“She’d always wondered what it would feel like to stand on one end of a ballroom and watch a handsome, powerful man make his way to her. This was as close as she’d ever come to it, she supposed. Standing at Diana’s side. Imagining.”

“Even the way he was the only man she’d ever met who both could and dared to hold up his side of a conversation with her.”

“Could he be naked beneath his breeches? Theyseemed molded to him, outlining the powerful lines of his thighs and the swell just above—Oh, God. She closed her eyes. She’d been looking at his—Not only was it rude, but it had sent anamazing tingle through her, almost as if she’d touched it.“Fiona, if you ever look at me like that again, I will not be held responsible for what I do.” Jack was soclose that she could feel his breath on her temple. “Do you understand?”

“She’d survived the Drowned Cities because she wasn’t anything like Mouse. When the bullets started flying and warlords started making examples of peacekeeper collaborators, Mahlia had kept her head down, instead of standing up like Mouse. She’d looked out for herself, first. And because of that, she’d survived.”

“She had told herself she should be reassured by his squeamishness; a man who balked at scars would not give her new ones. Now she suddenly wondered if she’d had it wrong. A man without scars would always underestimate their value. He would not see them as marks of courage.”

“She leaned in, and kissed her Marid gently, sweetly. She tried to kiss him the way she’d always thought kisses would be. His lips tasted like the sea.”