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A Court of Mist and Fury

Book by Sarah J. Maas · 50 quotes · Feyre, A Court Of Mist And Fury, Sarah J Maas

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A Court of Mist and Fury Quotes

“Like a strange rain, the water rose from the floor as I willed it to become like those stars Rhys had summoned in his blanket of darkness. I willed the droplets to separate until they hung around us, catching the light and sparkling like crystals on a chandelier. Rhys broke my stare to study them. '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. Too fast, too swiftly for him to shield. Some of them sprayed me as they ricocheted off him. But of us now soaking, Rhys gaped a bit- then smiled.”

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“Will he go to war Over me?' He knew who I meant. The hot temper that had been on Rhys's face moments before turned to lethal calm. 'I don't know.' 'I- I would go back. If it came to that, Rhysand. I'd go back, rather than make you fight.' He slid a still-wet hand into his pocket. 'Would you want to go back? Would going to war on your behalf make you love him again? Would that be a grand gesture to win you?' I swallowed hard. 'I'm tired of death. I wouldn't want to see anyone else die- least of all for me.' 'That doesn't answer my question.' 'No, I wouldn't want to go back. But I would. Pain and killing wouldn't win me.' Rhys stared at me for a moment longer, his face unreadable, before he strode to the door. He stopped with his fingers on the sea urchin-shaped handle. '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 words hit me, even as they soothed some jagged piece in my soul. 'He did- does love me, Rhysand.' 'The issue isn't whether he loved you, it's how much. Too much. Love can be a poison.' And then he was gone.”

LoveWarTreasureSarah J MaasFeyreFeyre ArcheronRhysandRhysA Court Of Mist And FuryTamlin
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“I had been pleased with how I looked, and had again selected it for myself: my hair unbound and swept off my face with a headband of braided rose gold, my sleeveless, dusky-pink chiffon gown- tight in the chest and waist- the near twin to the purple one I'd worn this morning. Feminine, soft, pretty. I hadn't felt like those things in a long, long while. Hadn't wanted to. But here, being those things wouldn't earn me a ticket to a life of party planning. Here, I could be soft and lovely at sunset, and awaken in the morning to slide into Illyrian fighting leathers.”

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“Is it true that you left Tamlin because he locked you up in his house?' I tried to block out the memory, the terror and agony of my heart breaking apart. But I nodded. 'And is it true that you were saved from confinement by the Night Court?' I nodded again. Tarquin said, 'The Spring Court is my southern neighbour. I have tenuous ties with them. But unless asked, I will not mention that you were here.' Thief, liar, manipulator. I didn't deserve his alliance. But I bowed my head in thanks.”

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“I inclined my head slightly, and lowered my shield only long enough to say down the bond: To the dreams that are answered. A heartbeat later, a sensual caress trailed along my mental shields- a polite request. I let it drop, let him in, and his voice filled my head. To the huntresses who remember to reach back for those less fortunate- and water-wraiths who swim very, very fast.”

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“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 credit, too, or does that come out of my personal funds?' Those violet eyes again drifted to me. 'I'm not in the mood.' There was no humour, no mischief. I could go warm myself by a fire inside, but... He had stayed. And fought for me. Week after week, he'd fought for me, even when I had no reaction, even when I had barely been able to speak or bring myself to care if I lived or died or ate or starved. I couldn't leave him to his own dark thoughts, his own guilt. He'd shouldered them alone long enough. So I held his gaze. 'I never knew Illyrians were such morose drunks.' 'I'm not drunk- I'm drinking,' he said, his teeth flashing a bit. 'Again semantics,' I leaned back in my seat, wishing I'd brought my coat. '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?' '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. I went on, 'Maybe I'll send a few to Tarquin- with an offer to wear them for him if he forgives us. Maybe he'll take those blood rubies right back.' His mouth barely, barely tugged up at the corners. 'He'd see that as a taunt.' 'I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he'd give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments.' '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.' I shrugged, even as I thought of all those times- when I'd dismissed them as teasing compliments, nothing more. '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?' His pupils flared. Gone was the quiet sadness, the isolated guilt. Only that lethal force- on me. On my mouth. On the bob of my throat as I tried to keep my breathing even. He said, slow and soft, '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 ones to send to Tarquin.' My toes curled inside my fleece-lined slippers. Such a dangerous line we walked together.”

