🚨SHADOW AND BONE🚨

Guys, Alex Meyers on YT has gotten to watch the show early and posted some clips!

Not illegal, don't worry😅

Grisha Cast Favorite Quotes

Freddy Carter - "Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason."

Amita Suman - "I like it when men beg. But this is not the time."

Kit Young - "No. Not just girls."

Ben Barnes - "I've seen what you truly are and I've never turned away. I never will."

Nessian Quotes

She dropped her gaze quickly. But the blush remained.

He knew it had nothing to do with the novel.

“Did it bother you more that you wanted it, or that it was a bastard-born nobody who made you feel such things, Nesta?”

But whatever willingness had been in his eyes last night seemed reluctant today, as if he couldn’t help—didn’t want that heat between them, that tension. He’d practically run out of the room to avoid her.

Training would be awful.

But Nesta showed no sign of fear, no scent of it.

“Give her time,” Cassian murmured. Gods, it was cold. Nesta’s eyelids fluttered again.

“We’ll be training here today.” He gestured to the empty ring. Free of any watching eyes. He added with a sharp grin that made her swallow, “Just you and me, Nes.”

“Your Solstice present.”

“I don’t want one.”

Cassian continued past her, tossing the present in his hands. “You’ll want this one.”

He prayed she would. It had taken him months to find it.

He hadn’t wanted to give it to her in front of the others.

He was not graceful like Eris. He did not instinctively move to each beat like she did. But he kept up, willing to follow her into the music, into the sound and the movement, and his eyes did not, would not, leave her face.

Nesta pulled away, whispering, “I love you,” and it was all Cassian needed before kissing her again, the force of it more powerful and enduring than the Cauldron itself.

“We’ll do the warm-up, and then we’re moving into some core work.”

She gaped. Her…core?

“Abdominals,” he clarified, and pink washed across his face. He cleared his throat. “Filthy mind.” He flicked her cheek. “Too much smut.”

Eris looked down his straight nose at Cassian. “I don’t take orders from brutes.”

Nesta stifled her snarl and said coolly to Cassian, “Am I to understand that you would like to dance with me?”

“Yes.” His hazel eyes were burning with violence.

Neither of us missed Cassian’s barked, filthy curse, though we didn’t deign to comment.

Cassian was a general—the general of the Night Court.

Surely Nesta wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

But she reached for his arm—his shield arm.

Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing—

“You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely.

Everyone somehow knew what had happened during the war; that final battle with Hybern.

That Cassian had nearly bled out defending her against the King of Hybern, that she’d chosen to shield him with her body in those last moments.

“Stop looking so nervous,” Cassian muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not nervous,” Nesta muttered back, even as she bounced on her feet, trying not to stare toward the open archway as the clock ticked toward nine.

Had loved him and destroyed herself because she didn’t believe she deserved him, because he was all that was good, and brave, and kind, and she loved him, she loved him, she loved him—

Not a scream of rage, but of pure terror.

His body distilled at that scream, as if it were no more than the knife in his hand, a weapon to be used to eliminate and destroy any threats to her, to kill and kill and not stop until every last enemy was dead or bleeding.

Nesta didn’t think. She seized that silver fire within her. Let it wreathe her hands.

“Take me to Cassian,” she whispered, and plucked the first silver string of the Harp.

“Why haven’t you sought me out?”

Nesta knew what he meant solely from the way his voice had dropped an octave.

She could play this game of distraction. He had no idea how well she’d learned to play it. So she let her own voice drop, too. “Why haven’t you sought me?”

But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Cassian.”

I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been…pacing in the foyer.

As if she was worried.

Cassian opened his eyes, and they were so lovely they nearly stole the breath from her. Nesta leaned forward until their brows touched. And despite all that brimmed in her heart, all that flowed through her body, sure and true, she merely whispered, “Thank you.”

He said at last, “I’m a warrior. I’ve walked beside Death my entire life. I would be more afraid for her, to have that power. But not afraid of her.” He considered, and added after a heartbeat, “Nothing about Nesta could frighten me.”

Feyre’s head tilted to one side. “Is that what you think, Nesta? That you failed?”

Nesta straightened, and Cassian’s chest tightened at the wall that rose in her eyes, brick by brick. At the truth Nesta had let slip with that one word.

She’d never been able to look away from him. From the moment they’d met, she’d developed a keen awareness of his presence in any space, any room. She hadn’t been able to stop it, to block it out, no matter how much she suggested otherwise.

Nesta fell asleep with that thought ringing, a weight lifted from her chest.

Tomorrow, she’d tell Cassian everything. Tomorrow, her life would begin.

She’d apologize for using their bargain to send him away, and not stop apologizing until he smiled again.

But the light in his eyes dimmed as he lowered his hand.

She deserved his disappointment. Deserved his resentment and disgust. Even if it carved something vital from her.

“Tomorrow, then,” Cassian said. He didn’t speak to her again for the rest of the day.

She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. Then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face.

Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand.

He pulled a small box from his jacket and set it on the bed between them. “Surprise.” Cassian swallowed as she approached, the only sign that this meant something to him.

Nesta’s hands turned sweaty as she picked the box up, examining it. She didn’t open it yet, though.

She’d been suffering, and he’d had no idea how much it consumed every facet of her life. He’d seen her self-loathing and anger—but hadn’t realized how much she had been aware of it. How much it had eaten her up. He couldn’t stomach it. To know she’d hurt this much, for so long.

Nesta laid a hand on his muscled chest, letting the thunderous beating of the heart beneath echo into her palm. Let it travel down her arm, into her own chest, her own heart. “Ever,” she swore.

It was all he needed. All she needed.

It had happened before—against Hybern. Nesta had screamed his name, and even in the midst of the battlefield, he’d abandoned his soldiers and rushed for her, not caring about anything other than reaching her, saving her.

Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

“I was dragged into this world of yours, this court.”

“Then go somewhere else.”

Her mouth formed a tight line at the challenge. “Perhaps I will.”

But he knew there was no other place to go. Not when she had no money, no family beyond this territory. “Be sure to write.”

Cassian chuckled, and the sound raked itself down her body. He’d taken her hand in the library last night, leading her up to her room, his eyes still soft.

“If you want to play warmonger, go right ahead, Eris.” Her smile widened. “I like an interesting opponent.”

“I am not your enemy,” Eris spat, and Nesta knew she’d won. From the brush of Cassian’s fingers at the small of her back, he knew, too.

Cassian sat alone at the table, the setting sun gilding his black hair in golds and reds, shining through his beautiful wings. For a heartbeat, she understood Feyre’s urge to paint things—to capture sights like this, preserve them forever.

Pinning her there, an arm at her throat, the weight of him, once so intimate and loving, now the thing that would hold her here, hurt her—

Pleading filled his face, utter anguish, as he fought the Crown. Fought it and lost.

“Don’t say you don’t deserve it.” He gripped her chin. “Everyone deserves happiness. The road there isn’t easy. It is long, and hard, and often traveled utterly blind. But you keep going.”

He hadn’t seen a glimpse of that person in months. Had not seen her smile or laugh.

He knew about the drinking, about the males. He told himself he didn’t care.

He told himself he didn’t want to know who the bastard was who had taken her maidenhead.

Cassian’s voice dropped an octave. “Is that what those smutty books teach you? That it’s only at night?”

It took a heartbeat for the words to settle. And she couldn’t stop it, the heat that sprang to her face, her glance at his powerful hands.

She snarled. “Let go.”

Cassian snorted, but obeyed, turning his face as he backed a step away. And it was the light of victory in his eyes, the clear sense that he believed he’d somehow unnerved her and won this fight that had her grabbing the front of his leather jacket.

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away.

She did not flinch from his touch.

She couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. Not the flash of desire, but the smile that overtook her face. She huffed a laugh.

Cassian stared like he hadn’t seen her before.

He’d fallen in battle before—she’d seen him gravely injured. The first time in Hybern, when he’d tried to crawl toward her as she went into the Cauldron.

Cassian arched off the ground, bellowing in pain. A bone cracked somewhere in his body.

“Stop.”

The king looked over a shoulder as Nesta stepped forward. Cassian mouthed at her to run, blood escaping from his lips and onto the moss beneath him.

She’d collided with the stone, and now lay upon the floor, the Harp in her hands.

“NESTA!” Red light flared, washing like a bloody tide upon the stones, her face, the ceiling. But Cassian’s Siphons could not break through the wards. He could not reach her.

Nesta let out a low laugh. “If you want someone to blame for all of this,” she said to Tamlin, “perhaps you should first look in the mirror.”

Tamlin snarled at her.

Cassian snarled right back, “Watch it.”

Cassian turned away from her, drawing the sword sheathed down his back. And without another word, without a glance, he began his morning exercises.

Let him hate her. It was better that way.

He smiled, slow and vicious, precisely in the way he’d learned made her see red. A smile that he knew instantly unsheathed those lovely claws of hers. “Hello, Nesta. Nice to see you.”

The light in her eyes shone brighter than the moon overhead.

Such light, and clarity, that he could only whisper, “Again.”

With a soft smile that Cassian had never seen before, standing on the moon-washed shores of the lake, Nesta began.

Cassian had flown off to join him the moment we returned. He’d given Nesta a mocking bow, and she’d given him a vulgar gesture I hadn’t realized she knew how to make.

But he’d been professional during their lesson. Utterly professional and distant, as if this training ring was sacred to him.

Nesta couldn’t tear her eyes away as he completed his exercises, panting softly.

So Nesta let all that lay beyond those iron walls unspool toward him. Thread after thread of pure golden light flowed into him, and he met it with his own.

That first afternoon, he’d looked at her—not at the face and the body that human men marked, but her—and he had seen it all. She’d wanted to hurt him for it before he could reveal those things to everyone else, find a way to break him so he couldn’t—

She leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes, savoring the sound of his heart thumping. All the world was a song, and this heartbeat its core melody.

Warm, strong fingers cupped her chin, calluses scraping against her skin.

She let him lift her head. She hadn’t realized he’d come closer. That only inches separated them. Unless she’d been the one to drift toward him, drawn by each brutal word.

She tucked the Harp into her side and couldn’t stop the hand she lifted to his cheek. “I’m fine.”

He pressed a kiss into the heart of her palm. “I don’t know why I doubted you.”

Cassian’s eyes did not leave Nesta’s; nor did hers leave his. There was no warmth, no tenderness on either of their faces. Only that raging intensity, that blend of contempt and understanding and fire.

A flush stained her cheeks as she lifted her chin. “Was the sex not good for you?”

He swallowed. “Why would you ask that?”

Nesta’s throat bobbed. She was… F*ck, was she really that unsure of him? “You left quickly. And didn’t seek me out again.”

His name on her lips was his undoing.

Cassian had told himself two dozen times since walking out of that bedroom that the sex had been a mistake. But watching Nesta challenge him, the innuendo like a sizzling flame, he couldn’t for the life of him remember why.

Nesta peered at the manuscript, full of Cassian’s scent, as if he’d read it a thousand times.

He’d left it for her. Deemed her worthy of whatever lay inside.

Nesta debated chucking the nearest thing at him—a vase on a little pedestal beside the doorway. But demonstrating that he’d gotten under her skin would be too satisfying for him.

His hazel eyes shot to hers, like he always knew precisely where she was. And they were so full of worry, of that unrelenting goodness, that she had to fight like hell to keep the tears from falling.

Cassian said gently, “Hey.”

She clamped down on herself. “Hello.”

And then his hands slid into her hair. And the kiss…

It did not matter, the world around them, or the Crown at her feet, as he kissed her. A mate’s kiss. One that set their souls twining, glowing.

She studied him with unflinching focus. “Anything I want?”

“Anything.” He added wryly, “Anything short of you ordering me to fall out of the sky and smash my head on the earth.”

“Please,” she said.

Her first word in five days.

He stilled. “Please what?”

She leaned from him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t—don’t be kind to me.” The words were a sobbing, rippling jumble.

“Why?”

Cassian was good. In his soul, in his warrior’s heart, Cassian was good in a way Nesta knew most people were not. In a way she knew she was not and would never be.

Nesta fell into step beside him, huffing as she kept up with his long strides. “I don’t want anything from you.”

He made himself arch an eyebrow. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

He went on, “My room’s a level above that.”

“Why would I need to know that?” The words snapped out of her.

He began walking toward the glass doors that led into the mountain’s interior. “In case you have a bad dream and need someone to read you a story,” he drawled.

Only the knowledge that Nesta slept safely in a bedroom in Rhys’s palace above this mountain, warded by his High Lord’s power, allowed Cassian to remain in this room.

Her head went quiet. Her body went quiet.

Cassian’s eyes widened. “Nesta—”

“I’m fine,” she said coldly. “I don’t care.”

A small sound must have come out of her, because he grinned as he stepped to the side. Let go of her hand.

The absence of his warmth, his scent, was like a bucket of ice water.

It’s been a few centuries since someone got under Cassian’s skin that easily. Too bad they’re both inclined to kill the other.

Cassian snorted. “A ten-year-old Illyrian boy could do it in the span of a few minutes.”

“Then do your big, tough male routine.”

He smirked. “All right. You want to mouth off, then I’ll show you my big, tough male routine.”

Before the stomach-dropping plunge could register, Nesta was in Cassian’s arms, his wings spread, as he flew toward the stone veranda. It had been a long while since she’d been held by him.

She leaned in to press a kiss against his torn mouth. It wasn’t a loving gesture. Wasn’t even a sweet one. It was a challenge and a wicked taunt to forget their fear and pain and come tangle with her.

He called it her I Will Slay My Enemies pose.

Cassian had named about two dozen poses for Nesta at this point. Ranging from I Will Eat Your Eyes for Breakfast to I Don’t Want Cassian to Know I’m Reading Smut. The latter was his particular favorite.

“I can’t accept this.”

“It was made for you.” He smiled softly.

She couldn’t bear that smile, his kindness and joy, as she corrected, “I will not accept it.” She placed the orb back in its box and handed it to him. “Return it.”

He scanned her face as she stopped in front of the bedroom door. “Let’s hear it, Nes.”

“Don’t call me that.” She dangled the words like bait. Let him think her vulnerable.

She didn’t wait to hear his words of regret, that this had been a mistake. She wouldn’t let him hold that power over her. So Nesta curled her lips in a cold, cruel smile and said as she left, “Someone’s quick off the mark.”

Likely in that blast that had decimated a thousand of them. The blast she’d shielded him from. Him, and only him.

“It’s gone quiet again,” Nesta breathed, letting Cassian haul her into a sitting position as he scanned her face. Devastation and rage lay in his own. Did he know? That she had screamed for him, knowing he’d come… That she’d done it to save him?

“There are others out there, I’m sure, who might. I’m immortal now, or as close to it as possible. I have nothing but time to plan far into the future.”

His chest tightened. Planning for the future. It was a hell of a good sign.

“He doesn’t know how much I took. And if… if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power… He’ll come running. Just to kill me.”

“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled.

Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”

To guard her. Protect her.

This was her place. No servants, no eyes monitoring and judging every move, no company unless… Unless busybody, puffed-up warriors made it their business to stop by.

Feyre said, Please take care of her, Cassian. And yourself.

Cassian glanced to the sleeping female nearly hidden in the shadows of the rock.

