Oliver's heart tried to pound its way out of his ribcage, but he ignored it. "I'm in love with Petunia," he announced. "And I want to help her.

Wind does not need translation. It speaks the language of men, of animals and birds, of rocks and trees and earth and sky and water. It does not eat or sleep, or take shelter from the weather. It is the weather. And it lives.

Kestilan?" There was that name again. Oliver fought down an irrational surge of jealousy for this mysterious being who took up so much of Petunia's attention.

Both princesses immediately looked wary, exchanging glances. "Warn us of what?" Petunia asked. She studied him with those blue, blue eyes and Oliver wondered all over again what he was doing here.

You're very short, aren't you?" She smirked at Petunia. "And you've got a nose like a stoat," Petunia replied. "But at least I can always have my gowns altered.

Be careful. Wait out your year. Come home.

Love’? What do you know about love?” "It’s at the heart of every story,” Rollo said with authority. “If humans could avoid falling in love, you would never get yourselves into any trouble.