Princess Daughter Quotes

I was minding my own buisness long before you and the princess started humping like rabbits.

if i ever have a daughter, the first thing i will teach her to love will be the word “no” & i will not let her feel guilty for using it.   - “no” is short for “fuck off.”  

I know it's too soon right now," he murmured into my hair, "but just so you know, I'll wait. When you're ready, I'll be right here. Don't forget, Princess." -Puck

I'm not going to lose you again." "SHE IS RIGHT." We looked up. Ironhorse stood on the other side of the glass, watching us. His eyes glowed red in the darkness. "IT IS TOO DANGEROUS. FOR YOU." I frowned. "What are you talking-" "PRINCESS." Abruptly, he bowed. "IT HAS BEEN AN HONOR. WERE THINGS DIFFERENT, I WOULD GLADLY SERVE YOU UNTIL THE END OF TIME." He looked at Ash and nodded, as it suddenly dawned on me what he was implying. "SHE THINKS THE WORLD OF YOU, PRINCE. PROTECT HER WITH YOUR LIFE.

I seem to remember a certain someone swearing that she couldn't dance at all. Obviously I must have been with her twin sister, because i was expecting you to step on my toes all night. Been taking lessons, Princess?" -Puck

What are you doing here, Goodfellow? "Rescuing the princess from the winter court, of course. Though it appears I'm saving your sorry-ass as well." "I could've handled it." "Oh, I'm sure. Well then, shall we get on with it? Try to keep up, your highness." "Just stay out of my way.

Princess." Puck's voice broke through my numb trance. I glared poisoned daggers at him and he gave me a weak smile. "Scary, you can rip me to pieces later. His royal iciness isn't looking so good. We have to get him to a healer, now." -Puck

Ash nodded. “Look for Oberon or Mab,” he said grimly, scanning the battlefield. “They’ll likely be on opposite sides of the river. Try not to engage anything, Goodfellow. We don’t want a fight — we just want to get the scepter to the queen.” “Don’t kid yourself, Prince.” Puck grinned and drew his daggers, pointing to Ash with the tip. “You’re a traitor, Meghan’s the Summer princess, and I’m Robin Goodfellow. I’m sure the ranks of Unseelie will just let us waltz right through.

Ah, this is Princess that turned Prince traitor," he hissed, eyeing me up and down. "And now they need goblin tunnels out of city, good, good." -Sweetfinger

Believe it or not, Princess, I don´t want Ash dead, any more than you do". He sniffed. "Well maybe a little more than you but...

There was a soft chuckle beside me, and my heart stopped. "So this is Oberon's famous half-blood," Ash mused as I whirled around. His eyes, cold and inhuman, glimmered with amusement. Up close, he was even more beautiful, with high cheekbones and dark tousled hair falling into his eyes. My traitor hands itched, longing to run my fingers through those bangs. Horrified, I clenched them in my lap, trying to concentrate on what Ash was saying. "And to think," the prince continued, smiling, "I lost you that day in the forest and didn't even know what I was chasing." I shrank back, eyeing Oberon and Queen Mab. They were deep in conversation and did not notice me. I didn't want to interrupt them simply because a prince of the Unseelie Court was talking to me. Besides, I was a faery princess now. Even if I didn't quite believe it, Ash certainly did. I took a deep breath, raised my chin, and looked him straight in the eye. "I warn you," I said, pleased that my voice didn't tremble, "that if you try anything, my father will remove your head and stick it to a plaque on his wall." He shrugged one lean shoulder. "There are worse things." At my horrified look, he offered a faint, self-derogatory smile. "Don't worry, princess, I won't break the rules of Elysium. I have no intention of facing Mab's wrath should I embarrass her. That's not why I'm here." "Then what do you want?" He bowed. "A dance." "What!" I stared at him in disbelief. "You tried to kill me!" "Technically, I was trying to kill Puck. You just happened to be there. But yes, if I'd had the shot, I would have taken it." "Then why the hell would you think I'd dance with you?" "That was then." He regarded me blandly. "This is now. And it's tradition in Elysium that a son and daughter of opposite territories dance with each other, to demonstrate the goodwill between the courts." "Well, it's a stupid tradition." I crossed my arms and glared. "And you can forget it. I am not going anywhere with you." He raised an eyebrow. "Would you insult my monarch, Queen Mab, by refusing? She would take it very personally, and blame Oberon for the offense. And Mab can hold a grudge for a very, very long time." Oh, damn. I was stuck.

Wow, Meghan!” Kimi bounced in place, clapping her hands. “You look awesome! I love what you did with your hair.” “PRINCESS.” Ironhorse looked me up and down, nodding in approval. “TRULY, YOU ARE A VISION.” I glanced at Puck, who was staring at me in a daze. “Um…” he stammered, while I nearly went into shock with the novelty of actually rendering Puck speechless. “You look…nice,” he muttered at last. I blushed, suddenly self-conscious.

Karen was radiant in a beautiful blue gown. Even her mother, for once, had said so. “Not just pretty, honey—you reek of class. Like Princess Grace from Morocco,” she’d said, beaming at her daughter.

How true is it that humanity refuses compromise during prosperity, and reaches out for arbitration when weak.

A Magnificent Banquet, being A Thanksgiving for the Safe Return Of our Beloved Daughter, Princess Esmeralda. Bring your own plates.

i'm sorry if i wasn't the daughter you had in mind -i only ever wanted to make you proud-

I closed my eyes instead. And Puck kissed me. “If you are going to do that, would you mind not jostling the bed so much?” came a sarcastic voice near the headboard. “Perhaps you could roll around on the floor.” Blushing furiously, I looked up. Grimalkin lay on the pillow, watching us with a bemused, half-lidded stare. Puck followed my gaze and let out an explosive sigh. “Did I ever mention how much I hate cats?” “Do not blame me, Goodfellow.” Grimalkin blinked, managing to sound bored and indignant at the same time. “I was minding my own business long before you and the princess started humping like rabbits.

