By Laurell K. Hamilton
“I am Princess Meredith, inheritor to a throne—if i will remain alive lengthy sufficient to say it.” After eluding relentless assassination makes an attempt by means of Prince Cel, her cousin and rival for the Faerie crown, Meredith Gentry, l. a. inner most eye, has a complete new set of difficulties. To turn into queen, she needs to endure a toddler prior to Cel can father certainly one of his personal. yet havoc lies at the horizon: individuals are demise in mysterious, scary methods, and unexpectedly the very life of where referred to as Faerie is at grave chance. So now, whereas she enjoys the best pleasures of her existence trying to conceive a toddler with the soldiers of her royal shield, she needs to fend off an historical evil which may ruin the very cloth of truth. And that’s simply her day activity. . . .From the Paperback version.
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He was so tense under my hands, almost shaking. I kissed more firmly over the thickened skin, letting my lips open and close loosely over the spot. Rhys made a small sound. I licked, very gently, over the scar. Another small sound came from his throat, and it wasn\'t a pain sound. Page 30 Laurell K. Hamilton: Meredith Gentry 02 A Caress of Twilight I licked, slowly, carefully, over the slick skin. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. The fists at his side were shaking, but not with anger. I ran tongue and lips over the scar until his knees buckled, and it was Kitto who caught him around the waist.
Although her magic thrummed through this house, this land, these walls, she still feared us. You\'d think the fey wouldn\'t be so superstitious, especially about other fey, but they often are. My father said it came from knowing almost nothing about any other fey culture but the one we were born into. Ignorance breeds fear. There\'d been so much magic inside Maeve\'s walls that almost from the moment we\'d driven through the gates I\'d begun to not \"hear\" it. It was a skill you learned if you spent too much time in and around major-brouhaha magic.
It was a porch for looking at, not for enjoying. Four men, obviously hired muscle, ranged on the steps between us and Ethan, and the door. I recognized one of them. Max Corbin was nearing fifty. He\'d been a bodyguard in Hollywood most of his adult life. He was an inch shy of six feet and built like a box, all angles, squares, including huge knuckled hands. His grey hair was cut in a long butch cut, which made it look stylish and cutting edge, but Max had had the same haircut for forty years. His nose had been badly broken enough times that it was crooked and just a little squashed.