Twin Princes Quotes

The two princes stared at each other, one gold and one silver, one her twin and one her soul-bonded. There was nothing friendly in the stares, nothing human - two Fae males locked in some unspoken dominance battle.

Well, you can't break an Unbreakable Vow...." "I'd worked that much out for myself, funnily enough. What happens if you break it, then?" "You die," said Ron simply. "Fred and George tried to get me to make one when I was about five. I nearly did too, I was holding hands with Fred and everything when Dad found us. He went mental," said Ron, with a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. "Only time I've ever seen Dad as angry as Mum. Fred reckons his left buttock has never been the same since." “Yeah, well, passing over Fred’s left buttock —” "I beg your pardon?" said Fred's voice as the twins entered the kitchen.

These days when you kiss a prince you often run the risk of turning him into a frog. But don't let the ogres in shining armor get you down. There is no need for distress - you don't want to be anyone's damsel anyway. Simply remind yourself that you are busy racking up those 'frequent failure points' that will eventually pay for an all expenses paid trip to Mr Right.

The cuff, unmistakably, was the twin to the one Damen wore, altered last night by a blacksmith for Laurent’s finer wrist. Damen said, ‘Wear it for me.’ For

Ah remember walkin along Princes Street wi Spud, we both hate walkin along that hideous street, deadened by tourists and shoppers, the twin curse ay modern capitalism.

You think I'm weak.' 'You are weak,' I tell her. ''You're weak and pathetic and I-' 'I'm a mirror,' she shouts. 'I'm the mirror you don't want to look at.

There is only one way to find your twin soul, and that is to find yourself first.

Everyone would believe her because at the back of their minds, everyone thinks that twin brothers and sisters grow up magnetized towards each other, the prince at the foot of Rapunzel’s tower before the tower is even built, the lover you can get at all the fucking time, the one who is you but a girl, or you but a boy, whose bed you know as well as your own. How could you endure that without falling in love? The question is, were they born in love with each other, these twins, or did it blossom? At any rate it’s already happened, the onlookers agree. It must have. Ask them when they fell. The brother and sister say no, no, it’s nothing like that, but what they mean is that they can’t remember when.

Tequila, anyone?” he asked our group, but his eyes were on me. “Hell, yeah, K, break it out,” Blake said. I tried to take a step back, but I couldn't go far. Kaidan poured the drinks, handing one to each twin and Blake. “Jay?” he asked. “Nah, dude. I gotta drive.” “Kope? Anna?” We both stared at him, not answering. “Oh, that's right, I nearly forgot,” Kaidan said with smooth indifference. “The prince and princess would never stoop so low. Well, bottoms up to us peasants.” What was up with that? The group shared a round of uneasy glances. Jay's mouth was set in firm disapproval as he stared at Kaidan, who wouldn't meet Jay's eye. The four of them raised their glasses, taking the shots and chasing them with bites of lime. I got a strong whiff of the pungent, salty tequila and gripped the counter with one hand. “How's your soda, princess?” Though Kaidan spoke with a calm air, there was underlying menace that pained me to hear. “You don't need to be so hateful,” I whispered. “If you ask me, I'd say the princess prefers a dark knight.” Ginger smirked and took a long drink of her beer. “She only thinks she does,” Kaidan said to her. I opened and closed my hands at my sides. After all we'd been through, how could he stand there and have the audacity to throw temptations in my face and insult me? I wanted to say something to shut him up, but the more flustered I got, the more tongue-tied I became. “Anna?” Jay asked. “You ready to bounce?” There was no way Jay was ready to leave. “No! Don't go yet,” Marna begged. She yanked the front of Kaidan's shirt. “You're scaring everyone off, Kai! If you can't be nice, then don't get so pissed.” “She means drunk,” Blake said to me in a stage whisper; then he added, “Brits,” with a roll of his eyes. Blake's attempt at comic relief didn't lighten the mood much. “My apologies,” Kaidan said to Marna. He slid the bottle away with the back of his hand, and Marna patted down the bit of shirt she'd crumpled. I stared at Kaidan, but he wouldn't meet my eye.

the twins from Alice in Wonderland.)

You could do with a haircut too Sho, your hair is almost emo level. The urge for me to give you twin tails is almost getting too difficult to resist.

Why so quiet, East?” Dad prompts once we all start eating. My brother shrugs. “Got nothing to say.” The twins snicker. “Since when?” Seb cracks. Another shrug. “Is everything okay with you?” Dad

Hey! Back off from the dead girl. She’s Resistance property.” “Yeah,” says his twin brother Dum from inside the cab. “We need her for autopsies and stuff. You think girls killed by demon princes are easy to find?” As

O where are you going with your love-locks flowing On the west wind bellowing along this valley track?” “The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye, We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.” So they two went together in glowing August weather, The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right; And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight. “Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven, Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?” “Oh, that’s a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous, An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt>” “Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly, Their scent comes rich and sickly?” “A scaled and hooded worm.” ”Oh, what’s that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?” “Oh, that’s a thin dead body which waits the eternal term.” “Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest: This beaten way thou beatest, I fear is hell’s own track.” “Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting: This downhill path is easy, but there’s no turning back.