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“Feyre,' he said, his voice hoarse. As if he'd been screaming. 'Yes,' I said. He studied my face- the taloned hand at my throat. And released me immediately. I lay there, staring up at where he now knelt on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. My traitorous eyes indeed dared to look lower than his chest- but my attention snagged on the twin tattoos on each of his knees: a towering mountain crowned by three stars. Beautiful- but brutal, somehow. 'You were having a nightmare,' I said, easing into a sitting position. Like some dam had been cracked open inside me, I glanced at my hand- and willed it to vanish into shadow. It did. Half a thought scattered the darkness again. His hands, however, still ended in long, black talons- and his feet... they ended in claws, too. The wings were out, slumped down behind him. And I wondered how close he'd been to fully shifting into that beast he'd once told me he hated. He lowered his hands, talons fading into fingers. 'I'm sorry.' 'That's why you're staying here, not at the House. You don't want others seeing this.' 'I normally keep it contained to my room. I'm sorry it woke you.' I fisted my hands in my lap to keep from touching him. 'How often does it happen?' Rhys's violet eyes met mine, and I knew the answer before he said, 'As often as you.' I swallowed hard. 'What did you dream of tonight?' He shook his head, looking toward the window- to where snow had dusted the nearby rooftops. 'There are memories from Under the Mountain, Feyre, that are best left unshared. Even with you.' He'd shared enough horrific things with me that they had to be... beyond nightmares, then. But I put a hand on his elbow, naked body and all. 'When you want to talk, let me know. I won't tell the others.' I made to slither off the bed, but he grabbed my hand, keeping it against his arm. 'Thank you.' I studied the hand, the ravaged face. Such pain lingered there- and exhaustion. The face he never let anyone see. I pushed up onto my knees and kissed his cheek, his skin warm and soft beneath my mouth. It was over before it started, but- but how many nights had I wanted someone to do the same for me? His eyes were a bit wide as I pulled away, and he didn't stop me as I eased off the bed. I was almost out the door when I turned back to him. Rhys still knelt, wings drooping across the white sheets, head bowed, his tattoos stark against his golden skin. A dark, fallen prince.”

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“Rhys had already been gone by breakfast, though one of his notes had been on a bedside table. Thank you- for last night, was it had said. No pen to write a response. But I'd hunted down one anyway, and had written back, What do the tattooed stars and mountain on your knees mean? The paper had vanished a heartbeat later. When it hadn't returned, I'd dressed and gone to breakfast. I was halfway through my eggs and toast when the paper appeared beside my plate, neatly folded. That I will bow before no one and nothing but my crown. This time, a pen had appeared. I'd merely written back, So dramatic. And through our bond, on the other side of my mental shields, I could have sworn I heard his laugh.”

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“So, I wrote back, At least you make up for your shameless flirting by being one hell of a High Lord. He'd returned that evening, smirking like a cat, and had merely said 'One hell of a High Lord?' by way of greeting. I'd sent a bucket's worth of water splashing into his face. Rhys hadn't bothered to shield against it. And instead shook his wet hair like a dog, spraying me until I yelped and darted away. His laughter had chased me up the stairs.”

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“You are young, child. You have much to learn about the ways of the world-' 'Do not,' Rhys said with deadly quiet, 'condescend to her.' The eldest queen- who was but a child to him, to his centuries of existence- had the good sense to look nervous at that tone. Rhys's eyes were glazed, his face as unforgiving as his voice as he went on, 'Do not insult Feyre for speaking with her heart, with compassion for those who cannot defend themselves, when you speak from only selfishness and cowardice.' The eldest stiffened. 'For the greater good-' 'Many atrocities,' Rhys purred, 'have been done in the name of the greater good.”

