2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

“I deserved to know.”
“The other night you told me you wanted a distraction, you wanted fun. Not a mating
bond. And not to someone like me—a mess.” So the words I’d spat after the Court of
Nightmares had haunted him.
“You promised—you promised no secrets, no games. You promised.”
Something in my chest was caving in on itself. Some part of me I’d thought long gone.
“I know I did,” Rhys said, the glow returning to his face. “You think I didn’t want to tell
you? You think I liked hearing you wanted me only for amusement and release? You think
it didn’t drive me out of my mind so completely that those bastards shot me out of the sky
because I was too busy wondering if I should just tell you, or wait—or maybe take
whatever pieces that you offered me and be happy with it? Or that maybe I should let you
go so you don’t have a lifetime of assassins and High Lords hunting you down for being
with me?”
“I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to hear you explain how you assumed that you
knew best, that I couldn’t handle it—”
“I didn’t do that—”
“I don’t want to hear you tell me that you decided I was to be kept in the dark while
your friends knew, while you all decided what was right for me—”
“Feyre—”
“Take me back to the Illyrian camp. Now.”
He was panting in great, rattling gulps. “Please.”
But I stormed to him and grabbed his hand. “Take me back now.”
And I saw the pain and sorrow in his eyes. Saw it and didn’t care, not as that thing in
my chest was twisting and breaking. Not as my heart—my heart—ached, so viciously that
I realized it’d somehow been repaired in these past few months. Repaired by him.
And now it hurt.
Rhys saw all that and more on my face, and I saw nothing but agony in his as he rallied
his strength and, grunting in pain, winnowed us into the Illyrian camp.