𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚖(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

by sweet_carolina24

Summary:

𝚃𝚊𝚖𝚕𝚒𝚗'𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍

✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚊, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚊𝚖𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙵𝚎𝚢𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕.

✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯

𝚌𝚠: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖, 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎

Chapter 1

     I heard my mother scream when they killed her.

     In the cramped confines of the closet where she had concealed me, I clutched my knees to my chest, tears streaming down in silence. Abruptly, the door flung open. My eyes snapped open, dilated by terror.

     He loomed above me, a figure of dread, his wings unfurled, his penetrating gaze locking onto mine.

      His presence infiltrated my thoughts, and I flinched, stifling the sob in my throat. I was certain of my fate, familiar with the tales of his abilities. He could obliterate my consciousness in the blink of an eye.

      There was no reason for him to show mercy. The horror that had befallen his own mother and sister was not lost on me; I had been appalled by what my family did.

      I tensed, readying myself for the agony. But instead, I was met with the unexpected gentleness of his voice resounding within my mind.

"Stay hidden until we're gone. Don't make a sound. And keep your mental shields up, for Cauldron's sake."

     Jolting awake, my body trembled under the comfort of my pink, silk comforter. My gaze drifted to the large pot of pink roses by my window. I had caused them to wither and die in my panic. I made a silent vow to resurrect them again once my strength returned.

     This particular nightmare was familiar, haunting me since the eve of my 19th birthday. It lingered in my mind, an incessant echo of the past.

     Tamlin had discovered me hours later, his presence altered—the power of the High Lord had passed to him, a silent testament to the demise of our father and brothers.

     I harbored no grief for my father or brothers. But the absence of my mother was a void that ached within me each day.

     The creak of the door caused my hands to ball into fists, an attempt to quell the tremors that threatened to betray my composure. Alis entered, her presence a small comfort, bearing a tray laden with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of eggs.

"You're up early," she commented, placing the tray on my bed. I nodded my head, taking a sip of the hot tea.

"Nightmares again," I said simply. "You didn't need to bring my breakfast to me. I'm sure Tam will expect me to dine with them this morning."

"He is quite busy," she sighed. "Andras was slaughtered by a mortal girl last night."

     My muscles tensed. My gaze locked onto hers, eyes unwavering and fixed.

"He has less than a year left," I recalled. "Do you truly believe she could break the curse in that time?"

"It's possible," Alis said with a sigh. "We shall have to see."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I was sitting at my place at the table that night, using my mind and the point of my finger to make a rose blossom from the vase on the table.

   When the door opened, I stood up from my seat, bowing respectfully to Tamlin, who was in his beast form.

   I stared at the mortal girl who followed him.

   She was terribly skinny, her bones jutting out sharply. Her blue eyes were wide with fear and fascination. Her golden brown hair was tangled, but despite that, she was beautiful.

   Tamlin plopped into the chair, the wood groaning, and, in a flash of white light, turned into his Fae form.

   The girl gasped and pushed herself against the paneled wall beside the door, feeling for the molding of the threshold.

"You should eat something," he said to her.

    He filled a glass of wine from an exquisitely cut crystal decanter and drank deeply. As if he needed it. He usually did.

   I didn't say a word as the girl inched toward the door.

"Who are you?" she managed to say, though she was speaking more to Tamlin than me.

"Sit," he said gruffly, waving a broad hand to encompass the table. "Eat." She stared at the food, but did not move. "Unless you'd rather faint?"

"It's not safe for humans," she managed to say.

"The food is fine for you to eat, human," he said to her.

      I offered her a tentative grin, carefully serving myself a moderate portion of lamb. It was a deliberate balance, enough to quell my appetite but not so much that it would trigger Tamlin's critical comments about watching what I ate.

"Leave, if you want," he added with a flash of teeth. "I'm not your jailer. The gates are open—you can live anywhere in Prythian."

     She remained motionless, rooted to the spot. I observed her intently, my head cocked slightly as I observed her.

"Fine," he said, the word laced with a growl, and began serving himself.

     Upon Lucien's entrance, she almost leapt from her skin in surprise.

"Well?" Lucien said.

     He sketched a bow to my brother, then tilted a sort of mocking bow to me. He hadn't seemed to spot the girl yet.

"Well, what?" Tamlin cocked his head, the movement more animal than human.

"Is Andras dead, then?" Lucien asked. Tamlin nodded. "I'm sorry."

"How?" I spoke up, finally daring to say something. They both turned to me sharply.

"An ash arrow," Tamlin explained. "The Treaty's summons led me to the mortal. I gave her safe haven."

"A girl—a mortal girl actually killed Andras," Lucien scoffed. "And the summons found the girl responsible." Tamlin gave a low, bitter laugh and pointed at the girl. "The Treaty's magic brought me right to her doorstep."

"You're joking," Lucien said when he finally spotted the girl. "That scrawny thing brought down Andras with a single ash arrow?"

"She admitted to it," Tamlin said tightly, tracing the rim of his goblet with a finger. A long, lethal claw slid out, scraping against the metal. "She didn't try to deny it."

"Well," Lucien seethed, "now we're stuck with that, thanks to your useless mercy, and you've ruined—"

     She stepped forward.

"Did you enjoy killing my friend, human?" Lucien said. "Did you hesitate, or was the hatred in your heart riding you too hard to consider sparing him? It must have been so satisfying for a small mortal thing like you to take him down."

   Tamlin said nothing, though I winced at the words. I didn't know Andras well, but he had been kind. Kindness wasn't something I was used to.

"Anyway," Lucien continued. "Perhaps there's a way to—"

"Lucien," Tamlin said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

     Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to the girl.

"My apologies, lady," he joked. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary. Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

   It was that flirty tone that used to make me blush, but now just made me roll my eyes.

"Her name is Feyre," Tamlin said.

     Feyre—a name that carried a delicate beauty, a name that fit her, even though she was clad in nothing but rags.

"Alis will take you to your room. You could use a bath and fresh clothes," Tamlin said.

     With a reassuring grip, Alis took hold of her elbow. Gently guiding her, Alis steered her to her chambers. 

"That's the hand the Cauldron thought to deal us?" I spoke up, taking a judgmental tone.

"She brought Andras down? We never should have sent him out there—none of them should have been out there. It was a fools mission," Lucien growled. "Maybe we should just take a stand—maybe its time to say enough. Dump the girl somewhere, kill her, I don't care—she's nothing but a burden here. She'd sooner put a knife in your back than talk to you—or any of us."

"Kill her?" I demanded. "Lucien, please. Don't be ridiculous."

"Not until we know for certain that there is no other way will we make a move. And as for the girl, she stays. Unharmed," Tamlin said. "End of discussion. Her life in that hovel was Hell enough."

"Then you've got your work cut out for you, old son," Lucien said. "I'm sure her life will be a fine replacement for Andras's—maybe she can even train with the others on the border."

"Stop it, I'm too stressed for this," I spat out.

"What could you possibly have to be stressed about, Mariangela?" Lucien demanded. I glared at him. "You don't do anything."

   That was simply because I wasn't allowed to do anything. But I didn't dare complain about that in front of my older brother.

"Just sit and eat," I pleaded with him, taking his sleeve in my hand and tugging on it. He yanked his arm away, but sat beside me.

   The three of us ate in an awkward silence. I glanced at the two of them, debating whether breaking the silence was wise or not.

"She's very pretty," I observed.

"She was malnourished, dressed in rags, and filthy," Lucien pointed out, wrinkling his nose.

"But there was potential, there," I said with a slight smile. "She had a very pretty face."

"She was tolerable looking," Lucien decided, but then added, "for a mortal." I rolled my green eyes.

"Insufferable fox," I teased.

"Spoiled little flower," he retorted.

   Tamlin's huff of irritation shut us both up. We went back to eating in that awkward silence.

Chapter 2

    I watched carefully as Tamlin and Lucien drank their wine from golden goblets. Tam didn't like when I drank, so I was sipping on water.

    My attention turned when Feyre was brought to the dining room. She looked significantly better, her hair soft and washed, the dirt gone from her skin. She was wearing a tunic and some pants that looked quite good on her.

"Before you ask again: the food is safe for you to eat," Tamlin told her. He pointed to the chair at the other end of the table. She didn't move. "What do you want, then?"

"I told you so, Tamlin," Lucien commented. He flicked a glance toward his friend. "Your skills with females have definitely become rusty in recent decades."

   Tamlin glared at him, and Feyre's eyes went wide just slightly enough to show she was unnerved.

"Well," Lucien said. "You don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

"I'd prefer not to wear that dress," she said.

"And why not?" Lucien crooned.

"Because killing us is easier in pants," Tamlin drawled. I paled, staring down at my glass of water.

"Now that I'm here, what--what do you plan to do with me?" Feyre asked.

"Just sit down," Tamlin said, clearly irritated.

"We're not going to bite," Lucien joked. She stared at us, but inched to her seat and sat down.

   Tamlin rose, stalking around the table—closer and closer, each movement smooth and lethal, a predator blooded with power. He picked up a dish, brought it over to her, and piled some meat and sauce on her plate.

"I can serve myself," she said quietly.

"It's an honor for a human to be served by a High Fae," he said roughly. He sat back down after continuing to serve her. "You look--better than before. And your hair is--clean."

"You're High Fae—faerie nobility?" she asked.

"You can take that question," Lucien said with a cough.

"Yes," Tamlin said, frowning. "We are."

"What do you plan to do with me now that I'm here?"

"Nothing. Do whatever you want."

"So I'm not to be your slave?" she asked.

   I tensed, clenching my fists a bit. I'd been born after the war, but Tamlin had spoken of the slaves our father used to keep.

"I don't keep slaves," he told her.

"But what am I to do with my life here?" she pressed. "Do you—do you wish me to earn my keep? To work?"

"What you do with your life isn't my problem," he said. "Don't you have any--interests?"

"No."

"So typically human," Lucien muttered.

"Do whatever you want with your time. Just stay out of trouble."

"So you truly mean for me to stay here forever."

"I didn't make the rules," Tamlin said tersely.

"My family is starving," she said. "Please let me go. There must be—must be some other loophole out of the Treaty's rules—some other way to atone."

"Atone?" Lucien said. "Have you even apologized yet?"

"I'm sorry," she said to Lucien.

"How did you kill him? Was it a bloody fight, or just coldblooded murder?" Lucien asked.

"I shot him with an ash arrow. And then an ordinary arrow through the eye. He didn't put up a fight. After the first shot, he just stared at me."

"Yet you killed him anyway—though he made no move to attack you. And then you skinned him," Lucien hissed.

"Enough, Lucien," Tamlin said to his courtier with a snarl. "I don't want to hear details."

"My family wont last a month without me," she explained. "Do you know what its like to be hungry? Do you know what its like to not know when your next meal will be?"

"Your family is alive and well-cared for. You think so low of faeries that you believe I'd take their only source of income and nourishment and not replace it?" Tamlin demanded.

"You swear it?"

"On everything that I am and possess."

"Why not tell me that when we left the cottage?"

"Would you have believed me? Do you even believe me now?" Tamlin questioned.

"Why should I trust a word you say? You're all masters of spinning your truths to your own advantage."

"Some would say its unwise to insult a Fae in his home," Tamlin ground out. "Some would say you should be grateful for me finding you before another one of my kind came to claim the debt, for sparing your life and then offering you the chance to live in comfort."

   She shot to her feet, but invisible hands clapped on her arms and shoved her back into the seat.

"Do not do whatever it was you were contemplating," Tamlin warned.

   She tried to twist in the chair, testing the invisible bonds. But her arms were secured, and her back was pressed into the wood.

"I'm going to warn you once," Tamlin said too softly. "Only once, and then its on you, human. I don't care if you go live somewhere else in Prythian. But if you cross the wall, if you flee, your family will no longer be cared for. Is that not a fair bargain? And if you flee, then you might not be so lucky with whoever comes to retrieve you next. The food is not enchanted, or drugged, and it will be your own damn fault if you faint. So you're going to sit at this table and eat, Feyre. And Lucien will do his best to be polite."

   We watched as she picked up the silver fork and indulged in the feast before her. She ate her entire plate in silence. Just as she reached for a second helping of chocolate torte, the food vanished.

"If you eat too much at once, you'll get sick," I explained to her as she stared at the table, her eyes wide. The bonds loosened on her.

"Thank you for the meal," she said.

"Wont you stay for wine?" Lucien asked her.

"I'm tired. I'd like to sleep."

"Its been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at."

"You're High Fae," she said tightly. "Id ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all—or dining with me."

"True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"—he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face—"surely were not so miserable to look at. Unless you have someone back home. Unless there's a line of suitors out the door of your hovel that makes us seem like worms in comparison."

"I was close with a man back in my village," she admitted.

"Are you in love with this man?" I asked her, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"No," she said.

"And do you  love anyone else?" I wondered.

"No Is this really what you care to know about me? If I find you more handsome than human men, and if I have a man back home? Why bother to ask at all, when Ill be stuck here for the rest of my life?"

"We wanted to learn more about you, since you'll be here for a good while," I said.

"This is the most you've spoken since I've gotten here, and I don't even know your name," Feyre shot to me. I smiled with slight amusement.

"Mariangela," I told her. "My name is Mariangela."

   She must've guessed that I was Tamlin's sister. We looked alike. The same eyes, the same shade of golden hair. Very similar features, though mine were softer.

"You don't have a mask," she observed.

"No," I agreed. 

   That was because I hadn't been allowed to attend the masquerade ball. I'd never left the grounds of the manor. 

"Go rest," Tamlin said. "Lucien and I are both busy most days, so if you need anything, ask Mariangela or the staff. They'll help you."

"Why?" she asked. "Why be so generous?"

"I kill too often as it is," Tamlin said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "And you're insignificant enough to not ruffle this estate. Unless you decide to start killing us."

"Well ," she said, her cheeks pink, "thank you."

Chapter 3

   While Lucien ranted to Tamlin about some malfunction of the magical, carved eye, I quietly ate my food.

"Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?" Lucien asked Feyre. Indeed, she had been studying the sword that was strapped to his chest.

"Of course not," she said softly, and glanced at Tamlin.

"Feyre likes to hunt," Tamlin spoke up.

"I don't like to hunt. I hunted out of necessity. And how did you know that?"

"Why else were you in the woods that day? You had a bow and arrows in your  house. When I saw your fathers hands, I knew he wasn't the one using them. You told him about the rations and money from pelts. Faeries might be many things, but were not stupid. Unless your ridiculous legends claim that about us, too."

"How old are you, anyway?" Lucien asked her.

"Nineteen."

    Lucien tsked. "So young, and so grave. And a skilled killer already."

"So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?" she demanded. Lucien smirked.

"We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings—"

"Didn't," Tamlin interrupted, his deep voice surprisingly gentle, "didn't your mother tell you anything about us?"

"My mother didn't have the time to tell me stories," she said.

"How did she die?" Tamlin asked. "I didn't see signs of an older woman in your house."

"Typhus. When I was eight," she said, raising from her seat.

"Feyre," Tamlin said, and she half turned. "I'm sorry for your loss." She didn't reply. She just turned on her heel and left.

    I thought of my own mother. The warm female who would hold me and sing me to sleep at night. She truly loved me.

    She loved us all. Just not as much as she loved our father. Which was why she didn't step in when our father would have his outbursts. Even my older brothers weren't safe from his rage.

    Tamlin had inherited that rage. Though, he was never violent with me, he could be just as terrifying as our father was.

    I never dared to compare them out loud. He had despised our father more than I had. If I ever dared tell him who he sometimes reminded me of, I'd likely regret it.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   The spring air was refreshing. I threw my head back, breathing it and savoring it as I made my way to the stables.

    I smiled brightly at Lucien, who was saddling up a horse before he went off to patrol the woods. He gave me a mocking smile back.

"You're joining me?" he called out as I neared.

"Yes," I replied with a firm nod.

"How did you manage to convince your dear brother to let you out of that manor?" he joked.

"I cried a lot," I admitted, shrugging. "Mentioned how much I miss our mother."

"You manipulative thing," he joked, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

"You would do the same if you were cooped up all the time," I retorted, rolling my eyes.

"Perhaps," he said with a deep sigh. "You don't know how to shoot, and you love animals. What's your purpose of joining me?"

"I can keep you company," I insisted. "I just need some air. And someone to talk to."

    A bird chirped from the tree next to us, and it's partner flew to it, chirping back as they settled on the branch together. 

"See? Even the birds have someone to sing to," I sulked. "I'm lonely." 

"Fine," Lucien chuckled. 

   I saddled up a white mare while Lucien waited for me next to his horse. I sensed footsteps approaching, and from her scent, I could tell it was the mortal girl.

"Morning, Feyre," Lucien greeted her. "Going for a ride, or merely reconsidering Tams offer to live with us? Come now. We're to patrol the southern woods today, and I'm curious about the abilities you used to bring down my friend, whether accidental or not. Its been a while since I encountered a human, let alone a Fae-killer. Indulge me in a hunt."

    Lucien accepted a quiver of arrows from the returning stableboy with a nod of thanks. I'd never been taught to use a bow and arrow. I'd always wanted to know how.

"No ash arrows today, unfortunately," Lucien joked.

"Well, I suppose I'm already dressed for a hunt," Feyre shrugged.

"Perfect," Lucien said.

"Lets go, then," Feyre said, and Lucien motioned for them to prepare her a horse.

    I loved riding. Being close to nature and communicating with an animal. I didn't have many friends growing up. I didn't have many now, either. The horses were always there when I was lonely.

    We rode into the woods, and I admired the spring foliage.

"Well, you girls certainly have the quiet part of hunting down," Lucien said to the both of us, falling back to ride beside us.

"I'm just taking in the view," I explained, glancing around.

"Well?" Lucien pressed. "No game good enough for you to slaughter, Feyre? We've passed plenty of squirrels and birds."

"You seem to have enough food on your table that I don't need to add to it, especially when there's always plenty left over," she said.

    Lucien snorted. I smiled slightly.

"You said you were an emissary for Tamlin," she ventured. "Do emissaries usually patrol the grounds?"

"I'm Tamlin's emissary for formal uses, but this was Andras's shift. So someone needed to fill in. Its an honor to do it," Lucien spoke to her.

"I'm sorry," she said, and it sounded sincere. "I didn't know what—what he meant to you all."

"Tamlin said as much, which was no doubt why he brought you here. Or maybe you looked so pathetic in those rags that he took pity on you," Lucien shrugged.

"I wouldn't have joined you if I'd known you would use this ride as an excuse to insult me," she glared. Lucien smirked.

"I apologize for him," I spoke up. "If it makes you feel better, he's like this with everyone."

"So," he said, "when are you going to start trying to persuade me to beseech Tamlin to find a way to free you from the Treaty's rules?"

"What?"

"That's why you agreed to come out here, isn't it? Why you wound up at the stables exactly as I was leaving? Honestly, I'm impressed—and flattered you think I have that kind of sway with Tamlin."

"What are you talking—"

"Before you waste one of your precious few human breaths, let me explain two things to you. One: if I had my way, you'd be gone, so it wouldn't take much convincing on your part. Two: I cant have my way, because there is no alternative to what the Treaty demands. There's no extra loophole."

"But—but there has to be something—"

"I admire your balls, Feyre—I really do. Or maybe its stupidity. But since Tam wont gut you, which was my first choice, you're stuck here. Unless you want to rough it on your own in Prythian, which I'd advise against."

"A valiant effort," I sighed, smiling at her.

    We rode on in silence. I reached my hand out to used my powers to pick a flower from the ground. I made it float over to me and rest in my curled hair.

"Where is the rest of Tamlin's court? They all fled this blight on magic?" Feyre asked.

"How'd you know about the court?" he asked.

"Do normal estates have emissaries? And servants chatter. Isn't that why you made them wear bird masks to that party?"

"We each chose what to wear that night to honor Tamlin's shape-shifting gifts. The servants, too. But now, if we had the choice, wed peel them off with our bare hands," he said, tugging on his own. It didn't move.

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?"

"Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said.

"You shouldn't have said that," I scolded him. "If word got back to her—"

"Who?"

"Never mind," I sighed. "The less you know, the better."

"Tam might not find it troublesome to tell you about the blight, but I wouldn't put it past a human to sell the information to the highest bidder," Lucien muttered.

"How old are you two?" she asked.

"I'm old," Lucien said. "She's ancient."

"Hush," I glared.

"What sort of powers do you have?" she wondered. "Can you shape-shift like Tamlin?"

"Trying to figure out my weaknesses so you can—" she glowered at him. "Fine. No, we cant shape-shift. Only Tam can."

"But your friend—he appeared as a wolf. Unless that was his—"

"No, no. Andras was High Fae, too. Tam can shift us into other shapes if need be. He saves it for his sentries only, though. When Andras went across the wall, Tam changed him into a wolf so he wouldn't be spotted as a faerie. Though his size was probably indication enough."

"The High Fae don't have specific powers the way the lesser faeries do," I explained to her. "I can control nature, though."

"I suppose if I were one of you, Id be one of the faeries, not High Fae? A lesser faerie like Alis, waiting on you hand and foot?" she joked.

   Lucien didn't reply. I just shrugged.

"How'd you get that scar?" Feyre asked Lucien.

"I didn't keep my mouth shut when I should have, and was punished for it."

"Tamlin did that to you?"

"Cauldron, no. He wasn't there. But he got me the replacement afterward."

"So there are faeries who will actually answer any question if you trap them?" she asked. I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," he said tightly. "The Suriel. But they're old and wicked, and not worth the danger of going out to find them. And if you're stupid enough to keep looking so intrigued, I'm going to become rather suspicious and tell Tam to put you under house arrest. Though I suppose you would deserve it if you were indeed stupid enough to seek one out."

    Lucien whipped his head to the right, listening, his eye whirring softly. The hair on my neck stood, and Feyre had her bow drawn in a heartbeat, pointing in the direction Lucien stared.

"Put your bow down," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "Put your damned bow down, human, and look straight ahead. Don't react. No matter what you feel or see, don't react. Don't look. Just stare ahead."

    My blood froze as a creeping, leeching cold lurched by. I squeezed my eyes shut and my horse stiffened beneath me.

   The bogge whispered past, circling.

    I will grind your bones between my claws; I will drink your marrow; I will feast on your flesh. I am what you fear; I am what you dread  Look at me. Look at me.

     I swallowed a lump in my throat, my grip tightening on the reigns of my horse. I forced myself to take a deep breath.

Look at me.

Look at me.

   I refused to open my eyes.

    I will fill my belly with you. I will devour you. Look at me. Look at me.

    The cold disappeared. Only after Lucien exhaled and our horses shook their heads did I dare open my eyes.

"What was that?" Feyre asked, brushing the tears from her face.

"You don't want to know," Lucien shuddered.

"Please. Was it that Suriel you mentioned?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "It was a creature that should not be in these lands. We call it the Bogge. You cannot hunt it, and you cannot kill it. Even with your beloved ash arrows."

"Why can't I look at it?" she wondered.

"Because when you look at it—when you acknowledge it—that's when it becomes real. That's when it can... kill you," I explained to her, shuddering at my own words.

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look," she said. I nodded.

"Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day," he joked. I rolled my green eyes.

    We rode on in silence for an hour, all three of us too shaken to speak. After a while, Feyre sighed and spoke up.

"So you're old," she said. "And you carry around a sword, and go on border patrol. Did you fight in the War?"

"Shit, Feyre—I'm not that old," he glared. "If you want to know about the war, ask Mariangela." I narrowed my eyes at him, offended.

"I'm not that old either," I spat at him. "I was born after the war."

"Just three years after," he mumbled.

"Are you two warriors, though?" she asked.

"Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons," Lucien said. "Mariangela's never so much as held a weapon. Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress? If you took down Andras, you probably don't need to learn anything. Only where to aim, right?"

"I don't know how to use a sword. I only know how to hunt," she said.

"Same thing, isn't it?"

"For me its different," she shot.

"I suppose you humans are such hateful cowards that you would have wet yourself, curled up, and waited to die if you'd known beyond a doubt what Andras truly was. Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?"

"Do you ever stop being such a prick?" she snapped back. I blushed at the language. 

"Much better," Lucien grinned.

Chapter 4

   I had begged Lucien not to tell Tamlin about the Bogge. If Tamlin knew, I'd never be allowed to go out in the woods again.

   But Lucien insisted. So now we were eating dinner, and I was awaiting the dreaded moment that he spilled the news.

"We went on a hunt," Lucien said.

"I heard," Tamlin said roughly. "And did you have fun?" Lucien and I didn't say anything.

"Sort of," Feyre said nervously.

"Did you catch anything?" his words clipped out.

"No," Feyre said. Lucien gave her a pointed cough, as if urging her to say more. I glared at the redheaded male.

"Tam," Lucien said quietly when Feyre didn't go on.

   Tamlin looked up, more animal than fae in those green eyes. A demand for whatever it was Lucien had to say.

"The Bogge was in the forest today," he said. I flinched as the fork in Tamlin's hand folded in on itself.

"You ran into it?"

"It moved past but came close. It must have snuck through the border," Lucien nodded.

   Metal groaned as Tamlin's claws punched out, obliterating the fork. He rose to his feet with a powerful, brutal movement. I tried not to tremble at the contained fury, at how his canines seemed to lengthen.

"Where in the forest?" he demanded.

    Lucien told him. Tamlin's eyes met mine, and I shrunk back at the anger there. 

"I knew letting you go into those woods was a bad idea," Tamlin snapped at me. "From now on, if I say no to you, that is my final answer. Do not press me about it."

    Tamlin threw a glance in Feyre's direction before stalking out of the room and shutting the door behind him with unnerving gentleness.

    Lucien loosed a breath, pushing away his half-eaten food and rubbing at his temples. I glared at him again.

"Where is he going?" Feyre asked, staring toward the door.

"To hunt the Bogge."

"You said it couldn't be killed—that you cant face it."

"Tam can," I said quietly.

"So he went to hunt the Bogge where we were earlier today?" she asked.

"If he's going to pick up a trail, it would be there," Lucien shrugged.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

    I'd tried to sneak off to the stables without anyone knowing, but I cursed myself when I saw that Tamlin and Lucien were already there.

"Go back to the manor, Mariangela," Tamlin ordered without even looking at me.

"Keeping me locked away isn't going to do anything," I argued.

"It will keep you safe, mousy," he snapped back. I rolled my eyes at his usually endearing nickname for me. 

"You think the manor will be safe when the year is over?" I demanded, crossing my arms. "I want to help."

"No," he glared.

"She's right," Lucien stepped in. "Eventually, it won't be safe. Tam—there isn't much time, and you're just sulking and glowering. You're not even trying to fake it anymore."

"It was a mistake from the start. I can't stomach it, not after what my father did to their kind, to their lands. I won't follow in his footsteps—won't be that sort of person. So back of."

"Back off? Back off while you seal our fates and ruin everything? I stayed with you out of hope, not to watch you stumble. For someone with a heart of stone, yours is certainly soft these days. The Bogge was on our lands—the Bogge, Tamlin! The barriers between courts have vanished, and even our woods are teeming with filth like the puca. Are you just going to start living out there, slaughtering every bit of vermin that slinks in?"

"Watch your mouth," Tamlin said. "Don't push me, Lucien. You think I don't know what's happening on my own lands? What I've got to lose? What's lost already?"

   There was a soft thud against the door. We all whirled around to see Feyre in the doorway, watching us carefully.

"Are you going out for a ride?" she asked.

"I'm unavailable today," Lucien said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you."

   Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with many knives, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to Feyre, his shoulders tight.

"Whenever you want to go, just say so," he said. The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin and I loosed a breath of relief.

"Perhaps tomorrow, human," Lucien said, patting her shoulder. "Mariangela, come. I will escort you back to the manor."

   I grumbled, but had no choice other than to follow him. He took my wrist in his hand and dragged me along.

"This isn't fair," I mumbled.

"You'll survive," he said, rolling his eyes. "I know you hate being cooped up, but at least you're safe."

"I hate him sometimes," I admitted.

"Don't say that," Lucien replied sharply. "He's protective because you're the only family he has left. He blames himself for your mother's death. He will not let something like that happen to you, too."

"I want to experience something," I complained, crossing my arms.

"No, you do not," he snapped. "Trust me in that, Mariangela."

Chapter 5

I changed her name to Mariangela. Also trigger warning for self harm in this chapter.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I piled mashed potatoes onto my plate at supper that evening. Lucien watched me with amusement until Feyre stepped into the dining room.

"Good evening," Feyre said, moving to her usual seat.

"I heard you two had a rather exciting afternoon. I wish I could have been there to help," Lucien said to her. "You still look lovely, regardless of your Hell-sent afternoon."

"What happened this afternoon?" I asked. I was promptly ignored.

"I thought faeries couldnt lie," Feyre snorted.

   Tamlin choked on his wine, and I raised an eyebrow at the claim.

"Who told you that?" Lucien grinned.

"Everyone knows it," she said, piling food on her plate.

"Of course we can lie," Lucien smiled, leaning back in his chair. "We find lying to be an art. And we lied when we told those ancient mortals that we couldn't speak an untruth. How else would we get them to trust us and do our bidding?"

"Iron?" she managed to say.

"Doesn't do us a lick of harm," Lucien informed her. "Only ash, as you well know."

"Even though Lucien revealed some of our closely guarded secrets," Tamlin said, throwing the last word at his companion with a growl, "we've never used your misinformation against you. We never willingly lied to you. Are you feeling better?"

"If I never encounter a naga again, I'll consider myself fortunate," she shuddered.

"The naga?" I demanded, eyes widening.

   I'd never encountered one myself, but Tamlin had raised me on tales of the terrifying creatures to keep me out of the woods.

"Yes, the naga," Tamlin confirmed. "So you will do well to stay in the manor unless you are escorted by myself or Lucien. Now leave us, I'd like to speak with Feyre alone."

   I nodded my head, getting up and pushing my chair in. I bowed to him slightly before excusing myself.

   I went into the hallway, resenting the fact that I was never included in important conversations. I felt useless most of the time.

   For nearly my entire life, the only company I'd had was Tamlin, Alis, and Lucien. I was so lonely, and now without access to the woods, I couldn't even be with the animals I so dearly loved.

   I entered my bathroom, sniffling and blinking back tears. I opened my cabinet and took the dagger that I'd stolen from my father five centuries ago.

   I lifted my sleeve, the sleeve that hid the scars from centuries of abusing myself. I always wore long sleeves, even when it was hot outside.

   I also had scars on my shoulder from my father's claws. Evidence of one of his violent outbursts. I liked to hide all of those scars away.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I hadn't been allowed to do anything lately. Tamlin wouldn't even let me join him, Lucien, and Feyre on a picnic. I stayed locked up in the manor, since he'd charmed the locks so I couldn't leave.

   Tonight was Calanmai. I'd been pressing my brother about letting me go for years, but he had never let in.

"Please, I've never been to Calanmai," I begged my brother at breakfast. Feyre hadn't joined us yet.

"There's a reason for that," he grunted, not even bothering to look at me.

"I'm only ten years younger than you," I protested. I was older than Lucien, yet I was treated like a teenager. "You can't control everything I do."

"I can and I will if it will keep you safe," he retorted.

"You wouldn't want to go, Mariangela," Lucien assured me. "It's just bunch of Fae fucking by the fire all night."

   I blushed, my green eyes widening in shock. I'd never been told what went on during the festival.

"Do not speak like that in front of her," Tamlin warned him, shaking his head.

"Don't you think she's old enough to know--"

"Lucien!" my brother snapped, glaring at the male.

   Lucien sighed, backing down and shooting me an apologetic glance. I pursed my lips, my cheeks still red.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I sat in the dining room that evening, eating some chocolate cookies by myself. I figured Tamlin had already left.

   Unfortunately, I was wrong. I froze when he entered the dining room, obviously having been looking for me.

"Go to your room," he instructed.

"Why?" I demanded. "I'll stay in the manor, I promise."

   But he had already grabbed my wrist. He yanked me up and dragged me up the stairs. He was stronger than me, so I had no choice but to follow.

   He shoved me into my bedroom, causing me grunt as I hit the floor. He raised his hand, putting up an invisible ward that would keep me shut in.

   I cried out, jumping at the door, but I was too late. I hit the invisible wall, screaming at him to take it down. But he didn't listen. He just slammed the door in my face.

   I sank to the floor, pressing my knees to my chest as tears fell from my eyes. I hated when he locked me in with a ward.

   As a child, when my father was sick of me, he'd lock me in a small cabinet for hours at a time. It left me with a debilitating fear of small spaces, the dark, and being locked away.

   Tamlin knew this very well, but when his anger got the best of him, he didn't seem to care. I wondered if he also locked Feyre away, or if she was allowed to attend.

   She'd been allowed to go hunting with Lucien, she went out on a picnic with both of them. Yet I was expected not to go outside at all.

   It was miserable. I had a balcony off of my room, and sitting on it was the only time I was allowed outside. But with the ward, I couldn't even do that.

   My breaths were shallow, loud, and painful. I shut my eyes and tried not to think about the fact that I was stuck. I couldn't leave until he came back. And it was Calanmai, which meant he wouldn't he back until mid morning.

Chapter 6

   I eventually found sleep, though it took a while. In the morning, I woke to someone tapping my arm.

   I grumbled, groggily opening my eyes. Through blurred vision, I saw Feyre starring down at me.

   I sat up and using my comforter to cover my chest, which my nightgown did little to cover. I felt a small sense of embarrassment over the fact that I'd been sleeping with a stuffed deer in my arms. One my mother had given me as a babe.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I need to talk to you," she insisted.

"How did you even get in--"

"Please, Mary."

   Mary. Only one other person called me that, and I hadn't seen him in centuries.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I went to Calanmai last night, after Tamlin told me not to," she explained. I raised a brow, surprised by her disobedience. "Tamlin found me in the halls after."

"I can imagine he was upset," I said quietly.

"Well, I'm not really sure how to read his reaction," she admitted, her face going pink. She brushed her hair back to reveal a bruise on her neck. "He bit me."

"He bit you?" I demanded, furrowing my brows. "Why would he do that?"

"That's what I came to ask you about," she explained.

"I have no idea," I admitted. "When he's upset with me, he just shouts."

    Shouting was an understatement. He would yell until the manor was shaking, his claws would come out, he would break things, throw things.

"I didn't hate it," she confessed, staring at her lap with red cheeks.

"What do you mean?" I wondered.

"Nevermind," she shook her head, clearly embarrassed.

"Let me help you dress," I decided, getting out of bed. "Then, you can walk right into the dining room and pretend he had no affect on you at all."

   I drew her a bath, which she spent a while in while in while I dressed myself in something Tamlin had laid out for me, just as he did every morning.

   She dressed herself, then I braided her hair for her. She searched for something to cover the bruise, but I placed a hand on her arm.

"Let is show," I advised. "Make him feel ashamed for his temper."

   Sniffing, she opened the collar of her tunic farther and tucked stray strands of her golden-brown hair behind her ears so there would be no concealing it.

   I took her arm in mine and led her down the hallways. When we flung open the doors, we found them both sprawled in their chairs.

"Good afternoon," Feyre said cheerfully, with an especially saccharine smile for the High Lord.

   He blinked at her, and both of the faerie men murmured their greetings as Feyre took a place facing Lucien. I sat next to her, facing Tamlin.

   Feyre seemed to thrive in the tense silence as she ate her food. I was still upset about the night before. I wanted to glare at my brother, but I didn't dare.

"You look refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. Feyre shrugged. "Sleep well?"

"Like a babe." She smiled at him.

"What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded.

"Ask him. He did it," she said, pointing her fork at Tamlin.

"Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

"I bit her," Tamlin said, not pausing as he cut his steak. "We ran into each other in the hall after the Rite."

   I noticed his claws pushing against the skin above his knuckles. I decided not to say a word. I wasn't going to make him any more mad than he already was.

"She seems to have a death wish," he went on, cutting his meat. "So, if Feyre cant be bothered to listen to orders, then I cant be held accountable for the consequences."

"Accountable?" she sputtered, placing her hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!"

   Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright.

"While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said.

"Faerie pig!" she yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlins growing smile, Feyre left.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I laid in my bed that evening, staring at the ceiling. There wasn't much to do when you weren't allowed to go outside.

   Even before I was banned from the outdoors, I was never allowed to leave the grounds of the manor.

   Over the last five centuries, I'd read all the books in the manor. I'd tried out so many hobbies to keep myself busy.

   Nothing tamed the longing I felt to leave. I felt imprisoned. I knew it was for my own safety, but I'd grown to resent my brother for keeping me locked away.

   A soft knock at the door made me sit up. Alis made her way into my room, shaking her head at the many dirty glasses that had accumulated on my nightstand.

"What are you moping around about?" she asked me as she began cleaning my space.

"I want to go outside," I mumbled.

"You have a balcony," she pointed out, raising an eyebrow at me.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," I glared. "I hate him."

"Don't say that," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "He loves you so much."

Chapter 7

there will be some 18+ content in this chapter. not actual smut, but like, solo smut if you catch my drift.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I enjoyed the summer solstice. Tamlin was allowing me to go outside for the celebration. Despite the heat, I opted for a long sleeved dress that covered the scars on my arms.

    I decided not to wear shoes. I wanted to feel the grass beneath my feet. I placed a flower crown I had made myself on my head and curled out my hair.

“You clean up so nice," Lucien teased me when I came downstairs. I just rolled my eyes.

  When Feyre appeared at the top of the staircase, the breath was knocked from my lungs.

   She wore a flowing, cornflower-blue chiffon gown. Her hair was unbound, but wove a garland of pink, white, and blue wildflowers around the crown of her head.

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as she came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae."

   She was too busy looking Tamlin over to thank Lucien for the compliment. A small twinge of jealousy coursed through me at the way she looked at my brother.

"You look lovely," Tamlin murmured.

"I'm surprised Im even allowed to participate tonight," she shrugged. As was I.

"Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party."

"Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Feyre asked him.

   I was sure he did. Lucien winked at her, and Tamlin laughed and offered her his arm.

"He's right," Tamlin said.

   He led the girl into the garden. Lucien offered me his arm, and I reluctantly took it.

"Solstice celebrates when day and night are equal—its a time of neutrality, when everyone can take down their hair and simply enjoy being a faerie—not High Fae or faerie, just us, and nothing else," Tamlin explained to her.

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in. "And dallying."

   The sun was beginning its final descent when we reached the plateau on which the festivities were to be held. Table after table of food had been lined up along the far edge of the plateau.

"No drinking, mousy," Tamlin reminded me.

"I know," I said quietly.

"And don't eat too much," he added.

"I know," I repeated, more irritated this time.

   High status females in the Spring Court had strict diets we were expected to follow. My mother had held me accountable for it when she was alive, and my brother took over when she died.

   I filled a plate with some blueberry pie and went off on my own, sitting under a tree as I watched everyone dancing.

   I watched as Feyre got drunk off of faerie wine, Lucien chasing her down as she escaped him again and again.

"Feyre, stop," Lucien said, and grabbed her again as she approached me.

"You stop. Stop being so serious," she said, shaking him off. Lucien swore as she came over to me and offered me her hand. "Dance with me, Mary."

"I don't really dance," I said quietly.

"Come on," she whined, gripping my hand and yanking me to my feet. I squeaked as my plate and fork fell to the ground.

"Feyre, really, I don't--"

"Please," she stressed, taking both my hands in hers. I froze as she reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're so pretty. Such a shame Tamlin keeps you locked away."

   With that, she took off back towards the festivities, waving at me to follow. I stood frozen, not able to process what just happened.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I went to bed early that night, far before the party was over. I took a bath and changed into my nightgown.

   I got beneath the covers of my bed, my mind wandering back to Feyre. The way she danced so freely, not giving a care in the world of what anyone thought.

   I snaked my hand down, lifting the skirt of my nightgown, and taking two of my fingers to rub circles on the bundle of nerves that I rarely used to bring myself pleasure.

   The way her hair flowed in the wind, whipping around and around without her even bothering to fix the crown on her head.

   I thought of her blue eyes looking into mine as she took my hands in hers.

   Her voice when she'd said, 'you're so pretty.' The way she'd studied my face like she was truly paying attention.

   How she'd raised her hand to tuck my hair back, and how my body had felt like it was on fire when her skin made contact with mine.

   I whimpered, my hips bucking as I bit down on my lip to keep quiet as I reached my climax.

   The shame that filled me as I came down was enough to make my stomach ache. I couldn't be having thoughts like this, and I certainly couldn't be acting on them.

   She had to fall in love with my brother to break the curse. It was so wrong of me to be attracted to her.

   I felt so disgusting. So ashamed. I curled up in a ball, blinking tears away as I tried to find sleep without thinking about her.

Chapter 8

   I showed up for lunch late, having slept in. Feyre smiled at me, causing my cheeks to flush. I sat beside Lucien, across from my brother.

"And where were you last night?" Lucien asked Feyre. "I'll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol. With some company. Rumor has it you two didnt come back until after dawn."

   Feyre glanced at Tamlin, biting her lip.

"You bit my neck on Fire Night," Feyre said under her breath. "If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing."

"Nothing?" His eyes flicked to her lips.

    Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him. I silently agreed.

"Nothing," she repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlins mouth move.

"Are you sure?" he murmured.

   I wrinkled my nose at the scent of their arousal, ignoring the immense jealousy that caused my chest to ache.

"Mariangela and I are trying to eat," Lucien said. "But now that I have your attention, Tamlin. Not to be the bearer of truly bad tidings, but my contact at the Winter Court managed to get a letter to me, and I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster. The blight. It took out two dozen of their younglings. Two dozen, all gone. It just burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything—no one could stop it once it turned its attention toward them. Their grief is unfathomable. My contact says other courts are being hit hard—though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed. But the blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way—farther south with every attack."

   I silently begged the Mother that it was anyone other than Rhys that did that. There were others with his powers. And though I knew he was evil and awful, I couldn't shake the friendship I'd formed with him before my nineteenth birthday.

"The blight can can truly kill people?" Feyre managed to say.

"The blight is capable of hurting us in ways you—"

   He shot to his feet so quickly that his chair flipped over. He unsheathed his claws and snarled at the open doorway, canines long and gleaming. Lucien swore and drew his sword.

"Get Feyre to the window—by the curtains," Tamlin growled to Lucien, not taking his eyes off the open doors.

"What's—" Feyre started, but Tamlin growled again, the sound echoing through the room.

   Feyre snatched one of the knives off the table and let Lucien lead her to the window, where he pushed her against the velvet drapes. He glamoured her away, concealing her.

   Tamlin told me to act natural, continue eating. I did just that, though fear was rising in my chest. Footsteps sounded from the hall. Even, strolling, casual.

And then he appeared.

   I had to keep the gasp from escaping my lips as I looked up at Rhysand. I hadn't seen him since the night he had slaughtered my brothers, yet spared my life.

   With steps that were too graceful, too feline, he approached the dining table and stopped a few yards from Tamlin.

   He was just as gorgeous as I remembered, though he had aged just a bit. I supposed I had, too. 476 years had passed.

"What do you want, Rhysand?" Tamlin demanded. Rhysand smiled—heartbreaking in its beauty—and put a hand on his chest.

"Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I dont see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that."

   Rhysand turned, and I held my breath as he studied me. "Mary. You're looking beautiful as ever." I didn't reply.

"Do not speak to her," Tamlin snarled. Rhys ignored him, glancing over at Lucien.

"A fox mask," Rhys observed. "Appropriate for you, Lucien."

"Go to Hell, Rhys," Lucien snapped.

"Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble," Rhysand said, and faced Tamlin again. "I hope I wasnt interrupting."

"We were in the middle of lunch," Tamlin said.

"Stimulating," Rhysand purred.

"What are you doing here, Rhys?" Tamlin demanded, still in his seat.

"I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present."

   My eyebrows furrowed, and I turned to my brother for an explanation. Rhys seemed to notice.

"I see you still keep poor little Mary in the dark about nearly everything," he mused. I glared at him, more upset in the truth of his statement than him pointing it out.

"Your present was unnecessary," Tamlin stated.