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“What's wrong?' His wings were nowhere to be seen, not even the shadow of them. 'I'm debating asking you to stay tomorrow.' I crossed my arms. 'I thought I was going.' Don't lock me up in this house, don't shove me aside- He ran a hand through his hair. 'What I ahve to be tomorrow, who I have to become, is not... it's not something I want you to see. How I will treat you, treat others...' 'The mask of the High Lord,' I said quietly. 'Yes.' He took a seat on the bottom step of the stairs. I remained in the centre of the foyer as I asked carefully. 'Why don't you want me to see that?' 'Because you've only started to look at me like I'm not a monster, and I can't stomach the idea of anything you see tomorrow, being beneath the mountain, putting you back into that place where I found you.' Beneath the mountain- underground. Yes, I'd forgotten that. Forgotten I'd see the court Amarantha had modelled her own after, that I'd be trapped beneath the earth... But with Cassian and Azriel, and Mor. With... him. I waited for the panic, the cold sweat. Neither came. 'Let me help. In whatever way I can.' Blackness shaded the starlight in those eyes. 'The role you will have to play is not a pleasant one.' 'I trust you,' I sat beside him on the stairs, close enough that the heat of his body warmed the chill night air clinging to my overcoat.”

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“I pinched the rock-hard muscle of his forearm. Rhys flashed me a wicked grin before he titled down- Mountains and snow and trees and sun and utter free fall through wisps of cloud- A breathless scream came out of me as we plummeted. Throwing my arms around his neck was instinct. His low laugh ticked my nape. 'You're willing to brave my brand of darkness and put up one of your own, willing to go to a watery grave and take on the Weaver, but a little free fall makes you scream?' 'I'll leave you to rot next time you have a nightmare,' I hissed, my eyes still shut and body locked as he snapped out his wings to ease to a steady glide. 'No, you won't,' he crooned. 'You liked seeing me naked too much.' 'Prick.' His laugh rumbled again me. Eyes closed, the wind roaring like an animal, I adjusted my position, gripping him tighter.”

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“And then Rhysand appeared. He had released the damper on his power, on who he was. His power filled the throne room, the castle, the mountain. The world. It had no end and no beginning. No wings. No weapons. No sign of the warrior. Nothing but the elegant, cruel High Lord the world believed him to be. His hands were in his pockets, his black tunic seeming to gobble up the light. And on his head sat a crown of stars. No sign of the male who had been drinking on the roof; no sign of the fallen prince kneeling on his bed. The full impact of him threatened to sweep me away. Here- here was the most powerful High Lord ever born. The face of dreams and nightmares. Rhys's eyes met mine briefly from across the room as he strolled between the pillars. To the throne that was his by blood and sacrifice and might. My own blood sang at the power that thrummed from him, at the sheer beauty of him.”

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“Rhysand whispered to me, his other hand now stroking the bare skin of my ribs in lazy indolent circles, 'Try not to let it go to your head.' I knew they could all hear it. So did he. I stared at their bowed heads, my heart hammering, but said with moonlight smoothness, 'What?' Rhys's breath caressed my ear, the twin to the breath he'd brushed against it merely an hour ago in the skies. 'That every male in here is contemplating what they'd be willing to give up in order to get that pretty, red mouth of yours on them.' I waited for the blush, the shyness, to creep in. But I was beautiful. I was strong. I had survived- triumphed. As Mor had survived in this horrible, poisoned house. So I smiled a bit, the first smile of my new mask. Let them see the pretty, red mouth, and my white, straight teeth. His hand slid higher up my thigh, the propriety touch of a male who knew he owned someone body and soul.”

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“But it seems true. Tamlin's pet is now owned by another master.' 'You should see how I make her beg,' Rhys murmured, nudging my neck with his nose. Keir clasped his hands behind his back, 'I assume you brought her here to make a statement.' 'You know everything I do is a statement.' 'Of course. This one, it seems, you enjoy putting in cobwebs and crowns.' Rhys's hand paused, and I sat straighter at the tone, the disgust. And I said to Keir in a voice that belonged to another woman, 'Perhaps I'll put a leash on you.' Rhys's approval tapped against my mental shield, the hand at my ribs now making lazy circles. 'She does enjoy playing,' he mused onto my shoulder.”

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“I let my head drop back against his shoulder. I let go of the part of me that heard their words- whore, whore, whore- Let go of the part that said those words alongside them- traitor, liar, whore- And I just became. I became the music, and the drums, and the wild, dark thing in the High Lord's arms. His eyes were wholly glazed- and not with power or rage. Something red-hot and edged with glittering darkness exploded in my mind.”

