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A Court of Thorns and Roses

Book by Sarah J. Maas · 50 quotes · Feyre, A Court Of Thorns And Roses, Sarah J Maas

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A Court of Thorns and Roses Quotes

“Why do you think I'm doing this?' He waved a hand to me. 'Because you're a monster.' He laughed. 'True, but I'm also a pragmatist. Working Tamlin into a senseless fury is the best weapon we have against her. Seeing you enter into a fool's bargain with Amarantha was one thing, but when Tamlin saw my tattoo on your arm... Oh, you should have been born with my abilities, if only to have felt the rage that seeped from him.' I didn't want to think much about his abilities. 'Who's to say he won't splatter you as well?' 'Perhaps he'll try- but I have a felling he'll kill Amarantha first. That's what it all boils down to, anyway: even your servitude to me can be blamed on her. So he'll kill her tomorrow, and I'll be free before he can start a fight with me that will reduce our once-sacred mountain to rubble.' He picked at his nails. 'And I have a few other cards to play.' I lifted my brows in silent question. 'Feyre, for Cauldron's sake. I drug you, but you don't wonder why I never touch you beyond your waist or arm?' Until tonight- until the damned kiss. I gritted my teeth, but even as my anger rose, a picture cleared. 'It's the only claim I have to innocence,' he said, 'the only thing that will make Tamlin think twice before entering into a battle with me that would cause a catastrophic loss of innocent life. It's the only way I can convince him I was on your side. Believe me, I would have liked nothing more than to enjoy you- but there are bigger things at stake than taking a human woman to my bed.”

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“Why did Amarantha target you?' I dared ask. 'Why make you her whore?' 'Beyond the obvious?' He gestured to his perfect face. When I didn't smile he loosed a breath. 'My father killed Tamlin's father- and his brothers.' I started. Tamlin had never said- never told me the Night Court was responsible for that. 'It's a long story, and I don't feel like going into it, but let's just say that when she stole out lands out from under us, Amarantha decided that she especially wanted to punish the son of her friend's murderer- decided that she hated me enough for my father's deeds that I was to suffer.' I might have reached a hand toward him, might have offered my apologies- but every thought had dried up in my head. What Amarantha had done to him...”

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“The faerie servant offered the last dagger, and I was about to reach for it when the guard removed the hood from the male kneeling before me. My hands slackened at my sides. Amber-flecked green eyes stared up at me. Everything came crashing down, layer upon layer, shattering and breaking and crumbling, as I gazed at Tamlin. I whipped my head to the throne beside Amarantha's, still occupied by my High Lord, and she laughed as she snapped her fingers. The Tamlin beside her transformed in to the Attor, smiling wickedly at me. Tricked- deceived by my own senses again. Slowly, my soul ripping further from me, I turned back to Tamlin. There was only guilt and sorrow in his eyes, and I stumbled away, almost falling as I tripped over my feet.”

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“She sneered at the pillar of foxglove I'd painted along the edge of the table- the colours too dark and too blue, with none of the white freckling inside the trumpets, but I'd made do, even if it had killed me not to have white paint, to make something so flawed and lasting. I drowned the urge to cover up the painting with my hand. Maybe tomorrow I'd just scrape it off the table altogether.”

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“The bedroom was larger than our entire cottage. Its walls were pale green, delicately sketched with patterns of gold, and the mouldings were golden as well. I might have thought it tacky had the ivory furniture and rugs not complemented it so well. The gigantic bed was of a similar colour scheme, and the curtains that hung from the towering headboard drifted in the faint breeze from the open windows. My dressing gown was of the finest silk, edged with lace- simple and exquisite enough that I ran a finger along the lapels.”