I will.

Cassian couldn't read her at all. So he moved his head closer, his dark hair sliding over his brow, and purred, “There are other ways I could play nice, Nesta Archeron.”

He’d seen her expression when he mentioned the threat of falling. And he knew going back to Velaris wouldn’t save her from that look. He couldn’t save her from that look, either.

Only Nesta could save herself from that feeling.

Nesta lasted all of a block, the green-roofed houses merry and still full of song and laughter, before she halted. Whirled on him.

“Go back to the house.”

“I will,” he said, flashing a grin again. “After I drop you off at your front door.”

The priestesses had marveled at the gift, a few of them dancing to the music, but Nesta had only been able to think about how much time and effort Cassian had put into it. How he had known what such a present would mean to her.

Each series of steps and movements Cassian went through was beautiful and lethal and precise, and it was all Nesta could do to not gawk.

But she forgot her pain, the death around them, as he folded her into his chest and held her tightly, whispering tenderly into her bloody hair, “And now I’m going to slit your pretty little throat.”

She ripped her hand out of his grip. Stared him down. A mighty, vengeful queen.

He waited, panting, for the verbal lashing to begin. For her to shred him into ribbons.

Had let him kiss her during the final battle because of it. Barely a kiss—about all he could manage in his injured state—and yet it had shattered her entirely.

“Show me the eight-pointed star.”

She studied the blade, then swallowed. Her features were open, fearful but so trusting that he nearly went to his knees. He nodded toward the blade. “Show me, Nesta.”

Whatever she sought in his face, she found it.

“I can’t lie to her,” Cassian said, looking to Rhys. “I can’t.”

The door was yanked open, the knob twisting so hard Cassian wondered if she was imagining it as his neck.

Nesta Archeron already wore a scowl. But there she was.

She looked like hell.

When we emerged, Nesta even buckled a knife at her side. Cassian had insisted, yet he’d admitted that since she was untrained, she was just as likely to hurt herself as she was to hurt someone else.

But Mor waved him off and moved to pass Cassian his gift; but the warrior didn’t take it. Or take his eyes off Nesta as she undid the brown paper wrapping on the box and revealed a set of five novels in a leather box.

“The Mask wished for me to come, so it allowed me through. Maybe the Harp will do the same. Like calls to like, as you all enjoy saying.”

“I’m not letting you go into that room alone. Not if that thing wants to play.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

“You're in deep sh*t,” Azriel said mildly to him on the chilly veranda as Nesta donned her cloak inside.

“I know,” Cassian muttered. He had no idea how it had happened: how he’d gone from mocking Nesta to taunting her with his own bedroom habits.

Cassian lurched toward her, but winced, back arching. Like the bargain tattoo on his back had burned him.

“Go away,” she ordered.

His throat worked, eyes bulging. Fighting the power of the bargain with his every breath.

Something pounded through the rock to their left, and Nesta flinched. Cassian squeezed her hand. “Ignore it,” he murmured.

Taking that as his cue, Cassian rose. “You do know this is Nesta Archeron we’re talking about? She does nothing unless she wishes to. And she’s the least likely to listen to me.”

Clotho huffed a laugh. She has a will of iron.

“Of steel.” He smiled.

His features turned stark. “Why did you stay at my side when we went up against the King of Hybern during that last battle?”

As if that were an answer. She couldn’t bear it, this talk, the expression on his face. “Because I was a stupid fool.” She shoved past him.

The words held enough of a bite that even Nesta glanced at Cassian’s stone-cold face. She had not heard that unyielding tone since the war. “She will be training here.”

Nesta wanted nothing more than to shove him off the nearby cliff edge.

He stalked toward the bed, and she straightened again, peering at him as he towered over her. “How could I be so selfish—to demand more sex from you when you’re so invested in training?”

“It’s not a demand if both sides want it,” she said.

Her throat tightened unbearably, her eyes stinging.

She would not let herself cry, not for herself or for the sight of him keeping watch beside her bed all night.

But it was as if her furious blinking woke him, as if he could hear the flutter of her lashes.

She’d swear at least two of the priestesses—Roslin and Ilana—sighed every time he walked past.

Some small, awful part of her was glad they didn’t sigh over Cassian. She punched that thought out of herself, too. That pathetic, selfish thought.

But then I said, “Why won’t you train with Cassian?”

Nesta’s spine locked up. “Why is it only Cassian that I may train with? Why not the other one?”

He’d figured that someone who adored books as much as Nesta would savor this piece of history. Even if she resented all things Fae. He’d regretted throwing it into the river the moment it had vanished under the ice, but… he’d been foolish that night.

Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta.

Nesta swallowed again. Cassian squeezed her hand tighter and said casually, “You true immortals are all the same: arrogant windbags who love to hear yourselves talk.”

His voice thick, he managed to say, “Ready?”

Cauldron boil him, he knew the question held more meanings than he cared to unravel.

From the glimmer in her eyes, he knew she got it. But she squared her shoulders. “All right. I owe you one hour of training.”

Nesta couldn’t stop her toes from curling in her boots. But she said with a slight smile, striding for the doorway, refusing to let one bit of the discomfort in her sore legs show, “Sounds like you have a lot of time on your hands, Cassian.”

He had to make it even, somehow. Had to get the upper hand again.

Her mate. Her love. Her friend.

“No one likes a selfish partner, Eris.” She didn’t so much as look at Cassian. Didn’t trust what she’d do if she beheld pain in his eyes at Eris’s insult.

He only grinned and beckoned with a hand. “Want to join me?”

“I should push you down those stairs.”

His name on her lips was his undoing.

Cassian pulled back, and remained that way long enough that she opened her eyes again to find his face inches from her own. “You’re not going to marry Eris,” he said roughly.

“No,” she breathed.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned, trying to reach for her.

The king’s blood sprayed her leathers, her face.

He was screaming. Silently, endlessly. Screaming at her to fight him, to run. Screaming at himself to stop it.

But he couldn’t. No matter what he did, he could not stop it.

Feysand Quotes

“We will keep planning for the future, war or no war. I will keep planning for our future.”

My throat burned, and I nodded.

He’d kept his shields up so I wouldn’t see, because I wouldn’t have said yes, I would have rather the world ended than this, this thing he had done and this emptiness where he was, where we were—

“But I forgot to tell him,” I said quietly, opening the door, “that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key.”

“Oh?”

I shrugged. “He was the one who let me out.”

If there is a way to save Feyre from a death sentence, Rhys will find it. He will stop at nothing until he figures out a way to spare her.

“I’ve had a long, long time to think about how and where I want you,” Rhys said onto the skin of my neck, his fingers sliding under the band of my pants.... “I have no intention of doing it all in one night. Or in a room where I can’t even f*ck you against the wall.”

“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 gleamed in his eyes.

“Cruel?” Rhys purred the word against my skin. “You wound me.” I let him lay me down on the cushions, savouring the weight of him as he braced himself on his elbows. “You look happy.” He said, his smile soft and tender in a way so few in the world beyond Velaris ever saw.

“Someone thinks mighty highly of herself.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.”

There it was—a kernel of truth and a question.

“Am I supposed to deny,” he drawled, but something sparked in those eyes, “that I find you attractive?”

I deigned to glance at him, brows raised.

“Delicious,” he purred.

My brows now knotted. I read the next two words, then whipped my face toward him. “You look absolutely delicious today, Feyre?! That’s what you wrote?”

Alis squeezed my hand. “Blood rubies or no, you will always have one friend in the Summer Court.”

My throat bobbed. “And you will always have one in mine,” I promised her.

She knew which court I meant. And did not look afraid.

I felt it then, the bond between us, like an unbreakable chain, like an undimmable ray of light.