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“While Under the Mountain had been a series of halls and rooms and levels, this... this was truly a city. The walkway that Mor led us down was an avenue, and around us, rising high into gloom, were buildings and spires, homes and bridges. A metropolis carved from the dark stone of the mountain itself, no inch of it left unmarked or without some lovely, hideous artwork etched into it. Figures danced and fornicated; begged and revelled. Pillars were carved to look like curving vines of night-blooming flowers. Water ran throughout in little streams and rivers tapped from the heart of the mountain itself. The Hewn City. A place of such terrible beauty that it was an effort to keep the wonder and dread off my face. ... Mor led me down the avenue toward another set of stone gates, thrown open at the base of what looked to be a castle within the mountain. The official seat of the High Lord of the Night Court. Great scaled black beasts were carved into those gates, all coiled together in a nest of claws and fangs, sleeping and fighting, some locked in an endless cycle of devouring each other. Between them flowed vines of jasmine and moonflowers. I could have sworn the beasts seemed to writhe in the silvery glow of the bobbing faelights throughout the mountain-city.”

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“I felt it. Felt- him. The very rock beneath my feet seemed to tremble- a pulsing steady beat. His footsteps. As if the mountain shuddered at each touch. Everyone in that room went still as death. As if petrified that their very breathing would draw the attention of the predator now strolling toward us.”

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“He is lucky to have all of you.' 'No,' she said softly- more gently than I'd ever heard. 'We are lucky to have him, Feyre.' I turned from the door. 'I have known many High Lords, ' Amren continued, studying her paper. 'Cruel ones, cunning ones, weak ones, powerful ones. But never one that dreamed. Not as he does.' 'Dreams of what?' I breathed. 'Of peace. Of freedom. Of a world united, a world thriving. Of something better- for all of us.”

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“If you've moved elsewhere, I wrote after getting home from Amren's apartment, you could have at least given me the keys to this house. I keep leaving the door unlocked when I go out. It's getting to be too tempting for the neighbourhood burglars. No response. The letter didn't even vanish. I tried again after breakfast the next day- the morning of Starfall. Cassian says you're sulking in The House of Wind. What un-High-Lord-like behaviour. What of my training. Again, no reply. My guilt and- and whatever else it was- started to shift. I could barely keep from shredding the paper as I wrote my third one after lunch. Is this punishment? Or do people in your Inner Circle not get second chances if they piss you off? You're a hateful coward.”

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“Crafted of tiny blue gems so pale they were almost white, it clung to every curve and hollow before draping to the floor and pooling like liquid starlight. The long sleeves were tight, capped at the wrists with cuffs of pure diamond. The neckline grazed my collarbones, the modesty of it undone by how the gown hugged areas I supposed a female might enjoy showing off. My hair had been swept off my face with two combs of silver and diamond, then left to drape down my back. And I thought, as I stood alone in my bedroom, that I might have looked like a fallen star.”

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“I've had lovers,' Mor clarified, 'but... I get bored. And Cassian has had them, too, so don't get that unrequited-love, moony-woo-woo look. He just wants what he can't have, and it's irritated him for centuries that I walked away and never looked back.' 'Oh, it drives him insane,' Rhys said from behind me, and I jumped. But the High Lord was circling me. I crossed my arms as he paused and smirked. 'You look like a woman again.' 'You really know how to compliment females, cousin,' Mor said, and patted him on the shoulder.”

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“Copy these sentences,' he drawled from across the table, handing me a piece of paper. I looked at them and read perfectly. 'Rhysand is a spectacular person. Rhysand is the centre of my world. Rhysand is the best lover a female can ever dream of.' I set down the paper, wrote out the three sentences, and handed it to him.”

