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

by Sarah J. Maas

“They won’t,” he said against my skin, positioning himself over me again and sliding down my body, trailing kisses as he went. “There is no such thing as a High Lady.”

Poor Tam Tam will eat those words soon enough.

I whirled, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket. “Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.

This motherfucker. I love him.

Red exploded in my vision, and I couldn’t breathe fast enough, couldn’t think above the roar in my head. One heartbeat, I was staring after him—the next, I had my shoe in a hand. I hurled it at him with all my strength. All my considerable, immortal strength. I barely saw my silk slipper as it flew through the air, fast as a shooting star, so fast that even a High Lord couldn’t detect it as it neared— And slammed into his head.

Fucking chancla to the head.

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

Her future son...

I laid my hand flat on the table. “I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.”

I sighed. “We’ll move things around. It’s fine. This one,” I added with a glare in Rhys’s direction, “is only cranky because he’s old and it’s past his bedtime.”

He jerked his chin at my tattoo. “Give a shout down the bond if you get anything accomplished before breakfast.” I frowned at the eye in my palm. “What—literally shout at the tattoo?” “You could try rubbing it on certain body parts and I might come faster.”

And then I gave the High Lord of Summer a pretty, mindless smile that I had not given to anyone in a long, long time.

Rhys doesn't like this one bit.

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

And it was Elain—Elain—who sighed and murmured, “I hope they all burn in hell.”

“Amren and Mor told me that the span of an Illyrian male’s wings says a lot about the size of … other parts.”

“They also said Azriel’s wings are the biggest.”

“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.”

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

No. No, I didn’t want it, I didn’t want to— A crack sounded in my ears. And the world cleaved in two as the bond snapped.

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