Prince Royce Quotes

You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric. “Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?” “I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?” Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.

Bah!” Magnus scoffed. “Humans always blame dwarves. A baby goes missing and it was a dwarf that stole it. A princess runs off with a second son of a king and it was a dwarf who lured her to a deep prison. And when they find her with the prince—lo, she was rescued! “A king is stabbed in the back in his own chapel, and a princess’s tower is turned into a death trap,” Royce called back to them. “Friends are betrayed and trapped in a prison—yes, I can see your surprise. Where do they get such ideas?” “Damn his elven ears,” Magnus said.

Royce cast a harsh and anxious look at the prince. “What?” Alric asked. “I thought we discussed the importance of keeping a low profile.” “Oh, please.” The prince waved a hand at the thief. “I don’t think it will get me killed if this monk knows I’m the king. Look at him. I’ve seen drowned rats more formidable.

Standing in the middle of the cellar with a sickened look on his face, Alric said, “I can’t believe I’m being subjected to this.” “Consider it a vacation,” Hadrian suggested. “For at least one day you get to pretend you are nobody, a common peasant, the son of a blacksmith perhaps.” “No,” Royce said, preparing his own sleeping space but keeping his boots on. “They might expect him to know things like how to use a hammer. And look at his hands. Anyone could tell he was lying.” “Most people have jobs that require the use of their hands, Royce,” Hadrian pointed out. He spread his cloak over himself and turned on his side. “What could a common peasant do that monks wouldn’t know the first thing about and wouldn’t cause calluses?” “He could be a thief or a whore.” They both looked at the prince, who cringed at his prospects. “I’m taking the cot,” Alric said.

But we are sailors—served on the Endeavor.” “Are you, now?” the ship’s master asked skeptically. “Let me see yer hands.” The master examined Hadrian’s palms, looking over the various calluses and rough places while grunting occasionally. “You must have spent most of your time in the galley. You’ve not done any serious rope work.” He examined Royce’s hands and raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever been on a ship before? It’s certain you’ve never handled a sheet or a capstan.” “Royce here is a—you know—” Hadrian pointed up at the ship’s rigging. “The guy who goes up there.” The master shook his head and laughed. “If you two are seamen, then I’m the Prince of Percepliquis!” “Oh, but they are, Mr. Temple,” a voice declared. Wyatt exited the forecastle and came jogging toward them. A bright white shirt offset his tawny skin and black hair. “I know these men, old mates of mine. The little one is Royce Melborn, as fine a topman as they come. And the big one is, ah …” “Hadrian.” Royce spoke up. “Right, of course. Hadrian’s a fine cook—he is, Mr. Temple.” Temple pointed toward Royce. “This one’s a topman? Are you joking, Wyatt?” “No, sir, he’s one of the best.” Temple looked unconvinced. “You can have him prove it to you, sir,” Hadrian offered. “You could have him race your best up the ropes.” “You mean up the shrouds,” Wyatt said, correcting him. “Yeah.” “You mean aye.” Hadrian sighed and gave up.

His gaze was frankly warm as he looked at Joanna. “There is a matter Royce and I need to discuss.” Royce nodded, looking serious yet pleased, as though it were all quite clear to him. It was not to Joanna. “And what would that be?” she asked. The two men exchanged a glance. “The marriage settlement,” Royce reminded her gently. “Oh…oh!” How suddenly her cheeks could heat and how surprising, all things considered. “Well, as to that, I hate to quibble, but I haven’t actually received a proposal.” It was very bad of her, as she knew, but still enjoyable. Instantly, her brother’s countenance changed. Gone was any hint of relaxed good humor. In its place was all the stern authority of the Lord of Hawkforte. “You haven’t?” he inquired, and looked to Alex. Who swiftly moved to make amends. There in the ancient hall of Hawkforte, where so many generations of lords and ladies had lived and loved, the proud Prince of Akora knelt, took his beloved’s hand in his, and bid her be his wife. There she, heedless of her brother, who at any rate looked on kindly, sank to her knees beside the man she could cherish through all eternity and joyfully pledged her heart. And in that moment, it was as though the great hall thronged with a ll those who had gone before and found in the blessing of love life everlasting.

He was a rogue agent, acting without my prince’s sanction. Also, we wrote a letter of apology. Don’t know what else you want from us.” “That’s funny,” I said. “I didn’t get one. Did you send it to my old apartment? That must be why. See, it burned down while I was protecting that asshole from the Redemption Choir.” “I’ll see that you get a copy,” Royce said.

When Ibn Saud died in 1953, at the age of 77, with one hundred wives, 42 sons, and 1500 princes, Arabia had no significant infrastructure, and was populated by a largely poor and uneducated people. Saud has been succeeded by several descendants over time (with some in-family assassinations), who invested their growing treasure of billions of petrodollars in palaces, Rolls Royces, Boeing 747s and lavish trips abroad, sharing generously with their own family members, but sparingly with the citizens of Saudi Arabia. The House of Saud also used its billions to arm itself against its own citizens, and to pay for military ventures by fellow Muslim nations against Israel.

You’ll get paid. I’ll have my uncle set the money aside. You can pick it up at the castle.” “I hope you don’t mind if we wait a few days, just to make sure.” “Of course not.” The prince nodded. “And if we send a representative to pick up the money for us?” Royce asked. Alric stared at him. “One who has no idea how to find us in case he is captured?” “Oh please, aren’t you being just a tad bit too cautious now?” “No such thing,” Royce replied. “Look!” Myron shouted suddenly, pointing at the stable. All three of them jumped fearfully at the sudden outburst. “There’s a brown horse!” the monk said in amazement. “I didn’t know they came in brown!” “By Mar, monk!” Alric shook his head in disbelief, a gesture Royce and Hadrian mirrored. “Well, I didn’t,” Myron replied sheepishly. His excitement, however, was still evident when he added, “What other colors do they come in? Is there a green horse? A blue one? I would so love to see a blue one.

You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric. “Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?” “I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?” Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.” He got up and shook Alric, but the prince did not stir. “Why didn’t you mention something earlier!” he said, drawing his dagger. He cut through the ropes and pulled the bag clear.