rhysand quote bot
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High Lady Feyre’s mate’s quotes
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"She's your High Lady," Rhys said coldly. "What she says is law."
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Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord.
Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord.
Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord.
Rhysand is a spectacular person. Rhysand is the center of my world. Rhysand is the best lover a female can ever dream of.
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“What will you call me?”
“Mate,” he said. “Though also calling you my wife sounds mighty appealing, too.”
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Rhys was still smiling at me as he extended a hand toward Hybern’s army, now trying to adjust to the rampant havoc. His fingers pointed. Obsidian power erupted from him.
A massive chunk of Hybern’s army just … Misted.
Red mist, and metal shavings lay where they had been.
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“You sent that music into my cell. Why?”
Rhysand’s voice was hoarse. “Because you were breaking. And I couldn’t find another way to save you.
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His eyes gleamed, and he buried his face between my breasts again, hands caressing my back. “I love you,” he breathed. “More than life, more than my territory, more than my crown.”
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“I wish I had days to spend with you—like this,” I managed to say as my eyelids drooped. “Just me and you.”
“We will.” He kissed my hair. “We will.”
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“She’s mine,” he said quietly, but viciously enough.
“And if any of you lay a hand on her, you lose that hand. And then you lose your head. And once Feyre is done killing you,” Rhys smirked, “then I’ll grind your bones to dust.”
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Rhys surveyed Elain, his violet-blue eyes missing nothing. "What happened."When Rhys spoke like that, it was more of a command than a question.
Elain waved a hand in dismissal before flinging open the veranda doors and striding into the open air.
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“I cannot forgive anyone who made you suffer.” Cold, brutal words, spoken with such casual grace.
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He wrapped his arm around my waist and squeezed, breathing me in. “I heard you, even in death. It made me look back. Made me stay—a little longer.”
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Most males bought their wives and mates jewelry for an outrageous Winter Solstice present.
Rhys had bought Feyre a palace.
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“But I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop being around you, and loving you, and wanting you. I still can’t stay away.”
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I flung my other shoe right at his head, as swift and hard as the first.
His hand snatched up, grabbing the shoe mere inches from his face.
Rhys hissed and lowered the shoe, his eyes meeting mine.
“Interesting,” he murmured, and continued on his way.
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What a pretty little wedding,” Rhysand said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as those many swords remained in their sheaths. The remaining crowd was pressing back, some climbing over seats to get away
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“I want you to hold me.”
Stars flickered to life in his eyes. “Always,” he promised, kissing my brow, his wings now enveloping me completely. “Always.”
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“I will kill anyone who harms you,” Rhys snarled.
“I will kill them, and take a damn long time doing it.” He panted. “Go ahead. Hate me—despise me for it.”
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Rhys knew exactly why there were nights when I would cling tighter to him, why there were moments in the bright, clear sunshine that I would grip his hand.
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“Elain—”
“Elain is fine,” Rhys said. “Azriel was at the town house…they know of the threat.”
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"I love my people and my family. Do not think I wouldn't become a monster to keep them protected."
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Rhys knelt before me. Gently, he took my cheeks in his hands and brushed away my tears.
I didn’t care that we had an audience as I lifted my head and beheld the joy and concern and love shining in those remarkable eyes.
Neither did Rhys as he murmured, “My love,” and kissed me.
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Rhysand snarled something that had Nesta's shoulders tensing, her head bowing.
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Bits of stardust glowed on his lips as he pulled away, as I stared up at him, breathless, while he smiled. The smile the world would likely never see, the smile he’d given up for the sake of his people his lands. He said softly, “I am … very glad I met you, Feyre.”
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"Cassian said you've been moody. Why?" I believed Cassian, but Rhys hadn't been moody around me at all.
Whenever my mate had looked at me lately, only pure love had gleamed in his eyes.
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Rhysand slowly turned toward Ember. His eyes were black pits. “I don't recall asking you to join our conversation.”
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“You declared yourself High Lady.”
“Was I not supposed to?”
He released my arm to brush his knuckles across my cheek. “I’ve wanted to roar it from the rooftops of Velaris from the moment the priestess anointed you. How typical of you to upend my grand plans.”
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Rhys would go to the ends of the world to protect him. I smiled at the daydreams, hands already aching to paint them.
Rhys let out a hum of contemplation. "What about Nyx?"
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“What do I care?” he breathed, wrath twisting his features. Wings—those membranous, glorious wings—flared from his back, crafted from the shadows behind him. “What do I care?”
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I blinked at him through the rain. For once, his eyes were on me, not the landscape below.
“You look good with wings,” he said, and kissed my brow.
Even the rain stopped feeling so cold.
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"She's been like that since she was a baby," Ember said, "Imagine all that in a one-year-old."
Randall cleared his throat in warning, but she could have sworn Rhysand's mouth twitched upward.
Like he could indeed imagine such a thing. Maybe he'd lived through something similar.
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I glared at the eye tattooed in my hand and hissed both with my tongue and that silent voice within the bond itself, “Prick.”
In the back of my mind, a sensual male voice chuckled with midnight laughter.
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“I’ll heal your arm in exchange for you. For two weeks every month, two weeks of my choosing, you’ll live with me at the Night Court. Starting after this messy three-trials business.”
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“What do you want?” I demanded.
“A moment of peace and quiet,” he snapped, rubbing his temples.
I paused. “From what?”
He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. He sighed. “From this mess.”
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“I have nowhere else to go.”
It was both a question and a plea.
He waved a hand, the wings fading. “Stay here for however long you want. Stay here forever, if you feel like it.”
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Indeed, none of the males seemed to even notice us. Not as Azriel popped up, launched two snowballs sky-high, and vanished behind his wall of snow again.
A moment later, Rhys’s vicious curse barked toward us. “Asshole.”
Laughter laced every syllable.
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It was the casual smile of a male used to people either fleeing in terror or falling to their knees in worship. “Hello, Gwyn,” he said.
Gwyn blushed, shaking herself out of her stupor, and bowed low. “My lord.”
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His hands slid down to cup the backs of my knees as he said with a roguish grin, “You are my salvation, Feyre.”
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Rhys led me the few steps onto the dais—to the throne. He sat, smiling faintly at his monstrous court. He owned every inch of the throne. These people. And with a tug on my waist, he perched me on his lap.
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But she could have sworn Rhysand's mouth twitched upward. Like he could indeed imagine such a thing. Maybe he'd lived through something similar.
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