“My name is Feyre Archeron. I am High Lady of the Night Court. This is Rhysand, my—husband.” I doubted mate would go over well as a term.

Even now, with that bond again flowing between us like a river of star-flecked night, the echo of its vanishing lingered. Drew me from sleep; drew me from a conversation, a painting, a meal.

His jaw clenched. “You scared the shit out of me for a long while, Feyre. Checking in that way… I couldn’t very well stroll into the Spring Court and ask how you were doing, could I?”

“I do have more important things to do,” he purred. “But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can’t resist watching me whenever we’re out. So territorial.”

“Tonight. Let’s find out if you, Feyre darling, are all talk—or if you’ll allow a Lord of Night to take you out on the town.”

He didn’t know—he had no inkling of the personal history, the secrets, that had opened my heart to the High Lord of the Night Court. They were not my stories to tell.

“I love you,” he breathed. “More than life, more than my territory, more than my crown.”

I saw the flash of protest at the pinned wings. But I crooned, “Illyrian baby,” and ran my hands down his muscled abdomen—farther. He stopped objecting.

Rhys’s naked body was wrapped around mine, his face softened with sleep. In the blackness of the tent, I listened.

But 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.”

“We could also go before a priestess and be declared husband and wife as well as mates, if you want a more human thing to call me.”

“What will you call me?”

“Mate,” he said. “Though also calling you my wife sounds mighty appealing, too.”

“We deserve each other. And we deserve to be happy.”

Rhys shuddered against me. And when his lips found mine, I let him lay me down upon the roof tiles and make love to me under the stars.

My friend through many dangers.

My lover who had healed my broken and weary soul.

My mate who had waited for me against all hope, despite all odds.

“I heard you were going to marry him, and I told myself you were happy. I should let you be happy, even if it killed me. Even if you were my mate, you’d earned that happiness.”

“I only decided I wanted to live when she killed me, and I knew I had not finished whatever … whatever it was I’d been born to do.”

I dared a glance at Rhys, and there was something like devastation on his beautiful face. It was gone in a blink.

Rhys held out a hand for me to ascend the dais steps. I kept my head high, back straight, as I gripped his fingers and strode up the few stairs. Toward that solitary throne.

Rhys only winked as he gracefully escorted me right into that throne.

“Because it’s fun.”

I nudged him with an elbow.

“Because you’re my equal,” he said. “And as much as that means having each other’s backs in public, it also means that we grant each other the gift of honesty. Of truth.”

“As wonderful as it is to see you, Feyre, darling,” Rhysand said, sprawled on the bed, his head propped up by a hand, “do I want to know why you’re digging through my fireplace?”

'Go lick your wounds and leave me be.' The paper vanished.

It was gone for a while—far longer than it should have taken to write the few words that appeared on the paper when it returned.

'I’d much rather you licked my wounds for me.'

“Rhys knew?” Tears spilled down Feyre’s cheeks, smearing the paint splattered there. “About the threat to our lives?” She peered down at herself, at the tattooed hand cradling her abdomen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find a way to spare you from what happened Under the Mountain,” Rhys said with equal quiet. “From dying. From wanting to die.”

“You haven’t been able to keep away from me since Calanmai, it seems.”

Something rippled in his eyes that I couldn’t place, but he flicked my nose—hard enough that I hissed and batted his hand away.

His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock—pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled. “What is—” I began. He disappeared—simply disappeared...

And in our minds, down that bond, his magic erupted, his soul washing over mine, filling every crack and pit so that there was not one part of me that was not full of him, brimming with his dark, glorious essence and undimming love.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, hand still outstretched. “Let’s eat breakfast, then go home.”

“Velaris isn’t my home.”

I could have sworn hurt flashed in his eyes before he spirited us back to my family’s house.

“None of that,” Rhysand said, clicking his tongue and lightly shoving Tamlin away with a single hand. “Not with a lady present.” His eyes shifted to my face. “What’s your name, love?”

“You never told me you loved the wings—or the flying.” No, he’d made his shape-shifting seem … base, useless, boring.

He shrugged. “Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me. I tell very few about the wings. Or the flying.”

Rhys’s face was a portrait of smug, male pride. Cassian knew he’d shred anyone who so much as blinked wrong at Feyre into a million bloody ribbons. Indeed, cold violence rippled off Rhys as they walked toward the dais, Feyre’s baby-rich scent filling the air.

'Lick you where, exactly?'

The paper vanished before I’d even completed the final mark.

His reply was a long time coming. Then,

'Wherever you want to lick me, Feyre. I’d like to start with “Everywhere,” but I can choose, if necessary.'

He gave it to me. Rhys handed over everything.

I was a bearer, a vessel, a link.

I love you, he whispered into my mind.

I only leaned back into him, savouring his warmth, even in this non-place.

“But was there anyone there—were you seeing anything beyond?”

“There was only that bond in the darkness.”

Rhysand’s face had gone pale, his mouth a tight line.

I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.

That vision of the future Feyre had shown me, more beautiful than anything I could have ever wished for—anything I had wished for, on those long-ago, solitary nights with only the stars for company. A dream still unanswered—but not forever.

“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.”

I linked my arm through his, nestling into his warmth. “It’s strange,” I murmured.

Rhys angled his head. “What is?”

I smiled. At him, at the Rainbow, at the city. “This feeling, this excitement to wake up every day. To see you, and to work, and to just be here.”

'Life is better when you’re around. And look at how lovely your handwriting is.'

I could almost feel him waiting on the other side...

A faint smile curved my lips. 'You’re a shameless flirt,' I wrote back.

He took my face in his hands, kissing me once. “Never. I can never be ashamed of you. Certainly not over this.” He kept his mouth close to mine, sharing breath.

Rhys kissed the top of my head, and we stared at the dying stars in silence.

“I’m grateful,” he said after a while, as the camp beneath us stirred in the building light. “To have you at my side. I don’t know if I ever told you that—how grateful I am to have you stand with me.”

His hand tightened on mine. "Well, even if Thesan has a prettier palace, I’m the only one blessed with a High Lady at my side."

I couldn’t help my blush.

“But I’ve never had food like this. Food that makes me…feel awake.”

I turned back to my plate, but found Rhysand’s eyes on me. His face was softer, more contemplative than I’d ever seen it, his mouth slightly open.

“I promise I won’t let the wind destroy your hair.” He lifted a hand as if he might tug on one of those loose curls, then lowered it.

I felt him tremble behind me, heard his wet rasp of breath. I tried to turn—

I love you, he said again.

The third and final crack began to heal over. His power began to sputter.

I lifted my eyes to his again and found stars and darkness waiting. Found home waiting.

Never enough. Not to paint him, know him. Eons would never be enough for all I wanted to do, see with him. For all I wanted to love him.

“Isn’t that what High Lords do?” My breath clouded in front of me in the brisk night. “Whatever they please?”

He studied my face. “There are a great many things that I wish to do, and don’t get to.”

But I was being ripped apart from the inside out, and I thrashed, unable to out-scream the pain.

“Feyre!” someone roared. No, not someone—Rhysand.

Rhysand yelled my name again—yelled it as though he cared.

"Thank you for finding her for me,” my savior said to them, smooth and polished. “Enjoy the Rite."

There, in that hole in my chest—I saw the image there. At first interpretation, he’d look terrifying, vengeance and wrath incarnate. But if you came closer … the painting would show the beauty on his face, the wings flared not to hurt, but to carry me from danger, to shield me.

“Because,” he went on, his eyes locked with mine, “I didn’t want you to fight alone. Or die alone.”

Rhys kissed beneath my ear. “That’ll come out of your salary, you know.”

I whipped my head to him and released my grip on his shoulders to flick his nose. He laughed, brushing his lips against my temple.

