A Court of Frost and Starlight (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #3.5)

by Sarah J. Maas

But it had been a long, brutal winter that had brought me so deep into the woods that day nearly two years ago. A long, brutal winter that had made me desperate enough to kill a wolf, that had eventually led me here—to this life, this … happiness.

How tf have only two years passed

I scooped up my plate, draining my tea to the dregs, and padded toward the kitchen. Playing with ice and snow could wait. Nuala was already preparing for lunch at the worktable,

You literally just finished breakfast. The plate you scooped up was your breakfast plate.

A year. Gods, nearly a year since Rhys had called in his bargain, desperate to get me away from the poison of the Spring Court, to save me from my despair.

A YEAR??????? You mean to tell me that the entire second and third book took place in A YEAR?????

But—presents. I had to buy presents for all of them. Not had to, but wanted to.

I mean a real artist would PAINT gifts for their friends but okay

I jerked my chin at Cassian, indicating for him to follow me to the house across the camp that we now kept as our semi-permanent base of operations. There wasn’t a surface inside where I hadn’t taken Feyre—the

..... cool?

Last week had been so stupidly busy and I’d been so desperate for the feel and taste of her that I’d taken her during the flight down from the House of Wind to the town house. High above Velaris—for all to see, if it weren’t for the cloaking I had thrown into place.

Ahaahahahaha just humping your way across the sky. What an image.

Cassian wasn’t entirely certain that he could deal with Devlon and his warriors without throttling them.

Why the fuck is the chapter from Cassian's perspective not in first person???????

High Fae and faeries alike poured in and out of the various shops and studios, some perched on ladders to string up drooping garlands of pine and holly between the lampposts, some sweeping gathered clusters of snow from their doorsteps, some—no doubt artists—merely standing on the pale cobblestones and turning in place, faces uplifted to the gray sky, hair and skin and clothes dusted with fine powder.

So what you're saying is that the artists are not helping at all

My cheeks warmed, heart a staccato beat, and I offered a tight smile before continuing on. No matter that I’d spotted a piece that caught my eye. No matter that I wanted to go in.

So go in?? What is wrong with you

Faerie—and not a kind I saw too frequently.

OBVIOUSLY A FAERIE EVERYONE IS A FAERIE

I met her eyes, a vibrant ochre that made me wonder what paints I’d have to blend and wield to capture their likeness, and offered a small smile.

Siiiigh

She gestured to me with a hand, the motion effortlessly graceful. “Rumor has it that you’re a fine artist. I can think of many uses for the space.”

PLEASE tell me this is not a book about Feyre opening a gallery

“There’s a group of us who paint together at my studio. One night a week. We’re meeting in two days’ time. It would be an honor if you joined us.” “What sort of things do you paint?” My question was soft as the snow falling past us. Ressina smiled slightly. “The things that need telling.”

Oh great. More of them.

Here in Velaris, we would celebrate the longest night of the year. In Kallias’s territory, it seemed, they would celebrate the winter itself.

Well yeah it's the WINTER Court

We eased through the densely packed heart of the Palace, passing beneath a latticework of faelights just beginning to twinkle awake overhead. From a slumbering, quiet place inside me, the painting name flitted by. Frost and Starlight.

OHMYGOD NOT THE NAME OF THE BOOK

I was curled up on the bed, toasty and drowsy atop the layers of blankets and down quilts,

Ngl this sounds amazing

I felt his power beckoning to me long before he got near the house, a dark melody through the world.

Rhys flying through the land led by his giant erection

A flash of violet eyes as he finished off his bread and began on the cold roast beef.

Note: Prythian yet to discover sandwiches

Fae fertility cycles had never been something I’d considered, and explaining them to Nesta and Elain had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Nesta had only stared at me in that unblinking, cold way. Elain had blushed, muttering about the impropriety of such things.

Oh fuck off Elain

Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left. As far as I knew, he hadn’t come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle. No, she tended to her gardens here, silently mourning her lost human life. Mourning Graysen.

God girl get over it

Icy rage darkened the stars in those violet eyes.

This sucks so much

I dragged my hands through his dark hair, savoring the silken strands against my calluses. There’s an artist, Ressina. She invited me to come paint with her and some others in two nights. Rhys pulled back to scan my face, then arched a brow. “Why do you not sound excited about it?” I gestured to our room, the town house, and blew out a breath. “I haven’t painted anything in a while.”