"But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasnt it?" Rhysand clicked his tongue and surveyed the room. "Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I dont know how you managed it. But you're such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. Im surprised, though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again."

"Theres nothing to be done," conceded Tamlin, his voice low.

    Rhysand approached Tamlin, each movement smooth as silk. His voice dropped into a whisper— an erotic caress of sound that brought heat to my cheeks.

"What a pity that you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin—and an even greater pity that youre so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago."

"What do you know about anything?" Lucien interrupted. "You're just Amaranthas whore." A blush stained my cheeks at the language.

"Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons," Rhys replied, an edge to his voice. "At least I havent bided my time among the hedges and flowers while the world has gone to Hell."

   Luciens sword rose slightly. "If you think thats all I've been doing, you'll soon learn otherwise."

"Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you."

    Lucien pointed his sword at Rhysand. "Watch your filthy mouth."

"Is that any way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian? Come now, Tamlin. Shouldn't you reprimand your lackey for speaking to me like that?"

"I dont enforce rank in my court," Tamlin said.

"Still?" Rhysand crossed his arms. "But its so entertaining when they grovel. I suppose your father never bothered to show you."

"This isnt the Night Court," Lucien hissed. "And you have no power here—so clear out. Amarantha's bed is growing cold."

"I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you were even born," Rhysand snarled. "Besides, who do you think taught your beloved Tamlin the finer aspects of swords and females? You can't truly believe he learned everything in his fathers little war-camps."

"Save it for another time, Rhys," Tamlin said, rubbing his temples. "You'll see me soon enough."

"She's already preparing for you. Given your current state, I think I can safely report that youve already been broken and will reconsider her offer."

    Lucien's breath hitched as Rhysand passed the table. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a finger along the back of Feyre's chair—a casual gesture.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your face when you—"

   Rhysand studied the table.

   The table was still set for four, Feyre's half-eaten plate of food sitting right before him.

"Where's your guest?" Rhysand asked, lifting her goblet and sniffing it before setting it down again.

"I sent them off when I sensed your arrival," Tamlin lied coolly.

   Rhysand now faced the High Lord, and his perfect face was void of emotion before his brows rose. A flicker of excitement—perhaps even disbelief—flashed across his features, but he whipped his head to Lucien. Rhysand's face contorted with rage.

"You dare glamour me?" he growled.

   Tamlin's chair groaned as it was shoved back. He rose, claws at the ready, deadlier than any of the knives strapped to him.

   Rhysand's face became a mask of calm fury as he stared and stared at Feyre.

"I remember you," he purred. "It seems like you ignored my warning to stay out of trouble." He turned to Tamlin. "Who, pray tell, is your guest?"

"My betrothed," Lucien answered.

"Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your commoner lover after all these centuries," Rhysand said, stalking toward Feyre.

   Lucien spat at Rhysands feet and shoved his sword between the two. Rhysands venom-coated smile grew.

"You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you'll learn how quickly Amarantha's whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady," Rhys threatened. I could hardly believe such a threat would leave my old friend's lips.

   The color leached from Luciens face, but he held his ground. It was Tamlin who answered.

"Put your sword down, Lucien."

"I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought youd actually dabble with mortal trash," Rhys mused.

"Don't speak of her like that," I spoke up for the first time.

"Seems you've finally grown a spine, Mary," Rhys said simply, not even bothering to look at me. "The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, Id keep your new pet well away from your father."

"Leave, Rhys," Tamlin commanded, standing a few feet behind the High Lord of the Night Court.

    Rhysand brushed Lucien aside as if he were a curtain. Rhysand, with horrific gentleness, pried the knife from Feyre's hands and sent it scattering across the room.

"That wont do you any good, anyway," Rhysand said to her. "If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. Its a wonder that youre still here, actually."

   Her confusion was written across her face, and Rhysand laughed loudly.

"Oh, she doesnt know, does she?"

"You have seconds, Rhys," Tamlin warned. "Seconds to get out."

"If I were you, I wouldnt speak to me like that."

    Rhysand casually slipped into Feyre's mind, causing her to go taut.

"Let her go, Rhys," I said to the male.

"Enough," Tamlin added.

"I'd forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells," Rhysand said, and ran a finger across the base of her throat. "Look at how delightful she is—look how shes trying not to cry out in terror. It would be quick, I promise."

   I remembered the first and last time he'd been in my mind. How I'd thought he was going to kill me. But he had only issued a warning. A warning that had saved my life. Watching him now, I wondered why he even bothered to spare me.

"She has the most delicious thoughts about you, Tamlin," he said. "She's wondered about the feeling of your fingers on her thighs—between them, too. I'm curious: Why did she wonder if it would feel good to have you bite her breast the way you bit her neck?"

"Let. Her. Go." Tamlins face was twisted with feral rage.

"If it's any consolation," Rhysand confided to him, "she would have been the one for you—and you might have gotten away with it. A bit late, though. Shes more stubborn than you are."

   He let her go and she sank to the floor, curling over her knees. I was at her side in an instant, kneeling down and placing a hand on her back.

"Amarantha will enjoy breaking her," Rhysand observed to Tamlin. "Almost as much as she'll enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit."

"Please," was all that Tamlin said.

"Please what?" Rhysand said—gently, coaxingly.

"Don't tell Amarantha about her," Tamlin said, his voice strained.

"And why not? As her whore," he said with a glance tossed in Luciens direction, "I should tell her everything."

"Please," Tamlin managed, as if it were difficult to breathe.

"Beg, and I'll consider not telling Amarantha."

    Tamlin dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

"Lower."

Tamlin pressed his forehead to the floor, his hands sliding along the floor toward Rhysands boots.

"You too, fox-boy," Rhys said to Lucien.

   Luciens face was dark, but he lowered himself to his knees, then touched his head to the ground. I watched the scene before me, stroking Feyre's hair as she rested her sick head on my shoulder.

"Are you doing this for your sake, or for hers?" Rhys pondered, then shrugged. "You're far too desperate, Tamlin. It's off-putting. Becoming High Lord made you so boring."

"Are you going to tell Amarantha?" Tamlin said, keeping his face on the floor.

"Perhaps I'll tell her, perhaps I won't," Rhys smirked.

   In a flash of motion, Tamlin was on his feet, fangs dangerously close to Rhysand's face.

"None of that," Rhysand said, clicking his tongue and lightly shoving Tamlin away with a single hand. "Not with the ladies present." His eyes shifted to Feyre's face. "What's your name, love?"

"Clare Beddor," Feyre lied.

"Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I've had in ages, actually. I'm looking forward to seeing you four Under the Mountain. I'll give Amarantha your regards."

   Then Rhysand vanished into nothing—as if hed stepped through a rip in the world—leaving us alone in horrible, trembling silence.

Chapter 9

Hey, everyone. So I am currenly in the process of reading Crescent City, but I don't have a lot of time because of work. I probably won't get to the new book for a few weeks.

So if I write something that contradicts any new information we get in CC3, ignore it. I will fix it after I read the book.

tw for suicide attempt in this chapter

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   Last night was the worst night of my life.

   It was my eighteenth birthday, and my parents had thrown a party to introduce me to society. I'd been dressed in the frilliest dress I'd ever seen. The servants had done my hair in curls and covered my face in makeup. I'd never been allowed to wear makeup before.

   I'd spent the night surrounded by food I'd not been allowed to eat. I'd had to dance with more males than I could count, though I had no interest in any of them.

   I'd realized that this was my life now. Being the princess of Spring would consist of parties I hated, males I didn't care for, and no control over anything.

   I went to my garden and cut some poisonous herbs I grew. I made tea from them and drank it, then laid down in my bed and waited to fall unconscious.

   Unfortunately, I'd awoken the next morning in the infirmary with my mother next to me. She was a mixture of distraught and furious.

   She had checked on me while I was sleeping, and realized that I was burning up. When I had fully recovered, my brothers had accused me of trying to get attention. My father had just yelled at me until his voice went hoarse.

   Now, I was sitting in the living room with a novel, trying not to think about it.

   There was a knock at the front door. I got up with a deep sigh and answered. My face fell at the male at our door.

   He was gorgeous. Deep violet eyes like I'd never seen before, dark hair, tan skin. I stared for several seconds before I found my voice.

"How can I help you?" I nearly squeaked out.

"Oh, I'm a friend of Tamlin's," he replied. "We were going hunting today."

"He's getting ready," I answered. "You can come in."

   The male smiled gratefully and stepped inside. I closed the door behind him, starring at his Night Court attire.

"I'm Rhysand," he told me. I glanced up at his face, my eyebrows raising. I'd heard of him. Prince of the Night Court. "You must be Mariangela."

"Yes," I replied with a slight curtsy. He chuckled.

"Are you going somewhere?" he wondered, eyes raking over the dress that made me look like a cupcake. "You're dressed so formally."

"My mother chooses my clothes," I admitted, glancing down at the dress self consciously. It was very fancy for just a day at home.

"How old are you?" he questioned.

"I'm eighteen," I replied, glancing up at him.

"And your mother still chooses your dresses?" he teased, a smirk settling on his features.

   My face went red, and I nodded. I didn't have much control over anything in my life. That wasn't my fault.

"I was just kidding," he promised, face falling when he realized what he'd said hurt me.

"Tamlin will be ready soon," I said quietly, sitting back down on the couch with my book.

"Mary, I didn't mean anything by it," he insisted, sitting by my side. My head shot up, and I met his eyes. No one had ever called me Mary before. "I swear."

"If it were up to me, I would choose what I wear, but it isn't up to me," I said simply.

   When I awoke from my nap, I realized that my cheeks were wet with tears. The Rhys I saw today was so different from the Rhys I used to know.

   He'd been my first friend. He'd made me feel better about myself. He was likely the main reason I didn't try to poison myself again. He got me through a lot that year.

   Even after learning about what he did to our family, I still gave him the benefit of the doubt. I reminded myself that he only killed my brothers, who truly deserved it.

   His father was the one to kill my mother. I didn't blame him for his actions. What my brothers and father did to his family was horrific.

   My mother had been innocent, yes, but so had his. And his sister was only 10. I had felt for him. But I did miss my mother, and there were times that I was so angry with him.

   But his words, his actions were so cruel today. He wasn't the same male that would bring me rare Night Court herbs for my herbal remedies. But losing my mother had changed me. It must've changed him, too.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   Feyre didn't come to dinner that night.

   I decided that going would be better than being alone with my thoughts. Though, no one said a word for half of the meal.

   Tamlin had ordered us all to leave the dining room after Rhys left. Feyre had gone straight to her room, but Lucien and I waited outside.

   We heard Tamlin lose his temper, his roars echoing through the house as he broke the furniture.

   Lucien and I were doing our best to not bring it up. We didn't want him to get any more upset than he already was.

"Is Feyre alright?" I asked quietly, staring down at my plate.

"I wouldn't know," my brother grunted. "She's been in her room since lunch."

"He was right about one thing," I mumbled. "You do keep me in the dark about everything."

"Don't start with me right now," he warned, his eyes blazing.

   I took his advice and shut myself up. I sighed as I exchanged a glance with Lucien.

"I'm sending her home," Tamlin announced.

"What?" Lucien snapped.

"But we're so close!" I insisted, eyebrows furrowing. "She's falling in love with you."

"It's not safe," he explained to us. "With Rhys coming here, he could very well report back to her. You know the grudge he's held against us."

"Against you, because you are the reason his family is dead!" I exploded.

   His palm slammed against the table. I flinched as he got to his feet, glaring down at me. I regretted the words immediately. 

"Go to your room, right now," he instructed, his tone laced with controlled rage.

   I knocked my glass over purposefully as I stood up, sneering at my brother before storming out the room. I made sure to slam the door behind me as hard as I could.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I knocked on Feyre's door that morning, and heard Alis telling me to enter. I opened the door to see Feyre in a beautiful pink dress, decorated with blue and white lace. She had a lightweight jacket on, and an ivory hat.

"You look pretty," I managed, trying to smile. She thanked me, crossing the room to come over to me.

"I regret not getting to know you better," she admitted to me. I blushed a bit, but nodded.

"Me too," I agreed. "Are you ready?"

   She nodded, and I took her hand, leading her down the stairs where the two males were waiting for her.

   Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of Feyre.

"Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm," he teased.

"I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," Feyre joked.

   Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind us to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed.

"I thought you were smarter than this."

"Good-bye to you, too," Feyre said.

   Lucien shook his head, his scar stark in the bright sun, and stalked toward Tamlin, despite the High Lords warning growl.

"You're not even going to give her a few more days? Just a few—before you send her back to that human cesspit?" Lucien demanded.

"This isnt up for debate," Tamlin snapped, pointing at the house. "I'll see you at lunch."

    Lucien stared him down for a moment, spat on the ground, and stormed up the stairs. Tamlin didnt reprimand him, which shocked me.

   Tam gave me a glance that told me to leave the two alone. Feyre and I said our goodbyes, and I followed to where Lucien had gone.

Chapter 10

   I always knew I would end up Under the Mountain. Especially after Tamlin had sent Feyre home.

   I hadn't left the cell they'd thrown me in since we arrived. They'd yet to bring me food or water. I wondered if they were just going to starve me.

   The cell reeked of mildew and mold, and it was so cold. I was constantly shivering. Part of me wished I'd come down with a fever. It was so dark in here, the only light coming from the torches in the hall.

  I thought I might have been hallucinating from hunger when I saw the Attor dragging someone down the hall and towards my cell.

  I knew I was hallucinating when I realized it was Feyre.

  They unlocked the door and threw her limp, unconscious body into my cell. I crawled to her side when they left, checking for a pulse.

  She was alive, but they'd beaten her badly. Amarantha had taken all of my magic, so I couldn't heal her.

  I took her head and rested it on my lap, stroking her hair.

   I stayed like that for a few hours, monitoring her breaths and movement, frequently checking her pulse.

  After a while, I heard her groan, her eyes blinking open. They were so swollen, she couldn't open them all the way. She sat up, then groaned again, a hand flying to her head.

  She began prodding at her face, a strangled cry releasing from her lips as she touched her broken nose.

"Feyre," I said quietly. She gasped as though I'd surprised her, turning to me. "What are you doing here?"

   She only shook her head, blinking back tears as she brought her knees to her chest.

   I flinched at the sound of screaming far off. A high-pitched, pleading bleat. A whip cracked, and the screaming built, hardly pausing for a breath. I plugged my ears, squeezing my eyes shut until it was over.

"The Suriel told me to stay with the High Lord," she said quietly. I wasn't even sure if she was talking to me. "I knew I had to come back."

"You captured the Suriel?" I asked, eyes widening.

"Didn't they tell you?"

"Nobody tells me anything," I muttered, staring at my lap. "You know, I caught the Suriel once, too."

"You did?"

"When I was nineteen," I recalled, glancing up at her. "He told me about a power I didn't know I had. I can see the dead."

  Her wide, horrified eyes reminded me why I usually kept that to myself.

"After my parents and brothers died, I still saw them sometimes," I explained. "So I sought out the Suriel for an answer."

Her expression of horror didn't falter, and she didn't say a word. I wondered if I shouldn't have said anything.

"Feyre?" we heard.

   She tried to stand, but failed. I glanced up to see a red haired male stepping into our cell.

"Lucien?" we both replied.

"By the Cauldron, are you all right?" he demanded.

"My face—"

"Have you lost your mind? What are you doing here?" he questioned. I had been wondering the same thing.

"I went back to the manor, Alis told me —told me about the curse, and I couldnt let Amarantha—"

"You shouldnt have come, Feyre," he said sharply. "You werent meant to be here. Dont you understand what he sacrificed in getting you out? How could you be so foolish?"

"Well, Im here now!" she snapped. "Im here, and theres nothing that can be done about it, so dont bother telling me about my weak human flesh and my stupidity! I know all that, and I I just—I had to tell him that I love him. To see if it wasnt too late."

"So you know everything, then," I realized, the guilt of lying to her biting at me. She nodded, though it looked painful to do so.

"Well, at least we dont have to lie to you anymore. Lets clean you up a bit," Lucien sighed.

"I think my nose is broken. But nothing else."

"The guards are drunk, but their replacements will be here soon," he said. She winced as he carefully touched her nose. "Im going to have to set it before I can heal it."

"Do it. Right now." He hesitated. "Now."

  He set her nose, the crack making me flinch. She immediately fainted from the pain. He healed the rest of her wounds while she slept. When she came to, she sat up.

"I couldnt heal you completely—they would know someone helped you. The bruises are there, along with a hideous black eye, but all the swellings gone."

"And my nose?" she said, feeling it before he answered.

"Fixed—as pert and pretty as before." He smirked at her and I rolled my eyes.

  Lucien knelt in front of me, studying my features. "Do you need anything healed, Mariangela?"

"No," I declined. "But I could use some food and water."

"I'll take it up with the guards," he promised me, tugging on one of my blonde curls.

"I thought she'd taken most of your power," I recalled.

"She gave me back a fraction—to entice Tamlin to accept her offer. But he still refuses her. I knew some good would come of being down here."

"So you're trapped Under the Mountain, too?" Feyre wondered.

"She's summoned all the High Lords to her now—and even those who swore obedience are now forbidden to leave until . . . until your trials are over."

"That ring," she said. "Is it—is it actually Jurian's eye?"

"Indeed. So you really know everything, then?" he asked her.

"Alis didnt say what happened after Jurian and Amarantha faced each other."

"They wrecked an entire battlefield, using their soldiers as shields, until their forces were nearly all dead. Jurian had been gifted some protection against her, but once they entered into single combat. It didnt take her long to render him prone. Then she dragged him back to her camp and took weeks—weeks—to torture and kill him. She refused orders to march to the King of Hyberns aid—cost him armies and the War; she refused to do anything until shed finished Jurians demise. All that she kept was his finger bone and his eye. Clythia promised him that he would never die—and so long as Amarantha keeps that eye of his preserved through her magic, keeps his soul and consciousness bound to it, hell remain trapped, watching through it. A fitting punishment for what he did, but, I'm glad she didnt do the same to me. She seems to have an obsession with that sort of thing."

"Is Tamlin—"

"He's—" But Lucien shot to his feet at a sound from upstairs. "The guards are about to change rotations and are headed this way. Try not to die, will you? I already have a long list of faeries to kill—I dont need to add more to it, if only for Tamlins sake.”

Chapter 11

   Feyre and I spent a few days in that cell, though they took her out once. She had come back shaking. She told me about the three tasks she was expected to do.

   We ate moldy food, drank warm water, and spent the nights huddled together in the hay for warmth.

   When the day of her first task arrived, I held her all morning while she trembled with fear. I comforted her through my own tears until she was taken by the guards.

   I spent an hour rocking back and forth. I threw up in the corner from my nerves. I wasn't sure she would survive.

   Selfishly, I didn't think I'd be able to survive down here without her.

   When I saw the guards bringing her back, the relief that filled me was warm, and soothing. The relief was short lived when I saw the state she was in.

   I wrinkled my nose at the smell of her, realizing she was covered in mud. I didn't even want to know what the task was.

  And her arm . . . The bone was poking out, though I could barely see the wound through all the blood. I nearly threw up again.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I spent the next few days keeping a careful eye on Feyre's injuries. I knew that there was a risk of infection. With some dandelions, I could've made a paste to help prevent infection.

  She couldn't keep any of the rotten food we were given down. The corner of our cell now reeked of vomit. With some ginger and mint, I could've made her a tea to help her stomach.

  She was also burning up with a fever. There were many concoctions I could've made for that. But we were stuck in this cell. And I was useless.

  Feyre leaned against my shoulder, barely strong enough to lift her head.

  I jumped as darkness rippled around the door. Rhysand winnowed into our cell, his violet eyes shining in the dark.

"What a sorry state for Tamlin's champion," he teased.

"Go to Hell," Feyre snapped, but the words were little more than a wheeze.

  He stalked closer with that feline grace and dropped into an easy crouch before us. He sniffed, grimacing at the corner splattered with our vomit. Rhysand cocked his head.

"What would Tamlin say," he murmured, "if he knew his beloved was rotting away down here, burning up with fever? Not that he can even come here, not when his every move is watched."

"Leave us if you're going to be like this," I mumbled. He raised a brow at me.

"I come here to offer you help, and you have the nerve to tell me to leave?"

"Your presence is only making her feel worse," I snipped.

"You must feel so useless," he mused to me. "Watching her fade away like this, knowing there's nothing you can do."

  He was right. I hated that he was right. I hated how he could hear every thought I had.

"Get away," Feyre groaned.

"You made me a lot of money, Feyre," he informed her. "I figured I would repay the favor."

  Feyre leaned her head on my shoulder again with a slight whimper. I wrapped my arm around her, holding her close to me.

"Let me see your arm," Rhys said too quietly. She didn't move. "Let me see it."

   A growl rippled from him. Without waiting for her reaction, he snatched her elbow and forced her arm into the dim light of the cell.

"Rhys!" I snapped, sitting up all the way.

  Rhysand examined the wound, a smile appearing on his lips.

"Oh, thats wonderfully gruesome," he grinned. She swore at him, and he chuckled. "Such words from a lady."

"Let go of her and get out!" I said, raising my voice.

"Dont you want me to heal your arm?" he asked her, his fingers tightening around her elbow.

"At what cost?" she shot back, but kept her head against my shoulder.

"Ah, that. Living among faeries has taught you some of our ways. I'll make a trade with you. I'll heal your arm in exchange for the two of you. For two weeks every month, two weeks of my choosing, you'll both live with me at the Night Court. Starting after this messy three-trials business."

"No," we both said in unison.

"No?" He braced his hands on his knees and leaned closer. "Really?"

"Get out," Feyre breathed.

"You'd turn down my offer—and for what? You must be holding out for one of your friends—for Lucien, correct? After all, he healed you before, didnt he? Oh, don't look so innocent. The Attor and his cronies broke your nose. So unless you have some kind of magic you're not telling us about, or somehow Mary's magic was returned to her, I dont think human bones heal that quickly."

   His eyes sparkled, and he stood, pacing a bit. "The way I see things, Feyre, you have two options. The first, and the smartest, would be to accept my offer."

   She spat at his feet, but he kept pacing, only giving her a disapproving look.

"The second option—and the one only a fool would take—would be for you to refuse my offer and place your life, and thus Tamlins, in the hands of chance. Lets say I walk out of here. Perhaps Lucien will come to your aid within five minutes of my leaving. Perhaps he'll come in five days. Perhaps he wont come at all. Between you and me, he's been keeping a low profile after his rather embarrassing outburst at your trial. Amaranthas not exactly pleased with him. Tamlin even broke his delightful brooding to beg for him to be spared—such a noble warrior, your High Lord. She listened, of course—but only after she made Tamlin bestow Luciens punishment. Twenty lashes."

   I winced at the words. Feyre started shaking, sick all over again. Rhysand shrugged, a beautiful, easy gesture.

"So, its really a question of how much youre willing to trust Lucien—and how much youre willing to risk for it. Already youre wondering if that fever of yours is the first sign of infection. Perhaps theyre unconnected, perhaps not. Maybe its fine. Maybe that worms mud isnt full of festering filth. And maybe Amarantha will send a healer, and by that time, you'll either be dead, or they'll find your arm so infected that you'll be lucky to keep anything above the elbow. I dont need to invade your thoughts to know these things. I already know what youve slowly been realizing." He again crouched in front of us. "Youre dying. How much are you willing to risk on the hope that another form of help will come?"

"Go. To. Hell."

  Swift as lightning, he lashed out, grabbing the shard of bone in her arm and twisting. A scream shattered out of her. I cried out, trying fruitlessly to tear his grip away from her arm. She thrashed and writhed, but he kept his grip, twisting the bone.

"Fine! Fine, we accept!" I yelled, tears of panic welling in my eyes. He let go of her arm.

  She was panting, half sobbing as he smirked at her. She spat in his face again. He only laughed as he stood, wiping his cheek with the dark sleeve of his tunic.

"Just two weeks?" I asked, my voice weak as Feyre collapsed, leaning on me for support as she took shaky breaths.

"Just two weeks," he purred, and knelt before me. "Two teensy, tiny weeks with me every month is all I ask."

"Why? And what are to be the terms?" I asked, my lower lip trembling as I tried to fight back tears.

"Ah," he said, adjusting the lapel of his obsidian tunic. "If I told you those things, thered be no fun in it, would there?"

"Rhys," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Please."

  There must've enough desperation in my voice, because his expression changed from teasing to serious.

"I don't plan on hurting either of you," he said to me.

"Like you didn't hurt my brothers?" I challenged, raising a brow. He narrowed his eyes at me.

"If I remember correctly, your brothers made your life a living hell," he recalled. I sighed, not able to dispute that.

"Five days," I bargained.

"Youre going to bargain?" Rhysand laughed under his breath. "Ten days."

"A week."

  Rhysand was silent for a long moment, his eyes traveling across my body and my face before he murmured: "A week it is."

"Then its a deal," I said.

  A metallic taste filled my mouth as magic stirred between the three of us. Feyre whined, stirring beside me.

  His smile became a bit wild. He grabbed Feyre's arm. She screamed as bone and flesh were shattered, blood rushed out of her, and then—it was healed. The mud was gone, too.

  I stared at her arm, then down at my own. Her left arm and hand, and my right, were covered in swirls and whorls of black ink. A large eye was tattooed in the center of our palms.

Rhysand stood, running a hand through his short, dark hair.

"Its custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh."

"Make it go away," Feyre said, and he laughed.

"You humans are truly grateful creatures, arent you?"

  From a distance, the tattoo looked like an elbow-length lace glove, but when I held it close to my face, I could detect the intricate depictions of flowers and curves that flowed throughout to make up a larger pattern. Permanent. Forever.

"You didnt tell us this would happen," I complained. Tamlin was going to kill me.

"You didnt ask. So how am I to blame?" He walked to the door but lingered, even as pure night wafted off his shoulders. "Unless this lack of gratitude and appreciation is because you fear a certain High Lords reaction."

  Of course, he was right. As he always was. I was sure Feyre was just as nervous as I was about Tamlin's reaction.

"I think I'll wait to tell him until the moments right, though," Rhysand said. "Rest up, darlings."

Chapter 12

this is the necklace she got from rhys

also i feel like Feyre forgave Rhys WAYYY too quickly for this whole thing cuz it was pretty fucked up even though he had his reasons. Trust, he WILL be groveling for Mary’s forgiveness later on

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   Feyre and I were left alone in our cell for the next week. While she left to do household chores, I did not move. At some point, we started being sent hot meals instead of moldy bread.

   I narrowed my eyes as two High Fae females arrived in our cell. They appeared through the cracks from slivers of darkness, just as Rhysand had.

   They remained silent as they reached for us. They had to have been sent by Rhysand—some servants of his from the Night Court.

   They pressed close to our bodies and I gasped as we stepped through the closed door, as if it wasnt even there.

   The faeries brought us up through dusty stairwells and down forgotten halls until we reached a room.

   I gasped as one of them tried to undress me. I fought against her, but Feyre let the other undress her. My fighting didn't do any good, and soon I was exposed.

   I had to admit, there was a bit of relief when they bathed us. Though, it was vulnerable, I hadn't had a bath in weeks.

   When we got out of the bath, they dried us off and took out paintbrushes and black ink. I began fighting again as one of them started painting my body.

   Their brushes were unbearably cold and ticklish, and their shadowy grips were firm when I wriggled. Things only worsened when they painted more intimate parts of me.

   I had always been protective of my body. It was the one thing I had control over in my life. The only thing. And so I had been very careful to keep it hidden away.

   I wore dresses that covered every inch of me, and I'd never even kissed anyone because I needed my body to belong to me and me only.

   No one had ever seen me unclothed except my mother. And now I was naked while a stranger painted my body against my will. In front of Feyre, as well. I knew she was feeling just as vulnerable as I was, but that was little comfort.

   Our faces was adorned with cosmetics—rouge on our lips, a smearing of gold dust on our eyelids, kohl lining our eyes—and our hair was coiled around a small golden diadem imbedded with lapis lazuli.

   But from the neck down, we were a heathen god's playthings. They had continued the pattern of the tattoo on our arms, and once the blue-black paint had dried, they placed on us a gauzy white dress.

   If you could call it a dress. It was little more than two long shafts of gossamer, just wide enough to cover our breasts, pinned at each shoulder with gold brooches. The sections flowed down to a jeweled belt slung low across our hips, where they joined into a single piece of fabric that hung between our legs and to the floor.

   It barely covered me, and from the cold air on my skin, I knew that most of my backside was left exposed.

"I'm not wearing this," I said. They didn't say a word.

"Give us something else to wear," Feyre demanded, obviously as self conscious as I felt. Feyre began trying to rip the dress of.

"I wouldnt do that," Rhysand said. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Our bargain hasnt started yet," Feyre snapped.

"Ah, but I need an escort for the party," His violet eyes glittered with stars. "And when I thought of you two squatting in that cell all night, alone--" He waved a hand, and the faerie servants vanished through the door behind him. "You girls look just as I hoped you would."

"Is the paint really necessary?" Feyre questioned.

"Of course," he said coolly. "How else would I know if anyone touches you?"

   He approached, and he ran a finger along her shoulder, smearing the paint. As soon as his finger left her skin, the paint fixed itself, returning the design to its original form.

"The dress itself wont mar it, and neither will your movements," he said. "It also won't be marred if you touch each other. And I'll remember precisely where my hands have been. But if anyone else touches either of you, I'll know. And I don't like my belongings being tampered with."

   I desperately tried to adjust the top so my breasts were covered. Nothing worked. Panic began to take form in my chest.

"Come," Rhysand said, beckoning with a hand. "We're already late."

"I'm not going out in this dress," I denied, shaking my head as tears stung my eyes.

"Mary," he mused, almost singing the word. "No crying, you'll ruin your pretty face." He wiped the single tear that had managed to escape from my eye.

   I glanced down at my arms, at the scars covering them. Then, I looked at my shoulder where the scars from my father's claws were clearly visible.

   Rhys followed my gaze, his eyes becoming less harsh. He waved a hand, and my scars were gone.

"Not permanent," he murmured to me. "Just a glamour."

   His gaze traveled to my neck, and his hand reached out, clasping the necklace I hadn't taken off since I was eighteen.

   It had been a Solstice gift from Rhys. The first gift I'd ever received, since my father never let our mother give us anything.

"You still wear this?" he asked, a teasing smirk on his features.

"It's a pretty necklace," I shrugged, my cheeks stained red. "It has nothing to do with you."

   His smirk didn't falter at my pathetic excuse. He took my wrist and led me ahead.

   We walked through the halls. The sounds of merriment rose ahead of us, and my face burned as I glanced down at the too-sheer fabric of my dress.

   Beneath it, my breasts were visible to everyone, the paint hardly leaving anything to the imagination, and the cold cave air raised goose bumps on my skin.

   With my legs, sides, and most of my stomach exposed save for the slender shafts of fabric, I had to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering.

   Faeries and High Fae gawked as we entered the throne room. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. 

   I spied several of the Vanserra boys gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave us were nothing short of vulpine.

   Rhysand didnt touch either of us, but he walked close enough for it to be obvious that we were with him—that we belonged to him.

   Whispers snaked under the shouts of celebrating, and even the music quieted as the crowd parted and made a path for us to Amaranthas dais.

   Tamlin was seated beside her on that same throne, in his usual clothing, no weapons sheathed anywhere on him. Shame made my face burn red. If he knew the bargain I had made, he would be furious.

"Merry Midsummer," Rhysand said, bowing to Amarantha.

"What have you done with my captives?" she said, but her smile didnt reach her eyes.

   Tamlin's face was like stone—like stone, save for the white-knuckled grip on the arms of his throne. No claws. He was able to keep that sign of his temper at bay, at least.

"We made a bargain," Rhysand said.

   Feyre flinched as he brushed a stray lock of her hair from her face. He reached to me then, his fingers down my cheek—a gentle caress. The throne room was all too quiet as he spoke his next words to Tamlin.

"One week with me at the Night Court every month in exchange for my healing services after her first task," he explained. He raised Feyre's left arm to reveal the tattoo. "For the rest of their lives."

"Enjoy my party," Amarantha replied.

   Dismissed, Rhysand put a hand on both of our backs to steer us away, to turn us from Tamlin, who still gripped the throne.

   Rhysand stopped before a table laden with exquisite foods. The High Fae around it quickly cleared away. He filled two glasses and came back to us.

"Wine?" he said, offering them to us. Feyre shook her head.

"I'm not allowed to drink," I said quietly. He chuckled darkly.

"You're nearly five centuries old," he reminded me, forcing the goblet into my hand. "Drink. You'll need it."

"No," both of us said.

"Drink," he said, and somehow, though my mind screamed at me not to, I drank from the goblet.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I awoke in our cell, still clad in that handkerchief he called a dress. Feyre awoke beside me, immediately vomiting in the corner.

"Fey," I groaned, getting to my feet.

"Hmm," she replied, clutching her head.

"Will you check to make sure none of the paint is marred?" I questioned. She nodded. I spun in a circle, slow enough for her to inspect me.

"You're fine," she replied. "Just a few places on your waist. Will you check me?"

   I nodded, checking her as she stumbled to her feet, managing to spin in a circle before collapsing onto the ground again.

"You're okay. Same as me, just a bit on your waist."

   The two of us spent the day sleeping, waking to throw up, then falling asleep again. When I was awake, I sobbed into my hands at the complete violation I had experienced. We were given a hot dinner that neither of us could stomach.

   The door creaked and a golden fox-face appeared—along with a narrowed metal eye.

"Shit," Lucien scoffed. "It's freezing in here."

   He unclasped his cloak and set it around our shoulders. I shifted closer to her, wrapping the cloak around us both. Its heavy warmth leaked into me.

"Thank you," I said meekly.

"Look at all this," he said, staring at the paint on us.

"What happened?" Feyre asked.

"I dont think you want to know," Lucien replied.

"Who did that to us?" I asked quietly, my eyes tracing the arc of the spoiled paint on both Feyre and I's waists.

"Who do you think?"

"Did—did Tamlin see it?" Feyre asked, staring at the floor.

   Lucien nodded. My cheeks flushed in shame, tears burning in my eyes. Rhys was only doing it to get a rise out of him.

"Did it work?"

"No," Lucien said.

"What—what were we doing the whole time?"

"He had you two dance for him for most of the night. And when you werent dancing, you were both sitting in his lap."

"What kind of dancing?" Feyre pushed.

"Not the kind you were doing with Tamlin on Solstice," Lucien said, and our faces heated.

"In front of everyone?" I whispered, the tears beginning to spill.

"Yes," Lucien replied gently.

   He sighed and grabbed my left arm, examining the tattoo. I let him, not caring anymore.

"What were you two thinking? Didnt you know I'd come as soon as I could?"

"She was dying," I explained, yanking my arm back. "And he was twisting the bone in her arm. I didn't have a choice."

"You made the bargain?" he demanded, his eyebrows raising. "Feyre, I expected this from, but you should know better. After everything he's done--"

"She was dying!" I repeated, my voice raising.

"Mariangela, you know I care for you. For two centuries now, we've been friends. You are like a sister to me," he reminded me. "Do you really think I would abandon the two of you?"

"She didn't have a choice," Feyre stood up for me.

"Dont you understand what Rhys is?"

"I do!" I snapped, then sighed. "I do. I know him much better than you do. I understand what he is."

"I should go," he said, getting to his feet. "The rotations about to shift."

"I'm sorry—that she still punished you for helping me during my task. I heard—I heard what she made Tamlin do to you," Feyre managed. "Thank you. For helping me, I mean."

"Its why I couldn't come sooner," he said, his throat bobbing. "She used her—used our powers to keep my back from healing. I havent been able to move until today."

"Here," Feyre said, removing his cloak and standing to hand it to him. I shivered.

"Keep it. I swiped it off a dozing guard on my way in here. Besides, I've seen enough of you girls through that gown to last a lifetime." I flushed as he opened the door.

"Wait," Feyre said. "Is—is Tamlin all right? I mean--I mean that spell Amarantha has him under to make him so silent."

"There's no spell. Hasnt it occurred to you that Tamlin is keeping quiet to avoid telling Amarantha which form of your torment affects him most? Hes playing a dangerous game, though. We all are."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   The next night, we were again washed, painted, and brought to that miserable throne room. Not a ball this time—just some evening entertainment. Which, it turned out, was us.

   After I drank the wine, though, I was mercifully unaware of what was happening.

   Night after night, we were dressed in the same way and made to accompany Rhysand to the throne room. Thus we became Rhysands playthings, the harlots of Amarantha's whore.

   I woke with vague shards of memories—of dancing between Rhysands legs as he sat in a chair and laughed. Feyre's hands on my body as we danced together.

   He had us dance until we were sick, and once we were done retching, told us to begin dancing again.

   I awoke ill and exhausted each morning.We spent our days sleeping off the faerie wine, dozing to escape the humiliation we endured.

   We had finished being painted and dressed—my gossamer gown a shade of blood orange that night—when Rhysand entered the room. The shadow maids, as usual, walked through the walls and vanished.   

 "Your second trial is tomorrow night," he said to Feyre.

"So?"

"It could be your last," he said, and leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. I shuddered at the words.

"If youre taunting me into playing another game of yours, youre wasting your breath."

"Arent you going to beg me to give you a night with your beloved?"

"I'll have that night, and all the ones after, when I beat her final task."

"I wonder if you were this prickly with Tamlin when you were his captive."

"He never treated me like a captive—or a slave."

"No—and how could he? Not with the shame of his father and brothers brutality always weighing on him, the poor, noble beast. But perhaps if he'd bothered to learn a thing or two about cruelty, about what it means to be a true High Lord, it would have kept the Spring Court from falling."

"Your court fell, too," I snapped.

   Sadness flickered in those violet eyes. I wouldnt have noticed it had I not felt it—deep inside me. My gaze drifted to the eye etched in my palm.

"When you were roaming freely on Fire Night—at the Rite—you said it cost you," Feyre recalled. "Were you one of the High Lords that sold allegiance to Amarantha in exchange for not being forced to live down here?"

"What I do or have done for my Court is none of your concern."

"And what has she been doing for the past forty-nine years? Holding court and torturing everyone as she pleases? To what end?" Feyre demanded.

"The Lady of the Mountain needs no excuses for her actions."

"But—"

"The festivities await." He gestured to the door behind him.

" What do you want with us? Beyond taunting Tamlin," Feyre snipped.

"Taunting him is my greatest pleasure," he said with a mock bow. "And as for your question, why does any male need a reason to enjoy the presence of two gorgeous female?"

"You saved my life," Feyre recalled.

"And through your life, I saved Tamlins."

"Why?"

"That, Feyre, is the real question, isnt it?"

   I was infuriated by the way he avoided answering. I'd been wondering why he'd saved my life for centuries now.

   We reached the throne room. Amarantha's clear voice rang out over the music, summoning Rhysand.  

   He paused, glancing at Luciens brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on both Feyre and me. Eager, hungry—wicked.

   I was about to beg Rhysand not to leave us alone with them, but he put a hand on our backs and nudged us along.

"Just stay close, and keep your mouth shut," he murmured in our ears.

   The crowd parted as if we were on fire, revealing all too soon what was before us. Not us, I amended, but Rhysand.

   A brown-skinned High Fae male was sobbing on the floor before the dais. Amarantha was smiling at him like a snake—so intently that she didnt even spare us a glance.

   Tamlin remained utterly impassive. It made me want to scream at him. How could he allow this to happen to me? How could he allow me to be drugged and disgraced every night. Didn't he care?

   Rhysand flicked his eyes to us—a silent command to stay at the edge of the crowd. We obeyed. Amarantha caressed her ring, watching every movement that Rhysand made as he approached.

"The summer lordling," she said of the male cowering at her feet, "tried to escape through the exit to the Spring Court lands. I want to know why."

   Rhysand slid his hands into his pockets and sauntered closer to the male on the ground. The Summer faerie cringed, his face shining with tears.

"P-p-please," he gasped out. The crowd was breathless, too silent.

   After a moment of silence, Rhysand looked at Amarantha.

"He wanted to escape. To get to the Spring Court, cross the wall, and flee south into human territory. He had no accomplices, no motive beyond his own pathetic cowardice."

"Shatter him, Rhysand." She flicked a hand at the Tarquin. "You may do what you want with the body afterward."

   Rhys slipped a hand out of his pocket, and it dangled at his side. His fingers curled slightly.

"I'm growing bored, Rhysand," Amarantha said with a sigh.

   Rhysands fingers curled into a fist. The faerie males eyes went wide—then glazed as he slumped to the side in the puddle of his own waste. Blood leaked from his nose, from his ears, pooling on the floor. I winced, hiding my face in Feyre's shoulder as tears stung my eyes. 

"I said shatter his mind, not his brain," Amarantha snapped.

"Apologies, my queen," Rhys shrugged.

   He turned away without being dismissed, and didnt look at us as he strode for the back of the throne room.

   Feyre fell into step beside him, taking my hand to lead me forward through my shock. The crowd stayed far, far back as we walked through it. "Whore," some of them softly hissed at him, out of her earshot; "Amarantha's whore." But many offered tentative, appreciative smiles and words—"Good that you killed him; good that you killed the traitor."

   Rhysand didnt deign to acknowledge any of them, his shoulders still loose, his footsteps unhurried. He didnt pause once on that long trek across the throne room, but when we reached the food and wine at the back of the room, he handed us goblets and downed one alongside us. He didnt say anything before the wine swept me into oblivion.

Chapter 13

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   Feyre's second task arrived. I spent the hour she was gone having a panic attack. When she came back, she was in tears.

   She wept on my shoulder for hours, refusing to tell me what happened.

   I felt the ripple in the darkness without having to look up, and didnt flinch at the soft footsteps that approached us.

"Still weeping?" Rhys asked her.

   She didn't raise her head from my shoulder, didn't stop her tears or sobs. I pressed a comforting kiss to her forehead, holding her closer to me.

"Youve just beaten her second task. Tears are unnecessary," he pointed out.

   She wept harder, and he laughed. The stones reverberated as he knelt before us, and though we both tried to fight him, his grip was firm as he grasped hair, raising her head from my shoulder.

   He leaned forward, his mouth meeting her cheek, and he licked away a tear. I stared as he licked the tears from her face.

It was only when his tongue danced along the damp edges of her lashes that she jerked back. He chuckled as she scrambled for the corner of the cell. She wiped her face as she glared at him.

"I figured that would get you to stop crying," he shrugged.

"It was disgusting." She wiped her face again.

"Was it?" He quirked an eyebrow and pointed to his palm—to the place where our tattoos would be. "Beneath all your pride and stubbornness, I could have sworn I detected something that felt differently. Interesting."

"Leave her alone," I grumbled.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say I detected some jealousy from you, Mary," he teased me. I flushed. "Would you like me to lick your tears away, as well?"

"Get out," I snapped.

"As usual, your gratitude is overwhelming."

"Do you want me to kiss your feet for what you did at the trial? Do you want me to offer another week of my life?" Feyre demanded.

"Not unless you feel compelled to do so," he said, his eyes like stars. "Who would have thought that the self-righteous human girl couldnt read?"

"Keep your damned mouth shut about it," Feyre said.

"Me? I wouldnt dream of telling anyone. Why waste that kind of knowledge on petty gossip?"

"Youre a disgusting bastard."

"Ill have to ask Tamlin if this kind of flattery won his heart." He groaned as he stood. "I'll spare you the escort duties tomorrow. Mary, you'll have to do it yourself. But the night after, I expect you to be looking your finest, Feyre."

   The idea of being his harlot without her there to ground me made me sick. At least with her, I had support.

"I've been thinking of ways to torment you when you come to my court. Im wondering: Will assigning you to learn to read be as painful as it looked today?"

   He disappeared before Feyre attacked him for that.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   This party was making me anxious. Faeries drank and lounged and danced, laughing and singing bawdy and ethereal songs. Tomorrow was Feyre's last task.

   The two of us lurked by a wall, forgotten by the crowd, waiting for Rhysand to beckon us to drink the wine and dance or do whatever it was he wished of us.