I love you, I said down the bond.

What’s not to love?

Before I could elbow him, Rhys kissed me again, breathless and swift.

To the stars who listen, Feyre

To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.

But I would glow—for him, I’d glow. For my own future, I’d glow.

I took his paint-smeared face between my own colorful hands and made him look at me.

His eyes were radiant like the stars I’d painted once, long ago.

And I smiled at Rhys as I let that mating bond shine clear and luminous between us.

We held each other in silence for minutes. Hours. Two souls, twining in the dark. I lowered my shields, let him in fully. His mind curled around mine.

I twisted to face him, his arms tightening slightly, as if to keep me from vanishing with the morning mist.

His eyes were open when I nestled my head against his arm. We watched each other.

And I realized I might very well be content to do exactly that forever.

“You cruel, wicked thing,” he purred, his nose grazing the exposed bit of neck I’d arched beneath him. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?”

“I never knew Illyrians were such sensitive babies,” I said, sliding another finger down the inside of his wing.

“We’re sharing one from now on. Just tell me whether I should move my clothes or yours. If that’s all right with you.”

“Don’t you—you don’t want your own space?”

“No,” he said baldly. “Unless you do. I need you protecting me from our enemies with your water-wolves.”

“Perhaps I’ll model for you later, then.” A sensuous brush down the bond that had my blood heating. It’s been a while since we had paint involved.

That cabin and kitchen table flashed into my mind, and my mouth went a bit dry. “Rogue.”

“I’m a lucky male to have her as my mate.”

The king smiled again. “For the little time you have remaining.”

I could have sworn Rhys blocked out the words.

There was the silent, too-small babe in Mor’s arms.

There was Feyre, sliced open and bleeding out on the bed.

There was Rhysand screaming, as if his soul were being shredded, but Cassian and Azriel were there, hauling him away from the bed as Madja tried to save Feyre—

“What’s wrong is that those pieces of shit got into my house and attacked my mate. What’s wrong is that my own damn wards worked against me, and you had to make a bargain with that thing to keep yourself from being taken. What’s wrong—”

A tiara—which he gently, reverently, set before the braid we’d pinned into place atop my head. The original crown … it appeared atop Rhys’s head a moment later.

Together, we stared at our reflection. Lord and Lady Night.

“Ready to be wicked?” he purred in my ear.

“Poor baby High Lord," I crooned. "Having to run away to find solitude perfect for brooding.”

Rhys pinched my behind, and I clamped down on my lip to keep from yelping.

“Do you want to go over what happened at the Spring Court?” I asked, voice raw, as I studied my mate’s face.

No amusement, nothing but that predatory intensity, focused on my every breath. “There are other things I’d rather do first.”

And when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left.

He had stayed. And fought for me.

Week after week, he’d fought for me, even when I had no reaction, even when I had barely been able to speak or bring myself to care if I lived or died or ate or starved. I couldn’t leave him to his own dark thoughts, his own guilt.

“You should see how I make her beg,” Rhys murmured, nudging my neck with his nose.

“If you were going to die, I was going to die with you. I couldn’t stop thinking it over and over as you screamed, as I tried to kill her: you were my mate, my mate, my mate.”

No babe—and Feyre’s face… It was white as death. Her eyes were closed, her breathing too shallow.

Rhys crouched at her side, gripping her hand. Panic and terror and pain warred on his face.

“I want to share this bed with you, though," I breathed. "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.”

I write to you not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human. I write to you to beg you to act quickly.

....

So I might one day be able to live in a world where the woman I love may visit her family without fear of hatred and reprisal. A better world.

To the stars who listen, Feyre. I brushed a hand over his cheek to wipe away the last of his tears, his skin warm and soft, and we turned down the street that would lead us home. Toward our future—and all that waited within it. To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.

"I heard you begging someone, anyone, to rescue you, to get you out. I heard you say no."

"I didn't say anything."

He turned my bare hand over, his hold tightening as he examined the eye he'd tattooed. He tapped the pupil. Once. Twice. "I heard it loud and clear.”

A snap of Rhys’s fingers, and my nightclothes—and some flimsy underthings—appeared on the bed. “I couldn’t decide which scrap of lace I wanted you to wear, so I brought you a few to choose from.”

“Pig,” I barked

“She's mine. And if any of you lay a hand on her, you lose that hand. And then lose your head. And once Feyre is done killing you, then I'll grind your bones to dust.”

“I fell in love with you, smartass, because you were one of us—because you weren’t afraid of me, and you decided to end your spectacular victory by throwing that piece of bone at Amarantha like a javelin.”

“And will you come with me? On this adventure—and all the rest?”

Rhys leaned forward and kissed me. “Always.”

“You were born on the longest night of the year.” His fingers again stroked down my back. Lower. “You were meant to be at my side from the very beginning.”

His words were a lethal caress as he said, “Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?”

I stepped out of the shelter of my savior’s arm and turned to thank him. Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

“I see all of you, Rhys. And there is not one part that I do not love with everything I am.”

“She is my mate. And my spy," I said too quietly. "And she is the High Lady of the Night Court.”

I smiled. Smiled wider as Feyre’s laugh sounded again—as I felt it down the bond, sparkling brighter than the entirety of Starfall.

“Give a shout down the bond if you get anything accomplished before breakfast.”

I frowned at the eye in my palm. “What—literally shout at the tattoo?”

“You could try rubbing it on certain body parts and I might come faster.”

Rhys said to his mate, “Feyre darling—”

“No good-byes,” Feyre panted. “No good-byes, Rhys.”

“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.”

“You and this city helped wake me up—helped bring me back to life.” His eyes flickered as I smiled up at him. “I will fight with everything I have, too, Rhys. Everything.”

He only kissed the top of my head, tugging me closer as we crossed the Sidra under the starry sky.

“Rhysand, that I love you. I want you to know… ” His lips trembled, and I brushed away the tear that escaped down his cheek. “I want you to know,” I whispered, “that I am broken and healing, but every piece of my heart belongs to you. And I am honored—honored to be your mate.”

Maybe it’d be a mercy to be ended—

A broad hand gripped my face—gently enough not to hurt, but hard enough to make me look at him. “Don’t you ever think that,” Rhysand hissed, his eyes livid. “Not for one damned moment.”

“You are selfless, and brave, and kind. You are more than I ever dreamed for myself, more than I…” The words choked off, and I swallowed, taking a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if he needed to hear it after what the king had said, but I needed to say it.

My mate murmured, “Feyre Cursebreaker, the Defender of the Rainbow.”

I slid my arms around his waist and sobbed.

And even as his city wailed, the High Lord of the Night Court held me until I could at last face this blood-drenched new world.

“What about your firstborn?” A secret smile as he gestured with that small boy’s hand to himself.

Rhys’s attention slid to me, surprise—surprise and something deeper, more tender—flickering on his face. Not just any boy, then.

My cheeks heated. No. Not just any boy.

His eyes were star-bright. “Long ago, when I was still a boy, she made them—all your gowns. A trousseau for my future bride.” His throat bobbed. “Every piece … Every piece I have ever given you to wear, she made them. For you."

Rhys would do that, she knew without a doubt. The High Lord would go to the ends of the world for a way to save Feyre.

“It killed me to know he was sharing your bed. Not just because you were my mate, but because I… ” He glanced down, then up at me again. “I knew… I knew I was in love with you that moment I picked up the knife to kill Amarantha.”

So I leaned into him, into that unfailing strength, and said down the bond, You make me so very happy. My life is happy, and I will never stop being grateful that you are in it.

I looked up to find him not at all ashamed to have tears slipping down his cheeks in public.