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“You look... refreshed,' Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. 'Sleep well?' 'Like a babe.' I smiled at him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. 'What is that bruise?' Lucien demanded. I pointed with my fork at Tamlin. 'Ask him. He did it.' Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. 'Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?' he asked with no small amount of amusement. 'I bit her,' Tamlin said, not pausing as he cut his steak. 'We ran into each other in the hall after the Rite.' I straightened in my chair. 'She seems to have a death wise,' he went on, cutting his meat. The claws stayed retracted but pushed against the skin above his knuckles. My throat closed up. Oh, he was mad- furious at my foolishness for leaving my room- but somehow managed to keep his anger on a tight, tight leash. 'So, if Feyre can't be bothered to listen to orders, then I can't be held accountable for the consequences.' 'Accountable?' I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. 'You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!' Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. 'While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room,' Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. 'Faerie pig!' I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left. It took me a couple of hours to stop painting little portraits of Tamlin and Lucien with pigs' features. But as I finished the last one- Two faerie pigs wallowing in their own filth, I would call it- I smiled into the clear, bright light of my private painting room. The Tamlin I knew had returned. And it made me... happy.”

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“You look... refreshed,' Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. 'Sleep well?' 'Like a babe.' I smiled at him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. 'What is that bruise?' Lucien demanded. I pointed with my fork at Tamlin. 'Ask him. He did it.' Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. 'Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?' he asked with no small amount of amusement. 'I bit her,' Tamlin said, not pausing as he cut his steak. 'We ran into each other in the hall after the Rite.' I straightened in my chair. 'She seems to have a death wish,' he went on, cutting his meat. The claws stayed retracted but pushed against the skin above his knuckles. My throat closed up. Oh, he was mad- furious at my foolishness for leaving my room- but somehow managed to keep his anger on a tight, tight leash. 'So, if Feyre can't be bothered to listen to orders, then I can't be held accountable for the consequences.' 'Accountable?' I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. 'You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!' Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. 'While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room,' Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. 'Faerie pig!' I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left. It took me a couple of hours to stop painting little portraits of Tamlin and Lucien with pigs' features. But as I finished the last one- Two faerie pigs wallowing in their own filth, I would call it- I smiled into the clear, bright light of my private painting room. The Tamlin I knew had returned. And it made me... happy.”

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“Please, good sir- Feyre is my youngest. I beseech you to spare her. She is all... she is all...' But whatever he meant to say died in his throat as the beast roared again. But hearing those few words he'd managed to get out, the effort he'd made... it was like a blade to my belly. My father cringed as he said, 'Please-”

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“His tunic was unbuttoned at the top, and he ran a hand through his blue-black hair before he wordlessly slumped against the wall across from me and slid to the floor. 'What do you want?' I demanded. 'A moment of peace and quiet,' he snapped, rubbing his temples. I paused. 'From what?' He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. He sighed. 'From this mess.' I sat up farther on my pallet of hay. I'd never seen him so candid. 'That damned bitch is running me ragged,' he went on and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. 'You hate me. Imagine how you'd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. I'm High Lord of the Night Court- not her harlot.' So the slurs were true. And I could imagine very easily how much I would hate him- what it would do to me- to be enslaved to someone like that. 'Why are you telling me this?' The swagger and nastiness were gone. 'Because I'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk.' He let out a low laugh. 'How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and a -' 'You can leave if you're just going to insult me.' 'But I'm so good at it.' He flashed one of his grins. I glared at him, but he sighed.”

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“Everything was black, and warm- and thick. Inky, but bordered with gold. I was swimming, kicking for the surface, where Tamlin was waiting, where life was waiting. Up and up, frantic for air. The golden light grew, and the darkness became like sparkling wine, easier to swim through, the bubbles fizzing around me, and- I gasped, air flooding my throat. I was lying on the cold floor. No pain- no blood, no broken bones. I blinked. A chandelier dangled above me- I'd never noticed how intricate the crystals were, how the hushed gasp of the crowd echoed off them. A crowd- meaning I was still in the throne room, meaning I... I truly wasn't dead. Meaning I had... I had killed those... I had... The room spun. I groaned as I braced my hands against the floor, readying myself to stand, but- the sight of my skin stopped me cold. It gleamed with a strange light, and my fingers seemed longer where I'd laid them flat on the marble. I pushed to my feet. I felt- felt strong, and fast and sleek. And- And I'd become High Fae.”

