Chapter 10
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I paused between thest two pirs, studying the High Lord lounging at the breakfast table and the
view he surveyed.
“I’m not a dog to be summoned,” I said by way of greeting.
Slowly, Rhys looked over his shoulder. Those violet eyes were vibrant in the light, and I curled my
fingers into fists as they swept from my head to my toes and back up again. He frowned at whatever
he foundcking. “I didn’t want you to get lost,” he said ndly.
My head throbbed, and I eyed the silver teapot steaming in the center of the table. A cup of tea … “I
thought it’d always be dark here,” I said, if only to not look quite as desperate for that life-giving tea
so early in the morning.
“We’re one of the three Sr Courts,” he said, motioning for me to sit with a graceful twist of his
wrist. “Our nights are far more beautiful, and our sunsets and dawns are exquisite, but we do
adhere to thews of nature.”
I slid into the upholstered chair across from him. His tunic was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a
hint of the tanned chest beneath. “And do the other courts choose not to?”
“The nature of the Seasonal Courts,” he said, “is linked to their High Lords, whose magic and will
keeps them in eternal spring, or winter, or fall, or summer. It has always been like that—some sort
of strange stagnation. But the Sr Courts—Day, Dawn, and Night—are of a more … symbolic
nature. We might be powerful, but even we cannot alter the sun’s path or strength. Tea?”
The sunlight danced along the curve of the silver teapot. I kept my eager nod to a restrained dip of
my chin. “But you will find,” Rhysand went on, pouring a cup for me, “that our nights are more
spectacr—so spectacr that some in my territory even awaken at sunset and go to bed at
dawn, just to live under the starlight.”
I sshed some milk in the tea, watching the light and dark eddy together. “Why is it so warm in
here, when winter is in full st out there?”
“Magic.”
“Obviously.” I set down my teaspoon and sipped, nearly sighing at the rush of heat and smoky, rich
vor. “But why?”
Rhys scanned the wind tearing through the peaks. “You heat a house in the winter—why shouldn’t I
heat this ce as well? I’ll admit I don’t know why my predecessors built a pce fit for the
Summer Court in the middle of a mountain range that’s mildly warm at best, but who am I to
question?”
I took a few more sips, that headache already lessening, and dared to scoop some fruit onto my
te from a ss bowl nearby.
He watched every movement. Then he said quietly, “You’ve lost weight.”
“You’re prone to digging through my head whenever you please,” I said, stabbing a piece of melon
with my fork. “I don’t see why you’re surprised by it.”
His gaze didn’t lighten, though that smile again yed about his sensuous mouth, no doubt his
favorite mask. “Only asionally will I do that. And I can’t help it if you send things down the bond.”
I contemted refusing to ask as I had donest night, but … “How does it work—this bond that
allows you to see into my head?”
He sipped from his own tea. “Think of the bargain’s bond as a bridge between us—and at either end
is a door to our respective minds. A shield. My innate talents allow me to slip through the mental
shields of anyone I wish, with or without that bridge—unless they’re very, very strong, or have
trained extensively to keep those shields tight. As a human, the gates to your mind were flung open
for me to stroll through. As Fae … ” A little shrug. “Sometimes, you unwittingly have a shield up—
sometimes, when emotion seems to be running strong, that shield vanishes. And sometimes, when
those shields are open, you might as well be standing at the gates to your mind, shouting your
thoughts across the bridge to me. Sometimes I hear them; sometimes I don’t.”
I scowled, clenching my fork harder. “And how often do you just rifle through my mind when my
shields are down?”
All amusement faded from his face. “When I can’t tell if your nightmares are real threats or
imagined. When you’re about to be married and you silently beg anyone to help you. Only when you
drop your mental shields and unknowingly st those things down the bridge. And to answer your
question before you ask, yes. Even with your shields up, I could get through them if I wished. You
could train, though—learn how to shield against someone like me, even with the bond bridging our
minds and my own abilities.”
I ignored the offer. Agreeing to do anything with him felt too permanent, too epting of the bargain
between us. “What do you want with me? You said you’d tell me here. So tell me.”
Rhys leaned back in his chair, folding powerful arms that even the fine clothes couldn’t hide. “For
this week? I want you to learn how to read.”
CHAPTER
6
Rhysand had mocked me about it once—had asked me while we were Under the Mountain if
forcing me to learn how to read would be my personal idea of torture.