And the sight of that face… I slid my arms around his waist, gripping tightly as he pressed a silent kiss to my hair, reminding myself over and over that we were out. We had survived. Never again—never again would I let someone hurt him like that. Hurt my sisters like that.

“Of course I’ll dance with you,” Rhys said, his voice still raw. “All night, if you wish.”

“Even if I step on your toes?”

“Even then.”

He leaned in, brushing his mouth against my heated cheek. I closed my eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravaged me in its wake.

“Do you—do you want to dance with me?” I whispered.

He was silent for long enough that I lifted my head to scan his face. But his eyes were bright—silver-lined. “You want to dance?” he rasped, his fingers curling around mine.

And it was precisely because of it that I said, “I love you.”

His head lifted, eyes churning. “There was a time when I dreamed of hearing that,” he murmured. “When I never thought I’d hear it from you.”

“You seemed to be going along just fine with it, until Keir said—”

“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.”

“And if he had grabbed me?”

There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. “Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.”

He said softly, “I love it when you look at me like that.”

The purr in his voice heated my blood. “Like what?”

“Like my power isn’t something to run from. Like you see me.”

“What do you care?” I barked.

“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?”

“And, Feyre,” he added, his voice a caressing murmur, “I don’t like my belongings tampered with.”

“Build a house with a nursery, Feyre.”

My heart tightened to the point of pain, and I kissed him back. Kissed him again, and again, the property wide and clear around us. “I will,” I promised.

“Rhys—it’s too much.”

His face became deadly serious. “Not for you. Never for you.” He slid his arms around my waist, kissing my temple.

“I was willing to lose my mate to another male. I was willing to let them marry, if it brought her joy. But what I was not willing to do was let her suffer. To let her fade away into a shadow.”

“I missed you every moment,” Rhys said, leaning down to kiss the corner of my mouth. “Your smile.” His lips grazed over the shell of my ear and my back arched slightly. “Your laugh.”

“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.”

“But then she snapped your neck.”

Tears rolled down his face.

“And I felt you die,” he whispered.

Tears were sliding down my own cheeks.

“And this beautiful, wonderful thing that had come into my life, this gift from the Cauldron… It was gone.”

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.

ACOTAR POST MASTER LIST

Reasons why Elriel is Endgame

Why Elucien won't work out

Debunking Gwynriel + Anti-Elriel Theories

Debunking Gwynriel + Anti-Elriel Theories Pt2

Feysand Quotes

Nessian Quotes

Elriel Headcanons

They'd probably adopt a baby (most likely an orphan and I could see it being a boy) and the Inner Circle has never seen Az so overprotective over anyone like Elain and his child. (Imagine his shadows cradling the boy😭)

As Azriel was the one to realise she's a Seer, I expect that he may have had encounters with Seers in the past (I mean, he's been living for 500+ years) so he definitely would help Elain develop her abilities and that would lead them to work on spy missions together

Since we have had hints that Azriel can be quite self conscious, every time Elain sees him shy away from her, she kisses the scars on his hands to remind him that she doesn't care about his "imperfections"

After being forced into the Cauldron, I think it's highly likely that Elain suffers from PTSD, therefore she may experience horrid nightmares and panic attacks. Whenever one happens, Azriel makes sure to comfort her (maybe sing to her too since we know he can?)

When Elain's necklace will come back to her (cause let's be honest, it will) she'll make sure it never comes off again. Also, whenever Azriel is away on a mission for a long time, she hugs it close to her heart at night

Elain tries teaching Azriel how to bake and it's a disaster. Flour ends up everywhere but they have a lot of fun during it (Maybe Elriel baking scene could be the new Feysand soup scene?😏)

ACOSF confirmed Azriel can do the waltz and sing so whenever they have free time, they dance around Elain's garden, among the roses, as he quietly sings in her ear. (There have been occasions where Azriel is so transfixed by her beauty that they accidentally trip and laugh it off)

When the Inner Circle have time to goof off, they tend to play hide and seek around Velaris and since Azriel's wingspan is the biggest, he always sneaks off into dark alleys with Elain, making sure his wings cocoon around them. (When everyone's already been found except them, they all know what they're up to👀)

Debunking Gwynriel/Anti Elriel Theories Pt2

Why would SJM put Gwyn in Azriel's bonus chapter if she wasn't his endgame?

My sweet naive children...This is what authors do. She wants her readers to drive themselves crazy by wondering how this full thing will play out. Do you guys remember when in ACOFAS Nesta outright rejected Cassian and he threw her gift away? The full fandom went psycho trying to figure out what was in the box and if Nesta would somehow get the gift back. She wants us to think what will happen between Elriel now that Gwyn might have Elain's gift. If they weren't interrupted then Elain would keep the necklace and they would definitely kiss so the chapter would end in a nice happy way. But then, that would most likely confirm our endgame, right? SJM doesn't want us to be confident in anything yet, instead she wants us to be confused. Like with a cliffhanger.

Elriel won't happen because ever since Azriel's bonus chapter, which was set in the middle of the book, there were no more Elriel scenes in ACOSF

Once again, it's obvious why SJM has done this.

For people who have read the bonus chapter (since it's not available in all editions of the book) it's going to make them question what the relationship is currently between Elain and Azriel? Especially, after Azriel saying that their almost kiss was a mistake and inevitably hurting Elain (even though it was clear he would've kissed her if he wasn't interrupted😏)

Therefore, this means that we have a little bit of a misunderstanding that will most likely have to be solved between them...It's pretty obvious SJM wouldn't resolve this in a book about Nessian. Why? Because she's saving it for ACOTAR5. Elriel's book.

She wants to build the tension. It's as simple as that.

Since Elain didn't keep the necklace, but kept Lucien's gifts, she clearly doesn't care about Azriel

Yeah, no. Did some people skip the part where Azriel said that their almost kiss was a mistake? Elain was clearly hurt. Despite the fact that the readers know he said it because of Rhys interrupting him mentally, Elain doesn't know that. She genuinely believes that Azriel thought that their moment was a mistake. Why would she keep a gift from someone who says something like that? As for her keeping Lucien's gloves, she might have kept them, but did the antis also forget that moment in the series where Feyre literally pointed out the fact that Elain doesn't even use the gloves and prefers to come back with bloody hands? Y'all will really forget the key details when it suits you, won't you?🤨

After what happened between Elain and Azriel in his bonus chapter, they're clearly over

Funnily enough, you guys couldn't be more wrong. The only way I'd believe Elriel was over in that bonus chapter was if Elriel actually kissed without interruption...If that kind of thing happened, followed by Azriel claiming their actual kiss was a mistake, then I'd be less confident in Elriel endgame. But that's the thing, they never got to kiss, leaving tension not only between them, but for the readers too! When will this tension be resolved? Repeat after me. Elriel's book.

It's only sexual feelings between them

You know what...I'm not even going to argue against this but just leave a couple questions for you to wonder about💞

Why would Azriel give Truth-Teller to Elain, something he's never done with anyone before. (Keep in mind he's 500+ years old, he's went through many dangerous situations yet still never gave it to anyone👀)

Why did Azriel give up on Mor after 500 years? (Once again, remember that he's met billions of people throughout his whole life yet remained infatuated with Mor. Suddenly Elain comes along and look what we have here😏)

Why would SJM be building tension for them since the 2nd book AND constantly show how uncomfortable Elain is in Lucien's presence just to make Elain accept the bond with Azriel ending up with a side character introduced in the 5th book?

If it really is only sexual, then why was Azriel so frustrated when Rhys basically commanded him to leave Elain alone? He could've easily just found himself someone for sexual purposes but he didn't. Wonder why...

Elain is boring and has no personality

This one honestly frustrates me because it's so unfair to Elain.

