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

by Sarah J. Maas

He watched every movement. Then he said quietly, “You’ve lost weight.”

There was a note in those words that made me pause. A note of what I could have sworn was desperation. Worry.

And that was indeed worry glimmering behind the cocky, insufferable grin.

Sometimes I’ll tug on the bond only to make sure you’re still alive.”

nothing. Maybe it’d be a mercy to be ended— A broad hand gripped my face—gently enough not to hurt, but hard enough to make me look at him. “Don’t you ever think that,” Rhysand hissed, his eyes livid. “Not for one damned moment.”

“She was,” he said. And those two words told me enough about his past that I didn’t pry.

Maybe it was some shred of courage, or recklessness, or I was so high above everything that no one save Rhys and the wind could hear, but I said, “I’m thinking that I must have been a fool in love to allow myself to be shown so little of the Spring Court. I’m thinking there’s a great deal of that territory I was never allowed to see or hear about and maybe I would have lived in ignorance forever like some pet. I’m thinking … ” The words became choked. I shook my head as if I could clear the remaining ones away. But I still spoke them. “I’m thinking that I was a lonely, hopeless person, and I might have fallen in love with the first thing that showed me a hint of kindness and safety. And I’m thinking maybe he knew that—maybe not actively, but maybe he wanted to be that person for someone. And maybe that worked for who I was before. Maybe it doesn’t work for who—what I am now.”

Wow.

“Males are horrible creatures, aren’t they?” Amren said.

I dared a glance at Rhys, and there was

something like devastation on his beautiful face. It was gone in a blink.

The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like—and only that which was Made can speak those spells and summon its power.

“I shall carve your death in here, Feyre.”

“A boy—around eight; dark-haired and blue-eyed.”

“So I’m your huntress and thief?” His hands slid down to cup the backs of my knees as he said with a roguish grin, “You are my salvation, Feyre.”

“Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?”

A soft chuckle that snaked along my bones—a reminder that he’d once bet on me. Had been the only one Under the Mountain who had put money on me defeating the Middengard Wyrm.

I stood as he entered, scanning him for any sign of injury. Something tight in my chest eased when I found nothing amiss.

I wanted it—life, people. I wanted to see it, feel its rush through my blood. No boundaries, no limits to what I might encounter or do.

I turned back to my plate, but found Rhysand’s eyes on me. His face was softer, more contemplative than I’d ever seen it, his mouth slightly open.

I could learn to love it, I realized. The flying.

I dreamed about the Attor, its claws on me, gripping me as I was punched. I dreamed about its hissing laughter and foul stench. But I slept through the night. And did not wake once.

Azriel launched into a coughing fit. Cassian just turned away, a hand clamped over his mouth.

It’d just been a relief to think that for a moment, he might have been as lonely as me.

“What got under my skin,” Rhys said, his breathing a bit uneven, “is that you smiled at him.”

And he will never know what it is to look up at the night sky and wish.”

“To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.”

He picked up his glass, his gaze so piercing that I wondered why I had bothered blushing at all for Tarquin.

Rhys clinked his glass against mine. “To the stars who listen—and the dre...

Rhys still knelt, wings drooping across the white sheets, head bowed, his tattoos stark against his golden skin. A dark, fallen prince.

The hole that was slowly starting to heal over.

You are good, Rhys. You are kind. This mask does not scare me. I see you beneath it.

If he didn’t walk away when I voiced what I wanted: him. Not the High Lord, not the most powerful male in Prythian’s history.

Just … him. The person who had sent music into that cell; who had picked up that knife in Amarantha’s throne room to fight for me when no one else dared, and who had kept fighting for me every day since, refusing to let me crumble and disappear into nothing.

Maybe that one star will make the trip forever, out of the hope that someday—if it keeps coming back often enough—another star will find it again.”

For all that he had done, I had never given him either. Even when I had just … I had just painted something. On him. For him. I’d—painted again.

My friend through so many dangers—who had fought for me when no one else would, even myself.

“All night, if you wish.” “Even if I step on your toes?” “Even then.”

“When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back.”

“Like what?” “Like my power isn’t something to run from. Like you see me.”

“that I look at you and feel like I’m dying. Like I can’t breathe. I’m thinking that I want you so badly I can’t concentrate half the time I’m around you, and this room is too small for me to properly bed you. Especially with the wings.”

“I wonder if some part of me knew what was waiting for me. That I would never be a gentle grower of things, or someone who burned like fire—but that I would be quiet and enduring and as faceted as the night.

“And this beautiful, wonderful thing that had come into my life, this gift from the Cauldron … It was gone.

“I knew … I knew I was in love with you that moment I picked up the knife to kill Amarantha.

couldn’t stop being around you, and loving you, and wanting you. I still can’t stay away.”

And I wondered if love was too weak a word for what he felt, what he’d done for me. For what I felt for him.

“And now I want you to know, Rhysand, that I love you. I want you to know … ” His lips trembled, and I brushed away the tear that escaped down his cheek. “I want you to know,” I whispered, “that I am broken and healing, but every piece of my heart belongs to you. And I am honored—honored to be your mate.”

“How could I scold you for defending my people? I want to throttle you, yes, for not going back to the town house, but … You chose to fight for them. For Velaris.” He kissed my neck. “I don’t deserve you.”

And so Tamlin unwittingly led the High Lady of the Night Court into the heart of his territory.