   We were clothed in our typical attire, tattooed from the neck down with that blue-black paint. Tonight our gossamer gowns were a shade of sunset pink.

   Rhysand was taking longer than usual to summon us—though it was probably because of the supple-bodied faerie perched in his lap, caressing his hair with her long greenish fingers. I wrinkled my nose at the two of them, my eyes narrowing.

   After a while, I noticed that Feyre had disappeared. When I glanced up at the dais, I realized Tamlin was gone, too.

   Eventually, Rhys did tire of the slut on his lap. He made his way over to me, an amused smirk on his face.

"You've been glaring daggers at me all night," he pointed out. "Your jealousy is truly overwhelming."

"I'm not jealous," I snapped at him, my face heating.

"Where's our girl?" he wondered. Our girl. I scoffed.

"I'm not sure," I shrugged. "But Tamlin's gone."

"Well, that's not good," Rhys sighed, glancing around. "Come on, bunny, let's go find her."

"Don't call me that," I snapped at him.

"You used to love when I called you that," he recalled with a smirk. "You'd blush and stammer over your words every time."

So he had known about my stupid teenage crush.

"You weren't subtle," he said into my mind.

"You know I don't like it when you do that," I grumbled.

   He also knew that I was uncomfortable in revealing clothing. He knew how humiliated I was. He knew how much he had hurt me by parading me around like this.

   I just had to accept that he wasn't the kind male I used to know, and he just didn't care about me like he used to.

"One day, I'll explain why I'm doing this, but for now, you can hate me for it," he said in my head. "I understand."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   Hunter's fist hit my eye, knocking me onto my ass. I was only five, so I immediately started sobbing, loud, screaming, sobs.

   My eldest brother just laughed as I got to my feet and stumbled down the hallway, trying to find my mother. Instead, I bumped right into the legs of my father.

   I could tell he already wasn't happy. He glared down at me, grabbing my shoulder with hand strong hand and pushing me back.

"Hunter hit me," I said through my sobs.

"Tattling on me, now?" my brother said from behind me. I glared back at him as he approached me. "I only hit you because you were irritating me."

"I didn't do anything!" I cried.

"You don't have to. You are the most annoying child I've ever met."

"I hate you!" I yelled at him.

   Our father lashed out, his claws coming out from his fingers. He slashed Hunter across the face, his hand continuing to fly through the air until the claws had buried themselves in my shoulder.

  Hunter yelled out, his hand flying to his face as I screamed, blood gushing from my upper arm.

   Father didn't seem apologetic at all. Not even when our mother came running to us to see what the commotion was.

  Mother didn't say anything to our father. She didn't scold or yell at him. She loved us, but she loved him more.

   Feyre was shaking me. I sat straight up, my hand flying to my shoulder. I sighed in relief as I felt the healed over scars.

"What happened there?" she asked me, staring at the nasty, deep scars that Rhys had to glamour away every night.

"My father could shift like Tamlin," I managed through heaving breaths. "And he would lose his temper on us sometimes."

"That's awful," she fussed, fingers reaching out to stroke the raised skin on my shoulder.

"This is nothing," I confessed. "My eldest brother had deeper scars all across his face." Feyre shuddered.

   Feyre and I had started opening up to each other. The two of us had hours to talk about our lives. I had begun to truly care for her.

   We'd started to become unphased with Rhys entering our cell. But today he seemed different. Worse. 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 us and slid to the floor.

"What do you want?" Feyre demanded. She'd told me how he'd kissed her. She'd washed her mouth out three times.

"A moment of peace and quiet," he snapped, rubbing his temples.

"From what?" I wondered, my curiosity getting the best of me.

"From this mess."

  I leaned forward. This was the way he used to talk with me. Full disclosure, full honesty. We'd complain to each other about our fathers, our responsibilities, our lives. Honestly, I missed that.

"That damned bitch is running me ragged," he went on, and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. "You both hate me. Imagine how youd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. Im High Lord of the Night Court—not her harlot."

    Feeling his anger, his despair, made me feel for him. But there was still a part of me that was angry that he did what he did to us, while knowing what it was like.

"Why are you telling us this?" Feyre wondered.

"Because Im tired and lonely, and you're the only ones I can talk to without putting myself at risk." He let out a low laugh. "How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and—"

"You can leave if youre just going to insult us," Feyre glared.

"But Im so good at it." He flashed one of his grins. "One wrong move tomorrow, Feyre, and we're all doomed."

   I pursed my lips, curling my legs to my chest and hiding my face in my knees.

"And if you fail," he went on, "then Amarantha will rule forever."

"If she captured Tamlin's power once, whos to say she cant do it again?" Feyre asked.

"He wont be tricked again so easily," he said, staring up at the ceiling. "Her biggest weapon is that she keeps our powers contained. But she cant access them, not wholly—though she can control us through them. Its why I've never been able to shatter her mind—why she's not dead already. The moment you break Amaranthas curse, Tamlins wrath will be so great that no force in the world will keep him from splattering her on the walls."

   Pieces started to come together, and I sighed, shaking my head as I looked up at him.

"Why do you think Im doing this?" He waved a hand to us.

"Because youre a monster," Feyre answered. He laughed.

"True, but Im also a pragmatist. Working Tamlin into a senseless fury is the best weapon we have against her. Seeing you enter into a fools bargain with Amarantha was one thing, but when Tamlin saw my tattoo on your arms... Oh, you should have been born with my abilities, if only to have felt the rage that seeped from him."

"Whos to say he wont splatter you as well?" Feyre snipped.

"Perhaps he'll try—but I have a feeling he'll kill Amarantha first. That's what it all boils down to, anyway: even your servitude to me can be blamed on her. So he'll kill her tomorrow, and I'll be free before he can start a fight with me that will reduce our once-sacred mountain to rubble. And I have a few other cards to play."

   Feyre and I exchanged a glance, then turned to him in silent question.

"For Cauldron's sake. I drug you two, but you dont wonder why I never touch you beyond your waist or arms? Its the only claim I have to innocence, the only thing that will make Tamlin think twice before entering into a battle with me that would cause a catastrophic loss of innocent life. Its the only way I can convince him I was on your side. Believe me, I would have liked nothing more than to enjoy you both—but there are bigger things at stake than taking you to my bed."

"Like what?" I spoke up.

"Like my territory," he said, and his eyes held a far-off look that I hadnt yet seen. "Like my remaining people, enslaved to a tyrant queen who can end their lives with a single word. Surely Tamlin expressed similar sentiments to you."

"Why did Amarantha target you?" I dared ask. "Why make you her whore?"

"Beyond the obvious?" He gestured to his perfect face. When we didnt smile, he loosed a breath. "My father killed your father—I killed your brothers."

"Your father also killed our mother," I mumbled, staring at my lap. My mother was the only death that meant anything to me.

"It's a long story, and I dont feel like getting into it, but lets just say that when she stole our lands out from under us, Amarantha decided that she especially wanted to punish the son of her friends murderer—decided that she hated me enough for my fathers deeds that I was to suffer."

   I stared at him, unable to stop the pity creeping up my stomach.

"So," he said wearily, "here we are, with the fate of our immortal world in the hands of an illiterate human. What a mess."

   I wondered how much of his cruelty had been an act. Maybe he was still the male I used to know. But everytime I came close to humanizing him, I remembered being dressed like that and forced to dance for the whole mountain. That was something I wasn't sure I could forgive.

"Ive told you too much," he said as he got to his feet. "Perhaps I should have drugged you first. If you were clever, youd find a way to use this against me. And if you had any stomach for cruelty, youd go to Amarantha and tell her the truth about her whore. Perhaps shed give you Tamlin for it."

"When you healed my arm  You didnt need to bargain with me. You could have demanded every single week of the year. Every single week, and Mary would've agreed because you knew she was desperate to keep me alive."

"I know," he said, and vanished.

Chapter 14

Notes:

yall i do not want to write the last task and all that. so just assume she was in her little cell during it, and lu lu came and got her and brought her home, and filled her in on everything. guys im LAZY but its my story and i can do whatever the fuck i want

So this is three months after the events of the last chapter.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

"I want to go," Feyre was arguing with Tamlin.

"No," Tamlin replied.

"It's been three months. Nothings happened, and the village isnt even five miles—" Feyre insisted.

"No."

   Lucien silently shook his head at Feyre, his metal eye narrowing. I knew her arguing was no use.

"The village needs all the help it can get," Feyre pressed.

"And we're still hunting down Amarantha's beasts," he said, mounting his horse. "I don't have the sentries to spare to escort you."

"I don't need an escort," Feyre said, lunging for the bridle. Her grip tightened on the leather as she tugged the horse to a stop. "Please. The recovery efforts are so slow. I could hunt for the villagers, get them food--"

"It's not safe," Tamlin said, again nudging his stallion into a walk. "Especially not for you."

"People want to come back, they want a place to live—"

"Those same people see you as a blessing—a marker of stability. If something happened to you--" He cut himself off. "Theres no point in rebuilding anything if Amaranthas creatures tear through the lands and destroy it again."

"The wards are up--"

"Some slipped in before the wards were repaired. Lucien hunted down five naga yesterday."

    I shuddered. Feyre whipped her head toward Lucien, who winced. He hadn't told us that at dinner last night. He'd lied when she'd asked him why he was limping.

"I can't do what I need to if Im worrying about whether youre safe," Tamlin said softly.

"Of course Ill be safe."

"Please—please just do this for me," Tamlin said, stroking his stallions thick neck as the beast nickered with impatience.

   The others had already moved their horses into easy canters, the first of them nearly within the shade of the woods.

"I'm sure there are things to help with around the house. Or you could paint. Try out that new set I gave for you for Winter Solstice. Or, I'm sure Mariangela could use some help in her garden."

   Feyre and I rarely left each other's sides lately. A healer had used words like 'trauma bond' and 'separation anxiety.'

   Neither of us liked being away from the other for too long. Many nights, I woke to find her in my bed. Or I would end up in hers. She still slept in her own room, despite being engaged to Tamlin.

"Fine," Feyre breathed. "Be careful."

"I love you," Tamlin said quietly.

   She nodded, murmuring it back as he trotted to where Lucien still waited, the emissary now frowning slightly.

   Feyre sighed, and I wrapped my arm around her as we walked towards the manor. She grumbled, lifting the skirt of her dress. I knew she hated the bright dresses that Tamlin set out for her. I didn't blame her.

   Tam had been picking my dresses everyday since our mother died. I didn't mind wearing a dress, I just hated how big and poofy the ones he chose for me were. Dresses were supposed to make movement easier, but these were so restricting.

"Why is he being so overprotective?" she demanded.

"Because he almost lost you, and it scared him," I replied. "It's the same reason he's overprotective with me."

"He's always been protective of you," she recalled.

"I don't think he and I even spoke a full sentence to each other until the rest of our family died," I disputed. "He wasn't cruel like our other brothers, but he just ignored me. Losing the rest of our family was a wake up call for him. Now, he's so terrified of losing me, he won't let me leave the grounds of the manor."

"Why don't you say something?" she asked me.

"I've tried," I shrugged. "He just doesn't listen."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   A few days before the wedding ceremony, guests began arriving. There were many dinners, luncheons, and parties.

   I despised the revels. It only made me think of those awful nights Under the Mountain that I couldn't even remember.

   Feyre and Tamlin seemed to hate it as much as I did. Lucien seemed to be the only one enjoying himself. Sometimes, Tamlin would let himself smile or laugh.

   Feyre usually clung to me or Tamlin during the parties, doing her best to speak to everyone respectfully.

"You two should head to bed," Ianthe said to Feyre and me.

   I'd never liked Ianthe. She had always been nice to me, but it felt fake. She reminded me of the girls I used to do lessons with as a child. The ones that would mock me, shove me, pull my hair.

"We've another hour before we need to sleep," Feyre said, speaking for both of us. Since the bargain, it was like we could read each other's minds.

"Are you ready for tomorrow? Is there anything I can do for you?" Ianthe asked Feyre.

"Im fine."

   Two males that had circled past twice already finally worked up the courage to approach us—her. Feyre leaned against the wall as they flanked Ianthe.

"Priestess," one said, bowing deep.

"Bron," she said to the one on her left, brown-haired and tall. "And Hart. I havent seen you two troublemakers in a while."

   I took Feyre's hand in mine as we watched them all flirt. Feyre squeezed my hand, knowing how I felt about crowded rooms.

"Oh," Ianthe said, hood shifting as she turned. "Allow me to introduce Lady Feyre. Savior of Prythian."

"We know," Hart said quietly, bowing with his friend at the waist. "We were Under the Mountain with you."

   I tensed, wondering if they'd seen us drugged and dancing nearly naked. My face heated, and my heart became heavy.

"Congratulations on tomorrow," Bron said, grinning. "A fitting end, eh?"

"The Cauldron," Ianthe said, "has blessed all of us with such a union." The males murmured their agreement, bowing their heads again.

"I have to say," Bron went on, "that trial—with the Middengard Wyrm? Brilliant. One of the most brilliant things I ever saw."

   It took everything in me not to glare at him. Why would he think Feyre would want to relive that?

"Thank you," Feyre managed.

"Oh, it sounded terrible," Ianthe gasped. "Such bravery is awe-inspiring."

"We missed the hunt the other day," Hart said casually, "so we havent had a chance to see your talents up close, but I think the High Lord will be stationing us near the estate next month—itd be an honor to ride with you."

   I almost laughed at the fact that they thought Tamlin would allow her on a hunt with them.

"The honor would be mine," Feyre said.

"Does my father have you two on duty tomorrow, or will you be attending the ceremony?" Ianthe asked.

   Bron answered her, but Hart's eyes lingered on both of us—on our arms. On our tattooed hands, joined together.

"Have you ladies heard from the High Lord at all?" he asked. I pursed my lips, glancing down at the inked flesh.

"No," Feyre answered for the both of us.

"Hes probably running scared now that Tamlins got his powers back."

"Then you dont know Rhysand very well at all," I snapped, irritated. My hand flew to my mouth after the words left my lips, my face heating. "I'm so sorry, I don't know where that came from."

   Hart blinked, and even Ianthe kept silent. Feyre cleared her throat, but stroked my hand with her thumb. I was never that assertive. And I wasn't sure why I had felt the need to defend Rhys.

"Well, we'll take care of him if need be," Hart said.

"The High Priestesses are taking care of it. We will not allow our savior to be treated so ill," Ianthe said.

   Feyre turned to look at me, seeming to ask if I was ready to leave. I just nodded, the interaction happening with no words.

"Mary and I are going up. Tell Tamlin Ill see him tomorrow," Feyre announced.

   Ianthe kissed Feyre's cheek. "I'm at your disposal, Lady. Send word if you need anything."

   Feyre and I crossed the room, and I kept my glance on the white, tiled floor. I heard Tamlin roaring with laughter.

"May I sleep in your room again, Fey?" I asked the girl quietly.

"Of course, Mare," she replied, turning to glance at me.

   Her beautiful, blue eyes were so empty these days. I imagined mine were the same.

   When we got to her bedroom, we both changed into nightgowns. She let me borrow one of hers. Neither of us were eating much lately, so we fit into each other's clothes.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" I dared to ask. She stared ahead, not meeting my eyes.

"It's my wedding," she replied. That didn't really answer my question, but I didn't press her.

"Do you think Rhys will ever call in his bargain?" I wondered, crawling into bed beside her.

   She turned on her side to face me, and I did the same. She was so beautiful, especially since she'd been turned fae.

"I'm not sure," she whispered, a deep despair in her eyes.

"I can't believe I defended him to them," I groaned, hiding my face in the pillow. She reached, out stroking my hair.

"I felt the urge to do the same," she confessed. "It must be the bargain."

   Yes, that had to be it. Because I couldn't consider any other options. It would only confuse me.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿

   I awoke to Feyre's limbs flailing as she shot upright in bed. She was gasping for air, wheezing. I sat up, clutching her limbs to still them.

"Breathe, Fey, breathe!" I insisted as she screamed.

   She seemed to calm at my voice. Her limbs stopped flailing, and she glanced around the room, studying her surroundings. Then, she turned to look at me.

"It's just me," I said quietly. She looked me in the eyes, her breaths calming

   A night breeze floated through the open windows, ruffling our hair. The dark sky beckoned, the stars so dim and small, like speckles of frost.

   Feyre got to her feet, stumbling to the open window, and pushed it wider, and staring at the night sky.

   I followed her, gazing out at the beautiful stars. She rested her head on my shoulder.

   Somehow, I felt closer to her than I'd ever felt with any other person.

Chapter 15

"It's not that bad," I was assuring Feyre as she stared at her wedding dress in horror.

   It was a monstrosity of tulle and chiffon and gossamer, the bodice fitted, the neckline curved to plump her breasts, and the skirts a sparkling tent, practically floating in the balmy spring air.

   Tamlin had laughed when he'd seen it. As I helped her dress, I wrinkled my nose. I was sure Ianthe had chosen it to humiliate the female.

   The worst were the puffy capped sleeves. I had curled her hair, half up, half down, entwined with pearls and jewels. And of course, she'd been given gloves to hide the tattoo.

   I walked behind her as we came downstairs. Beyond the shut patio doors where we paused, the garden had been bedecked in ribbons and lanterns in shades of cream, blush, and sky blue. Three hundred chairs were assembled in the largest courtyard, each seat occupied by the court.

   Ianthe had dressed me in a pink gown, and Alis had done my hair up, which I rarely did. I liked to let it flow in its natural curls.

"You don't have to be nervous, Fey," I assured her.

"I'm not," she rasped. I raised a brow at her.

"You look beautiful, despite the dress," I smiled.

"Thank you."

"Perk up, it's a wedding, not a funeral," I teased her.

   But I could feel her hesitation. I couldn't help but wonder if she was planning on calling it all off.

   Three hundred people rose to their feet and pivoted towards her as she entered. I took my spot at the front.

   Feyre began to walk, her eyes filled with fear and anxiety. Her gaze fell upon the roses. White, yellow, and red.

   Red.

   She'd specifically said no red roses. I knew because she told me. I sensed the panic overcome her.

   But despite it, she forced her gaze up, meeting Tamlin's eyes. Ten steps from the dais, at the edge of that splatter of red, she slowed.

   Then stopped.

   I glanced to her, then Tamlin. I felt it, the self loathing she was projecting. The despair. The anxiousness.

   Tamlin extended a broad hand, brows narrowing slightly. I could hear her heart beating from where I stood. Fast. Too fast.

"Feyre," Tamlin said, his hand steady as he continued to reach for hers.

    And without her speaking at all, I heard her voice.

   Help me, help me, help me, she begged. I exchanged a glance with Lucien, who stood with me in the front. Please, save me. Get me out. End this.

   Tamlin took a step toward her, concern shading his eyes. She retreated a step. I stepped towards her, stopping only when Lucien held a hand out to keep me from advancing.

"Come, Bride, and be joined with your true love. Come, Bride, and let good triumph at last," Ianthe insisted.

   Thunder cracked behind us, as if two boulders had been hurled against each other. People screamed, falling back, a few vanishing outright as darkness erupted.

   I turned, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket.

"Hello, Feyre darling," he purred to the panicked bride.

   I studied the male. He seemed healthier. He'd gotten his tan back, put on some healthy weight, gained back muscle.

   But his eyes had that same emptiness they had Under the Mountain. Darkness leaked from him like ink in water.

   He angled his head, his blue-black hair shifting with the movement. Those violet eyes sparkled in the golden faelight as they fixed on Tamlin, as he held up a hand to where Tamlin and Lucien and their sentries had their swords half-drawn. But at the lift of that hand, they froze.

"What a pretty little wedding," Rhysand said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, an action I'd seen him do a million times.

   Rhys looked Feyre over slowly, and clicked his tongue at her silk gloves. His gaze moved over to me, by her side now.

"Get the hell out," Tamlin snarled, stalking toward us. Claws ripped from his knuckles, and I couldn't hide my flinch.

"Oh, I dont think so. Not when I need to call in my bargain with Feyre and Mary," he mused.

    I wasn't breathing. I thought I was squeezing Feyre's hand so tight I would break it.

"You try to break the bargain, and you know what will happen," Rhys went on. He jerked his chin toward us. "I gave you ladies three months of freedom. You could at least look happy to see me."

    Feyre was shaking too badly to say anything, and I was trying to remember how to breathe. I felt as though I would pass out from lack of air. Rhyss eyes flickered with distaste.

"I'll be taking them now," he decided.

"Dont you dare," Tamlin growled.

"Was I interrupting? I thought it was over," Rhys smiled. I wondered if he'd heard her begging for help like I had. "At least, Feyre seemed to think so."

"Let us finish the ceremony—" Tamlin sneered.

"Your High Priestess," Rhys said, "seems to think its over, too."

   Indeed, Ianthe had fled. Tamlin stiffened as he looked over a shoulder to find the altar empty. When he faced us again, the claws had eased halfway back into his hands.

"Rhysand—"

"Im in no mood to bargain," Rhys said, "even though I could work it to my advantage, Im sure. Lets go."

   Neither of us moved. I pressed myself further into her side.

"Tamlin," Feyre breathed.

   Tamlin took a single step toward us, and I gave him a pleading look, begging him to stop this. But he hadn't stopped Rhys Under the Mountain, why would he now?

"Name your price," Tamlin said to Rhys.

"Dont bother," Rhys crooned, linking elbows with Feyre, who was clutching onto me.

"Tam, don't let him take us," I begged, tears threatening to fall. He couldn't even meet my eyes.

"Tamlin, please," Feyre begged.

"Such dramatics," Rhysand teased, tugging her closer.

   But Tamlin didnt move—and those claws were wholly replaced by smooth skin. He fixed his gaze on Rhys, his lips pulling back in a snarl.

"If you hurt them--"

"I know, I know," Rhysand drawled. "I'll return them in a week."

   I was trembling now, tears streaming down my cheeks. Even Lucien was gaping at Tamlin, his face white with fury and shock. I sent my friend a glance, pleading for him to step in.

   But nobody did a thing despite our obvious terror.

"Hold on," he said to us.

   Then darkness roared, a wind tearing me this way and that, the ground falling away beneath me, the world gone around me. Only Rhys and Feyre remained, and I clung to Fey, terrified.

   Then the darkness vanished.

   The scent of jasmine filled my nose. Then I opened my eyes, met with stars. A sea of stars flickering beyond glowing pillars of moonstone that framed the sweeping view of endless snowcapped mountains.

"Welcome to the Night Court," was all Rhys said.

Chapter 16

   I despised how beautiful the Night Court was. Nothing like the stories I'd been raised with. I'd been told of a cruel underground civilization, one Amarantha used as inspiration.

   The building we were in had been perched atop one of the gray-stoned mountains. The hall around us was open to the elements, no windows to be found, just towering pillars and gossamer curtains, swaying in that jasmine-scented breeze.

   Little seating, dining, and work areas dotted the hall, sectioned off with those curtains or lush plants or thick rugs scattered over the moonstone floor. A few balls of light bobbed on the breeze, along with colored-glass lanterns dangling from the arches of the ceiling.

   Behind me, a wall of white marble arose, broken occasionally by open doorways leading into dim stairwells.

"This is my private residence," Rhys said casually. Maybe that was why it was so nice.

"How dare you--" Feyre began, her face scrunching up in anger.

"I certainly missed that look on your face," Rhys snorted. "Youre welcome, you know." How could he be laughing?

"For what?"

"For saving you when asked," he replied. My head snapped up. Had he heard her, too?

"I didnt ask for anything."

   Rhys gave no warning as he gripped her arm, snarling softly, and tore off the glove to reveal her tattoo.

   Once he took her gloves off, he went to grab for my arm. But Feyre stepped in front of me, shoving me behind her.

"Don't touch her," Feyre snarled at him.

   Her fierce protectiveness made me flush. Rhys lifted his hands in surrender, stepping back. I relaxed and stepped out from behind her.

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

"I didnt say anything."

   He turned her bare hand over, his hold tightening as he examined the eye hed tattooed. He tapped the pupil. Once. Twice.

"I heard it loud and clear. Mary heard you, too," he lilted.

    Feyre's head whipped towards me, and I met her eyes, face heating. I nodded confirmation. I had heard her begging for help.

"Take me back. Now. I didnt want to be stolen away," Feyre demanded. "And neither did Mary."

"What better time to take you here? Maybe Tamlin didnt notice you were about to reject him in front of his entire court—maybe you can now simply blame it on me," Rhys shrugged.

"Youre a bastard. You made it clear enough that I had reservations," she sneered.

"Such gratitude, as always."

"What do you want from us?" Feyre asked him. The question had been haunting me since I agreed to the godsforsaken bargain.

"Want? I want you to say thank you, first of all. Then I want you to take off that hideous dress. You look—" His mouth cut a cruel line. "You look exactly like the doe-eyed damsel he and that simpering priestess want you to be."

"You dont know anything about me. Or us."

"Does Tamlin? Does he ever ask you why you hurl your guts up every night, or why you cant go into certain rooms or see certain colors?" Rhys asked her.

"Get the hell out of my head."

"Likewise." He stalked a few steps away. "You think I enjoy being awoken every night by visions of you puking? You send everything right down that bond, and I dont appreciate having a front-row seat when Im trying to sleep."

"Prick," she sneered.

"As for what else I want from you, I'll tell you tomorrow at breakfast. For now, clean yourselves up. Rest. Take the stairs on the right, one level down. Your rooms are on the first door."

   I nudged Feyre, giving her a look, I knew she'd understand. She looked back at Rhys.

"One room," she instructed. "We will share a room."

"Fine," he decided. "I suppose you're both thin enough to share the clothes I left in the armoire. Tell me, do they bother to feed you in the Spring Court?"

"They feed us fine," I mumbled.

   I had always been smaller due to the diet my mother had forced upon me. And Tamlin had left our mother's rules intact after she died, as a way to honor her.

   But since we'd come back, neither Feyre or I had been eating much. I had been eating much less than I was allowed lately.

"You can both stay in Feyre's room, then."

"Not a dungeon cell?" I asked, my voice meek.

"You are not my prisoners," he assured. "You made a bargain, and I am calling it in. You will be my guest here, with the privileges of a member of my household. None of my subjects are going to touch you, hurt you, or so much as think ill of you here."

"And where might those subjects be?" Feyre asked.

"Some dwell here—in the mountain beneath us." He angled his head. "Theyre forbidden to set foot in this residence. They know theyd be signing their death warrant. Amarantha wasnt very creative. My court beneath this mountain has long been feared, and she chose to replicate it by violating the space of Prythians sacred mountain. So, yes: theres a court beneath this mountain—the court your Tamlin now expects me to be subjecting you to. I preside over it every now and then, but it mostly rules itself."

"When—when are you taking us there?" I whispered, staring at the floor.

"Im not," he promised. "This is my home, and the court beneath it is my occupation. I do not like for the two to overlap very often.

"And the other denizens of your court?" Feyre demanded.

"Scattered throughout, dwelling as they wish. Just as you are now free to roam where you wish," he answered.

"I wish to roam home."

   Rhys laughed, finally sauntering toward the other end of the hall, which ended in a veranda open to the stars.

"Im willing to accept your thanks at any time, you know," he called to her.

   Feyre huffed, prying a shoe from her foot and hurling it at him. I flinched as it slammed into the back of his head. Rhys whirled, a hand rising to the back of his head, his eyes wide.

   She already had the other shoe in her hand.

"I dare you," he challenged.

   She flung her other shoe right at his head, as swift and hard as the first one. His hand snatched up, grabbing the shoe mere inches from his face. 

   Rhys hissed and lowered the shoe, his eyes meeting hers as the silk dissolved to glittering black dust in his fist.

"Interesting," he murmured, and continued on his way.

   Feyre finally turned toward the doorway hed indicated, heading for the dim stairwell beyond. We heard an amused female voice said behind us, from wherever Rhys had gone to at the opposite end of the hall, "So, that went well."

   The sight of our room made my breath catch in my throat.

   Like the upstairs living area, its windows were open to the brutal world beyond—no glass, no shutters—and sheer amethyst curtains fluttered in that unnatural, soft breeze.

   The large bed was a creamy white-and-ivory concoction, with pillows and blankets and throws for days, made more inviting by the twin golden lamps beside it.

    An armoire and dressing table occupied a wall, framed by those glass-less windows. Across the room, a chamber with a porcelain sink and toilet lay behind an arched wooden door.

   Occupying the other half of the bedroom, our bathtub was actually a pool, hanging right off the mountain itself. Its far edge seemed to disappear into nothing, the water flowing silently off the side and into the night beyond. A narrow ledge on the adjacent wall was lined with fat, guttering candles whose glow gilded the dark, glassy surface and wafting tendrils of steam.

   I turned to Feyre, noticing the heat on her cheeks as she stared down at her dress.

"I'll help you take your hair down," I offered.

   She gave me a grateful smile, sitting at the vanity. Slowly, I tugged the pins and baubles from her curled hair, piling them onto the dressing table.

   I did the same to my own hair when I was done with hers. It fell into it's curls, down to my ribs.

   My hair used to be quite long. Down to my   mid thigh. It was beautiful. I remembered when Rhys and I had gotten close enough for him to say something about it.

"Your hair is gorgeous," he'd commented, a large chunk of it and studying it in his hand. I'd laughed at the time, blushing.

    But after I'd found out about his involvement in my mother's death, the betrayal was nearly as strong as my grief.

   I'd taken scissors and cut it just above where he had touched it. Since then, I hadn't let my hair go past my ribs.

   Feyre's lower lip trembled, and she began unbuttoning her gown, then tugged it off her shoulders.

   We'd grown indifferent to changing in front of each other, after spending months sharing a cell Under the Mountain.

   The lack of privacy down there had insured there were very few secrets between us now, and almost no reason to be embarrassed around each other. 

   I began to slide out of my own pink dress. I went to the armoire, finding nightclothes. I began dressing in them, Feyre doing the same.

   We climbed into that big, fluffy bed, the sheets smooth and welcoming.

   I held Feyre as she began sobbing, loud and desperate. I could feel the tears welling in my own eyes.

   I'd never been out of the Spring Court before, except for Under the Mountain. The farthest I'd gone was the woods of the Manor.

   I couldn't hide from my terror of the unknown. I wondered if he'd keep his promise and not hurt us. Not bring us under that mountain.

   I began to cry as loud as Fey was. We cuddled up to each other, holding on and weeping like we had so many nights in that cell together.

   We cried and cried until we drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 17

   Rhys expected us to join him for breakfast. Our old handmaidens from Under the Mountain appeared at our door just past dawn. Nuala and Cerridwen were their names.

   Their gentle knock hurled us awake.  After the second, patient knock, followed by a muffled explanation through the door of who they were, Feyre scrambled out of bed to let them in.

   Feyre bathed first, then me. We dressed in some clothes that had been laid out for us. He'd laid out a pair of loose pants and a shirt for me. I'd never worn pants before.

   I'd never felt so free and comfortable in clothes before. I could move freely. I tried not to get too comfortable, remembering who gave them to me.

   I felt a tug in my head, one that made me whirl around to face Feyre, whose eyes were wide.

"Did you feel that?" I asked her.

"Yes," she replied, the words a sneer.

   At the very end of the upper level there was a small glass table set with four chairs and laden with fruits, juices, pastries, and breakfast meats.

"We are not dogs to be summoned," Feyre snarled at Rhys.

   Slowly, Rhys looked over his shoulder. Those violet eyes were vibrant in the light. He frowned at whatever he found lacking.

"I didn't want you to get lost," he said blandly.

"I thought it'd always be dark here," Feyre said. Indeed, it was bright outside.

"We're one of the three Solar Courts," he said, motioning for us to sit. "Our nights are far more beautiful, and our sunsets and dawns are exquisite, but we do adhere to the laws of nature."

"And do the other courts choose not to?" Feyre asked.

"The nature of the Seasonal Courts," he said, "is linked to their High Lords, whose magic and will keeps them in eternal spring, or winter, or fall, or summer. It has always been like that—some sort of strange stagnation. But the Solar Courts—Day, Dawn, and Night—are of a more  symbolic nature. We might be powerful, but even we cannot alter the suns path or strength. Tea?"

   Both of us nodded.

"But you will find," Rhysand went on, pouring a cup for us, "that our nights are more spectacular—so spectacular that some in my territory even awaken at sunset and go to bed at dawn, just to live under the starlight."

"Why is it so warm in here, when winter is in full blast out there?" Feyre wondered.

"Magic."

"Obviously. But why?"

"You heat a house in the winter—why shouldnt I heat this place as well? Ill admit I dont know why my predecessors built a palace fit for the Summer Court in the middle of a mountain range thats mildly warm at best, but who am I to question?"

   He stared at us as Feyre piled some fruit onto her plate. I didn't eat, just sipped at my tea.

"You've both lost weight," he observed.

"Youre prone to digging through our heads whenever you please," Feyre said. "I dont see why youre surprised by it."

"Only occasionally will I do that. And I cant help it if you send things down the bond."

"How does it work—this bond that allows you to see into our heads?" Feyre asked.

"Think of the bargains bond as a bridge between us—and at either end is a door to our respective minds. A shield. My innate talents allow me to slip through the mental shields of anyone I wish, with or without that bridge—unless theyre very, very strong, or have trained extensively to keep those shields tight. As a human, the gates to your mind were flung open for me to stroll through. As Fae, sometimes, you unwittingly have a shield up—sometimes, when emotion seems to be running strong, that shield vanishes. And sometimes, when those shields are open, you might as well be standing at the gates to your mind, shouting your thoughts across the bridge to me. Sometimes I hear them; sometimes I dont. Now, Mary's shields are a bit stronger than yours. Probably because I taught her how to put them up centuries ago. But she still lets things get to me every now and then."

   I flushed, remembering how he taught me to put up shields when I was a teenager.

"And how often do you just rifle through my mind when my shields are down?" Feyre demanded.

"When I cant tell if your nightmares are real threats or imagined. When youre about to be married and you silently beg anyone to help you. Only when you drop your mental shields and unknowingly blast those things down the bridge. And to answer your question before you ask, yes. Even with your shields up, I could get through them if I wished. You could train, though—learn how to shield against someone like me, even with the bond bridging our minds and my own abilities."

"What do you want with us? You said youd tell us here. So tell us."

"For this week? I want you to learn how to read," he said.

"No, thank you," Feyre said.

"You're going to be a High Lord's wife," Rhys said. "You'll be expected to maintain your own correspondences, perhaps even give a speech or two. And the Cauldron knows what else he and Ianthe will deem appropriate for you. Make menus for dinner parties, write thank-you letters for all those wedding gifts, embroider sweet phrases on pillows  Its a necessary skill. And, you know what? Why dont we throw in shielding while were at it. Reading and shielding—fortunately, you can practice them together."

"They are both necessary skills," Feyre said through her teeth, "but you are not going to teach me."

"What else are you going to do with yourself? Paint? Hows that going these days, Feyre?"

"What the hell does it even matter to you?"

"It serves various purposes of mine, of course."

"What. Purposes."

"You'll have to agree to work with me to find out, Im afraid."

   I glanced down at Feyre's hand, noticing that she had folded the fork in her hand. I stared with wide eyes.

"Interesting," Rhys chuckled.

"You said that last night."

"Am I not allowed to say it twice?"

"Thats not what I was implying and you know it."

"Has anyone ever told you that youre rather strong for a High Fae?" Rhys asked her.

"Am I?"

"I'll take that as a no. Have you tested yourself against anyone?"

"Why would I?"

"Because you were resurrected and reborn by the combined powers of the seven High Lords. If I were you, Id be curious to see if anything else transferred to me during that process."

"Nothing else transferred to me."

"Itd just be rather interesting," he smirked at the word, "if it did."

"It didnt."

   Rhys sighed, turning his attention to me.

"Mary, I'd like to strengthen your mental shields. They're good, but I can still get in."

"I'm not doing anything with you," I said quietly.

"Why? From spite?" he demanded. "I thought you and I got past that Under the Mountain."

"Dont get me started on what you did to me Under the Mountain," I snapped, my voice breaking as I glared up at him.

   Rhys went still. As still as Id ever seen him, as still as the death now beckoning in those eyes. Then his chest began to move, faster and faster. He opened his mouth, leaning forward, and then stopped. Instantly, the ragged breathing, the intensity were gone, the lazy grin returning.

"We have company. We'll discuss this later."

"No, we wont," I mumbled.

   But quick, light footsteps sounded down the hall, and then she appeared. A beautiful female. Her bright, golden hair was tied back in a casual braid, and the turquoise of her clothes—fashioned like my own—offset her sun-kissed skin, making her practically glow in the morning light.

"Hello, hello," she chirped, her full lips parting in a dazzling smile as her rich brown eyes fixed on us.

"Mary, Feyre," Rhys said smoothly, "meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet the lovely, charming, and open-minded Feyre and Mary."

   Mor strode toward us. Each step was assured and steady, graceful, and grounded.

"Ive heard so much about you two," she said.

   Feyre got to her feet, holding her hand out. She ignored it and grabbed Feyre into a hug.

   The female turned to me when she pulled away from Feyre, but I didn't acknowledge her. I didn't want to be hugged like Feyre had.

"You look like you were getting under Rhys's skin," she said to me, strutting to her seat between us. "Good thing I came along. Though Id enjoy seeing Rhys's balls nailed to the wall."

"Its—nice to meet you," Feyre stammered.

"Liar," Mor said, pouring herself some tea and loading her plate. "You girls want nothing to do with us, do you? And wicked Rhys is making you sit here."

"You're perky today, Mor," Rhys said.

"Forgive me for being excited about having company for once," she replied.

"You could be attending your own duties," he said testily.

"I needed a break, and you told me to come here whenever I liked, so what better time than now, when you brought my new friends to finally meet me?"

"You two look nothing alike," Feyre spoke up.

"Mor is my cousin in the loosest definition," he said. She grinned at him, devouring slices of tomato and pale cheese. "But we were raised together. Shes my only surviving family."

   I glanced at my lap, guilt eating at me as I remembered who was responsible for the death of his family.

"And as my only remaining relative," Rhys went on, "Mor believes she is entitled to breeze in and out of my life as she sees fit."

"So grumpy this morning," Mor said, plopping two muffins onto her plate.

"I didnt see you Under the Mountain," Feyre said.

"Oh, I wasnt there," she said. "I was in—"

"Enough, Mor," he said, his voice laced with quiet thunder. "Mor will be here for the rest of the week, but by all means, do not feel that you have to oblige her with your presence." Mor stuck out her tongue at him.

"Did you eat enough?" he asked Feyre. She nodded. "Good. Then lets go." I stood, but he pushed me back into my seat. "Not you, Mary. You'll stay here until you eat something. Then I'll come back and show you your surprise."

"I'm not leaving Mary here alone," Feyre argued.

"She's not alone," Mor grinned. "I'm here."

   Feyre glanced at me with concern in her eyes, but I just shook my head at her. She sighed, following Rhys.

"I'm not hungry," I said quietly.

"Oh, just eat," Mor insisted. "It's not poisoned."

   I rolled my eyes, scoffing at her as I carefully put some fruit on my plate. I began nibbling at it. Morrigan giggled.

"What?" I asked self consciously.

"You eat like a bunny," she teased. I glared at her.

   She got to her feet as I ate and took my hair in her hands, studying it.

"Your hair is so pretty," she gushed. "It's nice to have another blonde around. Almost everyone in the Night Court has dark hair."

"Don't touch my hair, please," I almost whispered. She let go of the strand, and walked back to her seat.

"You're such a lovely thing," Mor said to me. "Where have you been? It's such a shame to bury pearls in the Spring Court."

"It's my home," I murmured.

"Eat more than just a few strawberries," Mor pleaded with me. "Rhys will kill me if I let you go without a proper breakfast."

   I rolled my eyes, but obeyed.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Chapter 18

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   After a week, Rhys brought the two of us home, then winnowed away. I was relieved to be home, but that feeling of suffocation that this Manor had always given me was back.

   We found Tamlin in his study, Lucien and two other sentries standing around the map-covered worktable.

   Lucien was the first to turn to where we lurked in the doorway, falling silent mid-sentence. But then Tamlins head snapped up, and he was racing across the room, crushing Feyre into his embrace.

"Are you all right? Are either of you hurt?" he demanded, pulling back and studying both of us.

"We're fine," Feyre said. "No one touched us."

    Feyre had come back in Night Court clothes, part of her stomach exposed. I had worn the dress I had been taken in.

   But he kept scouring her face. And then he rotated her, examining her back. She tore out of his grip. "I said no one touched me."

"Youre all right," he realized, relief evident in his voice.

    He turned to me, and I grumbled as he grabbed me by the shoulders, studying all my exposed skin to search for injuries.

"I'm fine, Tam," I insisted, not liking to be touched. He knew I didn't like being touched.

"He can harm you in other ways," Tamlin croaked.

"We're fine," I repeated.

   I turned, noticing the study walls and the claw marks raked down them. All over them. And the table they were using was new. It was been replaced.

"You trashed the study," I said, glancing at him with concern.

"I trashed half the house," he said, leaning forward to press his brow to Feyre's. "He took you two away, he stole you--"

"And left us alone," Feyre promised. Tamlin pulled back, growling.

"Probably to get you to drop your guard. You have no idea what games he plays, what hes capable of doing--"

"I know," Feyre said. "And the next time, we'll be careful--"

"There won't be a next time."

"You found a way out?" I asked, perking up.

"I'm not letting you go."

"He said there were consequences for breaking a magical bargain," I recalled, glancing at the floor.

"Damn the consequences."

   Feyre rose onto her toes and kissed him. "Lets go upstairs," she said onto his lips, and he slid his arms around her.

"I missed you," he said between kisses. "I went out of my mind."

   I took that as my cue to leave, heading towards the door, until--

"I need to ask you two some questions."

"Later," Feyre insisted.

"No—now," he said. "While its all fresh in your mind."

"What?" Feyre asked.

   He beckoned me back and called for Lucien. I gripped Feyre's hand in mine, nerves eating at my stomach.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, as Luciens strolling footsteps neared again. "This is for our own good. Our safety."

"I know," Feyre murmured as the two of us sat down. "I know, Tamlin."

"Glad to see you girls came back in one piece," Lucien teased, claiming the seat beside Feyre. "I could do without the Night Court attire, though, Feyre."

"We need you to tell us everything," Tamlin said. "The layout of the Night Court, who you saw, what weapons and powers they bore, what Rhys did, who he spoke to, any and every detail you can recall."

"I didnt realize we were a spies," Feyre said coolly.

"As much as I hate your bargain, you've been granted access into the Night Court. Outsiders rarely get to go in—and if they do, they rarely come out in one piece. And if they can function, their memories are usually  scrambled. Whatever Rhysand is hiding in there, he doesnt want us knowing about it."

"Why do you want to know? What are you going to do?" I demanded, furrowing my eyebrows.

"Knowing my enemys plans, his lifestyle, is vital. As for what were going to do  Thats neither here nor there. Start with the layout of the court. Is it true its under a mountain?"

"This feels an awful lot like an interrogation," Feyre observed, her grip on my hand tightening.

"We need to know these things, Feyre. Or—or can you not remember?" Claws glinted at his knuckles. I eyed them nervously.

"I can remember everything," Feyre said. "He didnt damage our minds."

"Tam, I don't feel comfortable with this," I admitted, glancing around the room.

"I'm sorry, mousy, but this is important," he emphasized.

   Feyre began telling them all about the house we'd been kept in. She kept talking, describing everything she had learned there. Including the fact that Rhys believed she had powers.

   When she finished, Tamlin was silent, Lucien practically buzzing with whatever repressed words he was dying to spew.

"Do you think I might have those abilities?" Feyre asked.

"It's possible," Tamlin said. "And if its true—"

"Its a power other High Lords might kill for," Lucien explained. "My father, for one, would not be pleased to learn a drop of his power is missing—or that Tamlins bride now has it. Hed do anything to make sure you dont possess it—including kill you. There are other High Lords who would agree."

"Id never use it against anyone—"

"Its not about using it against them; its about having an edge when you shouldnt," Tamlin said. "And the moment word gets out about it, you will have a target on your back."

