Gold Plated Prisoner Quotes

You can have all the gold in the world and yet lack everything of real worth.

He may wear the crown, but I was the one who made it gold.

Does it really matter if your cage is solid gold when you aren't allowed to leave it? A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

You are worth more than all the gold in this castle. But I still own you, and I will spend you any way I see fit.

I don’t think gold’s your color, Commander.”  “I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.

If you turn a blind eye in the name of loyalty, then you don’t deserve to see.

Careful," he says, baring his teeth in a wicked smile. "There's a saying about rocks and glass houses." "I don't live in glass, I live in gold. So I can throw whatever damn rocks I want," I snap.

Coincidence is just the excuse people use when they don’t want to acknowledge fate.

Others might judge that. They might think grief should be determined by the amount of time you had with someone, but that isn't true at all. Grief isn't based on someone's length of presence. It's based on the impact of their absence.

I love him with a fierceness that goes beyond the heart, and so I will ache and leak and grieve until he finds me.

A life lived in shades of gold casts its own sort of shadow.

I refuse to give them any more of me than they've already taken or that I've already given. They had my body, but so what? Hundreds of others can claim the same. However, they will not have my mind. I won't give it to them.

You're good to me, Mustard." Judd grimaces and rubs at his mustard-seed hair. "it's not, that yellow." I cock a brow. "Listen, I'm gold, okay? Don't whine to me.

Pair, you and I. Päyur, you and I.

Some people are in your life for only a moment, like a shooting star. Quick and short, but they light up a part of you for a second, and their brightness lingers even after they're gone.

But I could’ve gilded you,” I repeat. “Then you’d be a statue stuck right here on the stairwell, and I don’t think gold’s your color, Commander.”  “I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.

Instead… I break open. Slade’s rot smashes into mine, and I rupture from within. Time tilts. Distance thins. And something…collides.

It’s amazing what people will turn a blind eye to because of time and surety.

Does it really matter if your cage is solid gold when you aren’t allowed to leave it? A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

But I’m not done. So I turn my rage toward Fifth Kingdom.

He wraps one hand around my throat and tips up my head. “I’m your god.

If Midas ever loved me at all, he buried it beneath his love for gold and the love for himself. Buried it so deep that he doesn’t even remember what he covered.

Who dares interfere with the crown’s justice?” “I fucking do.

Empty. You can have all the gold in the world and yet lack everything of real worth.

feeling gold murdery yet?” she asks. “Have the urge to make gold start pissing down the walls?” “Umm…no.” “See? You’re doing great.

I’m an oddity, a commodity, a rumor. I’m the king’s favored. His prized saddle. The one he gold-touched and keeps in a cage at the top of his castle, my body bearing the mark of his ownership and favoritism. The gilded pet. I’m the darling of King Midas, ruler of Highbell and the Sixth Kingdom of Orea. People flock to see me just as much as they come to look upon his gleaming castle worth more than all the riches in the entire realm. I’m the gold-plated prisoner. But what a pretty prison it is.

Again, I don’t know you. I respect your plight, but I’m not a face to be used,” I tell him. “I’m not a symbol, I’m a person. I’ve been gone for years, and I need to get my bearings and figure out where to go from here, not be pushed into doing something just because you say so.

Auren is my priority. Our mother is my priority.

But it’s the consequences of her actions that pushed me to be the villain I warned I would be.

The gold castle sitting on the mountain in the distance must be like a thorn in their sides. A constant reminder of a horizon they can’t reach.

I purposely slow, just so they can land a hit. Again. Again. Again. And I relish in the punishment.

I can’t heal that, Your Majesty. There’s nothing to heal.

It’s going to take a fae to stop them. Fuck.

We loyalists call you the Lyäri Ulvêre—the golden one gone. The gilded girl who was lost in the night.

We know you, Lady Auren, because we’ve been praying that one day, you would return. We know you, because you are the Turleys’ last-birthed heir.

I have raged and paced and cursed endlessly, but none of it was heard. None of it seen. None of it mattered.

