“It doesn't make you a monster to want, she said, her voice very gentle. It's what you do with it that matters.”

“You mean," she breathed, "you're in love with me?"I don't care what words anyone uses," he growled, stopping his pace to stand in front of her. "Use the words of all the languages you know. Or make some up. Doesn't matter. What matters is that I want to be with you forever. Only you. And I hope to God," he said his voice rough as he stroked her hair, her face, "that you only want me." There was no glib charm now, only the raw truthh of his heart, laid bare before her.”

“But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. 'Life is not a song, sweetling,' he'd told her, 'You may learn that one day to your sorrow.' In life, the monsters win, she told herself.”

“When you tell me to be good, it makes me want to be good,' I say, hearing the undisguised desire in my voice. I run my fingers through the hair at her temples, taking her face between my palms, and she doesn't move. 'It also makes me want to be very, very bad.”

“She caught his wrist, stilling the hand on her thigh. Her eyes were alittle desperate. "What do you mean to do?""I'd like to show you my way of making love," he said gently.”

“Why? Why don't you want to go with me?"She huffed. "It's not that I don't want to go with you, it's that I'm not going at all.""So you do want to go with me."Cinder locked her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. Because I can't.""But I need you.”