“No, thank you,” I said, gripping my fork to keep from chucking it at his head.
“You’re going to be a High Lord’s wife,” Rhys said. “You’ll be expected to maintain your own
correspondences, perhaps even give a speech or two. And the Cauldron knows what else he and
Ianthe will deem appropriate for you. Make menus for dinner parties, write thank-you letters for all
those wedding gifts, embroider sweet phrases on pillows … It’s a necessary skill. And, you know
what? Why don’t we throw in shielding while we’re at it. Reading and shielding—fortunately, you can
practice them together.”
“They are both necessary skills,” I said through my teeth, “but you are not going to teach me.”
“What else are you going to do with yourself? Paint? How’s that going these days, Feyre?”
“What the hell does it even matter to you?”
“It serves various purposes of mine, of course.”
“What. Purposes.”
“You’ll have to agree to work with me to find out, I’m afraid.”
Something sharp poked into my hand.
I’d folded the fork into a tangle of metal.
When I set it down on the table, Rhys chuckled. “Interesting.”
“You said thatst night.”
“Am I not allowed to say it twice?”
“That’s not what I was implying and you know it.”
His gaze raked over me again, as if he could see beneath the peach fabric, through the skin, to the
shredded soul beneath. Then it drifted to the mangled fork. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re
rather strong for a High Fae?”
“Am I?”
“I’ll take that as a no.” He popped a piece of melon into his mouth. “Have you tested yourself
against anyone?”
“Why would I?” I was enough of a wreck as it was.
“Because you were resurrected and reborn by thebined powers of the seven High Lords. If I
were you, I’d be curious to see if anything else transferred to me during that process.”
My blood chilled. “Nothing else transferred to me.”
“It’d just be rather … interesting,” he smirked at the word, “if it did.”
“It didn’t, and I’m not going to learn to read or shield with you.”
“Why? From spite? I thought you and I got past that Under the Mountain.”
“Don’t get me started on what you did to me Under the Mountain.”
Rhys went still.
As still as I’d ever seen him, as still as the death now beckoning in those eyes. Then his chest
began to move, faster and faster.
Across the pirs towering behind him, I could have sworn the shadow of great wings spread.
He opened his mouth, leaning forward, and then stopped. Instantly, the shadows, the ragged
breathing, the intensity were gone, thezy grin returning. “We havepany. We’ll discuss this
“No, we won’t.” But quick, light footsteps sounded down the hall, and then she appeared.
If Rhysand was the most beautiful male I’d ever seen, she
was his female equivalent.
Her bright, golden hair was tied back in a casual braid, and the turquoise of her clothes—fashioned
like my own—offset her sun-kissed skin, making her practically glow in the morning light.
“Hello, hello,” she chirped, her full lips parting in a dazzling smile as her rich brown eyes fixed on
me.
“Feyre,” Rhys said smoothly, “meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet the lovely, charming, and open-
minded Feyre.”
I debated sshing my tea in his face, but Mor strode toward me. Each step was assured and
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steady, graceful, and … grounded. Merry but alert. Someone who didn’t need weapons—or at least
bother to sheath them at her side. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, and I got to my feet,
awkwardly jutting out my hand.
She ignored it and grabbed me into a bone-crushing hug. She smelled like citrus and cinnamon. I
tried to rx my taut muscles as she pulled away and grinned rather fiendishly. “You look like you
were getting under Rhys’s skin,” she said, strutting to her seat between us. “Good thing I came
along. Though I’d enjoy seeing Rhys’s balls nailed to the wall.”
Rhys slid incredulous eyes at her, his brows lifting.
I hid the smile that tugged on my lips. “It’s—nice to meet you.”
“Liar,” Mor said, pouring herself some tea and loading her te. “You want nothing to do with us, do
you? And wicked Rhys is making you sit here.”
“You’re … perky today, Mor,” Rhys said.
Mor’s stunning eyes lifted to her cousin’s face. “Forgive me for being excited about havingpany
for once.”
“You could be attending your own duties,” he said testily. I mped my lips tighter together. I’d
never seen Rhys … irked.
“I needed a break, and you told me toe here whenever I liked, so what better time than now,
when you brought my new friend to finally meet me?”
I blinked, realizing two things at once: one, she actually meant what she said; two, hers was the
female voice I’d heard speakst night, mocking Rhys for our squabble. So, that went well, she’d
teased. As if there were any other alternative, any chance of pleasantness, where he and I were
concerned.
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