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

by Sarah J. Maas

My mate—who had worked so hard and so selflessly, all without hope that I would ever be with him. We had both fought for that love, bled for it. Rhys had died for it.

“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.”

From a slumbering, quiet place inside me, the painting name flitted by. Frost and Starlight.

“You were born on the longest night of the year.” His fingers again stroked down my back. Lower. “You were meant to be at my side from the very beginning.

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

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.

To paint? I’d be an excellent nude model.

Yeah you would rhysie

“You deserve everything that has befallen you. You deserve this pathetic, empty house, your ravaged lands. I don’t care if you offered that kernel of life to save me, I don’t care if you still love my mate. I don’t care that you saved her from Hybern, or a thousand enemies before that.” The words poured out, cold and steady. “I hope you live the rest of your miserable life alone here. It’s a far more satisfying end than slaughtering you.” Feyre had once arrived at the same decision. I’d agreed with her then, still did, but now I truly understood.

“What’d you get me for Solstice?” I smacked his arm. “A heaping pile of shut the hell up.”

Save that tongue for later. I have ideas for it.

She spicey

“Dangerous words, Rhysand,” Amren warned, strutting through the door, nearly swallowed up by the enormous white fur coat she wore. Only her chin-length dark hair and solid silver eyes were visible above the collar. She looked— “You look like an angry snowball,” Cassian said.

“Do your worst, Cursebreaker.”

Sorry Daddy?

Not his father’s. Yes, it was Beron’s gift. The gift of the father who the world believed had sired him. But not the gift of Helion. His true father.

“Three Illyrian warriors,” I said. “The greatest Illyrian warriors. Are having a snowball fight.”

Illyrian babies indeed.

I’m always eager to learn what sparks your interest, Feyre darling.

“To the blessed darkness from which we are born, and to which we return.”

Cassian elbowed his way past Amren, earning a hiss of warning, and began chucking presents.

“Don’t worry, Rhysie. I got one for you, too.”

I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time.

“She would have loved you.”

“I want a mountain—with three stars.” The Night Court insignia.

“So build a house for us, Feyre. Dream as wildly as you want. It’s yours.”

“Build a house with a nursery, Feyre.”

Feyre Archeron, a request. Leave this world a better place than how you found it.

You make me so very happy. My life is happy, and I will never stop being grateful that you are in it.

To the stars who listen, Feyre. I brushed a hand over his cheek to wipe away the last of his tears, his skin warm and soft, and we turned down the street that would lead us home. Toward our future—and all that waited within it. To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.