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“Lucien's red hair shone in the firelight, the colours flickering with every movement he made, and the jewels in the hilt of his sword glinted- the ornate blade so unlike the baldric of knives still strapped across Tamlin's chest. But there was no one here to use a sword against. And while the sword was embedded with jewels and filigree, it was large enough to be more than decoration.”

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“I couldn't read, and it had almost killed me. I hadn't even won properly. I sank to my knees, letting the platform carry me, and covered my face in my shaking hands. Tears burned just before pain seared through my left arm. I would never beat the third task. I would never free Tamlin, or his people. The pain shot through my bones again, and through my increasing hysteria, I heard words inside my head that stopped me short. Don't let her see you cry. Put your hands at your sides and stand up. I couldn't. I couldn't move. Stand. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing you break. My knees and spine, not entirely of my own will, forced me upright, and when the ground at last stopped moving, I looked at Amarantha with tearless eyes. Good, Rhysand told me. Stare her down. No tears- wait until you're back in your cell. Amarantha's face was drawn and white, her black eyes like onyx as she beheld me. I had won, but I should be dead. I should be squashed, my blood oozing everywhere. Count to ten. Don't look at Tamlin. Just stare at her. I obeyed. It was the only thing that kept me from giving in to the sobs trapped within my chest, thundering to get out. I willed myself to meet Amarantha's gaze. It was cold and vast and full of ancient malice, but I held it. I counted to ten. Good girl. Now walk away. Turn on your heel- good. Walk toward the door. Keep your chin high. Let the crowd part. One step after another. I listened to him, let him keep me tethered to sanity as I was escorted back to my cell by the guards-who still kept their distance. Rhysand's words echoed through my mind, holding me together. But when my cell door closed, he went silent, and I dropped to the floor and wept.”

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“I wept for hours. For myself, for Tamlin, for the fact that I should be dead and had somehow survived. I cried for everything I'd lost, every injury I'd ever received, every wound- physical or otherwise. I cried for that trivial part of me, once so full of colour and light- now hollow and dark and empty. I couldn't stop. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't beat her. She won today and she had known it. She'd won; it was only by cheating that I'd survived. Tamlin would never be free, and I would perish in the most awful of ways. I couldn't read- I was an ignorant fool. My shortcomings had caught up with me, and this place would become my tomb. I would never paint again; never see the sun again. The walls closed in- the ceiling dropped. I wanted to be crushed; I wanted to be snuffed out. Everything converged, squeezing inward, sucking out air. I was grasping for my body, but it hurt too much each time I tried to maintain the connection. All I had wanted- all I had dared want, was a life that was quiet, easy. Nothing more than that. Nothing extraordinary. But now... now...”

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“Every time I looked toward a horizon of wondered if I should just walk and walk and never look back, I'd hear the promise I made eleven years ago as she wasted away on her deathbed. Stay together, and look after them. I'd agreed, too young to ask why she hadn't begged my elder sisters, or my father.”

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“There is... a sickness in these lands. Across Prythian. There has been for almost fifty years now. It is why this house and these lands are so empty: most have left. The blight spreads slowly, but it has made magic act... strangely. My own powers are diminished due to it. These masks'- he tapped on his- 'are the result of a surge of it that occurred during a masquerade forty-nine years ago. Even now, we can't remove them.' Stuck in masks- for nearly fifty years. I would have gone made, would have peeled my skin off my face. 'You didn't have a mask on as a beast- and neither did your friend.' 'The blight is cruel like that.' Either live as a beast, or live with the mask.”

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“You could have been the one to stop her.' Her eyes were hard upon me, and she bared her teeth. They were alarmingly sharp. She shoved the turnips and beets into the bag. 'You could have been the one to free him and his power, had you not been so blind to your own heart. Humans,' she spat.”