And yet you keep yapping about it

“There are too many of them—things I want to paint. Need to. Picking one …” I took an unsteady breath and pulled back. “I’m not quite certain I’m ready to see what emerges when I paint some of them.”

I hate you.

He grinned, tugging me close again, and murmured against my stomach, “It’s your birthday on Solstice.” “So?” I’d been trying to forget that fact. And let the others forget it, too.

What kind of Bella Swan bullshit is this

He traced the seam of my backside with a long, lazy stroke.

Your butt has a seam??

He smiled against my stomach, his fingers still exploring, coaxing. “You tackled me like an Illyrian. Perfect form, a direct hit. But then you lay on top of me, panting. All I wanted to do was get us both naked.”

You could have just vanished all the clothes away

“I love you,” he breathed. “More than life, more than my territory, more than my crown.”

I feel these things are out of order

“We’re strong for High Fae,” I mused, fighting to concentrate as he tugged on my earlobe with his teeth, “but a week straight of sex? I don’t think I’d be able to walk. Or you’d be able to function, at least with your favorite part.” He nipped the delicate arch of my ear, and my toes curled. “Then you’ll just have to kiss my favorite part and make it better.”

Wht if we didn't keep saying "favourite part"

I slid a hand to that favorite part—my favorite part—and

Okay

gripped him through his undershorts. He groaned, pressing himself into my touch, and the garment disappeared, leaving only my palm against the velvet hardness of him.

LET HER TAKE YOUR PANTS OFF FFS

It was not the sort of darkness that Mor had come to love in Velaris, the sort of darkness that was as much a part of Rhys as his blood.

Okay so only Rhys and Feyre get first person chapters? Do not like.

Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

God not this again

His amber eyes held nothing but distaste.

It has been two pages

“Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

Even now, he continues to plague me

Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?” “No,” I said, and meant it.

Wait why not? Everyone else gets gifts.

He’d seen Nesta in that particular pose, too. He called it her I Will Slay My Enemies pose. Cassian had named about two dozen poses for Nesta at this point. Ranging from I Will Eat Your Eyes for Breakfast to I Don’t Want Cassian to Know I’m Reading Smut. The latter was his particular favorite.

This is so cringe

It was the thought tumbling through my head as I neared the studio Ressina occupied, darkness full overhead.

Dangit not a painting chapter

Perhaps I’ll model for you later, then. A sensuous brush down the bond that had my blood heating. It’s been a while since we had paint involved.

Please no

I didn’t want to do this first painting in front of others. I could barely do it in front of myself.

You are exhausting

I stuck out my tongue at him. A heartbeat later, he said in my mind, Save that tongue for later. I have ideas for it. My toes curled in their thick, high socks.

:(

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked, a smile lighting up her face. I’d seen those smiles before.

How many mouths does Elain have

But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me.

Bitch you've been stringing him along for five hundred years, you don't get to be jealous

A queen without a throne. That was what I’d call the painting that swept into my mind.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh

I didn’t dare ask Mor about Azriel—what she’d gotten him, what she planned to do with him.

You mean like if she plans to finally cut him loose so he can find happiness sometim his millenium?

Simple, comfortable clothes. What I might wear while painting. Or doing anything.

What a nothing thing to say

I needed to paint. Needed to get out what I’d seen, felt in the weaver’s gallery.

Ugh fine

Too many emotions cascaded through me at that. Relief that Nesta had talked to anyone, confusion that it had been Amren, and perhaps even some jealousy that my sister had not turned to me—or Elain.

I mean she and Amren were together all the time, this doesn't seem an especially weird thing for her to do

“If Nesta deigns to visit you,” I said, the ancient chair groaning as I pushed it back and rose, grabbing my coat and scarf from the bench by the door, “tell her that it would mean a great deal if she came on Solstice.”

STOP SAYING DEIGN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS

And then I’d peel off that dress. Slowly.

Finally, the vanishing of clothes may cease

But I managed to extract myself, and crossed my legs as I settled back on the bed and reached for my new sketchbook and satchel of supplies. “I want to draw you,” I said. “As my birthday present to me.” His smile was positively feline. I added, flipping open my sketchbook and turning to the first page, “You said once that nude would be best.”

I cannot believe we're getting a "draw me like one of your french girls" moment