"Did you know?" Feyre demanded. Lucien wouldnt meet her eyes. "Did you suspect?"

"Id hoped it wasnt true," Tamlin said carefully. "And now that Rhys suspects, theres no telling what he'll do with the information—"

"He wants me to train," she explained.

"Training would draw too much attention," Tamlin said. "You dont need to train. I can guard you from whatever comes our way."

"I could use my powers against Hybern," Feyre suggested. My eyes widened at the implication. Tamlin would never allow that, she had to know that.

"That's out of the question," Tamlin said, "especially as there will be no war against Hybern."

"Rhys says war is inevitable, and we'll be hit hard," I spoke up, remembering what he had said to me.

"And Rhys knows everything?" Lucien scoffed.

"No—but ...  He was concerned. He thinks I can make a difference in any upcoming conflict," Feyre said.

"You have no training in battle or weaponry. And even if I started training you today, itd be years before you could hold your own on an immortal battlefield." He took a tight breath. "So despite what he thinks you might be able to do, Feyre, Im not going to have you anywhere near a battlefield. Especially if it means revealing whatever powers you have to our enemies. Youd be fighting Hybern at your front, and have foes with friendly faces at your back."

"I dont care—"

"I care," Tamlin snarled. I flinched, and Lucien whooshed out a breath. "I care if you die, if youre hurt, if you will be in danger every moment for the rest of our lives. So there will be no training, and were going to keep this between us."

"But Hybern—"

"I already have my sources looking into it," Lucien intervened. "If we perhaps trained her in secret—"

"Too many risks, too many variables," Tamlin countered. "And there will be no conflict with Hybern, no war."

"Thats wishful thinking," Feyre snapped. I stared at her wide eyed for speaking to him like that.

"Describe his map room for me again," was his only response.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   I was in that throne room again, in that dress, my skin painted. Everyone was staring at me, some laughing, others looking at me in a way I didn't want to think about.

   But I wasn't drunk. I was experiencing it all without any wine to numb me. Tears were streaming down my face as I stood between Rhys's legs, his hands on my waist.

   He told me to dance, and I shook my head, sobbing. He pushed me forward, not caring that I stumbled.

   I glanced down, realizing my dress was gone, and my scars, usually glamoured, were on full display for everyone to see. I turned back to Rhys, trying to cover my chest with my arms.

   I glanced at my brother, sitting up on that throne. Tears cascaded down my cheeks as I watched him stare ahead, as if he didn't notice me at all.

"Tamlin, make him stop," I was begging, my voice breaking with desperation. It was as if he couldn't hear me.

    Amarantha was laughing, clearly amused by my torment, and how it obviously affected Tamlin. Affected him so much that he couldn't even speak up against it, apparently.

"Feyre will always be more important to him than you," Rhys said, standing behind me, arms wrapping around my naked body. I glanced up at my brother, who still hadn't moved.

    I awoke with a start, my body shaking with sobs. Feyre stirred from beside me, having crawled into my bed in the middle of the night.

"Mary?" she whispered, sitting up. "Are you okay?"

   I couldn't speak through my tears. Her arms wrapped around me, and I rested my head on her shoulder, crying into her chest.

"Was it a memory?" she asked. I shook my head.

   No, that had never happened. It was a twisted, worse version of what I'd been put through Under the Mountain.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked me. I shook my head again. "Okay."

   So she held me for what felt like hours, letting me cry it out. Her hand stroked my hair as she whispered comforts to me.

Chapter 19

   I had always hated the Tithe. My personal belief was that it was cruel and unnecessary. We had more money than we needed. Why tax everyone?

   Tamlin had been off on business since we returned, so Feyre and I spent the week alone with each other. I couldn't complain, but I knew she missed him.

   Feyre and I had spent each night together to  l get each other through the nightmares. I would wake up sobbing, she would wake to hurl her guts up.

   I sat on my throne on the right side of Tamlin, Feyre on his left. I wore a golden tiara, adorned with emeralds that matched my eyes. I despised all the eyes on me. On all of us.

   I was bored out of my mind, and I could sense Feyre's boredom through the bargain tattoo, as well. Four hours came and went, and I was nearly asleep.

   Lucien stood at the foot of the dais, tallying every amount, armed to the teeth like the ten other sentries stationed through the hall.

   A water wraith approached, and Lucien's face tightened with disapproval. I shot him a glare for his judgement of the Lesser Fae.

"On behalf of the water-wraiths, I greet thee, High Lord," she spoke.

"Welcome," Tamlin nodded.

"Please, High Lord," the faerie begged. "There are no fish left in the lake." My face fell with pity, and I turned to my brother, hoping he would have mercy.

"Regardless, you are expected to pay," he replied. "There are no exceptions. You have three days to present what is owed—or offer double next Tithe." Disappointment settled in my gut.

"Please," she whispered, trembling. "There is nothing left in the lake."

"You have three days—"

"But we have no gold!"

"Do not interrupt me."

"Apologies, my lord."

"I think we can make an exception," I spoke up, shifting in my throne. Tamlin's head snapped on me, emerald eyes narrowing. "Just this once."

"It is not your place to make that decision," Tamlin said to me. He turned back to the water wraith. "You have three days to pay, or bring double next month. If you fail to do so, you know the consequences."

   After a final, hopeless look at Tamlin, she walked from the chamber. Feyre turned to Tamlin, her face settled with pity.

"We dont need a basket of fish," she murmured. "Why make her suffer like that?"

"I cannot make exceptions. Once you do, everyone will demand the same treatment," he frowned.

"But we dont need these things. Why do we need a golden fleece, or a jar of jam? If she has no fish left, three days wont make a difference. Why make her starve? Why not help her replenish the pond?" she wondered.

"Because thats the way it is. Thats the way my father did it, and his father, and the way my son shall do it. Someday."

"Do you really want to model your behavior after our father?" I challenged, a hand reaching up to stroke the scars on my covered shoulder.

"Do not twist my words," he warned me.

"We could still help her—find some way to keep that pond stocked," Feyre went on.

"We have enough to deal with as it is. Giving handouts wont help her in the long run."

    Making sure our people had food didn't seem like a handout to me. It seemed like the actions of a good High Lord.

"I need some fresh air," Feyre announced, and slid from her chair.

   I frowned, getting up from my own and smoothing down my golden dress. I followed after her, not liking to be away from her unless I had to be.

    Tamlin sent three sentries after us, and Ianthe tried to stop us. But we both ignored her, something I'd been successful at lately.

   When we had exited the manor, Feyre seemed to be looking for the water wraith. I rushed to her side as she spotted the female.

"Excuse me," Feyre called, the two of us catching up to her.

   She paused, whirling with preternatural smoothness. She inclined her head slightly, a respectful bow to the Princess and future Lady of Spring.

"Yes?" she hissed.

"How much is your Tithe?" Feyre asked her. "How much gold does he want—what is your fish worth in gold?"

"Far more than you have in your pocket."

"Then here," Feyre said, unfastening a ruby-studded gold bracelet from her wrist. "Take this."

   I took the bracelet from my own wrist, then took my earrings off, as Feyre was doing, along with he necklace. I couldn't bring myself to take off the necklace Rhysand had given me centuries ago.

"Give him what you owe, then buy yourself some food," Feyre instructed the female. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"And what payment do you require?"

"Nothing. Its—its not a bargain. Just take it," Feyre swore. We both extended our hands full of jewelry. "Please."

"You desire nothing in return?"

"Nothing," I spoke up. "Please, just take them."

   With a final assessing look, her cold, clammy fingers brushed ours, gathering up the jewelry.

"Thank you," she said, and bowed deeply this time. "I will not forget this kindness. Nor will any of my sisters."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

   Tamlin and Lucien were both silent at dinner. I wasn't eating, though Feyre was poking at her own food.

"What is it?" Feyre demanded, finally breaking the tense silence after ten minutes.

"You know what it is," Tamlin snapped. "You girls gave that water-wraith your jewelry. Jewelry I gave you."

"We have a damned house full of gold and jewels," Feyre snipped. I nodded my agreement.

"Here we go," Lucien muttered under his breath. I shot him a glare.

"Why shouldnt we give them to her?" Feyre demanded. "Those things dont mean anything to me. Ive never worn the same piece of jewelry twice! Who cares about any of it?"

"Because you undermine the laws of this court when you behave like that. Because this is how things are done here, and when you hand that gluttonous faerie the money she needs, it makes me—it makes this entire court—look weak."

"It makes us look kind," I disagreed. "Merciful."

"Weak," he corrected with a snarl. "And you've done a fine job of making this court look weak on your own, Mariangela."

"Dont you talk to her like that," Feyre said, baring her teeth.

   He slammed his hand on the table, claws poking through his flesh, and while I flinched away, Feyre leaned forward, bracing her own hands on the wood.

"You still have no idea what it was like for me—to be on the verge of starvation for months at a time. And you can call her a glutton all you like, but I have sisters, too, and I remember what it felt like to return home without any food. So maybe she'll spend all that money on stupid things—maybe she and her sisters have no self-control. But Im not going to take that chance and let them starve, because of some ridiculous rule that your ancestors invented."

"They meant no harm, Tam," Lucien defended us.

"I know they meant no harm," he snapped.

"Worse things have happened, worse things can happen. Just relax," Lucien assured.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Tamlin snarled, his eyes wild.

    Feyre stood, chucking her napkin on the table.

"We're not finished with this meal," Tamlin growled.

"Oh, get over yourself," Feyre barked, storming off.

   Tamlin cleared his throat, obviously trying to calm himself. His gaze fixed on me, and I shifted in my seat.

"Lucien, leave us," Tamlin instructed.

    Lucien didn't have to be told twice. He got up, sending me an apologetic glace before leaving me alone with my brother.

"Your behavior today was disappointing," he said to me.

"I was helping someone in need," I retorted. "You're just letting the people of our court starve. I'm their princess. I wanted to help."

"It isn't your job to help," he explained.

"No, it's yours," I snipped. "And you don't do it."

"You left the Tithe meeting right in the middle of it," he snapped. "You strolled right out, leaving the manor without permission."

"I shouldn't need permission to leave my home!" I raised my voice, getting to my feet.

"There is still so much danger," he disputed, standing and stepping towards me. "Even with her dead, here is danger out there."

"It's so lonely in this manor," I argued, glancing around at the walls that had become a prison over the centuries.

"Are Feyre, Lucien, and I not company enough?" he demanded.

"I'm not a child anymore, I want to go out on my own!" I pleaded, taking a step closer to him.

"Someone has to protect you from all the evil out there," he debated. "The evil that killed our mother."

"When I was faced with true danger Under the Mountain, you did nothing!" I yelled, tears in my eyes. "You let him defile and parade me around like a whore!"

"If I had done anything, it is likely we would not be standing here today," he pointed out to me. "And nothing like that will happen to you again if you follow the rules and stay in the manor."

"I had more freedom Under the Mountain than I do here!" I snapped.

   His open palm hit my face at a speed I had no time to duck away from. My head snapped to the side, a soft cry leaving my lips.

   I looked up at him with wide, tear filled eyes. He'd never hit me before. He knew the trauma I held from our father's abuse. He knew that was a line he was never to cross. Even though he'd crossed so many other lines.

   An expression of horror twisted his feature. He reached out for me, but I flinched away, the tears falling.

"Mousy, I'm sorry," he said, regret in his tone.

   I bit my trembling lip, turning on my heel and storming off to my bedroom. A million thoughts were filling my head.

   I closed myself in the bathroom, running the water tap to the tub. I took that dagger from it's hiding spot, pressing it into the skin on my arm.

   After a few minutes, I felt enough relief to stop. I placed it in the sink and sunk into the bathtub. The hot water stung the fresh cuts, but I didn't care.

   A rap at the door made me jump.

"Mary, are you okay?" I heard her voice from the other side of the door. I sniffled, wiping my eyes.

"Not really," I said quietly.

"I'm coming in," she decided.

   I didn't object as the door opened. She'd seen me in nearly nothing Under the Mountain. It didn't matter anymore. She knelt by the tub, studying my face.

"You're screaming your despair down the bargain tattoo, Mare," she informed me, her brows furrowed in concern.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, turning to her. "I just feel so alone."

   Feyre stared at me for a second before stripping herself of her clothes.

"What are you--“

   Before I could continue, she climbed into the  bathtub with me. She wrapped her arms around me, moving my head onto her chest.

   The act wasn't sexual. It was intimate. Intimacy was something I desperately craved. I closed my eyes, holding her as well.

Chapter 20

  I'd met Rhys a few months ago. He was a friend of my brothers. I didn't think he'd find me interesting. I was just his friend's little sister.

But he was quite kind. He would talk to me while we waited for Tam to get ready for their hunt together.

While we had a rough start, we were now sort of friends. I'd never had a friend before, so I wasn't exactly sure.

"Rhys, I don't need your judgement," I was saying.

"I'm not judging," he chuckled. "I just don't know any females your age who have dolls."

"My mother gave her to me when I was little," I defended, holding the brunette doll in my lap. "Samantha means a lot to me."

"She has a name?" he laughed.

"Of course she does," I defended. "All dolls have names."

"My little sister never named her dolls," he insisted.

"How do you know?" I demanded. "Maybe she just never told you."

"Maybe," he admitted with a sigh. "She's nearly ten, now. You two would get along." I smiled a bit.

I heard my brother coming down the stairs. I felt a slight bit of disappointment, knowing Rhys would be going off with him now.

When Tam and Rhys went off to hunt, I sighed, standing up and brushing the skirt of my dress off.

"Befriending the prince of the Night Court?" Maxwell teased me as he and our eldest brother entered the room.

"We were just talking," I mumbled.

"How would Father like you talking to him?" Hunter asked.

"Same as he would like you going off with that low born Autumn Court female nearly every night," I snapped, turning to him.

His open palm made contact with my face, and I stumbled, catching myself before I fell.

Our father was a sensitive subject with Hunter. The scars across his face were still thick and ugly, even thirteen years later. As were the scars on my shoulder.

"Are you going to whore yourself out to him?" he sneered at me.

"Hunter, we were just talking," I repeated, rolling my green eyes. "And even if I was, it doesn't matter. I'm eighteen. I can do as a please."

"You can do as you please," he agreed. "But you aren't free from the consequences if Father finds out."

"He's nice to me," I said quietly, my hand cradling my stinging cheek. They both snickered at me, and my face heated. "He's the first friend I've ever had. Please don't tell Father. Don't ruin this for me, please."

"What are you gonna do, Mariangela? Poison yourself, again?" Hunter taunted. I flinched, pathetic tears welling in my eyes.

     My attempt to end my life hadn't been taken seriously by my family. None of them asked why I had done it, or offered me any help. The healer had told my mother that I should seek counseling, but Mother had scoffed at that and said I didn't need it.

     Rhys was the only reason I hadn't tried again. 

I awoke with Feyre in my bed, breathing softly beside me. I studied her beautiful face, so peaceful in sleep.

Her lips were so pretty, so full and soft. I wanted nothing more than to kiss them. I mentally scolded myself for the thought, sitting up in the bed.

Tamlin had been trying to make it up to me the last few weeks. He'd been apologizing, and he'd been less strict than usual.

He'd told me not to tell Feyre, and I had complied. I didn't want to upset her, or come between her and my brother.

The sound of low, deep voices in the hallway made Feyre stir beside me, a soft whine leaving her lips as she stretched, her eyes blinking open.

"Get out," I heard Tamlin warn. "I'll say it one last time--"

He was interrupted by the voice of Rhys. Both Feyre and I froze at the same time, exchanging glances. Feyre studied the tattoo on her arm.

We kicked back the covers and rushed to the door, both of us still in our nightgowns that didn't cover much of us.

Tamlin and Rhysand stood in the hallway. Upon hearing the door open, Rhys turned toward us. The grin that had been on his face faltered.

"Mary. Feyre." Rhys's eyes lingered, taking in every detail of us, as if he hadn't seen it before. "Are you running low on food here?"

"What?" Tamlin demanded.

Rhys's eyes went cold. He extended a hand toward us. "Lets go."

"Get out," Tamlin snarled, pointing towards the staircase. "She'll come to you when shes ready."

Rhysand just brushed an invisible fleck of dust off Tamlins sleeve. My brows raised at the bravery of the action. Rhys glanced at Feyre.

"No, you wouldnt have. As far as your memory serves me, the last time Tamlins teeth were near your throat, you slapped him across the face." She must've let her shields down.

"Shut your mouth," Tamlin said. "And get out."

"You really should have your wards inspected. Cauldron knows what other sort of riffraff might stroll in here as easily as I did," Rhys said. He turned to us again. "Put some real clothes on."

I blushed, and Feyre bared her teeth at him as we stepped back into my room. Tamlin followed after us, slamming the door hard enough that the chandeliers shuddered, sending shards of light shivering over the walls. I flinched, but Feyre's hand on my arm steadied me.

"How did he get in here?" I dared to ask.

"I dont know," Tamlin said. "He just—its just part of whatever game hes playing."

"If war is coming, maybe wed be better served trying to mend things," Feyre said.

"I'll start mending things the day he releases you two from your bargain," he replied.

"Maybe hes keeping the bargain so that youll attempt to listen to him," I advised, raising a brow.

"Why do you girls need to know these things? Is it not enough for you to recover in peace? You earned that for yourselves. You earned it. I relaxed the number of sentries here; Ive been trying to be better about it. So leave the rest of it—" He took a steadying breath. "This isnt the time for this conversation."

Someone coughed from the hall, and Tamlin sighed. "I'll leave you girls to get dressed." He left and I let out a breath, hiding my face in my hands.

"As strange as it seems, going to the Night Court seems better than hiding away here," Feyre admitted to me when he was gone.

I had to agree that the Night Court felt more free than this restricting place. I just didn't appreciate the person we had to live with there.

Rhys frowned at us when we'd gotten dressed and met him back in the hallway. He extended a hand to us. Tamlin stepped between us and him, swatting his hand down.

"You end their bargain right here, right now, and I'll give you anything you want. Anything."

"Are you out of your mind?" Feyre demanded. He didn't even glance at her.

"I already have everything I want," Rhys said simply. He stepped around Tamlin and took our hands in his. He winnowed us away before we could say goodbye.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

"What the hell happened to you two?" Rhysand demanded the second we reached the Night Court.

"Why dont you just look inside our heads?" Feyre mumbled in defeat.

"Wheres the fun in that?" he winked. Neither of us smiled. "No shoe throwing this time?"

Feyre took my hand, leading me ahead to the staircase that led to our bedroom. I happily followed, not wanting to be alone with Rhys.

"Eat breakfast with me," he said, concern laced in his tone.

Both of us had lost a significant amount of weight. Not that Tamlin had noticed or cared.

"Dont you have other things to deal with?" Feyre demanded.

"Of course I do," he said, shrugging. "I have so many things to deal with that Im sometimes tempted to unleash my power across the world and wipe the board clean. Just to buy me some damned peace. But Ill always make time for the both of you."

Feyre and I exchanged a glance, and I realized just how hungry I was. I nodded, and she relented.

"Mary, I felt a spike of fear this month from you through our lovely bond. Anything exciting happen at the wondrous Spring Court?"

"It was nothing," I said quietly. But Feyre was looking at me curiously.

"These days, all I hear through that bond is nothing," Rhys spoke up. "Silence. Even with your shields up rather impressively most of the time, I should be able to feel you. And yet I dont. Sometimes Ill tug on the bonds only to make sure you're both still alive. And then one day, Im in the middle of an important meeting when terror blasts through the bond. All I get are glimpses of Mary and him—and then nothing. Back to silence. I'd like to know what happened to cause this disruption.

Feyre turned on me, anger and worry on her face.

"What happened, Mary?" she demanded.

I glanced at her, then Rhys, realizing both of them were demanding an answer. I scoffed, shaking my head.

"It was an argument, and the rest is none of your concern," I answered simply.

"It is my concern," Feyre cut me off.

"Fine, then I'll tell you when he's not here," I snipped, irritated with the interrogations.

"So worried for her," Rhys mused to Feyre. "Is it why you look like your grief and guilt and rage are eating you alive, bit by bit?"

"Get out of my head," Feyre snarled at him.

"Make me. Push me out. You dropped your shield this morning—anyone could have walked right in."

Feyre held his stare, then backed down. "Wheres Mor?"

"Away. She has duties to attend to," he answered. "Is the wedding on hold, then?"

"Yes."

"I expected an answer more along the lines of, 'Dont ask stupid questions you already know the answer to,' or my timeless favorite, 'Go to hell.' "

I rolled my eyes, and Feyre ignored him. I watched them nervously, not feeling comfortable with the tension.

"Did you give my offer any thought?" he asked.

"Neither of us are going to work with you."

"And why, Feyre, are you refusing me?"

"We're not going to be a part of this war you think is coming. You say I should be a weapon, not a pawn—they seem like the same to me. The only difference is who's wielding it."

"I want your help, not to manipulate you," he snapped.

"You want our help because it'll piss off Tamlin," Feyre scoffed.

"Fine," he breathed. "I dug that grave myself, with all I did Under the Mountain. But I need your help. I was a prisoner in her court for nearly fifty years. I was tortured and beaten and fucked until only telling myself who I was, what I had to protect, kept me from trying to find a way to end it. Please—help me keep that from happening again. To Prythian."

Despite myself, unbridled rage echoed in my mind at the words, at what had been done to him. Nobody deserved that.

But Tamlin was my brother. And he did really feel terrible about what happened. He was trying. Feyre and I went back to eating.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Rhys had given Feyre things to read and write, but left us alone. Rhys returned at the end of the week.

Feyre and I had taken to sitting in one of the little lounges overlooking the mountains, and reading together. She had almost read an entire book, asking me to help her with words every now and then as we sat side by side.

The next morning, Rhys brought us back to the Spring Court. Tamlin was waiting in the shade of the gnarled, mighty oak tree in the garden.

A murderous expression twisted his face, directed solely at Rhys. Yet there was nothing amused in Rhys's smile as he stepped back from us—only a cold, cunning predator gazing out.

"Get inside," Tamlin growled at us.

I went to obey without question, but Rhys gripped my wrist and leaned down to me.

"Fight it," Rhys murmured in my ear. And then he was gone.

"We're fine," Feyre said to Tamlin, as his shoulders slumped, his head bowing.

"I will find a way to end this," he swore.

I wanted to believe him, but I just couldn't. He made us again walk through every detail we had learned at Rhys's home. Every conversation, however brief. We told him everything, each word quieter than the

Chapter 21

a day early bc why not. might post another chapter tomorrow

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

During that first week back, neither of us were allowed out of sight of the house. Some nameless threat had broken onto the lands, and Tamlin and Lucien were called away to deal with it. We weren't told what it was.

Feyre spent a lot of the week reading. I wandered the halls, the prison feeling so familiar to me. Feyre was new to all the rules, the overprotectiveness, how controlling he could be. But it was all I'd ever known. I was used to it.

I frowned as I came across a faerie in the hallway, sitting on the stairs. No one was allowed in except for me, Feyre, and Alis.

He was a lesser faerie, crying into his hands. I carefully approached, and he glanced up at me.

"She took my wings," he whispered.

"Who did?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me as I knelt to his level.

He didn't respond. He just broke down, sobbing harder. I bit back my gasp as he hunched over, and I saw the bloody gapes in his back, where his wings had been.

"Who are you talking to, Mary?" a voice pulled me. I turned to Feyre, who was staring at me with concerned eyes.

"The fae--" I trailed off as I turned back, to see nobody.

No. No, I hadn't seen the dead for a century, at least. I thought I'd learned to confine that power. Tamlin had hated it. He said it was disturbing and strange. So I'd learned to repress it.

"Was he dead?" she asked quietly.

I'd forgotten I had shared that part of me with her Under the Mountain. We'd shared a lot with each other in that cell.

"I think so," I confessed. I wanted to change the subject. I didn't want to think about it. And I didn't want Tamlin to find out. "Where are you off to?"

"I was just going to my studio to get a book," she explained. She'd been reading a lot in the past week.

"I'll come with you," I decided, needing a distraction.

"No, it's okay," she declined, shaking her head and refusing to meet my eyes. That made me curious.

"Why not?" I teased. "Do you not want my company?"

"It's not that," she sighed, shaking her head. "It's just . . ."

"Come on," I pouted.

She finally met my eyes, hers filled with shame. She sighed, giving in. I followed her up to her studio.

At first, I saw nothing to be embarrassed by. Until my eyes found the corner of the room, which was littered in canvases.

She had painted me. So many times. So many different paintings of me, in different dresses, different settings.

"I know, it's weird," she gushed, her cheeks pink. "You probably think me strange and obsessed. I'm sorry."

"No, I love it," I cut her off. "Nobody's ever done anything like this for me."

"You're sweet," she smiled, blushing.

I didn't want her to think of me as sweet. I wanted her to be as crazy about me as I was about her. I wanted her to barely be able to contain herself when she saw me. I wanted her to rip my clothes off and fuck me with her fingers until I couldn't handle it anymore.

I shocked myself with the thoughts, flushing deep red. I reminded myself how wrong it was for me to think like that.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Tamlin returned eight days later, brushing a kiss over Feyre's brow and hugging me before he went to the study to get news from Ianthe. Of course, we weren't to hear it.

There were sentries outside of my bedroom all the time, now. I hated it. I knew it upset Feyre, as well.

"Can you just tell him to loosen up?" I was begging Lucien one afternoon.

"You know it won't happen, Mariangela," he sighed, though there was guilt on his face.

"Please, Feyre and I are going mad," I insisted, crossing my arms. "I want to help."

"He hit you," he reminded me. "Do you have any idea how much stress he had to be under to do that? He adores you, he would die for you, and he hit you."

"I know, but--"

"He hit you?" Feyre's voice rang out.

I turned to her, my face falling. I'd managed to get her off of my case after Rhys had nearly let it slip.

"It was nothing, Fey--"

"Nothing?" she demanded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to get between you two," I explained. "It was nothing, he slapped me. He didn't mean anything--"

"I'm gonna kill him," she seethed. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Feyre!" I called, Lucien and I both on her heel as she stormed towards the foyer.

Tamlin was standing there, getting ready to leave with his sentries. Feyre was caught off guard, glancing around.

"You're going so soon?" she asked, seeming to forget her anger.

"Theres activity on the western sea border. I have to go," he replied.

"Can I come with you?" she demanded, her voice shaking.

"Im sorry," Tamlin said, reaching for her. She stepped out of his grip. "Its too dangerous."

"I know how to remain hidden. Just—take me with you," she begged.

"I wont risk our enemies getting their hands on you," he said. She studied him, then Lucien, then me. "Dont even think about it. Dont even try to come after us."

"I can fight," she tried again. "Please. There will always be some threat. There will always be some conflict or enemy or something that keeps me in here."

"You can barely sleep through the night," he said carefully.

"Neither can you," she retorted.

"You can barely handle being around other people—"

"You hit Mary!" she snapped. "If that doesn't prove you're in a terrible mental state--"

Tamlin whirled on me, and I flinched at the claws that poked through his fingers. I backed away, wary of the green eyes that were filled with fury. Our father's eyes.

"You told her?" he snarled at me.

"She didn't," Lucien spoke up, defending me. "Feyre overheard us."

"You're hiding things from us, you're locking us up," Feyre ranted. "Mary and I need to get out of this house. You promised."

"Have Bron take you girls on a ride—"

"We dont want to go for a ride! We dont want to go for a ride, or a picnic, or pick wildflowers. We want to do something. So take me with you. Take Mary, too. We'll protect each other and keep out of the way."

"Even if I risked it, your untrained abilities render your presence more of a liability than anything."

"Im coming along whether you want me to or not."

"No, you arent."

He and Lucien strode right through the door, his claws slashing the air at his sides, and was halfway down the steps before Feyre reached the threshold.

Where she slammed into an invisible wall.

Dread filled me as I lifted my dress and rushed to her side. I slammed into the wall, as well, staggering back.

Feyre reached a hand to the open air of the doorway. And met solid resistance. My airway began to close, just as it always did when he did this to me.

"Tamlin," Feyre rasped.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sinking the floor as I tried not to think about being trapped. Being trapped in that cell. Trapped in that cabinet my father used to lock me in. Trapped.

"Tamlin," Feyre said again, pushing against the wall.

I couldn't breathe. I wasn't breathing. There was something horribly wrong. I was going to die from the lack of air getting to my lungs.

"Dont bother trying," Lucien said to Feyre from the other side. Tamlin was gone. "Mariangela, you're fine. Just breathe." I could barely hear him over the roaring in my ears.  "He shielded the entire house around you two. Others can go in and out, but you cant. Not until he lifts the shield."

Feyre hit the shield again and I let out a sob, despising my brother for doing this when he knew the state it put me in.

"Just—be patient," Lucien tried, wincing as he followed after Tamlin. "Please. Ill see what I can do. Ill try again."

Feyre hurtled for the nearest window in the foyer and shoved it open. She shoved her hand through it—only for her fingers to bounce off an invisible wall.

Feyre was panicking, but there was nothing I could do to help her. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even cry. I was wheezing on the floor, my head pounding, my lungs burning.

After a while, Feyre collapsed beside me, tears streaming down her face as she gasped for air, just as I was doing.

Black spots appeared in my vision. Slender, strong hands wrapped around my body. I didn't fight. I welcomed death.

"Please—please take care of them," Alis was saying.

"Consider yourselves very, very lucky that your High Lord was not here when we arrived. Your guards will have one hell of a headache when they wake up, but theyre alive. Be grateful."

That was Mor's voice. She helped Feyre to her feet, then picked me up with ease.

"Did you think his shield would keep us from you? Rhys shattered it with half a thought," she informed us. "You're free. Youre free."

She carried me beyond the garden, while supporting Feyre and helping her walk. Into the fields, up a hill, down it, and into a cave, then she winnowed us away.

Half a heartbeat later, she emerged into sunlight—bright, strawberry-and-grass-scented sunlight. Then a low, vicious growl split the air before us.

"I did everything by the book," Mor said.

I was passed from her arms to someone elses, and I fought the male who took me into his arms. I thrashed, and tried to scream, but his grip was too strong.

"Then were done here," Rhys said.

Something, a power, likely from Rhys, coaxed me to relax. I stopped fighting and melted into his arms, sleep taking over my body.

Chapter 22

       When I awoke, I could tell I was in the Night Court before I even opened my eyes. My eyes blinked open as I sat up, glancing around.

I was on a couch, Feyre asleep beside me. Rhysand was in an armchair across from us, staring at the mountains.

He turned his head to us as Feyre stirred beside me, yawning as she awoke. She took a second to take in her surroundings before meeting his gaze.

There was no kindness in his eyes. Nothing but unending, icy rage. But he blinked, and it was gone.

"What happened?" Feyre asked, her voice hoarse.

"You were screaming," he explained. "You also managed to scare the shit out of every servant and sentry in Tamlin's manor when you wrapped yourself in darkness and they couldn't see you."

My brows furrowed, and I turned to Feyre. I hadn't even noticed that she'd done that.

"You didn't notice because you were panicking," Rhys informed me, as though he'd read my thoughts. "You let me in. You couldn't breathe, your vision had gone black. It was something that even I had never experienced before."

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. He quirked a brow.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he assured me.

My mother had always told me that it was proper for a lady to apologize for any inconvenience, even when it wasn't entirely her fault.

"I usually panic when he does that," I explained, bringing my knees to my chest. "It makes me feel like I'm trapped."

"He's done that to you before? More than once?" Feyre demanded from beside me. I glanced at her warily, but nodded. "Why didn't you tell me that he hit you?"

"He told me not to," I defended myself, hiding my face in my knees. Her hand rested on my shoulder.

"He hit you," Rhys repeated, not a question. "That's the terror I felt from you."

"It wasn't serious," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "He didn't mean it. He loves me."

"Do you believe your father loved you as well?" Rhys challenged, anger lacing his voice. "Do you believe he didn't truly mean it when he left those scars on you?"

"That's different," I snapped at him. "When we go back--"

"As your presence here isn't part of our monthly requirement, you are under no obligation to go back." He rubbed at his temple. "Unless you wish to."

"He locked us in that house," Feyre managed to say.

A shadow of mighty wings spread behind Rhys's chair. But his face was calm as he said, "I know. I felt both of you. Even with your shields up—for once."

"We have nowhere else to go," Feyre whispered. I glanced over at her.

"We could go back," I insisted. "He always feels awful after he locks me up. I'm sure he didn't mean it. He won't do it again."

"Do you truly believe that, Mary?" Feyre questioned me, her brows furrowed. I stared at her, feeling helpless.

"He's my brother," was all I could say. "He's the only family I have left."

"You're both free to stay here for however long you want," Rhys assured us. "Stay here forever, if you feel like it."

I didn't feel particularly comfortable living with him. Not after what he'd done to me. His face softened at the thought, and I immediately snapped my mental shields up.

"We--we need to go back at some point," Feyre said.

"Say the word, and it's done," he swore. He crossed his ankle over a knee. "I made you an offer when you first came here: help me, and food, shelter, clothing--All of it is yours. Work for me. I owe you, anyway. And we'll figure out the rest day by day, if need be."

"I'm not going back," Feyre decided. I stared at her, eyes wide. "And I don't want you going back either, Mary."

"You can't make that decision for me," I disputed.

"He hit you," she said quietly, her eyes filled with concern. "He locked us up. That Court was killing us. And I have a feeling it's been killing you for centuries, now. I can't send you back there on your own."

"My Court isn't killing me," I lied.

But she grabbed my arm, forcibly pulling my sleeve down despite my struggling. I couldn't deny the many, many new cuts that had been done since I had gotten back from that mountain.

"That's not fair," I snipped, yanking my arm back from her.

"I'm not sending you back to a place that makes you do that to yourself," she snapped.

I stared, the tears that had been stinging in my eyes falling. Feyre's face immediately softened as quiet sobs left my lips.

"I'm sorry, Mary," she apologized, a hand cupping my cheek.

Nobody had ever noticed or cared about what I did to myself. But she noticed and cared. I didn't deserve her. I never would.

Rhysand summoned two mugs of hot tea from nowhere and handed them to us. "Drink it."

I wiped my eyes and sniffed it, trying to detect what was in it. I didn't feel comfortable taking drinks from him. Not after...

But Feyre took a sip, and seemed to relax.

"It's just tea, Mare," she assured me.

I stared at the mug warily before finally taking a sip. I had to admit, it made me feel better. I sniffled, leaning against Feyre, and she wrapped a delicate arm around me.

"The darkness--is that part of the power you gave me?" Feyre asked him.

"One would assume so," he replied.

"No wings?" she wondered.

He'd shown me his wings centuries ago, once we'd learned to trust each other. When we were friends.

"If you inherited some of Tamlin's shape-shifting, perhaps you can make wings of your own," he suggested.

"And the other High Lords? Ice--that's Winter. What might the others have given me? Is--is winnowing tied to any one of you in particular?"

"Winnowing--it's not confined to any court. It's wholly dependent on your own reserve of power--and training," he explained. "And as for the gifts you got from everyone else That's for you to find out, I suppose."

"I should have known your goodwill would wear off after a minute."

Rhys let out a low chuckle and got to his feet, stretching his muscled arms over his head and rolling his neck. As if he'd been sitting there for a long, long while. For the entirety of the night.

"Rest a day or two," he said. "Then take on the task of figuring out everything else. I have business in another part of my lands; I'll be back by the end of the week."

As he started to walk away, I realized I didn't want to be stuck in this house for a week. I couldn't be trapped again.

From the other side of the bargain, I felt Feyre's similar feelings. The urge to do something instead of sitting around all week.

"Take us with you," I spoke up before I could stop myself.

Rhys halted as he pushed through two purple gossamer curtains. And slowly, he turned back. "You should rest, Mary."

"We've rested enough," I said. Feyre nodded her agreement, setting her mug down and standing.

"Wherever you're going, whatever you're doing—take us along," Feyre said. "We'll stay out of trouble. Just--Please."

For a long moment, Rhys said nothing. Then he prowled toward us. "If you come with me, there is no going back. You will not be allowed to speak of what you see to anyone outside of my court. Because if you do, people will die--my people will die. So if you come, you will have to lie about it forever; if you return to the Spring Court, you cannot tell anyone there what you see, and who you meet, and what you will witness. If you would rather not have that between you and--your friends, then stay here."

Feyre and I exchanged a glance, and I realized both of us couldn't stand the idea of being left behind.

"Take us with you," Feyre breathed. "We won't tell anyone what we see. Even--them."

"We leave in ten minutes. If you want to freshen up, go ahead," he agreed.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Rhys's smile widened into a grin. "To Velaris--the City of Starlight."

When we got to our room, ready to freshen up, I collapsed on the bed. My tears had dried by now, but everything was terrifying me.

It felt wrong, being away from my home. I wasn't allowed to be here. Anxiety built up in my stomach at the thought.

Tamlin was going to kill me.

Feyre sat down on the bed, watching me carefully.

"I'm sorry for what I did back there," she said quietly. "That was wrong of me. I shouldn't have used that against you."

When I didn't reply, she took my arm in her hands, lifting it. I didn't yank away this time. She kissed the scars on my skin.

"I still think you're beautiful," she said. "And I don't ever want to lose my best friend."

Feyre and I bathed together, scrubbing down as swiftly as we could, then got dressed in clothes that had been left for us.

I remembered when I was eighteen, Rhys had teased me because my mother chose my clothes for me. Now, he was the one doing it. The irony almost made me laugh.

By the time we returned to the main atrium, Rhys was leaning against a moonstone pillar, picking at his nails. He merely said, "That was fifteen minutes," before extending his hand. I didn't laugh.

He winnowed us away, and I clutched onto Feyre tightly. I'd very rarely winnowed before, since I never left the grounds of the manor. The concept had always terrified me. I'd never even learned to do it myself.

Sunlight greeted us. Glancing around, I realized we were in the foyer of a home. I surveyed the warm, wood-paneled walls, the artwork, the straight, wide oak staircase ahead.

Flanking us were two rooms: on my left, a sitting room with a black marble fireplace, lots of comfortable, elegant, but worn furniture, and bookshelves built into every wall.

On my right: a dining room with a long, cherrywood table big enough for ten people. Down the slender hallway ahead were a few more doors, ending in one that I assumed would lead to a kitchen.

"Welcome to my home," Rhysand said.

A city was right outside the door. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows lining the front of the town house. The ornately carved wood door before me was inset with fogged glass that peeked into a small antechamber and the actual front door beyond it, shut and solid against whatever city lurked beyond.

"What is this place?" I asked, in awe of my surroundings.

"This is my house. Well, I have two homes in the city. One is for more  official business, but this is only for me and my family. Nuala and Cerridwen are here. But other than that, it'll just be the three of us."

I tensed at that. I knew I would likely cling to Feyre most of the time, not wanting to be alone with him.

Rhysand opened his mouth, but then the silhouettes of two tall, powerful bodies appeared on the other side of the front door's fogged glass. One of them banged on it with a fist.

"Hurry up, you lazy ass," a deep male voice drawled from the antechamber beyond.

My eyes went wide at the language used to address a High Lord. I got scolded for even forgetting to bow to my own brother in proper settings at times.

"Two things, darlings," Rhys began to warn.

The pounding continued, followed by the second male murmuring to his companion, "If you're going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast."

"I wasn't the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here," the first one said. "Busybody."

"One, no one--no one--but Mor and I are able to winnow directly inside this house. It is warded, shielded, and then warded some more. Only those I wish--and you wish--may enter. You are safe here; and safe anywhere in this city, for that matter. Velaris's walls are well protected and have not been breached in five thousand years. No one with ill intent enters this city unless I allow it. So go where you wish, do what you wish, and see who you wish. Those two in the antechamber might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children."

"You know we can hear you, prick," the first male voice rang out. I blushed at the language, which made Rhys smirk, his eyes twinkling.

"Secondly," Rhys went on, "in regard to the two bastards at my door, it's up to you two whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, take a nap since you're both still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that."

"Just come get us when they're gone," Feyre said, staring at me as if she sensed my hesitation.

"You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door," a female's voice said from the antechamber. The knob jangled. She sighed sharply. "Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?"

Feyre and I went to the stairs. At the top stood Nuala and Cerridwen, wincing at the front door. I could have sworn Cerridwen subtly gestured us to hurry up.

Rhys waited to open the front door until we were halfway down the cerulean-blue hallway on the second level.

"Welcome home, bastard," the first male said.

I still couldn't believe Rhys allowed him to speak to him like that. Even if they were close. Tamlin and Lucien were close, but Tamlin would've killed Lucien for addressing him in such a manner.

"I sensed you were back. Mor filled me in, but I--" the other began.

"Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand. You and I have matters to discuss," the female said.

"As do I," the second male disputed.

"We were here first. Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One," the first male joked.

"Why is everyone here so early? I thought we were meeting tonight at the House," Mor's voice joined in with a yawn.

"Trust me, theres no party. Only a massacre, if Cassian doesnt shut his mouth," Rhys sighed.

"We're hungry," that first male--Cassian--complained. "Feed us. Someone told me there'd be breakfast."

"Pathetic," that strange female voice quipped. "You idiots are pathetic."

"We know thats true. But is there food?" Mor asked.

Nuala and Cerridwen opened a door, leading to a fire-warmed, sunlit room. It faced a walled, winter-kissed garden in the back of the town house, the large windows peering over the sleeping stone fountain in its center, drained for the season.

Everything in the bedroom itself was of rich wood and soft white, with touches of subtle sage. It felt, strangely enough, almost human.

And the bed—massive, plush, adorned in quilts and duvets of cream and ivory to keep out the winter chill—that looked the most welcoming of all.

"The High Lord said you two would want to share a room, but if you would rather have your own--"

"No, this is lovely," Feyre declined, shaking her head. I wasn't sure if I could sleep alone. I had her by my side nearly every night now.

"Who was that?" I asked as they shut the door behind us.

"Theyre Rhysand's Inner Circle," Cerridwen explained.

"I wasnt aware that High Lords kept things so casual," Feyre admitted.

"They dont," Nuala said. "But Rhysand does."

"How is this city here?" I wondered. "How did it survive?"

Nualas face tightened, and her dark eyes flicked to her twin, who slowly rose from a dresser drawer, fleece-lined slippers for us in hand. Cerridwens throat bobbed as she swallowed.

"The High Lord is very powerful," Cerridwen said. "And was devoted to his people long before his father's mantle passed to him."

"How did it survive?" Feyre pushed.

"It is not for us to tell."

"He asked you not to--"

"No," Cerridwen interrupted. "The High Lord made no such demand. But what he did to shield this city is his story to tell, not ours. We would be more comfortable if he told you, lest we get any of it wrong."

Feyre glared between them, but I let it go. Cerridwen moved to shut the curtains, sealing the room in darkness.

"Leave them open," Feyre blurted.

Cerridwen nodded and left the curtains open, both of the twins telling us to send word if we needed anything before they departed.

We changed into clothes that we found in the dresser. Comfortable things. Then we slid into the bed, holding each other as sleep claimed us.

Chapter 23

Feyre awoke four hours later, shaking me. I felt well rested when I sat up, though I missed my large, pink room from home.

Rhys was waiting at the front door when we got dressed and came downstairs. I was wearing a simple, blue dress I had found. I was able to move freely in it, unlike the stuffy dresses I was forced into at home.

It was strange, being allowed to choose my own dress. I felt like maybe I had done it wrong, chosen the wrong dress.

Feyre had reminded me of the weather and made me put a coat over it and a pair of white tights under it.

"Those two certainly like to fuss," Rhysand said as we headed out the front door.

A small, manicured front lawn was bordered with a waist-high wrought iron fence and empty flower beds, all leading toward a clean street of pale cobblestones.

High Fae in various forms of dress meandered by: some in coats like mine to ward against the crisp air, some wearing mortal fashions with layers and poofy skirts and lace, some in riding leathers.

Not one of them looked toward the house. As if they either didnt know or werent worried that their own High Lord dwelled in one of the many marble town houses lining either side of the street, each capped with a green copper roof and pale chimneys that puffed tendrils of smoke into the brisk sky. In the distance, children shrieked with laughter.