Who calls the Prince of the Mud?' … The snapping turtle snapped. Its head shot out to maximum extension—Eliot wouldn’t have believed anything that big could move that fast. It was like a Mack truck coming straight at them. As it bit it turned its head on one side, to take them both in one movement. Eliot reacted fast. His reaction was to crouch down and cover his face with his arms. From the relative safety of this position he felt the day grow colder around them, and he heard a crackle, which at first he took for the pier splintering in the turtle’s jaws. But the end didn’t come. 'You DARE?' Janet said. Her voice was loud now—it made the boards vibrate sympathetically under his feet. He looked up at her. She’d gone airborne, floating two feet above the pier, and her clothes were rimmed with frost. She radiated cold; mist sheeted off her skin as it would off dry ice. Her arms were spread wide, and she had an axe in each hand. They were those twin staves she wore on her back, each one now topped with an axe-head of clear ice. The turtle was trapped in mid-lunge. She’d stopped it cold; the swamp was frozen solid around it. Janet had called down winter, and the water of the Northern Marsh was solid ice as far as he could see, cracked and buckled up in waves. The turtle was stuck fast in it. It struggled, its head banging back and forth impotently. 'Jesus,' Eliot said. He stood up out of his defensive crouch. 'Nice one.' 'You DARE?' Janet said again, all imperious power. 'Marvel that you live, Prince of Shit!

I’m surprised you let him come.” He sighs and glances my way. “Far be it from me to refuse a request from the ‘Crown Prince of Disi.’ ” His tone is pointed, and I scowl. “You were unconscious! I thought Jamison was going to tell the soldiers to shoot us! What else was I supposed to call him?” He raises an eyebrow. “A servant? A footman?” I open my mouth. Close it. Grey’s not done. “A slave, my lady. A guard.” “But she picked prince,” Jake snaps. “Get over it.” Grey ignores him. “The healer’s concubine?” Jake snorts, but twin spots of pink find his cheeks. “Noah probably would have loved that.

few years later, Demeter took a vacation to the beach. She was walking along, enjoying the solitude and the fresh sea air, when Poseidon happened to spot her. Being a sea god, he tended to notice pretty ladies walking along the beach. He appeared out of the waves in his best green robes, with his trident in his hand and a crown of seashells on his head. (He was sure that the crown made him look irresistible.) “Hey, girl,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “You must be the riptide, ’cause you sweep me off my feet.” He’d been practicing that pickup line for years. He was glad he finally got to use it. Demeter was not impressed. “Go away, Poseidon.” “Sometimes the sea goes away,” Poseidon agreed, “but it always comes back. What do you say you and me have a romantic dinner at my undersea palace?” Demeter made a mental note not to park her chariot so far away. She really could’ve used her two dragons for backup. She decided to change form and get away, but she knew better than to turn into a snake this time. I need something faster, she thought. Then she glanced down the beach and saw a herd of wild horses galloping through the surf. That’s perfect! Demeter thought. A horse! Instantly she became a white mare and raced down the beach. She joined the herd and blended in with the other horses. Her plan had serious flaws. First, Poseidon could also turn into a horse, and he did—a strong white stallion. He raced after her. Second, Poseidon had created horses. He knew all about them and could control them. Why would a sea god create a land animal like the horse? We’ll get to that later. Anyway, Poseidon reached the herd and started pushing his way through, looking for Demeter—or rather sniffing for her sweet, distinctive perfume. She was easy to find. Demeter’s seemingly perfect camouflage in the herd turned out to be a perfect trap. The other horses made way for Poseidon, but they hemmed in Demeter and wouldn’t let her move. She got so panicky, afraid of getting trampled, that she couldn’t even change shape into something else. Poseidon sidled up to her and whinnied something like Hey, beautiful. Galloping my way? Much to Demeter’s horror, Poseidon got a lot cuddlier than she wanted. These days, Poseidon would be arrested for that kind of behavior. I mean…assuming he wasn’t in horse form. I don’t think you can arrest a horse. Anyway, back in those days, the world was a rougher, ruder place. Demeter couldn’t exactly report Poseidon to King Zeus, because Zeus was just as bad. Months later, a very embarrassed and angry Demeter gave birth to twins. The weirdest thing? One of the babies was a goddess; the other one was a stallion. I’m not going to even try to figure that out. The baby girl was named Despoine, but you don’t hear much about her in the myths. When she grew up, her job was looking after Demeter’s temple, like the high priestess of corn magic or something. Her baby brother, the stallion, was named Arion. He grew up to be a super-fast immortal steed who helped out Hercules and some other heroes, too. He was a pretty awesome horse, though I’m not sure that Demeter was real proud of having a son who needed new horseshoes every few months and was constantly nuzzling her for apples. At this point, you’d think Demeter would have sworn off those gross, disgusting men forever and joined Hestia in the Permanently Single Club. Strangely, a couple of months later, she fell in love with a human prince named Iasion (pronounced EYE-son, I think). Just shows you how far humans had come since Prometheus gave them fire. Now they could speak and write. They could brush their teeth and comb their hair. They wore clothes and occasionally took baths. Some of them were even handsome enough to flirt with goddesses.

