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

by Sarah J. Maas

Rhys looked anything but out of shape. Cauldron boil me, what the hell did they eat to look like that?

We both knew “fine” was a lie. I had done everything—everything for that love. I had ripped myself to shreds, I had killed innocents and debased myself, and he had sat beside Amarantha on that throne. And he couldn’t do anything, hadn’t risked it—hadn’t risked being caught until there was one night left, and all he’d wanted to do wasn’t free me, but fuck me, and—

Literally what i said.

And when Amarantha had broken me, when she had snapped my bones and made my blood boil in its veins, he’d just knelt and begged her. He hadn’t tried to kill her,

And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind. He’d given me everything I needed to become myself, to feel safe, and when he got what he wanted—when he got his power back, his lands back … he stopped trying. He was still good, still Tamlin, but he was just … wrong.

And then my fists connected with bare skin, and I realized I’d punched through the sparring pads—no, burned through them,

“I’m all right,” he said quietly. Gently.

And maybe I was exhausted and broken, but I breathed, “I killed them.”

Cassian’s lips tightened. “I know.”

“It should have been me.” And there it was.

Gentle fingers lifted my chin until I looked up … at Rhysand’s face.

“You will feel that way every day for the rest of your life,” Rhysand said.

“And I know this because I have felt that way every day since my mother and sister were slaughtered and I had to bury them myself, and even retribution didn’t fix it.” He wiped away the tears on one cheek, then another. “You can either let it wreck you, let it get you killed like it nearly did with the Weaver, or you can learn to live with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find a way to spare you from what happened Under the Mountain,” Rhys said with equal quiet. “From dying. From wanting to die.”

“I have two kinds of nightmares: the ones where I’m again Amarantha’s whore or my friends are … And the ones where I hear your neck snap and see the light leave your eyes.”

“I don’t know how I did it to begin with.” “Will it into being.” I gave him a flat stare. He shrugged. “Try thinking of me—how good-looking I am. How talented—” “How arrogant.”

“Put a shirt on while you’re at it,” I quipped. A feline smile. “Does it make you uncomfortable?” “I’m surprised there aren’t more mirrors in this house, since you seem to love looking at yourself so much.”

Azriel launched into a coughing fit. Cassian just turned away, a hand clamped over his mouth.

Rhys’s lips twitched. “There’s the Fe...

Ugjhhhh

“Ready to go on a summer holiday?” Mor said, “The Summer Court invited you?” “Of course they did. Feyre, Amren, and I are going tomorrow.”

“I do have more important things to do,” he purred. “But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can’t resist watching me whenever we’re out. So territorial.”

So I closed the distance between us, smoothly stepped past him, and said, “You haven’t been able to keep away from me since Calanmai, it seems.”

yesss feyre darling. Flirt back

can’t wait to see what that sharp tongue of yours can do at the Summer Court,” he said, gaze fixed on my mouth, and vanished into shadow.

Rhys followed that gaze. “Her breasts are rather spectacular, aren’t they? Delicious as ripe apples.”

“Here I was, thinking you had a fascination with my mouth.” Delighted surprise lit Rhys’s eyes, there and gone in a heartbeat.

“And you now sit at this table with your family because of the ones Feyre made. So you will forgive me, Tarquin, if I tell your princess that if she sends word to Tamlin, or if any of your people try to bring her to him, their lives will be forfeit.”

“It’s not a threat,” Rhys countered, the crab claws on his plate cracking open beneath invisible hands. “It’s a promise.”

And through that bond between us, I felt Rhysand’s flicker of approval.

“You have one task here, Feyre. One task that no one can know about. So do anything you have to in order to accomplish it. But get that book. And do not get caught.”

Wait what? Whats up with him?

And that tone, that look he always gave me … “Anything?” His brows rose. I breathed, “If I fucked him for it, what would you do?”

“You are always free to do what you want, with whomever you want. So if you want to ride him, go ahead.” “Maybe I will.” Though a part of me wanted to retort, Liar.

“I suggest,” he murmured, “you not show Tarquin that little trick in the bedroom.” I sent each and every one of those droplets shooting for the High Lord’s face.

“Will he go to war? Over me?”

“I don’t know.” “I—I would go back. If it came to that, Rhysand. I’d go back, rather than make you fight.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” “No. I wouldn’t want to go back. But I would. Pain and killing wouldn’t win me.”

“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.”

“The issue isn’t whether he loved you, it’s how much. Too much. Love can be a poison.” And then he was gone.

“I’m thinking it would be very easy to love you. And easier to call you my friend.” He smiled at me—broad and without restraint. “I would not object to either.”

Bro what are you on?

But I glanced over at Cresseida, who was now almost in Rhysand’s lap. And Rhysand was smiling like a cat, one finger tracing circles on the back of her hand while she bit her lip and beamed.

WHAT ARE THESE TWO ON? Wtf is happening

My cheeks heated—shame. Shame for what? Wanting to throttle her for no good reason? Rhysand teased and taunted me—he never … seduced me,

There we go, yes. Be jealous

And I supposed that Rhysand, for all he had sacrificed and done … He deserved it as much as Cresseida. Even if … even if for a moment, I wanted it. I wanted to feel like that again. And … I was lonely.

Rhys leaned in to hear something Cresseida was saying, her lips brushing his ear, her hand now entwining with his.

Im boiling hot. Wtf are they doing

He went back to chuckling at whatever Cresseida was telling him, sliding closer.

Omg. Bout to lose my shit

Rhys didn’t so much as look in my direction as I walked away. Good riddance.

Sweet lord jesus please give me the strength

Rhysand and Cresseida were nowhere to be seen.

Yeah no. Im done. Cut the shit Rhysand

Rhysand’s gaze swept over me, noting the clothes that were obviously in honor of my host and his people. Noting the way I did not meet his eyes, or Cresseida’s, as I looked solely at Tarquin and Amren beside him—Varian

I could feel Rhys still assessing me. I shut him out. Maybe I’d send a water-dog barking after him later—let it bite him in the ass.

Not one word—I had not uttered one word to Rhysand. And I wasn’t about to start as I looped my arm through Tarquin’s, and said to none of them in particular, “See you later.”

Something brushed against my mental shield, a rumble of something dark—powerful. Perhaps a warning to be careful. Though it felt an awful lot like the dark, flickering emotion that had haunted me—so much like it that I stepped a bit closer to Tarquin. 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.

Gooddddd

That brush of emotion went silent on the other side of my shields. Good.

“I’d say I’m looking at the most valuable thing in here.” I didn’t fake the blush. “You’re—very kind.”