I think I’ll stay right here and stab you through the chest and see if my blade hits a chunk of ice instead of muscle and flesh.

You think the world owes you, because you are a proud, entitled bitch.

Monsters never need anybody to believe in them. They come out to get you regardless.

He saw the fury in me, and the first thing he said was, "So, who are we killing?

I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.” 

my gold trailing behind me like a gleaming beast slithering along the floor. But the true beast about to tear through this place is me.

I let it pour out through my gold-touch. To heal. To restore. To bring back life and warmth with this goddess-touched light of a cracked-open sun.

Because the seething rot still thumps beneath my skin. The raging wind thunders in my ears, and my fury clamors in a deafening roar. Because I can’t get to her. So I’ll take vengeance instead.

They might think grief should be determined by the amount of time you had with someone, but that isn’t true at all. Grief isn’t based on someone’s length of presence. It’s based on the impact of their absence.

Look, Auren,” Slade says. I glance down to the wings at its back. Wings that are now edged with a ribbon of gold. “I don’t know how,” he says with a shake of his head as he looks back at me. But somehow… I think you brought my dragon back to life.

In turn, the fae never forgot the way I burst through the sky like a broken-winged bird, and that is what they always called me. So, yes, I was scared to fall. But without falling, I never would have landed. And what a beautiful thing it was to land.

I don't feel regret or guilt", I admit. "I'm just fucking angry. Angry that I let it go on that long, that I let him take so much. I'm angry at everyone who ever wronged me or used me. And I'm angry that I didn't figure out how to save myself sooner.

I don't feel regret or guilt", I admit. "I'm just fucking angry. Angry that I let it go on that long, that I let him take so much. I'm angry at everyone who ever wronged me or used me. And I'm angry that I didn't figure out how to save myself sooner. All I feel is anger.

First my gold sprouted roots of rot, and now I have a scale,” I say, my hand dropping. “You’ve staked quite the claim on me, Ravinger.” His grin is sinful and makes my inner beast purr while my pulse heats. Then he leans in and talks close to my ear, his words fanning me with his hot breath. “And I can’t even begin to tell you how absolutely feral it makes me to see it.

There we are. Slade and I standing together in each other’s arms. Me with ribboned wings, him with spikes and scales. Our auras are aglow around us, tendrils of gold and black that wrap around our figures like a halo of light and dark. And behind us, nearly flying right off the page, a goldfinch and a dragon. Below it are three words. Lyäri wyl Betuläria. “The golden one and the deathly flight.

My heart swells as I look through it, and then I notice the strip of gold tucked at the last page. My eyes dart up, recognizing my ribbon that Slade always carries in his pocket. I flip to the page it’s holding and see the two fae embracing. That same illustration I’d been so mesmerized with before, and the single fae word beneath them. Päyur. “It’s Saira Turley, isn’t it?” I say. “Yes. And the prince.

Golden Gold Vine Part One There was a miser who prized her, this golden gold vine. This sapling so gilded, her leaflings did shine. The moment he saw her, he let out a whisper of, “mine.” He’d found her in rubble, along a plain road. Unburied, he took her, in pocket he stowed. Back to his house, where he stared at her gleam. Hands curled to covet, want stitched to seam. What a chance this was, the chance for much more. So he planted her there, right outside his front door. Kept under secrets and hidden she lay. This old miser did find her, did steal her away. Brought to the yard, he planted her there. Fenced her all in to shelter her glare. Soon she grew tiny buds, glinting with gold. He plucked them by one, went to town to be sold. He paid off his debts, bought whatever he sought. But it wasn’t enough, whatever he got. For greed had been planted beside her thin roots. Want had leafed out, along with her shoots. Yet although he watered, soon she did wilt. Her golden did dull and worry he spilt. For his most prized possession looked right to be culled. She wasted away, while he fretted and mulled. It wasn't til so angry, he pulled out his hair. Brown clumps all fallen on the vine bare, that her color suddenly glistened, her vine did then surge. She grew ever much from his body he'd purged. Ecstatic, he knew, what he must do. So this miser clip-clipped, and gold flowers then bloomed. His hair he snip-snipped, gladly shedding his plume. For she would not grow without sacrifice. Only pieces of him would ever suffice. For her to keep growing, that was her price. This golden gold vine was the miser’s own vice. To be continued…

You’ve always had control. You just need to learn how to wield it. I think you’re scared. I think you’re holding yourself back, and that’s why your gold isn’t coming – because you’re blocking it.