What was your family life like, Savannah?" I asked, pretending I was conducting an interview. "Hiroshima," she whispered. "And what has life been like since you left the warm, abiding bosom of your nurturing, close-knit family?" "Nagasaki," she said, a bitter smile on her face. "You're a poet, Savannah," I said, watching her. "Compare your family to a ship." "The Titanic." "Name the poem, Savannah, you wrote in honor of your family." "'The History of Auschwitz.'" And we both laughed. "Now, here's the important question," I said, leaning down and whispering softly in her ear. "Whom do you love more than anyone in the world?" Savannah's head lifted up from the pillow and her blue eyes blazed with conviction as she said between cracked, pale lips, "I love my brother, Tom Wingo. My Twin.

Not as the prince stepped onto the small island where the queen was standing. Not as Aelin turned toward Rowan, and the only flame that remained was a crown of fire atop her head. Lorcan watched in silence as Rowan slid a hand over her waist, the other cupping the side of her face, and kissed his queen. Embers stirred her unbound hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close. A golden crown of flame flickered to life atop Rowan's head- the twin to the one Lorcan had seen burning that day at Mistward. He knew Whitethorn. He knew the prince wasn't ambitious- not in the way that immortals could be. He likely would have loved the woman if she'd been ordinary. But this power... In his wasteland of a soul, Lorcan felt that tug. Hated it. It was why Whitethorn had strode to her- why Fenrys was now hallway across the plain, dazed, attention wholly fixed on where they stood, tangled in each other.

So, boy, how does it feel to be pouring out a never-ending stream of--?” “Stop that!” I scowled at my brothers as I shooed them away from Milo. “How can you make such jokes in front of him?” “To be honest, the only thing in front of him right now is the sea and the supper he ate three days ago.” Castor’s grin got wider. Polydeuces was contrite. “We mean well, Helen. We’re only trying to make him laugh. A good laugh might take his mind off being so ill.” “It’s a shame we’re bound straight for Corinth,” the old sailor said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Since nothing else seems to be working for this lad, could be that a short rest on dry land would steady his stomach.” “You think we’d ever be able to get him back on board afterward?” Castor asked. The sailor shrugged. “What would he have to say about it? He’s your slave, isn’t he?” “He’s our sister’s slave, or was,” Castor replied. “She freed him as soon as she bought him.” “And still he came onto this ship with you, sick as seafaring makes him?” “This is his first voyage,” I said, stooping beside Milo to place one arm protectively around him. “He didn’t know he’d get sick.” “Oh, he’d have come along even if he’d known that a sea monster was waiting to gobble him up,” Castor said, with another of those annoying, conspiratorial winks to his twin. “Anything rather than be separated from you, little sister.” Polydeuces eagerly took up his brother’s game. “That’s true,” he hastened to tell the old sailor. “If you could have seen the way he’s been gazing at her, all the way from Calydon!” “Can we blame him, Polydeuces?” Castor asked with mock sincerity. “Our little sister is the most beautiful woman in the world.” They collapsed laughing into each other’s arms. Milo made a great effort and pushed himself away from the rail, away from me. He took two staggering steps, fists clenched. “She is.” Then he spun around and lurched for the ship’s side once more. My brothers exchanged a look of pure astonishment. The old sailor chuckled. “He may have been a slave, Lady Helen, but he’s braver than many a free man, to talk back to princes that way! But it wouldn’t be the first time a man found courage he never knew he had until he met the right woman.” My face flamed. I wanted to thank Milo for putting an end to my brothers’ teasing--whether or not it was all in fun, I still found it annoying--but I was strangely tongue-tied. Fortunately for me, the old sailor chose that moment to say, “That’s not something you see every day, a mouse trying to take a bite from a lion’s tail. Mark my words, this lad has the makings of a great hero. Why, if I had it my way, I’d put in at the next port and carry him all the way to Apollo’s temple at Delphi, just to see what marvels the Pythia would have to predict about his future.

Aelin shot him a look of pure flame. Good—let the prince deal with her wrath. Even days after the claiming that had left everyone pretending they didn’t notice the two puncture wounds on Rowan’s neck or the delicate, vicious scratches over his shoulders, the Fae Prince still looked like a male who had barely survived a storm and had enjoyed every wild second of it. Not to mention the twin wounds on Aelin’s neck this morning. He’d almost begged her to find a scarf.

