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

by Sarah J. Maas

“I will kill anyone who harms you,” Rhys snarled. “I will kill them, and take a damn long time doing it.” He panted. “Go ahead. Hate me—despise me for it.”

Darkness rippled, and wings tore from his back. “I am not him,” Rhys breathed. “I will never be him, act like him. He locked you up and let you wither, and die.”

“He tried—” “Stop comparing. Stop comparing me to him.” The words cut me short. I blinked.

“You think I don’t know how stories get written—how this story will be written?” Rhys put his hands on his chest, his face more open, more anguished than I’d seen it. “I am the dark lord, who stole away the bride of spring. I am a demon, and a nightmare, and I will meet a bad end. He is the golden prince—the her...

“Perhaps I don’t know what I want, but at least I don’t hide what I am behind a mask,” I seethed. “At least I let them see who I am, broken bits and all. Yes—it’s to save your people. But what about the other masks, Rhys? What about letting your friends see your real face? But maybe it’s easier not to. Because what if you did let someone in? And what if they saw everything, and still walked away? Who could blame them—who would want to bother with that sort of mess?” He flinched.

Wait whaf?

I had been jealous—of Cresseida. I had been so profoundly unhappy on that barge because I’d wanted to be the one he smiled at like that.

If he didn’t walk away when I voiced what I wanted: him.

“When Rhys came back, after Amarantha, he was a ghost. He pretended he wasn’t, but he was. You made him come alive again.”

“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?”

“Do you plan to ignore me some more?” I said coolly. “I’m here now, aren’t I? I wouldn’t want you to call me a hateful coward again.”

That sorrow, that weight, lingered in his eyes. And I couldn’t bear to see it—just as I couldn’t bear to see my three friends dancing together as if it was the last time they’d ever do it.

“I didn’t mean it,” I blurted. “I meant it more about myself than you. And I’m sorry.” He watched the stars for a moment before he replied. “You were right, though. I stayed away because you were right. Though I’m glad to hear my absence felt like a punishment.”

“Every year that I was Under the Mountain and Starfall came around, Amarantha made sure that I … serviced her. The entire night. Starfall is no secret, even to outsiders—even the Court of Nightmares crawls out of the Hewn City to look up at the sky. So she knew … She knew what it meant to me.”

do. Maybe it was the wine, but I stroked a finger down his. And as I turned to him more fully, something blinding and tinkling slammed into my face.

The mating bond????

I wiped at my face, and when I pulled my hands down, I gaped. Pale green light—like drops of paint—glowed in flecks on my hand. Splattered star-spirit. I didn’t know if I should be horrified or amused. Or disgusted. When I went to rub it off, Rhys caught my hands. “Don’t,” he said, still laughing. “It looks like your freckles are glowing.”

He sidestepped me, veering toward the balcony rail, but not fast enough to avoid the careening star that collided with the side of his face. He leaped back with a curse. I laughed, the sound rasping out of me. Not a chuckle or snort, but a cackling laugh.

Like heavenly war paint, that’s what it looked like. I could see why he didn’t want me to wipe mine away.

I hadn’t even realized what I’d done until his own smile faded, and his mouth parted slightly. “Smile again,” he whispered.

So I smiled at him, broad and without restraint. “You’re exquisite,” he breathed.

“You owe me two thoughts—back from when I first came here. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You want to know why I didn’t speak or see you? Because I was so convinced you’d throw me out on my ass. I just … ” He dragged a hand through his hair, and huffed a laugh. “I figured hiding was a better alternative.”

“Who would have thought the High Lord of the Night Court could be afraid of an illiterate human?” I purred. He grinned, nudging me with an elbow. “That’s...

His eyes fell on my mouth. “I’m wishing I could take back that kiss...

“Because I didn’t make it pleasant for you, and I was jealous and pissed off, and I knew you hated me.”

He was silent for long enough that I lifted my head to scan his face. But his eyes were bright—silver-lined. “You want to dance?” he rasped, his fingers curling around mine.