Gold Copyright © 2023 by Raven Kennedy

I remember when I had gowns in every color and the dishes on the tables were white to match the Colier hair. I remember when the bell in the tower was copper, its chime light and clear. Things that were once feather-light now take several men to pick up. Parts that once carried the colors of age and history now glisten as if new. Even the roses in the atrium have been gold-touched, never again to sprout a new bud or fill the air with their perfume.

If the thought of me playing with you with my blade gets you hot, just say that,

Some people are in your life for only a moment, like a shooting star. Quick and short, but they light up a part of you for a second, and their brightness lingers even after they’re gone.” I nod, though I have to blink back

But what hooks my attention is the crack in the floor that divides the room, and a broken roof that seems to snarl up at the sky.

Joined auras. And that word, just below them. Päyur. My heartbeat rumbles. Resonates. “That explains the rot,” Cull says, his expression arrogant. Ecstatic. “Tell me, how long were you able to see my son’s aura? How long have you known you were fated to be a bonded pair?

I was scared to fall. But without falling, I never would have landed. And what a beautiful thing it was to land.

That’s what happens to some questions—to those unattainable truths. Sometimes, we ask and we ask, but there is no answer, no satisfaction. It leaves gaping holes that will forever drain us with its unsolvable query, and that’s all we’ll ever have. The ask.

Youth is wasted on the youthful.

And every day, a few more fae are out there in the field with me, watching.

His fingers dig painfully around my own. “You’re not in charge.” “I’m a queen,” I say, chin lifting. “You’re not a queen until someone willingly bows at your feet.” “Then get on your knees, assassin, and bow.” The cruelest, most wicked grin spreads up his face. “If I get on my knees, it will be for an entirely different sort of devotion that would have nothing to do with you being a queen.

I glare. He glares back.

That’s usually the last thing people want from me, and that suits me just fucking fine. I don’t want attention from anyone either. Except one person, and she still hasn’t opened her eyes.

One second, his skin is ruddy, his tunic stained, his cock purple, his eyes brown. And the next, he’s frozen in time, every inch of him, from the beads on his beard to the toes in his boots, all of it gleaming, resplendent, vindictive. Because I just turned the motherfucker solid gold.

Gold may gleam, but it doesn’t stand the test of time. It wears down, loses its luster, becomes nothing but a needy, malleable surface with no durability.

I am Queen Malina Colier Midas, and I was born to rule. White gown, white hair, white crown—and not a hint of gold anywhere. This is how it should’ve been. This is how it will

The dead spur us on. To live. To avenge. To honor. To grieve. It’s because of the dead that we live.

You think she has a gold cunt?” Joq asks abruptly, tilting his head as he looks over at me.

I may be queen, but chaos reigns.

More,” I order.

What do you expect me to do?” “How about take some fucking responsibility for starters?” he growls. “I told you. They were the ones that did this. They manipulated me.” “And you were just so quick to believe them, weren’t you? While they whispered about all these grand things you deserve. You never once stopped to question it, because that’s really how you think. You think the world owes you, because you are a proud, entitled bitch.

Every man I’ve ever opened for has always trodden on me. Burned my heart to ash and left me to scrape up the remnants. So perhaps my heart is made of ice, but if it is, it’s because I had to freeze it just to get all the flaked parts to stay together.

Malina.” I ignore him. I wish I hadn’t.

The royal guard’s head snaps to me, his furious gaze locking on my face, algae hair flung into his eyes. “Who dares interfere with the crown’s justice?” “I fucking do.