Maybe tangled will be a spectacular rump. maybe i will adore it: it could happen. But one thing is for sure: tangled will not be rapunzel. And thats too bad , because rapunzel is an specially layered and relevant fairytale, less about the love between a man and a woman than the misguided attempts of a mother trying to protect her daughter from (what she perceives ) as the worlds evils. The tale, you may recall, begins with a mother-to-bes yearning for the taste of rapunzel, a salad green she spies growing in the garden of the sorceress who happens to live next door. The womans craving becomes so intense , she tells her husband that if he doesn't fetch her some, she and their unborn baby will die. So he steals into the baby's yard, wraps his hands around a plant, and, just as he pulls... she appears in a fury. The two eventually strike a bargain: the mans wife can have as much of the plant as she wants- if she turns over her baby to the witch upon its birth. `i will take care for it like a mother,` the sorceress croons (as if that makes it all right). Then again , who would you rather have as a mom: the woman who would do anything for you or the one who would swap you in a New York minute for a bowl of lettuce? Rapunzel grows up, her hair grows down, and when she is twelve-note that age-Old Mother Gothel , as she calls the witch. leads her into the woods, locking her in a high tower which offers no escape and no entry except by scaling the girls flowing tresses. One day, a prince passes by and , on overhearing Rapunzel singing, falls immediately in love (that makes Rapunzel the inverse of Ariel- she is loved sight unseen because of her voice) . He shinnies up her hair to say hello and , depending on the version you read, they have a chaste little chat or get busy conceiving twins. Either way, when their tryst is discovered, Old Mother Gothel cries, `you wicked child! i thought i had separated you from the world, and yet you deceived me!` There you have it : the Grimm`s warning to parents , centuries before psychologists would come along with their studies and measurements, against undue restriction . Interestingly the prince cant save Rapuzel from her foster mothers wrath. When he sees the witch at the top of the now-severed braids, he jumps back in surprise and is blinded by the bramble that breaks his fall. He wanders the countryside for an unspecified time, living on roots and berries, until he accidentally stumbles upon his love. She weeps into his sightless eyes, restoring his vision , and - voila!- they rescue each other . `Rapunzel` then, wins the prize for the most egalitarian romance, but that its not its only distinction: it is the only well-known tale in which the villain is neither maimed nor killed. No red-hot shoes are welded to the witch`s feet . Her eyes are not pecked out. Her limbs are not lashed to four horses who speed off in different directions. She is not burned at the stake. Why such leniency? perhaps because she is not, in the end, really evil- she simply loves too much. What mother has not, from time to time, felt the urge to protect her daughter by locking her in a tower? Who among us doesn't have a tiny bit of trouble letting our children go? if the hazel branch is the mother i aspire to be, then Old Mother Gothel is my cautionary tale: she reminds us that our role is not to keep the world at bay but to prepare our daughters so they can thrive within it. That involves staying close but not crowding them, standing firm in one`s values while remaining flexible. The path to womanhood is strewn with enchantment , but it also rifle with thickets and thorns and a big bad culture that threatens to consume them even as they consume it. The good news is the choices we make for our toodles can influence how they navigate it as teens. I`m not saying that we can, or will, do everything `right,` only that there is power-magic-in awareness.

I recall the words Locke said to me after I’d fought in the tournament and pissed off Cardan: You’re like a story that hasn’t happened yet. I want to see what you will do. I want to be part of the unfolding of the tale. When he said that he wanted to see what I would do, did he mean to find out what would happen if he broke my heart? If I can’t find a good enough story, I make one. Cardan’s words when I asked if he thought I didn’t deserve Locke echo in my head. Oh no, he’d said with a smirk. You’re perfect for each other. And at the coronation: Time to change partners. Oh, did I steal your line? He knew. How he must have laughed. How they all must have laughed. “So I suppose I know who your lover is now,” I call to my twin sister.

At the wedding ceremony the two sisters came to curry favor and the white dove pecked their eyes out. Two hollow spots were left like soup spoons. Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never arguing over the timing of an egg, never telling the same story twice, never getting a middle-aged spread, their darling smiles pasted on for eternity. Regular Bobbsey Twins. That story.

It makes sense to me now why twin flames are a love addict’s choice, and since we’ve been together, she’s drawn an addiction I didn’t know I had out of me.

And I’m not into chicks who look like they could be my goddamn twin,” he said, surprising me. He threw a balled-up wrapper at Thatcher. “I’m not as vain as you and wouldn’t date myself.” I wouldn’t date his ass either, the sentiment shared, and I so did not look like him. I mean, we were both tall, I’d give him that. We had dark hair and similar skin complexions too, but in his case, his attitude alone made him unattractive to me.

In 116 AC, in the Free City of Pentos, Lady Laena gave birth to twin daughters, Prince Daemon’s first trueborn children. Prince Daemon named the girls Baela (after his father) and Rhaena (after her mother).

Taryn is beautiful in her heavily embroidered dress, and Vivi radiant in soft violet grey with artfully sewn moths seeming to fly from her shoulder across her chest to gather in another group on one side of her waist. I realise how rarely I've seen her in truly splendid clothes. Her hair is up, and my earrings glitter in her lightly furred ears. Her cat eyes gleam in the half light, twin to Madoc's. For once, that makes me smile.