Feyre staggered to the front gate, unlatching it. The street sloped down, revealing more pretty town houses and puffing chimneys, more well-fed, unconcerned people. And at the very bottom of the hill curved a broad, winding river, sparkling like deepest sapphire, snaking toward a vast expanse of water beyond.

The city had been built like a crust atop the rolling, steep hills that flanked the river, the buildings crafted from white marble or warm sandstone. Ships with sails of varying shapes loitered in the river, the white wings of birds shining brightly above them in the midday sun.

No monsters. No darkness. Not a hint of fear, of despair. Nothing like the horrific stories of the Night Court that I'd been raised on.

"The middle peak," Rhys said from behind us pointing to the mountains in the distance, "Thats my other home in this city. The House of Wind. We'll be dining there tonight."

"How?" Feyre asked, and we both knew what she meant. How had this beautiful city remained untouched for the last fifty years?

"Luck."

"Luck? Yes, how lucky for you," Feyre said quietly, but not weakly, "that the rest of Prythian was ravaged while your people, your city, remained safe. Did you even think for one moment to extend that luck to anywhere else? Anyone else?"

"Other cities," he said calmly, "are known to the world. Velaris has remained secret beyond the borders of these lands for millennia. Amarantha did not touch it, because she did not know it existed. None of her beasts did. No one in the other courts knows of its existence, either."

"How?"

"Spells and wards and my ruthless, ruthless ancestors, who were willing to do anything to preserve a piece of goodness in our wretched world."

"And when Amarantha came," Feyre said, and I flinched at her name, "you didnt think to open this place as a refuge?"

"When Amarantha came," he said, his eyes flashing, "I had to make some very hard choices, very quickly."

"I'm assuming you won't tell us about it," I spoke up, knowing because I was never told anything. It was a frustrating existence, always being kept in the dark.

"Now's not the time for that conversation."

I'd heard those words from my brother's mouth a million times.

"So what is there that was worth saving at the cost of everyone else?" Feyre demanded.

"Everything," he said.

I stared out at the city, suddenly overwhelmed. They both seemed to sense my feelings through whatever bond that tattoo gave us, as they turned to me.

"I'm not ready," I confessed. "To go out there."

I was 496 years old, and I'd only ever left the grounds of my home when I was forced Under the Mountain, and when I was forced into this bargain. I wasn't used to wandering around unfamiliar places. The mere thought scared me.

"That's okay," Rhys said to me. "Feyre, give us a moment."

Rhys extended his arm to me, but I just narrowed my eyes. He chuckled, walking ahead. I followed him to the side of the town house, where a staircase led up to the roof.

I had wanted to hate what he was showing me.

I wanted to scoff and insult Rhys when he showed me what he thought I would love.

But I couldn't quiet the gasp that left my lips as I stepped onto the roof.

There was a beautiful, small garden on the rooftop of the town house.

My eyes widened at all the herbs and flowers. Basic ones that he knew I used in my practice, but also special Night and Spring Court herbs. Night Court herbs that he used to surprise me with whenever he visited, all those centuries ago.

"Rhys," I said quietly.

He had planted these specifically for me. He was the only person who knew all of my favorite things to grow. And they were all present.

Centuries ago, I had showed him the garden I tended in the greenhouse of the manor. I'd told him of the herbal remedies I liked to make with them.

He had been fascinated by it and started surprising me with herbs I couldn't grow in the Spring Court whenever he would visit.

"I started the garden when I got back from . . . " he trailed off. "I figured if you were going to spend a week here every month, you might want a way to pass the time. I thought you could harvest some to bring back home at the end of the week, and I would use magic to keep them tended while you were gone."

I couldn't bring myself to thank him. But it was an incredible gift. I turned to look at him.

"No need to thank me," he teased.

I gasped as I noticed the moonflower growing in the corner. I rushed over to it, staring at the beautiful, rare flower.

Rhys chuckled at my excitement, and my smile faded. I turned to see the amusement on his face.

"Don't laugh at me," I said quietly.

"I'm not," he insisted. "I'm laughing with you."

"Well, it feels the same as being laughed at," I mumbled, my cheeks going red.

The same way he had laughed at me Under the Mountain. Those nights Feyre and I would dance against our will, and he would laugh with everyone else.

"I was putting on a front," he spoke up, and I realized my mental shields weren't up. "I never truly got any amusement from your suffering, Mary."

I didn't reply. I didn't trust him, not anymore. Not after what he put me through. But Feyre seemed to trust him. And I trusted Feyre.

"I'll leave you to explore."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

I took clippings of a few herbs and flowers, going down to the kitchen. I jotted down a recipe I used to use centuries ago. A remedy for nightmares.

The recipe needed moonflower, which Rhys used to bring me. But after everything happened between our families, I no longer had access to it.

I stood at the stove, looking at the recipe.

I heard the door open, and listened as Feyre went up to our room to bathe. I tensed as Rhys came into the kitchen.

"What's that?" Rhys asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall.

"It's for Feyre's nightmares," I explained as I cut up lavender. "I used to make it for myself, but it uses moonflower. And after you stopped visiting, I didn't have access to it anymore."

I didn't miss the guilt that came across his features. But he masked it quickly.

"Do you think you could make some for me?" he wondered.

"You get nightmares?" I questioned, raising a brow to look at him.

"Yes, even the most powerful High Lord in history can get nightmares," he teased. I rolled my green eyes, scraping the lavender into the boiling water.

I hesitated in making him any, considering he was the cause of my nightmares. He seemed to understand what I was thinking, and he sighed.

"Okay, I'll leave you to your herbs," he said in a joking tone. When I didn't acknowledge him, he left.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

"Absolutely not," Feyre said as we all stood on the roof of the town house that night.

"No," I shook my head, agreeing with my friend.

"The House of Wind is warded against people winnowing inside--exactly like this house. Even against High Lords. Don't ask me why, or who did it. But the option is either walk up the ten thousand steps, which I really do not feel like doing, or fly in. I promise I wont drop you."

"You can't hold both of us, and fly," I pointed out, staring at his wings.

"You're both very light," he assured me. "You're smaller than you were Under the Mountain." I sneered at the reminder, and Feyre rolled her eyes.

Feyre was wearing a beautiful midnight-blue dress. Long sleeves and heavy, luxurious fabric. I had worn a dress that was lighter blue, with long billowing sleeves. It went down to my ankles, covering every inch of my body.

"The wind will rip our gowns right off," Feyre complained. His grin became feline, and I groaned.

"We'll take the stairs," Feyre seethed.

We began to walk forward, but Rhys snapped out a wing, blocking our path.

"Nuala and Cerridwen spent an hour on our hair," I recalled.

"I promise I wont let the wind destroy your hair," he promised, tugging at one of my curls.

"If I'm to decide whether I want to work against Hybern with you--with your Inner Circle, can't we just meet here?" Feyre asked.

"They're all up there already. And besides, the House of Wind has enough space that I won't feel like chucking them all off the mountain."

"You mean," Feyre said. "that this town house is too small, and their personalities are too big, and youre worried I might lose it again."

"So what if I am?"

"Im not some broken doll," Feyre snapped at him.

"I know youre not. But that doesnt mean I'll throw you to the wolves. If you meant what you said about wanting to work with me to keep Hybern from these lands, keep the wall intact, I want you to meet my friends first. Decide on your own if its something you can handle. And I want this meeting to be on my terms, not whenever they decide to ambush this house again."

"I didnt know you even had friends," I snipped at him. The insult was childish, but I was upset and flustered.

"We were friends," he reminded me.

"A long time ago," I glared.

I tensed as he slid his hands around our waists, both of his wings encircling us. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my breathing begin to feel shallow.

Don't touch me, don't touch me, my mind was screaming.

The wings swept back, and he carefully stepped away.

"Mary, I need to touch you so we can fly," he reminded me.

I hated the feelings of his hands on my waist. It brought me right back there, under that mountain.

"I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman," he teased. I didn't smile. "Mary, you're safe. I need to hold onto you. You can cling to Feyre if you want." Feyre didn't decline the offer.

I finally nodded, allowing his free hand to wrap around my waist. Feyre took my hand in hers, and I was grateful for that.

"Either of you say the word tonight, and we come back here, no questions asked. And if you can't stomach working with me, with them, then no questions asked on that, either. We can find some other way for you to live here, be fulfilled, regardless of what I need. Its your choice."

"Please dont drop us. And please dont--" Feyre began.

We shot into the sky, fast as a shooting star. I hid my face in Feyre's shoulder as he held us both close. Feyre's arms wrapped around his neck, and my arms wrapped around hers.

The city lights dropped away until Velaris was a rippling velvet blanket littered with jewels, until the music no longer reached even our pointed ears.

The air was chill, but no wind other than a gentle breeze brushed my face—even as we soared with magnificent precision for the House of Wind.

"I expected more screaming from you. I must not be trying hard enough," Rhys joked.

"Do not," Feyre hissed. I would've berated him, but I was sure that if I opened my mouth, I would vomit.

"When I was a boy," Rhys said, "I'd sneak out of the House of Wind by leaping out my window--and I'd fly and fly all night, just making loops around the city, the river, the sea. Sometimes I still do."

"Your parents must have been thrilled," Feyre scoffed. I tensed at the mention of his parents, guilt eating at my stomach.

"My father never knew--and my mother " A pause. "She was Illyrian. Some nights, when she caught me right as I leaped out the window, she'd scold me, and then jump out herself to fly with me until dawn."

"She sounds lovely," Feyre admitted.

"She was," he said.

I felt a new wave of anger towards my brother. How could he give up two innocent people to our father? He hated our father.

A maneuver had us rising higher, until we were in direct line with a broad balcony, gilded by the light of golden lanterns.

At the far end, built into the red mountain itself, two glass doors were already open, revealing a large, but surprisingly casual dining room carved from the stone, and accented with rich wood. Each chair fashioned, I noted, to accomodate wings.

Rhys's landing was as smooth as his takeoff, though he kept an arm beneath our shoulders as our knees buckled at the adjustment. I shook off his touch, and faced the city behind us.

"Out with it," Rhys said to us. Feyre lifted a brow. "You say whats on your mind—one thing. And Ill say one, too."

Feyre and I both declined, shaking our heads.

"Im thinking that I spent fifty years locked Under the Mountain, and Id sometimes let myself dream of this place, but I never expected to see it again. Im thinking that I wish I had been the one who slaughtered her. Im thinking that if war comes, it might be a long while yet before I get to have a night like this."

"Do you think war will be here that soon?" I dared to ask.

"This was a no-questions-asked invitation. I told you  three things. Tell me one."

"Im thinking that I must have been a fool in love to allow myself to be shown so little of the Spring Court," Feyre admitted. "Im thinking theres a great deal of that territory I was never allowed to see or hear about and maybe I would have lived in ignorance forever like some pet. Im thinking Im thinking that I was a lonely, hopeless person, and I might have fallen in love with the first thing that showed me a hint of kindness and safety. And Im thinking maybe he knew that—maybe not actively, but maybe he wanted to be that person for someone. And maybe that worked for who I was before. Maybe it doesnt work for who—what I am now."

"That was five. Looks like I owe you two thoughts," Rhys joked. He turned to me. "Mary?"

I debated in sharing what was on my mind. But if they could be so vulnerable, maybe I could, too.

"I'm thinking of what Feyre said," I admitted. "About being shown so little of the Spring Court. And I'm realizing she saw more of it than I did, and I lived there nearly five hundred years. I'm thinking about how angry I am with my brother for keeping me locked away my entire life, and then feeling guilty for leaving him because I'm the only family he has left."

"He should've treated you better if he wanted you to stay," Feyre said to me.

"Tam was critical of everything," I realized. "He would criticize the way I behaved, the way I looked, the way I dressed, what I ate, the way I did tasks. No matter what I did, he would always have something negative to say about it. I was never good enough in his eyes."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" Feyre asked me, sadness in her blue eyes.

"We'll discuss this later," Rhys suddenly said.

Because the two winged males from earlier were standing in the doorway, grinning.

Chapter 24

Rhys sauntered toward the two males standing by the dining room doors, giving Feyre and me the option to stay or join.

"Hey, he told us that if we're uncomfortable, we can leave," Feyre reminded me, taking my hand in hers. I took a deep breath, nodding my head.

"Come on. We don't bite. Unless you ask us to," the larger one, Cassian, said.

I flushed deep red, and Cassian snorted when he noticed. Feyre squeezed my hand, encouraging me to step forward.

"The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer," Rhys joked. The second one snorted.

"So fancy tonight, brother. And you made the poor girls dress up, too," Cassian winked at us.

"This is Azriel--my spymaster," Rhys introduced us to the second male.

"Welcome," was all Azriel said, his voice low, almost flat, as he extended a brutally scarred hand to us.

The shape of it was normal—but the skin  It looked like it had been swirled and smudged and rippled. Burns. They must have been horrific if even their immortal blood had not been able to heal them.

Feyre shook his hand first. Then, he reached to me and I shook his hand, and his rough fingers squeezed mine. His skin was as cold as his face.

"You're brothers?" Feyre asked them.

"Brothers in the sense that all bastards are brothers of a sort," Rhys clarified.

"And--you?" Feyre asked Cassian.

"I command Rhys's armies," Cassian shrugged, tucking his wings behind him.

"Cassian also excels at pissing everyone off. Especially amongst our friends. So, as a friend of Rhysand  good luck," Azriel clarified.

"How the hell did you make that bone ladder in the Middengard Wyrm's lair when you look like your own bones can snap at any moment?" Cassian asked as he looked Feyre up and down.

My head snapped toward him at the words, and I had to wonder if he was Under the Mountain. Had he seen us dancing?

"How the hell did you manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?" Feyre demanded. I would've laughed had I not been so intimidated.

Cassian tipped back his head and laughed, a full, rich sound that bounced off the ruddy stones of the House. Azriel's brows flicked up with approval as the shadows seemed to wrap tighter around him.

Mor breezed onto the balcony with, "If Cassian's howling, I hope it means Feyre told him to shut his fat mouth."

"I don't know why I ever forget you two are related," Cassian told Mor, jerking his chin at Rhys, who rolled his eyes. "You two and your clothes."

"I wanted to impress Feyre and Mary. You could have at least bothered to comb your hair," she said. She did look quite beautiful in a long, red gown.

"Unlike some people," Cassian said, "I have better things to do with my time than sit in front of the mirror for hours."

"Yes," Mor said, tossing her long hair over a shoulder, "since swaggering around Velaris--"

"We have company," was Azriels soft warning, wings again spreading a bit as he herded them through the open balcony doors to the dining room. Mor patted Azriel on the shoulder as she dodged his outstretched wing.

"Relax, Az--no fighting tonight. We promised Rhys," Mor reminded him.

The lurking shadows vanished entirely as Azriels head dipped a bit—his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin.

"Come sit with me while they drink," Mor said to us. Feyre followed the female, me going along. "Unless you'd rather drink. But I want you to myself before Amren hogs you--"

The interior dining room doors opened on a whispering wind, revealing the shadowed, crimson halls of the mountain beyond. The female that appeared sent a shiver down my spine.

Her silver eyes were unlike anything Id ever seen; a glimpse into the creature that I knew in my bones wasnt High Fae. Or hadnt been born that way.

Mor groaned, slumping into a chair near the end of the table, and poured herself a glass of wine. Cassian took a seat across from her, wiggling his fingers for the wine bottle.

"Your taste remains excellent, High Lord. Thank you," Amren said.

"It suits you, Amren," Rhys said.

"Everything suits me," she said.

She took a step towards us, sniffing Feyre delicately. Amren said, "So there are two of us now. We who were born something else—and found ourselves trapped in new, strange bodies."

Everyone began sitting down at the table. I sat between Rhys and Feyre, though I pushed my chair closer to Feyre.

"Though there is a third," Amren said, now looking at Rhysand. "I dont think youve heard from Miryam in centuries. Interesting."

"Please just get to the point, Amren. Im hungry," Cassian said.

"No one warming your bed right now, Cassian?" Amren teased him. "It must be so hard to be an Illyrian and have no thoughts in your head save for those about your favorite part."

I turned to Rhys, eyes wide at the subject matter. Rhys just smirked at my embarrassment.

"You know Im always happy to tangle in the sheets with you, Amren," Cassian said. "I know how much you enjoy Illyrian--"

"Miryam," Rhysand said, "and Drakon are doing well, as far as Ive heard. And what, exactly, is interesting?"

"Only once before was a human Made into an immortal. Interesting that it should happen again right as all the ancient players have returned. But Miryam was gifted long life—not a new body. And you, girl. Your very blood, your veins, your bones were Made. A mortal soul in an immortal body."

"Im hungry," Mor said. She snapped a finger, and plates piled high with roast chicken, greens, and bread appeared. "Amren and Rhys can talk all night and bore us to tears, so dont bother waiting for them to dig in. I asked Rhys if I could take you girls to dinner, just the three of us, and he said you wouldnt want to. But honestly--would you rather spend time with those two ancient bores, or me?"

"For someone who is the same age as me," Rhys drawled, "you seem to forget--"

"Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk," Mor said. "Cant we eat-eat-eat, and then talk?"

I eyed the food, not having realized how hungry I was. I turned to Rhys, nudging his shoulder. His head turned, violet eyes meeting mine.

"Yes?" he said into my mind, as if he sensed that I didn't want to ask my question out loud.

"How much am I allowed to eat?" I asked into his mind. Surprise lit in his eyes.

"You can eat as much as you want, Mary," he assured me. "I'm not here to make decisions for you, or control you."

My eyes were a bit wide as I turned back to the food, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with choices as I realized I could eat anything I wanted. I'd never had that option before.

I piled chicken, greens, and bread on my plate. Feyre snorted at the amount, but I'd never had this opportunity before, and I was going to take advantage of it.

"Dont let these old busybodies boss you around," Mor was saying to Feyre.

"Pot. Kettle. Black," Cassian said. Then he frowned at Amren, who had hardly touched her plate. "I always forget how bizarre that is."

He unceremoniously took her plate, dumping half the contents on his own before passing the rest to Azriel.

"I keep telling him to ask before he does that," Azriel said to Amren. Amren flicked her fingers and the empty plate vanished from Azriel's scarred hands.

"If you haven't been able to train him after all these centuries, boy, I don't think you'll make any progress now."

"You don't eat?" I asked, though my voice shook a bit, fear settling in my stomach at addressing her.

"Not this sort of food."

"Cauldron boil me," Mor said, gulping from her wine. "Can we not?"

"Remind me to have family dinners more often," Rhys chuckled.

Family dinners--not official court gatherings. Tamlin had never referred to any of our meals as family dinners. And they were never this casual, even when it was just the two of us.

Feyre was staring at the blue jewels on Azriel's hands. He noticed, holding up his hands, the backs to us so both jewels were on full display.

"They're called Siphons. They concentrate and focus our power in battle," Azriel explained. Only he and Cassian wore them.

"The power of stronger Illyrians tends toward incinerate now, ask questions later. They have little magical gifts beyond that--the killing power," Rhys explained to us.

"The gift of a violent, warmongering people," Amren added.

Azriel nodded, shadows wreathing his neck, his wrists. Cassian gave him a sharp look, face tightening, but Azriel ignored him.

"The Illyrians bred the power to give them advantage in battle, yes. The Siphons filter that raw power and allow Cassian and Azriel to transform it into something more subtle and varied—into shields and weapons, arrows and spears. Imagine the difference between hurling a bucket of paint against the wall and using a brush. The Siphons allow for the magic to be nimble, precise on the battlefield—when its natural state lends itself toward something far messier and unrefined, and potentially dangerous when youre fighting in tight quarters."

"Doesnt hurt that they also look damn good," Cassian joked.

"Illyrians," Amren muttered.

"How did you--I mean, how do you and Lord Cassian--" Feyre began.

Cassian spewed his wine across the table, causing Mor to leap up, swearing at him as she used a napkin to mop her dress.

But Cassian was howling, and Azriel had a faint, wary smile on his face as Mor waved a hand at her dress and the spots of wine appeared on Cassians fighting leathers.

"Cassian," Rhys drawled, "is not a lord. Though Im sure he appreciates you thinking he is. While we're on the subject, neither is Azriel. Nor Amren. Mor, believe it or not, is the only pure-blooded, titled person in this room. Im half-Illyrian. As good as a bastard where the thoroughbred High Fae are concerned."

"So you—you three arent High Fae?" Feyre said to him and the two males.

"Illyrians are certainly not High Fae," Cassian explained. "And glad of it. And we're not lesser faeries, though some try to call us that. We're just--Illyrians. Considered expendible aerial cavalry for the Night Court at the best of times, mindless soldier grunts at the worst."

"Which is most of the time," Azriel clarified.

"I didnt see you Under the Mountain," Feyre said.

Silence fell. None of them, even Amren, looked at Rhysand. I even tensed at the mention of that place.

"Because none of us were," Mor explained.

I had to admit, I was relieved. The idea of them seeing me that way . . . I wouldn't have been able to handle it.

"Amarantha didnt know they existed. And when someone tried to tell her, they usually found themselves without the mind to do so," Rhys said.

"You truly kept this city, and all these people, hidden from her for fifty years?" I asked, my eyes wide as I turned to Rhys.

"We will continue to keep this city and these people hidden from our enemies for a great many more," Amren said.

"There is not one person in this city who is unaware of what went on outside these borders. Or of the cost," Mor said, her voice raw.

"How did you meet?" Feyre asked, as though she wanted to change the subject.

"We all hated each other at first," Cassian answered. "We are bastards, you know. Az and I. The Illyrians  We love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North, and do not like outsiders. Especially High Fae who try to tell them what to do. But they're just as obsessed with lineage, and have their own princes and lords among them. Az was the bastard of one of the local lords. And if you think the bastard son of a lord is hated, then you cant imagine how hated the bastard is of a war-camp laundress and a warrior she couldnt or wouldnt remember. Az's father sent him to our camp for training once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger."

"Like the daemati," Rhys said to Feyre, "shadowsingers are rare--coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others cant."

"The camp lord practically shit himself with excitement the day Az was dumped in our camp," Cassian went on. "But me--once my mother weaned me and I was able to walk, they flew me to a distant camp, and chucked me into the mud to see if I would live or die."

"They would have been smarter throwing you off a cliff," Mor said, snorting.

"Oh, definitely," Cassian said, that grin going razor-sharp. "Especially because when I was old and strong enough to go back to the camp Id been born in, I learned those pricks worked my mother until she died."

"The Illyrians," Rhys smoothly cut in, "are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females."

"They're barbarians," Amren said. "They cripple their females so they can keep them for breeding more flawless warriors."

"My mother was low-born," he told us. I tensed at the mention of his mother, the guilt coming back ten-fold. "and worked as a seamstress in one of their many mountain war-camps. When females come of age in the camp--when they have their first bleeding--their wings are clipped. Just an incision in the right place, left to improperly heal, can cripple you forever. And my mother--she was gentle and wild and loved to fly. So she did everything in her power to keep herself from maturing. She starved herself, gathered illegal herbs--anything to halt the natural course of her body. She turned eighteen and hadnt yet bled, to the mortification of her parents. But her bleeding finally arrived, and all it took was for her to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, before a male scented it on her and told the camps lord. She tried to flee--took right to the skies. But she was young, and the warriors were faster, and they dragged her back. They were about to tie her to the posts in the center of camp when my father winnowed in for a meeting with the camp's lord about readying for the War. He saw my mother thrashing and fighting like a wildcat, and the mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her."

"Misted?" Feyre asked.

Rhys floated a lemon wedge that had been garnishing his chicken into the air above the table. With a flick of his finger, it turned to citrus-scented mist.

"Through the blood-rain," Rhys went on, "my mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they had tried to do to her--what they did to the females among them. She tried for decades to get my father to ban it, but the War was coming, and he wouldnt risk isolating the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him."

"A real prize, your father," Mor grumbled.

"At least he liked you," Rhys countered, then clarified for us, "my father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other. My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time--but never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born, and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased  She wanted me to know her people's culture."

"She wanted to keep you out of your fathers claws," Mor corrected.

"That, too," Rhys added drily. "When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war-camps. To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained. And like all Illyrian mothers, she shoved me toward the sparring ring on the first day, and walked away without looking back."

"She abandoned you?" Feyre asked.

"No--never," Rhys said. "She was staying at the camp as well. But it is considered an embarrassment for a mother to coddle her son when he goes to train."

"Backward, like he said," Cassian chuckled.

"I was scared out of my mind," Rhys admitted. "I'd been learning to wield my powers, but Illyrian magic was a mere fraction of it. And it's rare amongst them--usually possessed only by the most powerful, pure-bred warriors. I tried to use a Siphon during those years, and shattered about a dozen before I realized it wasnt compatible--the stones couldnt hold it. My power flows and is honed in other ways."

"So difficult, being such a powerful High Lord," Mor teased.

"The camp-lord banned me from using my magic. For all our sakes. But I had no idea how to fight when I set foot into that training ring that day. The other boys in my age group knew it, too. Especially one in particular, who took a look at me, and beat me into a bloody mess."

"You were so clean," Cassian said, shaking his head. "The pretty half-breed son of the High Lord--how fancy you were in your new training clothes."

"Cassian," Azriel told me, "resorted to getting new clothes over the years by challenging other boys to fights, with the prize being the clothes off their backs."

"I'd beaten every boy in our age group twice over already," Cassian went on. "But then Rhys arrived, in his clean clothes, and he smelled  different. Like a true opponent. So I attacked. We both got three lashings apiece for the fight."

Feyre flinched.

"They do worse, girl," Amren cut in, "in those camps. Three lashings is practically an encouragement to fight again. When they do something truly bad, bones are broken. Repeatedly. Over weeks."

"Your mother willingly sent you into that?" Feyre asked.

"My mother didnt want me to rely on my power," Rhysand said. "She knew from the moment she conceived me that I'd be hunted my entire life. Where one strength failed, she wanted others to save me. My education was another weapon—which was why she went with me: to tutor me after lessons were done for the day. And when she took me home that first night to our new house at the edge of the camp, she made me read by the window. It was there that I saw Cassian trudging through the mud—toward the few ramshackle tents outside of the camp. I asked her where he was going, and she told me that bastards are given nothing: they find their own shelter, own food. If they survive and get picked to be in a war-band, theyll be bottom-ranking forever, but receive their own tents and supplies. But until then, hed stay in the cold."

"Those mountains," Azriel added, "offer some of the harshest conditions you can imagine."

"After my lessons," Rhys went on, "my mother cleaned my lashings, and as she did, I realized for the first time what it was to be warm, and safe, and cared for. And it didnt sit well."

"Apparently not," Cassian said. "Because in the dead of night, that little prick woke me up in my piss-poor tent and told me to keep my mouth shut and come with him. And maybe the cold made me stupid, but I did. His mother was livid. But Ill never forget the look on her beautiful face when she saw me and said, 'There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.' Being a smart lad, I obeyed. When I got out, she had clean nightclothes and ordered me into bed. Id spent my life sleeping on the ground—and when I balked, she said she understood because she had felt the same once, and that it would feel as if I was being swallowed up, but the bed was mine for as long as I wanted it."

"And you were friends after that?" I spoke up.

"No—Cauldron no," Rhysand said. "We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the other, then neither of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasnt until Azriel arrived a year later that we decided to be allies."

Cassians grin grew as he reached around Amren to clap his friend on the shoulder. Azriel sighed, the sound of the long-suffering.

"A new bastard in the camp—and an untrained shadowsinger to boot. Not to mention he couldnt even fly thanks to—"

"Stay on track, Cassian."

"Rhys and I made his life a living hell, shadowsinger or no," Cassian went on. "But Rhys's mother had known Az's mother, and took him in. As we grew older, and the other males around us did, too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together."

"Do you have any gifts?" Feyre asked him. "Like—them?" She jerked her chin to Azriel and Rhys.

"A volatile temper doesnt count," Mor said as Cassian opened his mouth.

"No. I dont—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through," Cassian said. "Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a half-breed. We were stronger, faster--like the Cauldron knew we'd been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys's mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight."

My face went scarlet, and Rhys snorted at my shock. It hurt a bit to be laughed for my scandalization every time. I wasn't used to this.

My home was so formal. I'd never been around such vulgar talk. My father had punished my brothers harshly when they spoke so horribly in front of me or my mother.

"Males are horrible creatures, arent they?" Amren said.

"Repulsive," Mor said, clicking her tongue. I had to agree.

"Rhys's power grew every day—and everyone, even the camp-lords, knew he could mist everyone if he felt like it. And the two of us, we werent far behind," Cassian said. He tapped his crimson Siphon with a finger. "A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from."

"Then the War came," Azriel took over. "And Rhys's father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years."

"My father," Rhys said, "saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned."

"So the prick separated us. He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed, and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war-leaders. Az, he kept for himself as his personal shadowsinger--mostly for spying and his dirty work. We only saw each other on battlefields for the seven years the War raged. They'd send around casualty lists amongst the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if I'd see their names on it. But then Rhys was captured—"

"That is a story for another time," Rhys said, sharply.

"Once I became High Lord, I appointed these four to my Inner Circle, and told the rest of my father's old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of two females and two Illyrian bastards."

"What—what happened to them, then?" Feyre asked.

"The nobility of the Night Court fall into one of three categories: those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try to overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breeds rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives."

"Are they—are they the ones who live beneath the mountain?" Feyre asked.

"In the Hewn City, yes," he confirmed. "I gave it to them, for not being fools. Theyre happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity."

"The Court of Nightmares," Mor said.

"And what is this court?" Feyre asked.

"The Court of Dreams," Cassian said.

"And you?" Feyre said to Mor and Amren.

"Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it," Amren said.

"I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares," Mor said. "So I got out."

I could hear pain hidden behind her tone. I recognized that pain. I felt it so often. I wondered if I had judged her too harshly when we first met.

"Whats your story, then?" Cassian asked me. "You've been quiet."

I tensed, glancing at Feyre. She gave me an encouraging nod. I went red beneath their gaze, trying to figure out how to open up.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, stammering over my words. "I'm still getting used to this. Going . . . Under the Mountain was the first time I'd ever left my home."

"You mean the Spring Court?" Mor asked, brows furrowed.

"No," I denied, shaking my head. "The manor."

"You'd never left your house?" Mor demanded, eyes going wide.

"No, I was allowed to go outside to the garden, and ride horses into the woods with an escort," I disputed. "But I just wasn't allowed to leave the grounds."

"You're just a few decades younger than us," Cassian pointed out. "Why would you not be allowed to leave?"

"Tamlin was protective," I defended. "He was terrified of losing me."

"What about the rest of your family?" Mor asked me, looking curious.

"I . . . " I trailed off. "I was the youngest of four. My mother was a good female. She loved us."

Rhys scoffed at that, and I shot him a look. He'd always had his opinions on my mother. He had always said she allowed my father to abuse me. He wasn't wrong, but he also didn't know her like I did.

"My father was . . . stern," I went on.

"That's one way to say it," Rhys murmured beside me.

"Please don't speak for me," I said quietly.

He raised a brow, but backed down. I hated how much he knew about my childhood. I hated that I had opened up to him so long ago.

"My father was hard on us. He disciplined us quite horribly. My brothers didn't have it as badly as I did; he had more patience with them," I went on.

"Why's that?" Mor wondered with a frown.

"They were boys, they were allowed to get away with more. Girls were expected to behave properly and they were dealt with more severely than boys," I recalled, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I've been there," Mor sighed. "My parents favored my brothers and groomed me to be a 'proper lady,' too. My brothers were awful to me. I assume yours were, too?"

"My two eldest brothers were a mixed bag," I shrugged. "They didn't get along with our father, either. So they took it out on me. Especially the eldest, he was the worst to me. I think they both saw me as an easy target to take their frustrations out on."

They looked sympathetic, but not pitying. I appreciated that. It made me feel more comfortable.

"But for centuries, it's just been Tamlin and me. Lucien joined us after he left Autumn."

"It must be miserable to be stuck with those two," Morrigan chuckled.

"They cared for me," I defended them. "Tamlin loves me. He just wants me safe."

"He locked you in your own home, Mary," Mor said quietly, her brows furrowing in concern. "You were in the worst state of panic I've ever seen when I found you." My face tinged red. "He wouldn't have put you in that state if he truly wanted you safe."

"You don't know anything about him," I deflected.

Tamlin was really all I had until Feyre. If he didn't care for me, that meant nobody had for nearly five centuries. I wasn't sure if I was ready to come to terms with that.

I quickly realized that I was defending a male that sold out and helped murder the female that had raised them. I stopped talking, that guilt coming back again.

"What happened to my family is not your fault," Rhys said into my mind. "And none of us fault you for still loving your brother."

I didn't acknowledge the words, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But I appreciated it.

"What's your story, Feyre?" Cassian asked the girl beside me.

"I was born to a wealthy merchant family, with two older sisters and parents who only cared about their money and social standing. My mother died when I was eight; my father lost his fortune three years later. He sold everything to pay off his debts, moved us into a hovel, and didnt bother to find work while he let us slowly starve for years. I was fourteen when the last of the money ran out, along with the food. He wouldnt work—couldnt, because the debtors came and shattered his leg in front of us. So I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt. And I kept us all alive, if not near starvation at times, for five years. Until everything happened," Feyre said.

"You taught yourself to hunt. What about to fight?" Cassian wondered. Feyre shook her head. "And you, Mary. Were you ever taught to fight?"

"No," I replied, staring at the table.

"Lucky for you, you just found yourselves a teacher," Cassian told us. My head shot up at the words. I'd never even held a weapon. I couldn't learn to fight.

"You dont think it sends a bad message if people see us learning to fight--using weapons?" I demanded, cringing at the last word.

I was met with silence.

"Let me tell you two things. As someone who has been in your shoes before," Mor said. "One, you have both left the Spring Court." I went to protest, but Feyre put a hand on my arm to stop me. "If that does not send a message, for good or bad, then your training will not, either. Two, I once lived in a place where the opinion of others mattered. It suffocated me, nearly broke me. So youll understand me when I say that I know what you both feel, and I know what they tried to do to you two, and that with enough courage, you can say to hell with a reputation. You do what you love, what you need."

I met her glance, realizing the comfort her words brought me. Feyre was my only female friend. Maybe my only friend at all. Having more might not have been bad thing.

"We'll think about it," Feyre decided. I nodded my agreement.

Feyre turned to me, and I saw the question in her eyes. I nodded my head to her, knowing she'd understand.

"We accept your offer—to work with you," Feyre said to Rhys. "To earn our keep. And help with Hybern in whatever way we can."

"Good," Rhys merely replied. "Because we start tomorrow."

Chapter 25

Feyre was watching me carefully as we got ready for bed that night. I was sitting at our vanity and brushing my long hair out.

"Stop staring at me," I said to her. She glanced away quickly, her cheeks turning red.

"Sorry," she uttered. "I was just wondering how you felt about the dinner. And . . . everyone."

I turned in my chair to face her, thinking it over.

"They were loud and impertinent," I recalled. "But I don't know. They were also kind. And they made me feel comfortable."

"I've never seen you open up like that to anyone else," Feyre observed. It was true that she was the only one I'd opened up to as of recently. And I still hadn't told her everything.

"It wasn't easy," I admitted, my cheeks heating. Had I overshared with them?

"Well, I'm proud of you," she said with a smile.

"You are?"

"Always," she replied.

I smiled sheepishly, getting into our bed. No one had ever told me they were proud of me before. I curled up at her side, nuzzling close to her as she held me.

"I'm sorry that I overlooked the way Tamlin was treating you," she whispered. I tensed at the mention of my brother.

"It's okay, Fey," I answered. "It wasn't your responsibility.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

I was little for a 10 year old, but the cabinet was still too small for me to move an inch. My head was spinning from breathing in the same air for ... I didn't know how long it'd been now.

Father had beaten me and shoved me into the cabinet, locking it. I had been crying for what felt like hours, now.

I weakly banged my hand against the door, as much as the limited space allowed me to.

I heard the lock jiggle, and I perked up. The door opened, and I gasped at the cold air, scrambling out of the cabinet.

I didn't even see who let me out before I jumped into their arms, shaking with sobs.

"You're okay," Tamlin said, though he seemed taken aback. He hesitated before carefully wrapping his arms around me.

Tamlin and I weren't close. He was 10 years older than me, and was never home. I'd rarely even had a conversation with him. But I liked him better than my other brothers. At least he never hit me.

But I was so desperate for comfort, I buried my face in his shoulder as I cried and let him hold me.

Usually, I went to my mother for comfort. But not when it was my father who hurt me.

Our mother worshipped our father, and he treated her like a queen. She loved him greatly, and refused to accept the fact that he abused all of her children. Despite the fact that she witnessed it several times.

The last time I'd run to her after a beating and told her what happened, she'd just scolded me for speaking of her mate so poorly.

"Do you need me to take you to Mother, mousy?" Tamlin asked me as I pulled back. He'd called me that for as long as I could remember.

"No," I declined, sniffling. "She'll just tell me Father's a good male and he had a reason for what he did."

"It's easy for her to say that when he's never laid a hand on her, isn't it?" he asked me. I nodded, feeling my lower lip tremble.

I loved my mother so much. And I knew she loved us, too. But it hurt to see her defend our father no matter what he did. How could someone love a person that hurt her children? How could she love him more than us?

The day Tamlin had turned seventeen, he'd made his own friends and stayed away as much as he could. I was only seven, then. So we hadn't ever had time to get to know each other.

I knew our father and brothers hated him because he was too "soft." Mother adored him, just as she adored all of us. Just not enough to protect us from the monster she was mated to.

But Tamlin had always seemed to care for me. He joked with me when he was around. He liked to make me laugh when I was sad. But he'd never comforted me like this before.

"We should take you to a healer for those bruises," Tamlin decided, studying the wounds I'd suffered from the beating.

"I h-hate him," I managed through tears. Tamlin sighed, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"I know, mousy," he said. "Me too."

My cheeks were wet with tears when I woke up, still in Feyre's arms the next morning. She stirred as I sat up. Her face turned concerned when she realized I had been crying.

"What happened?" she asked, sitting up. I couldn't respond.

I buried my face in my hands, trying not to let more tears fall. It was no use. Feyre rested a hand on my shoulder.

"Tam's never gonna forgive me for leaving," I said through my cries, glancing up at her. She pursed her lips, a sigh leaving them.

"He should be the one begging for your forgiveness," she countered. "After everything he put you through, he can't be surprised that you left."

I didn't reply, and she spent a few minutes helping me calm down until my tears stopped.

"I've put up with it for centuries," I reminded her, sniffling. "I wouldn't have had the nerve to leave if it wasn't for you."

"Well, I'm glad I gave you the nerve," she said, grimacing. "I couldn't even stand a few months of it. I don't know how you put up with it for so long."

"He was my only remaining family," I recalled. "He was kinder to me than my father was, so I felt like I was lucky to have him."

"He hit you," Feyre recalled.

"He smacked me," I corrected. "That's nothing compared to what my father put me through."

"You never talk of your father or brothers," she pointed out.

"They were assholes," I muttered. She gasped.

"Such disgusting language from a refined lady," she teased, wrapping her arms around me from behind. I couldn't help but smile, a small laugh leaving my lips.

"It's the least disgusting word I can use to describe them," I told her. "I'm sure Tamlin told you a bit about them, but they were horrible."

"He did tell me a bit," she admitted. "But I want to hear it from you."

"I talked about it at dinner," I reminded her.

"This is just us," she said, taking one of my hand's in hers.

I knew I could talk to her about anything. Well, almost anything. I just hated feeling vulnerable.

"My father was cruel, and he had a temper that put Tamlin's to shame," I confessed. "While he treated our mother well, he treated all of us very badly."

"Why didn't your mother try to stop it?" she wondered.

"She loved him," I said. "A lot more than she loved us. He could do no wrong in her eyes. If I complained about him, I was in the wrong for speaking badly of her mate."

"My mother was similar," Feyre admitted. "She loved our father more than anything. But us . . . I still don't know how she felt about us."

Feyre had never spoken to me about her mother before. She'd told me all about her father and sisters, but she'd never mentioned her mother. And I hadn't asked.

"Tamlin only gets mean when he's provoked," I said. "But Father was mean for no reason at all. He would call me pathetic and worthless. He would make me feel like I was never good enough, he would make me feel like I was nothing."

"You're not any of those things," Feyre said to me, reaching out to wipe a tear from my eyes. "Now let's get dressed, Mare. We have a long day ahead of us."

Chapter 26

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Rhys was bringing us to the prison. The prison that was located under a mountain. I was trying to be brave, but it was difficult.

I could feel Feyre through the bargain bond. She was just as anxious as I was. I didn't want to go under another mountain. And I hated dark, closed spaces.

Rhys stood by our side, a double-edged sword sheathed down his spine, knives strapped to his legs.

"Where are we?" Feyre asked, breaking the silence.

"On an island in the heart of the Western Isles," Rhysand said. "And that is the Prison."

If I hadn't already known of the Prison, I would've missed it. But I knew all about it. My brothers used to scare me with stories of it when I was a child, delighting in my terrified tears until my mother came by to scold them and comfort me.

"I dont see anything," Feyre said with a frown.

"The rock is the Prison. And inside it are the foulest, most dangerous creatures and criminals you can imagine," Rhys explained. "This place was made before High Lords existed. Before Prythian was Prythian. Some of the inmates remember those days. Remember a time when it was Mor's family, not mine, that ruled the North."

"Why won't Amren go in here?" I wondered, my brows furrowed.

"Because she was once a prisoner," he said.

"Not in that body, I take it," Feyre mused.

"No. Not at all," he said with a cruel smile. "The hike will get your blood warming. Since we can't winnow inside or fly to the entrance--the wards demand that visitors walk in. The long way."

I stared at the Prison, remembering the things by brothers once told me about it. Feyre and I didnt move.

"I—" Feyre began.

"It helps the panic," he said quietly, "to remind myself that I got out. That we all got out."

"Barely," Feyre reminded him.

"We got out. And it might happen again if we dont go inside," he said to us.

"My brothers . . . my brothers once told me that anyone who enters the Prison never comes out," I said quietly, taking a step back.

"They were just trying to scare you," he assured me. "Amren is proof enough that that's not true."

I glanced at Feyre, seeing the panic in her eyes. I felt it through the bargain. I didn't hear her breathing.

"Please," Feyre whispered.

Rhysand took our hands in his and winnowed us back right away. I had to admit, it was nice that he didn't try to pressure us.

Feyre and I went back to our room, and we didn't leave for the rest of the day.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

I awoke to Feyre jolting back, slamming into the headboard.

"Feyre," I fussed, groaning as I sat up.

It was my turn to jolt back when I saw the cause of her panic. Amren was standing at the foot of our bed.

"No wonder youre so thin if you vomit up your guts every night," Amren said to Feyre. She sniffed, her lip curling. "You reek of it."

I glanced around, wondering how she got in. We had locked the door, and Rhys had told us no one could get in without our permission.

Amren smirked, throwing an amulet at us.

"This got me out of the Prison. Wear it in, and they can never keep you," Amren told us.

Neither of us touched the amulet.

"Allow me to make one thing clear," Amren said. "I do not give that amulet lightly. But you may borrow it, while you do what needs to be done, and return it to me when you are finished. If you keep it, I will find you, and the results wont be pleasant. But it is yours to use in the Prison."

I flinched at the words, but Feyre's fingers brushed the amulet. Amren was gone before we could say a word.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Rhys kept frowning at the amulet as we hiked the slope of the Prison, so steep that at times we had to crawl on our hands and knees.

I fussed about getting my clothes dirty, but Rhys just laughed. He snapped his fingers and the dirt was gone from them.

"Thank you," I grumbled, my cheeks heating.

We continued our hike, stopping to drink from streams whenever we could. I was out of breath and tired not even halfway up.

"What?" Feyre demanded when she noticed Rhys staring at the amulet again.

"She gave you that," he observed.