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“I never got to thank you for your advice with the Suriel.' Lucien tensed. 'Oh?' I looked ahead at the easy way Tamlin rode, the horse utterly unbothered by his mighty rider. 'If you still want me dead,' I said, 'you might have to try a bit harder.' Lucien loosed a breath. 'That's not what I intended.' I gave him a long look. 'I wouldn't shed any tears,' he amended. I knew it was true. 'But what happened to you-' 'I was joking,' I said, and gave him a little smile. 'You can't possibly forgive me that easily for sending you into danger.' 'No. And part of me would like nothing more than to wallop you for your lack of warning about the Suriel. But I understand: I'm a human who killed your friend, who now lives in your house, and you have to deal with me. I understand,' I said again.”

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“—Porque yo no querría morirme sola —respondí, y me tembló la voz cuando volví a mirar a Tamlin y me obligué a buscar sus ojos con los míos—. Porque me gustaría que alguien me sostuviera la mano hasta el final y un rato más después. Eso es algo que todo el mundo merece, inmortales y humanos. –Capítulo 17, pág. 177”

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“Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don't feel anything at all." I couldn't explain about the hole that had already formed in my soul - didn't want to, so I just nodded. 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.”

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“I'll come with you,' I said softly to Tamlin, to Lucien, shifting on his feet, 'if you leave them alone. Let them go.' You do not hold me. Tamlin's face contorted with wrath. 'They're monsters. They're-' He didn't finish as he stalked across the floor to grab me. To drag me out of here, then no doubt winnow away. You do not hold me. 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. Panting, I retreated right into Rhysand's arms as one looped around my waist, as Azriel's blood on him soaked into my back. Behind us, Mor leaped in to fill the space Rhys had vacated, slinging Azriel's arm over her shoulders. ... Tamlin rose, wiping the blood now trickling from his nose as he backed to where Lucien held his position with a hand on his sword. But just as Tamlin neared his Emissary, he staggered a step. His face went white with rage. And I knew Tamlin understood a moment before the king laughed. 'I don't believe it. Your bride left you only to find her mate. The Mother has a warped sense of humour, it seems. And what a talent- tell me, girl; how did you unravel that spell?' I ignored him. But the hatred in Tamlin's eyes made my knees buckle. 'I'm sorry,' I said, and meant it. Tamlin's eyes were on Rhysand, his face near-feral. 'You,' he snarled, the sound more animal than Fae. 'What did you do to her?”

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“I stared at the nose I'd seen bleeding only hours before, the violet eyes that had been so filled with pain. 'Why?' I asked. He knew what I meant, and shrugged. 'Because when the legends get written, I didn't want to be remembered for standing on the side-lines. I want my future offspring to know that I was there, and that I fought against her at the end, even if I couldn't do anything useful.' I blinked, this time not at the brightness of the sun. 'Because,' he went on, his eyes locked with mine, 'I didn't want you to fight alone. Or die alone.' And for a moment, I remembered the faerie who had died in our foyer, and how I'd told Tamlin the same thing. 'Thank you,' I said, my throat tight. Rhys flashed a grin that hadn't quite reached his eyes. 'I doubt you'll be saying that when I take you to the Night Court.' I didn't bother to reply as I turned toward the view. The mountains went on and on, gleaming and shadowed and vast under the open, clear sky. But nothing in my stirred- nothing catalogued the light and colours.”

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“Are you going to fly home?' I said. A soft laugh. 'Unfortunately, it would take longer than I can afford. Another day, I'll taste the skies again.' I glanced at the wings tucked into his powerful body, and my voice was hoarse as I spoke. 'You never told me you loved the wings- or the flying.' No, he'd made shape-shifting seem... base, useless, boring. He shrugged. 'Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me. I tell very few about the wings. Or the flying.' Some colour had already come into that moon-white face- and I wondered whether he might once have been tan before Amarantha had kept him belowground for so long. A High Lord who loved to fly- trapped under a mountain. Shadows not of his own making still haunted those violet eyes. I wondered if they would ever fade.”

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“I know my alphabet,' I said sharply as he laid a piece of paper in front of me. 'I'm not that stupid.' I twisted my fingers in my lap, then pinned my restless hands under my thighs. 'I didn't say you were stupid,' he said. 'I'm just trying to determine where we should begin.' I leaned back in the cushioned seat. 'Since you've refused to tell me a thing about how much you know.' My face warmed. 'Can't you hire a tutor?' He lifted a brow. 'Is it that hard for you to even try in front of me?' 'You're a High Lord- don't you have better things to do?' 'Of course. But none as enjoyable as seeing you squirm.' 'You're a real bastard, you know that?' Rhys huffed a laugh. 'I've been called worse. In fact, I think you've called me worse.' He tapped the paper in front of him. 'Read that.' A blur of letters. My throat tightened. 'I can't.' 'Try.' The sentence had been written in elegant, concise print. His writing, no doubt. I tried to open my mouth, but my spine locked. 'What exactly, is your stake in all this? You said you'd tell me if I worked with you.' 'I didn't specify when I'd tell you.' I peeled back from him as my lip curled. He shrugged. 'Maybe I resent the idea of you letting those sycophants and war-mongering fools in the Spring Court make you feel inadequate. Maybe I indeed enjoy seeing you squirm. Or maybe-' 'I get it.' He snorted. 'Try to read it, Feyre.' Prick. I snatched the paper to me, nearly ripping it in half in the process. I looked at the first word, sounding it out in my head. 'Y-you...' The next I figured out with a combination of my silent pronunciation and logic. 'Look...' 'Good,' he murmured. 'I didn't ask for your approval.' Rhys chuckled. 'Ab... absolutely.' It took me longer than I wanted to admit to figure that out. The next word was even worse. 'De... Del...' I deigned to glance at him, brows raised. 'Delicious,' he purred. My brows knotted. I read the next two words, then whipped my face toward him. 'You look absolutely delicious today, Feyre?! That's what you wrote?' He leaned back in his seat. As our eyes met, sharp claws caressed my mind and his voice whispered inside my head. It's true, isn't it? I jolted back, my chair groaning. 'Stop that!' But those claws now dug in- and my entire body, my heart, my lungs, my blood yielded to his grip, utterly at his command as he said, The fashion of the Night Court suits you.”

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“I felt the ripple in the darkness without having to look up, and didn't flinch at the soft footsteps that approached me. I didn't bother hoping that it would be Tamlin. 'Still weeping?' Rhysand. I didn't lower my hands from my face. The floor rose toward the lowering ceiling- I would soon be flattened. There was no colour, no light here. 'You're just beaten her second task. Tears are unnecessary.' I wept harder, and he laughed. The stones reverberated as he knelt before me, and though I tried to fight him, his grip was firm as he grasped my wrists and pried my hands from my face. The walls weren't moving, and the room was open- gaping. No colours, but shades of darkness, of night. Only those star-flecked violet eyes were bright, full of colour and light. He gave me a lazy smile before he leaned forward. I pulled away, but his hands were like shackles. I could do nothing as his mouth met with my cheek, and he licked away a tear. His tongue was hot against my skin, so startling that I couldn't move as he licked away another path of salt water, and then another. My body went taut and loose all at once and I burned, even as chills shuddered along my limbs. It was only when his tongue danced along the damp edges of my lashes that I jerked back. He chuckled as I scrambled for the corner of the cell. I wiped my face as I glared at him. He smirked, sitting down against a wall. 'I figured that would get you to stop crying.' 'It was disgusting.' I wiped my face again. 'Was it?' He quirked an eyebrow and pointed to his palm- to the place where my tattoo would be. 'Beneath all your pride and stubbornness, I could have sworn I detected something that felt differently. Interesting.' 'Get out.' 'As usual, your gratitude is overwhelming.' 'Do you want me to kiss your feet for what you did at the trial? Do you want me to offer another week of my life?' 'Not unless you feel compelled to do so,' he said, his eyes like stars.”

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“As wonderful as it is to see you, Feyre, darling,' Rhysand said, sprawled on the bed, his head propped up by a hand, 'do I want to know why you're digging through my fireplace?' I bent my knees slightly, preparing to run, to duck, to do anything to get to the door that felt far, far away. 'They said I had to clean out lentils from the ashes, or you'd rip off my skin.' 'Did they now?' A feline smile.”

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“You look just as I hoped you would.' From the cobwebs of my memory, I recalled similar words Tamlin had once whispered in my ear. 'If this necessary?' I said, gesturing to the paint and clothing. 'Of course,' he said coolly. 'How else would I know if anyone touches you?' He approached, and I braced myself as he ran a finger along my shoulder, smearing the paint. As soon as his finger left my skin, the paint fixed itself, returning the design to its original form. 'The dress itself won't mar it, and neither will your movements,' he said, his face close to mine. His teeth were far too near to my throat. 'And I'll remember precisely where my hands have been. But if anyone else touches you- let's say a certain High Lord who enjoys springtime- I'll know.' He flicked my nose. 'And, Feyre,' he added, his voice a caressing murmur, 'I don't like my belongings tampered with.' Ice wrapped around my stomach. He owned me for a week every month. Apparently, he thought that extended to the rest of my life, too.”

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“... the door creaked and a golden fox-face appeared- along with a narrowed metal eye. 'Shit,' said Lucien. 'It's freezing in here.' It was but I was too nauseated to notice. Keeping my head up was an effort, let alone keeping the food down. He unclasped his cloak and set it around my shoulders. Its heavy warmth leaked in to me. 'Look at all this,' he said, staring at the paint on me. Thanksfully, it was all intact, save for a few places on my waist. 'Bastard.' 'What happened?' I got out, even though I wasn't sure I truly wanted the answer. My memory was a dark blur of wild music. Lucien drew back. 'I don't think you want to know.' I studied the few smudges on my waist, marks that looked like hands had held me. 'Who did this to me?' I asked quietly, my eyes tracing the arc of the spoiled paint. 'Who do you think?' My heart clenched and I looked at the floor. 'Did- did Tamlin see it?' Lucien nodded. 'Rhys was only doing it to get a rise out of him.' 'Did it work?' I still couldn't look Lucien in the face. I knew, at least, that I hadn't been violated beyond touching my sides. The paint told me that much. 'No,' Lucien said, and I smiled grimly. 'What- was I doing the whole time?' So much for Alis's warning. Lucien let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his red hair. 'He had you dance for him for most of the night. And when you weren't dancing, you were sitting in his lap.' 'What kind of dancing?' I pushed. 'Not the kind you were doing with Tamlin on Solstice,' Lucien said and my face heated. From the murkiness of my memories of last night, I recalled the closeness of a certain pair of violet eyes- eyes that sparkled with mischief as they beheld me. 'In front of everyone?' 'Yes,' Lucien replied- more gently than I'd heard him speak to me before. I stiffened. I didn't want his pity.”

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Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“Just pick one!' Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed- his brothers no doubt the loudest. I reached a hand toward the levers and stared at the three numbers, beyond my trembling, tattooed fingers. I, II, III. They meant nothing to me beyond life and death. Chance might save me, but- Two. Two was a lucky number, because that was like Tamlin and me- just two people. One had to be bad, because one was like Amarantha, or the Attor- solitary beings. One was a nasty number, and three was too much- it was three sisters crammed into a tiny cottage, hating each other until they choked on it, until it poisoned them. Two. It was two. I could gladly, willingly, fanatically believe in a Cauldron and Fate if they would take care of me. I believed in two. Two. I reached for the second lever, but a blinding pain racked my hand before I could touch the stone. I hissed, withdrawing I opened my palm to reveal the slitted eye tattooed there. It narrowed. I had to be hallucinating. The grate was about to cover the inscription, barely six feet above my head. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The heat was too much, and metal sizzled so close to my ears. I again reached for the middle lever, but the pain paralysed my fingers. The eye had returned to its usual state. I extended my hand toward the first lever. Again, pain. I reached for the third lever. No pain. My fingers met with stone, and I looked up to find the grate not four feet from my head. Through it, I found a star-flecked violet gaze. I reached for the first lever. Pain. But when I reached for the third lever... Rhysand's face remained a mask of boredom. Sweat slipped down m brow, stinging my eyes. I could only trust him; I could only give myself up again, forced to concede by my helplessness. The spikes were so enormous up close. All I had to do was lift my arm above my head and I'd burn the flesh off my hands. 'Feyre, please!' Lucian moaned. I shook so badly I could scarcely stand. The heat of the spikes bore down on me. The stone lever was cool in my hand. I shut my eyes, unable to look at Tamlin, bracing myself up for the impact and the agony, and pulled the third lever. Silence. The pulsing heat didn't grow closer. Then- a sigh. Lucien. I opened my eyes to find my tattooed fingers white-knuckled beneath the ink as they gripped the lever. The spikes hovered not inches from my head. Unmoving- stopped. I had won- I had...”

