“You think I don’t know how stories get written - how this story will be written?” Rhys put his hands on his chest, his face more open, more anguished than I’d seen it. “I am the dark lord, who stole away the bride of spring. I am a demon, and a nightmare, and I will meet a bad end. He is the golden prince - the hero who will get to keep you as his reward for not dying of stupidity and arrogance.”
The things I love have a tendency of being taken from me. He’d admitted that to me Under the Mountain.