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“How was it that I suddenly had faerie kings, plural, demanding to marry me?”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“Do you want to marry me?"
"That's---that's beside the point." A nonsensical reply, but it came the closest to expressing how I felt. I had never even considered marrying Wendell---why on earth would I? Wendell Bambleby! Certainly I'd imagined being with him in other ways, particularly since I'd grown used to having him around---traveling with him across the continent, no doubt arguing half the time; conducting research; scouring woodland and heath for lost doors to the faerie realms. And yes, I liked the prospect of being with him often, or even all the time, and felt a sort of hollowness fill me when I thought about us parting ways. But I couldn't marry one of the Folk, particularly not a faerie king, even if he was Wendell.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“There have to be a few perks to being king of Faerie or no one would want the job.”
― Sarah Delena White, Halayda

“But the reality is that one would have to be an utter idiot to marry one of the Folk. There are perhaps a handful of stories in which such a union ends well and a mountain of them in which it ends in madness or an untimely and unpleasant death.
I am also, of course, constantly aware of the ridiculousness of my being the object of a marriage offering by a faerie monarch.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“Toss me one of your pencils!"
"Have you gone mad?" I cried even as I removed the pencil from my cloak pocket and threw it at his head.
It began to transform before it even reached him, elongating and flashing through the shadows--- a sword. I regretted aiming for his head then, but Wendell caught it with the grace of a trained swordsman, which of course he was.
Watching Wendell with a sword is like watching a bird leap from a branch--- there is something thoughtless about it, innate. One has the sense that he is less himself without a sword, that wielding it returns him to the element most natural to him.
He drove the sword into the nearest sheerie, and before it had fallen he had spun round to slash at the one behind him, slicing it open like overripe fruit. The other three fell just as easily.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“In fact, once I have retaken my throne, you will not have to do anything if you do not wish it. If you desire to sit in some corner of the castle hunched over your books and notepaper, bestirring yourself only to demand a tour of some brownie market or bogle den, then it will be done."
I let out a trembling breath. "And what sort of queen would that make me?"
He looked perfectly earnest as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. "Mine.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales

“Wendell marched down a winding path in the mountainside--- he must have conjured it himself--- to engage the elder horsemen in a square of meadow tucked between two crags. I don't know if it was some inane faerie custom or simply the custom of the horsemen, but the one who appeared to be their leader--- judging by the size of his horse and the number of scars he bore--- stepped forward as if to challenge Wendell to single combat. Wendell, still with that calm detachment, somehow cut out the beast's heart in two sharp movements and hurled it at the rider in a stomach-churning spray of blood, knocking him from his saddle.
At that point, the remaining horsemen decided to abandon honor and charge him together, but their horses were, wisely, terrified of Wendell by this point, and shied away when he neared, some throwing their riders off, which Wendell dispatched in various appalling ways, sometimes appearing to forget about his sword entirely. Rose stood there the whole time, aghast, but I was familiar with Wendell's murderous moods and turned away after the third or fourth death, drawing Ariadne with me to the fireside. I was still shaking with fury. So he would risk killing himself rather than pausing to think our way out of things, would he?”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“Do you wish to return to Cambridge, Em?" he said. "Because if that is the case, you need only say the word. I suppose I could return to teaching--- perhaps I could do both, or install a regent here, to rule in my stead. If there is one thing I will not stand for, it is for you to be unhappy---"
"No, indeed!" I exclaimed. He appeared to have worked himself up into a proper speech, so I put my hand over his mouth. And then-- my initial thought was that this would be more efficient than arguing with him--- I pulled his face to mine, and kissed him.
As I had guessed, he forgot all about what he had been saying, and pulled me closer. His lips tasted like the salt the servants had sprinkled onto the coffee--- quite agreeable. I stopped thinking, something I rarely do, and for a moment there was only the hum of crickets and rustling of night creatures in the trees.
He drew back and touched my cheek, his dark eyes searching mine. A flickering, moon-colored glow had appeared above us--- he had summoned a light.
"I mean it," he murmured. So not quite so forgetful, then. The light caught caught on the silvered flowers in his hair and made him look even more inconveniently otherworldly than he already did, but I found that when I focused on small, familiar things, like the way his mouth came up slightly higher on the left side, and how his green eyes leaned more yellow than blue, I was able to disregard this.
"I know," I replied. "I have brought myself here, Wendell--- I am not some poor maiden who stumbled unawares through a ring of mushrooms.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales

“You know that I am one of the foremost living experts on the ways of the Folk," I said. I was not worried about bragging, for this was a simple statement of fact.
"That is the problem," Lilja replied. "Yes, I know that you know the Folk, but there is a difference between knowing and feeling. Those of us who live among them would never trust the tall ones. For all you have read about and studied the Folk, you have never truly lived with them, dear. They are like--- like nature. Can you understand the feeling of a winter night, or a spring wind, if you have only read about it?"
This was an uncomfortable echo of something Farris had said to me once. I pursed my lips and replied, "All right. Let us accept for the sake of argument that you possess a truer understanding of the Folk than I, that books and academic knowledge are secondary to lived experience. What then would you have me fear?"
She hesitated. "Power," she said at last. "In our stories, it is the great ones--- the lords and ladies, the monarchs and generals, that one must avoid above all else. They are the true monsters lurking in the night."
This again! I thought. Aloud I said, "I have heard a similar opinion recently from another friend of mine, who seems to think Wendell will abandon me to die of exposure or some such, I suppose when he becomes tired of me."
"Oh, no!" Lilja said. "That is not what I meant--- I don't believe for a second that Wendell would harm you. But I worry there will come a day when you no longer recognize him. And what hurt is worse than that?”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales

“This queen seems no better." He came close to me, looking me up and down as a glint of mischief came into his eyes. "But mortals can be entertaining. And they do not break as easily as some think."
Wendell's expression went from one of bemusement to towering fury with such abruptness that both Taran and I fell back a step; Taran afterwards looked annoyed as a cat following a moment of gracelessness. There came a terrible rumbling sound, coupled with that same wet rustling with which I am all too familiar, as if the attentive oaks were uprooting themselves en masse and lumbering in our direction.
"You are speaking to a queen of Faerie," Wendell said, and it seemed as if the rustling leaves were in his voice.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales

“Wendell and I would spend the next several months traveling his realm. Our realm. I must get used to that. I would take copious notes all the while, no doubt filling several of the ridiculous journals the bookbinders kept churning out, and stumbling across so many research questions it would take me ten lifetimes to tackle them all. And after that, who knows? I have my compendium of tales to finish--- I plan to gather stories as Wendell and I travel, adding them to the small hoard I've already collected. My presence is not required in the mortal world until October, when I will be delivering a presentation on several key findings in my map-book, which shall be published in a month's time. When the Berlin Academy of Folklorists sends you an invitation to their annual conference, you cannot say no.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales

“One of these Folk bowed to Lord Taran and passed him a hand mirror. It was wrought from pure silver, its frame an intricate and uneven scalloped pattern, as if it had lain upon the sea floor for years and accumulated all manner of shells and barnacles. With another bow, Lord Taran gave it to Wendell.
"Thank you," Wendell said. He gazed into the mirror, then turned towards the crowd, absently tapping the glass against his opposite palm. The motion scattered diamonds of reflected light across the courtyard.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales

“Wendell rested his hand on one of the cherry trees in an absent sort of way, gazing over the landscape. The tree began to flower, buds bursting forth in a riot of purples and blues, and the leaves grew so green they resembled crushed emeralds. It matched Wendell's expression, somehow, as he swept his gaze over the view, a contentment that seemed to radiate from him, cheering all in his vicinity. Two servants carrying what looked like a newly minted silver mirror stepped more lightly, their faces brightening, and a fat leprechaun sprawled against a nearby boxwood chuckled in his sleep.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales