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

by Sarah J. Maas

I began shaking, but for me, for us, I made myself say, “Tamlin—Tamlin, I can’t … I can’t live my life with guards around me day and night. I can’t live with that … suffocation. Just let me help you—let me work with you.”

“Then marry someone who can put up with this

“But you … Tamlin … ” The walls pushed in on me. The quiet, the guards, the stares. What I’d seen at the Tithe today. “I’m drowning,” I managed to say. “I am drowning. And the more you do this, the more guards … You might as well be shoving my head under the water.”

But it had filled my time—given me quiet, steadfast company with those characters, who did not exist and never would, but somehow made me feel less … alone.

And I realized I was in a free fall with no end. I had been for a while.

I was burning through books every day—stories about people and places I’d never heard of. They were perhaps the only thing that kept me from teetering into utter despair.

“Did you think his shield would keep us from you? Rhys shattered it with half a thought.”

And some strange, new part of me wondered if my never returning might be a fitting punishment for him. For what he had done to me.

Rhys merely shrugged and looked to me. To let me choose. Always—it was always my choice with him these days.

Bow, he’d once ordered Tamlin. And now here he was, on his knees before me. His eyes glinted as if he remembered it, too. Had that been a part of his game—that façade? Or had it been vengeance for the horrible blood feud between them?

“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.”

Rhys and I were one in the same—beyond the power that he’d given me. It’d be fitting if Tamlin hated me, too, once he realized I’d truly left.

I had let them make me weak. Bent to it like some wild horse broken to the bit.

I was not a pet, not a doll, not an animal. I was a survivor, and I was strong. I would not be weak, or helpless again. I would not, could not be broken. Tamed.

“There are good days and hard days for me—even now. Don’t let the hard days win.”

Yes. He’d given me everything I needed to become myself, to feel safe. And when he got what he wanted … He’d stopped.

Rhysand appeared, a solid figure in my world of smoke and stars. And his eyes were wide, his mouth split in a grin of wicked delight, as I winnowed in front of him and tackled him into the snow.

“The Court of Dreams is founded on three things: to defend, to honor, and to cherish.

How much had I missed in these months of despair and numbness?

No one was my master—but I might be master of everything, if I wished. If I dared.

“He locked you up because he knew—the bastard knew what a treasure you are. That you are worth more than land or gold or jewels. He knew, and wanted to keep you all to himself.”

Feminine, soft, pretty. I hadn’t felt like those things in a long, long while. Hadn’t wanted to. But here, being those things wouldn’t earn me a ticket to a life of party planning. Here, I could be soft and lovely at sunset, and awaken in the morning to slide into Illyrian fighting leathers.

“To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.”

“He thinks he’ll be remembered as the villain in the story.” She snorted. “But I forgot to tell him,” I said quietly, opening the door, “that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key.” “Oh?” I shrugged. “He was the one who let me out.”

I did not mind stepping out of the shadows, did not mind even being in the shadows to begin with, so long as he was with me.

“And if any of you lay a hand on her, you lose that hand. And then you lose your head.” I tried not to shiver, as Cassian and Mor showed no reaction at all. “And once Feyre is done killing you,” Rhys smirked, “then I’ll grind your bones to dust.”

The power did not belong to the High Lords. Not any longer. It belonged to me—as I belonged only to me, as my future was mine to decide, to forge.

I was not the High Lord’s pet any longer. And maybe the world should learn that I did indeed have fangs.

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

“The human girl you knew died Under the Mountain. I have no interest in spending immortality as a High Lord’s pet.”

“Did you think I would go with him?” He paused mid-bite, then lowered his fork. “I heard every word between you. I knew you could take care of yourself, and yet … ” He went back to his pie, swallowing a bite before continuing. “And yet I found myself deciding that if you took his hand, I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice.” I sipped from my wine. “And if he had grabbed me?” There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. “Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.” A shiver went down my spine, and I couldn’t look away from him. “I would have fired at him,” I breathed, “if he had tried to hurt you.” I hadn’t even admitted that to myself. His eyes flickered. “I know.”

Because when you lick me, Feyre,” he said, pressing nipping kisses to my jaw, my neck, “I’m going to let myself roar loud enough to bring down a mountain.” I was instantly liquid again, and he laughed under his breath. “And when I lick you,” he said, sliding his arms around me and tucking me in tight to him, “I want you splayed out on a table like my own personal feast.”

“The High Lord of the Night Court is your mate.”

Rhysand was my mate. Not lover, not husband, but more than that. A bond so deep, so permanent that it was honored over all others. Rare, cherished. Not Tamlin’s mate. Rhysand’s.

My relationship with Tamlin had been doomed from the start. I had left—only to find my mate. To go to my mate.

Slowly, I turned around, to where the soup was now boiling, and ladled it into a bowl. He watched every step I took to the table, the steaming bowl in my hands. I stopped before him, staring down. And I said, “You love me?” Rhys nodded. 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. I set the bowl down before him. “Then eat.”

Aware of every breath, every movement, I sat in his lap. His hands gently braced my hips as I studied his face. “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.”

“Welcome to the family, Feyre.” And I thought those might have been the most beautiful words I’d ever heard.

Nesta looked between Rhys and Cassian, then to me. Despair still paled her face, but … she bowed her head. And said to me, “That was why you painted stars on your drawer.”

I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

“She will never love freely and gift it to everyone who crosses her path. But the few she does care for … I think Nesta would shred the world apart for them. Shred herself apart for them.

“You might be my mate,” he said, “but you remain your own person. You decide your fate—your choices. Not me. You chose yesterday. You choose every day. Forever.”

Molten rage poured into me. I hissed at Tamlin, “If you bring me from here, if you take me from my mate, I will destroy you. I will destroy your court, and everything you hold dear.”

And as they pushed her head down, she thrashed one last time, freeing her long, pale arm. Teeth bared, Nesta pointed one finger at the King of Hybern. One finger, a curse and a damning. A promise.

Not as Nesta was sprawled upon the stones. I knew that she was different. From however Elain had been Made … Nesta was different. Even before she took her first breath, I felt it.

“She is my mate. And my spy,” I said too quietly. “And she is the High Lady of the Night Court.”

“Not consort, not wife. Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court.” My equal in every way; she would wear my crown, sit on a throne beside mine. Never sidelined, never designated to breeding and parties and child-rearing. My queen.

“You mean to tell me,” Mor breathed, “that my High Lady is now surrounded by enemies?” A lethal sort of calm crept over her tear-stained face.

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