2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

spear of darkness.
I wasn’t sure whether I should be relieved or not, but I left before Azriel could land,
giving the High Lord and his spymaster some privacy.
As soon as I entered the dimness of the stairwell, the heat rushed from me, leaving a
sick, cold feeling in my stomach.
There was flirting, and then there was … this.
I had loved Tamlin. Loved him so much I had not minded destroying myself for it—for
him. And then everything had happened, and now I was here, and … and I might have
very well gone to that pretty shop with Rhysand.
I could almost see what would have happened:
The shop ladies would have been polite—a bit nervous—and given us privacy as Rhys
sat on the settee in the back of the shop while I went behind the curtained-off chamber to
try on the red lace set I’d eyed thrice now. And when I emerged, mustering up more
bravado than I felt, Rhys would have looked me up and down. Twice.
And he would have kept staring at me as he informed the shop ladies that the store was
closed and they should all come back tomorrow, and we’d leave the tab on the counter.
I would have stood there, naked save for scraps of red lace, while we listened to the
quick, discreet sounds of them closing up and leaving.
And he would have looked at me the entire time—at my breasts, visible through the
lace; at the plane of my stomach, now finally looking less starved and taut. At the sweep
of my hips and thighs—between them. Then he would have met my gaze again, and
crooked a finger with a single murmured, “Come here.”
And I would have walked to him, aware of every step, as I at last stopped in front of
where he sat. Between his legs.
His hands would have slid to my waist, the calluses scraping my skin. Then he’d have
tugged me a bit closer before leaning in to brush a kiss to my navel, his tongue—
I swore as I slammed into the post of the stairwell landing.
And I blinked—blinked as the world returned and I realized …
I glared at the eye tattooed in my hand and hissed both with my tongue and that silent
voice within the bond itself, “Prick.”
In the back of my mind, a sensual male voice chuckled with midnight laughter.
My face burning, cursing him for the vision he’d slipped past my mental shields, I
reinforced them as I entered my room. And took a very, very cold bath.
I ate with Mor that night beside the crackling fire in the town house dining room, Rhys
and the others off somewhere, and when she finally asked why I kept scowling every time
Rhysand’s name was mentioned, I told her about the vision he’d sent into my mind. She’d