2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

“Damn the consequences.” But I heard it for the empty threat it was—and how much it
destroyed him. That was who he was, what he was: protector, defender. I couldn’t ask him
to stop being that way—to stop worrying about me.
I rose onto my toes and kissed him. There was so much I wanted to ask him, but—later.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I said onto his lips, and he slid his arms around me.
“I missed you,” he said between kisses. “I went out of my mind.”
That was all I needed to hear. Until—
“I need to ask you some questions.”
I let out a low sound of affirmation, but angled my head further. “Later.” His body was
so warm, so hard against mine, his scent so familiar—
Tamlin gripped my waist, pressing his brow to my own. “No—now,” he said, but
groaned softly as I slid my tongue against his teeth. “While … ” He pulled back, ripping
his mouth from mine. “While it’s all fresh in your mind.”
I froze, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping the back of his tunic. “What?”
Tamlin stepped back, shaking his head as if to clear the desire addling his senses. We
hadn’t been apart for so long since Amarantha, and he wanted to press me for information
about the Night Court? “Tamlin.”
But he held up a hand, his eyes locked on mine as he called for Lucien.
In the moments that it took for his emissary to appear, I straightened my clothes—the
top that had ridden up my torso—and finger-combed my hair. Tamlin just strode to his
desk and plopped down, motioning for me to take a seat in front of it. “I’m sorry,” he said
quietly, as Lucien’s strolling footsteps neared again. “This is for our own good. Our
safety.”
I took in the shredded walls, the scuffed and chipped furniture. What nightmares had he
suffered, waking and asleep, while I was away? What had it been like, to imagine me in
his enemy’s hands, after seeing what Amarantha had done to me?
“I know,” I murmured at last. “I know, Tamlin.” Or I was trying to know.
I’d just slid into the low-backed chair when Lucien strode in, shutting the door behind
him. “Glad to see you in one piece, Feyre,” he said, claiming the seat beside me. “I could
do without the Night Court attire, though.”
Tamlin gave a low growl of agreement. I said nothing. Yet I understood—I really did—
why it’d be an affront to them.
Tamlin and Lucien exchanged glances, speaking without uttering a word in that way
only people who had been partners for centuries could do. Lucien gave a slight nod and
leaned back in his chair—to listen, to observe.
“We need you to tell us everything,” Tamlin said. “The layout of the Night Court, who
you saw, what weapons and powers they bore, what Rhys did, who he spoke to, any and