"It must be serious, then," I mumbled, anxiety creeping in my chest. "The risk with--"

"Dont say anything you dont want others hearing." He pointed to the stone beneath us. "The inmates have nothing better to do than to listen through the earth and rock for gossip. Theyll sell any bit of information for food, sex, maybe a breath of air."

I pursed my lips, staring down at the stone, freaked out by the fact that there were prisoners directly under me, listening to our words.

"We're sorry," Feyre said. "About yesterday."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," he said. "Youre here now. I wont dock your pay."

We climbed until the upper face of the mountain became a wall before us, nothing but grassy slopes sweeping behind, far below, to where they flowed to the restless gray sea.

Rhys drew the sword from his back in a swift movement. I gasped, stepping away from him.

"Dont look so surprised," he smirked.

"Ive—never seen you with a weapon," I explained, staring at the sword warily.

"Cassian would laugh himself hoarse hearing that. And then make me go into the sparring ring with him."

"Can he beat you?" Feyre wondered.

"Hand-to-hand combat? Yes. He'd have to earn it for a change, but he'd win. Cassian is the best warrior Ive encountered in any court, any land. He leads my armies because of it."

"Azriel--his hands. The scars, I mean," Feyre said. "Where did they come from?" I'd been wondering the same thing, but I hadn't dared to ask.

Rhys was quiet a moment. Then he said too softly, "His father had two legitimate sons, both older than Azriel. Both cruel and spoiled. They learned it from their mother, the lords wife. For the eleven years that Azriel lived in his fathers keep, she saw to it he was kept in a cell with no window, no light. They let him out for an hour every day--let him see his mother for an hour once a week. He wasnt permitted to train, or fly, or any of the things his Illyrian instincts roared at him to do. When he was eight, his brothers decided itd be fun to see what happened when you mixed an Illyrian's quick healing gifts with oil--and fire. The warriors heard Azriels screaming. But not quick enough to save his hands."

I stared at the ground, remembering how he had been looking at me when I told them my story. When I told them how my brothers took their anger out on me. He'd looked at me not with pity, but understanding.

"Were—were his brothers punished?" Feyre asked.

"Eventually."

"And Mor—what does she do for you?" Feyre wondered, changing the subject.

"Mor is who I'll call in when the armies fail and Cassian and Azriel are both dead," Rhys explained.

"So she's supposed to wait until then?" Feyre asked.

"No. As my Third, Mor is my court overseer. She looks after the dynamics between the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams, and runs both Velaris and the Hewn City. I suppose in the mortal realm, she might be considered a queen."

"And Amren?"

"Her duties as my Second make her my political adviser, walking library, and doer of my dirty work. I appointed her upon gaining my throne. But she was my ally, maybe my friend, long before that."

"I mean--in that war where your armies fail and Cassian and Azriel are dead, and even Mor is gone."

"If that day comes, Ill find a way to break the spell on Amren and unleash her on the world. And ask her to end me first."

"What is she?" I dared to ask.

"Something else. Something worse than us. And if she ever finds a way to shed her prison of flesh and bone ... Cauldron save us all."

I shuddered as we came upon a sheer stone wall. "I cant climb bare rock like that."

"You dont need to," Rhys said, laying a hand flat on the stone. It vanished in a ripple of light.

Pale, carved gates stood in its place, so high their tops were lost to the mist. Gates of bone. The bone-gates swung open silently, revealing a cavern of black.

There were people wandering aimlessly, deep expressions of hopelessness twisting their faces. They didn't acknowledge us.

I took a step back, but Feyre reached out and gripped my hand. She gave me the courage I so desperately needed.

"Breathe," he said to us, sensing our panic. "One breath."

"Where are the guards?" Feyre managed.

"They dwell within the rock of the mountain," he murmured. "They only emerge at feeding time, or to deal with restless prisoners. They are nothing but shadows of thought and an ancient spell."

"Who are all these people?" I asked quietly. They both turned to me.

"What people, Mare?" Feyre questioned. I stared at her, my brows furrowed.

"All of them," I whispered, nodding my head towards the fae.

An expression of understanding came upon Feyre's face. She squeezed my hand.

"They're dead, Mare," she said to me. "Remember? Before we left Spring, your power started to come back."

I shuddered, turning back to the prisoners. The closer I looked, I realized she was probably right.

"Show me what you see," Rhys instructed.

I stared at the wandering souls for a moment longer before turning back to Rhys. I reached out and showed him.

His eyes went a bit wide, but he quickly repressed the shock.

"You can see the dead?" he asked me.

"I could for a while after my family died," I confessed. "But when I told Tamlin, he said it was disturbing. He made me learn to repress it. But like Feyre said, it started to come back recently."

"Repressing a power never works permanently," he explained to me. "You need to learn to control it, not repress it. We could work on that."

I nodded, and they began to walk forward, right towards the dead prisoners. I took a step back, shaking my head.

"No," I said quietly.

"They're dead," Feyre repeated. "They can't hurt you."

I took a step between them. Feyre took my hand again. To my surprise, Rhys took my other. I didn't pull it away. I let them both ground me. I squeezed my eyes shut as we passed those lost souls.

"Do all the High Lords have access?" Feyre asked as we walked on. My eyes were still closed. I was relying on their hands in mine to guide me.

"No. The Prison is law unto itself; the island may be even an eighth court. But it falls under my jurisdiction, and my blood is keyed to the gates."

"Could you free the inmates?" she wondered.

"No. Once the sentence is given and a prisoner passes those gates, they belong to the Prison. It will never let them out. I take sentencing people here very, very seriously."

"Have you ever--"

"Yes. And now is not the time to speak of it."

We were going further down. Even though I hadn't dared to open my eyes, I could feel the shift in the air. Rhys squeezed my hand.

I was shivering. We went further down until I'd lost track of time. Feyre and Rhys never let go of my hands.

"Just a bit farther."

"We must be near the bottom by now," Feyre groaned.

"Past it. The Bone Carver is caged beneath the roots of the mountain."

"Who is he? What is he?" Feyre asked.

"No one knows. He'll appear as he wants to appear"

"Shape-shifter?"

"Yes and no. He'll appear to you as one thing, and I might be standing right beside you and see another."

"And the bone carving?"

"You'll see."

Rhys stopped before a smooth slab of stone. I finally opened my eyes, and Rhysand finally released my hand, only to lay his once more on the bare stone. It rippled beneath his palm, forming a door.

It swung away. The cell was pitch-black.

"I have carved the doors for every prisoner in this place," said a voice within. A very familiar voice. "But my own remains my favorite."

"I'd have to agree," Rhysand said.

We stepped inside, the light bobbing ahead to illuminate the Bone Carver. I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping.

He appeared as my father. I stared with wide eyes, grateful that Feyre hadn't let go of my hand.

My father. His blonde hair, the same clothes he'd been wearing the last time I saw him. His cruel features. The pale, green eyes that Tamlin had inherited from him. Paler than the deep, emerald eyes I had gotten from my mother.

I flinched as he slid to where we lurked in the doorway. Rhys chucked an object toward the male. White gleamed as it clacked on the rough stone floor. Another bone.

"The calf-bone that made the final kill when Feyre slew the Middengard Wyrm," Rhys said.

"Come inside," was all the Bone Carver said.

I knew he wasn't truly my father, but the mere idea of getting closer to him left me trembling. Feyre and I took one step in, and no more.

"Princess of Spring," he mused as he took me in. I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Finally released from your confinement. Most thought you died with the rest of your family."

I didn't say a word. I hadn't known that--hadn't known that people thought I had died. But no one had ever seen me. I didn't blame them for theorizing about my existence.

"It has been an age," he said as he studied Feyre, "since something new came into this world."

"Hello," Feyre breathed.

"Are you frightened?" he asked her.

"Yes," Feyre admitted. The male stood, but kept to the other side of the cell.

"Feyre," he murmured, cocking his head. "Feyre. Where did you go when you died?"

"A question for a question," Feyre replied.

"You were always smarter than your forefathers," he said to Rhys, then turned back to Feyre. "Tell me where you went, what you saw--and I will answer your question."

I had been locked away in my cell when Feyre had died. But I had felt it. I'd felt something crack in my chest when she died. I had written it off as worry at the time . . . until I'd been informed of what had happened.

"I heard the crack," Feyre said. "I heard the crack when she broke my neck. It was in my ears, but also inside my skull. I was gone before I felt anything more than the first lash of pain. And then it was dark. A different sort of dark than this place. But there was a thread. A tether. And I yanked on it—and suddenly I could see. Not through my eyes, but—but his. And I knew I was dead, and this tiny scrap of spirit was all that was left of me, clinging to the thread of our bargain."

"But was there anyone there--were you seeing anything beyond?" he asked.

"There was only that bond in the darkness. And when I was Made anew, I followed that bond back to me. I knew that home was on the other end of it. There was light then. Like swimming up through sparkling wine--"

"Were you afraid?"

"All I wanted was to return to--to the people around me. I wanted it badly enough I didn't have room for fear. The worst had happened, and the darkness was calm and quiet. It did not seem like a bad thing to fade into. But I wanted to go home. So I followed the bond home."

"There was no other world," the Bone Carver pushed.

"If there was or is, I did not see it."

"No light, no portal?"

"It was only peace and darkness."

"Did you have a body?"

"No."

"Did--"

"Thats enough from you," Rhysand purred. "You said a question for a question. Now you've asked—" He did a tally on his fingers. "Six."

"It is a rare day when I meet someone who comes back from true death. Forgive me for wanting to peer behind the curtain. Ask it, girl."

"If there was no body--nothing but perhaps a bit of bone," she said. "would there be a way to resurrect that person? To grow them a new body, put their soul into it."

"Was the soul somehow preserved?" he asked, his pale, green eyes flashing. "Contained?"

"Yes."

"There is no way. Unless, long ago, before the High Fae, before man, there was a Cauldron They say all the magic was contained inside it, that the world was born in it. But it fell into the wrong hands. And great and horrible things were done with it. Things were forged with it. Such wicked things that the Cauldron was eventually stolen back at great cost. It could not be destroyed, for it had Made all things, and if it were broken, then life would cease to be. So it was hidden. And forgotten. Only with that Cauldron could something that is dead be reforged like that."

"Where did they hide it?" Rhys asked.

"Tell me a secret no one knows, Lord of Night, and I'll tell you mine."

"My right knee gets a twinge of pain when it rains. I wrecked it during the War, and its hurt ever since."

The Bone Carver bit out a harsh laugh, even as Feyre gaped at Rhys. I would've rolled my eyes had I not been paralyzed with fear.

"You always were my favorite," he said, the words sounding so strange coming from my father. "Very well. The Cauldron was hidden at the bottom of a frozen lake in Lapplund, and vanished a long, long time ago. I dont know where it went to—or where it is now. Millennia before you were born, the three feet on which it stands were successfully cleaved from its base in an attempt to fracture some of its power. It worked—barely. Removing the feet was like cutting off the first knuckle of a finger. Irksome, but you could still use the rest with some difficulty. The feet were hidden at three different temples—Cesere, Sangravah, and Itica. If they have gone missing, it is likely the Cauldron is active once more—and that the wielder wants it at full power and not a wisp of it missing."

"I dont suppose you know who now has the Cauldron," Rhys asked.

"Promise that you'll give me her bones when she dies and I'll think about it," he said, pointing a finger at Feyre. My eyes went wide, and Feyre stiffened, but he laughed. "No--I don't think even you would promise that, Rhysand."

"Thank you for your help," he said, placing his hands on my back to guide me out. But Feyre turned back to the male.

"There was a choice--in Death," Feyre said. "I knew that I could drift away into the dark. And I chose to fight--to hold on for a bit longer. Yet I knew if I wanted, I could have faded. And maybe it would be a new world, a realm of rest and peace. But I wasnt ready for it--not to go there alone. I knew there was something else waiting beyond that dark. Something good."

The Bone Carver stared at her for a second before turning back to Rhys.

"You know who has the Cauldron, Rhysand. Who has been pillaging the temples. You only came here to confirm what you have long guessed."

"The King of Hybern," Rhys realized.

My blood ran cold. The carver said nothing more. Waiting for another truth.

"When Amarantha made me kill those two faeries, if the third hadnt been Tamlin, I would have put the dagger in my own heart at the end," Feyre confessed.

Rhys and I both went still. My heart ached for her. I squeezed her hand, which hadn't left mine the whole time.

"I knew there was no coming back from what I'd done," she said. "And once I broke their curse, once I knew I'd saved them, I just wanted enough time to turn that dagger on myself. I only decided I wanted to live when she killed me, and I knew I had not finished whatever whatever it was Id been born to do."

I stared at her, amazed by her vulnerability and courage.

"With the Cauldron, you could do other things than raise the dead. You could shatter the wall," he said. "It is likely that Hybern has been quiet for so many years because he was hunting the Cauldron, learning its secrets. Resurrection of a specific individual might very well have been his first test once the feet were reunited—and now he finds that the Cauldron is pure energy, pure power. And like any magic, it can be depleted. So he will let it rest, let it gather strength—learn its secrets to feed it more energy, more power."

"Is there a way to stop it," Feyre breathed.

"Dont offer him one more--" Rhys began.

"Princess," the Carver said, turning to me for the second time. I stiffened under my father's eyes. "Tell me a secret and maybe I'll consider."

Rhys began to assure me that I didn't need to, but Feyre had opened up. I glanced at the floor, racking my brain. I didn't look at any of them as I went to speak.

"I tried to end my life when I was 18," I confessed. "My family kept it a secret and did nothing to help me. I was planning on trying again, and succeeding. But I met Rhysand just hours before I was planning on going through with it. And he gave me hope for a better life. He made me think maybe I could have a friend. And that saved my life."

Rhys's eyes softened as he stared at me. I'd never told anyone any of that before. I'd always thought if I told him, he'd find it pitiful, and I'd lose the only friend I'd ever had.

"When the Cauldron was made," the Carver spoke, "its dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings. In it, written between the carved words, are the spells to negate the Cauldron's power--or control it wholly. But after the War, it was split into two pieces. One went to the Fae, one to the six human queens. It was part of the Treaty, purely symbolic, as the Cauldron had been lost for millennia and considered mere myth. The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like--and only that which was Made can speak those spells and summon its power. No creature born of the earth may wield it, so the High Lords and humans dismissed it as little more than a historical heirloom, but if the Book were in the hands of something reforged You would have to test such a theory, of course—but it might be possible. So now the High Lord of Summer possesses our piece, and the reigning mortal queens have the other entombed in their shining palace by the sea. Prythians half is guarded, protected with blood-spells keyed to Summer himself. The one belonging to the mortal queens They were crafty, when they received their gift. They used our own kind to spell the Book, to bind it—so that if it were ever stolen, if, lets say, a High Lord were to winnow into their castle to steal it the Book would melt into ore and be lost. It must be freely given by a mortal queen, with no trickery, no magic involved. Such clever, lovely creatures, humans. Reunite both halves of the Book of Breathings and you will be able to nullify the powers of the Cauldron. Hopefully before it returns to full strength and shatters that wall."

We turned away, and Rhys took my hand in his again. The carver picked up the bone Rhysand had brought him and weighed it in his hands.

"I shall carve your death in here, Feyre," he announced.

Up and up into the darkness we walked. I didn't see any lost souls this deep down.

"What did you guys see?" Feyre asked us.

"You first," Rhys countered.

"A boy--around eight; dark-haired and blue-eyed," she replied. Rhys shuddered. "What did you see?"

"Jurian," Rhys said. "He appeared exactly as Jurian looked the last time I saw him: facing Amarantha when they fought to the death."

"And you, Mary?" Feyre wondered.

"My father," I admitted. "I saw my father."

Chapter 27

That night, Feyre and I were sitting together in the sitting room when Mor joined us. She breezed into the room, sitting in the chair across from us as she nursed her glass of wine.

I rarely saw her without a glass. It reminded me a lot of my mother, who spent her days numbed by wine. Always just a bit drunk to keep herself from facing the reality of who her mate was. Unfortunately, my siblings and I didn't have the luxury of escaping that reality.

"Rhys says you don't like the flying," Mor teased me as she sipped her glass.

In fact, I had nearly been in tears when we touched down onto the balcony of the House of Wind.

"I'm getting used to it," I shrugged. "I'm still getting used to the wings in general. They're just so--"

"Big?" she cut me off with a smirk. I nodded. "You know, they say wing size says a lot about the size of their other parts."

Feyre laughed, but I just furrowed my brows, not sure what she meant. Mor glanced at me, raising a brow when she noticed my confused expression.

"Oh, you're delightfully innocent," Mor grinned. "We'll have to change that."

"Mary, other parts," Feyre insisted, smirking. I stared at her for a second until the realization hit me.

"Gross," I commented, grousing.

"How have you lived so long without learning these things?" Mor asked me, seeming genuinely curious.

"I--" I sighed. "I don't know. No one spoke of those things around me."

"Didn't you read about it?" she pressed, her red lips curled into a teasing smile.

"I wasn't allowed to read things like that," I explained.

"So you've just done whatever you were told for five centuries?" she questioned.

"If a female isn't obedient, then what's her purpose?" I repeated the words my family had drilled into me. Feyre rolled her eyes, and Morrigan laughed out loud.

"Oh, honey," Mor chuckled. "I was raised to think the same thing. But trust me, once you learn to think for yourself, things get much better."

"I do think for myself," I disputed.

She and Feyre exchanged a glance that left me feeling self conscious. Feyre was supposed to me on my side. I turned to Feyre, nudging her. She gave me an apologetic look.

"So, you're telling me you've lived this long, and haven't gotten laid?" Mor goaded. I flushed deep red, my eyes going wide.

"That's not an appropriate thing to discuss," I fussed. Feyre laughed, her arm wrapping around me. "I wasn't allowed to leave the manor. I never had a chance to . . . do those things."

"Not even Lucien?" Feyre joked.

"Gross, he's like a brother to me," I said, shaking my head.

"So, you've never had any feelings for anyone?" Mor wondered.

I blushed again, thinking of the girl beside me. I had a crush on Rhys when I was a teenager, but my feelings for Feyre were different and confusing.

"Can we stop talking about this?" I pleaded. Mor chuckled, but backed down.

"One more thing," she said. She summoned a book from thin air and handed it to me. "Read it. You'll learn a lot."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

I had devoured the book in one night. Feyre was fast asleep by the time I finished it, and I had shaken her awake.

"Fey, did you know some people use their mouths to pleasure each other?" I questioned, my eyes wide.

"Mare, I'm sleeping," she grumbled. "And of course I know. I've done it."

Morrigan had been delighted when I went to her room the next morning and asked for another. She'd taken me to a small library in the House, and showed me a section filled with books like that.

I was reading one now in the library, my eyes wide. There were things in these books I hadn't known were possible.

"What does my cousin have you reading?" a voice asked as the book was plucked from my hands.

"Rhys!" I exclaimed, turning around to face him. He laughed as he read from the book.

"Is this the sort of thing you're into?" he teased, raising a brow.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," I grumbled, snatching the book back from him. "I don't know much about . . .these things."

"Well, if you ever want hands on experience, let me know," he smirked. I glared at him. "Oh, I forgot. You have Feyre for that."

My eyes went wide, my cheeks flushing dark red. How could he possibly know about my deeply repressed feelings for Feyre?

"What are you talking about?" I stammered.

"I've heard some surprisingly graphic thoughts about her from you," he explained.

"Don't go into my head!" I glared.

"Sometimes, your thoughts are loud, and I can't help but overhear," he defended himself.

"Don't say anything to her," I begged. "Those thoughts don't mean I want to . . . do that with her."

"You can say 'sex,'" he smirked. "I won't be offended." I narrowed my eyes.

"I'm still getting used to all of this," I said quietly.

"All of what?"

"The language, the improper topics, everything!" I snapped at him. "And you all laugh at me when I'm shocked by it. But growing up, if I so much as spoke out of turn, I was beaten until I couldn't speak at all! I'm not used to it, Rhys. I just wish everyone would stop making fun of me for that!"

I surprised even myself with that. I immediately shut myself up, mentally scolding myself for oversharing like that. But his eyes softened, and I could feel guilt down that bond.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he apologized, sitting beside me. "I'm sorry, Mary. I didn't think about that."

"Nobody . . . " I began, trying to find words. "Nobody ever thinks about how I feel. Nobody has ever considered my feelings. Except Feyre. She's the only person who's ever made me feel like I matter."

"Do I not make you feel like you matter?" he challenged.

"You did," I corrected. "A long time ago."

"So, what changed?" he demanded.

"What do you think?" I asked, getting to my feet and turning to face him. "Did you truly believe that rescuing us from our old lives would erase what you did to us Under the Mountain?"

He flinched just slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on me.

"I told you, I was playing a part--"

"That doesn't change how it made me feel!" I raised my voice, angry tears burning in my eyes. "My body is the only thing I've ever had control over, and you took that away from me! And I trusted you. Whenever my brother talked badly about you, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Because you were the first person to ever show me kindness. And we were friends. You were my first friend. You were the first person to treat me like I was more than some stupid little pet."

He stared at me, speechless for once in his life. And for once in my life, I didn't regret raising my voice.

"Mary . . . " he began, sighing. "Mary, you have no idea how much I hated what I had to do to you girls down there. Every time you cried and begged me not to make you go out there, I wanted nothing more than to hold you and tell you it would be okay."

"Then, why did you do it?" I demanded.

"I had to rile Tamlin up enough to kill her," he explained. "That was why I made the bargain in the first place. I had to anger him. And I needed an excuse to check on you two every night, and make sure you were still alive and not being tortured. I drugged you so you wouldn't remember it. Plus, if everyone knew I had claim to you, they wouldn't dare lay a hand on you. It was a twisted way of protecting you. And, selfishly, it was a way for me to defy her."

I looked at him, at the guilt and sadness in his violet eyes. While his explanation was genuine, it didn't change the nightmares I still got from those nights.

"I understand," I said to him. "But it will take me a while to forgive you."

"Take all the time you need, bunny," he said. "I'll still be here."

Chapter 28

Notes:

ik at this point in the story, it won't make sense why he's having mary go with feyre. but you have to remember the real reason he sent her there, then it will make sense.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯
We were woken from sleep by the sound of Rhys's persistent knocking. He entered with purpose and tossed a belt, adorned with knives, onto the foot of the bed.

"Hurry," he said, flinging open the doors of the armoire and yanking out our fighting leathers. He tossed them onto the bed, too. "I want to be gone before the sun is fully up."

"Why?" I groaned, drawing the blanket over my head, while Feyre rose from our shared bed.

"Because time is of the essence," he said, taking out our socks and boots. "Once the King of Hybern realizes that someoneis searching for the Book of Breathings to nullify the powers of the Cauldron, then his agents will begin hunting for it, too."

"You suspected this for a while, though," Feyre pointed out. "The Cauldron, the king, the Book  You wanted it confirmed, but you were waiting for me."

"Had you agreed to work with me two months ago, I would have taken you right to the Bone Carver to see if he confirmed my suspicions about your talents. But things didnt go as planned."

"The reading," Feyre said. "Thats why you insisted on the lessons. So if your suspicions were true and I could harness the Book  I could actually read it—or any translation of whatever is inside."

"Again," he said, now striding for the dresser, "had you started to work with me, I would have told you why. I couldnt risk discovery otherwise. You should have learned to read no matter what. But yes, when I told you it served my own purposes--it was because of this. Do you blame me for it?"

"No," Feyre said. "But I'd prefer to be notified of any future schemes."

"Duly noted," Rhys mumbled.

Rhys clutched the edge of my blanket and with a swift tug, it slipped away from me. Cold swept over me, prompting a shrill yelp as I reached out frantically for the blanket. He held it from my reach.

"Get up, Mary," he instructed. "We need to leave soon."

I grumbled, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I sat up. I picked up the leathers on the bed. It would be my second time wearing them. My second time wearing pants, in general. I wasn't sure how I felt about them, yet.

Rhys yanked open the drawers and pulled out our undergarments. He dangled the bits of midnight lace and chuckled.

"Im surprised you two didnt demand Nuala and Cerridwen buy you something else."

I rolled my eyes, not blushing for once. But Feyre stalked to him, snatching the lace away. "You're drooling on the carpet."

I couldn't help but chuckle. I followed Feyre off to the bathroom, bringing my leathers. He was waiting as we emerged. He held up the belts of knives.

"No swords, no bow or arrows," he said.

"But knives are fine?" I asked nervously. I'd never even held a weapon.

Rhys knelt and spread wide the web of leather and steel, beckoning for Feyre to stick a leg through one loop.

When he was done with her, he held out mine. I put a hand on Feyre's shoulder to steady myself as I slipped a leg through the loop. He held my leg steady as I slipped the other through, and I couldn't help but notice how careful he was not to touch me above the knee.

"She will not notice a knife, as she has knives in her cottage for eating and her work. But things that are out of place--objects that have not been there  A sword, a bow and arrow  She might sense those things."

"What about us?" Feyre questioned.

"Do not make a sound, do not touch anything but the object she took from me," he instructed.

Rhys looked up, on his knees in front of us. I had to admit, I didn't hate the sight. A small part of me craved to reach my hand out and run it through his soft curls.

"If we're correct about your powers," he said, "if the Bone Carver wasn't lying to us, then you and the object will have the same  imprint, thanks to the preserving spells I placed on it long ago. You are one and the same. She will not notice your presence so long as you touch only it. You will be invisible to her."

"Then why I am going?" I dared to ask.

"You'll keep an eye on her," he said. "Your Fae senses are stronger than hers. If you feel something is off, communicate through the bargain tattoo, not out loud. Then, you get the both of you out of there. She may be blind, but the Weaver's other senses are lethal. So be quick, and quiet. Find the object and run out."

"And if she notices us?" Feyre asked.

"Then we'll learn precisely how skilled you are."

We both glared at him.

"Would you rather I locked you in the House of Wind, starved you, and made you wear fine clothes and plan my parties?" Rhys shrugged.

I shot him a look, one that told him just how unfunny I found that comment.

"Careful, that was my life for five centuries," I snarled at him.

"Why not get this object yourself, if its so important?" Feyre demanded.

"Because the Weaver knows me--and if I am caught, there would be a steep price. High Lords are not to interfere with her, no matter the direness of the situation. There are many treasures in her hoard, some she has kept for millennia. Most will never be retrieved—because the High Lords do not dare be caught, thanks to the laws that protect her, thanks to her wrath."

"So we're your huntresses and thieves?" Feyre scoffed.

His hands slid down to cup the backs of her knees as he said with a roguish grin, "You girls are my salvation."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Rhysand winnowed us into the heart of the forest. The twisted beech trees stood close, their trunks almost entirely concealed by a dense tapestry of moss and lichen, leaving the rough bark beneath barely visible.

"Where are we?" I whispered, clutching Feyre's hand.

"In the heart of Prythian, there is a large, empty territory that divides the North and South. At the center of it is our sacred mountain. This forest is on the eastern edge of that neutral territory. Here, there is no High Lord. Here, the law is made by who is strongest, meanest, most cunning. And the Weaver of the Wood is at the top of their food chain."

"Amarantha didnt wipe them out?" Feyre asked.

"Amarantha was no fool," Rhys said, his face dark. "She did not touch these creatures or disturb the wood. For years, I tried to find ways to manipulate her to make that foolish mistake, but she never bought it."

"And now we're disturbing her--for a mere test," Feyre commented. He chuckled.

"Cassian tried to convince me last night not to take you. I thought he might even punch me."

"Why?" I wondered. We barely knew him.

"Who knows? With Cassian, he's probably more interested in fucking you than protecting you."

"You're a pig," Feyre glared as I stared off, trying to tune the conversation out.

Since my outburst at Rhys, they'd mostly stopped making fun of me for my innocence. But I'd also made an effort not to be too outwardly shocked by it.

"You could, you know," Rhys said. If you needed to move on in a physical sense, Im sure Cassian would be more than happy to oblige."

While Cassian's charm was undeniable, and his features were handsome, I wasn't attracted to him. My attraction was reserved for Feyre, a sentiment that occasionally extended to Rhys, though I seldom allowed myself to entertain such thoughts.

"Then tell him to come to our room tonight," Feyre crooned. I rolled my eyes, knowing she was just egging him on.

"If you survive this test."

"You seem pleased by the idea that we won't," Feyre went on.

"Quite the opposite, Feyre. I'll let Cassian know you're open to his advances."

"Good," Feyre said.

I shot her a look of exasperation. She only smiled back at me, clearly amused by her own banter.

"Did the two of you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?" he asked us.

I wondered if he had heard my thoughts when he was on his knees. I glanced to Feyre, who gave him a hateful little smirk.

"Isn't that all you males are good for, anyway?" Feyre joked.

It became quite obvious to me that Rhys's teasing was meant to distract us from what we were about to do. Feyre seemed to realize at the same time.

"Nice try," she said hoarsely.

Rhysand simply gave a nonchalant shrug and sauntered into the forest ahead. Feyre, in a huff, chased after him, and with a resigned exhale, I hastened to keep up, my legs moving as quickly as they could.

In a clearing stood a quaint cottage, its white walls gleaming against the thatch overhead and a chimney. Silence hung in the air; the absence of light or the whisper of smoke emanating from the chimney made it seem uninhabited.

With an exaggerated tilt of his head, Rhys gestured towards the dwelling, his bow filled with mock solemnity. A carpet of moss led to the slightly ajar front door, beckoning us forward.

"Good luck," Rhys mouthed, eyes twinkling.

Feyre's hand hadn't left mine the entire walk. We silently made our way toward the door. I glanced back just before we entered, but Rhys was gone.

"Will he intervene if she tries to kill us?" I asked Feyre through our bargain bond.

"We probably should've asked," she replied.

We paused at the entrance, listening closely. A woman's voice floated through the air, serenading the empty space with a melody. We lingered briefly, straining our ears.

Feyre gently nudged the door open. It swung silently on its hinges. I stole a glimpse inside. The interior boasted a spacious central area, with a door shut tight at the far end.

Shelves that reached from floor to ceiling were packed with an assortment of items: books, dolls, plants, pottery, shoes, gleaming crystals, more books, and jewels. From the wooden beams and ceiling dangled an eclectic mix of items: chains, dead birds, garments, ribbons, twisted wood, and strings of pearls.

Amidst the dimness of the cottage stood a spinning wheel. Positioned before it, her back to us, was the Weaver.

Her dark hair cascaded to her waist, contrasting with her pale hands as they skillfully manipulated the thread on a dangerously pointed spindle.

Feyre stepped over the threshold, and I shadowed her movements. As I surveyed the room, a frown etched itself across my face.

Feyre turned, and I mirrored her action. Our gazes fixed on a particular shelf. Even without being Made, I sensed the object we sought was there.

And then I spotted it. A ring, artfully crafted from intertwining bands of gold and silver, speckled with pearls, and crowned with a stone of profound blue.

We shared a knowing look.

"That's it," I said into her mind. She nodded her agreement.

Feyre's fingers crept toward a blade fastened at her leg. I mimicked her, though I wouldn't know what to do with the blade.

Her movement was silent as she deftly lifted the ring from its perch on the shelf.

The Weaver went silent.

We stood petrified, the ring now concealed in the pocket of Feyre's coat. The spinning wheel's momentum stopped. We inched backward, moving stealthily toward the exit. Then cautiously took another step.

The rotations of the wheel became increasingly slow. We made to escape, but in a swift motion, the Weaver's pale hand seized the wheel, bringing it to an abrupt halt.

The door ahead clicked closed. We both sprang towards it, only to discover there was no handle to grasp.

"Window," Feyre said into my mind. I turned, looking for it.

"Who is in my house?" she said softly.

Panic surged through me. We made for the window adjacent to the door. It was sealed shut. No latch, no means to open it. The glass was solid and impossible to breach.

The Weaver directed her gaze in our direction. Despite her youthful frame and her lustrous black locks, her skin was a lifeless gray—creased, drooping, and parched.

Instead of eyes, black pits stared back at us. Her lips, shriveled to mere contours framing a gaping maw, revealed a grisly array of broken, uneven teeth, as though she'd been feasting on bones.

The realization hit me that if we didn't escape, she would be eating our bones.

"What are you?" she said to Feyre. "What is like all, but unlike all?"

Feyre made a swift grab for the lone candle flickering on the table at the room's center. With a forceful throw, she sent it crashing into the curtains.

Flames burst forth, and the Weaver's cry was shrill. Feyre dashed towards the shadowy fireplace, pulling me along. My eyes grew wide as I caught on to her scheme. We were going to climb up the chimney,

Letting go of my hand, Feyre grasped the edge and hoisted herself up, her arms quivering. Following her lead, I began the ascent, my shoulders grating against the brickwork. The air was rank with the stench of rot and singed hair, and the stones were slick as if coated with fat—

The Weaver's screams abruptly ceased as we reached the midpoint of her flue, each breath we took verging on a desperate gasp.

Feyre stopped climbing.

"Why did you stop?" I asked, anxiety rising, positioned just beneath her.

"I'm wedged in," she replied tersely.

"What little mice are climbing about in my chimney?" the Weaver hissed.

Glancing downward, I saw her beneath us. I stifled a scream.

"Feyre, move," I begged aloud.

The sound of the Weaver's nails scraping the brickwork sent chills through me as she ascended a step. Feyre responded with frantic kicks against the chimney walls.

"Did you think you could steal and flee, thieves?"

"Slam your hand into the brick," Feyre instructed.

I gave an affirmative nod and struck the wall of the chimney with my hand as forcefully as I could manage. Rubble cascaded down. I summoned all my strength and pounded my fist into the bricks repeatedly, causing the Weaver to halt momentarily.

Glancing upwards, I noticed Feyre gripping a brick. I quickly dodged as she launched it at the Weaver. There was a sound of shattering bone followed by a roar.

Slamming against the wall, Feyre managed to loosen the brick, allowing her to climb the rest of the way up. I followed closely, and soon we tumbled onto the thatched roof.

The chimney's lining of fat, now smeared on our skin, made hair stick to us in clumps and strands. I fought back nausea, but was interrupted as the front door burst open with a shriek emanating from it.

Eyeing a low-hanging tree branch, I hastened towards it, Feyre on my heels. In the next instant, we had soared onto the branch, quickly burying ourselves in the foliage as the Weaver's voice bellowed, "WHERE ARE YOU?"

We darted from tree to tree, jumping from limb to limb, our bare hands scraping against the bark. We continued our escape, her screams pursuing us but becoming fainter with each passing moment.

Then, perched casually on a branch ahead of us, with one arm hanging lazily, Rhysand asked with a leisurely tone, "What the hell did you do?"

We halted abruptly, our breaths ragged. It felt as though my lungs might've been bleeding.

"You," Feyre hissed.

But he raised a finger to his lips and winnowed to us--wrapping his arms around our waists and  winnowing us away.

To Velaris. To just above the House of Wind.

Chapter 29

We fell through the air, the rush of wind stealing my breath so that I couldn't even muster a scream. Suddenly, Rhys's wings unfurled, vast and powerful.

We glided gracefully into a window, landing on the floor of what had to be a war room. Cassian stood at its center, locked in a heated debate with Amren.

Both halted mid-sentence as we touched down on the red floor, their eyes wide in shock. In the mirror on the wall, I saw the reflection of both Feyre and me, and in that brief glance, I understood their astonishment.

Our faces was marred with scratches, streaks of blood mingling with the grime and boiled fat that coated our skin. Mortar dust stuck to us, along with hair that wasn't ours.

"You smell like barbecue," Amren said, cringing a bit.

"You guys kill her?" Cassian asked.

"No," Rhys answered for us. "But given how much the Weaver was screaming, I'm dying to know what the darling girls did."

Feyre vomited all over the floor. I instinctively recoiled, distancing myself from the mess. Cassian swore, while Amren, unfazed, simply gestured with her hand. n an instant, the vomit vanished, taking with it the filth on us.

"She detected us somehow," I explained, slumping against Feyre with exhaustion. "And locked the doors and windows."

"So we had to climb out through the chimney," Feyre added. "I got stuck with Mary beneath me. And when she tried to climb up, we threw bricks at her face."

"And where were you?" Amren demanded, turning to Rhysand.

"I was wondering the same thing," I admitted, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Waiting, far enough away that she couldn't detect me," he answered.

"We could have used some help," Feyre snarled.

"You survived," he said. "And found a way to help yourselves."

"That's what this was also about," Feyre spat. "Not just this stupid ring," She reached into her pocket, slamming the ring down on the table, "or my abilities, but if I can master my panic."

Cassian swore again, his eyes on that ring. Amren shook her head, sheet of dark hair swaying. "Brutal, but effective."

"Now you know. That you can use your abilities to hunt our objects, and thus track the Book at the Summer Court. And you both know you can master your panic."

"You're a prick, Rhysand," Cassian said quietly.

"You'd do the same."

Feyre brushed her hair away from her face, sitting up a bit while still letting me lean on her. She turned her focus to Cassian.

"We want you to teach us how to fight," Feyre said. "To get strong. If the offer to train still stands."

Feyre and I had been discussing it recently. We were both interested, though we weren't sure we were ready. But after that, I realized I didn't ever want to be defenseless again. I knew she felt the same.

"You'll be calling me a prick pretty damn fast if we train. And I dont know anything about training humans--how breakable your bodies are. Were, I mean," he added with a wince. "We'll figure it out."

"We don't want our only option to be running," I explained. I always knew how Feyre felt about things. I figured it was a part of the bargain connection that we had.

"Running," Amren cut in, "kept you alive today."

"We want to know how to fight our way out," Feyre said. "We don't want to have to wait on anyone to rescue us." She faced Rhys, crossing her arms. "Well? Have I proved myself?"

But he merely picked up the ring and gave us a nod of thanks. "It was my mother's ring."

"Well, choose something less obvious next time," Feyre scoffed. "Even Mary sensed it before I said anything, and she isn't Made."

"Did she, really?" Rhys smirked, his violet eyes studying me. I glared at him.

"I need a bath," I mumbled, sitting up.

Taking our hands, Rhys unfurled his wings and propelled us upward, swiftly retreating through the windows.

We plummeted into a free fall, hearts pounding for a fleeting moment before he deftly winnowed us into our townhouse bathroom.

There, a steaming bath awaited, its welcoming waters beckoning. We moved toward it, a wave of fatigue washing over me.

"And what about training your other gifts?" Rhys asked.

"I think you and I would shred each other to bits," Feyre scoffed.

"Oh, we most definitely will." He leaned against the bathing room threshold. "But it wouldn't be fun otherwise. Consider our training now officially part of your work requirements with me."

I figured he was only talking to Feyre, but then he turned to me.

"Mary, you never learned to winnow," he stated. It wasn't a question. No one had ever taught me. "We'll work on that. And I can teach you how to control your . . . other power."

"No, I just want it gone," I declared, shaking my head.

"We can find a way to get it under control," he explained. "So you only see them when you want to."

"Why would I want to see the dead?" I demanded, my brows furrowing.

"It could be useful," he said with a shrug. And that was all. "Now, go ahead-- both of you try to get past my shields."

"We're tired. The bath will go cold," Feyre complained.

"I promise it'll be just as hot in a few moments. Or, if you mastered your gifts, you might be able to take care of that yourself," Rhys hinted to Feyre. "You feel it, dont you. Your power, stalking under your skin, purring in your ear."

"So what if I do?"

"Im surprised Ianthe didnt carve you up on an altar to see what that power looks like inside you," Rhys shrugged. I shuddered.

"What, precisely, is your issue with her?" Feyre demanded.

Personally, I had several issues with her. I'd known her for a very long time, and her kindness had never been genuine. She was always giving me compliments that were lined with an insult. Lucien had always hated her, as well.

"I find the High Priestesses to be a perversion of what they once were--once promised to be. Ianthe among the worst of them," Rhys said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Get past my shields and I'll show you."

Holding his stare we gave in. I imagined that line between us--a bit of braided light And there was his mental shield at the other end of the bond. Black and solid and impenetrable. I could feel Feyre's presence on the edge of the shield, beside mine.

"There's no way in, Rhys," I complained, giving up.

"The High Priestesses have burrowed into a few of the courts—Dawn, Day, and Winter, mostly. Theyve entrenched themselves so thoroughly that their spies are everywhere, their followers near-fanatic with devotion. And yet, during those fifty years, they escaped. They remained hidden. I would not be surprised if Ianthe sought to establish a foothold in the Spring Court."

"You mean to tell me theyre all black-hearted villains?" Feyre asked.

"No. Some, yes. Some are compassionate and selfless and wise. But there are some who are merely self-righteous Though those are the ones that always seem the most dangerous to me."

"And Ianthe?"

His eyes sparkled with amusement. He wouldn't tell us.

"Lunge in," Feyre said into my mind.

"What?"

"Just do it," she said. "If we attack together, we have a chance of getting in."

We surged forward, our movements wild and bold. Our force collided with the edge of his mind, sending tremors through me as if I had been physically struck.

"Admirable--sloppy, but an admirable effort," Rhys chuckled. "Just for trying ," and took our hands in his. The bond went taut, that thing under my skin pulsing, and—

Darkness enveloped everything, and I could feel his presence just beyond the mental barricade of obsidian-like strength. I tentatively reached out with a thought and brushed against that daunting wall, sensing Feyre's presence beside me doing the same.

In response, it seemed to lean into the gesture, purring against our embrace. His mind then yielded, revealing to us an antechamber--a solitary space of his mind he had crafted to permit us a glimpse inside.

A bedroom carved from obsidian; a mammoth bed of ebony sheets, large enough to accommodate wings.

And on it, sprawled in nothing but her skin, lay Ianthe.

I reeled back, realizing it was a memory, and Ianthe was in his bed, in his court beneath that mountain, her full breasts peaked against the chill—

"There is more," Rhys's voice said from far away as we struggled to pull out. But my mind slammed into the shield--the other side of it. He'd trapped us in here.

"You kept me waiting," Ianthe sulked.

The sensation of hard, carved wood digging into my back--Rhysand's back--as he leaned against the bedroom door. "Get out."

Ianthe gave a little pout, bending her knee and shifting her legs wider, baring herself to him. "I see the way you look at me, High Lord."

"You see what you want to see," he said. The door opened beside him. "Get out."

A coy tilt of her lips. "I heard you like to play games." Her slender hand drifted low, trailing past her belly button. "I think you'll find me a diverting playmate."

Icy wrath crept through me--him--as he debated the merits of splattering her on the walls, and how much of an inconvenience it'd cause.

She'd hounded him relentlessly--stalked the other males, too. Azriel had left last night because of it. And Mor was about one more comment away from snapping her neck.

"I thought your allegiance lay with other courts." His voice was so cold. The voice of the High Lord.

"My allegiance lies with the future of Prythian, with the true power in this land."

Her fingers slid between her legs--and halted. Her gasp cleaved the room as he sent a tendril of power blasting for her, pinning that arm to the bed--away from herself.

"Do you know what a union between us could do for Prythian, for the world?" she said, eyes devouring him still.

"You mean yourself."

"Our offspring could rule Prythian."

Cruel amusement danced through him. "So you want my crown--and for me to play stud?"

She tried to writhe her body, but his power held her. "I don't see anyone else worthy of the position."

She'd be a problem--now, and later. He knew it. Kill her now, end the threat before it began, face the wrath of the other High Priestesses, or see what happened.

"Get out of my bed. Get out of my room. And get out of my court."

He released his power's grip to allow her to do so. Ianthe's eyes darkened, and she slithered to her feet, not bothering with her clothes, draped over his favorite chair. Each step toward him had her generous breasts bobbing. She stopped barely a foot away.

"You have no idea what I can make you feel, High Lord."

She reached a hand for him, right between his legs. His power lashed around her fingers before she could grab him.

He crunched the power down, twisting. Ianthe screamed. She tried backing away, but his power froze her in place--so much power, so easily controlled, roiling around her, contemplating ending her existence like an asp surveying a mouse.

Rhys leaned close to breathe into her ear, "Dont ever touch me. Dont ever touch another male in my court."

His power snapped bones and tendons, and she screamed again.

