A Court of Mist and Fury (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #2)

by Sarah J. Maas

Rhys’s hand slid along my bare waist, the other running down my exposed thigh. Cold—his hands were so cold I almost yelped. He must have felt the silent flinch. A heartbeat later, his hands had warmed. His thumb, curving around the inside of my thigh, gave a slow, long stroke as if to say Sorry. Rhys indeed leaned in to bring his mouth near my ear, well aware his subjects had not yet risen from the floor. As if they had once done so before they were bidden, long ago, and had learned the consequences. Rhysand whispered to me, his other hand now stroking the bare skin of my ribs in lazy, indolent circles, “Try not to let it go to your head.” I knew they could all hear it. So did he. I stared at their bowed heads, my heart hammering, but said with midnight smoothness, “What?” Rhys’s breath caressed my ear, the twin to the breath he’d brushed against it merely an hour ago in the skies. “That every male in here is contemplating what they’d be willing to give up in order to get that pretty, red mouth of yours on them.” I waited for the blush, the shyness, to creep in. But I was beautiful. I was strong. I had survived—triumphed. As Mor had survived in this horrible, poisoned house … So I smiled a bit, the first smile of my new mask. Let them see that pretty, red mouth, and my white, straight teeth. His hand slid higher up my thigh, the proprietary touch of a male who knew he owned someone body and soul. He’d apologized in advance for it—for this game, these roles we’d have to pla...