“You look good too,” Ilya said. “Someone take you shopping?”
Shane looked at him. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell
anyone? Or make fun of me?”
Ilya felt an icy stab of dread in his stomach. He braced himself, and said,
“Sure.”
“I, uh...” Ilya waited for the words. I’m seeing someone. I’m engaged. I
don’t need you anymore. “I hired a personal stylist.”
She couldn't read him. He was opaque, and it bothered her. Or perhaps he was so transparent, she was seeing through him to the other side. She couldn't be sure.
📚🔔 Tatil zili çaldı!
Bir yıl boyunca verilen emeklerin ardından şimdi dinlenme, keşfetme ve yeni maceralara atılma zamanı. 🌞
Bu yaz bol kahkahalı, bol anılı ve elbette bol kitaplı geçsin. Tüm öğrencilere keyifli tatiller diliyoruz! 💙📖
"One could never judge of a man without seeing him close, for oneself."
For my part, if I have recalled a few details of these hideous butcheries, it is by no means because I take a morbid delight in them, but because I think that these heads of men, these collections of ears, these burned houses, these Gothic invasions, this steaming blood, these cities that evaporate at the edge of the sword, are not to be so easily disposed of. They prove that colonization, I repeat, dehumanizes even the most civilized man; that colonial activity, colonial enterprise, colonial conquest, which is based on contempt for the native and justified by that contempt, inevitably tends to change him who undertakes it; that the colonizer, who in order to ease his conscience gets into the habit of seeing the other man as an animal, accustoms himself to treating him like an animal, and tends objectively to transform himself into an animal. It is this result, this boomerang effect of colonization that I wanted to point out.
Totally explaining one’s crime would be tantamount to explaining away his or her guilt and to seeing in him or her not a free and responsible human being but a machine to be repaired. Even criminals themselves abhor this treatment and prefer to be held responsible for their deeds.
Love Confession
When the Ocean Rose glittered like a pale jewel a block ahead, Aelin
paused in the shadows beside a chimney and murmured, “There is no room
for error.”
Rowan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know. We’ll make it count.”
Her eyes burned. “We’re playing a game against two monarchs who
have ruled and schemed longer than most kingdoms have existed.” And
even for her, the odds of outsmarting and outmaneuvering them … “Seeing
the cadre, how Maeve contains them … She came so close to separating us
this spring. So close.”
Rowan traced his thumb over her mouth. “Even if Maeve had kept me
enslaved, I would have fought her. Every day, every hour, every breath.” He
kissed her softly and said onto her lips, “I would have fought for the rest of
my life to find a way to return to you again. I knew it the moment you
emerged from the Valg’s darkness and smiled at me through your flames.”
She swallowed the tightness in her throat and raised a brow. “You were
willing to do that before all this? So few benefits back then.”
Amusement and something deeper danced in his eyes. “What I felt for
you in Doranelle and what I feel for you now are the same. I just didn’t
think I’d ever get the chance to act on it.”
She knew why she needed to hear it—he knew, too. Darrow’s and
Rolfe’s words danced around in her head, an endless chorus of bitter
threats. But Aelin only smirked at him. “Then act away, Prince.”
Rowan let out a low laugh, and said nothing else as he claimed her
mouth, nudging her back against the crumbling chimney. She opened for
him, and his tongue swept in, thorough, lazy.
Oh, gods—this. This was what drove her out of her mind—this fire
between them.
They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she
was his, and they had found each other across centuries of