I fight them, but I’m actually fighting myself. My failure. I’m not even here, in this pit. What exists in me is the uncontrollable fury and fear that’s been grating down my ribs, leaving behind coiled shards. The helplessness beats out of me through my fists, pulsating up my spikes, seething down my veins as I throw myself completely into the brawl. I purposely slow, just so they can land a hit. Again. Again. Again.

Looking at you? No, I quite like that. It’s listening to you that I can’t stand.

It is him.

But I stare in shock because the blood…it’s not red. It’s gold.

I feel my memories, my self, tugging away too.

You have

The moment my hands are bare, I reach back and touch the wall, and Slade freezes when he sees my bare skin collide with it… and no gold comes. “Thank fuck.” In five long strides, he demolishes the space between us. He’s suddenly there, gripping me by the waist, hard lips fused to mine, and finally, we combust.

Because my new home, I’ve realized…is him.

You’re not a queen until someone willingly bows at your feet.” “Then get on your knees, assassin, and bow.

If I get on my knees, it will be for an entirely different sort of devotion that would have nothing to do with you being a queen.

Stop making me chase you, woman,” he grits out. “I’m not making you do anything, man,” I retort.

My attention locks on to the person stalking toward Elore, and bile rises into my throat.

The world ripped, and I was ripped from him.

So, yes, I was scared to fall. But without falling, I never would have landed.

broken-winged bird.

Lyäri Ulvêre,

I bring my gold thrashing to life.

shadow magic

soul-ripping separation

It wraps around my body like threads of the sun.

An army of fae.

You’re saying all Turleys have rounded ears?

He can control stone and rock.

His rot twines with my gold like strings floating through water.

Like one of the gods of old. Two forms merging into one.

She must fuck like a goddess and squirt out gold cum.

Turleys’ last-birthed heir.

only with him will I ever truly be home.

When his gaze finally lifts to my face, my wary gold eyes get caught by his intense black ones.

I’ll pluck every gilded hair from your head and scrape the gold from your skin, because you are mine to use as I will.

So long as she’s wheezing, she’s alive. So wheezing has been my favorite fucking sound lately.

don’t submit.

Feral.

I promised her I’d be the villain on her behalf.

A silent tribute.

Love happens in all kinds of ways.

fairy ring,

Slade…

They’re here, in Annwyn.

It’s the rip.

And the woman that Lord Cull is stalking toward? Slade’s mother.

Lord Cull is Slade’s father.

The fae have invaded Orea.

I fix hurts,

Slade is mine. Not his.

was you, wasn’t it? You took me to—” I don’t even see his cane before it slams into my face.

to forget.

So wrong to be rent apart.

So you can fucking wish for death all you want, but you won’t get it. And right now, I’m going to show you what it’s like to be alive.

You want to fuck death? You want to prove to me that you’re claiming me right back and come alive beneath my touch?

Guilt rushes in. “We shouldn’t have done this right now.” But he shakes his head and brushes his hand over my bottom lip, dusting away the frost that’s gathered. “Yes, we should’ve. Because if we die, we die alive.” I swallow hard, wishing I could block out the distant screams.

I shake my head. “How can we deserve to see the delights if we always close our eyes against the horrors?

Some people are in your life for only a moment, like a shooting star. Quick and short, but they light up a part of you for a second, and their brightness lingers even after they’re gone.” I

quickly

It's like my heart—my fucking soul—has been torn from my chest, leaving me to gape. I'm hollow with nothing but the echo of her and the reverberation of fury. I imagine my aura must be a pit of malevolence churning in the deepest shade of black, because this rage...it will consume me wholly. And I'll let it.

It reminds me of another moment—another arctic shore not far from here. Where Auren and I stood on a beach and watched a mourning moon. Where she first started to see me but was still too blind to see herself. Even then, I saw her. I could feel her strength, her brightness brimming beneath the surface, just waiting to come out. It didn't matter that the world constantly tried to snuff out her gleam. She shone anyway.

It's how I found her. Her aura, glowing against the blackest night, lighting up the sky and making the sailless ship glow. It called me like a beacon. As if fate itself was showing me the way. Reminding me for the first time in so long that I wasn't just torn in half and uprooted—but that I was also fae. Just like her.

