Your friend's poetry is terrible," he said. Clary blinked, caught momentarily off guard. "What?" "I said his poetry was terrible. It sounds like he ate a dictionary and started vomiting up words at random.

Never doubt my weaseling abilities, Shadowhunter, for they are epic and memorable in their scope.

Lips. There was something strangely, delicately indelicate about the word, like a kiss itself.

I love round tables. They suit me so much better than a square.

Would you like to meet him? I could summon him up in a trice of you like. Being a warlock, and all.

Patriotic?” Will looked smug. “I’ll tell you what’s patriotic,” he said. “In honor of my birthplace, I’ve the dragon of Wales tattooed on my—

He is bound to you,” said the Queen. “But does he love you?