The Prison Healer

Never apologize for loving someone. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

So you’re right, you don’t need me fighting your battles. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to be standing beside you as you fight them.

Hope was a drug and Kiva, an addict.

Our scars define us. They tell a story of courage and survival. They tell of who we are at our deepest being, of the challenges we've faced and overcome

It's a shame about the c-c-cut on his face," Tipp said. "Why's that?" Kiva murmured only half-listening. "It'll ruin his pretty face." "Pretty face or not, he's still a man, Tipp." "So?" "So", Kiva said, "most men are pigs". "I'm a man. I'm not a p-pig." "You're still young", Kiva returned. "Give it time.

Never forget, little mouse: no two people look the same, but we are each beautiful in our own ways. The human body is a masterpiece that deserves our respect. Always.

I wish I could say they lived happily ever after. They did, for a time. Very happily [...] But things happen in life that you don't expect, that you can't plan for and you're helpless to stop. Their story didn't end as it should have. But I know for a fact that they'd live it all over again, even the ending, as long as it meant they could keep their beginning.

I have a lot of dreams. A lot of nightmares, too. Only time will tell which path my life will take.

I know for a fact that they’d live it all over again, even the ending, as long as it meant they could keep their beginning

People—especially men—could react poorly if they thought their intelligence was being criticized.

But, Papa, the endings are the best part. Sometimes, sweetheart. But other times, the beginnings are.

My name is Kiva Meridan, and I claim her sentence as my own.

It helps if you have something to live for. To fight for. It grounds you, gives you a reason to get up every morning. It gives you a reason to want to survive. And sometimes, it’s the wanting that makes all the difference. Because once you give up in here”—she pointed to her heart—“then you’re already as good as dead.

It’s for your hands,” she said. “You should’ve come to see me about them sooner.” Jaren cocked his head to the side. “Is that your way of saying you missed me?

Mother is dead. I'm on my way to Vallenia. It's time to reclaim our kingdom.

She’d never held much of an interest in art, but looking at him now, her fingers itched for some paint, for some charcoal, for anything that could capture his near-perfect angles.

So you’re right, you don’t need me fighting your battles.” He moved a step closer, his tone husky as he finished, “But . . . if you’ll let me, I’d like to be standing beside you as you fight them.

The Rebel Queen may have perished at Zandilov, but her daughter was alive and well, and free of Zandilov after ten long years. The Rebel Princess was finally ready to rise.

But when it became an addiction, I knew I had to stop. I recognized the signs once I started craving the pain, the rush of endorfins that broke through the all-consuming numbness I felt. And I knew it wasn't healthy, knew I wouldn't be able to help anyone else if I didn't first help myself.

But things happen in life that you don’t expect, that you can’t plan for and you’re helpless to stop. Their story didn’t end as it should have.

Kiva’s heart clutched at his words. Not at his threat, but because he hadn’t said anything about going with them. “Mot—” “Get outta ’ere, Kiva luv,” Mot said, his gaze softening as he looked her way, then settled on Tipp in her arms. “Give ’im a good life, yeah? Yeh both deserve to find ’appiness.

Please, don’t look at me like that. Don’t look at me like I’m broken.

My middle name is Jaren—that’s what my friends and family call me.” Pointedly, he said, “That’s what you call me, too.” “Not Prince Jaren?” Kiva asked. “No, just Jaren.” “What about Your Highness?” He pulled a face. “Definitely not.” “Your Grace?” “I’m not a duke.” “Your Excellency?” “Nor a lord.” “Your Majesty?” “Please stop.

I’m the prison healer,” Kiva answered. “That’s not your name.” He waited a beat, then offered, “I’m Jaren.” “You’re not,” she returned, looking away from him. “You’re D24L103.

Congratulations, you're about to die together" Warden Rook

I l-l-love you, K-Kiva,” Tipp kept whispering, his voice fading more, as if he’d only been holding on long enough to see her one last time. “Thank y-you . . . f-f-for everything.

And so, the healer and the guard worked side by side into the night, the balance of power between them blurring— and perhaps, as Kiva was beginning to realize, fading entirely.

I’m fine,” she made herself say. Her voice was rough, painful to her own ears. “I’m really fine.” His thumb stroked feather-light against her skin. “It’s all right not to be.