Ever since, she has been my light. For someone with a soul as black as mine, who's done the darkest deeds and has the foulest power, her glow is something I will not give up. Without her, I am darkness and death, and that is what I will be until I get her back.

Everything has been crossed off, and now I have to come to terms with the fact that Auren is a world away, and I'm stuck here with no way to get to her. I'll have to return to Fourth Kingdom with a reality to face. The reality that I don't know how long I have until I go completely mad from the soul-ripping separation from her. How long I have until this pain in my chest consumes me. How long until I'm able to reopen a rip... Or even if I can. How long. Until I can't keep going.

You're not a queen until someone willingly bows at your feet." "Then get on your knees, assassin, and bow." The cruelest, most wicked grin spreads up his face. "If I get on my knees, it will be for an entirely different sort of devotion that would have nothing to do with you being a queen.

Because he's right. It would be all so much easier if I didn't care. But I found a Yellow Bell growing up out of the ground despite the shitty surroundings, and as soon as I decided I wanted to pick it up and keep it, I was ruined. Ruined with fucking caring for her. And now I can't stop. I can't stop and she can't keep going. So what's the fucking point.

Auren's glow is all I see when I close my eyes. This cloying, agonizing poison stretching through my chest is all I feel. My mother's voice, speaking a single word, is all I hear. Her very last word before she went mute forever. It all echoes through me, threating to drive me mad. The goddesses are cruel.

All those years, Auren was here. Right here, in Orea. That kills me the most. The fact that she was just a couple of kingdoms away all that time, and I never knew. Now, she's in the fae realm without me.

I can't stop. I won't. I will keep going. I will keep trying. Because I will tear a rip through this fucking world so I can get to her... Or die trying.

You know what I like about this side of the mountain?" I say. "There's usually no one around to say stupid shit.

Let it topple." My words are dark, every bit as black as my withering soul. His eyes flare. "You don't mean that." I give a humorless laugh. "You don't think so? Nothing, and I mean nothing, matters if I can't get back to her.

I'm bleeding out rot. It's infecting me, affecting my magic, and I swear to fuck, sometimes it twinges, like I can almost feel her. And all of this, it's just a physical manifestation of what I already knew." "What?" "That I can't live without her. I won't stand for it, and neither will my rot. The separation is killing me, Ry. In more ways than one.

Did you know her long?" Nenet's cackle fills my ears, and a lump of sadness gets caught in my throat. "No. Not long enough.

I let my ribbons dance with me, and even though I can't move them, they move with me. They spin through the air and drag across the ground, and for a moment, I can pretend that they're back to the way they were. I wish for Slade, the Wrath, Digby and Rissa, Nenet and Estelia and Thursil, Sail and my parents...wish that they were all here. With me. But maybe there's a reason I'm alone. And maybe...I'm not really alone after all.

Love happens in all kinds of ways. He was right when he said that. Love does happen in all kinds of ways. But our kind happened like the dawn. The dawn doesn't question when to appear. It simply does. He walked into my life with the surety of his presence, and from that point on, the night began to wane. I was trapped in lonely darkness for so long that I couldn't recognize the way the world began to illuminate—not right away. I was blind for so many years that, when my horizon began to brighten, I tried to turn away. To squint and blink and shut my eyes against it because I thought, of course, I couldn't have that. Of course I'd stay in the dark. But I didn't. He showed me what it was to face the sun and not shy away. He let me approach it with my hesitations, let me ease into it without being blinded. Let me choose. I'm in this light with him, basking in its warmth, and even our distance can't take that away. Because no matter where we are, the sun always dawns. No matter where he is, I love him.

He knew.

With Auren's scent clinging to the sheets and with me clinging to these remnants of her. With the rot in my chest reaching up and out, like it's reaching for her... I finally, finally sleep. And I dream of her.