“Of course I’ll dance with you,” Rhys said, his voice still raw. “All night, if you wish.” “Even if I step on your toes?” “Even then.”

He leaned in, brushing his mouth against my heated cheek. I closed my eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravaged me in its wake, that might ravage Prythian.

Bits of stardust glowed on his lips as he pulled away, as I stared up at him, breathless, while he smiled. The smile the world would likely never see, the smile he’d given up for the sake of his people, his lands. He said softly, “I am … very glad I met you, Feyre.” I blinked away the burning in my eyes. “Come on,” I said, tugging on his hand. “Let’s go join the dance.”

I’d danced with each of them, and when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left, until Mor was asleep on a settee in the dining room, until the gold disc of the sun gilded Velaris.

But all I heard were those two words he’d said, echoing against the steady beat of traitor, traitor: She’s mine.

And looking up into his face I said, “I want to paint you.” He gently lifted me into his arms. “Nude would be best,” he said in my ear.

Traitor, traitor, traitor— He opened his mouth, but I had already slipped inside my room and shut the door.

You make me want to murder people feyre

“Feyre.” I whirled, arrow nocked and aimed at the source of the voice— Four Spring Court sentinels stalked from the trees behind me like wraiths,

Two, I knew: Bron and Hart. And between them stood Lucien.

Lucien’s finger grazed the sleeve of my leather jacket. And I became smoke and ash and night. The world stilled and bent, and there was Lucien, lunging so slowly for what was now blank space as I stepped around him, as I hurtled for the trees behind the sentinels.

Bron and Hart flinched and backed away. From me. And from Rhysand at my side. Lucien froze.

“Careful, Lucien,” Rhysand drawled. “Or Feyre darling will send you back in pieces, too.”

I said to Lucien, low and quiet and as vicious as the talons that formed at the tips of my fingers, as vicious as the wondrous weight between my shoulder blades, “When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back.”

A pulse of surprise, of wicked delight against my mental shields, at the dark, membranous wings I knew were now poking over my shoulders. Every icy kiss of rain sent jolts of cold through me. Sensitive—so sensitive, these Illryian wings.

Yesssssss

not letting that expression off my face until a warm, strong finger traced a line down the edge of my right wing. It felt like—like having my ear breathed into. I shuddered, arching as a gasp came out of me.

And then Rhys was in front of me, scanning my face, the wings behind me. “How?” “Shape-shifting,” I managed to say,

Rhys’s eyes softened. “That was a very convincing performance.”

He squeezed me gently, and I blinked at him through the rain. For once, his eyes were on me, not the landscape below. “You look good with wings,” he said, and kissed my brow. Even the rain stopped feeling so cold.

“If you can’t risk using magic, then we’ll have to warm each other,” I said, and instantly regretted it. “Body heat,” I clarified. And, just to wipe that look off his face I added, “My sisters and I had to share a bed—I’m used to it.” “I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

Death on swift wings. That’s what I’d call the painting. He said softly, “I love it when you look at me like that.” The purr in his voice heated my blood. “Like what?” “Like my power isn’t something to run from. Like you see me.”

“I was afraid of you at first.” His white teeth flashed in the shadows of his hood. “No, you weren’t. Nervous, maybe, but never afraid. I’ve felt the genuine terror of enough people to know the difference. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t keep away.”

“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.”

“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.”

He watched me take a long drink from mine. “I’m thinking,” he said, following the flick of my tongue over my bottom lip, “that I look at you and feel like I’m dying. Like I can’t breathe. I’m thinking that I want you so badly I can’t concentrate half the time I’m around you, and this room is too small for me to properly bed you. Especially with the wings.”

“I’m thinking that I can’t stop thinking about you. And that it’s been that way for a long while. Even before I left the Spring Court. And maybe that makes me a traitorous, lying piece of trash, but—” “It doesn’t,” he said, his face solemn.