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“And will I still be bound by this bargain at Nynsar, too?' Silence. I pushed. 'After- after what happened-' I couldn't mention specifics on what had occurred Under the Mountain, what he'd done for me during the fight with Amarantha, what he'd done after- 'I think we can agree that I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing.' His gaze was unflinching. I blazed on. 'Isn't it enough that we're all free?' I splayed my tattooed hand on the table. 'By the end, I thought you were different, thought that it was all a mask, but taking me away, keeping me here...' I shook my head, unable to find the words vicious, clever enough to convince him to end this bargain. His eyes darkened. 'I'm not your enemy, Feyre.' 'Tamlin says you are.' I curled the fingers of my tattooed hand into a fist. 'Everyone else says you are.' 'And what do you think?' He leaned back in his chair again, but his face was grave. 'You're doing a damned good job of making me agree with them.' 'Liar,' he purred. 'Did you even tell your friends about what I did to you Under the Mountain?' So that comment at breakfast had gotten under his skin. 'I don't want to talk about anything related to that. With you or them.' 'No, because it's much easier to pretend it never happened and let them coddle you.' 'I don't let them coddle me-' 'They had you wrapped up like a present yesterday. Like you were his reward.' 'So?' 'So?' A flicker of rage, then it was gone. 'I'm ready to be taken home,' I merely said. 'Where you'll be cloistered for the rest of your life, especially once you start punching our heirs. I can't wait to see what Ianthe does when she gets her hands on them.' 'You don't seem to have a particularly high opinion of her.' Something cold and predatory crept into his eyes. 'No, I can't say that I do.”

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“What if you could stand against us- hold your own, a High Lady?' 'There are no High Ladies.' HIs brows furrowed, but he shook his head. 'We'll talk about that later, too. But, yes, Feyre- there can be High Ladies. And perhaps you aren't one of them, but... what if you were something similar? What if you were able to wield the power of seven High Lords at once? What if you could blend into darkness, or shape-shift, or freeze over an entire room- an entire army?”

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“He stopped a hand's breath away, his golden face tight. 'I told you once, and I'll tell you again,' he said. 'I am not your enemy.' 'And I told you once, so I'll tell you again. You're Tamlin's enemy. So I suppose that makes you mine.' 'Does it?' 'Free me from my bargain and let's find out.' 'I can't do that.' 'Can't or won't?”

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“Lucien cleared his throat. 'She meant no harm, Tam.' 'I know she meant no harm,' he snapped. Lucien held his gaze. 'Worse things have happened, worse things can happen. Just relax.' Tamlin's emerald eyes were feral as he snarled at Lucien, 'Did I ask for your opinion?' Those words, the look he gave Lucien and the way Lucien lowered his head- my temper was a burning river in my veins. Look up, I silently beseeched him. Push back. He's wrong, and we're right. Lucien's jaw tightened. That force thrummed in me again, seeping out, spearing for Lucien. Do not back down- Then I was gone. Still there, still seeing through my eyes, but also half looking through another angle in the room, another person's vantage point- Thoughts slammed into me, images and memories, a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever, and sad, so endlessly sad and guilt-ridden, hopeless- Then I was back, blinking, no more than a heartbeat passing as I gaped at Lucien. His head. I had been inside his head, had slid through his mental walls-”

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“I'm sorry,' he murmured, and my spine tingled. He kissed my neck again. 'I'm sorry.' I ran a hand down his arm. 'Tamlin,' I started. 'I shouldn't have said those things,' he breathed onto my skin. 'To you or Lucien. I didn't mean any of them.' 'I know,' I said, and his body relaxed against mine. 'I'm sorry I snapped at you.' 'You had every right,' he said, though I technically didn't. 'I was wrong.' What he said had been true- if he made exceptions, then other faeries would demand the same treatment. And what I had done could be construed as undermining. 'Maybe I was-' 'No. You were right. I don't understand what it's like to be starving- or any of it.”

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“Tamlin- Tamlin, I can't... I can't live my life with guards around me day and night. I can't live like that... suffocation. Just let me help you- let me work with you.' 'You've given enough, Feyre.' 'I know. But...' I faced him. Met his stare- the full power of the High Lord of the Spring Court. 'I'm harder to kill now. I'm faster, stronger-' 'My family were faster and stronger than you. And they were murdered quite easily.' 'Then marry someone who can put up with this.' He blinked. Slowly. Then he said with terrible softness. 'Do you not want to marry me, then?' I tried not to look at the ring on my finger, at the emerald. 'Of course I do. Of course I do.' My voice broke. 'But you... Tamlin...' The walls pushed in on me. The quiet, the guards, the stares. What I'd seen at the Tithe today. 'I'm drowning,' I managed to say. 'I am drowning. And the more you do this, the more guards... You might as well be shoving my head under the water.' Nothing in those eyes, that face. But then- I cried out, instinct taking over as his power blasted through the room. The windows shattered. The furniture splintered. And that box of paints and brushes and paper... It exploded into dust and glass and wood.”

