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eb33dc8
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"But Amarantha rolled her eyes and slouched in her throne. "Shatter him, Rhysand." She flicked a hand at the High Lord of the Summer Court. "You may do what you want with the body afterward." The High Lord of the Summer Court bowed--as if he'd been given a gift--and looked to his subject, who had gone still and calm on the floor, hugging his knees. The male faerie was ready--relieved. Rhys slipped a hand out of his pocket, and it dangled at his side. I could have sworn phantom talons flickered there as his fingers curled slightly. "I'm growing bored, Rhysand," Amarantha said with a sigh, again fiddling with that bone. She hadn't looked at me once, too focused on her current prey. Rhysand's fingers curled into a fist. The faerie male's eyes went wide--then glazed as he slumped to the side in the puddle of his own waste. Blood leaked from his nose, from his ears, pooling on the floor. That fast--that easily, that irrevocably ... he was dead. "I said shatter his mind, not his brain," Amarantha snapped. The crowd murmured around me, stirring. I wanted nothing more than to fade back into it--to crawl back into my cell and burn this from my mind. Tamlin hadn't flinched--not a muscle. What horrors had he witnessed in his long life if this hadn't broken that distant expression, that control? Rhysand shrugged, his hand sliding back into his pocket. "Apologies, my queen." He turned away without being dismissed, and didn't look at me as he strode for the back of the throne room. I fell into step beside him, reining in my trembling, trying not to think about the body sprawled behind us, or about Clare--still nailed to the wall. The crowd stayed far, far back as we walked through it. "Whore," some of them softly hissed at him, out of her earshot; "Amarantha's whore." But many offered tentative, appreciative smiles and words--"Good that you killed him; good that you killed the traitor."
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mind
punish
rhysand
feyre
kill
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Sarah J. Maas |
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1cbc2a5
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He moved into the moonlight. That was no accident. He wanted me to see his eyes burning with fever, his skin flushed, hair sweat soaked. He wanted me to say, leap out of bed, and insist on going outside with him, help him through it, a I had the last two times. I looked at him and I lay back down. He stepped froward. I sat up, swung my legs out of bed, and stood. He breathed a sigh of relief. I walked to the window. A spark of panic ignited in his eyes. After how he'd treated me today, I should have said But i didn't. Couldn't. It took everything I had to just crawl back into bed.
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chloe
punish
derek
restraint
mean
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Kelley Armstrong |