"Your hand will heal," he said, stepping back. "The next time you touch me or anyone in my lands, you will find that the rest of you will not fare so well."

Tears of agony ran down her face--the effect wasted by the hatred lighting her eyes.

"You will regret this," she hissed.

He laughed softly, a lovers laugh, and a flicker of power had her thrown onto her ass in the hallway. Her clothes followed a heartbeat later. Then the door slammed.

The memory disappeared. The barrier that had stood behind us crumbled, and we fell back, blinking in disoriented surprise.

"Rule one," Rhys told us, "don't go into someone's mind unless you hold the way open. A daemati might leave their minds spread wide for you--and then shut you inside, turn you into their willing slave."

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. The memory clung to me, stubborn and unyielding. The fury it sparked within me was impossible to repress.

"Rule two," he said, his face hard as stone, "when--"

"When was that," I blurted. "When did she do that to you?"

"A hundred years ago. At the Court of Nightmares. I allowed her to visit after she'd begged for years, insisting she wanted to build ties between the Night Court and the priestesses. I'd heard rumors about her nature, but she was young and untried, and I hoped that perhaps a new High Priestess might indeed be the change her order needed. It turned out that she was already well trained by some of her less-benevolent sisters."

"She--she didn't act that way at " Feyre began.

"Rule two," Rhys finally went on, "be prepared to see things you might not like."

I thought of Amarantha, who had inflicted on him the very pain he had been ready to kill Ianthe for. He had endured such torment, all to protect his family.

As I gathered my thoughts to speak again, I realized he had vanished.

"I feel awful," Feyre admitted.

"I know," I agreed, frowning.

She let out a weary sigh and began to shed her clothing. I did the same. Sharing a bath wasn't a regular occurrence for us, but there were moments when it offered comfort. Times when the silent understanding between us was so strong that we couldn't stand to leave the other's side.

Chapter 30

"What does one wear, exactly, in the human lands?" Mor said from where she sprawled across the foot of the bed.

Feyre rummaged through the armoire as I surveyed my reflection, rotating to view my form from all perspectives. I was wearing a pink dress, one that I would've been forced into back in the Spring Court.

I had gained weight, and although I felt healthier, the new contours and curves of my body were still unfamiliar. My mother would've had a heart attack if she could see me now.

"Layers," Feyre said. "They cover everything up. The décolletage might be a little daring depending on the event, but everything else gets hidden beneath skirts and petticoats and nonsense."

That was familiar to me; it mirrored the experiences I had at the Spring Court.

"Sounds like the women are used to not having to run--or fight. I don't remember it being that way five hundred years ago," Mor observed. "Even with the wall, the threat of faeries remained, so surely practical clothes would have been necessary to run, to fight any that crept through. I wonder what changed."

Feyre presented a top and pants for our consideration, to which we simply gave an affirming nod. But she was beautiful enough to pull anything off.

"Nowadays, most women wed, bear children, and then plan their children's marriages. Some of the poor might work in the fields, and a rare few are mercenaries or hired soldiers, but the wealthier they are, the more restricted their freedoms and roles become. You'd think that money would buy you the ability to do whatever you pleased," Feyre said.

"That was the life my mother trained me for," I recalled as I pinched the extra skin on my lower stomach through my dress.

"Groomed you for is a better word," Mor said, rolling her deep brown eyes.

"Well, if she hadn't died, that's the life I would've lived," I shrugged, rolling my shoulders back as I tried to make them look slimmer.

"Stop staring at yourself, Mary, you look fine," Mor grumbled, chucking a t-shirt at me. I groaned, turning to her and catching the shirt.

"I'm not used to the extra weight," I explained.

"What extra weight?" she laughed, smiling as she looked me up and down. "You've barely gained anything."

"My mother always said--"

"Your mother was a drunk who cared more about your appearance than your well being," Mor cut me off, her expression suddenly stern.

"Don't talk about her like that," I defended. My mother had been the only ounce of love I'd known as a child. "She cared about me."

"Your mother was a lot like mine," she told me. "And for years, I tried to convince myself that she loved me. But she didn't. And I had to face that."

"You don't understand."

"You are lucky," she said softly, pity shining in her eyes. "That your mother died before you could be married off. Because you would've seen her for who she truly was, and you wouldn't have liked it."

"What could you know about it, Morrigan?" I demanded, tears stinging my eyes at her harsh words.

"In the Court of Nightmares, females are prized. Our virginity is guarded, then sold off to the highest bidder--whatever male will be of the most advantage to our families. I was born stronger than anyone in my family. Even the males. And I couldnt hide it, because they could smell it--the same way you can smell a High Lord's Heir before he comes to power. The power leaves a mark, an echo. When I was twelve, before I bled, I prayed it meant no male would take me as a wife, that I would escape what my elder cousins had endured: loveless, sometimes brutal, marriages. But then I began bleeding a few days after I turned seventeen. And the moment my first blood came, my power awoke in full force, and even that gods-damned mountain trembled around us. But instead of being horrified, every single ruling family in the Hewn City saw me as a prize mare. Saw that power and wanted it bred into their bloodline, over and over again."

"What about your parents?" Feyre managed to say.

"My family was beside themselves with glee. They could have their pick of an alliance with any of the other ruling families. My pleas for choice in the matter went unheard. The rest of the story is long, and awful, and I'll tell you some other time. I came in here to say I'm not going with you--to the mortal realm."

"Because of how they treat women?"

"When the queens come, I will be there. I wish to see if I recognize any of my long-dead friends in their faces. But I dont think I would be able to behave with any others."

"Did Rhys tell you not to go?" I spoke up, feeling guilty for questioning her.

"No," she said, snorting. "He tried to convince me to come, actually. He said I was being ridiculous. But Cassian, he gets it. The two of us wore him down last night. Cassian helped Rhys get me out. Before either had the real rank to do so. For Rhys, getting caught would have been a mild punishment, perhaps a bit of social shunning. But Cassian--he risked everything to make sure I stayed out of that court. And he laughs about it, but he believes hes a low-born bastard, not worthy of his rank or life here. He has no idea that hes worth more than any other male I met in that court—and outside of it. Him and Azriel, that is."

Feyre went to question her further, but the clock's chime interrupted. It was time to go. Feyre had styled my hair, artfully arranging half of it up while the remainder cascaded over my shoulders. Both of us adorned a delicate diadem, wrought of gold and speckled with the deep blue of lapis lazuli.

"I'd like my sisters to meet you. Maybe not today. But if you ever feel like it--" Feyre said. "I want them to hear your story. And know that there is a special strength in enduring such dark trials and hardships And still remaining warm, and kind. Still willing to trust—and reach out."

Mor's lips formed a taut line, and her eyelids fluttered in rapid succession. Grasping my hand firmly, Feyre guided me towards the exit alongside her. She paused, casting a final glance back at Mor.

"I'm sorry if I was not as welcoming to you as you were to me when I arrived at the Night Court. I was--we were both trying to learn how to adjust."

"There are good days and hard days for me--even now. Dont let the hard days win," Mor advised.

A lump formed in my throat, my grip on Feyre's hand tightening instinctively. She responded by weaving her fingers through mine, her thumb tracing calming circles against my skin.

With Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel poised for departure—Amren and Mor assigned to oversee Velaris and strategize our journey to Hybern—Feyre and I faced a singular decision: who we would fly with.

Rhys would winnow us to the coast, directly to the wall. From there, we would fly to the human lands.

"Who are we flying with, Mare?" Feyre asked into my mind.

"Either of them, just not Rhys," I replied. She nodded. Neither of us had spoken to Rhys since he had shown us what happened between him and Ianthe.

"We'll fly with Azriel," Feyre said.

"Of course," Azriel bowed his head.

Rhys winnowed Cassian ahead of us, then came back to collect Azriel and us. As the Shadowsinger enveloped us in his embrace, I tried to suppress my discomfort, even as his shadows caressed my neck and brushed against my face. Despite my efforts, a small, involuntary smile crept across my lips, a silent greeting to their unfamiliar touch.

"Dont let the wind ruin our hair," Feyre warned Rhys.

Rhys snorted, clasped Azriel's arm, and in an instant, we were swallowed by a vortex of shadows. Amidst the cosmos and void, Azriel's scarred hands held us close, our limbs clinging to his neck in a tight embrace.

Abruptly, we were bathed in sunlight, descending rapidly. Azriel's marred hands were gentle as they held us. The shadows had vanished, as though they were left behind in Velaris.

Beneath us, the expanse of the sea unfurled in all directions. Towering above, clouds marched across the sky, and to the left--land.

The land of the Spring Court. A sharp breath escaped me, my chest tightening, feeling as though Tamlin was going to appear and take me home. He would drag me back to that prison, even if I was kicking and screaming. The irrational fear left me trembling.

"Hey," Feyre said softly into my mind. I carefully met her blue eyes. "You're okay. We don't ever have to go back there. You're safe." I nodded, stealing another glance to the land before me.

The wall resonated with an unseen force, its power audibly sizzling through the air even as it remained invisible to the eye.

"It's abhorrent, isnt it," Azriel said, his low voice nearly swallowed up by the wind.

"I can see why you--we were deterred for all these centuries," Feyer admitted.

"You'll get used to it—the wording," he said to her.

"I dont really know where I fit in anymore," she admitted.

"I feel the same way," I confessed.

That sense of not belonging had shadowed me my whole life, a constant companion even amidst the splendor of the Spring Court. It was a deep-seated knowledge that I was an outsider there. And here, in this new place, the feeling of being an unwelcome stranger lingered still.

"I've been alive almost five and a half centuries, and Im not sure of that, either," Azriel said.

As we crossed the wall, a wave of relief washed over me. Even the briefest moment spent within that court's confines had sparked a surge of dread within me.

Azriel altered our course, steering us toward the shore where Rhys and Cassian carved graceful arcs above the terrain. Huddled in my fur-lined cloak, I sought solace in Azriel's warmth against the chill.

We soared past a sandy expanse at the foot of towering white cliffs, giving way to a vast expanse of snow-blanketed grounds interspersed with forests wearied by winter's grip.

It was the first time I'd ever been in the human lands.

Chapter 31

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Feyre went ahead to speak with her sisters, though I knew she was nervous about them turning her away for becoming Fae.

We awaited her readiness for a few hours. Finally, when the estate had been cleared of servants, we approached the threshold.

The residence was stunning in its grandeur and vastness. As Feyre opened the door to greet us, I could tell how tired she was.

"You'd think they'd been told plague had befallen the house," Rhys said, raising a brow.

She welcomed us inside, away from the biting chill.

I shed my fur-lined coat as we entered the warm house, shoving it into Rhys's arms. He took it without complaints.

"My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles," Feyre said.

Cassian emitted an appreciative whistle, rotating slowly to take in the splendor of the grand entry hall, the intricacy of the ornate furniture, and the richness of the paintings that adorned the walls.

"Your father must be a fine merchant," Cassian said. "I've seen castles with less wealth."

"My father is away on business—and attending a meeting in Neva about the threat of Prythian," Feyre explained.

"Prythian?" Cassian repeated. "Not Hybern?"

"It's possible my sisters were mistaken--your lands are foreign to them. They merely said 'above the wall.' I assumed they thought it was Prythian."

"If humans are aware of the threat, rallying against it, then that might give us an advantage when contacting the queens," Azriel said, stepping forward.

"Come," Rhys said, still holding my coat. "Let's make this introduction."

Her sisters stood beside the window, bathed in the warm glow of the chandeliers. Feyre breezed across the room, with us trailing in her wake. The human girls regarded our presence, their gazes particularly drawn to the winged males.

"My sisters, Nesta and Elain Archeron," Feyre introduced.

A sense of irritation crept over me as I remembered her sisters' negligence, allowing an eleven-year-old to venture alone into the woods.

Feyre stepped to my side, pivoting to confront her sisters with a poised stance as her hand rested on my arm.

"This is Mariangela," she introduced me.

The sound of my full name, unspoken for months, jolted me. It conjured vivid memories of my father, my brothers, and the sharp echoes of reprimand that followed when I upset them.

"Just Mary is fine," I spoke up.

Feyre raised a brow, but nodded before going on to introduce the rest of them. "Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court."

Rhys had dimmed the night rippling off him, the otherworldly grace and thrum of power. He bowed to the girls.

"Thank you for your hospitality--and generosity," he said with a warm smile. But there was something strained in it.

"The cook left dinner on the table. We should eat before it goes cold," Nesta said.

She didnt wait for a response before striding off to the head of the polished cherry table.

"Nice to meet you," Elain rasped before hustling after her.

Cassian's face contorted in a grimace, while Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Azriel, appearing to prefer vanishing into the nearest shadow, seemed eager to dodge the impending dialogue. Feyre inhaled deeply, a brief pause before joining them. I clasped the girl's hand, offering a reassuring squeeze.

At the table's head sat Nesta, composed and waiting. To her left, Elain quivered in her chair. Feyre smoothly took the seat at Nesta's right, and I nestled beside her.

Cassian settled next to Elain, who gripped her fork as though ready to use it in self-defense, and Rhys claimed the space beside me, with Azriel taking his place on the other side.

Feyre lifted the covers from the dishes before us, revealing poached salmon garnished with lemon, fluffy whipped potatoes, and roast chicken paired with vegetables.

We filled our plates, and though the taste was less extravagant than what I was accustomed to, I ate politely. Feyre, however, grimaced subtly with her first taste.

"Is there something wrong with our food?" Nesta said, flatly.

"No."

"So you cant eat normal food anymore--or are you too good for it?"

"I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even," Feyre replied.

Cassian coughed. Azriel fidgeted uncomfortably, and despite my best efforts, heat crept up my cheeks. Nesta's chuckle was a deep, resonant sound that filled the room.

The rage within Feyre was palpable, fury raging through her. Yet, a gentle pull soothed emotions. It was Rhys, reaching out through our bond, bringing a sense of calm to the storm.

"If you ever come to Prythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different," Rhys explained.

"I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I'll have to take your word on it," she scoffed.

"Nesta, please," Elain murmured.

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that could only be interpretted as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped at him.

"Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall. Your sister died--died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So dont expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make--and insult my people in the process."

I couldn't say I disagreed with the harsh words. She had no right to criticize Feyre the way she did, when Feyre had sacrificed her entire life for her sisters.

Nesta didnt bat an eyelash as she studied him. Then turned to Feyre. Dismissing him entirely. Cassians face went almost feral. I would've laughed had the circumstances been different.

"It--it is very hard, you understand, to  accept it," Elain explained. "We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered. Its all very disorienting."

"I can imagine," Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare.

"And as for Feyres hunting during those years, it was not Nesta's neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us."

At least the younger girl admitted it. That was a step forward. Nesta said nothing, her back rigid. If I had any guts at all, I would've glared at her.

"Can we just start over?" Feyre begged, gripping Nesta's arm. Cassian gave her a taunting grin.

"Fine," Nesta hissed.

"Can you truly fly?" Elain asked Azriel, changing the subject.

"Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We're born hearing the song of the wind."

"That's very beautiful," she said. "Is it not--frightening, though? To fly so high?"

"It is sometimes," Azriel said. "If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away." I shuddered at the thought. "But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we're out of swaddling."

"Feyre says you're from the Spring Court," Elain said, turning her attention to me. I glanced up, surprised to be addressed.

"Yes, I was," I replied, nodding.

"What sort of things can you do?" she asked, her brown eyes filled with fascination. Feyre had told be Elain was a gardener.

I sighed, turning my attention to the vase of roses on the table. I focused on them, making the petals close, then open, then repeating the action a few times.

"That's incredible," Elain breathed, staring at the roses. "Can you make any flowers bloom?"

"I can't make them grow overnight," I admitted. "But I can speed the process up. And I can make any closed flower bloom."

Elain was about to go on with more questions, but Nesta cut her off.

"You look like High Fae," Nesta cut in, her voice like a honed blade as she faced Cassian. "But you are not?"

"Only the High Fae who look like them," Cassian drawled, waving a hand to Feyre, Rhys, and me, "are High Fae. Everyone else, any other differences, mark you as what they like to call 'lesser' faeries."

"It's become a term used for ease, but masks a long, bloody history of injustices. Many lesser faeries resent the term--and wish for us all to be called one thing," Rhys explained.

"Rightly so," Cassian said, drinking from his water.

"But you were not High Fae--not to begin. So what do they call you?" Nesta asked her sister.

"Feyre is whoever she chooses to be," I spoke up, not sure if the girl was meaning to insult Feyre or not, but jumping to her defense, anyway.

Nesta now examined us all. But she said, "Write your letter to the queens tonight. Tomorrow, Elain and I will go to the village to dispatch it. If the queens do come here I'd suggest bracing yourselves for prejudices far deeper than ours. And contemplating how you plan to get us all out of this mess should things go sour."

"We'll take that into account," Rhys said smoothly.

"I assume you'll want to stay the night," Nesta went on.

"If it's not too much trouble, then yes. We'll leave after breakfast tomorrow," Feyre said.

"Good. I think there are a few bedrooms ready--" Elain beamed.

"We'll need two," Rhys interrupted quietly. "Next to each other, with two beds each."

Feyre narrowed her eyes at him. So we would be sharing a room with him, then.

"Magic is different across the wall. So our shields, our senses, might not work right. I'm taking no chances. Especially in a house with a woman betrothed to a man who gave her an iron engagement ring."

I hadn't even noticed Elain's iron engagement ring. Not that iron did us any harm at all. But humans had their silly defenses. If it made them feel safer, we wouldn't burst their bubble.

"The--the bedrooms that have two beds arent next to each other," she murmured, blushing.

"We'll move things around. It's fine. This one," Feyre added with a glare in Rhys's direction, "is only cranky because he's old and it's past his bedtime."

Rhys chuckled, and I even smiled a bit. Nesta just rose to her feet, a slim pillar of steel, and said to no one in particular, "If we're done eating, then this meal is over."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Feyre and I both frowned at the large guest bedroom as Rhys shut the door behind us. The bed was large enough for three, but neither of us had any interest in sharing a bed with him.

"We're not--" Feyre began.

Wood thumped on carpet, and a small bed appeared by the door. Rhys chucked my coat at me before plopping on the bed, tugging off his boots.

"Nesta is a delight, by the way." I scoffed my agreement.

"She's her own creature," Feyre said.

"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," Rhys mused. "And Elain should not be marrying that lord's son, not for about a dozen reasons, the least of which being the fact that you wont be invited to the wedding. Though maybe thats a good thing."

"Thats not funny," Feyre hissed.

"At least you wont have to send a gift, either. I doubt her father-in-law would deign to accept it," he joked.

"You have a lot of nerve mocking my sisters when your own friends have equally as much melodrama." His brows lifted in silent question. "Oh, so you havent noticed the way Azriel looks at Mor? Or how she sometimes watches him, defends him? And how both of them do such a good job letting Cassian be a buffer between them most of the time?"

"I'd suggest keeping those observations to yourself."

"You think Im some busybody gossip? My life is miserable enough as it is—why would I want to spread that misery to those around me as well?" Feyre went on.

A frown creased my forehead upon hearing the words, as a wave of compassion welled up within me for her.

"Is it miserable? Your life, I mean," he asked her.

"I dont know," she admitted. "Everything is happening so quickly that I dont know what to feel."

"Hmmm. Perhaps once we return home, I should give you the day off."

"How considerate of you, my lord," she joked. I smiled, setting myself on the bed.

"And you, Mary," he addressed me. "Are you miserable?"

I pondered the question. I had been miserable for most of my life. I doubted whether I had ever lived without misery.

"I'm . . . better," I admitted. "Than I was back there. Things are better."

Since I'd gotten here, I'd rarely gotten the urge to hurt myself. And when I did, it was impossible to follow through with when Feyre was always attached at my hip. But I supposed that was a good thing.

A snap of Rhys's fingers, and our nightclothes--and some flimsy underthings--appeared on the bed. "I couldnt decide which scrap of lace I wanted you girls to wear, so I brought you a few to choose from."

"You're disgusting," I scoffed, snatching the clothes and heading to the adjoining bathing room.

Feyre and I changed into our night things quickly. "Must we share a room with him?"

"I don't think we have a choice," she sighed. "At least we don't have to share the bed." I smiled, shaking my head as we emerged.

The room was toasty, Rhys in the bed he'd summoned, all light gone save for the murmuring embers in the hearth. Even the sheets were warm as we slid between them.

"Thank you for warming the bed," I thanked him absentmindedly.

"Amarantha never once thanked me for that," he said faintly, his back to us. Feyre and I exchanged a glance, concern mixed with fury filling the bond between us.

"She didn't suffer enough," Feyre said.

Rhys didnt answer. Instead he said, "I didnt think I could get through that dinner."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Your sisters mean well, or one of them does. But seeing them, sitting at that table  I hadnt realized it would hit me as strongly. How young you were. How they didnt protect you."

"I felt the same," I admitted. "Truly, I was furious at her criticisms of you. After everything you did for them."

"I managed just fine," she defended.

"We owe them our gratitude for letting us use this house," he said quietly, "but it will be a long while yet before I can look at your sisters without wanting to roar at them."

"A part of me feels the same way," Feyre admitted, nestling beside me into the blankets. "But if I hadnt gone into those woods, if they hadnt let me go out there alone  You would still be enslaved. And perhaps Amarantha would now be readying her forces to wipe out these lands."

"That doesn't mean you deserved to go through any of that," I comforted. "They should've protected you."

"Both of us had families that didn't protect us," Feyre reminded me.

"And that's how I know how much it hurts you," I said softly. "Even if you won't admit it."

Her silence spoke volumes, prompting me to draw her close. I offered my shoulder as a haven for her to lean on, enveloping her in a comforting embrace.

"I am paying you both a wage, you know. For all of this," Rhys told us.

"You dont need to," Feyre objected.

"Every member of my court receives one. Theres already a bank account in Velaris for both of you, where your wages will be deposited. And you have lines of credit at most stores. So if you dont have enough on you when youre shopping, you can have the bill sent to the House."

"I--you didnt have to do that," Feyre said. "And how much, exactly, are we getting paid each month?"

"The same amount the others receive."

"I've never had money of my own before," I confessed. "I wouldn't know what to do with it."

"For one, you could spend it," he joked. I didn't laugh. "When are your birthdays?"

"Do I even need to count them anymore?" Feyre joked. He merely waited. "It's the Winter Solstice."

I nearly sat straight up, but her grip on me held me down.

"Fey, that was months ago," I fussed.

"Mmm-hmm."

"We didn't celebrate it," I went on.

"I didnt tell anyone. I didnt want a party when there was already all that celebrating going on. Birthdays seem meaningless now, anyway," she said. "Anyway, we didn't celebrate yours, either."

My last birthday hadn't been pleasant. It had been just a week after we had gotten out of the Mountain.

"It's October 14th," I said. "Usually, I had a small dinner with Tam and Lucien. But it was just a week after we got back from the Mountain, Tam was just so busy. I guess, he forgot."

I hadn't dared to bring it up to him. He would've snapped at me for caring about something so trivial after what he had been through. But it had hurt my feelings. Even Lucien had wished me a blessed day and given me seeds to grow herbs native to the Autumn Court.

"October 14th," Rhys repeated. "That's . . . "

"The day you and your father killed my family," I cut him off, staring at the ceiling. "It was my nineteenth birthday."

He was quiet for a long minute. We'd done a very good job so far of not talking about our families slaughtering each other. But of course, I had to bring it up.

I decided to change the subject, turning to glance down at Feyre, who's head was still on my shoulder.

"You were truly born on the Winter Solstice?" I asked.

"Is that so hard to believe? My mother claimed I was so withdrawn and strange because I was born on the longest night of the year. She tried one year to have my birthday on another day, but forgot to do it the next time—there was probably a more advantageous party she had to plan."

"Now I know where Nesta gets it. Honestly, its a shame we cant stay longer—if only to see wholl be left standing: her or Cassian," Rhys joked.

"My money's on Nesta," Feyre scoffed.

"So's mine."

Chapter 32

     Feyre suggested that we spend the morning training with Rhys before our return to Velaris. We'd been dragged into the snowy woods.

"Freezing my ass off first thing in the morning isn't how I intended to spend our day off," Rhysand frowned. "I should take you two to the Illyrian Steppes when we return--the forest there is far more interesting. And warmer."

"We have no idea where those are," Feyre replied.

"You showed us a blank map that one time, remember?" I remembered as I glanced up at him.

"Precautions," he stated.

"Are we ever going to see a proper one, or will we be left to guess about where everything is?" I demanded, raising a brow at him.

"You girls are in a lovely mood today," Rhys said, and lifted a hand in the air. A folded map appeared. "Lest you think I don't trust you, my darlings . . . " He pointed to just south of the Northern Isles. "These are the Steppes. Four days that way on foot will take you into Illyrian territory."

I peered over his shoulder to stare at the map, and Feyre mirrored my action.

"Here," Rhys said, pocketing the map and gesturing to the forest around us. "We'll train here. We're far enough now."

We were at a safe distance from the house, ensuring we remained undetected. Rhys extended his hand, and a candle materialized in his grasp. He gently placed it upon the blanket of snow beneath us.

"Light it, douse it with water, and dry the wick," he instructed Feyre.

"I can't do a single one of those things," Feyre complained. "What about physical shielding?"

"That's for another time. Today, I suggest you start trying some other facet of your power. What about shape-shifting?"

"Fire, water, and air it is," she grumbled, shooting him a look. "Maybe you should go."

"Why? You seemed so insistent that I train you."

"I can't concentrate with you around," she admitted. "And go far. I can feel you from a room away."

I understood what she meant. Even when they were out of sight, I could still feel their presence.

"Practice all you want in privacy. I'm taking Mary to work on winnowing," he decided.

"Taking me where?" I demanded, my eyes narrowing as I turned to him.

"Another part of the woods," he said with a shrug.

"I don't need to learn to winnow," I mumbled, shifting uncomfortably as I played with my hands.

"It's a very necessary skill," he objected.

He jerked his chin at her tattoo. "Give us shout down the bond if you get anything accomplished before breakfast."

"What--literally shout at the tattoo?" Feyre questioned.

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

I wrinkled my nose at the comment, but he grabbed me and winnowed us away before Feyre could snap at him for it.

He winnowed us to another part of the woods, far enough that I couldn't even see the estate. I shivered, even in my fur lined coat.

"Are you ready to get started?" he asked me.

"I don't see why I need to learn," I complained, crossing my arms.

"If you had the ability to winnow, it would've been a lot harder for Tamlin to keep you locked up," he pointed out.

"He still would've found a way," I scoffed. "He would've put up shields so I couldn't even winnow out."

His face grew solemn as I reflected on the words. He put a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off.

"Winnowing is not about the body moving from place to place. It is about understanding that space and distance are illusions of perception."

"What does that even mean?" I demanded, glaring up at him.

"You're grumpy today," he observed with a smirk. I shot him a look.

"Don't patronize me," I snapped at him. "Are you going to teach me, or not?"

He moved a distance from me, instructing me to stay still.

"Close your eyes," Rhys instructed. "Envision the space around you, the air, the energy. Feel it as an extension of yourself."

I did as I was told, closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing. I felt silly at first, standing in front of him with my eyes closed.

"Now," he continued, "picture yourself standing next to me. Hold that image in your mind's eye. That is your destination."

I furrowed my brows in concentration, imagining myself a few feet away, standing next to him.

"Good," Rhys said, sensing my shift in focus. "Now, here comes the leap. Surrender to it, and let go."

I tried, focusing as hard as I could.

But nothing happened.

I huffed, opening my eyes.

"This isn't working," I said, brows knit.

"It takes time," he assured me. "Patience is key."

We worked for an hour, only to get nowhere. I was beginning to get frustrated, impatient. But he assured me that I would be winnowing in no time.

He didn't give me a break. Not until I felt awful sensation of fear from the other end of the bond. I froze, sensing Rhys pause as well.

"Feyre," I gasped, feeling her terror clearly.

Rhys had winnowed to me before I could say another word. He gripped my arm, and we disappeared.

When we landed in the wood that Feyre was training at, she was in the clutches of the Attor. Before I could go to help her, night exploded around us.

Loud cries sounded from the Attor as we were swallowed by darkness. When the light returned, Feyre was on the ground. Rhysand was binding the Attor to a snow-shrouded oak with nothing but twisting bands of night.

"I'd been wondering where you slithered off to," Rhys said, his hands in his pockets.

The Attor struggled against his binds, panting. Rhysand merely sent two spears of night shooting into its wings, causing the Attor to shriek.

"Answer my questions, and you can crawl back to your master," Rhys said.

"Whore," the Attor spat.

I would've attacked the creature for using that word against him, but Rhys got to him first. Silvery blood leaked from its wings, hissing as it hit the snow.

"You forget that I rather enjoy these things," Rhys smiled. He lifted a finger.

"No!" it screamed. Rhyss finger paused. "I was sent to get her."

"Why?" Rhys asked.

"That was my order. I am not to question. The king wants her."

My eyes went wide, shifting to Feyre, who was staring at the Attor with fear in her eyes.

"Why?" Rhys said again.

The Attor began screaming—this time beneath the force of a power I could not see. "Dont know, dont know, dont know."

"Where is the king currently?"

"Hybern."

"Army?"

"Coming soon."

"How large?"

"Endless. We have allies in every territory, all waiting."

Without warning, Azriel slammed into the snow, sending it flying like water from a puddle. The Attor began trembling as Azriel stalked for him.

"The next time you try to take her," Rhys said to the Attor, "I kill first; ask questions later."

Rhys nodded as Azriel caught his eye. Azriel reached for the Attor and vanished before it could scream.

"Will he kill him?" Feyre asked as she came to our side.

'No," Rhys claimed. "We'll use him to send a message to Hybern that if they want to hunt the members of my court, they'll have to do better than that."

Feyre and I exchanged a glance at the words, both of us realizing what he had done.

"You knew he was hunting her?" I demanded.

"I was curious who wanted to snatch her the first moment she was alone."

"So you never planned to stay with me while I trained," Feyre realized. "You used me as bait--"

"Yes, and Id do it again. You were safe the entire time. Mary and I felt the moment you were in trouble."

"You should have told me!" she yelled.

"Maybe next time."

"There will be no next time!"

She slammed a hand into his chest, and he staggered back a step from the strength of the blow. She stepped back, her eyes wide as if she'd forgotten her strength.

"Yes, you did," Rhysand snarled. "You forgot that strength, and that you can burn and become darkness, and grow claws. You forgot. You stopped fighting."

"So what if I did?" she hissed, shoving him again. "So what if I did?"

"Rhys, you can't just use her as bait," I fussed.

I went to hit his arm, but Rhys winnowed away a few feet. We both stormed for him, but he vanished again just as we reached him. He appeared right behind us, but when we whirled for him, he vanished again.

"Try harder."

My anger urged me more than any other form of motivation could. I thought of how he had put Feyre's life at risk, just to question the Attor.

My heart raced. I felt a tingling sensation in my toes, a warmth spreading through my limbs. With a leap of faith, I let go of my doubts, and in an instant, my surroundings had disappeared. I felt a momentary weightlessness, a rush of wind, and then, solidity under my feet.

His eyes were wide, his mouth split in a grin of wicked delight, as I winnowed in front of him and tackled him into the snow. I panted, sprawled on top of Rhys in the snow while he laughed hoarsely.

"Dont," I snarled into his face, "ever use her as bait again."

Even in the snow, his body was warm beneath me, and I wasnt sure I'd realized just how much bigger he was than me until our bodies were flush--too close. Much, much too close.

Feyre was by our side in an instant, pulling me off of Rhys.

"You said I could be a weapon—teach me to become one," Feyre said to him as he got to his feet. "Don't use me like a pawn. And if being one is part of my work for you, then I'm done. Done."

"Fair enough," Rhys said. "Winnow again. Show me how you did it."

"No," I grumbled, my hand finding Feyre's. "I want to go back to the chateau."

"I'm sorry," Rhys said to her.

"Why does the King of Hybern want me? Because he knows I can nullify the Cauldron's power with the Book?"

"Thats what Im going to find out. I'm sorry. Lets eat breakfast, then go home."

"Velaris isnt my home," she said.

Hurt flashed in his eyes before he winnowed us back to her family's house

Chapter 33

We went back to Velaris after that incident, and since I was still irritated with Rhys, I spent most of the next day in my bedroom.

But that afternoon, I decided to make my way up to the garden on the roof of the town house. I was admiring the moonflower that had just recently bloomed.

I had begun to use it often for a nightmare remedy. It helped me quite a bit, and even Feyre had been sleeping through the nights peacefully since I had started giving her some.

Rhys had asked me to make some for him. I still hadn't been able to bring myself to do it. Not when I still sometimes dreamed of him, of what he made me do under that mountain.

A hand on my shoulder startled me, pulling me out of my thoughts, and making me spin around with gasp.

"Sorry, Mare. I didn't mean to scare you," Feyre apologized.

"It's alright," I assured her with a sigh as my heart rate calmed.

She glanced around, smiling fondly at the garden. She strolled over to the basil, picking a piece and popping it into her mouth.

"It might be bitter," I warned her.

"No, it tastes fine," she insisted. "The garden looks lovely."

"Thank you," I blushed, glancing back down at the flowers.

She stepped over to me again, and I could feel her breath on my neck as she watched me attend to the flowers.

"I wrote to Tamlin," she told me. "I let him know that we left from our own free will."

"Oh," I replied, my voice quiet.

"I suggest you do the same," she offered gently. "You don't have to, but I think it would be wise."

The thought of writing to my brother left a pit in my stomach. What if he wrote back? What if he came here himself and dragged me back to that place? Or worse, what if he declared that he wanted nothing to do with me, that I was no longer his sister?

"I'll try," I decided, turning around to face her.

"Do you want my help?" she asked me, her voice so caring, so gentle, and her face pinched in concern.

"No, I should be fine," I assured her. "Really. But thank you."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

I sat in the library that night, quill in my hand as I stared down at the blanket piece of parchment. It had been an hour, and I hadn't written a single word.

I had nothing to say to him, yet everything at the same time. I hated him, yet loved him so much. My only remaining family.

The door to the library creaked open, and Morrigan peeked in. She smiled when she noticed me, though I frowned.

"What are you doing in here so late?" she inquired, entering the room.

"Trying to write to my brother," I said with a deep sigh.

"You don't have to just because Feyre did," she said to me.

"I know," I nodded. "But I want to tell him that I'm safe. I want him to know that I chose this."

"I understand the feeling," she sighed. "I'm sorry I was so harsh earlier. You just have this view of the world that was forced upon you by your family. I want to help you realize there's so much than you've ever known. I want to teach you how to live your life without all of those bullshit values they tried to brainwash you with."

"It's just so hard when it's all I've ever known," I tried to explain to her.

"I know," she said quietly. "My life was exactly the same, Mary."

"It just . . . it really bothered me what you said about my mother," I confessed, tears stinging my eyes. "Everyone keeps implying that my mother and Tam didn't love me. But . . . even if they didn't have my best interest at heart, they loved me. I know they did."

"I'm sure they did," Mor insisted, pity in her brown eyes.

"They . . . " I trailed off, scared to say my thoughts out loud. "They had to love me, because if they didn't, that means nobody ever has."

Saying the words out loud nearly reduced me to tears, and I hid my face in my hands as I tried to hide the tears that had escaped.

"Oh, Mary, that's not true," she soothed, a hand on my back. "Feyre loves you. And so does Rhys."

"Does he?" I asked, lifting my head to look at her, brows furrowed.

"Oh please, we've been wanting to meet you for centuries," she nearly laughed. "We all remember when he first met you. He never shut up about you; he was obsessed. He even told his mother about you."

"He did?" I breathed, my cheeks tinging pink. She smirked, nodding.

"Oh, his mother always teased him for it," she grinned. "Saying she couldn't wait for him to bring you home to meet her."

"I wish I could've," I admitted, feeling that guilt eating at me again.

"She would've loved you," Mor assured me. "Truly, she would've."

"It's all my fault I couldn't meet her," I said quietly, sniffling.

"No, it's not," she denied, shaking her head. "It is the fault of your father and brothers, not you."

"It was my family," I insisted.

"We are not the people that raised us," she said to me. "Believe me. If I held myself responsible for the actions of my father. . ."

"It seems everyone here had a cruel father," I observed. "It makes me wonder if there are any good fathers out there."

"Rhys's father wasn't the worst," Mor shrugged. "Cruel in his own way, but never to his children. Nor his mate."

"My father was never cruel to his mate, either," I scoffed. "Just us. Me, especially. I'm still not quite sure what I did to deserve it."

"You did nothing," Mor said to me. "Neither of us did anything to deserve what our fathers put us through."

Chapter 34

I had to admit that I was nervous about going into Velaris. I hadn't been yet, and I was anxious about all the other Fae there. Would they recognize me? Would they say anything?

I wrapped my coat tighter around me to shield myself from the chill. Musicians played in the squares, and the Palace of Thread and Jewels was packed with shoppers and performers.

I stared at the shoppers and performers in awe, having so rarely been in such a crowded place. They ignored us completely, despite the fact that we had a High Lord with us.

I had never realized how much of life I had missed. Being locked up and isolated, I had never considered an alternative. A life like this.

We finally agreed on a small restaurant beside the river, though it was barely big enough to fit all seven of us, especially with three Illyrians.

The owner seemed to know them, and kissed them each on the cheek, even Rhysand. Feyre and I glanced at each other in surprise. She seemed to be experiencing the same mind numbing awe that I was.

The food was rich, flavorful, and seasoned so well. I savored it, eating slowly so I could make it last as long as possible.

The owner was talking to Rhys about the latest shipment of spices. "The traders were saying the prices might rise, High Lord, especially if rumors about Hybern awakening are correct."

"We'll find a way to keep the prices from skyrocketing," Rhys promised her.

It was so strange to see a High Lord conversing with his subjects, making promises to make their lives easier. Tamlin had never been like that. Never cared about the lives of our subjects.

"Don't trouble yourself, of course," the owner said. "It's just . . . so lovely to have such spices available again--now that . . . that things are better."

"I wouldn't be troubling myself--not when I like your cooking so much," Rhys grinned.

I stared at his smile, at the way it lit up his face and made him look young--young as he'd been when I'd met him. He was beautiful, even I had to admit it.

The owner beamed, flushing, and looked to both Feyre and me. "Is it to your liking?"

"It's wonderful," I said to her, very truthfully.

"I've lived in the mortal realm, and lived in other courts, but I've never had food like this. Food that makes me . . . feel awake," Feyre said.

I felt a tinge of embarrassment from her through the bond, as if she felt stupid for saying that. But I understood exactly what she meant.

"Then I'll bring you a special dessert," she said, and strode into her kitchen.

Amren was pushing the food around, but not actually eating it. The owner placed a goblet in front of her, and her eyes lit up. "You didnt have to do that."

"It's fresh and hot, and we needed the beast for tomorrow's roast, anyway," the owner said to her.

I went pale, my eyes going a bit wide. Amren swirled the goblet, the dark liquid lapping at the sides like wine, then sipped from it. "You spiced it nicely." Blood gleamed on her teeth.

"No one leaves my place hungry," she said before walking away.

When we left, my stomach hurt from how much I had eaten. Mor rubbed her stomach in lazy circles as we paused beside the river.

"I want to go dancing. I won't be able to fall asleep when I'm this full. Rita's is right up the street," Mor said. I groaned, resting my exhausted head on Feyre's shoulder. I just wanted to go to bed.

"I'm in," Azriel agreed.

"Of course you are," Cassian frowned. "Don't you have to be off at dawn?"

"We don't have to--" Mor began.

"I want to," Azriel said.

"Will you deign to join us, or do you have plans to ogle your muscles in the mirror?" Mor teased Cassian.

"I'll go for the drinks, you ass. No dancing," Cassian snorted, looping their arms.

"Thank the Mother. You nearly shattered my foot the last time you tried."

I was so busy watching them leave that I hadn't even noticed Amren disappear. I frowned, glancing around for her.

"She's getting more blood in the back to take home with her," Rhys said. "And then she'll be going right to her apartment to gorge herself."

"Why blood?" Feyre asked, a question I had been considering, myself.

"It doesn't seem polite to ask," Rhys said.

"Are you going dancing?" I asked him, hoping he wouldn't say yes.

"I'd rather walk home," Rhys said. "It's been a long day. Shall we? Or are you too cold?"

"We're fine," I spoke, knowing how Feyre felt.

The two of us followed him onto the bridge that laid above the gorgeous river. Feyre took my hand in hers as we drank in the city.

"This is my favorite view in the city," Rhys said. "It was my sister's favorite, too. My father used to have to drag her kicking and screaming out of Velaris, she loved it so much."

I smiled slightly, grief building in me for the 10 year old girl who had been taken much too young. I had known my father's cruelty my entire life--but I had never suspected him capable of slaughtering a child.

"Then why are both your houses on the other side of the river?" Feyre asked him.

"Because I wanted a quiet street--so I could visit this clamor whenever I wished and then have a home to retreat to."

"You could have just reordered the city," I said, knowing that was what Tamlin would've done.

"Why the hell would I change one thing about this place?"

"Isn't that what High Lords do?" I asked, glancing up at him.

"Whatever they please?" he said. "There are a great many things that I wish to do, and don't get to."

"So when you buy jewelry for Amren, is it to keep yourself in her good graces or because you're--together?" Feyre asked him. I was surprised my the question, but curious of the answer.

Rhys barked a laugh. "When I was young and stupid, I once invited her to my bed. She laughed herself hoarse. The jewelry is just because I enjoy buying it for a friend who works hard for me, and has my back when I need it. Staying in her good graces is an added bonus."

"And you didn't marry anyone," I observed.

"So many questions tonight," he said. "I've had lovers, but I never felt tempted to invite one of them to share a life with me. And I honestly think that if I'd asked, they all would have said no."

"I would have thought they'd be fighting each other to win your hand," Feyre scoffed.

"Marrying me means a life with a target on your back--and if there were offspring, then a life of knowing they'd be hunted from the moment they were conceived. Everyone knows what happened to my family--and my people know that beyond our borders, we are hated."

"Why? Why are you hated? Why keep the truth of this place secret? Its a shame no one knows about it--what good you do here," Feyre said. I couldn't disagree.

"There was a time when the Night Court was a Court of Nightmares and was ruled from the Hewn City. Long ago. But an ancient High Lord had a different vision, and rather than allowing the world to see his territory vulnerable at a time of change, he sealed the borders and staged a coup, eliminating the worst of the courtiers and predators, building Velaris for the dreamers, establishing trade and peace.

"To preserve it," Rhys continued, "he kept it a secret, and so did his offspring, and their offspring. There are many spells on the city itself--laid by him, and his Heirs, that make those who trade here unable to spill our secrets, and grant them adept skills at lying in order to keep the origin of their goods, their ships, hidden from the rest of the world. Rumor has it that ancient High Lord cast his very life's blood upon the stones and river to keep that spell eternal.

"But along the way, despite his best intentions, darkness grew again--not as bad as it had once been . . . But bad enough that there is a permanent divide within my court. We allow the world to see the other half, to fear them--so that they might never guess this place thrives here. And we allow the Court of Nightmares to continue, blind to Velaris's existence, because we know that without them, there are some courts and kingdoms that might strike us. And invade our borders to discover the many, many secrets we've kept from the other High Lords and courts these millennia."

"So truly none of the others know? In the other courts?"

"Not a soul. You will not find it on a single map, or mentioned in any book beyond those written here. Perhaps it is our loss to be so contained and isolated, but my people do not seem to be suffering much for it."

"Are you worried about Az going to the mortal lands tomorrow?"

"Of course I am. But Azriel has infiltrated places far more harrowing than a few mortal courts. He'd find my worrying insulting."

"Does he mind what he does? Not the spying, I mean. What he did to the Attor."

"It's hard to tell with him--and he'd never tell me. I've witnessed Cassian rip apart opponents and then puke his guts up once the carnage stopped, sometimes even mourn them. But Azriel . . . Cassian tries, I try--but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that's only when she's pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out."

"Have he and Mor ever--?" I hinted, cringing a bit at the inappropriate topic.

