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“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” said a deep, sensual male voice I’d never heard.
“I love you,” he whispered, and kissed my brow. “Thorns and all.”
“I love you,” I said, and stabbed him.
“Love,” I breathed, the world crumbling into a blackness with no end. A pause in Amarantha’s magic. “The answer to the riddle …,” I got out, choking on my own blood, “is … love.”
Rhysand stared at me for long enough that I faced him. “Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don’t feel anything at all.”
His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock—pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled. “What is—” I began. He disappeared—simply disappeared, not a shadow in sight—into the crisp air.
