A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #1)

by Sarah J. Maas

The beast plopped into the chair, the wood groaning, and, in a flash of white light, turned into a golden-haired man.

BEHOLD I AM BEAUTIFUL

old son,”

Andras was a good sentinel, but he knew what he would face when he crossed the wall—

Though Lucien—he could do with someone snapping at him, if you’ve the courage for it.”

unearthly, primal, and imperious. Like immovable gods

Wolves ready to pounce—

It was Tamlin who answered for me. “Because killing us is easier in pants.”

No metallic stench of magic.

I would have lived up to my namesake were it not for the effects of poverty, but I’d never particularly cared. Beauty didn’t mean anything in the forest.

“I have no interest in the mortal lands, though I can’t speak for my kind.”

Such unearthly, primal grace,

It’s focused solely on magic, on those dwelling in Prythian.

“There is … a chance of it affecting mortals, and your territory. More than that, I don’t know. It’s slow-moving, and your kind is safe for now. We haven’t had any progression in decades—magic seems to have stabilized, even though it’s been weakened.”

“A mercenary told me she believed faeries might be thinking of attacking. Is it related?” A hint of a smile, perhaps a bit surprised. “I don’t know. Do you talk to mercenaries often?”

A sickness in their lands, affecting their magic, draining it from them … A magical blight that might one day spread to the human world.

Two pairs of light, quick feet.

Someone stood behind me—perhaps two of them. A faint sniff and a quiet giggle issued from far too close.

a shining silvery light flickered in the corner of my vision.

The gold flecks in his eyes glowed,

“didn’t your mother tell you anything about us?”

Lucien glanced between us, that metal eye roving, but kept silent.

It’s been a while since I encountered a human, let alone a Fae-killer.

Mine consisted of careful stalking and well-laid traps and snares.

omg Feyre is a rogue

to honor Tamlin’s shape-shifting gifts.

“What happened to the magic to make it act that way?” Lucien let out a harsh laugh. “Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell,” he said, then glanced around and swore. “I shouldn’t have said that. If word got back to her—”

Prythian was ruled by seven High Lords—perhaps this she was whoever governed this territory;

a High Lady.

he studied me warily, that metal eye narrowing with unnerving focus.

I stared at the coarse trunk of a distant elm, thinking of pleasant things.

A starry, unclouded night sky, peaceful and glittering and endless.

Tamlin threw a glance in my direction before stalking out of the room and shutting the door behind him with unnerving gentleness.

The moon showed her face, casting the garden below in silver and shadow.

“These lands used to be well guarded. The deadlier faeries were contained within the borders of their native territories, monitored by the local Fae lords, or driven into hiding. Creatures like the puca never would have dared set foot here. But now, the sickness that infected Prythian has weakened the wards that kept them out.”

“What else is different now?”

“Everything.”

“Tamlin gets into … moods.”

but even after he’s shredded the Bogge, he’ll brood over it.”

“You don’t hold on to power by being everyone’s friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We’re too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else.”

cold, lonely position

I wasn’t sure why it bothered...

Behind me, a shadow lurked—no, watched.

Rhys in her dreams? Like Ruhn and Lidia

I supposed that was all they needed when they could heal themselves with their immortal powers. But this wound—this wound wasn’t healing.

He’d killed the Bogge and walked away relatively unscathed. If Tamlin was that powerful, then the High Lords of Prythian must be near-gods.

It was Lucien—that familiar lazy viciousness

not after what my father did to their kind, to their lands. I won’t follow in his footsteps—won’t be that sort of person.

For someone with a heart of stone, yours is certainly soft these days. The Bogge was on our lands—the Bogge, Tamlin! The barriers between courts have vanished, and even our woods are teeming with filth like the puca.

Are you just going to start living out there, slaughtering every bit of vermin that slinks in?”

No trace of the hollow, cold warrior of the night before, or of the angry Fae noble of minutes before. Just Tamlin right now, it seemed.

his golden hair caught and held the morning light as if it were spun from the sun itself.

“The Bogge’s bite was crafted to slow the healing of High Fae long enough to kill us. You have my gratitude.”