Prince of Thorns (The Broken Empire, Book 1)

“They play us, Makin. We’re pieces on their board.”

He had a smile at that, through torn lips. “We’re all pieces on someone’s board, Jorg.”

“Jorg?” A wet sob, half gurgle. “He killed you, Prince. Your own father.”

“I’ll die when I’m ready.”

“Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you’ll find an edge to cut you.”

“There’s the love of things, power, comfort, sex, and there’s what men are willing to do to satisfy those lusts.”

It don’t go deep—but sometimes the shallow cut bites to the bone if you don’t deal with it hard and fast.

“Prince, you’ve spoken about how you’d break the cycle of revenge. You could start here. You could let Sir Renton go.”

Rike gave him a look as if he’d gone mad. Fat Burlow covered a chuckle.

“I have spoken about that, Makin,” I said. “I will break the cycle.” I drew my sword and laid it across my knees. “You know how to break the cycle of hatred?” I asked.

“Love,” said Gomst, all quiet-like.

“The way to break the cycle is to kill every single one of the bastards that fucked you over,” I said. “Every last one of them. Kill them all. Kill their mothers, kill their brothers, kill their children, kill their dog.”

There’s something brittle in me that will break before it bends. Something sharp that puts an edge on all the soft words I once owned.

Hate will keep you alive where love fails.

Cowards should be treated with respect. Cowards best know how to hurt. Corner one at your peril.

They should put that on headstones, “Got tired.”