"Stop," I breathed, blood filling my mouth as I strained a hand to reach her feet. The red marble splintered where he hit it, spiderwebbing toward me.
No one made a move to help him, and she struck him once more with her power. “Her magic sent him sprawling, and it then hurled into Rhysand again - so hard that his head cracked against the stones and the knife dropped from his splayed fingers. "As usual, your gratitude is overwhelming.” "Beneath all your pride and stubbornness, I could have sworn I detected something that felt differently. "Was it?" He quirked an eyebrow and pointed to his palm - to the place where my tattoo would be. "It was disgusting." I wiped my face again. "I figured that would get you to stop crying." He chuckled as I scrambled for the corner of the cell. It was only when his tongue danced along the damp edges of my lashes that I jerked back. My body went taut and loose all at once and I burned, even as chills shuddered along my limbs. His tongue was hot against my skin, so startling that I couldn't move as he licked away another path of salt water, and then another. I could do nothing as his mouth met with my cheek, and he licked away a tear. I pulled away, but his hands were like shackles. He gave me a lazy smile before he leaned forward. Only those star-flecked violet eyes were bright, full of color and light. No colors, but shades of darkness, of night.
“The walls weren't moving, and the room was open - gaping. "One wrong move tomorrow, Freyre, and we're all doomed.” "You can leave if you're just going to insult me." "How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and a - " "Because I'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk." He let out a low laugh.
And I could imagine very easily how much I would hate him - what it would do to me - to be enslaved to someone like that. I'm High Lord of the Night Court - not her harlot." Imagine how you'd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. "That damned bitch is running me ragged," he went on, and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. I sat up farther on my pallet of the hay. He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. "A moment of peace and quiet," he snapped, rubbing his temples. “His tunic was unbuttoned at the top, and he ran a hand through his blue-black hair before he wordlessly slumped against the wall across from me and slid to the floor.
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