Puck threw Ash a mocking smile. “You look like crap, Prince. Did you miss me?” Ash frowned, stabbing a faery that was clawing at his feet. “What are you doing here, Goodfellow?” he asked coldly, which only caused Puck’s grin to widen. “Rescuing the princess from the Winter Court, of course.” Puck looked down as the wire-fey piled on the squealing boar, ripping and slicing. It exploded into a pile of leaves, and they skittered back in confusion. “Though it appears I’m saving your sorry ass, as well.” “I could’ve handled it.” “Oh, I’m sure.” Puck brandished a pair of curved daggers, the blades clear as glass. His grin turned predatory. “Well, then, shall we get on with it? Try to keep up, Your Highness.” “Just stay out of my way.

ONCE UPON A time, there was a king who had three beautiful daughters. He loved each of them dearly. One day, when the young ladies were of age to be married, a terrible, three-headed dragon laid siege to the kingdom, burning villages with fiery breath. It spoiled crops and burned churches. It killed babies, old people, and everyone in between. The king promised a princess’s hand in marriage to whoever slayed the dragon. Heroes and warriors came in suits of armor, riding brave horses and bearing swords and arrows. One by one, these men were slaughtered and eaten. Finally the king reasoned that a maiden might melt the dragon’s heart and succeed where warriors had failed. He sent his eldest daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, but the dragon listened to not a word of her pleas. It swallowed her whole. Then the king sent his second daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, but the dragon did the same. Swallowed her before she could get a word out. The king then sent his youngest daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, and she was so lovely and clever that he was sure she would succeed where the others had perished. No indeed. The dragon simply ate her. The king was left aching with regret. He was now alone in the world. Now, let me ask you this. Who killed the girls? The dragon? Or their father?

When did I turn into a needywhiny angsty idiot who needed to be swept off her feet? She snorted then started running again, forcing me into a brief sprint to catch up. We're conditioned from birth she said. I swear to god,if I ever have a daughter I'll ban all of the Disney princesses from the house. Except Mulan. She kicks ass.

if i ever have a daughter, the first thing i will teach her to love will be the word "no" & i will not let her feel guilty for using it. ⎻"no" is short for "fuck off.

I'm half of my father. Half of my hero. And I am half of my mother. Half soft sighs and half sharp edges. And if they can be Carmindor and Amara--then somewhere in my blood and bones I can be too. I'm the lost princess. I'm the villain of my story, and the hero. Part of my mom and part of my dad. I am a fact of the universe. The Possible and the Impossible. I am not no one. I am my parents' daughter, and then I realize--I realize that in this universe they're alive too. They're alive through me. Fashioning my hands into a pistol, I point it at the ceiling, lifting my chin, raising my eyes against the blinding stage lights, and I ignite the stars.

Excuse me, Princess.” For a moment, my heart leaped at the soft, deep voice. The voice that could either be Rowan’s or Ash’s, they sounded so much alike. Bracing myself, I turned, but it wasn’t Ash standing there. Thankfully, it wasn’t Rowan, either. It was the other brother, the oldest of the three. Sage. Dammit, he’s gorgeous also. What was with this family, that all the sons were so freaking handsome it hurt to look at them?

Right. The Briars. Just a second, Princess. Hey, Rusty,” he called, motioning to Ironhorse, who pinned back his ears, “why don’t you walk ahead of us, huh? I want your big ugly ass where I can see it.

Puck rolled his eyes. Holding out his hand, he gave me an encouraging smile. “Come on, Princess. Don’t want to get separated in here.” I clasped his hand, and he curled his fingers around mine. “Let’s go, then. Rusty can bring up the read. That way, if we’re jumped from behind, we won’t lose anything important.” I felt Ironhorse’s indignant snort as we entered the tunnel, and I pressed closer to Puck as the shadows closed in on us like grasping fingers. - Puck, Meghan Chase, and Ironhorse, page 152.

Galen Werner, you may choose one of my daughters to be your bride, and when I die, you shall sit beside her as co-ruler of Westfallin." "Your Majesty.... I - I don't know - " Rose felt her knees shaking. Did he not love her after all? "Psst, Galen?" Pansy tugged on his arm. Galen leaned down. "If Rose doesn't want you," the little girl whispered loudly, "you can marry me." Galen laughed shakily. "Thanks, Pansy." "Oh, Rose! Don't just stand there like a lump," Poppy said, poking her in the back. "If he's too embarrased, you should be the one to say something." "Poppy!" Daisy looked scandalized. "It's not Rose's place to - " Under cover of their squabbling, Rose took Galen's hand and moved closer to him. "Do you want to marry me?" she whispered in a much quieter tone than Pansy had used. "Yes," he said. "If neither of you is going to speak up," King Gregor said, "I shall simply have to decide it for myself!" "Father," Rose protested, "that won't be necessary!" "I choose Rose," Galen blurted out at the same time. "There. Done. Easy." King Gregor clapped his hands.

Jessica: If we only have daughters? Lucius: If we have only daughters, I will be the happiest vampire alive. For I have come to learn--from you--that a princess can be as powerful as a prince.

Princess," he said, spreading his arms in a shrug, "how does such a little thing like you get such a big temper?" I held up my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. "Marc Antony," I said, "how does such a big man like you have such a little brain?

birds can't fly away when you clip one of their wings. you weren't satisfied with just clipping one of my wings. you tore both out from the root to make sure i could never fly anywhere ever again. - mother & daughter

What you'll have of me after I journey to that great Death Star in the sky is an extremely accomplished daughter, a few books, and a picture of a stern-looking girl wearing some kind of metal bikini lounging on a giant drooling squid, behind a newscaster informing you of the passing of Princess Leia after a long battle with her head.

You’re awfully quiet, Princess,” Puck said as he arranged the firewood into a tepee. His slanted green eyes shot me a knowing look. “In fact, you haven’t said a word since his royal iciness left. What’s wrong?” “Oh.” I cast about for an excuse. No way was I telling Puck about my feelings for Ash. He’d probably challenge him to a duel the moment he walked through the door. “I…um…I’m just weirded out, you know, with all those wiremen bodies around. It’s kinda creepy, like they might come to life and attack us while we’re sleeping.

Like many a modern parent, I had no clear notion of how to help my most troubled child.

No panties for you. And no touching. I need to hear a yes, sir.

