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Arris stood at an open window at the inn Merek and Brax had brought him to, staring out into the night and breathing in the fresh air for the first time in a few weeks. He had finally taken a bath and changed into a fresh pair of clothes. The lingering smell of dampness and human waste from the prison no longer filled his nostrils. He was free.

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No regrets at the amount of Jascha/Sarett :V

Don't hate me


“Good luck.” She smiled. “You are stronger than him, never forget that.”

“But you weren’t...”

Alenda vanished and Sevastyan kicked the door.

“Muttering to yourself again?” He taunted.


The loving summer heat had baked us for the past week and it could fuck off now.


"I don’t know why I put up with you sometimes, you pain in the ass.”

“I’m the pain in the ass?” Jascha scoffed. “You’re the one who bit mine—“

“You liked it,” I jumped in and grinned.

“Well what’s not to like when you’re kneeling down—“


Jascha walked past and I glanced up from my phone; now clean, he slipped on a shirt, hiding away his muscled torso. As he started to button up his eyes caught mine and he raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look, omorfi, I’ve just gotten dressed.”

“You have.” I smirked at him.


If people didn’t already stare at me when I went out, I’d be self conscious of the deep bruise marks now adorning my neck. Of course people still gawped, but I couldn’t tell why; was it the skin or hair, maybe the eyes or the handprints plastered on my neck. Or perhaps the lazily hidden lovebites on my thighs barely covered by my dress. I’d learnt long ago to ignore them as best as I could and try to get on with my life. There would always be someone staring when you looked so freakish. Even now as I sat in the last rays of the setting sun outside of Starlight, a local gastro pub, I could feel a pair of eyes watching my every move. The silent ones were the best, they just went along their merry way once done; the bastards were the ones who came up asking if I knew my skin/hair/or damn bloody eyes were changing colours. Yes, I do know, thanks for asking, now kindly fuck off.


Morning brought a cacophony of water and what sounded like cats and dogs fighting, which only meant one thing: Jascha was singing in the shower. I buried under my pillow to try and drown it out. My neck throbbed and I really wasn’t looking forward to the day. After about the second chorus of whatever unintelligible song he was belting out, I had enough. Stumbling out of bed, I grabbed out a pair of his socks and slipped into the en-suite. Taking his boxers and shirt in one hand, I threw the pair of socks up and into the shower.

“Put a sock in it,” I yelled and skittered back into the bedroom.


Last but not least, omofi mou = my beautiful :)


“Omorfi mou. I… like it better.” Sarett squeezed my hand and nodded, a shy smile pulling at her lips. “I want to be yours.”

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I'm partial to the world-building I did in this passage, personally.


Azhuraddon, son of Emperor Sargonidas of Azhurya, could not bring himself to even sip the palm wine that had been poured into his cup of blue faïence.


Under normal circumstances, the feast which the Queen of Djakhem had prepared for him and his retinue on the palace's outer veranda would have appeared as appetizing as anything he had enjoyed back in his own capital of Azhureveh. A diverse abundance of fish, tropical fruits, fufu, stews, and the roasted flesh of fowl and jungle game covered the low table they sat beside. In a corner crooned an ensemble of court musicians to the gentle beat of drums and the plucking of harp strings. Of course, the mixture of aromas floating around, both from the food and the serving girls' perfume, should have relaxed the Azhuryan prince even further.


Not even an imperial prince could relax, let alone feast, when his conscience gnawed at him.


Azhuraddon turned his head to look beyond the veranda's columned parapet at the expanse of city which encircled the palace like a broad moat. Amidst blocks of houses with white mud-plastered walls and thatched roofs, there reared the monumental limestone temples and colossi for which all the kingdoms of Ta'Sutja were famous. Trees planted alongside the streets and in the temple gardens painted the remainder of the capital green with flower-speckled verdure. To the north of the city's protective ramparts, terraced pyramids of black basalt poked up from the jungle canopy, their golden caps still brilliant despite the waning light of the sunset.


The civilization of the Ta'Sutjan kingdoms, divided as it may have been, was truly more ancient and more magnificent than any other that Azhuraddon had known. His studies had told him that the early Ta'Sutjans had built the first of their royal tombs some thirty centuries ago, back when the Azhuryans still slept in camel-hair tents in the desert and the Shangzhounese still rode after bison on the steppes north of their current territory. To desecrate such longstanding glory with conquest, as his father had envisioned, somehow seemed an even greater blasphemy than taking Azhur's godly name in vain.

