man's.”

“I have a different idea of what bravery is.""What-complaisance?""In a sense. Acceptance, resiliency. How strong must one be to throw a temper tantrum?""Is that what you'd call this? You and your people storm our homeland, take us all prisoner and any form of resistance is a temper tantrum in your eyes?"He pondered this for a moment, his freckled nose crinkling."Yes.”

“Images of him continued to plague me, unbidden and cruelly tantalising: the mesmerizing blue eyes that compelled me to share with him my most private fears; the feel of his thick, untidy hair as the sunlight split it into myriad shades of gold; the soft laugh that touched my soul; his aloof but unpretentious manner; his confident assurance that I could make my own choices. I shuddered at the thought of Steldor's attitude toward me, for he saw me as only a woman, relegated to supervising that household, planning and executing social events and raising the children. All he really wanted was my presence in his bed, which made me all the more unwilling to comply. Steldor's glance made me uncomfortable, his patronising laugh made me cringe, his condescension frequently led to my humiliation. In Narians arms, I had felt extraordinary happiness; in Steldor's I felt trapped.”

“You always were the martyr, weren't you?" The Overlord snickered, and I closed my eyes briefly, relieved and devastated that he was accepting the trade. "So loyal,so brave, so foolishly self-sacrificing. I will see you regret it all before you die.""You failed the last time you tried," London shot back. "I'm quite eager to see if you've improved.”

“You're not wearing that," he informed me. "Yes,I am.""No,you're not.""Yes,I am.""You'll look ridiculous.""I beg your pardon?" I said, affronted."There's nothing wrong with your dress, or the way it fits you," he clarified with a roll of his eyes, as if he were explaining the obvious to a simpleton. "But it just won't do.""And why not?""Your attire doesn't complement mine at all."This as entirely accurate and pleased me greatly. He wore black pants and an ivory shirt under a fitted gold-and-emerald-green doublet, an emsemble that made him appear annoyingly godlike, but which was very near horrendous next to sky blue."Then our garb will complement our personalities," I retorted.”