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“One breath, the study was intact. The next, it was shards of nothing, a shell of a room. None of it had touched me from where I had dropped to the floor, my hands over my head. Tamlin was panting, the ragged breaths almost like sobs. I was shaking- shaking so hard I thought my bones would splinter as the furniture had- but I made myself lower my arms and look at him. That was devastation on that face. And pain. And fear. And grief. Around me, no debris had fallen- as if he had shielded me. Tamlin took a step toward me, over that invisible demarcation. He recoiled as if he'd hit something solid. 'Feyre,,' he rasped. He stepped again- and that line held. 'Feyre, please,' he breathed. And I realised that the line, that bubble of protection... It was from me. A shield. Not just a mental one- but a physical one, too. ... 'Feyre,' Tamlin groaned a third time, pushing a hand against what indeed looked like an invisible, curved wall of hardened air. 'Please. Please.' Those words cracked something in me. Cracked me open. Perhaps they cracked that shield of solid wind as well, for his hand shot through it. Then he stepped over that line between chaos and order, danger and safety. He dropped to his knees, taking my face in his hands. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.' I couldn't stop trembling. 'I'll try,' he breathed. 'I'll try to be better. I don't... I can't control it sometimes. The rage. Today was just... today was bad. With the Tithe, with all of it. Today- let's forget it, let's just move past it. Please.' I didn't fight as he slid his arms around me, tucking me in tightly enough that his warmth soaked through me. He buried his face in my neck and said onto my nape, as if the words would be absorbed by my body, as if he could only say it the way we'd always been good at communicating- skin to skin, 'I couldn't save you before. I couldn't protect you from them. And when you said that, about... about me drowning you... Am I any better than they were?' I should have told him it wasn't true, but... I had spoken with my heart. Or what was left of it. 'I'll try to be better,' he said again. 'Please- give me more time. Let me... let me get through this. Please.' Get through what? I wanted to ask. But words had abandoned me. I realised I hadn't spoken yet. Realised he was waiting for an answer- and that I didn't have one. So I put my arms around him, because body to body was the only way I could speak, too. It was answer enough. 'I'm sorry,' he said again. He didn't stop murmuring it for minutes. You've given enough, Feyre. Perhaps he was right. And perhaps I didn't have anything left to give, anyway. I looked over his shoulder as I held him. The red paint had splattered on the wall behind us. And as I watched it slide down the cracked wood panelling, I thought it looked like blood.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“I awoke each night, shaking and panting. And became glad when Tamlin wasn't there to witness it. When I, too, didn't witness him being yanked from his dreams, cold sweating coating his body. Or shifting into that beast, and staying awake until dawn, monitoring the estate for threats. What could I say to calm those fears, when I was the source of so many of them?”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“Get out.' He pointed toward the staircase. 'She'll come to you when she's ready.' Rhysand just brushed an invisible fleck of dust off Tamlin's sleeve. Part of me admired the sheer nerve it must have taken. Had Tamlin's teeth been inches from my throat, I would have bleated in panic. Rhys cut a glance at me. 'No, you wouldn't have. As far as your memory serves me, the last time Tamlin's teeth were near your throat, you slapped him across the face.' I snapped up my forgotten shields, scowling. 'Shut your mouth,' Tamlin said, stepping further between us. 'And get out.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“Feyre,' he said, reaching for me, but I stepped out of range. 'Why do you need to know these things? Is it not enough for you to recover in peace? You earned that for yourself. You earned it. I relaxed the number of sentries here; I've been trying... trying to be better about it. So leave the rest of it-' He took a steadying breath. 'This isn't the time for this conversation.' It was never the time for this conversation, or that conversation. But I didn't say it. I didn't have the energy to say it, and the words dried up and blew away. So I memorised the lines of Tamlin's face, and didn't fight him as he pulled me to his chest and held me tightly.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“What the hell happened to you?' Rhysand said before the Night Court had fully appeared around us. 'Why don't you just look inside my head?' Even as I said it, the words had no bite. I didn't bother to shove him as I stepped out of his hold. He gave me a wink. 'Where's the fun in that?' I didn't smile. 'No shoe throwing this time?' I could almost see the other words in his eyes. Come on. Play with me. I headed for the stairs that would take me to my room. 'Eat breakfast with me,' he said. There was a note in those words that made me pause. A note of what I could have sworn was desperation. Worry. I twisted, my loose clothes sliding off my shoulders, my waist. I hadn't realised how much weight I'd lost. Despite things creeping back to normal. I said, 'Don't you have other things to deal with?' 'Of course I do,' he said, shrugging. 'I have so many things to deal with that I'm sometimes tempted to unleash my power across the world and wipe the board clean. Just to buy me some damned peace.' He grinned, bowing at the waist. Even that casual mention of his power failed to chill me, awe me. 'But I'll always make time for you.' I was hungry- I hadn't yet eaten. And that was indeed worry glimmering behind the cocky, insufferable grin.”