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Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“I'll spare you the escort duties tomorrow,' he said, shrugging as he walked to the cell door. 'But the night after, I expect you to be looking your finest.' He gave me a grin that suggested my finest wasn't very much at all. He paused by the door, but didn't dissolve into darkness. 'I've been thinking of ways to torment you when you come to my court. I'm wondering: Will assigning you to learn to read be as painful as it looked today?' He vanished into shadow before I could launch myself at him. I paced through my cell, scowling at the eye in my hand. I spat every curse I could at it, but there was no response. It took me a long while to realise that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.”

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Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“The future I'd dreamed of was just that: a dream. I'd grow old and withered, while he would remain young for centuries, perhaps millennia. At best, I'd have decades with him before I died. Decades. That was what I was fighting for. A flash in time for them- a drop in the pool of their eons. So I greedily drank the wine, and I stopped caring about who I was and what had once mattered to me. I stopped thinking about colour, about light, about the green of Tamlin's eyes- about all those things I had still wanted to paint and now would never get to. I wasn't going to leave this mountain alive.”

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“Rhysand's moon-white skin began to darken into nothing but shadow. 'Wait.' The darkness consuming him paused. For Tamlin... for Tamlin I would sell my soul; I would give up everything I had for him to be free. 'Wait,' I repeated. The darkness vanished, leaving Rhysand in his solid form as he grinned. 'Yes?' I raised my chin as high as I could manage. 'Just two weeks?' 'Just two weeks,' he purred, and knelt before me. 'Two teensy, tiny weeks with me every month is all I ask.' 'Why? And what are to... to be the terms?' I said, fighting past the dizziness. 'Ah,' he said, adjusting the lapel of his obsidian tunic. 'If I told you those things, there'd be no fun in it, would there?' ... I couldn't think entirely of the enormity of what I was about to give- or else I might refuse again. I met Rhysand's gaze. 'Five days.' 'You're going to bargain?' Rhysand laughed under his breath. 'Ten days.' I held his stare with all my strength. 'A week.' Rhysand was silent for a long moment, his eyes travelling across my body and my face before he murmured. 'A week it is.' 'Then it's a deal,' I said. A metallic taste filled my mouth as magic stirred between us.”

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Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“His smile became a bit wild, and before I could brace myself, he grabbed my arm. There was a blinding, quick pain, and my scream sounded in my ears as bone and flesh were shattered, blood rushed out of me, and then- Rhysand was still grinning when I opened my eyes. I hadn't any idea how long I'd been unconscious, but my fever was gone, and my head was clear as I sat up. In face, the mud was gone, too. I felt as if I'd just been bathed. But then I lifted my left arm. 'What have you done to me?' Rhysand stood, running a hand through his short, dark hair. 'It's custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh.' I rubbed my left forearm and hand, the entirety of which was now covered in swirls and whorls of black ink. Even my fingers weren't spared, and a large eye was tattooed in the centre of my palm. It was feline, and it's slitted pupil stared right back at me. 'Make it go away,' I said, and he laughed. 'You humans are truly grateful creatures, aren't you?' From the distance, the tattoo looked like an elbow-length lace glove, but when I held it close to my face, I could detect the intricate depictions of flowers and curves that flowed throughout to make up a larger pattern. Permanent. Forever. 'You didn't tell me this would happen.' 'You didn't ask. So how am I to blame?' He walked to the door but lingered, even as pure night wafted off his shoulders. 'Unless this lack of gratitude and appreciation is because you fear a certain High Lord's reaction.' Tamlin. I could already see his face going pale, his lips becoming thin as the claws came out. I could almost hear the growl he'd emit when he asked me what I had been thinking. 'I think I'll wait to tell him until the moment's right, though,' Rhysand said. The gleam in his eyes told me enough. Rhysand hadn't done any of this to save me, but rather to hurt Tamlin. And I'd fallen into his trap- fallen into it worse than the worm had fallen into mine.”