Feyre,' he said, his voice hoarse. As if he'd been screaming. 'Yes,' I said. He studied my face- the taloned hand at my throat. And released me immediately. I lay there, staring up at where he now knelt on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. My traitorous eyes indeed dared to look lower than his chest- but my attention snagged on the twin tattoos on each of his knees: a towering mountain crowned by three stars. Beautiful- but brutal, somehow. 'You were having a nightmare,' I said, easing into a sitting position. Like some dam had been cracked open inside me, I glanced at my hand- and willed it to vanish into shadow. It did. Half a thought scattered the darkness again. His hands, however, still ended in long, black talons- and his feet... they ended in claws, too. The wings were out, slumped down behind him. And I wondered how close he'd been to fully shifting into that beast he'd once told me he hated. He lowered his hands, talons fading into fingers. 'I'm sorry.' 'That's why you're staying here, not at the House. You don't want others seeing this.' 'I normally keep it contained to my room. I'm sorry it woke you.' I fisted my hands in my lap to keep from touching him. 'How often does it happen?' Rhys's violet eyes met mine, and I knew the answer before he said, 'As often as you.' I swallowed hard. 'What did you dream of tonight?' He shook his head, looking toward the window- to where snow had dusted the nearby rooftops. 'There are memories from Under the Mountain, Feyre, that are best left unshared. Even with you.' He'd shared enough horrific things with me that they had to be... beyond nightmares, then. But I put a hand on his elbow, naked body and all. 'When you want to talk, let me know. I won't tell the others.' I made to slither off the bed, but he grabbed my hand, keeping it against his arm. 'Thank you.' I studied the hand, the ravaged face. Such pain lingered there- and exhaustion. The face he never let anyone see. I pushed up onto my knees and kissed his cheek, his skin warm and soft beneath my mouth. It was over before it started, but- but how many nights had I wanted someone to do the same for me? His eyes were a bit wide as I pulled away, and he didn't stop me as I eased off the bed. I was almost out the door when I turned back to him. Rhys still knelt, wings drooping across the white sheets, head bowed, his tattoos stark against his golden skin. A dark, fallen prince.

Staring into her eyes as we share breath, I’m filled with the conviction that I’m looking back at my twin flame. Attracted to her in a way I can’t escape.

Vane, bleeding, but breathing, goes one way, following the trail of his Darling. The twins and Pan go another way and eventually get separated. I find Peter Pan at the lagoon, collapsed in the sand.

What happened while I was gone?” I ask, first Vane, then Tilly. I sense Vane’s unease and Tilly’s reluctance. “Tell me.” “It’s Pan,” Vane says. “He sacrificed his shadow to the twins.

He takes a sip from his drink and breathes out around the heat. “Let’s try it out. Command me, Darling.” “Get on your knees for me.” The boys ooohhh behind me. Vane snorts with amusement. Pan drains the rest of his drink and sets it down, keeping his eyes on me the entire time. And then he sinks to his knees in front of me. “Stop it,” I say, but I’m laughing. The twins quickly follow suit, Bash first, then Kas, their wings flush against their backs. I lock eyes with Vane. The glass is still clutched in his hand. If any of them were to tell me to fuck

From earliest childhood, Savannah had been chosen to bear the weight of the family’s accumulated psychotic energy. Her luminous sensitivity left her open to the violence and disaffection of our household and we used her to store the bitterness of our mordant chronicle. I could see it now: One member of the family, by a process of artificial but deadly selection, is nominated to be the lunatic, and all neurosis, wildness, and displaced suffering settles like dust in the eaves and porches of that tenderest, most vulnerable psyche. Craziness attacks the softest eyes and hamstrings the gentlest flanks. When was Savannah chosen to be the crazy one? I thought. When was the decision made and was it by acclamation and had I, her twin, agreed to the decision? Had I played a part in stringing up the bleeding angels in her room and could I help cut those angels down?

Did you see your Maiden?” “I don’t know. I—” She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. “I don’t know what I saw.” “Tell me.” “I was in a meadow. There was snow on the ground outside a small stone chamber. The Yew family was there, carrying a frail boy in their arms.” Her voice quieted. “You were there, too, Prince. As were my father and Uncle Erik.” Elm went cold. “Was the boy Emory?” “Yes. A tall man I’ve never seen before guarded me with a sword. He had yellow eyes, just as Elspeth does now. He took my hand, unfurled my fingers. There were three Cards, nestled in my palm. The Maiden, the Scythe—” Her hazel eyes lifted. “And the Twin Alders.

The scene of the Epic is the ancient kingdom of the Kurus which flourished along the upper course of the Ganges; and the historical fact on which the Epic is based is a great war which took place between the Kurus and a neighbouring tribe, the Panchalas, in the thirteenth or fourteenth century before Christ. According to the Epic, Pandu and Dhrita-rashtra, who was born blind, were brothers. Pandu died early, and Dhrita-rashtra became king of the Kurus, and brought up the five sons of Pandu along with his hundred sons. Yudhishthir, the eldest son of Pandu, was a man of truth and piety; Bhima, the second, was a stalwart fighter; and Arjun, the third son, distinguished himself above all the other princes in arms. The two youngest brothers, Nakula and Sahadeva, were twins. Duryodhan was the eldest son of Dhrita-rashtra and was jealous of his cousins, the sons of Pandu. A tournament was held, and in the course of the day a warrior named Karna, of unknown origin, appeared on the scene and proved himself a worthy rival of Arjun. The rivalry between Arjun and Karna is the leading thought of the Epic, as the rivalry between Achilles and Hector is the leading thought of the Iliad. It is only necessary to add that the sons of Pandu as well as Karna, were, like the heroes of Homer, god-born chiefs. Some god inspired the birth of each. Yudhishthir was the son of Dharma or Virtue, Bhima of Vayu or Wind, Arjun of Indra or Rain-god, the twin youngest were the sons of the Aswin twins, and Karna was the son of Surya the Sun, but was believed by himself and by all others to be the son of a simple chariot-driver. The portion translated in this Book forms Sections cxxxiv. to cxxxvii. of Book i. of the original Epic in Sanscrit (Calcutta edition of 1834).