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“Tired. I was so- tired. When we were almost to the table, Rhys said, 'I felt a spike of fear this month through our lovely bond. Anything exciting happen at the wondrous Spring Court?' 'It was nothing,' I said. Because it was. And it was none of his business. I glanced sidelong at him- and rage, not worry- flicked in those eyes. I could have sworn the mountain beneath us trembled in response. 'If you know,' I said coldly, 'why even ask about it?' I dropped into my chair as he slid into his. He said quietly, 'Because these days, all I hear through the bond is nothing. Silence. Even with your shields up rather impressively most of the time, I should be able to feel you. And yet I don't. Sometimes I'll tug on the bond only to make sure you're still alive.' Darkness guttered. 'And then one day, I'm in the middle of an important meeting when terror blasts through the bond. All I get are glimpses of you and him- and then nothing. Back to silence. I'd like to know what caused such a disruption.' I served myself from the platters of food, barely caring what had been laid on the table. 'It was an argument, and the rest is none of your concern.' 'Is it why you look like grief and guilt and rage are eating you alive, bit by bit?”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“I'm not going to be a part of this war you think is coming. You say I should be a weapon, not a pawn- they seem like the same to me. The only difference is who's wielding it.' 'I want your help, not to manipulate you,' he snapped. His flare of tempter made me at last lift my head. 'You want my help because it'll piss off Tamlin.' Shadows danced around his shoulders- as if the wings were trying to take form. 'Fine,' he breathed. 'I dug that grave myself, with all I did Under the Mountain. But I need your help. Again, I could feel the other unspoken words. Ask me why; push me about it. And again, I didn't want to. Didn't have the energy to. Rhys said quietly, 'I was a prisoner to her court for nearly fifty years. I was tortured and beaten and fucked until only telling myself who I was, what I had to protect, kept me from trying to find a way to end it. Please- help me keep that from happening again. To Prythian.' Some distant part of my heart ached and bled at the words, at what he'd laid bare. But Tamlin had made exceptions- he'd lightened the guards' presence, allowed me to roam a bit more freely. He was trying. We were trying. I wouldn't jeopardize that. So I went back to eating. Rhys didn't say another word.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“Start copying the alphabet. Until your letters are perfect. And every time you get through a round, lower and raise your shield. Until that is second nature. I'll be back in an hour.' 'What?' 'Copy. The. Alphabet. Until-' 'I heard what you said.' Prick. Prick, prick, prick. 'Then get to work,' Rhys uncoiled to his feet. 'And at least have the decency to only call me a prick when you shields are back up.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“You're going to be a High Lord's wife,' Rhys said. 'You'll be expected to maintain your own correspondences, perhaps even give a speech or two. And the Cauldron knows what else he and Ianthe will deem appropriate for you. Make menus for dinner parties, write thank-you letters for all those wedding gifts, embroider sweet phrases on pillows... It's a necessary skill. And, you know what? Why don't we throw in shielding while we're at it. Reading and shielding- fortunately, you can practice both together.' 'They are both necessary skills,' I said through my teeth, 'but you are not going to teach me.' 'What else are you going to do with yourself? Paint? How's that going these days, Feyre?”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“The only evidence I had at all that Rhys remained on the premises were the blank copies of the alphabet, along with several sentences I was to write every day, swapping out words, each one more obnoxious that the last. Rhys is the most handsome High Lord. Rhys is the most delightful High Lord. Rhys is the most cunning High Lord. Every day, one miserable sentence- with one changing word of varying arrogance and vanity. And every day, another simple set of instructions: shield up, shield down, shield up, shield down. Over and over and over.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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