Quotes About Royalty

The living result of the queen's labors is the diminutive Mary—not really a whole princess, perhaps two-thirds of one.

Latimer says, 'Confession is not a sacrament. Show me where Christ ordained it.' Cranmer says, 'You will not get the king to agree.' Henry likes to utter his sin and be forgiven. He is sincerely sorry, he will not do it again. And in this case perhaps he will not. The temptation to cut off your wife's head does not arise every year.

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.

As a wife she must obey him: women must obey, even queens.

Henry looks irritated. He should not have to manage this. Cromwell is supposed to manage it for him. Ease out the Boleyns, ease in the Seymours. His business is more kingly: praying for the success of his enterprises, and writing songs for Jane.

You surely won't turn him into a frog?" asked the Queen. (For this had been known to happen in royal families before.) "Certainly not!" said the Dust Grey Fairy. "I'm sure he would enjoy it, lurking around the lily leaves waiting to be kissed, but he would learn no manners at all!" "Nor send him to sleep for a hundred years?" "That's for girls only," said the Dust Grey Fairy. "Boys are lazy enough as it is." "True, true," admitted the Queen.

She's my wife," Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. "The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile.

Vivi blows a noisemaker. "Here," she says, passing out paper crowns for us to wear. "This is ridiculous," I complain, but put mine on. Cardan looks at his reflection in the door of the microwave and adjusts his crown so it's at an angle. I roll my eyes, and he gives me a quick grin.

Marry me," he says. "Become the Queen of Elfhame.

They loved him because he was a prince and a faerie and magical and you were supposed to love princes and faeries and magical people.

Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?' Cardan asks, leaning back in the elaborately carved chair, the warmth of his words turning the question in to something like a compliment. 'No,' I say, glad to be annoyed back in to the present. 'Tell me.' 'I cannot,' he says, then frowns.

I bet Cardan has never even tried pizza.

Jude Duarte, you will leave the High King's side,' Balekin says. At that tone, Cardan's focus narrows. I can see him straining to concentrate. 'She will not,' he says.

How has the night been going for you? Mine has been full of dull conversations about how my head is going to find itself on a spike." - Cardan Greenbriar, The Cruel Prince

Someone tried to kill me. Again. Poison. Again. Someone else tried to recruit me into a scheme where we would kill my sister and Cardan, so I could rule in their place. When I told them no, they tried to kill me. With a knife, that time.' 'A poisoned knife?' He laughed. 'No, just a regular one. But it hurt.

Cardan Greenbriar.

A king is not his throne nor his crown.

My lady, the tiger

We did not send for you, and we do not need you!' Randalin begins, clearly intending to give some servant- probably Fand- the tongue-lashing he wishes he could bestow on my person. Then he blanches and lurches to his feet. The High King stands in the doorway. His eyebrows rise, and a malicious smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. 'Many think that, but few are bold enough to say it to my face.

Greetings, Your Majesty, you betraying toad.

We caught a few courtiers speculating about assassinating the mortal queen. Their plans got blown up.' A small smile crosses her face. 'As did they.

Greetings, Your Majesty, you betraying toad.' No, that wouldn't work, no matter how good it felt. 'Greetings, Your Majesty,' I try again. 'I didn't kill my husband even though he richly deserved it.

Bring me the crown, Cardan,' Balekin says. Prince Cardan turns on his elder brother the same cool and calculated gaze with which he has regarded so many other creatures before he's torn the wings from their back, before he's cast them in to rivers or sent them from the Court entirely. 'No, brother. I do not think that I will. I think that if I did not have another reason to cross you, I would do it for spite.

Heir to Elfhame," I say. "Get on your knees.