What! I don't care about being a princess! And since I'm already a young lady, how else could I behave? That's like asking a fish not to swim!" ~Princess Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat, of the Royal house of Llyr

Not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. These are girls made of dark lace and witchcraft and a little bit of vice. These are daughters made claw first and story-mad, tiger roar and wolf-bad. These are women made of terrible tempests and savage storms and the untamed unwanted. These are damsels made of flawless fearlessness made of more bravery than knights have ever seen. These are princesses made of valour and poison alike and they are here to hold court as your queens.

And then what did you do, Lord Oliver?" Karl's eight-year-old daughter gazed up at him in awe, as though this were the best story she had ever heard.

There is only one princess in the Disney tales, one girl who gets to be exalted. Princesses may confide in a sympathetic mouse or teacup, but they do not have girlfriends. God forbid Snow White should give Sleeping Beauty a little support. Let's review: princesses avoid female bonding. Their goals are to be saved by a prince, get married, and be taken care of the rest of their lives.

It had been June, the bright hot summer of 1937, and with the curtains thrown back the bedroom had been full of sunlight, sunlight and her and Will's children, their grandchildren, their nieces and nephews- Cecy's blue eyed boys, tall and handsome, and Gideon and Sophie's two girls- and those who were as close as family: Charlotte, white- haired and upright, and the Fairchild sons and daughters with their curling red hair like Henry's had once been. The children had spoken fondly of the way he had always loved their mother, fiercely and devotedly, the way he had never had eyes for anyone else, and how their parents had set the model for the sort of love they hoped to find in their own lives. They spoke of his regard for books, and how he had taught them all to love them too, to respect the printed page and cherish the stories that those pages held. They spoke of the way he still cursed in Welsh when he dropped something, though he rarely used the language otherwise, and of the fact that though his prose was excellent- he had written several histories of the Shadowhunters when he's retired that had been very well respected- his poetry had always been awful, though that never stopped him from reciting it. Their oldest child, James, had spoken laughingly about Will's unrelenting fear of ducks and his continual battle to keep them out of the pond at the family home in Yorkshire. Their grandchildren had reminded him of the song about demon pox he had taught them- when they were much too young, Tessa had always thought- and that they had all memorized. They sang it all together and out of tune, scandalizing Sophie. With tears running down her face, Cecily had reminded him of the moment at her wedding to Gabriel when he had delivered a beautiful speech praising the groom, at the end of which he had announced, "Dear God, I thought she was marrying Gideon. I take it all back," thus vexing not only Cecily and Gabriel but Sophie as well- and Will, though too tired to laugh, had smiled at his sister and squeezed her hand. They had all laughed about his habit of taking Tessa on romantic "holidays" to places from Gothic novels, including the hideous moor where someone had died, a drafty castle with a ghost in it, and of course the square in Paris in which he had decided Sydney Carton had been guillotined, where Will had horrified passerby by shouting "I can see the blood on the cobblestones!" in French.

O Father God, I know nothing is impossible for You. I am not putting my faith in anything but You — not the money in my purse, nor my status as the daughter of a duke, not in Colin’s ability to protect me, nor even in myself. My faith is in You. You are mighty to save, and I will not waver in my faith. I know You care for me, and nothing is too hard for You.

Milquetoast girls raised on princess stories might sit tight and bat their eyelashes in desperate Morse code--notice me, like me, please--but I am not that girl.

You’re learning the most powerful lesson of all, my daughter,” Breha continued. “You’re learning how to fall.

When you fear nothing, you have nothing to fear

You know, Pauline, you can be a princess without a boy saying so

If ever there were three mismatched riders, it was us- the crown prince of Dalbreck, the Assassin of Venda, and the fugitive princess of Morrighan. Sons and daughter of three kingdoms, each bent on domination of the other two.

And I want to be loved. I want to love and be loved, and to be respected. I don’t want someone to love me simply because I am a duke’s daughter. I don’t want a disinterested husband. I want someone who loves me passionately.

Beware of those who look like rose, for even roses have thorns.

Her voice is still pitched high, thanks to her youth, but it has a certain incipient darkness to it, a low richness that will mature in the coming years to the smoky tones of a priestess or a queen -- a woman of great natural power.

In the stories of old, a hero is the one who sweeps in with a drawn sword and noble face, to kill the Dragon and free the princess. In the stories of old it never seems to dawn on the princess that she should be careful not to put herself at mercy of those who would do her ill in the first place. I don't live in the stories of old.

Sorry, I got hung up or I’d have been here earlier. I made sure I made it for closing, though. I didn’t want the streets to suffer if you walked alone.” A glance at him showed his lips twitching. Humor, a new facet to my knight in leather armor; one I liked, given my oftentimes sarcastic attitude towards life. He wore the same leather duster of the previous evening, and, once again, I enviously admired it. Unable to resist, I reached out a hand and stroked its supple surface, feeling a thrill that my hand strayed so close to his actual body. “It’s so soft,” I murmured. “Not for long, if you keep stroking it,” he drawled.

And he discovered, finally, the source of the honey-sweet sound. The sound was music. The sound was King Phillip playing his guitar and singing for his daughter, the Princess Pea, every night before she fell asleep. Hidden in a hole in the wall of the princess's bedroom, the mouse listened with all his heart. The sound of the King's music made Despereaux's soul grow large and light inside of him. Oh," he said, "it sounds like heaven. It smells like honey.

The Luidaeg is the daughter of Oberon and Maeve, which technically makes her my aunt. Maybe that's why she hasn't killed me yet, although it's just as likely to be the fact that I amuse her. May says we're reenacting the Princess Bride, one "I'll most likely kill you in the morning" at a time.

This story was written many moons ago under an apple tree in an orchard in Kent, which is one of England's prettiest counties . . . I had read at least twenty of the [fairy tales] when I noticed something that had never struck me before--I suppose because I had always taken it for granted. All the princesses, apart from such rare exceptions as Snow White, were blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful, with lovely figures and complexions and extravagantly long hair. This struck me as most unfair, and suddenly I began to wonder just how many handsome young princes would have asked a king for the hand of his daughter if that daughter had happened to be gawky, snub-nosed, and freckled, with shortish mouse-colored hair? None, I suspected. They would all have been of chasing after some lissome Royal Highness with large blue eyes and yards of golden hair and probably nothing whatever between her ears! It was in that moment that a story about a princess who turned out to be ordinary jumped into my mind, and the very next morning I took my pencil box and a large rough-notebook down to the orchard and, having settled myself under an apple tree in full bloom, began to write . . . the day was warm and windless and without a cloud in the sky. A perfect day and a perfect place to write a fairy story.