There's nothing but shine and warmth, as if her very essence surrounds me. She's always been radiant. Always burned hot. Like the sun itself. I reach out my hand in the golden ether, and she reaches right back with a look that squeezes my heart. The moment we touch, she pulls close, tucking herself against my chest. She turns her head and presses her lips against that aching, rotting, poisoned spot of me, and I shudder. One touch, and she takes away the pain that's been stalking me. The drain that's been eating away at my lifeforce. A shaky breath slips out past my lips. When she hears it, her fingertips come up to smooth against my furrowed brow. Dancing down my jaw, making the rot beneath my beard writhe, like it's trying to reach up to her. I feel the seed of rot in her own chest thump in answer. I take her hand in mine, look down at her with an ache. "Where are you?" My voice echoes. She smiles—a smile that reaches up to her gleaming eyes. Then she moves her other hand down to rest over my heart, and I go heavy all over. Eyes drooping, mind falling. Going down, down into the dark. But I hear her beautiful voice in a whisper just before all the light fades away. "I'm here.

I need a new Wrath." "You wouldn't say that if you saw me in action in Derfort," Judd tells me. "I was so damned Wrathful it was downright poetic." Os rolls his eyes. "I'm more Wrathful than you." "Yeah, but you're an ugly, scowling giant. Everyone expects it from you. They get surprised with me." "So?" "So...I'm friendlier, and I look nice, so my wrath comes as a surprise to people. Which makes me scarier." "Fuck off. I'm still way fucking scarier than you," Osrik says, crossing his arms. Judd looks affronted. "What the fuck? Ryatt, tell him." "I'm not fucking telling him." "Hojat!" Judd springs on him. "What do you think?" "Don't involve our poor mender in this insanity. He deals with enough of our shit," I tell Judd.

They didn't have your flowers. At a flower shop. Can you believe that shit?" She doesn't reply. Her eyelids don't even twitch. The pauses between her labored breaths are fucking terrifying. "Brought you a bell instead. It sounds kind of annoying to be honest. Not like your voice. Your voice is...nice." I cringe. I suck at this shit. I'm almost glad she can't hear me. I've never been good at words. Not good at giving compliments. But right now, I wish I was. Because if I were, I'd give them to her. I'd give her whatever fucking words she wants.

Wish you'd wake up and mouth off to me, Yellow Bell." I murmur as I scrape my callused thumb over the back of her soft hand. It's softer than feathers. Like silk or something. Too soft for the likes of me.

Can't even get you fucking yellow bells..." She called me her mistake. Said we were wrong. Maybe that's true, because I can't seem to get anything right. But when she kissed me, that did feel fucking right. In a world full of wrong, I wanted one thing.

She needs more time," I tell them. "We need more fucking time." I thought we had all the time in the world. "Just give us that," I snap. "Never asked you for shit all my life. Just give us this.

I lean in and place a kiss on her burning brow, and then I tip my head against hers, eyes shut with anguish. "You were supposed to wake up," I tell her as torment slides down my tongue. As the evidence of my misery lands in dots against her pink nightgown. "We were supposed to have time to make this mistake over and over again, until you finally realized how right it really is." But time doesn't fucking listen to me any more than the gods do. So I listen instead, because that's all I can do. I listen to her every breath that gets harder and harder for her to take. I listen to all the things I never got to say. And I listen to my own goodbye that she'll never get to fucking hear.

He surges forward and grips my arms again. "I can't leave you be, you insufferable, cold woman, because for some fucking reason, you've gotten under my skin so much that I now crave the ice of your touch.

You...you crave me?" "Yes," he snarls, his voice rubbed raw in grit. "I can't sleep, because I'm too busy watching you breathe. I can't think, because my mind wanders to you. And when I should've slit your throat a hundred times over in Seventh Kingdom, I didn't, because I wanted to watch you instead and see how far down your cold really went.

And?" the question drags out of me in a whisper. "How far does my cold go?" Right now, I can't feel my cold at all. All I feel is his heat. Against my breasts as his chest presses into me, through my sleeves where he's gripping me, the searing breath on my cheek as he exhales hard. "It goes all the way through," he says roughly, though his touch has gentled. "But you know what I figured out, Queenie?" My mouth feels dry despite the lump of snow I just swallowed. "What?" "Your cold burns far better than fire.

