Quotes About King

The king is at Greenwich,' Brereton says. 'He wants you now.' He has ordinary ways of showing his impatience: slapping his glove against his palm and tapping his foot.

was the king himself, solicitous for a mother-to-be, who had advised Rafe to send Helen to Kent, away from the pestilence: but now he has forgotten to ask after her.

What use to the king is a servant who is distracted, merely for want of a piece of bread?

Once the king had grasped what he was being told, he had shouted at the top of his voice that the business should be kept quiet.

The king squeezes his shoulder. There is a new magic in the royal touch. It transmits a vision, a vision of what England could be. You imagine the city of London in the days when prophets walk its streets, when angels cluster on gable ends; you look up as you leave your house, hearing their strong wingbeats in the air.

The child Elizabeth is wrapped tightly in layers, her fists hidden: just as well, she looks as if she would strike you. Ginger bristles poke from beneath her cap, and her eyes are vigilant; he has never seen an infant in the crib look so ready to take offense. Lady Bryan says, "Do you think she looks like the king?" He hesitates, trying to be fair to both parties. "As much as a little maid ought.

Because I aim to be the First Lady of the shaman world... You will become Shaman King, whether you want to or not.

È molto strano. Solitamente i guerrieri vogliono sconfiggere il re cattivo per salvare la principessa tenuta prigioniera, ma stavolta è il re cattivo che Y? e gli altri stanno cercando di salvare. Ma è naturale. Perché la principessa è Hao, tenuto prigioniero da Satana, dalla sua ossessione.

The curse is broken. The king is returned." He's every bit as terrifying as any serpent. I don't care. I run into his arms. Cardan's fingers dig into my back. He's trembling, and whether it is from ebbing magic or horror, I am not sure. But he holds me as though I am the only solid thing in the world.

And elsewhere in the woods, there is another party, one taking place inside a hollow hill, full of night-blooming flowers. There, a pale boy plays a fiddle with newly mended fingers while his sister dances with his best friend. There, a monster whirls about, branches waving in time with the music, There, a prince of the Folk takes up the mantle of king, embracing a changeling like a bother, and, with a human boy at his side, names a girl his champion.

A king is a living symbol, a beating heart, a star upon which Elfhame's future is written. Surely you have noticed that since his reign began, the isles are different. Storms come in faster. Colors are a bit more vivid, smells are sharper.... When he becomes drunk, his subjects becomes tipsy without knowing why. When his blood falls, things grow.

As the last Seelie left the hall, Roiben, self-declared King of the Unseelie Court, nearly fell into his throne. Kaye tried to smile at him, but he was not looking at her. He was staring out across the brugh with eyes the color of falling ash. Corny had not stopped laughing.

But vows should never be to a crown. They should be to a ruler. And they should be of your own free will. I am your king, and beside me stands my queen. But it is your choice whether or not to follow us. Your will shall be your own.

Let our King be made from ice. He wished it too, wished for the ice that encased the branches out on the hill to freeze his heart.

The odd thing about ambition is this: You can acquire it like a fever, but it is not so easy to shed. Once, I was content to hope for knighthood and the power to force Cardan and his friends to leave me alone. All I wanted was to find some place to fit in here in Faerie. Now I wonder what it would be like to choose the next king.

A king is not his throne nor his crown.

He had known only two rulers, both great and neither good. He did not know how to be any kind of King nor how to win, other than to be even more ruthless than they.

The polished wood door is still carved with an enormous and sinister face, still flanked with lanterns, but sprites no longer fly in desperate circles within. A soft glow of magic emanates instead. 'My king,' the door says fondly, it's eyes opening. Cardan smiles in return. 'My door,' he says with a slight hitch in his voice, as though perhaps everything about returning here feel strange. 'Hail and welcome,' it says, and swings wide.

Think of it: I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown." He pauses. "Pardoned by the crown. Meaning by the King of Faerie. Or its queen. You could have returned anytime you wanted.

Tell your king that if he declares war, I will make him armour of ice to shatter every blade that strikes it and that will make his heart too cold to feel pity. Tell him I will make him three swords that, when used in the same battle, will fight with the might of thirty soldiers.

He doesn't fall like the others. Instead of blood pouring from his wound, red moths stream out, in to the air. They rush out of him so quickly that in a moment, the High King's body is gone and there are just those red moths, swirling up in to the air in a vast cloud, a tornado of soft wings. But whatever magic made them does not last. They begin to fall until they are scattered across the dais like blown leaves. The High King Eldred is, impossibly, dead.

Coffee", the Roach says. "Black as the eyes of the High King of Elfhame.

The curse is broken. The king is returned.

When the king returns, rose petals will scatter across his path, and his footfalls will bring an end to wrath.