Oh, I am getting married," Raisa said sleepily. "You promised me that if I agreed to marry you, that you would make it happen." She extended her hand, the one with the ring Han had given her, and waved it under his nose. "So. It's time to pay up.

As for my family, my father was Danel; he died as a mercenary in the southern wars," Han went on. "My mother's name was Sarah, called Sali, and my sister was Mari. They died last summer. But then, you already knew that. Every time you forget, I'll remind you. That's the blood sacrifice I made to be here, and that's enough.

That's what happens when you love someone... you notice and notice and notice.

He expects nothing, she thought, because he's never had anything. And nothing was expected of him. He was free in a way she never would be.

They were like two pieces of a failed star, drawn together by a shared history and a memory of illicit kisses.

A fiction writer is never entirely alone. Her characters are constantly whispering in her ear.

Tears stung her eyes. She sank her knees next to the sleeping bench and gently raked strands of golden hair from him forehead. "Don't you die. don't you dare. I forbid it." As if Han Alister had ever listened to anything she said.