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

by Sarah J. Maas

Rhys was digging into his chicken without hesitation. Cassian and Azriel ate as if they hadn’t had a meal in months. Perhaps

“I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.”

A blind, solid tug on the bond, cooling darkness sweeping into me, my temper, my senses, calming that fire—

I scrambled to throw my mental shields up. But they were intact.

“If you ever come to Prythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different.” Nesta looked down her nose at him. “I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I’ll have to take your word on it.”

Nesta shifted her attention to Cassian, noticing that gleam—what it meant. She snarled softly, “What are you looking at?”

Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall.” My face began heating, and I opened my mouth. To say what, I didn’t know. “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.”

Period! SOmeone needed to say it

Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered …” A naked body spiked to a wall. Broken. Dead. Nailed there for months. Rhys was staring at his plate. Unmoving. Unblinking.

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.”

I frowned at the large guest bedroom as Rhys shut the door behind us. The bed was large enough for two, but I wasn’t sharing it. I whirled to him, “I’m not—”

I will beat you up feyre

Wood thumped on carpet, and a small bed appeared by the door. Rhys plopped onto it, tugging off his boots. “Nesta is a delight, by the way.”

Fuckkkk

A snap of Rhys’s fingers, and my nightclothes—and some flimsy underthings—appeared on the bed. “I couldn’t decide which scrap of lace I wanted you to wear, so I brought you a few to choose from.”

“Thank you for warming the bed,” I said into the dimness. His back was to me, but I heard him clearly as he said, “Amarantha never once thanked me for that.”

“I am paying you a wage, you know. For all of this.” “You don’t need to.” Even if … even if I had no money of my own.

“When is your birthday?” “Do I even need to count them anymore?” He merely waited. I sighed. “It’s the Winter Solstice.”

A soft chuckle that snaked along my bones—a reminder that he’d once bet on me. Had been the only one Under the Mountain who had put money on me defeating the Middengard Wyrm. He said, “So’s mine.”

“Am I ever going to see a proper one, or will I be left to guess about where everything is?” “You’re in a lovely mood today,” Rhys said,

“Lest you think I don’t trust you, Feyre darling … ”

“I can’t concentrate with you around,” I admitted. “And go … far. I can feel you from a room away.” A suggestive curve shaped his lips.

“It doesn’t work like that. There’s no air there.” I gave him a look to say he should definitely do it then, and he laughed. “Fine. Practice all you want in privacy.”

“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.”

He vanished into nothing before I could hurl the candle at him. Alone in the frost-gilded forest, I replayed his words an...

Life is better when you’re around. And look at how lovely your handwriting is.

And I was so focused on it that I didn’t notice anyone was behind me until the hand covered my mouth and yanked me clean off my feet.

The Attor screamed—screamed—as that darkness swallowed us,

And there was Rhysand, binding the Attor to a snow-shrouded oak with nothing but twisting bands of night.

“The next time you try to take her,” Rhys said to the Attor, “I kill first; ask questions later.”

“Yes, you did,” Rhysand snarled, reading the surprise on my face, that icy calm shattering. “You forgot that strength, and that you can burn and become darkness, and grow claws. You forgot. You stopped fighting.”

folding my very self into wind and shadow and dust, the looseness of it radiating out of me, all while I aimed for where he was headed—

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.

I panted, sprawled on top of Rhys in the snow while he laughed hoarsely. “Don’t,” I snarled into his face, “ever,” I pushed his rock-hard shoulders, talons curving at my fingertips, “use me as bait again.” He stopped laughing.

His face turned grave. “I’m sorry.”

“Velaris isn’t my home.” I could have sworn hurt flashed in his eyes before he spirited us back to my family’s house.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said, and took my book and tea up to my room. “Feyre,” he said. I didn’t stop. “I am sorry—about deceiving you earlier.”

“You told me that this city was better seen at night. Are you all talk, or will you ever bother to show me?”

When his eyes found mine again, his mouth twisted in a smile so few saw. Real amusement—perhaps a bit of happiness edged with relief. The male behind the High Lord’s mask. “Dinner,” he said. “Tonight. Let’s find out if you, Feyre darling, are all talk—or if you’ll allow a Lord of Night to take you out on the town.”

what a man

“Will you deign to join us, or do you have plans to ogle your muscles in the mirror?”

“Isn’t that what High Lords do?” My breath clouded in front of me in the brisk night. “Whatever they please?” He studied my face. “There are a great many things that I wish to do, and don’t get to.”

“You,” I breathed, not taking my eyes from the musicians playing so skillfully that even the diners had set down their forks in the cafés nearby. “You sent that music into my cell. Why?”

My heart

Rhysand’s voice was hoarse. “Because you were breaking. And I couldn’t find another way to save you.”

“Thank you. For everything—for what you did. Then … and now.” “Even after the Weaver? After this morning with my trap for the Attor?” My nostrils flared. “You ruin everything.”

could learn to love it, I realized. The flying.

I might be a shameless flirt, but at least I don’t have a horrible temper. You should come tend to my wounds from our squabble in the snow. I’m bruised all over thanks to you.

Go lick your wounds and leave me be. The paper vanished.

This is them texting lol

I’d much rather you licked my wounds for me. My heart pounded, faster and faster, and a strange sort of rush went through my veins

Lick you where, exactly?

Wherever you want to lick me, Feyre. I’d like to start with “Everywhere,” but I can choose, if necessary. I wrote back, Let’s hope my licking is better than yours. I remember how horrible you were at it Under the Mountain.

I was under duress, his next note read. If you want, I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong. I’ve been told I’m very, very good at licking. I clenched my knees together and wrote back, Good night. A heartbeat later, his note said, Try not to moan too loudly when you dream about me. I need my beauty rest.

launching into sparring with Rhysand,

Oh..... What are we about to see

they’d removed their leather jackets and shirts.