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

by Sarah J. Maas

“Do you—do you want to dance with me?” I whispered. 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. I pointed with my chin toward the celebration below. “Down there—with them.”

“Of course I’ll dance with you,” Rhys said, his voice still raw. “All night, if you wish.”

“And yet your mother loved them—and you three wear their tattoos.” “I got the tattoos in part for my mother, in part to honor my brothers, who fought every day of their lives for the right to wear them.”

The painting—I could see it; feel it. I wanted to paint it. I wanted to paint. I didn’t wait for him to stretch out his hand before I went to him. 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.

Because things between us had never been normal, not from the very first moment we’d met on Calanmai. I’d been unable to easily walk away from him then, when I’d thought he was deadly, dangerous. But now …

Every step away, I could feel Rhys’s stare devouring me. Or maybe that was through the bond, brushing against my mental shields—flashes of hunger so insatiable that it was an effort to focus on the task ahead and not on the feeling of what his hands had been like, stroking my thighs, pushing me against him. I could have sworn I felt a trickle of amusement on the other side of my mental shield, too. I hissed and made a vulgar gesture over my shoulder, even as I let my shield drop, just a bit.

“The fact that it was so easy, that I felt so little, upsets me more than the encounter itself.” Perhaps that had been my problem all along. Why I hadn’t dared take that final step at Starfall. I was guilty that I didn’t feel awful, not truly. Not for wanting him.

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’d sent that note to Tamlin … and he’d chosen to ignore it. Just as he’d ignored or rejected nearly all of my requests, acted out of his deluded sense of what he believed was right for my well-being and safety. And Lucien had been prepared to take me against my will.

I knew—deep in my bones—that Cassian might push and test my limits, but the moment I said no, he’d back off. And I knew that if … that if I had been wasting away and Rhys had done nothing to stop it, Cassian or Azriel would have pulled me out. They would have taken me somewhere—wherever I needed to be—and dealt with Rhys later.

“I heard every word between you. I knew you could take care of yourself, and yet … ” He went back to his pie, swallowing a bite before continuing. “And yet I found myself deciding that if you took his hand, I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice.” I sipped from my wine. “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.” A shiver went down my spine, and I couldn’t look away from him. “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.”

“Nesta,” I said, starting on the other wing, “I painted flames for her. She was always angry, always burning. I think she and Amren would be fast friends. I think she would like Velaris, despite herself. And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together. If the warrior ever stopped quietly loving Mor. I doubted it.

“What did you paint for yourself?” I drew out the fifth, moving to the sixth before saying, “I painted the night sky.”

“I was looking for you, too,” Rhys murmured.

And what if I had known? What if I had known that Rhys was my mate while I’d loved Tamlin? It didn’t excuse his not telling me. Didn’t excuse the recent weeks, when I’d hated myself so much for wanting him so badly—when he should have told me. But … I understood.

I’d run away. Precisely how Rhys expected me to run—how I’d told him anyone in their right mind would run from him. Like a coward, like a fool, I’d left him injured in the freezing mud. I’d walked away from him—a day after I’d told him he was the only thing I’d never walk away from. I’d demanded honesty, and at the first true test, I hadn’t even let him give it to me. I hadn’t granted him the consideration of hearing him out.

“You painted us.” “I hope you don’t mind.” He studied the threshold to the bedroom hallway. “Azriel, Mor, Amren, and Cassian,” he said, marking the eyes I’d painted. “You do know that one of them is going to paint a moustache under the eyes of whoever pisses them off that day.”

“I don’t know the rules,” I said, my back to him. “So you need to explain them to me.” He lingered in the center of the cabin, watching my every move. He said hoarsely, “It’s an … important moment when a female offers her mate food. It goes back to whatever beasts we were a long, long time ago. But it still matters. The first time matters. Some mated pairs will make an occasion of it—throwing a party just so the female can formally offer her mate food … That’s usually done amongst the wealthy. But it means that the female … accepts the bond.”

But then you called after me, like you couldn’t let go of me just yet, whether you knew it or not. And I knew … I knew we were on dangerous ground, somehow.

I was jealous. I was jealous of him, and pissed off that he’d used that one shot of being unnoticed not to get you out, but to be with you,

I wrapped my power around the bond. The mating bond. I could feel you flickering there, holding on.” Home. Home had been at the end of the bond, I’d told the Bone Carver. Not Tamlin, not the Spring Court, but … Rhysand.

“I landed at the Night Court, right as Mor was waiting for me, and I was so frantic, so … unhinged, that I told her everything. I hadn’t seen her in fifty years, and my first words to her were, ‘She’s my mate.’

“You love me?” Rhys nodded.

I set the bowl down before him. “Then eat.”

“And now I want you to know, Rhysand, that I love you. I want you to know … ” His lips trembled, and I brushed away the tear that escaped down his cheek. “I want you to know,” I whispered, “that I am broken and healing, but every piece of my heart belongs to you. And I am honored—honored to be your mate.”

“You’re mine,” I breathed. His body shuddered with what might have been a sob, but his lips found my own.

“You’re mine,” I whispered, dragging my hands through his hair, down his back, across his wings. My friend through many dangers. My lover who had healed my broken and weary soul. My mate who had waited for me against all hope, despite all odds.

“No, I didn’t. Maybe—thanks to Tamlin, yes. But it had nothing to do with you, Rhys. Nothing to do with you. I was never afraid of the consequences of being with you. Even if every assassin in the world hunts us … It’s worth it. You are worth it.” His head dipped a bit. And he said hoarsely, “Thank you.” My heart broke for him then—for the years he’d spent thinking the opposite.

“Which is good,” he added, “because you thought I was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen. So it makes us even.”

harkening back to the beasts we once were.

“I heard you grew fangs in the forest and killed some Hybern beasts. Good for you, girl.” “She saved his sorry ass is more like it,” Mor said, filling her glass of wine. “Poor little Rhys got himself in a bind.” I held out my own glass for Mor to fill. “He does need unusual amounts of coddling.” Azriel choked on his wine,

Nesta looked between Rhys and Cassian, then to me. Despair still paled her face, but … she bowed her head. And said to me, “That was why you painted stars on your drawer.”

Half-asleep on the couch across from mine, she leaned against Azriel, who kept casting alarmed glances at her,

And I realized—I realized how badly I’d been treated before, if my standards had become so low. If the freedom I’d been granted felt like a privilege and not an inherent right.

Rhys’s eyes darkened, and I knew he read what I thought, felt. “You might be my mate,” he said, “but you remain your own person. You decide your fate—your choices. Not me. You chose yesterday. You choose every day. Forever.” And maybe he only understood because he, too, had been helpless and without choices, had been forced to do such horrible things, and locked up.

The fist gripping my power relaxed. Vanished. Tamlin lunged for me over the few feet that remained. So fast—too fast— I became mist and shadow. I winnowed beyond his reach. The king let out a low laugh as Tamlin stumbled. And went sprawling as Rhysand’s fist connected with his face.

Molten rage poured into me. I hissed at Tamlin, “If you bring me from here, if you take me from my mate, I will destroy you. I will destroy your court, and everything you hold dear.” Tamlin’s lips thinned. But he said simply, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lucien cringed.

“You can go to hell, you hideous prick.” Tamlin’s hands tightened on my shoulders. Lucien spun toward me, and that metal eye whirred and narrowed.

But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.

“She is my mate. And my spy,” I said too quietly. “And she is the High Lady of the Night Court.”

“Not consort, not wife. Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court.” My equal in every way; she would wear my crown, sit on a throne beside mine. Never sidelined, never designated to breeding and parties and child-rearing. My queen. As if in answer, a glimmer of love shuddered down the bond. I clamped down on the relief that threatened to shatter any calm I feigned having.

Lucien’s metal eye narrowed, as if he could sense the lie.

His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie.

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