Let me in, Queenie." "Let me in," he murmurs for a third time. He's asking. Waiting. Not a demand, but a true request. To let him in and give him a chance. To give us a chance.

I want nothing but death." A cruel smirk curls his lips. "Is that right?" Heat unfurls low in my belly, but I manage to nod. "Yes." His thumb presses over my windpipe, straining my breath, making my mind stop spinning and instead holding me right here. "You want death?" he grits out, his challenge lashing against my face and spreading heat with each hit. "I'm your fucking death. I will consume you so thoroughly there won't be a wish for any end, because no end will release you from me.

You're mine, Malina," he thunders into my ears, the claim raining down and drenching me through. Spreading over me with his unrelenting threat. "Am I?" I ask in challenge. Hoping—begging—for him to meet it. His hand flexes around my neck, and he tips my head back, lips coming down to graze across my jaw. "Yes. So you can fucking wish for death all you want, but you won't get it. And right now, I'm going to show you what it's like to be alive.

You want to fuck death? You want to prove to me that you're claiming me right back and come alive beneath my touch?" His hand continues to stroke against my core, building up these embers between us that've been wanting to be stoked into a scorch. "Yes!" I fling out with fervency pumping through me. He bites down on my bottom lip with a satisfied growl. "I'm your assassin. Which means I'm in charge of your death. You got that?

I'm in charge, remember? So you're going to get there with me inside you or not at all.

Gods..." He wraps one hand around my throat and tips up my head. "I'm your god.

When it comes to fucking, I'm in charge and I'll do all sorts of debased things to your body, but you'll enjoy every single one.

Yes, we should've. Because if we die, we die alive.

There are two sides to every coin, but there's only one core, and there, I am in complete joined agreement. Auren. At my intermost center, where both forms connect, is this seed of her. The golden vine that's grown from the pit of my power of death and decay, and bloomed into gleaming life. When I found her, I knew right then, everything was different. She is what matters.

If there is ever a choice between her or the world, it's going to be her.

He's not your anything." I snarl. He's my everything. Protective possessiveness flares up within. Slade is mine. Not his. Mine. I claim him—my heart, mind, body, beast, my soul claims him.

Have another nice long nap to catch your bearings. Rest is best when sleep is deep,

The kiss is life changing.

Love does happen in all kinds of ways. But our kind happened like the dawn. The dawn doesn’t question when to appear. It simply does.

Love does happen in all kinds of ways. But our kind happened like the dawn. The dawn doesn’t question when to appear. It simply does. He walked into my life with the surety of his presence, and from that point on, the night began to wane.

The captain’s quarters aren’t much to look at. Although, I’ve probably inherited some unreasonable expectations. Living in a solid gold castle will do that to a girl.

Others might judge that. They might think grief should be determined by the amount of time you had with someone, but that isn’t true at all. Grief isn’t based on someone’s length of presence. It’s based on the impact of their absence.

I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.

Grief isn't based on someone's length of presence. It's based on the impact of their absence.

It’s everything,” I explain. “The little things. How submissive I’d become. How trodden. I was nothing but a road to him. A means to get to where he wanted to go, and I paved that path in gold. Even now, I worry I’ll never really be rid of him. I worry that I’ll still be walked all over. What if I never truly heal from his manipulations? What if the damage he’s done to my person is never undone?

You’re good to me, Mustard.” Judd grimaces and rubs at his mustard-seed hair. “It’s not that yellow.” I cock a brow. “Listen, I’m gold, okay? Don’t whine to me.

What a tempting veil of oblivion nature creates.

I love him with a fierceness that goes beyond the heart, and so I will ache and leak and grieve until he finds me. And he will find me.

