My dowry is thirty-five. A year.”
His brows climbed. “You’re joking.”
“I would never joke about money with a notorious thief. Just imagine, in a mere two years you’re at a profit.”
“How I adore a woman who does mathematics in her head.”
“I can forge signatures as well.”
“Splendid. Exactly the bride I’ve been hoping for.
I don’t know how these matters are supposed to go,” she said finally, in the dark. “I was raised amid mountains and the Milky Way. But it seems to me that if a lady tells a gentleman she is in love with him, even if she’s actually just a serf, he ought to either reciprocate the emotion or else leave the room.”
“Oh? Is there not a third option? Perhaps, say, a thorough ravishment instead?”
“That is hardly gentlemanly. And I don’t think you should call me Princess any longer, either. I’ll be a countess, I suppose.”
“No, beloved. Remember? A king.”
“I’ll settle for queen.
Your Grace:
Others come. Prepare for Invasion.
—M.
I am wed now. My husband is Zane. I’m sorry.
Shana AbeI won’t trouble you long,” said Maricara. “No doubt you have all manner of pressing plans to consider. Spies to engage. Betrayals to enact. That sort of thing.”
“Only on Sundays,” Kim replied. “It’s Tuesday. We’re discussing stealing sweetmeats from small children today.
I didn’t want to be in love with you. I didn’t want to believe in love at all. It’s never happened to me before. And to be perfectly frank, I’m still not entirely happy about the whole thing. I think—it’s going to be exhausting. You’re domineering and devious and I’ve noticed that whenever we’re not kissing, I wish we were.” Her voice had grown nearly plaintive; she stopped and cleared her throat. “It’s a damnable situation. I don’t know what to do about it.”
He eyed her from the chair. “I’m pigheaded, too. Pray don’t forget that.”
“Certainly not. It was the next thing I was going to mention.”
“My sweet, your notion of love is unique, to say the least. I wonder that you haven’t written me sonnets already. Something like ‘Ode to the Blackguard.
Your Royal Grace,
Forgive my boldness. If I might inquire: How old are you?
—Kimber
He’d never liked tea. It seemed somewhat ridiculous to him, to interrupt his day with miniature cakes and dry, crustless sandwiches, and fragile china that always seemed about to snap in half between his fingers. Tea, Kimber reasoned, was a feminine invention, ruled by females of a certain type: ruffled, beribboned, and iron-willed.
Shana AbeThere's a word for this in English," he mused, still soft. "I can't recall it. I've made you a...a fallen women. Yes?"
"Yes," I agreed, still smiling. "Thank you ever so much."
"It's been entirely my pleasure," he said in Romanian, and I turned my face into his sleeve and began to laugh.
Tag: alexandru honor-carlisle réz sandu the-time-weaver
She was spirit and presence, as rare and brilliant as snowflakes in sunlight, and he could not bring himself to harm her.
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