A wise man was once asked what was the most difficult truth in life to uncover. His reply was: 'to know thyself'.

My slick finger worked my clit back and forth as my eyes slid shut and I imagined Auric's face. Those hard lips, his strong jaw. My nipples puckered as I pictured him sucking them, those wicked green eyes looking up at me as he nipped my erect nubs.

We all knew the stories. Djinn who fell in love with worthy princesses and gave them all of their hearts’ wishes. Pretty girls who lured Nightmares straight onto men’s blades. Brave merchants’ daughters who caught Buraqi and rode them to the ends of the earth. They were drawn to us, but also vulnerable to us. We could turn them into flesh and blood.

Ugly and ungainly. The least dependable creature you ever met. Just when you think you understand her, she changes. If only I had a son," he said bitterly. Over and over he disparaged her, and George would have thought that Beatrice would be so used to it, she could not be hurt further. But he saw her neck grow stiffer and stiffer.

Nobility is a lie. A pretence that high standing comes from anything more than money or martial prowess. Any dolt can play the noble, and as you'll discover in time, daughter, it's mostly dolts who do.

It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established: Alexander's direct heir is Caesar, and not the frail infant born of a Persian princess in an Asiatic citadel; Epaminondas, dying without issue, was right to boast that he had Victories for daughters.

Do not blame me, Goodfellow.” Grimalkin blinked, managing to sound bored and indignant at the same time. “I was minding my own business long before you and the princess started humping like rabbits.

WORRY NOT, PRINCESS,” Ironhorse said, and I gaped at him, not believing my eyes. Where a horse had been, now a man stood before me, dark and massive, with a square jaw and fists the size of hams. He wore jeans and a black shirt that bulged with all the muscles underneath, the skin stretched tight over steely tendons. Dreadlocks spilled from his scalp like a mane, and his eyes still burned with that intense red glow. “YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH A FEW TRICKS UP YOUR SLEEVE, GOODFELLOW,” he said, a faint smirk beneath his voice. “NOW, GO. I WILL BE RIGHT BEHIND YOU.

Jonquil went by with a full plate of food, and Petunia reached out and tried to snag a small cream puff from it. Jonquil lifted it over Petunia's head before she could, and clucked her tongue. "These are for Lily," she said. "Oh really?" Petunia gave her a look. "And possibly some are for that Analousian duke Jacques invited," Jonquil said with a sparkle in her eye. "But none are for you." Then she flipped one to Oliver. "You can have one, my lord earl," she said, and twirled away. "These are excellent," Oliver said, eating half of it in one bite. He fed Petunia the other half so she wouldn't get cream on her knitting. Oliver was just leaning in to steal a kiss - "I hope this means you're planning on marrying her, boy," barked King Gregor. Oliver leaped to his feet. "Sire! Yes! I mean ... I ... sire!" "I didn't pardon you and restore your earldom so that you could loll around my gardens flirting with my daughters," King Gregor said. Then he bent down and gave Petunia a kiss on the cheek. "I like him," he whispered loudly in her ear. "Me too," she whispered back, blushing.

The King and Queen did the best they could. They hired the most superior tutors and governesses to teach Cimorene all the things a princess ought to know— dancing, embroidery, drawing, and etiquette. There was a great deal of etiquette, from the proper way to curtsy before a visiting prince to how loudly it was permissible to scream when being carried off by a giant. (...) Cimorene found it all very dull, but she pressed her lips together and learned it anyway. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she would go down to the castle armory and bully the armsmaster into giving her a fencing lesson. As she got older, she found her regular lessons more and more boring. Consequently, the fencing lessons became more and more frequent. When she was twelve, her father found out. “Fencing is not proper behavior for a princess,” he told her in the gentle-but-firm tone recommended by the court philosopher. Cimorene tilted her head to one side. “Why not?” “It’s ... well, it’s simply not done.” Cimorene considered. “Aren’t I a princess?” “Yes, of course you are, my dear,” said her father with relief. He had been bracing himself for a storm of tears, which was the way his other daughters reacted to reprimands. “Well, I fence,” Cimorene said with the air of one delivering an unshakable argument. “So it is too done by a princess.

Rolling my eyes, I again had to question why men had to be so stubborn. "Seriously, Auric, you do not want to mess with this thing." "I've dealt with demons before," he said, pulling out a sword from behind his kitchen counter. I had to admit being impressed–his sword was long, shiny, and hard. Wait, that didn't sound right. Needless to say, he had a big one; and judging by the way he moved it, he also knew how to use it. Damn, I was even hornier than before.

The story of Terisa and Geraden began very much like a fable. She was a princess in a high tower. He was a hero come to rescue her. She was the only daughter of wealth and power. He was the seventh son of the lord of the seventh Care. She was beautiful from the auburn hair that crowned her head to the tips of her white toes. He was handsome and courageous. She was held prisoner by enchantment. He was a fearless breaker of enchantments. As in all the fables, they were made for each other.

More importantly, sir, you have my word that I would cherish your daughter and treat her well, bringing her back to Hagenheim for visits, whenever feasible, and that I am a God-fearing man whose priorities are God and family.

Princess, princess, youngest daughter, Open up and let me in! Or else your promise by the water Isn’t worth a rusty pin. Keep your promise, royal daughter, Open up and let me in!

Every straight line can be forced into a curve!

Genghis Khan considered his daughters superior leaders compared to his sons, and he awarded them kingdoms that they defended tooth and nail (oftentimes against their male siblings).

Citizens of Luna, I ask that you stop what you’re doing to listen to this message. My name is Selene Blackburn. I am the daughter of the late Queen Channary, niece to Princess Levana, and the rightful heir to Luna’s throne. You were told that I died thirteen years ago in a nursery fire, but the truth is that my aunt, Levana, did try to kill me, but I was rescued and taken to Earth. There, I have been raised and protected in preparation for the time when I would return to Luna and reclaim my birthright. In my absence, Levana has enslaved you. She takes your sons and turns them into monsters. She takes your shell infants and slaughters them. She lets you go hungry, while the people in Artemisia gorge themselves on rich foods and delicacies. But Levana’s rule is coming to an end. I have returned and I am here to take back what’s mine. Soon, Levana is going to marry Emperor Kaito of Earth and be crowned the empress of the Eastern Commonwealth, an honor that could not be given to anyone less deserving. I refuse to allow Levana to extend her tyranny. I will not stand aside while my aunt enslaves and abuses my people here on Luna, and wages a war across Earth. Which is why, before an Earthen crown can be placed on Levana’s head, I will bring an army to the gates of Artemisia. I ask that you, citizens of Luna, be that army. You have the power to fight against Levana and the people that oppress you. Beginning now, tonight, I urge you to join me in rebelling against this regime. No longer will we obey her curfews or forgo our rights to meet and talk and be heard. No longer will we give up our children to become her disposable guards and soldiers. No longer will we slave away growing food and raising wildlife, only to see it shipped off to Artemisia while our children starve around us. No longer will we build weapons for Levana’s war. Instead, we will take them for ourselves, for our war. Become my army. Stand up and reclaim your homes from the guards who abuse and terrorize you. Send a message to Levana that you will no longer be controlled by fear and manipulation. And upon the commencement of the royal coronation, I ask that all able-bodied citizens join me in a march against Artemisia and the queen’s palace. Together we will guarantee a better future for Luna. A future without oppression. A future in which any Lunar, no matter the sector they live in or the family they were born to, can achieve their ambitions and live without fear of unjust persecution or a lifetime of slavery. I understand that I am asking you to risk your lives. Levana’s thaumaturges are powerful, her guards are skilled, her soldiers are brutal. But if we join together, we can be invincible. They can’t control us all. With the people united into one army, we will surround the capital city and overthrow the imposter who sits on my throne. Help me. Fight for me. And I will be the first ruler in the history of Luna who will also fight for you.

I want to be the be-all and end-all when it comes to my daughter. I want to be the man that every other man has to look up to. I will treat her like a princess because if I don’t, she might go out and latch on to the first man who does. So yeah, I open car doors and I take her on dates and I buy her flowers for no reason. Because I want her to know she’s worthy of all of those things. And I fix hair.

Puck rolled his eyes. Holding out his hand, he gave me an encouraging smile. "Come on, Princess. Don't want to get separated in here." I clasped his hand, and he curled his fingers tight around mine. "Let's go then. Rusty can bring up the rear. That way, if we get jumped from behind, we won't lose anything important.

If this night is a fairy tale, then this is the happily ever after, right, or at least the beginning of it? And the thing about happily ever afters? Those princesses and woodcutter’s sons have bodies under their coats, too. I mean, what do you think happily ever after means? (I can’t be the only one who thinks this.)

With a deliberately melodramatic sigh, Breha put one hand to the front of her scarlet silk wrapper. “I suppose a tiny bit of me hoped that my daughter’s first romance wouldn’t be so…suitable. Sometimes it does a girl good to fall for a bit of a scoundrel, now and then.

Only when you drink from the river of silence, shall you indeed sing. And, when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And, when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance. -Khalid Gibran

Princess.” Puck’s voice broke through my numb trance. I glared poisoned daggers at him and he gave me a weak smile. “Scary. You can rip me to pieces later. His royal iciness isn’t looking so good. We have to get him to a healer, now.” Ethan sniffed and clamped himself to my leg, his small body tight with determination. “No!” he wailed. “No, she’s not leaving! No!” I looked at Puck helplessly, torn in several directions and feeling I could scream. “I can’t leave him here alone.

Did I ever mention how much I hate cats?” “Do not blame me, Goodfellow.” Grimalkin blinked, managing to sound bored and indignant at the same time. “I was minding my own business long before you and the princess started humping like rabbits.” Puck snorted. Rolling to his stomach, he pushed himself off the bed and pulled me up with him, wrapping me in his arms.

I tried to give her my best “I Am A Demon Princess” look, which was quite the challenge, seeing as how my hair was hanging in my face and my nose was running. “What’s your name?” I asked. The girl kept her eyes on me, but her hands were moving restlessly over the ground around her, no doubt searching for the knife. “Izzy,” she said. I raised both my eyebrows. Not exactly a name to strike fear into the heart. Izzy must’ve read that in my expression, because she frowned. “I’m Isolde Brannick, daughter of Aislinn, daughter of Fiona, daughter of-“ “Right, right, daughter of a bunch of fierce ladies, got it.

I mean that we hold the centre. We hold everything from Acquitart to Sicyon. Can we not call it a kingdom and rule it together? Am I such a poorer prospect than a Patran princess, or a daughter of the Empire?’ He made himself say no more than that, though the words crowded in his chest. He waited. It surprised him that it hurt to wait, and that the longer he waited, the more he felt he couldn’t bear to hear the answer, brought to him on a knife point. When he made himself look at Laurent, Laurent’s eyes on him were very dark, his voice quiet. ‘How can you trust me, after what your own brother did to you?’ ‘Because he was false,’ said Damen, ‘and you are true. I have never known a truer man.’ He said, into the stillness, ‘I think if I gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly.’ Laurent turned his head, denying Damen his face. Damen could see his breathing. After a moment he said in a low voice, ‘When you make love to me like that, I can’t think.’ ‘Don’t think,’ said Damen. Damen

Lamar, why do they go into a trance when I change into this?” I ask as I go phantom and change into the Egyptian Princess outfit before turning whole again. The guys…don’t go into a trance. Not even Ezekiel, and he missed it the first time. It makes me look like a liar. Weirdly, I take offense to feeling like a liar. It’s weird because I’m the DEVIL’S FUCKING DAUGHTER and THE APOCALYPSE, but being thought of as a liar irks me. My priorities are so messed up.

We the daughters of Melusina,' she corrects me. 'Your grandmother was a daughter of the water goddess of the royal house of Burgundy and she never forgot that she was both royal and magical. When I was your age I didn't know whether she could summon up a storm or whatever it was all just luck and pretence to get her own way. But she taught me that there is nothing in the world more powerful than a woman who knows what she wants and walks a straight road towards it.

And then... she heard voices. Her aunt's voice... 'Your daughter?' Maleficent asked, her voice rising in dramatic surprise. 'Really? What kind of loving mother hands her daughter off to the fairies for sixteen years?'... Maleficent swung around, arching her arms and fingers like an animal, lowering her yellow eyes to their level.

THERE was once a little princess who—"But, Mr. Author, why do you always write about princesses?" "Because every little girl is a princess." "You will make them vain if you tell them that." "Not if they understand what I mean." "Then what do you mean?" "What do you mean by a princess?" "The daughter of a king." "Very well, then every little girl is a princess, and there would be no need to say anything about it, except that she is always in danger of forgetting her rank, and behaving as if she had grown out of the mud. I have seen little princesses behave like the children of thieves and lying beggars, and that is why they need, to be told they are princesses.

There was a scrape and crunch of shoes, then a small, smooth hand slid toward her. But it was not Chaol or Sam or Nehemia who lay across from her, watching her with those sad turquoise eyes. Her cheek against the moss, the young princess she had been—Aelin Galathynius—reached a hand for her. “Get up,” she said softly. Celaena shook her head. Aelin strained for her, bridging that rift in the foundation of the world. “Get up.” A promise—a promise for a better life, a better world. The Valg princes paused. She had wasted her life, wasted Marion’s sacrifice. Those slaves had been butchered because she had failed—because she had not been there in time. “Get up,” someone said beyond the young princess. Sam. Sam, standing just beyond where she could see, smiling faintly. “Get up,” said another voice—a woman’s. Nehemia. “Get up.” Two voices together—her mother and father, faces grave but eyes bright. Her uncle was beside them, the crown of Terrasen on his silver hair. “Get up,” he told her gently. One by one, like shadows emerging from the mist, they appeared. The faces of the people she had loved with her heart of wildfire. And then there was Lady Marion, smiling beside her husband. “Get up,” she whispered, her voice full of that hope for the world, and for the daughter she would never seen again.

Liam Beckett, did you break my daughter?!” “Oh come on. She hit me! I didn’t break her. Well, my perfectly chiseled body might have hurt her slightly. But it wouldn’t be an issue if she would learn how to keep her hands off of me.” “You little shit,” I laugh over my father’s shoulders. Liam laughs loudly, “I’ll go get some ice for the big baby.” “Don’t call my little princess a baby!” Daddy yells after Liam. “I’m fine, just hit him weird,” I say to soothe his worry. “How many times do I have to tell you not to hit like that? I could see your form was off all the way across the room. Should have gone for the crotch. Always go for the crotch, Dani.” Oh lord, here we go. He’s been teaching me how to kick a man’s ass since I was five and Zac stole my doll. Of course, his first lesson was for me to always go for the crotch. “Daddy, I wasn’t trying to hurt him. We were just joking around.” “Joking around? You aren’t supposed to joke around with boys. I need to look into that island . Ship your ass off,” he grumbles under his breath.

While I have the floor, here's a question that's been bothering me for some time. Why do so few writers of heroic or epic fantasy ever deal with the fundamental quandary of their novels . . . that so many of them take place in cultures that are rigid, hierarchical, stratified, and in essence oppressive? What is so appealing about feudalism, that so many free citizens of an educated commonwealth like ours love reading about and picturing life under hereditary lords? Why should the deposed prince or princess in every clichéd tale be chosen to lead the quest against the Dark Lord? Why not elect a new leader by merit, instead of clinging to the inbred scions of a failed royal line? Why not ask the pompous, patronizing, "good" wizard for something useful, such as flush toilets, movable type, or electricity for every home in the kingdom? Given half a chance, the sons and daughters of peasants would rather not grow up to be servants. It seems bizarre for modern folk to pine for a way of life our ancestors rightfully fought desperately to escape.

In time, Arjuna tires of mere beauty and hearing tales about the valour of princess Chitrangada, he seeks her out. The princess then reveals her true self to Arjuna. Her words are one of the most beautiful declarations of the angst of a woman, ‘I am not beautifully perfect as the flowers with which I worship. I have many flaws and blemishes. I am a traveller in the great world-path, my garments are dirty, and my feet are bleeding with thorns. Where should I achieve flower-beauty, the unsullied loveliness of a moment’s life? The gift that I proudly bring you is the heart of a woman. Here have all pains and joys gathered, the hopes and fears and shames of a daughter of the dust; here love springs up struggling towards immortal life. Herein lies an imperfection which yet is noble and grand.

Never stray from your own kind, Jessen,” my mother would say, “or you could end up like Princess Morga, a slave and outcast to be abhorred.” The problem was, I’d never been a very obedient daughter. Never the one to do exactly as I was told. And fairy tales have no meaning when the stars align and Fortune spins her wheel, weaving her own story for your heart.

The St. Vincents arrived with their daughter Phoebe, a red-haired infant with an alarmingly changeable temperament. One moment the child was placid and adorable. The next, she was a squalling devil-spawn who could only be soothed by the sound of her father’s voice. “There, darling,” St. Vincent had been known to coo into the infant’s ear. “Has someone displeased you? Ignored you? Oh, the insolence. My poor princess shall have anything she wants…” And, appeased by her father’s outrageous spoiling, Phoebe would settle into hiccupping smiles.

Princess Keita,” the dragon began, “this is Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains.” He faced Elina and, smiling, said, “And Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains, this is Keita the Viper: Princess of the Royal House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, Second-Born Daughter and Fifth-Born Offspring to the White Dragon Queen of the Southlands, Protector of The Throne, and Bound Mate to Ragnar, Dragonlord Chief of the Olgeirsson Horde.” Keita narrowed blue eyes at the dragon. “Was that really necessary, Curled Horns?” His grin did not falter. “It felt necessary and good. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to working with Elina Shestakova of the—” “Do not bore me with that ridiculously long name yet again!” the royal roared.

Oh here's a nice one, he brown recluse spider. This once resides in wooded areas. In other words, next to my head while I'm sleeping. ' In a small number of cases, a bite from a brown recluse can produce organ damage with occasional fatalities.' " "That's the worst-case scenario. how can it be? It's called a 'recluse'" "It's been my experience that all recluses have a mean streak.

A nod at Beatrice who held absolutely still. "She said she would come with me. She insisted on it. She stamped her little foot at me." He pointed down to her toes as if she were a child yet. Then he straightened his shoulders. "But I sent her back to the nursery, where she belonged, and told her to play with her dolls instead. As everyone knows, a female on a hunt is a distraction at best and bad luck at worse." Which explained why Beatrice went into the woods with her hound alone, George thought. She looked now as though she had gone to some other place where she could not hear her father's words and thus could not be hurt by them. George wondered how often she was forced to go to that place. Did King Helm not see how much she was like him? It seemed she was rejected for any sign of femininity yet also rejected for not showing enough femininity, How could she win?

Fine, I’ll pick ‘Sleeping Beauty,’” he decided. “Interesting selection,” Alex said, intrigued. “What do you suppose the moral of that story is?” “Don’t piss off your neighbors, I guess,” Conner said. Alex grunted disapprovingly. “Be serious, Conner! That is not the moral of ‘Sleeping Beauty,’” she reprimanded. “Sure it is,” Conner explained. “If the king and queen had just invited that crazy enchantress to their daughter’s party in the first place, none of that stuff ever would have happened.” “They couldn’t have stopped it from happening,” said Alex. “That enchantress was evil and probably would have cursed the baby princess anyway. ‘Sleeping Beauty’ is about trying to prevent the unpreventable. Her parents tried protecting her and had all the spinning wheels in the kingdom destroyed. She was so sheltered, she didn’t even know what the danger was, and she still pricked her finger on the first spindle she ever saw.” Conner thought about this possibility and shook his head. He liked his version much better. “I disagree,” Conner told her. “I’ve seen how upset you get when people don’t invite you places, and you usually look like you would curse a baby, too.” Alex gave Conner a dirty look Mrs. Peters would have been proud of. “While there’s no such thing as a wrong interpretation, I have to say that is definitely a misread,” Alex said. “I’m just saying to be careful who you ignore,” Conner clarified. “I always thought Sleeping Beauty’s parents had it coming.” “Oh?

...while epic fantasy is based on the fairy tale of the just war, that’s not one you’ll find in Grimm or Disney, and most will never recognize the shape of it. I think the fantasy genre pitches its tent in the medieval campground for the very reason that we even bother to write stories about things that never happened in the first place: because it says something subtle and true about our own world, something it is difficult to say straight out, with a straight face. Something you need tools to say, you need cheat codes for the human brain--a candy princess or a sugar-coated unicorn to wash down the sour taste of how bad things can really get. See, I think our culture has a slash running through the middle of it, too. Past/Future, Conservative/Liberal, Online/Offline. Virgin/Whore. And yes: Classical/Medieval. I think we’re torn between the Classical Narrative of Self and the Medieval Narrative of Self, between the choice of Achilles and Keep Calm and Carry On. The Classical internal monologue goes like this: do anything, anything, only don’t be forgotten. Yes, this one sacrificed his daughter on a slab at Aulis, that one married his mother and tore out his eyes, and oh that guy ate his kids in a pie. But you remember their names, don’t you? So it’s all good in the end. Give a Greek soul a choice between a short life full of glory and a name echoing down the halls of time and a long, gentle life full of children and a quiet sort of virtue, and he’ll always go down in flames. That’s what the Iliad is all about, and the Odyssey too. When you get to Hades, you gotta have a story to tell, because the rest of eternity is just forgetting and hoping some mortal shows up on a quest and lets you drink blood from a bowl so you can remember who you were for one hour. And every bit of cultural narrative in America says that we are all Odysseus, we are all Agamemnon, all Atreus, all Achilles. That we as a nation made that choice and chose glory and personal valor, and woe betide any inconvenient “other people” who get in our way. We tell the tales around the campfire of men who came from nothing to run dotcom empires, of a million dollars made overnight, of an actress marrying a prince from Monaco, of athletes and stars and artists and cowboys and gangsters and bootleggers and talk show hosts who hitched up their bootstraps and bent the world to their will. Whose names you all know. And we say: that can be each and every one of us and if it isn’t, it’s your fault. You didn’t have the excellence for it. You didn’t work hard enough. The story wasn’t about you, and the only good stories are the kind that have big, unignorable, undeniable heroes.

such an ill-cooked roast at the future queen’s wedding?” he cries. The princess-cook appears before her father, but she is so changed he does not recognize her. “I would not serve you salt, Your Majesty,” she explains. “For did you not exile your youngest daughter for saying that it was of value?” At her words, the king realizes that not only is she his daughter—she is, in fact, the daughter who loves him best. And what then? The eldest daughter and the middle sister have been living with the king all this time. One has been in favor one week, the other the next. They have been driven apart by their father’s constant comparisons. Now the youngest has returned, the king yanks the kingdom from his eldest, who has just been married. She is not to be queen after all. The elder sisters rage. At first, the youngest basks in fatherly love. Before long, however, she realizes the king is demented and power-mad. She is to be queen, but she is also stuck tending to a crazy old tyrant for the rest of her days. She will not leave him, no matter how sick he becomes. Does she stay because she loves him as meat loves salt? Or does she stay because he has now promised her the kingdom? It is hard for her to tell the difference. 17 THE FALL AFTER the European trip,

As it moves closer, Galen can make out smaller bodies within the mass. Whales. Sharks. Sea turtles. Stingrays. And he knows exactly what’s happening. The darkening horizon engages the full attention of the Aerna; the murmurs grow louder the closer it gets. The darkness approaches like a mist, eclipsing the natural snlight from the surface. An eclipse of fish. With each of his rapid heartbeats, Galen thinks he can feel the actual years disappear from his life span. A wall of every predator imaginable, and every kind of prey swimming in between, fold themselves around the edges of the hot ridges. The food chain hovers toward, over them, around them as a unified force. And Emma is leading it. Nalia gasps, and Galen guesses she recognizes the white dot in the middle of the wall. Syrena on the outskirts of the Arena frantically rush to the center, the tribunal all but forgotten in favor of self-preservation. The legion of sea life circles the stadium, effectively barricading the exits and any chance of escaping. Galen can’t decide if he’s proud or angry when Emma leaves the safety of her troops to enter the Arena, hitching a ride on the fin of a killer whale. When she’s but three fin-lengths away from Galen, she dismisses her escort. “Go back with the others,” she tells it. “I’ll be fine.” Galen decides on proud. Oh, and completely besotted. She gives him a curt nod to which he grins. Turning to the crowd of ogling Syrena, she says, “I am Emma, daughter of Nalia, true princess of Poseidon.” He hears murmurs of “Half-Breed” but it sounds more like awe than hatred or disgust. And why shouldn’t it? They’ve seen Paca’s display of the Gift. Emma’s has just put it to shame.

