Feyre Archeron személy
Idézetek
Rhsyand, High Lord of the Night Court, now stood beside me, darkness leaking from him like ink in water.
His throat bobbed. “I missed you. Every second, every breath. Not just this,” he said, shifting his hips for emphasis and dragging a groan from deep in my throat, “but … talking to you. Laughing with you. I missed having you in my bed, but missed having you as my friend even more.”
My eyes burned. “I know,” I managed to say, stroking a hand down his wings, his back. “I know.” I kissed his bare shoulder, right over a whorl of Illyrian tattoo. “Never again,” I promised him, and whispered it over and over as the sunlight drifted across the floor.
For in all of her preening ceremonies and rituals, never had Ianthe revealed any sign of power or blessing. But Feyre Cursebreaker, who had led Prythian from tyranny and darkness…
Blessed. Holy. Undimming before evil.
I let my glow spread, until it, too, rippled from Lucien's bowed form.
A kinght before his queen.
When I looked to Ianthe and smiled again, I let a little bit of the wolf show.