ACOMAF Chapter 8.
“Please, High Lord,” the faerie was saying. “There are no fish left in the lake.”
Tamlin’s face was like granite. “Regardless, you are expected to pay.” The crown atop his head gleamed in the afternoon light. Crafted with emeralds, sapphires, and amethyst, the gold had been molded into a wreath of spring’s first flowers. One of five crowns belonging to his bloodline.
The faerie exposed her palms, but Tamlin interrupted her. “There are no exceptions. You have three days to present what is owed—or offer double next Tithe.”
Excerpt From
A Court of Mist and Fury
Sarah J. Maas