Your highness,” he said below the burble of conversations. “You have just snubbed the Baroness of Crawford.” “Have I?” Her fine eyes were alight and her mouth offered him the smile he found himself wishing she reserved for him alone. “I must be terribly rude.” “On her afternoon calls tomorrow she will undoubtedly inform her every acquaintance of your outrageous foreign snobbery.” “She did not notice I passed. None of them ever do.” “Why—” “Oh, let’s not talk about that,” she said hurriedly. “Tell me what you wished to speak with me about.” “Did I?” “Of course you did. You were staring at me from all the way across the room.” Her tongue was sweet and gentle over the harsh Saxon syllables of his native language. She wrote in French, the language most of her people adopted at birth— though Cam had learned from her diary that the Sensaire dialect was, in some instances, quite a different thing indeed. He wished he knew the endearments she spoke to her fantasy version of him. “I thought it rather the opposite,” he said honestly. “Oh, it could not have been, my lord. Princesses do not stare.” He glanced aside. “Only queens, I suppose.” She shifted her attention to her mother and released a short breath of frustration. “Daggers, as they say,” he murmured. “Daggers indeed.” “She doesn’t like it when I speak with you, does she?” he said because he knew it to be true, and justifiably so. If Claire were eight years older, he wouldn’t like her talking to a man like him either. “No. She does not. But I do.” She seemed to study him. Her lips parted, then closed abruptly. “Your highness?” he said quietly. “Sometimes,” she said upon a rush of air, “I wish that I were an entirely different person and not a princess at all.” He watched her eyes, wide and without any hint of spoiled complaint in them. “Do you?” “Yes. For instance, I wish that I were standing here wearing a shockingly red satin gown and singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs.” He chuckled. “Do you like singing, princess?” “Singing?” Twin creases appeared between her brows. “What about the red gown? Shouldn’t you ask me about that first?” “Probably. But since I should like to see you wearing a shockingly red satin gown, it wasn’t my principal curiosity.” Her mouth split into a perfect smile. “Now you’ve done it,” he said. “Your mother will have you cleaning the floors in punishment for that grin.” Candlelight twinkled in her eyes. “Princesses do not grin, my lord.” “Perhaps not. But they smile beautifully.” -Cam & Jacqueline

List of Elizabeth Lennox Books   The Texas Tycoon’s Temptation   The Royal Cordova Trilogy Escaping a Royal Wedding The Man’s Outrageous Demands Mistress to the Prince   The Attracelli Family Series Never Dare a Tycoon Falling For the Boss Risky Negotiations Proposal to Love Love's Not Terrifying Romantic Acquisition   The Billionaire's Terms: Prison Or Passion The Sheik's Love Child The Sheik's Unfinished Business The Greek Tycoon's Lover The Sheik's Sensuous Trap The Greek's Baby Bargain The Italian's Bedroom Deal The Billionaire's Gamble The Tycoon's Seduction Plan The Sheik's Rebellious Mistress The Sheik's Missing Bride Blackmailed by the Billionaire The Billionaire's Runaway Bride The Billionaire's Elusive Lover The Intimate, Intricate Rescue   The Sisterhood Trilogy The Sheik's Virgin Lover The Billionaire's Impulsive Lover The Russian's Tender Lover The Billionaire's Gentle Rescue   The Tycoon's Toddler Surprise The Tycoon's Tender Triumph   The Friends Forever Series The Sheik's Mysterious Mistress The Duke's Willful Wife The Tycoon's Marriage Exchange   The Sheik's Secret Twins The Russian's Furious Fiancée The Tycoon's Misunderstood Bride   Love By Accident Series The Sheik's Pregnant Lover The Sheik's Furious Bride The Duke's Runaway Princess   The Russian's Pregnant Mistress   The Lovers Exchange Series The Earl's Outrageous Lover The Tycoon's Resistant Lover   The Sheik's Reluctant Lover The Spanish Tycoon's Temptress   The Berutelli Escape Resisting The Tycoon's Seduction The Billionaire’s Secretive Enchantress   The Big Apple Brotherhood The Billionaire’s Pregnant Lover The Sheik’s Rediscovered Lover The Tycoon’s Defiant Southern Belle   The Sheik’s Dangerous Lover (Novella)   The Thorpe Brothers His Captive Lover His Unexpected Lover His Secretive Lover His Challenging Lover   The Sheik’s Defiant Fiancée (Novella) The Prince’s Resistant Lover (Novella) The Tycoon’s Make-Believe Fiancée (Novella)   The Friendship Series The Billionaire’s Masquerade The Russian’s Dangerous Game The Sheik’s Beautiful Intruder   The Love and Danger Series – Romantic Mysteries Intimate Desires Intimate Caresses Intimate Secrets Intimate Whispers   The Alfieri Saga The Italian’s Passionate Return (Novella) Her Gentle Capture His Reluctant Lover Her Unexpected Admirer Her Tender Tyrant Releasing the Billionaire’s Passion (Novella) His Expectant Lover   The Sheik’s Intimate Proposition (Novella)   The Hart Sisters Trilogy The Billionaire’s Secret Marriage The Italian’s Twin Surprise The Forbidden Russian Lover   The War, Love, and Harmony Series Fighting with the Infuriating Prince (Novella) Dancing with the Dangerous Prince (Novella)

