The Raven King

Ninety percent of how Ronan conveyed his feelings was through his body language, and a phone simply didn’t care.

“You can’t compare one person’s coping capacity to another, hon.”

The Ganseys were courtiers and kings, and when there was no castle to invite them, they built one.

“Is it safe?” Gansey asked. “Safe as life,” Adam replied.”

Questions cascaded through Adam, too difficult to say aloud. Was Ronan even human? Half a dreamer, half a dream, maker of ravens and hoofed girls and entire lands. No wonder his Aglionby uniform had choked him, no wonder his father had sworn him to secrecy, no wonder he could not make himself focus on classes. Adam had realized this before, but now he realized it again, more fully, larger, the ridiculousness of Ronan Lynch in a classroom for aspiring politicians.

In the end, it was such a simple, small thing. He had felt flashes of it before in his life, the absolute certainty. But the truth was that he’d kept walking away from it. It was a far more terrifying idea to imagine how much control he really had over how his life turned out. Easier to believe that he was a gallant ship tossed by fate than to captain it himself.

She loved Niall, of course – everyone loved larger-than-life Niall, the braggart poet, the musician king – but unlike everyone else, she preferred him in his silent moods.
She loved the truth, and it was difficult to love both the truth and Niall Lynch when the latter was speaking.

Golden-haired Aurora was the obvious queen of a place like the Barns, a gentle and joyous ruler of a peaceful and secret country.

”Mom, are you here?” Ronan’s voice was different when he spoke to either his mother or Matthew. It was Ronan, unperformed. No. Ronan, unprotected.
This tone reminded Adam of that unshielded smile from before. Don’t play, he told himself. This is not a game.
But it didn’t feel like a game, if he was being honest. Adrenaline whispered in his heart.

But Adam lingered for a moment after he cast off the covers and stood. Here he was, waking in the Lynch home, wearing last night’s clothing that still smelled of smoke from the grill, having overslept the weight class he had this morning by a magnitude of hours. His mouth remembered Ronan Lynch’s.

Finally, Ronan said, “Jesus God, Sargent. Do you have stitches on your face? Bad. Ass. Put it here, you asshole.”
With some relief, Blue lifted her fist and bumped it against his.

Adam Parrish – magician and puzzle, student and logician, man and boy.

...warmth filled the empty caverns in Gansey’s heart. He felt known.

He couldn’t tell if he was letting himself idolize this place or Ronan, and he wasn’t sure there was a difference.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that Ronan was looking at him, as he had been looking at him for months. Adam looked back, as he had been looking back for months.

The choice was death or hurting Adam, which wasn’t much of a choice at all.

He let his mind wander slightly closer to his present. Electronic music bled into his awareness, reminding him that his body was actually in Ronan’s car. In this other place, it was easy to tell that the music was the sound of Ronan’s soul. Hungry and prayerful, it whispered of dark places, old places, fire and sex.