Every Spiral of Fate

I will say this once, angel, for I feel you should be warned. No man alive has ever loved a woman the way that I love you, and I would rather die, damned as I am, than disgrace us both with the pitiful, unrequited performance of my heart.

My life, my heart, my blood—they’re already yours. Heaven knows I have nothing left to give you that isn’t already in pieces.

I don’t need peace,” she said softly. “I want war.

His bride. His wife. It would be simpler for him to lay down and die for her than to try to convey the enormity of all that he felt in her presence.

He couldn’t decide then what he loved most about her. He couldn’t choose, and he needn’t bother. She was unyielding tenderness; graceful strength. He wanted a life with her he was afraid even to fashion into thought. He wanted time with her he would never have. He wanted moments he did not deserve. Where she was everything, he was nothing, and never was this more apparent than now.

Have you seen the man’s thighs?” she said, pointing. “That towel is hardly strong enough to do the job required—in fact, I daresay it’s liable to tear in half—” “You seem somehow incapable of delicacy,” said Cyrus, cutting her off, “so I ask this question sincerely: Do you happen to think I’m deaf?

Her beauty was its own violence

Don’t be an ass.” “Ah, but you inspire me every day, sire,

Is it not a small miracle to bear witness to such beauty?” “Yes,” he said, still staring at her.

Tell me what's happening," said Cyrus desperately. He lifted her veil in a panic, exposing her face to better search her eyes. "Is it me? Did I do something to hurt you—" "Please," she cried, losing strength in her legs. "Please stop—" "Angel, please, talk to me—

HUDA TORE HER EYES AWAY; she’d gone deathly pale. “Good God,” she breathed. “It suddenly seems a shame to kill him.

He saw nothing but her. He wanted nothing but her. He couldn’t fucking breathe.

Maybe he’s dying?” suggested Omid. “I’m never that lucky,” said Kamran.

We’re going to keep her safe. Stop worrying— I’ll stop worrying when I’m dead,

Have you ever killed a moth?” Cyrus said faintly. “Killed a moth?” The young man had frowned. “I beg your finest pardon?” “A moth, yes,” said Cyrus. “Have you ever killed one?” “Are you taking the piss?

It’s true,” he’d said, lifting his eyes to hers, “that I could never rest so long as you are in danger.

The door fell, with a resounding crash, clear off its hinges. “I’m sorry,” she said primly. “I tried to warn you. I’m sure someone can mend the damage, but if not I—

His enormous, unbridled smile was a cruel shock to her system, for it shattered the armor he wore, rendering him glorious in the aftermath.

What do we do if we have to use the bathroom?” “Omid,” said Huda, aghast. “Didn’t you use the bathroom before we left?” “Yes, miss, of course I did, only I’m just wondering—

When a man is on fire you don’t ask permission to extinguish him. I gather you will find your peace only once you’ve broken down his door.

It would be simpler for him to lay down and die for her than to try to convey the enormity of all that he felt in her presence.

Cyrus felt the channel unlock between them in relief. "Cyrus?" Hazan said cautiously. "Cyrus is that you?" Cyrus didn't have a chance to respond before the Jinn shouted furiously— "Where the bloody hell have you been? Your dragons are refusing to move and I've been sitting here imagining all the ways I might break your fucking neck—

She wanted to cross the room to him. She wished she might unlock his chest, push apart the curtains of his ribs, take a closer look at his heart. She feared, with ever-increasing terror, that she might find it forged from something finer than gold.

My life, my heart, my blood--they're already yours. Heaven knows I have nothing left to give you that isn't already in pieces.

You can’t be serious attending your own wedding in these clothes. Have you lost your mind? You’re the fucking king—and you look like a common mourner!

Perhaps I shouldn’t admit it,” whispered Huda. “But I’m terrified.” “I’m often terrified, miss,” said Omid.

He felt there were too many queens in this world; none of them her equal. She deserved a title entirely her own.

She’d begun to realize that it was pain that had built her; pain that had both softened and scarred her; pain that had prepared her most for this moment.