“She told me that Melisande had borne a daughter, and that one day . . . one day she would like for us to meet. And so when your father advertised the fact that he was looking for a husband for his daughter—” “Advertised,” she interrupted. “Oh, yes. Far and wide. Princess. Beautiful. Nubile. Available to big strong man, with even bigger sword.” Mickel thumped his chest. “I was intrigued. I was mortified. I thought I would save the daughter of my mother’s best friend from a fate worse than death.” “And if I had been a loud mouthed harridan with a taste for garlic and a fear of bathing?” “I would have been the Warlord everyone thinks I am, tossed her aside like a sack of potatoes in a white wedding dress, and asked for the hand of a peculiar redheaded woman I met on the road.” Sally smiled. “And if she said no?” “Well,” Mickel said, kissing her hand. “I may not be the Warlord of the Savage Belly Ache, but I am exceptionally brave. I would fight for her.”

“I don’t believe she’ll be available for the rest of the day,” Gabriel said.“No? Is she in Velora, perhaps? I could go to the school and meet with her there.”“No, she’s not in Velora.”Raphael’s voice took on a note of concern. “Is she ill, then? I hope not. Is it a fever?”“No, not a fever—I mean, she’s not ill at all. She’s just unavailable.”“Raphael’s face took on a quizzical expression. “She has not been locked in her room, has she? Really, Gabriel—”

“And you're not leaving," she said. "Promise me."It was as if she had asked him to promise to keep breathing, to notice sunshine, to permit the spinning of the earth. What choice did he have? Even if he left her, she would be camped in his heart, an insistent and willful presence. She would match her strides to his on any journey he ever took; she would lie beside him on any bed.Amalie, he said, "that's the easiest promise I've ever had to make.”

“She was smiling as she leaned toward Reed, who stooped down to put his lips against her ear. He would tell her that he wanted to travel to Merendon, or Marring Cross or Cranfield, someplace far away and exotic. He was the sort of man whose wish altered every year.He said in a voice that only she could hear: "I wish you were not my sister."She pulled back and stared up at him. He smiled, his face just faintly touched with sadness, and tossed his true-love into the fire.”

“He looked down at his empty glass. "One of the other ways in which I am different from my father," he said. "I am not interested in marrying where I do not love."I spoke in a jesting voice. "And of all the women in the eight provinces, you have not been able to find one you could love?"Now he looked at me again, and his face was completely serious. "That's the problem," he said. "There is one.”

“You're just afraid," I flung at him. "Of what would happen to you and your life at court if you were to carry Elisandra away. Of what your father would say. Of what Bryan would do to you."Now he, too, looked angry. "I am afraid of many things, but those are not the fears that keep me from action," he said.I turned my back on him. "Then I don't understand you," I said.I heard the door open. "No," he said, "and you never have.”

“So do I wish I was to be king? That is not a question I ask myself. I ask myself, Would I be a good king? Would I be quick witted and generous of spirit and full of that boundless energy? Or would I be clumsy and stupid and dulled by my own prejudices? I try to be a good man, since I am alive at all, and hope that that teaches me what I would need to know if I was ever faced with a higher challenge.”