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Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“Each of us has a beast roaming beneath our skin, roaring to get out. While your Tamlin prefers fur, I find wings and talons to be more entertaining.' A lick of cold kissed down my spine. 'Can you shift now, or did she take that, too?' 'So many questions from a little human.' But the darkness that hovered around him began to writhe and twist and flare as he rose to his feet. I blinked, and it was done. I lifted the iron poker, just a little bit. 'Not a full shift, you see,' Rhysand said, clicking the black razor-sharp talons that had replaced his fingers. Below the knee, darkness stained his skin- but talons also gleamed in lieu of toes. 'I don't particularly like yielding wholly to my baser side.' Indeed, it was still Rhysand's face, his powerful male body, but flaring out behind him were massive black membranous wings- like a bat's, like the Attor's. He tucked them in neatly behind him, but the single claw at the apex of each peeked over his broad shoulders. Horrific, stunning- the face of a thousand nightmares and dreams. That again-useless part of me stirred at the sight, the way the candlelight shone through the wings, illuminating the veins, the way it bounced off his talons. Rhysand rolled his neck, and it all vanished in a flash- the wings, the talons, the feet, leaving only the male behind, well-dressed and unruffled. 'No attempts at flattery?' I had made a very, very big mistake in offering my life to him. But I said. 'You have a high-enough opinion of yourself already. I doubt the flattery of a little human matters much to you.' He let out a low laugh that slid along my bones, warming my blood. 'I can't decide whether I should consider you admirable or very stupid for being so bold with a High Lord.' Only around him did I have trouble keeping my mouth shut, it seemed.”

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Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“From the neck up, I was regal: my face was adorned with cosmetics- rouge on my lips, a smearing of gold dust on my eyelids, kohl lining my eyes- and my hair was coiled around a small golden diadem imbedded with lapis lazuli. But from the neck down, I was a heathen god's play-thing. They had continued the pattern of the tattoo on my arm, and once the blue-black paint had dried, they placed on me a gauzy white dress. If you could call it a dress. It was little more than two long shafts of gossamer, just wide enough to cover my breasts, pinned at each shoulder with gold brooches. The sections flowed down to a jewelled belt slung low across my hips, where they joined into a single piece of fabric that hung between my legs and to the floor. It barely covered me, and from the cold air on my skin, I knew that most of my backside was left exposed.”

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“Your second trial is tomorrow night,' he said neutrally. The gold and silver thread in his black tunic shone in the candlelight. He never wore another colour. It was like a stone to the head. I'd lost count of the days. 'So?' 'It could be your last,' he said, and leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. 'If you're taunting me into playing another game of yours, you're wasting your breath.' 'Aren't you going to beg me to give you a night with your beloved?' 'I'll have that night, and all the ones after, when I beat her final task.' Rhysand shrugged, then flashed a grin as he pushed off the door and stepped toward me. 'I wonder if you were this prickly with Tamlin when you were his captive.' 'He never treated me like a captive- or a slave.' 'No- and how could he? Not with the shame of his father and brothers' brutality always weighing on him, the poor, noble beast.”

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Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“Who would have thought that the self-righteous human girl couldn't read?' 'Keep your damned mouth shut about it.' 'Me? I wouldn't dream of telling anyone. Why waste that kind of knowledge on petty gossip?' If I'd had the strength, I would have leaped on him and ripped him apart. 'You're a disgusting bastard.' 'I'll have to ask Tamlin if that kind of flattery won his heart.”

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Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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