ŷ������

“Maybe it’s time you explained yourself, Dark Prince,�� I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “If I’m going to keep your secrets then I think it’s time that you shared them with me.”
― Sarah K.L. Wilson, First Message

“I can defeat my stepmother well enough on my own, thank you.��
Cedric laughed. “Ah yes, that was made exceedingly apparent when you were forced to flee from your castle in the dead of night.”
― Nicki Chapelway, Winter Cursed

“Somebody had piled blankets over my shoulders. That was my first hazy thought as I awoke. Heavy, warm blankets. Something tickled my neck and I twitched.
The blankets twitched back.
My eyes snapped open. In one moment I realized that what tickled my neck was a tuft of black hair, the blankets were a warm body, and the Gentle Lord was draped over me like a lazy cat, his head resting on my shoulder.
He raised his face and smiled. The stories were right that called him "the sweet-faced calamity," for he had one of the most beautiful faces I had ever seen: sharp nose and high cheekbones framed with tousled, ink-black hair and stamped all over with the arrogant softness of a man just out of boyhood who had never been defied. He wore a long dark coat with an immaculate white cravat tied at his neck and white lace foaming at his cuffs. If he had been human, I might have taken him for a gentleman.
But his eyes had crimson irises with cat-slit pupils.
My heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest. I'd spent my whole life preparing for this moment, and I couldn't speak or even move.
"Good afternoon," he said. His voice was like cream, light but rich.
I pushed myself off the ground and sat up. He sat up too, with languid grace.
"What," I managed to choke out.
"You were asleep," he said. "I got so bored waiting that I fell asleep too. And now here you are." He tilted his head. "You were a good pillow but I think I prefer you awake. What's your name, lovely wife?”
― Rosamund Hodge, Cruel Beauty

“For the first step he was only a dark cloud in the suggestion of a human form. Then blobs of darkness branched into fingers and frayed into hairs; they lingered and then grew solid. When he stood at the foot of my bed, he looked almost like a normal man, living and breathing and corporeal. Almost: for he was still formed in shades of gray. His tattered coat was the color of slate, his skin was milky white, his hair was pale silver-gray. Only his eyes were colored, such a deep blue as I had never seen before, their pupils round and human.
His face was sculpted into exactly the same lovely shape as Ignifex's. But without the crimson cat eyes, without any arrogance or mockery in the lines of his face or the way that he stood.”
― Rosamund Hodge, Cruel Beauty

“I'm starting to wonder if I should ever leave you alone," he said mildly, dropping a hand to my shoulder.
I stiffened.
"Then don't," I said. "Stay right here and never strike another bargain."
"Oh, you're that desperate to be with me?" He leaned forward, his hand still on my shoulder. "If you wanted a kiss, you only needed to ask."
His touch was light, but I felt it as precisely as the lines of a lithograph, with my body for the paper.”
― Rosamund Hodge, Cruel Beauty

“I had never wondered where he slept, but now I half expected a dark cavern with a bloodied altar for a bed. Instead it was a crimson mirror of my room: red-and-black tapestries instead of pale wallpaper; red-and-gold damask bed curtains instead of lace; and supporting the canopy were not caryatids but eagles, cast from a slick black metal that glittered in the candlelight. All around the edges of the room burned row upon row of candles, casting golden light in every direction so that shadow barely existed.”
― Rosamund Hodge, Cruel Beauty

“Hidden Halls by Stewart Stafford

Hail the dark prince,
An apostle of perfidy,
Great cull’s architect,
Lavish secret funding.

Wrong horse backed,
Crown shards buried,
Knights get sanctuary,
Sullied pasts shrouded.

Ultra kingdom subjects,
Bloody, unwashed hands,
Eliminating in full denial,
That the bacillus was them.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford