A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses #1) by Sarah J. Maas

The full force of that wild, unrelenting High Lord’s power focused solely on me—and I felt the storm contained beneath his skin, so capable of sweeping away everything I was, even in its lessened state. But I could trust him, trust myself to weather that mighty power. I could throw all that I was at him and he wouldn’t balk. “Give me everything,” I breathed.

He lunged, a beast freed of its tether.

We were a tangle of limbs and teeth, and I tore at his clothes until they were on the floor, then tore at his skin until I marked him down his back, his arms. His claws were out, but devastatingly gentle on my hips as he slid down between my thighs and feasted on me, stopping only after I shuddered and fractured. I was moaning his name when he sheathed himself inside me in a powerful, slow thrust that had me splintering around him.

We moved together, unending and wild and burning, and when I went over the edge the next time, he roared and went with me.



I fell asleep in his arms, and when I awoke a few hours later, we made love again, lazily and intently, a slow-burning smolder to the wildfire of earlier. Once we were both spent, panting and sweat-slicked, we lay in silence for a time, and I breathed in the smell of him, earthy and crisp. I would never be able to capture that—never be able to paint the feel and taste of him, no matter how many times I tried, no matter how many colors I used.

Tamlin traced idle circles on the plane of my stomach and murmured, “We should sleep. You have a long journey tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I sat upright, not at all minding my nakedness, not after he’d seen everything, tasted everything.

His mouth was a hard line. “At dawn.”

“But it’s—”

He sat up in a smooth motion. “Please, Feyre.”

Please. Tamlin had bowed before Rhysand. For my sake. He shifted toward the edge of the bed. “Where are you going?”

He looked over his shoulder at me. “If I stay, you won’t get any sleep.”

“Stay,” I said. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.” Lie—such an outright lie.

He gave me a half smile that told me he knew it, too, but nestled down, tugging me into his arms. I wrapped an arm around his waist and rested my head in the hollow of his shoulder.

He idly stroked my hair. I didn’t want to sleep—didn’t want to lose a minute with him—but an immense exhaustion was pulling me away from consciousness, until all I knew was the touch of his fingers in my hair and the sounds of his breathing.

I was leaving. Just when this place had become more than a sanctuary, when the command of the Suriel had become a blessing and Tamlin far, far more than a savior or friend, I was leaving. It could be years until I saw this house again, years until I smelled his rose garden, until I saw those gold-flecked eyes. Home—this was home.

As consciousness left me at last, I thought I heard him speak, his mouth close to my ear.

“I love you,” he whispered, and kissed my brow. “Thorns and all.”

He was gone when I awoke, and I was certain I had dreamed it.





Chapter 28


There wasn’t much to my packing and farewells. I was somewhat surprised when Alis clothed me in an outfit very unlike my usual garb—frilly and confining and binding in all the wrong places. Some mortal fashion among the wealthy, no doubt. The dress was made up of layers of pale pink silk, accented with white and blue lace. Alis placed a short, lightweight jacket of white linen on me, and atop my head she angled an absurd little ivory hat, clearly for decoration. I half expected a parasol to go with it.

I said as much to Alis, who clicked her tongue. “Shouldn’t you be giving me a weepy farewell?”

I tugged at the lace gloves—useless and flimsy. “I don’t like good-byes. If I could, I’d just walk out and not say anything.”

Alis gave me a long look. “I don’t like them, either.”

I went to the door, but despite myself, I said, “I hope you get to be with your nephews again soon.”

“Make the most of your freedom” was all she said.

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. “Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm.”

“I’m not sure the human realm would know what to do with you,” I said.

Lucien’s smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

“Good-bye to you, too,” I said. Friend indeed. It wasn’t my choice, or my fault that they’d kept the bulk of their conflict from me. Even if I could do nothing against the blight, or against the creatures, or against Amarantha—whoever she was.

Lucien shook his head, his scar stark in the bright sun, and stalked toward Tamlin, despite the High Lord’s warning growl. “You’re not even going to give her a few more days? Just a few—before you send her back to that human cesspit?” Lucien demanded.

“This isn’t up for debate,” Tamlin snapped, pointing at the house. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

Lucien stared him down for a moment, spat on the ground, and stormed up the stairs. Tamlin didn’t reprimand him.

I might have thought more on Lucien’s words, might have shouted a retort after him, but … My chest hollowed out as I faced Tamlin in front of the gilded carriage, my hands sweaty within the gloves.