Andy: Andrew Makepeace Ladd, the Third, accepts with pleasure the kind invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert Channing Gardner for a birthday party in honor of their daughter Melissa on April 19th, 1937 at half past three o'clock. Melissa: Dear Andy: Thank you for the birthday present. I have a lot of Oz books, but not 'The Lost Princess of Oz.' What made you give me that one? Sincerely yours, Melissa. Andy: I'm answering your letter about the book. When you came into second grade with that stuck-up nurse, you looked like a lost princess. Melissa: I don't believe what you wrote. I think my mother told your mother to get that book. I like the pictures more than the words. Now let's stop writing letters.

Her name is Queen Theodosia, and if you won’t apologize for disrespecting her, I’ll let her men have you and I’ll describe your last moments to your wife so that she knows how pathetically you died.” Mattin grunts, eyes dropping away. “I apologize,” he says through gritted teeth. Søren looks tempted to extract something more sincere out of him, but that would hardly be productive. I clear my throat. “I accept your apology,” I say coldly. “I hope you come to see that a woman can wield power beyond what’s between her legs—for your daughter’s sake if nothing else.

ONCE UPON A time there was a king who had three beautiful daughters. As he grew old, he began to wonder which should inherit the kingdom, since none had married and he had no heir. The king decided to ask his daughters to demonstrate their love for him. To the eldest princess he said, “Tell me how you love me.” She loved him as much as all the treasure in the kingdom. To the middle princess he said, “Tell me how you love me.” She loved him with the strength of iron. To the youngest princess he said, “Tell me how you love me.” This youngest princess thought for a long time before answering. Finally she said she loved him as meat loves salt. “Then you do not love me at all,” the king said. He threw his daughter from the castle and had the bridge drawn up behind her so that she could not return. Now, this youngest princess goes into the forest with not so much as a coat or a loaf of bread. She wanders through a hard winter, taking shelter beneath trees. She arrives at an inn and gets hired as assistant to the cook. As the days and weeks go by, the princess learns the ways of the kitchen. Eventually she surpasses her employer in skill and her food is known throughout the land. Years pass, and the eldest princess comes to be married. For the festivities, the cook from the inn makes the wedding meal. Finally a large roast pig is served. It is the king’s favorite dish, but this time it has been cooked with no salt. The king tastes it. Tastes it again. “Who would dare to serve

ONCE UPON A time there was a king who had three beautiful daughters. As he grew old, he began to wonder which should inherit the kingdom, since none had married and he had no heir. The king decided to ask his daughters to demonstrate their love for him. To the eldest princess he said, “Tell me how you love me.” She loved him as much as all the treasure in the kingdom. To the middle princess he said, “Tell me how you love me.” She loved him with the strength of iron. To the youngest princess he said, “Tell me how you love me.” This youngest princess thought for a long time before answering. Finally she said she loved him as meat loves salt. “Then you do not love me at all,” the king said. He threw his daughter from the castle and had the bridge drawn up behind her so that she could not return. Now, this youngest princess goes into the forest with not so much as a coat or a loaf of bread. She wanders through a hard winter, taking shelter beneath trees. She arrives at an inn and gets hired as assistant to the cook. As the days and weeks go by, the princess learns the ways of the kitchen. Eventually she surpasses her employer in skill and her food is known throughout the land. Years pass, and the eldest princess comes to be married. For the festivities, the cook from the inn makes the wedding meal. Finally a large roast pig is served. It is the king’s favorite dish, but this time it has been cooked with no salt. The king tastes it. Tastes it again. “Who would dare to serve such an ill-cooked roast at the future queen’s wedding?” he cries. The princess-cook appears before her father, but she is so changed he does not recognize her. “I would not serve you salt, Your Majesty,” she explains. “For did you not exile your youngest daughter for saying that it was of value?” At her words, the king realizes that not only is she his daughter—she is, in fact, the daughter who loves him best. And what then? The eldest daughter and the middle sister have been living with the king all this time. One has been in favor one week, the other the next. They have been driven apart by their father’s constant comparisons. Now the youngest has returned, the king yanks the kingdom from his eldest, who has just been married. She is not to be queen after all. The elder sisters rage. At first, the youngest basks in fatherly love. Before long, however, she realizes the king is demented and power-mad. She is to be queen, but she is also stuck tending to a crazy old tyrant for the rest of her days. She will not leave him, no matter how sick he becomes. Does she stay because she loves him as meat loves salt? Or does she stay because he has now promised her the kingdom? It is hard for her to tell the difference.

Kiev became a linchpin of the medieval world, evidenced by the marriage ties of the ruling house in the second half of the eleventh century. Daughters of Yaroslav the Wise, who reigned as Grand Prince of Kiev until 1054, married the King of Norway, the King of Hungary, the King of Sweden and the King of France. One son married the daughter of the King of Poland, while another took as his wife a member of the imperial family of Constantinople. The marriages made in the next generation were even more impressive. Rus’ princesses were married to the King of Hungary, the King of Poland and the powerful German Emperor, Henry IV. Among other illustrious matches was Gytha, the wife of Vladimir II Monomakh, the Grand Prince of Kiev: she was the daughter of Harold II, King of England, who was killed at the battle of Hastings in 1066. The ruling family in Kiev was the best-connected dynasty in Europe.