We haven't had that many scenes with her compared to other characters but there is a perfect explanation for that. The first 4 books were set in Feyre's POV, right? ACOTAR was literally Feyre being away from her family for majority of the book. As for the other 3? It was mostly about Feyre adapting to Rhysand's world, developing her powers, etc. And during that time period, Elain and Nesta both decided to shut themselves off from the world because of how they became Fae. Now, some people might argue that even then, we still got to see Nesta's personality but not Elain's. But that's the thing! Different people grieve differently! Nesta was more open with her anger towards the IC and what happened to her, meanwhile Elain preferred to deal with it in a more private, quiet way. There's nothing wrong with that and yet, people do nothing but slander Elain, overlooking what she's been through.

Quite a similar point to the first one but related to ACOSF more. This was Nessian's book and since Nesta was forced to live in the House of the Wind, it's fairly obvious we wouldn't see much of Elain since she doesn't live there. Kinda like with Mor, in the 3 books after ACOTAR we saw her frequently because Feyre saw her but since we then moved to Nesta's POV, Mor's appearances significantly decreased.

Since SJM has said that if an ACOTAR character was to be her best friend, she'd pick Elain, I think it's obvious there's more to her than we think. There's been plenty of foreshadowing for that too! Feysand's bonus chapter from ACOSF is literally centered around Elain, Feyre talking about the fact that Elain prefers to get her hands dirty when gardening, Nesta calling Elain out that she's finally beginning to grow a backbone...Trust me when I say that Elain is going to shine in her own book.

Azriel's shadows hide from Elain, must be a bad sign!

There have literally been scenes where they hide with Mor, Cassian, Rhys, etc. I guess they're bad characters too, right? Case closed.

Gwyn is such a badass meanwhile Elain can't fight so she wouldn't suit Azriel

Things don't work like that😭Last time I checked, Yrene from TOG was mainly a healer, not a fighter, yet her relationship with Chaol blossomed perfectly fine. Besides, with all the foreshadowing from SJM, it looks like Elain will be more of a spy than a fighter. Oh and guess who else is a spy! Repeat after me :) Elriel book

The way that Chaol went from Celaena, Nesryn to Yrene will be just like Azriel going from Mor, Elain to Gwyn

Nope. Firstly, that would be SJM repeating her plot which would be bad writing. (Especially since we know that these universes are somehow linked)

Secondly, I don't know how much of the ACOTAR fandom has also read TOG but personally, I knew from the start that Chaol and Celaena wouldn't be endgame. I did believe they'd last for a while but there was just too many things that didn't match for me with them. As for Nesryn, her and Chaol literally lasted one book...

Elriel has been slowly developed for 4 books now...That's way more than what SJM did with Chaol so as much as people will hate what I'm about to say, Gwyn will probably be used to develop the Elriel romance. (Don't get me wrong, I like Gwyn as a character but there's nothing between her and Azriel🤷‍♀️)

Hi guys! Out of curiosity, I wanted to see what is truly the "best" Shadowhunter ship of all time, so if you have the time, please fill it out!💛

If I get enough responses, I'll post the results soon!

Hi guys! Out of curiosity I wanted to see what is truly the "best" ACOTAR ship of all time, so if you have the time, please vote!💛

If I get enough responses, I'll post the results soon!

Hi guys! Out of curiosity, I wanted to see what the true "best" Grisha ship is of all time so if you have the time, could you please fill it out?💛

If enough people do it, I'll post the results soon!

If Shadow and Bone were different tv shows...

Keeping up with the Keftas

Grisha Girl

The Real Housewives of Ravka

Pretty Little Volcra

Age Gaps in Fantasy Fiction

I feel like a large part of the bookish fandom is quite hypocritical when it comes to age gaps in books. For example, one of the reasons many people hate Darklina is because of how much older he is than Alina and they're trying to say it's extremely inappropriate and they shouldn't be together, etc.

It's Fantasy Fiction, there will be many creatures like Fae or Vampires that will be infinitely older than their LIs. I'd be more concerned if it was a book set in the real world (No fantasy, magic, etc)

If you hate one couple for this reason, then you should hate them all. You can't just say it's inappropriate when it comes to a single couple, but when it refers to one of your favourites then it's fine?? (If you hate Darklina for reasons other than the age gap then that's understandable but if that's the sole reason you hate them then 🥴)

Popular ships with large age gaps:

Rhysand and Feyre (515 years)

Cassian and Nesta (514 years)

Azriel and Elain (516 years)

Rowan and Aelin (330+ years)

Dorian and Manon (96 years)

Magnus Bane and Alec (approx. 375 years)

Edward and Bella (86 years)

Casteel and Poppy (200+ years)

Wrath and Emilia ☆

Legend and Tella ☆

☆ = Age gap is uncertain but still significant

Just to be clear, I love these couples and they're just examples!

1 week left!

The Crows could murder me and my ghost would worship them😫

Finally we have some Nina content💛

Obviously this doesn't officially confirm anything but the fact Fairyloot are Elriel and atouchofmagicdesigns have licensed Elain art is saying something😏

Can I just say that if Cassandra Clare somehow breaks up Kierarktina, the most healthy polyamorous ship in fiction EVER, I will throw hands🥲

(Art by loweana.art on Instagram)

Book Recommendations

Hi guys! I was wondering if some of you had any underrated book recommendations? Most books I've read are very popular but I really wanted to branch out and read some less known stuff!

I quite like:

Fantasy

Romance

Mystery

Thriller

Enemies to Lovers romance

But honestly, I could read anything as long as it's interesting!

Here are the books I've already read or that already are on my list so there's no repeated recs!💛

Already have read:

ACOTAR, TOG, CC by Sarah J Maas

The Shadowhunter Chronicles by Cassandra Clare

Grishaverse series by Leigh Bardugo

The Cruel Prince trilogy by Holly Black

Caraval trilogy by Stephanie Garber

Red Queen series by Victoria Aveyard

A Good Girl's Guide to Murder duology by Holly Jackson

The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins

Words in Deep Blue by Cath Crowley

On my TBR:

Shatter Me series by Tahereh Mafi

Stalking Jack the Ripper series by Kerri Maniscalco

Kingdom of the Wicked by Kerri Maniscalco

A Curse so Dark and Lonely series by Brigid Kemmerer

The Wrath and the Dawn duology by Renée Ahdieh

Serpent and Dove trilogy by Shelby Mahurin

From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Bone Crier's Moon duology by Kathryn Purdie

Daughter of the Pirate King duology by Tricia Levenseller

The Shadows Between Us by Tricia Levenseller

The Kiss of Deception trilogy by Mary E. Pearson

Dance of Thieves by Mary E. Pearson

The Tiger at Midnight duology by Swati Teerdhala

We Hunt the Flame duology by Hafsah Faizal

Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson

The Woman in the Window by A. J. Finn

Alex Approximately by Jenn Bennett

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne

Fight or Flight by Samantha Young

The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E Schwab

The Merciful Crow by Margaret Owens

Debunking Gwynriel and Anti-Elriel Theories

Gwyn and Azriel are mates!

Sorry but no. Firstly, we already have so many mating bonds in the series and if SJM added more it would just be too much (Especially as mating bonds are supposed to be rare!) We already have:

Feyre and Rhysand

Nesta and Cassian

Elain and Lucien

Viviane and Kallias

Rhysand's Parents

Tamlin's Parents

And I know it can take time for the bond to snap but Azriel has already seen Gwyn in extreme danger TWICE and nothing happened. First when he found her after she experienced SA and then when he was more concerned about Eris, someone he hates, than her... After that kind of trauma, I'd expect it to snap but it didn't so🤷‍♀️

His shadows sung to her so there's something there!

With that kind of logic I guess you could say that there must be something between Nesta and Gwyn considering how she reacted to her too...

