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

by Sarah J. Maas

a necklace of black diamonds.

“Sometimes, I think Rhysand … I think he might have been her whore to spare us all from her full attention.”

“This isn’t the Book.” “No, but it’s a beautiful gift.” “You want me to buy you jewelry, Feyre, then say the word. Though given your wardrobe, I thought you were aware that it was all bought for you.”

“Tarquin is a good male—a good High Lord. You should just ask him for the damned Book.” Rhys snapped shut the lid. “So he plies you with jewels and pours honey in your ear, and now you feel bad?”

“Oh? Did she tell you that before, during, or after you took her to bed?” Rhys stood in a graceful, slow movement. “Is that why you wouldn’t look at me? Because you think I fucked her for information?” “Information or your own pleasure, I don’t care.”

“Jealous, Feyre?” “If I’m jealous, then you’re jealous about Tarquin and his honey pouring.”

“Do you think I particularly like having to flirt with a lonely female to get information about her court, her High Lord? Do you think I feel good about myself, doing that? Do you think I enjoy doing it just so you have the space to ply Tarquin with your smiles and pretty eyes, so we can get the Book and go home?” “You seemed to enjoy yourself plenty last night.”

“I didn’t take her to bed. She wanted to, but I didn’t so much as kiss her. I took her out for a drink in the city, let her talk about her life, her pressures, and brought her back to her room, and went no farther than the door. I waited for you at breakfast, but you slept in. Or avoided me, apparently. And I tried to...

“Is that what got under your skin? That I shut you out, or that it was so easy for Tarquin to get in?” “What got under my skin,” Rhys said, his breathing a bit uneven, “is that you smiled at him.”

Aaaaaaahhhh

The rest of the world faded to mist as the words sank in. “You are jealous.”

“I heard what you told him,” he said. “That you thought it would be easy to fall in love with him. You meant it, too.” “So?”

“I was jealous—of that. That I’m not … that sort of person. For anyone. The Summer Court has always been neutral; they only showed backbone during those years Under the Mountain. I spared Tarquin’s life because I’d heard how he wanted to even out the playing field between High Fae and lesser faeries. I’ve been trying to do that for years. Unsuccessfully, but … I spared him for that alone. And Tarquin, with his neutral court … he will never have to worry about someone walking away because the threat against their life, their children’s lives, will always be there. So, yes, I was jealous of him—because it will always be easy for him. And he will never know what it is to look up at the night sky and wish.”

Oh sweet Rhys

“To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.” He picked up his glass, his gaze so piercing that I wondered why I had bothered blushing at all for Tarquin.

Rhys clinked his glass against mine. “To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.”

Stop my heart is aching

“By all means, Tarquin, spend the day with my lady.” My lady.

“What a fast learner you are. It takes most daemati years to master that sort of infiltration.”

“And what expert work you did, using the essence of him to trick his shields, to get past them … Clever lady.” “He’ll never forgive me,” I breathed.

“You scared the shit out of me for a long while, Feyre. Checking in that way … I couldn’t very well stroll into the Spring Court and ask how you were doing, could I?” Light footsteps sounded in the hall—Amren. Rhys held my gaze though as he said, “I’ll explain the rest some other time.”

“Such gallantry,” Amren said, “to do the easy part, then leave us helpless females to dig through mud and seaweed.”

An ancient, cruel voice hissed: Liar. And the door slammed shut.

faces hissing through fish’s teeth as their spindly webbed fingers snatched us out of the stairs, and into their frogskin arms. Water-wraiths.

“Our sister’s debt is paid.”

We both reached a quiet, sandy cove and collapsed.

A shadow blocked out the sun, and a boot toed my calf. “What,” said Rhysand, still in battle-black, “are you two doing?”

It gave out entirely, along with Amren’s, as we landed in the town house foyer—and we both collapsed to the wood floor, spraying sand and water on the carpet.

“I’m waiting for an explanation, too,” he merely said to wide-eyed Cassian, Azriel, and Mor.

“Only an immortal with a mortal heart would have given one of those horrible beasts the money. It’s so … ” Amren laughed again, her dark hair plastered with sand and seaweed. For a moment, she even looked human. “Whatever luck you live by, girl … thank the Cauldron for it.”

The others were all watching, but I felt a chuckle whisper out of me. Followed by a laugh, as rasping and raw as my lungs. But a real laugh, perhaps edged by hysteria—and profound relief. We looked at each other, and laughed again.

Awww bonding moment

I inclined my head slightly, and lowered my shield only long enough to say down the bond: To the dreams that are answered.

To the huntresses who remember to reach back for those less fortunate—and water-wraiths who swim very, very fast.

“In the Summer Court, when a grave insult has been committed, they send a blood ruby to the offender. An official declaration that there is a price on their head—that they are now hunted, and will soon be dead. The box arrived at the Court of Nightmares an hour ago.”

“And your point is?” A bad day—this was a bad day, I realized, for him.

“You sound as if you plan to stay here for a while.” A bland, but edged question. “I can find my own lodging, if that’s what you’re referring to. Maybe I’ll use that generous paycheck to get myself something lavish.”

Come on. Wink at me. Play with me. Just—stop looking like that. He only said, “Spare your paycheck. Your name has already been added to the list of those approved to use my household credit. Buy whatever you wish. Buy yourself a whole damn house if you want.”

I ground my teeth, and maybe it was panic or desperation, but I said sweetly, “I saw a pretty shop across the Sidra the other day. It sold what looked to be lots of lacy little things. Am I allowed to buy that on your...

Those violet eyes again drifted to me. “I’m not in the mood.”

Damn

“I never knew Illyrians were such morose drunks.” “I’m not drunk—I’m drinking,” he said, his teeth flashing a bit.

“Maybe you should have slept with Cresseida after all—so you could both be sad and lonely together.” “So you’re entitled to have as many bad days as you want, but I can’t get a few hours?”

Damn hes mad

“Oh, take however long you want to mope. I was going to invite you to come shopping with me for said lacy little unmentionables, but … sit up here forever, if you have to.” He didn’t respond.

“Someone thinks mighty highly of herself.” “Why shouldn’t I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.” There it was—a kernel of truth and a question.

“Am I supposed to deny,” he drawled, but something sparked in those eyes, “that I find you attractive?” “You’ve never said it.” “I’ve told you many times, and quite frequently, how attractive I find you.”

Yes give in

“Well, maybe you should do a better job of it.” The gleam in his eyes turned into something predatory. A thrill went through me as he braced his powerful arms on the table and purred, “Is that a challenge, Feyre?” I held that predator’s gaze—the gaze of the most powerful male in Prythian. “Is it?”

“Why don’t we go down to that store right now, Feyre, so you can try on those lacy little things—so I can help you pick which one to send to Tarquin.”

now I was here, and … and I might have very well gone to that pretty shop with Rhysand.

And he would have looked at me the entire time—at my breasts, visible through the lace; at the plane of my stomach, now finally looking less starved and taut. At the sweep of my hips and thighs—between them. Then he would have met my gaze again, and crooked a finger with a single murmured, “Come here.”

god im so starved for this that im eating this up

I swore as I slammed into the post of the stairwell landing. And I blinked—blinked as the world returned and I realized …

I glared at the eye tattooed in my hand and hissed both with my tongue and that silent voice within the bond itself, “Prick.”

Nothing but the darkness leaking into my room from the hall door. I knew that darkness. A kernel of it lived in me.

Icy breath hit my palm. And, bracing myself, I rose up on my knees, aiming blindly, and slapped him.

And then his hands were on me, flipping me, pinning me with expert skill to the mattress, a taloned hand at my throat.

Phenomenal.