Golden Son (The Red Rising Trilogy, Book 2)

History is written by the victors.”

This place is sick. This empire broken. It eats its kings, its queens, as hungrily as it does the paupers who mill its earth.

He can’t say any more because I’m hugging him and crying. I sob and hold on to him, shaking, scaring him. He doesn’t move except to pat me on the head. All the weight falls from my shoulders. Someone knows. He knows and he’s here.

Through the thorns to the stars.”

Per aspera ad astra.”

my people you don’t lie, you brutish bitch, and see what they do to you.

Power they’re so drunk on, they can’t even remember how many lies they stand upon. Tell

I am an Aureate.” I spit on the ground. “I am no trophy.”
I stalk away.
“If I can’t have you, no one can.”

res, non verba.” Actions, not words.

you’re a fox, play the hare.
If you’re a hare, play the fox.
—LORN AU ARCOS