She did not want to know what charm
he had used to make her love him so deeply. She did not want to know it wasn’t real.

That made love—not grace—the magic ingredient. Then a
new thought hit her. Perhaps love was grace. A shiver went
up her spine. What did that make anger? The antithesis of
grace?

If I am never to have you again after this night, this moment, you will remain the wife of my soul. Keeper of my heart.

Laire, get back here! You do not drink before we meet with our mortal enemy.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as you.

…dancing in the carnage and the flames.