2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

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 the 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.
The painting flashed into my mind.
Flashed—and stayed there, glimmering, before it faded.
But it remained, shining faintly, in that hole inside my chest.
The hole that was slowly starting to heal over.