An Evening of Russian Poetry" The rhyme is the line’s birthday, as you know, and there certain customary twins in Russian as in other tongues. For instance, love automatically rhymes with blood, nature with liberty, sadness with distance, humane with everlasting, prince with mud, moon with a multitude of words, but sun and song and wind and life and death with none.

Five adults, a Leprechaun, a Dragon Prince, and two toddlers required a lot of French toast, but with Allie on one grill and Katie on the other, Graham beating the eggs, Charlie pouring juice, Auntie Gwen setting the table, Joe dealing with the coffee maker, and Jack watching the twins, breakfast got made.

How did you live? asked the being on the right. Tell it truthfully, the other said, as, from either side, they gently touched their heads to his. They recoiled, then withdrew to two gray stone pots set down on either side of that grand hall, into which they vomited twin streams of brightly colored fluid. The small versions of themselves rushed to bring towels, upon which they wiped their mouths. May we confirm? said the one on the right. Wait, what did you see, he said. Is there some— But it was too late. The being on the right sang a single ominous note and out came the several smaller versions of himself, but crippled and grimacing, bearing between them a feces-encrusted mirror. The being on the left sang his (somber, jarring) note, and several smaller versions of himself tumbled out, rolling forth via a series of spastic clumsy gymnastic movements that were somehow accusatory, bearing the scale. Quick check, the Christ-prince said sternly. I’m not sure I completely understood the instructions, the funeral-suited man said. If I might be allowed to— The being on the right held the mirror up before the funeral-suited man, and the being on the left reached into the funeral-suited man’s chest with a deft and aggressive movement, extracted the man’s heart, and placed it on the scale. Oh dear, said the Christ-emissary. A sound of horrific opprobrium and mourning echoed all across that kingdom.

The two princes stared at each other, one gold and one silver, one her twin and one her soul-bonded.

move to sink to the floor in front of him but he shakes his head just once. “Twins first. I want to watch you choke on them.” The hard edge of his words is meant to frighten me off, but if that’s his plan, he doesn’t know me very well. Because my stomach is full of wings and my pussy is throbbing. I suspect if the Never King orders the fae princes to fuck my mouth till I cry, they will. I suspect if they do, I’ll like it.

Taste it,” I order her. Her tongue slides over the rise of her lip, cleaning up the mess. “Full of Lost Boy cum, as always.” Her gaze is fiery, and I sense her shadow writhing beneath the surface. Vane sits forward. “We should go.” “Yes,” Darling says. “We haven’t seen the twins yet,” I remind them.

They left: Six princes, their pockets stuffed with toys. A pair of two-egg twins. And the God of Loss. He couldn’t walk. So they dragged him. Nobody saw them. Bats, of course, are blind.

Interesting.” He takes another step closer, squatting and regarding us from eye level. “There are so few children in Faerie that I’ve never seen one of us twinned. Is it like being doubled or more like being divided in half?

Sybil nodded, and her cloudy eyes focused on me. “It is real, my prince. The fated mate mark burns true. It is seared into your soul and ties you to these two women.

Everyone reading this must believe me when I say Prince possessed genius. Unprecedented genius. Think back to Elvis, the cat some folk say invented rock and roll. Elvis was cool. Elvis had a look. He sang. Worked his pelvis. Drove the girls crazy. Would never dis Elvis for borrowing from black music 'cause he publicly acknowledged his masters. He loved him some B.B. King. He respected Ray Charles. He covered Ray's songs. But if they call Elvis the King, they're gonna have to call Prince the World Emperor. I say that cause, unlike Prince, Elvis did not write. Elvis did not arrange. Elvis did not play killer guitar. And when I say that Prince wrote and arranged, I mean he wrote and arranged literally thousands of songs under so many different names that he forgot half of them. And when I say Prince played guitar, I mean he blended the styles of all the guitar gurus and then added a fantastic flair all his own. He did more than arrange. He created a sound that, nearly half a century later, sounds as fresh as it did when Grand Central was tearing the roofs of every school auditorium in the Twin Cities.