Nesta:

"The priestess drew up to her full height, which wa slightly taller than average for Fae females. A crackling sort of energy buzzed around her, and Nesta's power grumbled in answer."

Azriel:

"Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer."

Personally, I believe that she might be a lightsinger and is maybe somehow evil OR she has powers that she's not aware of. Now, I've heard how many Gwyn stans hate the theory that she might be evil, working with Koschei, etc. and how that's disgusting because we can't suggest that an SA survivor would do something like that but I feel like this post by @juusworld5728 describes how I feel about this perfectly so go have a read!

There's also plenty of evidence that Gwyn may not be who we think she is or that she's hiding something.

"Gwyn's hair seemed to glow brighter with her song, skin radiating a beckoning light. Drawing any listener in."

Firstly, can we talk about the use of "beckoning"? Here are the literal definitions of the word:

To make a gesture with the hand, arm, or head to encourage or instruct someone to approach or follow.

To summon (someone) by beckoning to them.

To appear attractive or inviting

We even have Azriel at the end of his POV questioning himself, why could he perfectly picture Gwyn's reaction to the necklace. - "For whatever reason...He could see it."

What if Gwyn is working her powers on him, making him think about her, appearing as attractive to his shadows. Why else would SJM use such words?

Then we have the "Drawing any listener in" part. As we saw previously, Nesta also was lured in by Gwyn. This also confirms this:

"Gwyn's voice rose again, holding such a high note it was like a ray of pure light, piercing and summoning."

We have the word choice of "summoning" like Gwyn was calling out to Nesta, JUST like with Azriel.

Then we also have the matter of fact about what we already know about lightsingers and I feel like this post by @silverlinedeyes describes my thoughts perfectly too! (Keep in mind, this isn't us comparing Gwyn to Ianthe as they're not the same at all but the parallels between the descriptions SJM has used for each.)

Gwyn will kill Elain

No. Just no. Do you really think one of Nesta's closest friends would kill her own sister? (Especially the one that she's been doting over for most of her life) Even if Elain somehow turned out to be evil (which I highly doubt) Nesta would never let her sister get killed. As for Feyre, she'd do anything to somehow help Elain. Besides, SJM has literally said that if a character from ACOTAR was to be her best friend, it would be Elain. She clearly loves her so why would she kill her off?

Gwyn has pliant bones so she can have Azriel's children

I think the full Elriel fandom has emphasised how wrong this theory is so I won't talk much about it because if you still believe in this, then that's just disgusting.

But, can we keep in mind that when Cassian asked Azriel about having children he said "It doesn't matter what I want". What if Azriel can't even have children in first place? We know his half-brothers have physically harmed him in the past so what if they did something to make him sterile? Maybe that's why he won't let himself to think about children? Elriel could have the perfect opportunity to adopt, especially considering SJM herself is adopted.

Gwynriel and Vucien will happen so that Elain will be with Tamlin or alone

Firstly, SJM confirmed we already know Elain's official love interest so she'll definitely not end up alone.

Secondly, Elain would never be with her sister's abuser... Even if Tamlin got a redemption arc, one book is too little for SJM to write all of this:

Tamlin's Redemption Arc

Elain and Azriel moving past their mutual attraction

Elain and Lucien breaking the bond

Elain and Tamlin then somehow getting together

It just won't make sense! And also, Tamlin does somehow in his own way care about Lucien, would he really get with his closest companion's mate?

Elain is evil and working with Graysen

So people have being saying that Elain is still in contact with Graysen and working with him against the IC since she mentioned a couple times how she wants a human man, not a male, etc.

It's NATURAL for Elain to mourn the loss of her normal life. Of course she'd be upset and frustrated since she basically had it all ripped from her. Moreover, all her life she's been told horrible things about Fae and despite the fact that Feyre has become one, obviously she'd still be wary of them.

Then we also have some readers saying that Elain must be evil since she doesn't seem to miss Graysen anymore. Well yeah? The events of ACOWAR happened when she was 21/22 and ACOSF when she was 24/25. She's had 3 years to deal with this, it's called progress and moving on.

Since Azriel is so overprotective over Elain and not Gwyn, he believes Elain can't handle herself but Gwyn can

This one makes me giggle a bit because what?? We have seen so many instances in SJM writing where the male LI is overprotective over his girl, yet they still know she knows how to defend herself. Examples:

Sam over Celaena

Rowan over Aelin

Chaol over Yrene

Lorcan over Elide

Rhysand over Feyre

It's obvious a guy would feel the need to defend his lover so it's not the fact that he thinks she can't handle herself. He feels the need to protect her because he cares about her.

3 Sisters with 3 Brothers is such a cliché!

Ah yes, so all the mating bonds present in ACOTAR being complete wouldn't be a cliché? (Cause let's be honest, if Azriel somehow isn't Elain's endgame then it has to be Lucien cause who else? Yet that wouldn't make sense)

Next book is Azriel's with Gwyn as his LI

We know that we have 2 books left and a novella so I suspect it'll go like this - ACOTAR5 = Elriel, ACOTAR6 = Vucien + Jurian and NOVELLA = Emorie

Gwyn has nothing to do with the overall plot of ACOTAR with Koschei. Elriel's book would probably be focused on The Prison and Elain working with her Seer powers along Azriel as a spy. Vucien's book would probably end the series with them somehow defeating Koschei. The novella would develop Emorie and some other plotlines further. Where does Gwyn fit? Nowhere.

Why would SJM give a side character she just introduced, a book when we have more interesting characters to go over from the start (Elain, Lucien, Vassa, Jurian, Mor, maybe Amren?)

Can I just say that I really hate Booktok with a passion...

Literally whenever I see an Elriel artist post their work, the anti-Elriels are always so toxic in the comments. Here are some examples:

"I liked then unliked because it's Elain."

"I'm sorry but NO"

"Nooo. Beautiful, but no. Az deserves better."

"Hold my phone... I got to go puke. (This is great, I’m just kidding cause Gwynriel😂😂)"

"This ruined my day"

"Great Art. Terrible Ship."

"Az deserves someone WITH personality"

"Uh make that hair red please. Now."

"I think Az deserves better however I love the art"

"But you know if sjm wanted them to be endgame they would have babies but now we know they can’t"

"He deserves so much better than Elain but this art is so good"

"Respectfully? No"

"I loved your Art, but this couple does not exist❤️"

"The art is beautiful but Elain can die"

"The art is gorgeous but I hate Elain and Az.... GWYNRIEL forever!!!!"

"I love the art BUT NOOOOOO THIS COUPLE IS NOT MY CUP OF TEA"

"The art is gorgeous but Im just gonna pretend its Gwyn not our loyal gardener"

"I'll just pretend she has red hair."

"Great artttt but not Elriel lol"

"Your art:😳😩✨😍 the ship: 🥸👺🤢🤮"

"OH HELL NO"

"*unlikes*"

"Gwynriel- Elain can f*cking die"

There's even more but these were the most horrid. I understand not everyone likes the same ship and that's okay, but what isn't okay is the fact that these people are literally so horrible. Let's compare them, shall we?

"That's amazing!" VS "That's amazing but horrible ship"

I think it's clear what's better. Artists don't need that kind of negativity in their posts. Is it so hard to just scroll if the art bothers you that much? I have NEVER seen a Gwynriel art get comments like "I'll change the hair to brown" or "Elriel Supremacy" because despite the fact we're a minority on Tiktok, we still have respect for the artists...There have been millions of times where Gwynriel art showed up on my FYP and I just scrolled, it's not that difficult. I genuinely hope they learn to do better cause even looking at some of these comments, it's clear many of them are in denial. ("I loved your Art, but this couple does not exist❤️" - lmao really?💀)