Golden Gold Vine Part Two This miser did prize her, this golden gold vine. His smile would gleam at all of her shine. He gave her his all, so she’d answer his call. Rejoiced every inch that her length grew up tall. But soon she outgrew his garden, until, she then made her way into his house on the hill. She twisted and curled in every inch. No room to move, he was prodded and pinched. He shoved out his furniture to be left in the rain, abandoned front door, knocked out window panes. Every offering he made, she grew larger still. Her metallic glint covered each floorboard and sill. This miser hoarded every petal and thorn. Skin marred with scratches where sharp barbs had torn. When his hair was all gone, but he still wanted more, he gave up his nails, taking them, peel from core. He presented them all, onto stems he did pour. Not once did he ask, what’s it all for? Her flowers, so pretty, grew heavy with gold. Though his fingers too sore to take them to hold. So he split them away by the work of his teeth. Bit them from vine and hid them in sheaths. All gathered, so heavy, hundreds of blooms. All golden, these flowers, but he ran out of room. The old miser didn’t dare ever take some to town. If they knew of his treasure, they’d surely come ‘round. So spend them he never, and stayed home forever. Loved ones he severed, (he thought himself clever.) He murmured and pet, each golden rosette. Her vine he let twine, all while whispering, “mine.” But without reparation, she’d quickly go dim, so frantic, he’d cut, blade into limb. When his nails were all gone, from ten fingers and toes, he had to give up his ears and his nose. The blood that he spilt, he staunched with petals of guilt. But the drips of his red made the vine rightly fed. This miser bled freely so his wealth may yet grow. He let veins collapse, let his heartbeat go slow. Her vine slurped his life like nectar to birds, and he lay in the room, his body submerged. While she grew out of the house and over the hill, a contagion that caught every space up to fill. But he wanted still, he had to have more, so out plucked his eyes, sockets empty and sore. He had no room to sleep, and no eyes to weep, but from this golden gold vine, ever more would he seek. To be continued...

To everyone else, I probably seem unchanged. I probably look like the same gilded saddle, the same gold-touched favored. But if you look closer, you might see the gleam in my eye. You might catch the twist of my downturned lips that hints at the discontent lying just at the edge of my mouth.

I don’t know if the bones in my body are as gold as the rest of me, but for my sake, I hope they are. I hope my spine is gilded, because I’m going to need a strong backbone if I want to survive.

Maybe I’ll haunt you in the shadows for the rest of your life, and one day, when you least expect it, I’ll step out and finally slide my blade through your chest.

La coincidencia es sólo la excusa que la gente usa cuando no quiere reconocer el destino".

This is against our laws! I am the queen’s advisor and brother. She will start a war over this!

I take a step forward. “I warned you to leave Auren alone,” I say darkly. “But you didn’t.” I take another step. “You kept her here.” Another step. “Forcibly drained her power.” Another step. “Put her in a fucking cage.” Another. “And tried to execute her.” My words are growled, barely audible past the fury in my chest that’s constricting every bone and muscle and vein. I stop right in front of him, hand snapping out to wrap around the hilt of the dagger. His arms strain beneath the bindings, eyes darting down. He thinks I’m going to yank it out. Let him bleed. Instead, I twist. King Merewen screams.

Lady Ch—Auren

So, yes, I was scared to fall. But without falling, I never would have landed. And what a beautiful thing it was to land.

QUEEN KAILA!

They heard the whispers, Lady Auren. Came to see for themselves if it was true. Your presence is a gift they can’t believe they’re witnessing.” “But isn’t this dangerous?” I ask. “For them to be here? To see me?” “It’s a blessing to see you with our own eyes,” a young male fae calls out. “And we true Geisels would never betray the Lady Lyäri.

It wraps around my body like threads of the sun. Like bands of steel. Like rays of warmth. Like streams of light. Like…

If you knew what I’ve been through in the last twenty years, you wouldn’t ask this of me. I’ve been a pawn, a token, a tool. Now, I just want to be me. Nothing more, nothing less. And that means I’m going to make my own decisions for my own reasons.

Te encontraré. Te encontraré en esa vida.

Te encontraré, Goldfinch. Te lo juro. Ahora vuela. Vuela

Queen Kaila went against me—all of the other monarchs did. It’s time I remind her and everyone else exactly why you don’t fuck with me and mine.

Some people are in your life for only a moment, like a shooting star. Quick and short, but they light up a part of you for a second, and their brightness lingers even after they’re gone.