Flynn grinned again. “I thought I heard you ask Ruhn about his Ordeal. It was our Ordeal, too, you know.” “I know,” Bryce said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “But he won the prize sword, didn’t he?” “Ouch.” Flynn clutched his chest. “Cold, B,” Declan said. Ruhn chuckled and leaned back in his seat, finishing off his beer before he said, “I was twenty-seven. My—our father sent me to Avallen to … check out the ladies.” “There was a Fae female from a powerful family who the Autumn King wanted Ruhn to marry,” Flynn explained. “Unfortunately, Cormac wanted to marry her, too. Neither married her in the end, of course.” Bryce groaned. “Please tell me all this tension between you two isn’t over a girl.” “Only partially,” Declan said. “It’s also because Cormac and his twin cousins tried to kill us. Cormac literally put a sword through my gut.” He patted his rock-hard abs. “Aren’t you Fae all … allies?” Ithan asked, brows raised. Flynn nearly spat out his drink. “Valbaran Fae and Avallen Fae hate each other. The Avallen Fae are a bunch of backward assholes. Prince Cormac might be Ruhn’s cousin, but he can drop dead for all we care.

I have always been the gentle twin. The nicer one. Until I’m not.

It makes sense to me now why twin flames are a love addict’s choice, and since we’ve been together, she’s drawn an addiction I didn’t know I had out of me. But we’re the caustic kind of identical flames, and there’s nothing that can change that.

It makes sense to me now why twin flames are a love addict’s choice, and since we’ve been together, she’s drawn an addiction I didn’t know I had out of me. But we’re the caustic kind of identical flames, and there’s nothing that can change that. It’s already written. So, while there might be freedom in the fall, there’s consequence, too. Delphine’s words echo in my head as that truth sets in. “She’ll be the end of you.

And when I say cub, I of course mean baby. How do you feel about the name Ronsel? In honor of both of us." He looked expectancy at her. "Ronsel?" she said weakly. Ansel nodded, his eyes so big they looked like pools of seawater. Rose felt an awful twinge of guilt for how she was going to end their betrothal tomorrow, but to tell the prince now would scupper their chances.

Prince Henry’s Portugal birthed conjoined twins—capitalism and racism—when it initiated the transatlantic slave trade of African people.

When I write, I wait for the sudden appearance of signs and portents in the air, always on the lookout for secret messages encoded in graffiti or heralds disguised as strangers in the club cars of trains. A bright encounter with twins, a brother and sister, on a morning flight to Rome changed the entire configuration of the Wingo family in The Prince of Tides.

Here are the twin premises of the inner-child recovery movement: • Bad events in childhood exert major influence on adulthood. • Coming to grips with those events undoes their influence. These premises are enshrined in film and theater. The biggest psychological hit of 1991 was the film version of Pat Conroy's lyrical novel The Prince of Tides, in which Tom Wingo (Nick Nolte), an alcoholic football coach, has been fired from his job, and is cold to his wife and little girls. He and his sister were raped twenty-five years before as kids. He tearfully confesses this to Dr. Susan Lowenstein (Barbra Streisand), a New York psychoanalyst, and thereby recovers his ability to feel, to coach, and to control his drinking. His sister, presumably, would also recover from her suicidal schizophrenia if she could only relive the rape. The audience is in tears. The audience seems to have no doubt about the premises. But I do.

Did you see where Andre put the key, so we can free Alexander?” Raven asked, attempting to move around the other Carpathian male blocking her path. She just managed not to laugh at the shocked look on Aidan’s face. “Don’t worry, Monique, they like to look tough and mean, but they’re really very sweet.” She didn’t know this particular Carpathian, but she was fairly certain Mikhail would have a few things to say if he dared touch her. Aidan winced visibly at that. Raven was laughing openly at him, a teasing glint in her eye. No one teased him--not that he could remember--not since he was a boy, and his twin had still been close to him. He was at a complete loss as to what to do. He glanced at Byron, who shrugged.

Mikhail did not need to tell me. I smell his stench on you. I can see the marks of his fingers. It is clear he attempted to kill you. Can you deny it?” Monique cried out and inched closer to her husband. Raven sighed. “No, of course not, but there were circumstances you perhaps don’t understand.” She tried to be reasonable when she didn’t feel reasonable. “I do not need to understand the why of it, only that he did it. Go with Byron.” “Did someone die and leave you in charge?” Raven placed her body squarely in front of Monique. “You touch them over my dead body.” She squeezed Monique’s hand in reassurance as she stared down the Carpathian male. Raven didn’t recognize him, but she did recognize the stamp of confidence he carried, the complete self-possession. His voice was soft and hypnotic, almost mesmerizing. Ignoring him, she deliberately turned toward Monique. “Did you see where Andre put the key, so we can free Alexander?” Raven asked, attempting to move around the other Carpathian male blocking her path. She just managed not to laugh at the shocked look on Aidan’s face. “Don’t worry, Monique, they like to look tough and mean, but they’re really very sweet.” She didn’t know this particular Carpathian, but she was fairly certain Mikhail would have a few things to say if he dared touch her. Aidan winced visibly at that. Raven was laughing openly at him, a teasing glint in her eye. No one teased him--not that he could remember--not since he was a boy, and his twin had still been close to him. He was at a complete loss as to what to do. He glanced at Byron, who shrugged.