Jessica Day George · 280 pages
Rating: (29.3K votes)
“Galen Werner, you may choose one of my daughters to be your bride, and when I die, you shall sit beside her as co-ruler of Westfallin."
"Your Majesty.... I - I don't know - "
Rose felt her knees shaking. Did he not love her after all?
"Psst, Galen?" Pansy tugged on his arm. Galen leaned down. "If Rose doesn't want you," the little girl whispered loudly, "you can marry me."
Galen laughed shakily. "Thanks, Pansy."
"Oh, Rose! Don't just stand there like a lump," Poppy said, poking her in the back. "If he's too embarrased, you should be the one to say something."
"Poppy!" Daisy looked scandalized. "It's not Rose's place to - "
Under cover of their squabbling, Rose took Galen's hand and moved closer to him. "Do you want to marry me?" she whispered in a much quieter tone than Pansy had used.
"Yes," he said.
"If neither of you is going to speak up," King Gregor said, "I shall simply have to decide it for myself!"
"Father," Rose protested, "that won't be necessary!"
"I choose Rose," Galen blurted out at the same time.
"There. Done. Easy." King Gregor clapped his hands.”
“No need, no, need. Life is already too short to find it.”
“What does it say? Does he love you madly?”
“Violet heard the coughing and came running back. She sank down on the bench beside Rose, putting her arm around the older girl and holding a handkerchief to Rose's lips. "What happened?" she asked Galen, her tone just shy of being accusatory.
"I am so sorry, Your Highness," Galen said, backing away. "I made her laugh, and–"
"You made her laugh?" Violet's eyes widened. "She hasn't laughed in weeks!" She smiled at Galen and gave Rose's shoulders a little squeeze.”
“Saints preserve us,' Dr. Kellen said, and squeezed Galen's shoulder. 'What have we done to our youth?”
“You were a soldier?"
"Yes, sir."
"You barely look old enough to have seen the last battle."
"My father was a career army man, sir. I was there at the first engagement with Analousia, and took up my father's rifle when I was barely fifteen."
"Saints preserve us," Dr. Kelling said, and squeezed Galen's shoulder. "What have we done to our youth?”
“Allow me to give you this orange, Your Highness, along with my wishes for a swift recovery.”
“That’s very generous of you, Master Galen,” she replied, a faint light kindling in her eyes, “especially since they are my family’s oranges.” She took it from him, rolling it between her palms. “And considering that my illness if most likely a result of falling into the fountain the day we met.”
Galen winced. He had known she would remember that, but he had hoped she wouldn’t hold it against him. Although, judging by the faint smile on her pale lips, she didn’t mean it in earnest.
“Well, Your Highness, I know that I am indeed handsome, but I can hardly be blamed if my good looks overcame you so strongly that you fainted,” he said, striking a pose.”
“Where is Galen?" She had many questions to ask the king, and it surprised her a little that this should be the first one to pop out of her mouth. Still, it was just as urgent as any of the others. "What have you done to him?"
"Nothing." The king spread his weirdly elongated hands in an innocent gesture. "The gardener's boy is in perfect health. For the present."
"And then he'll fall off a horse, or slip on the wet pavement? So that you don't need to get your hands dirty?" Rose sneered at him.
He smiled his cold smile. "Keeping one's hands clean – maintaining one's innocence. Is that not the human way?”
“Galen stowed the goblets behind a curtain and walked up to twitch the hem of Rose’s shawl. She gasped and looked around.
“Hello,” Galen said in a low voice. “Would you like to dance?”
“So you’re Pansy’s good spirit?”
“I am.”
“Your voice sounds familiar.” Her eyes sparkled. “Could you pretend to snore, so that I could make sure?”
“To Galen’s relief, they reached the silver and pearl gate before Rose could convince Pansy to tell her any more. He rode in the boat with Jonquil and her prince, who was not as stoic as his brothers.
“What did you eat for dinner?” the dark prince huffed.
“What do you mean?” Jonquil frowned at her escort as he rowed.
“You’re so heavy, it’s like you’re wearing iron underthings,” he panted.
“Oh!” Jonquil whacked her prince on the shoulder with her fan. “How rude!”
When their boat reached the island and the black palace, Jonquil leaped out without waiting for assistance. She stalked into the palace ahead of everyone else, with her prince scuttling at her heels, apologizing every step of the way.”
“What did you eat for dinner?" the dark prince huffed.
"What do you mean?" Jonquil frowned at her escort as he rowed.
"You're so heavy, it's like you're wearing iron undetrhings," he panted.
"Oh!" Jonquil whacked her prince on the shoulder with her fan. "How rude!”
“Aye. There’s time enough between battles to knit a dozen scarves and a hundred stockings, as well I know.” He gave a little bark of laughter. “I thought soldiers spent their idle time dicing and wenching.” She gave a surprisingly girlish giggle.”
“She had read articles over the years about a man's supposed biological craving for young women: it was all about primeval procreation, in theory, the need to plant seed in fertile soil. Maybe. ... She thought of a line from Nabokov: "Because you took advantage of my disadvantage." Lolita. In this case, however, Kristin felt that she was at the disadvantage - not the young thing. The truth was, she feared, all men were Humbert Humbert. Maybe they weren't pedophiles lusting after twelve-year-olds, but didn't Lolita look old for her age? Older, anyway? Sure, there were MILFs in porn, but Kristin had a feeling that considerably more men wanted their porn stars to be students at Duke University than moms from the bleachers at a middle-school soccer game.”
“He who helped thee when thou wert in trouble ought not afterwards to be despised by thee.”
“I'm not convinced that it's worth it. How many Cambodians ever asked for a $2 billion election? Nighty percent of them are rice farmers. I lived with them, watched them die at the hospital, and never was the word "election" mentioned. That money would repair hundreds of roads and bridges and pay for tons of seed and fertilizer. And clear a lot of landmines.”
“Greatness without models? Inconceivable. One could not be the thing itself - Reality. One must be satisfied with symbols. Make it the object of imitation to reach and release the high qualities. Make peace therefore with intermediacy and representations. Otherwise the individual must be the failure he now sees and knows himself to be.”
“Sometimes we put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.”
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