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Some choice lines and such?


Upon pinning a claw-wielding shapeshifter.

“Y-you’re heavy.” Something in him relaxed at the complaint, aggrieved and nearly petulant.

“I expect I am. You are extremely sharp so I don’t feel too badly.”


and later....


“Allow me some paranoia over your pointy bits; I want them kept where I can see them.”


While being given some much needed first aid:

"Sit up please."

He hesitated. "I'd...rather not."

She made an indelicate sound. "I don't really care if you have an erection the size of the third moon; it's nothing I haven't seen before."


I am quite fond of this line (from the view of a people with sparse to no facial hair):

They were men of the darker, colder northern lands, muscles heavier, beards obscene on their cheeks.


Upon meeting the Prince-Consort:

Lalina undid her cloak clasp, pushing the fabric backwards, but before it could fall she snapped out her wings, the air from their movement pushing the garment back into the air before it collapsed into a red puddle at her feet.


The Prince-Consort rose to his feet in delight. “Raphian! You bring us the most wonderful things!”


Upon meeting a surprise intruder in the garden:

The blade swung wild, even as the man fought to keep his footing. His wings flapped, the force pushing him up, so Raphian hit him in the jaw, enough pain to disorient, and he fell, losing his sword. Blades immediately surrounded the man. From inside the house came a baby’s cry, followed by several muttered curses and Lalina’s tired sigh.


Raphian gave the man a decidedly toothy smile. “I hope you realize you’ve just turned the entire household against you. There is only one rule here you must never break…don’t wake the baby.”


During a an unconventional job offer discussion:

"I have tried to bribe her to stay, but she has her heart set on marrying, and it is easier for her to go to him than for him to pack a blacksmith’s forge and drag it to her.”

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I love this exchange in the first chapter.  Taz is such a little brat and she uses it to her advantage often:


"Please," he said, like every letter of the word stabbed his mouth on the way out.  "I'll do whatever you want, just make them stop."

Fred said nothing for a moment, but her eyes bored into his.  Partly to take his measure, and the rest was just to mess with his head because that's what a good witch is best at.

"I'll go to them and ask," she said.  "That's all I can do.  Come and see me when we make camp tonight before the boundary spell goes up, and I'll tell you what they've said."

Eckbert gave a curt nod and turned to stalk away.

"You didn't say thank you!" I shouted at his back.

Eckbert paused.  His shoulders tensed, but he said, "Thank you," the same way he had 'please'.

Fred snorted after he had disappeared into the wagons.

"That was a nice touch."  She tapped the tip of my nose.

I preened.

“It's  a gift."


This comes as a close second fave, between Fred and Mama:

"He's a wild animal, he'll just get into the Hervey's chickens and cause a ruckus."

"He's already said he wouldn't.  He promised."

"Did he swear on his own heart?" Mama asked sarcasm drippin' hot.

"On his tail.  Coyotes put more stock in that."


But my favorite so far is my opening lines:

The coyote was murdered.

Mama would say killed.  She would say died, but neither of those words were adequate.

Adequate was my word I learned that day.  Adequate, meaning acceptable, enough. 

Nothing about it was acceptable or enough.

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Then she dropped to a single knee, bowing her head. “Forgive my doubt, my prince.”

Jag looked down on Erauma with some surprise, then back up at Eljonik. Slowly, he kneeled, bowing to the ground. At this cue, the other three people in the room followed.

Though it was the deference Eljonik was used to, it now made him uncomfortable. “Please,” he said, bending over to touch Jag's hand. The thief looked up at him. “Don’t bow to me.” He looked at the others. “If there's one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that I am no greater than those I am meant to lead.”

As he held Jag’s hand, he looked back at him and said, “The measure of a man is not determined by whom he was born to, and I’m afraid I have done little in my life to deserve such obeisance from any of you.”

He grasped Jag’s other hand and drew him to his feet, standing as well. “It didn’t take knowing I was a prince for you to rescue me. It only took knowing I had need. For that, you are among the highest caliber of men.”


From my novel High Eldress: A Knight's Devotion. It's feelsy and i love it (Eljonik has been trying to convince people this ENTIRE novel that he's their prince and no one's been having it; he so happy somebody finally knows who he is)

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