She’d never kissed anyone. And as her lips met his and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against him, she honestly had no idea why she’d waited so long.
You seem a little young.” He rested his elbows on his thighs. “I’ve heard some rather fascinating stories about you. How do you find Endovier after living in such excess in Rifthold?” Arrogant ass. “I couldn’t be happier,” she crooned as her jagged nails cut into her palms. “After a year, you seem to be more or less alive. I wonder how that’s possible when the average life expectancy in these mines is a month.
To the stars who listen, Feyre. I brushed a hand over his cheek to wipe away the last of his tears, his skin warm and soft, and we turned down the street that would lead us home. Toward our future – and all that waited within it. To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.
A kiss for each day we’d spent apart, a kiss for every wound and terror, a kiss for the ink etched into my flesh, and for all the days we would be together after this. Days, perhaps, that I no longer deserved. But I gave myself again to that fire, threw myself into it, into him, and let myself burn.
Rowan counted every weapon she put in the bucket as though he’d already learned how many she’d been carrying, even the hidden ones. Then he tucked the bucket against his side and slammed the door without so much of a good-bye beyond “Be ready at dawn.” “Bastard. Old stinking bastard,” she muttered, surveying the room.
You know how cranky Fenrys gets when he doesn’t eat.
Feyre”, he whispered onto my head. He made my name sound beautiful. “Feyre”, he whispered again-not in question, but simply as if he enjoyed saying it.
I could have sworn laughter rumbled down the hall.
All amusement faded from Fenrys’s beautiful face. “You’re a bastard, Rowan.
Whatever you do,” I said quietly, “don’t marry Tomas Mandray. His father beats his wife, and none of his sons do anything to stop it.
How many good bottles does little Rhysie have left?
You could rattle the stars. If you just dared. And deep down you know it too, and that’s what scares you the most.
With her moon-white hair, alabaster skin, and burnt-gold eyes, she’d been told by ill-fated men that she was beautiful as a Fae queen. But what those men realized too late was that her beauty was merely a weapon in her natural-born arsenal. And it made things so, so fun.
I am old, but not that old.
Careful, a voice said in her head. Proceed with cunning.
Let me give you a bit of advice,” the girl said bitterly, “from one working girl to another: Life isn’t easy, no matter where you are. You’ll make choices you think are right, and then suffer for them.” Those remarkable eyes flickered. ” So if you’re going to be miserable, you mights well go.
But I was beautiful. I was strong.
She met Grave’s stare and smiled as she bent her knees, holding the staff in two hands. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, little man.
There she was, that queen looking out at him, a hint of the ruler she was becoming. And it knocked the breath out of him...
He fell quiet. After a moment, he said, “I hope you never have to use that dagger – or any other, Yrene. Even as a mercy.” The sorrow in her eyes was enough to knock the breath from him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For being willing to take that death upon yourself.” No one had ever said such a thing. Even Dorian. But it had been expected. Celaena – Aelin had been grateful when he’d killed Cain to save her, but she had expected him to one day make a kill.