"That's between them--and Cassian. I'm not stupid or arrogant enough to get in the middle of it."

We walked in silence across the packed bridge to the other side of the river. I glanced up as strands of music poured from a group of performers outside a restaurant.

I furrowed my brows, remembering a night in that cell when I'd been huddled with Feyre for warmth, so ready for everything to just stop, not caring if I died, humiliated and disgraced. But music had poured in the cell, and it had encouraged me to hold on. And it was the same song that played, now.

"You," I realized. "You sent that music into our cell." He nodded.

"Why?" Feyre asked.

"Because you both were breaking. And I couldn't find another way to save you."

"I saw the Night Court," Feyre admitted.

"I didnt send those images to you."

"Thank you. For everything--for what you did. Then . . . and now," Feyre expressed to him. I still wasn't quite ready to thank him.

"Even after the Weaver? After this morning with my trap for the Attor?" he teased.

"You ruin everything," she groaned.

Rhys grinned before scooping us both up in his arms, and soaring into the air. I shrieked, hiding my face in his shoulder. Flying still scared me, but I thought maybe I would get used to it. Eventually.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Feyre and I laid in our bed that night, both of us reading very different novels. My eyelids were heavy, exhaustion overcoming me.

I might be a shameless flirt, but at least I dont have a horrible temper. You should come tend to my wounds from our squabble in the snow. Im bruised all over thanks to you. I heard in my head. Feyre scoffed, and I realized she'd heard it, too.

Go lick your wounds and leave us be. I replied. Feyre snorted.

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

My cheeks went pink, and I exchanged a glance with Feyre. Challenge gleamed in Feyre's eyes.

Lick you where, exactly? Feyre asked him.

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

Lets hope my licking is better than yours. I remember how horrible you were at it Under the Mountain. Feyre answered. I remembered that strange night, Rhys licking her tears away.

I was under duress, he replied. If you want, Id be more than happy to prove you wrong. Ive been told Im very, very good at licking.

Good night, Rhys I answered firmly, rolling my eyes.

Try not to moan too loudly when you dream about me. I need my beauty rest.

Feyre groaned, giving a vulgar gesture to the door, the direction of his room. I only blushed, though a smile crept onto my lips.

Chapter 35

Feyre looked so good in those fighting leathers.

They hugged her body, showing off her curves, and leaving me to stare pathetically. She didn't seem to notice as we approached Cassian for our first day of training.

I was shivering in my own leathers, my arms wrapped around myself.

"We'll get you both acquainted with hand-to-hand combat," he said to us. "Then, you'll both practice on punching bags. Then we'll spar."

"I'll spar with Feyre, but not with you," I told Cassian, shaking my head.

"Oh, am I not good enough for you?" he teased me with a smirk. I shrugged, staring at the floor. I had a hard time being vulnerable. I always had.

"If . . ." I trailed off, trying to find the words without sounding pathetic. "If I spar with you, all I will see is my father. And then I'll freeze; I won't be able to fight."

I couldn't meet his eyes as I mumbled the words, shame making my face burn. But he didn't look at me with pity; nor did he look at me with judgment.

"That's fine," he shrugged. "Then, you'll spar Feyre." I felt a wave of relief. Feyre brushed against my mental shield, sending comfort down to me.

I'd always struggled to ask for accommodations. I used to ask Tamlin not to slam doors. I'd asked him to get rid of the sideboard in the library; I couldn't look at it without remembering the suffocating panic of being locked inside of it.

I would beg Tam not to yell, not to break things, throw things, not to let those claws come out from under his skin. All of those things would make me feel like I was a child again, being berated and beaten by my father.

Tamlin always brushed me off, saying that my requests were ridiculous, and Father couldn't hurt me anymore.

Lucien, on the other hand, was more understanding. He told me he had seen the same thing with his mother. While he would tease me relentlessly and irritate me to no end, he'd always been gentle with me. I had always appreciated that.

Cassian had us walk through hand-to-hand combat with him, then we practiced on punching bags.

After an hour, my knuckles were aching. Feyre's arms were trembling, and I had to take a break to massage my fingers.

"This is because you're hitting on the wrong knuckles. Top two--pointer and middle finger--that's where the punches should connect. Hitting here will do more damage to you than to your opponent."

I studied my bruised fingers, considering his words. I knew my punches were weak and pathetic, but at least this would lessen the pain.

"Get a drink," he said. "Then we're working on your cores. No point in learning to punch if you can't even hold your stance."

I turned toward the sound of clashing blades in the open sparring ring across from us. Azriel and Rhys been sparring for nearly an hour, now. Despite the winter day, they were shirtless.

I stared at the tattoos that covered the both of them. I'd also seen them on Cassian.

"We get the tattoos when we're initiated as Illyrian warriors--for luck and glory on the battlefield," Cassian said, following my stare.

I was focusing in on Rhys, his muscles gleaming with sweat, his powerful thighs, the rippling strength in his back, surrounding those mighty, beautiful wings.

When I finally glanced away, I noticed Feyre staring at him in the same manner.

"Rhys is out of shape and wont admit it, but Azriel is too polite to beat him into the dirt," Cassian said.

If Rhys was out of shape, I didn't want to know what I was. But, I just followed the two to the corner where we got some water.

"So," Cassian said. "When are you going to talk about how you two wrote letters to Tamlin, telling him you've left for good?"

"I haven't written mine, yet," I admitted. "I can't find the words."

"You will," he assured me. "When you're ready. So, Feyre . . . when will we talk of what you wrote?"

"How about when you talk about how you tease and taunt Mor to hide whatever it is you feel for her?" Feyre asked.

"Old news," Cassian laughed.

"I have a feeling thats what she probably says about you," Feyre joked. I chuckled.

"Get back in the ring," Cassian said, setting down his empty glass. "No core exercises. Just fists. You want to mouth off, then back it up."

"Rhys told you?" Feyre asked, clearly talking about the letter.

"He informed Azriel, who is . . . monitoring things and needs to know. Az told me."

"I assume it was while you were out drinking and dancing," Feyre scoffed, pushing past him.

"Hey," Cassian said, catching her arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit a nerve. Az only told me because I told him I needed to know for my own forces; to know what to expect. None of us . . . we dont think its a joke. What you did was a hard call. A really damn hard call. It was just my shitty way of trying to see if you needed to talk about it. I'm sorry."

"All right."

I thought of my brother, how he would react if I sent him that letter. He would be furious, there was no avoiding that. I was sure he'd destroyed the entire manor by now. I would never be able to face him again. Just imaging the fury he'd turn on me . . . the thought nearly sent me into a panic.

"Thirty one-two punches; then forty; then fifty," he told us. "And you didnt answer my question."

"I'm fine," Feyre said, stepping and jabbing with her left side.

Her fist slammed into Cassian's sparring pad, snatching back as she struck with her right, shoulder and foot twisting.

"One," Cassian counted. Again, she struck, one-two. "Two. And fine is good--fine is great."

As Feyre continued, her punches began to hit harder--sloppier. After a few seconds, I could hear her sobbing.

I reached for her in concern, but she was moving too fast. Her last punch burned right through the pad, hitting Cassian's palm.

"I'm all right," he said gently when she realized what she had done and stopped.

"I killed them," she breathed.

I reached for her again, and she allowed it. I wrapped my arms around her, letting her rest against me.

"I know," Cassian said.

"It should have been me," she sobbed. I frowned at the words, holding her closer to her.

Rhys approached us, his wings wrapped around us, cocooned us, the sunlight casting the membrane in gold and red. Cassian and Azriel began sparring again.

"You will feel that way every day for the rest of your life," Rhysand said. "And I know this because I have felt that way every day since my mother and sister were slaughtered and I had to bury them myself, and even retribution didnt fix it. You can either let it wreck you, let it get you killed like it nearly did with the Weaver, or you can learn to live with it."

"I'm sorry--about your family," Feyre rasped.

"I'm sorry I didnt find a way to spare you from what happened Under the Mountain. To both of you," Rhys said with equal quiet. "From dying. From wanting to die. I have two kinds of nightmares: the ones where I'm again Amarantha's whore or my friends are--and the ones where I hear your neck snap and see the light leave your eyes."

Feyre placed a palm on his chest. It must've still been hot, since he winced, folding his wings back again.

"Ah," he said. "That."

"Autumn Court, right?" she guessed.

"Right. A gift from its High Lord, Beron," he observed, taking her hand in his. "I'm not well versed in the complexities of the other High Lords' elemental gifts, but we can figure it out--day by day, if need be."

"If youre the most powerful High Lord in history . . . does that mean the drop I got from you holds more sway over the others?" she asked.

"Give it a try. See if you can summon darkness."

"I dont know how I did it to begin with."

"Will it into being. Try thinking of me--how good-looking I am. How talented--"

"How arrogant," Feyre scoffed. I chuckled.

"That, too." He crossed his arms over his bare chest, the movement making the muscles in his stomach flicker.

"Put a shirt on while you're at it," I said to him, rolling my eyes at him.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" he teased, a feline smile spreading across his features.

"I'm surprised there aren't more mirrors in this house, since you seem to love looking at yourself so much," Feyre joked.

Azriel launched into a coughing fit. Cassian just turned away, a hand clamped over his mouth. Rhys's lips twitched.

"There's the Feyre I adore," he said to her. I understood the sentiment. I quite adored her, too.

She scowled, but closed her eyes.

"There are different kinds of darkness," Rhys said. "There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful. There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good."

My surroundings disappeared, darkness closing around me. I gasped, gripping onto Rhys out of instinct--from my fear of the dark.

Cassian swore, but Azriel murmured a soft challenge that had their blades striking again.

"Open your eyes," Rhys said to Feyre. She did.

Lights began twinkling--little stars, blooming irises of blue and purple and white. I dared to take one hand off of Rhysand's bicep, reaching out to touch a star. I gasped as it bounced between my fingers.

Then the darkness vanished. I saw Feyre reaching to the sky. And I was still clutching onto Rhys. I blushed, stepping away from him and clearing my throat.

"We can work on it later. For now," he said. "Now both you, go take a bath."

I narrowed my eyes at him; Feyre flipped him off. We had Cassian fly us home after that.

Chapter 36

      Four days later, Feyre and I were back in the training ring with Cassian. Mor and Amren were sunbathing off to the side, neither of them taking much interest in our training.

I tuned out their conversations of Rita's the night before. Feyre and I had been dragged along. I had not enjoyed the crowded bar.

In fact, while Feyre and Azriel had a bet going on who would flirt with Rhys, I had just glared at every female that even approached him. I wasn't even sure why.

I was now coated in sweat, my hair a mess by the time Rhys joined us in the ring. He was in his fine clothes, looking perfect in contrast to my state.

"Sorry to interrupt while things were getting interesting," Rhys said to us.

"Fortunately for Cassian's balls," Amren said, nestling back in her chaise, "you arrived at the right time."

Rhys laughed, and Cassian snarled. I just rolled my eyes, trying not to be embarrassed at what a mess I was, while also trying to figure out why I cared so much if Rhys saw me like this.

"Ready to go on a summer holiday?" Rhys asked us.

"The Summer Court invited you?" Mor demanded, sitting up straight in her chaise.

"Of course they did. Feyre, Mary, Amren, and I are going tomorrow," he announced.

I perked up, finally meeting his violet eyes. Of all the Courts, Summer had always interested me the most. I'd always wanted to go to a beach, find out first hand what sand felt like, what the ocean smelled like.

"The Summer Court is full of hotheaded fools and arrogant pricks," Cassian warned. "I should join you."

"You'd fit right in," Amren crooned. "Too bad you still aren't going."

"Watch it, Amren."

"Believe me, I'd prefer not to go, either," Amren said, baring her teeth at him.

"Cassian, considering the fact that the last time you visited, it didn't end well--" Rhys began.

"I wrecked one building--"

"And," Rhys cut him off. "Considering the fact that they are utterly terrified of sweet Amren, she is the wiser choice."

"It could easily be a trap," Cassian pushed. "Who's to say the delay in replying wasn't because they're contacting our enemies to ambush you?"

"That is also why Amren is coming," Rhys explained. "There is also a great deal of treasure to be found in the Summer Court. If the Book is hidden, Amren, you might find other objects to your liking."

"Shit," Cassian scoffed. "Really, Rhys? It's bad enough we're stealing from them, but robbing them blind--"

"Rhysand does have a point," Amren said. "Their High Lord is young and untested. I doubt he's had much time to catalog his inherited hoard since he was appointed Under the Mountain. I doubt he'll know anything is missing. Very well, Rhysand--I'm in."

"I will need you--not Amren--in the human realm," Rhys told Cassian. "The Summer Court has banned you for eternity, and though your presence would be a good distraction while Feyre does what she has to, it could lead to more trouble than it's worth."

"Just cool your heels, Cassian," Amren said. "We'll be fine without your swaggering and growling at everyone. Their High Lord owes Rhys a favor for saving his life Under the Mountain--and keeping his secrets."

"And the High Lord also probably wants to figure out where we stand in regard to any upcoming conflict," Mor added.

"Feyre and Mary, though," Cassian pressed. "It's one thing to have them here--even when everyone knows it. It's another to bring them to a different court, and introduce them as a member of our own."

I knew the message it would send to my brother. But I didn't really care. I wanted to explore other Courts. I wanted freedom.

Rhysand left us, and when I noticed Feyre beginning to trail him, I decided to follow. I said a quick thank you to Cassian for the training session before jogging to catch up to them, despite my sore muscles protest.

"Any more traps I should know about before we go tomorrow?" Feyre said to his back as I finally reached her side.

"Here I was, thinking our mental conversation the other night meant you'd both forgiven me," he teased us.

I flushed, remembered how he had suggested that we lick his wounds for him . . . along with other places.

"One would think a High Lord would have more important things to do than flirt all night," Feyre said to him.

"I do have more important things to do," he purred. "But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you girls can't resist watching me whenever we're out. So territorial. If looks could kill, sweet Mary would've murdered at least five females last night."

My cheeks went pinker as I recalled how I had glared at any female to even speak to him last night. The jealousy was new, and confusing. I was used to only feeling it towards Feyre.

"You havent been able to keep away from me since Calanmai, it seems," Feyre flirted, stepping closer to him.

He flicked her nose, and she hissed, batting his hand away. I couldn't help but snort, causing Feyre to scowl at me.

"I can't wait to see what that sharp tongue of yours can do at the Summer Court," he said, and vanished into shadow.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

I had tried to get away with a long-sleeved dress as Feyre and I got ready for our little vacation. But Feyre had insisted that I would get overheated, and I needed something breathable.

She'd pulled out a light blue sundress from the back of my wardrobe. It was sleeveless, just two straps over my shoulders. It hugged my breasts, then flowed to just above my knees. I had to admit, I looked beautiful in it. But my scars were on full display.

Feyre had a dress similar to mine, but in lilac. I had curled her hair for her, and she had done mine in two, long braids. I was still cutting my hair every time it got to my ribs.

We met Amren and Rhys in the entryway of the town house. Rhys was in a black suit with silver embroideries. He looked quite handsome, and I found myself staring at the way his shirt hugged his body, showing off outlines of his muscles.

"Good. Lets go," Rhys simply said.

"Wait," I said into his mind. He only raised a brow at me. "Glamour them."

He knew what I meant. He had glamoured my scars Under the Mountain, and I still wasn't quite comfortable with anyone seeing them. With a flick of his hand, they had disappeared.

"He's pissy this morning," Amren told us.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," Rhys answered for her, "I stayed out late with Cassian and Azriel, and they took me for all I was worth in cards."

"Sore loser?" Feyre teased.

"I am when my brothers tag-team me," he grumbled.

He winnowed us away, then, without a single warning. I had to squint when we landed, my eyes adjusting to the sun.

As I blinked, a turquoise sea formed in my vision. The dry heat made me shift, and I was suddenly grateful that Feyre had talked me out of the first dress.

We were on a landing platform at the base of a tan stone palace, the building perched atop a mountain-island. The city spread around and below us, toward that sparkling sea--the buildings all from that stone, or glimmering white material that might have been coral or pearl.

"Welcome to Adriata," a male said to us.

I spun around to face the owner of the voice. As I took him in, I registered him as the High Lord of Summer--Tarquin. My brother had spoken of him--how he had been appointed High Lord while still Under the Mountain.

"Good to see you again, Tarquin," Rhys drawled.

There were five other people behind him. They all had dark skin and hair of white or silver, just like Tarquin.

"Amren, I think you know. Though you haven't met her since your . . . promotion," Rhys said.

"Welcome back to the city, lady," Tarquin bowed.

"At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore," Amren said simply. "Condolences, of course."

I was shocked by the words, but I didn't let it show on my face. I recalled the mask Rhys was to wear--that I was now to wear, as well. Wicked, cruel.

Rhys gestured to Feyre. "I dont believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin."

His gaze drifted to her chest, the bare skin revealed by the sweeping vee of her gown. Rhys followed that gaze.

"Her breasts are rather spectacular, aren't they? Delicious as ripe apples," Rhys teased. I rolled my eyes.

"Here I was, thinking you had a fascination with my mouth," Feyre joked.

Rhys chuckled, then turned to me. He took my hand in his and led me forward, knowing I would be too shy to step up myself.

"This is Mariangela," Rhys introduced me.

"Just Mary," I corrected, my voice harsher than I meant. I couldn't stand my full name, not anymore. I couldn't stand the memories it brought me back to.

Surprise flickered in Rhys's eyes, but he nodded. "Mary."

"Princess," Tarquin bowed to me. I curtsied back. "I must say, we were all surprised to see you . . . alive. Most thought you dead."

"Yes, Tamlin kept her locked away quite well," Rhys said. I scowled at him.

"My brother thought it safest for me to be hidden," I explained to him, fidgeting with my hands, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Why did you leave?" he dared to ask.

"I was tired of hiding."

Tarquin studied me, then nodded, seeming to understand. "You have a tale to tell, it seems."

"We have many tales to tell," Rhys said. "So why not get comfortable?"

"We have refreshments prepared," a female said.

She was quite beautiful—skin as dark as chocolate and hair as white as the clouds. Her eyes seemed to shine as they took us in.

"Cresseida--Princess of Adriata," Tarquin introduced the female.

"A pleasure," she murmured huskily to Feyre and me. "And an honor."

"The honor's ours, princess," Feyre spoke for the two of us.

We were led into a palace crafted of shell-flecked walkways and walls, countless windows looking out to the bay and mainland or the open sea beyond. Sea glass chandeliers swayed on the warm breeze over gurgling streams and fountains of fresh water.

I stayed close to Feyre, both of us always a step behind Rhysand as we walked at Tarquin's side. Amren remained within reach, but wandered as she pleased.

"We have four main cities in my territory," Tarquin said. "We spend the last month of winter and first spring months in Adriata--it's finest at this time of year."

"Its very beautiful," Feyre expressed.

Tarquin stared at her for a long while, enough to make me brush my hand against Feyre's, pulling her attention away from him.

"The repairs have been going well, I take it," Rhys said casually.

"Mostly. There remains much to be done. The back half of the castle is a wreck. But, as you can see, we've finished most of the inside. We focused on the city first--and those repairs are ongoing," Tarquin said.

"I hope no valuables were lost during its occupation," Rhys said.

"Not the most important things, thank the Mother," Tarquin said.

Feyre stared off at the sea, the beautiful water. We stood in the dining room, the windows taking up most of the walls. It gave an excellent view of the ocean.

"This is my favorite view," Tarquin said to Feyre as he neared her, staring out the window as she was.

"You must be very proud," Feyre said, "to have such stunning lands."

"How do they compare to the ones you have seen?" Tarquin asked her.

"Everything in Prythian is lovely, when compared to the mortal realm," Feyre admitted.

"And is being immortal lovelier than being human?" he asked her.

"You tell me," Feyre responded.

"You are a pearl. Though I knew that the day you threw that bone at Amarantha and splattered mud on her favorite dress," Tarquin grinned.

I felt a wave of panic from the bond, and I immediately took Feyre's hand in my own, very casually. I would never understand why people brought up to trials to her. Why would she ever want to relive them?

"I do not remember you being quite so handsome Under the Mountain. The sunlight and sea suit you," Feyre flirted. I had to stop myself from wrinkling my nose in irritation.

"How, exactly, do you fit within Rhysands court?" Tarquin asked, the question aimed at the both of us.

The question made me realize that I truly had no idea. In Spring, I was a princess and nothing more. Just a little pet expected to keep myself looking pretty. Expected to behave and obey, no matter how much I hated myself—hated my life.

In Night, everything was different. The only consistency was that I had no purpose—no place.

"Feyre and Mary are members of my Inner Circle," Rhys answered for us. "And Feyre is my Emissary to the Mortal Lands. I have plans for Mary; I just need to sit down with her and discuss them when we get home."

My eyes shot up to meet his. Plans with me. Home. I wondered what that could possibly mean. He only winked at me.

"Do you have much contact with the mortal realm?" Cresseida asked.

Feyre took a spot at the table, and I sat myself beside her. Cresseida, Amren, Varian, and Rhys had already made themselves comfortable at the dining table.

"I prefer to be prepared for every potential situation. And, given that Hybern seems set on making themselves a nuisance, striking up a conversation with the humans might be in our best interest," Rhys answered.

"So its been confirmed, then? Hybern is readying for war," a male--introduced to us as Varian--asked.

"They're done readying," Rhys drawled, sipping from a glass of wine. "War is imminent."

"Yes, you mentioned that in your letter," Tarquin said, claiming the seat at the head of the table between Rhys and Amren.

"And you know that against Hybern, we will fight. We lost enough good people Under the Mountain. I have no interest in being slaves again. But if you are here to ask me to fight in another war, Rhysand--"

"That is not a possibility," Rhys smoothly cut in, "and had not even entered my mind."

"High Lords have gone to war for less, you know. Doing it over such unusual females would be nothing unexpected," Cresseida said.

I wondered if Tamlin truly would go to war to get us back. That would be unforgiveable in my eyes. I would never speak another word to him, even if he did lock me in that manor again.

"Try not to look too excited, princess. The High Lord of Spring has no plans to go to war with the Night Court," Feyre assured her. But even as she said the words, I wasn't completely sure.

"And are you in contact with Tamlin, then?" Cresseida pushed, grinning cruelly.

"There are things that are public knowledge, and things that are not. My relationship with him is well known. Its current standing, however, is none of your concern. Or anyone elses. But I do know Tamlin, and I know that there will be no internal war between courts--at least not over Mary and me, or our decisions."

"What a relief, then," Cresseida said. "To know we are not harboring a stolen bride and princess--and that we need not bother returning them to their master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep."

A sense of panic welled up in me. I could not go back to the Spring Court. I could not be back in that manor. Now that I had discovered what it was like to live freely, to be treated well, I couldn't go back there. I couldn't be treated so horribly ever again.

"We left of our own free will," Feyre said, placing a hand over mine. "And no one is our master."

"Think that all you want, lady, but the law is the law. You are--were his bride. And Mariangela is his sister." The use of my full name made me flinch. "Swearing fealty to another High Lord does not change that. So it is a very good thing that he respects your decisions. Otherwise, all it would take would be one letter from him to Tarquin, requesting your return, and we would have to obey. Or risk war ourselves."

"You are always a joy, Cresseida," Rhys sighed.

"Careful, High Lord. My sister speaks the truth," Varian said.

"Rhysand is our guest--his courtiers are our guests," Tarquin reminded them. "And we will treat them as such. We will treat them, Cresseida, as we treat people who saved our necks when all it would have taken was one word from them for us to be very, very dead."

I was staring down at my hands, anxiety now settling in my gut. I could not go back there. I just prayed to the Mother that Tamlin wouldn't get word of us being here until we got back to the Night Court.

"We have more to discuss later, you and I," Tarquin said, directly to Rhys. "Tonight, Im throwing a party for you all on my pleasure barge in the bay. After that, you're free to roam in this city wherever you wish. You will forgive its princess if she is protective of her people. Rebuilding these months has been long and hard. We do not wish to do it again any time soon."

Cresseida's eyes grew dark, haunted.

"Cresseida made many sacrifices on behalf of her people," Tarquin offered gently. "Do not take her caution personally."

"We all made sacrifices," Rhysand said. "And you now sit at this table with your family because of the ones Feyre made. So you will forgive me, Tarquin, if I tell your princess that if she sends word to Tamlin, or if any of your people try to bring them to him, their lives will be forfeit."

Even the sea breeze died. But I glanced at him gratefully.

"Do not threaten me in my own home, Rhysand," Tarquin said. "My gratitude goes only so far."

"It's not a threat," Rhys countered. "It's a promise."

I smiled slightly, amused by the words. Everyone looked at both Feyre and me, waiting for our response.

"No wonder immortality never gets dull," Feyre joked, raising her glass.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿

We were given a suite of connecting rooms, all centered on a large, lavish lounge that was open to the sea and city below. Feyre and I requested a shared bedroom, as always.

The two of us settled, setting our things down just before Rhys let himself in. He leaned against the door once he shut it, the top of his black tunic unbuttoned to reveal the upper whorls of the tattoo spanning his chest. I tried not to let myself stare for too long.

"The problem, I've realized, will be that I like Tarquin," he said. "I even like Cresseida. Varian, I could live without, but I bet a few weeks with Cassian and Azriel, and he'd be thick as thieves with them and I'd have to learn to like him. Or he'd be wrapped around Amren's finger, and I'd have to leave him alone entirely or risk her wrath."

"And?" Feyre said, bored.

"And," Rhys said, "I want you to find a way to do what you have to do without making enemies of them."

"So you're telling me don't get caught," she said. Rhys nodded.

"Do you like that Tarquin can't stop looking at you? I can't tell if it's because he wants you, or because he knows you have his power and wants to see how much," Rhys acknowledged. I pouted a bit, settling on my bed. I didn't appreciate the way he looked at her.

"Cant it be both?" Feyre asked.

"Of course. But having a High Lord lusting after you is a dangerous game."

"First you taunt me with Cassian, now Tarquin? Cant you find other ways to annoy me?"

Rhys prowled closer and braced a hand on either side of her, gripping the dresser. I got to my feet, nearing them to break it up if I had to.

"You have one task here, Feyre. One task that no one can know about. So do anything you have to in order to accomplish it. But get that book. And do not get caught."

"Anything?" she challenged. "If I fucked him for it, what would you do?"

The words sent a bout of frustration through me. A sour expression settled on my face as I crossed my arms. Rhys seemed to have similar reaction, his eyes flaring.

"You say such atrocious things. You are always free to do what you want, with whomever you want. So if you want to ride him, go ahead."

The thought of her riding him made me hate the male we were supposed to be befriending.

"Maybe I will."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Rhys, will he go to war? Over us?" I spoke up, trying not only to change the subject, but also get that fear out.

"I dont know," he admitted, breaking away from Feyre to turn towards me.

"I--I would go back. If it came to that, Rhysand. Id go back, rather than make you fight," Feyre said.

But I wasn't sure I agreed. I wasn't sure I could go back to a place I wasn't allowed to leave. A place that reminded me of my father. A place where I was underestimated. A place where I would have to face my brother's anger daily.

"Would you want to go back? Would going to war on your behalf make you love him again? Would that be a grand gesture to win you?"

"Im tired of death. I wouldnt want to see anyone else die--least of all for me."

"That doesnt answer my question."

"No. I wouldnt want to go back. But I would. Pain and killing wouldnt win me."

"I can't go back there," I admitted, the words a whisper. "I don't care how selfish it is of me--I can't go back, Rhys. Please don't let him ever take me back there."

Rhys's eyes softened as they met mine. He approached me, a hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His other hand wiped a stray tear from my eye.

"He locked you up because he knew--the bastard knew what a treasure you are, Mary," he said softly. "That you are worth more than land or gold or jewels."

I stared at him, tears shining in my eyes. I wasn't used to be spoken to like that--spoken about like that. Like I mattered, like I was worth something.

"I will do everything in my power to keep him from getting his claws on you again, Mare, I mean that," he swore to me.

I nodded at him, grateful.

And then, he was gone.

Chapter 37

Notes:

hey guys. so im on vacation, which is why nothing has been updated. but i had this chapter prewritten for yall

The boat was making me feel sick.

I didn't like the way it rocked, even if the sea was calm enough. But I kept it to myself, not eating or drinking for fear of emptying my stomach upon the floor.

"You'd think with our skilled jewelers, they could make a crown a bit more comfortable. This one digs in horribly," Tarquin was joking about the crown on his head.

"How did you keep it out of her hands?" Feyre dared to ask from beside me.

Seated at his left, deep in conversation with Cresseida, Rhys didnt so much as look over at us. He'd barely looked at us all night. Which disappointed me, because Feyre and I looked beautiful. We had dressed so nicely.

"We managed to smuggle out most of our treasure when the territory fell. Nostrus--my predecessor--was my cousin. I served as prince of another city. So I got the order to hide the trove in the dead of night, fast as we could."

"I didnt know the Summer Court valued treasure so much," Feyre said. He huffed a laugh.

"The earliest High Lords did. We do now out of tradition, mostly," Tarquin explained.

"So is it gold and jewels you value, then?" she pushed.

"Among other things."

"Are outsiders allowed to see the collection?" Feyre asked. "My father was a merchant--I spent most of my childhood in his office, helping him with his goods. It would be interesting to compare mortal riches to those made by Fae hands."

"Of course. Tomorrow--after lunch, perhaps?" Tarquin offered. Feyre nodded with a smile. "What was it like? The mortal world?"

"I only saw a very small slice of it. My father was called the Prince of Merchants--but I was too young to be taken on his voyages to other parts of the mortal world. When I was eleven, he lost our fortune on a shipment to Bharat. We spent the next eight years in poverty, in a backwater village near the wall. So I cant speak for the entirety of the mortal world when I say that what I saw there was . . . hard. Brutal. Here, class lines are far more blurred, it seems. There, it's defined by money. Either you have it and you dont share it, or you are left to starve and fight for your survival. My father . . .He regained his wealth once I went to Prythian. And the very people who had been content to let us starve were once again our friends. I would rather face every creature in Prythian than the monsters on the other side of the wall. Without magic, without power, money has become the only thing that matters."

"Would you spare them if war came?"

"My sisters dwell with my father on his estate. For them, I would fight. But for those sycophants and peacocks . . . I would not mind to see their order disrupted."

"There are some in Prythian who would think the same of the courts."

"What--get rid of the High Lords?"

"Perhaps. But mostly eliminate the inherent privileges of High Fae over the lesser faeries. Even the terms imply a level of unfairness. Maybe it is more like the human realm than you realize, not as blurred as it might seem. In some courts, the lowest of High Fae servants has more rights than the wealthiest of lesser faeries."

"Do you agree with them? That it should change?"

"I am a young High Lord," he said. "Barely eighty years old. Perhaps others might call me inexperienced or foolish, but I have seen those cruelties firsthand, and known many good lesser faeries who suffered for merely being born on the wrong side of power. Even within my own residences, the confines of tradition pressure me to enforce the rules of my predecessors: the lesser faeries are neither to be seen nor heard as they work. I would like to one day see a Prythian in which they have a voice, both in my home and in the world beyond it."

Feyre studied him.

"Tell me what that look means," Tarquin said.

"Im thinking it would be very easy to love you. And easier to call you my friend," Feyre replied.

I nearly scoffed, but remembered myself. If she was just flirting to get the book, she was doing a fine job. Too fine of a job.

"I would not object to either."

I glanced over at Cresseida, who was now almost in Rhysand's lap. And Rhysand was smiling, one finger tracing circles on the back of her hand while she bit her lip and beamed.

Rhys leaned in to hear something Cresseida was saying, her lips brushing his ear, her hand now entwining with his. A deep sense of lonely longing filled me as I stared at them.

Rhys's eyes shifted toward me, at last remembering I existed, and there was nothing on his face--no hint that he felt any of what I did through our bond.

I didnt care if I had no shield, if my thoughts were wide open and he read them like a book. He didnt seem to care, either. He went back to chuckling at whatever Cresseida was telling him, sliding closer.

I turned to Feyre, hoping I could start a conversation with her to take my mind off of things. Only to see her hand on Tarquin's knee. A sick wave of nausea went through my body.

"I'm feeling quite faint," I lied, getting to my feet. "I'm going to my room."

Feyre broke out of her conversation with Tarquin, a frown marring her features as she sat straight, studying me.

"Do you need me?" Feyre asked, brows furrowed in concern.

"No, it's fine," I said, shaking my head.

Before anyone could question me further, I winnowed to the dock and stormed off.

Hot tears burned in my eyes the entire walk to my room. I let them fall the second the door closed behind me.

I cried out in frustration, taking the wine glass I had left on my nightstand and slamming it to the ground, letting it shatter.

It was ridiculous of me to be upset with them. Neither of them owed me anything. But Rhys confused me. He spent his days flirting with us, only to go and let that female sit on his lap.

And Feyre . . . I knew she would never reciprocate my feelings. She was likely normal, unlike me, and only had feelings for males. It was stupid of me to read our friendship as something more.

But I wanted her so badly. All I wanted was for her to love me like I loved her. But I doubted anyone would ever love me in that way.

She had told Tarquin that he would be easy to love. I knew I would never be. And I didn't blame her for wanting someone easier to love than I was.

I wanted someone to need me too much, to know me too well. But I would be a miserable partner. Even my own family hadn't been able to stand me. No one could ever want me like that. I pitied anyone that would be tied to me forever.

I stared down at the shattered glass as my mind raced with those thoughts. With tear streaming down my face, I picked up a piece of glass.

I pressed it into the skin of my wrist until blood was drawn. I let out a harsh breath, focusing on the pain.

It had been so long since I'd done this. Feyre was always by my side, and the second she felt that self loathing flow through the bond, she refused to leave me alone.

I climbed into my bed when I was done, sobbing as I curled into a ball, burying myself under the covers.

The door opened softly, footsteps sounding through the room until Feyre was standing above me. I didn't look up at her.

"Are you okay, Mary?" she asked quietly.

"I'm fine," I murmured.

She glanced down at the broken glass on the floor. Her brows raised as she reached out and took my arm. I was too exhausted to stop her.

"Oh, Mary," she sighed as she took in the damage.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, lower lip quivering as my tears started again.

"Oh, don't apologize," she cooed, sitting down on the bed.

"You're disappointed in me," I cried, glancing up at her. Her face softened, and she took my own in her hands.

"I could never be disappointed in you," she assured me. "I am worried about you, though."

"I'm fine," I lied, though it was through my sobs.

She pursed her lips, giving me an unconvinced look. But instead of pressing me, she took my arm in her hands and pressed kisses to the wounds.

Without bothering to change her clothes, she got under the covers and tugged me into her arms. I rested my head under her chin and wrapped my own arms around her.

We fell asleep like that, safe in each other's arms.

Chapter 38

I woke in Feyre's arms. She was already awake, but she didn't move. She just held me close, letting me nuzzle my face in her neck.

We stayed like that until lunch, finding comfort in one another. Her chin rested on the top of my head, her fingers playing with my hair.

When we finally got out of the bed, the two of us bathed together, neither of us wanting to leave the other's side. It had become so normal that it didn't even seem strange anymore, seeing her completely bare.

When I got dressed, a sense of panic filled me as I realized the glamour had worn off of my arms and shoulder. I wasn't going to find Rhys and ask him to do it again; I was too proud for that. Also too jealous and hurt.

I opted for a long sleeved dress that was still breathable enough. I didn't care if I was miserable in this heat; nobody was seeing my scars.

Feyre didn't object this time, seeming to finally understand just how deep my insecurities ran. She only took my hand and led me out of our room.

We met the group in the main hall. Rhysand's violet eyes swept over the both of us, noting our Summer Court clothing. Neither Feyre nor I met his eyes, or Cresseida's.

"You're both looking well today," Tarquin said, inclining his head.

I could feel Rhys's eyes on us, assessing us. I put up my mental shield,

"I hope we're not interrupting," Feyre said to Amren.

"We were finishing up a rather lively debate about armadas and who might be in charge of a unified front," Amren shrugged. "Did you know that before they became so big and powerful, Tarquin and Varian led Nostrus's fleet?"

"You didn't mention you were a sailor," Feyre said, sounding intrigued.

"I had planned to tell you during our tour," he said, holding out an arm. "Shall we?"

I let go of her hand, and she turned to me, blue eyes meeting mine. She gave me a reassuring glance. One that reminded me she was just flirting with him to get the Book.

She smiled at Tarquin, a real smile. A smile like I hadn't seen in a very long time. I couldn't help but frown a bit, and I could feel Rhys assessing my reaction.

"See you later."

The two left, leaving me with the rest of them. Cresseida was staring me down. I finally turned my gaze to focus on her. A smirk fell upon her lips, one that told me exactly what she'd done last night. I broke our eye contact, trying to ignore how much everything hurt.

When she turned to Rhys, flashing him a flirtatious smile, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I spun on my heel and left without saying a word.

I'd forgotten just how cruel some girls could be. Feyre was my very first female friend--one of my first friends at all--and that wasn't just because I'd been locked up for so long.

My mother had made me attend lessons with other girls on the grounds of our manor when I was a child. The girls were cruel and awful to me. They'd pull my hair, mock me, and shove me. I had to beg my mother to let me take private lessons.

Mother finally relented after a girl cut a chunk of my hair off with a pair of scissors while sitting behind me during our lesson. Hurting me was fine in my mother's eyes, but damaging my beauty was too far.

Cresseida reminded me of those girls. After being around Mor, Feyre, and Amren, I had forgotten that some females were just as unkind as males could be. Every female interaction I'd had in Velaris had been so wonderful.

I sat down on a staircase once I felt that I had put enough space between myself and them. I buried my face in my hands, letting out a deep breath I had been holding in.

I didn't look up when I heard footsteps nearing me. I knew who it was, and I didn't want to see him.

"You'll die of heatstroke in that dress," Rhys warned me.

"I don't care," I grumbled.

"You could've come and found me; I would've glamoured them," he insisted, sitting beside me on the staircase.

"No," was all I said.

He let out a sigh. I felt his hand on my back, and I flinched, shrinking away from him, my head still in my hands.

"What's wrong, darling?" he asked me.

I scoffed, lifting my head and glaring at him. He had the nerve to look concerned for me.

"Darling?" I repeated. "Is that what you were calling her last night?"

The concern on his face faded into amusement, a smile gracing his features.

"Such a jealous girl," he smirked.

"No, just a hurt one," I corrected. The smirk was wiped from his face. "You said I was a treasure worth more than land, gold, and jewels. No one has ever spoken about me like that before. Then, just hours later, you wouldn't even look at me. You had her on your lap and you had your side of the bond completely blocked off."

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said softly. "I didn't sleep with her, Mary." My head shot up again, my eyes meeting his.

"You didn't?"

"No, I didn't," he assured me. "I was just flirting with her to get information about the Court. Feyre is doing the same with Tarquin. It means nothing, Mare."

I huffed, thinking his claim over. He had still ignored me, which had only confused and upset me. That mixed with Feyre flirting with Tarquin had sent me into a spiral.

"You're gonna die in that dress; let me see your arms," he instructed. "I'll glamour them, then you can go change."

I wanted to refuse, but I was sweating in this dress. My head was starting to feel light, and I gave in.

"Fine," I grumbled.

He lifted my sleeves, running his fingers over the scars. His brows furrowed as his eyes caught on the ones from the night before.

"These are new," he observed.

"Feyre already dealt with it. Just glamour them," I pleaded with him, not able to meet his eyes.

He relented, glamouring them as he ran his hand over my arm. Then, he slid the top of my sleeve aside to reveal the scars my father had left me with. He glamoured them, as well.

"You know that nobody would judge you for these," he said to me.

"I know, I just hate them," I admitted.

"I love my scars," he said to me. "They show that I survived something. Yours are the same."

I glanced up at him, having never thought of it like that before. But still, knowing people could see them was something I couldn't handle.

Besides Rhys and Feyre, only my brother and Lucien had seen them. And it was brief. Very rarely did I wear short sleeves around them.

Tam and Lucien had never once said a word about the scars. For a while, that had been a relief. But after centuries of suffocating in my own mind, a part of me had longed for my brother to ask me if I was okay--if I needed help. He never did.

"Let's go back to your room and find you a change of clothes," he suggested. I didn't argue.

He got to his feet and held a hand out to me. I smiled, taking it and getting to my feet. He held my hand the whole way back to my room.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿

Rhys made himself at home in my room. Though, he picked up the broken glass from the night before, first. I was grateful for that.

He sprawled out on the bed as I went into the bathroom to change into a short-sleeved dress. I could hear the door opening, muffled conversation reaching me through the closed door.

When I emerged, I found Rhys teasing a very frustrated Feyre.

"Jealous, Feyre?"

"If Im jealous, then youre jealous about Tarquin and his honey pouring,” Feyre retorted.

“Do you think I particularly like having to flirt with a lonely female to get information about her court, her High Lord? Do you think I feel good about myself, doing that? Do you think I enjoy doing it just so you have the space to ply Tarquin with your smiles and pretty eyes, so we can get the Book and go home?" Rhys replied, flashing his teeth.

"You seemed to enjoy yourself plenty last night,” Feyre scoffed.

“I didnt take her to bed,” he snarled. “She wanted to, but I didnt so much as kiss her. I took her out for a drink in the city, let her talk about her life, her pressures, and brought her back to her room, and went no farther than the door. I waited for you both at breakfast, but you slept in. Or avoided me, apparently. And I tried to catch your eyes this afternoon, but you were both so good at shutting me out completely."

"Is that what got under your skin? That we shut you out, or that it was so easy for Tarquin to get in?" she demanded.

"What got under my skin," Rhys said, "is that you smiled at him."

I couldn’t help but admit to myself that it had bothered me to. More that it hurt my feelings. Why didn’t she smile at me like that?

"You are jealous,” Feyre realized.

He shook his head, stepping over to the little table against the far wall and knocking back a glass of amber liquid.

"I heard what you told him," he said. "That you thought it would be easy to fall in love with him. You meant it, too."

"So?"

"I was jealous—of that. That Im not—that sort of person. For anyone,” he admitted.

Hearing him say that made me feel seen—better. Because I had felt the exact same way.

“The Summer Court has always been neutral; they only showed backbone during those years Under the Mountain. I spared Tarquins life because Id heard how he wanted to even out the playing field between High Fae and lesser faeries. Ive been trying to do that for years. Unsuccessfully, but—I spared him for that alone. And Tarquin, with his neutral court he will never have to worry about someone walking away because the threat against their life, their childrens lives, will always be there. So, yes, I was jealous of him—because it will always be easy for him. And he will never know what it is to look up at the night sky and wish."

The dress I had discarded slipped from my hands, and I gasped as I reached down to pick it up. Feyre and Rhys both turned to face me, as if they hadn’t noticed I’d been standing there.

"In making each other jealous, we also managed to upset Mary," Rhys said to her, acknowledging my presence for the first time. "She's been completely innocent in this entire exchange, and seemed to come out the most hurt. So why don't we both cease with the flirting?"

Feyre’s expression twisted with concern. She breezed to my side, her hands landing on my arms as she looked me over, as though checking if I was okay.

"Mare, is that why you hurt yourself last night?" she asked me, eyes wide. I glanced at both her and Rhys, completely unsure of what to say.

"No," I claimed. "You're both free to do whatever you want. Neither of you owe me anything, and you can't give me all of your attention. I just . . . I felt lonely, that's all."

"You can let us know when you're feeling lonely," Feyre assured me.

"Neither of you even looked at me last night," I scoffed, the hurt coming back.

It was completely unfair of me to be upset. They were both trying to get the Book. They were doing their jobs. They couldn't pay attention to me all of the time.

"You have spent your entire life being ignored and discarded,” Rhys said to me, coming to our side. “There’s nothing wrong with being upset that we did the same.”

He was right. Deep down, the two of them ignoring me had sparked a deeper hurt in me—a reminder of how my family had disregarded me. Rhys and Feyre were supposed to be different. They were supposed to care for me. And I knew they did. But it had still hurt.

“We won’t do it again,” Feyre promised me. “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

“You could get me a drink,” I mumbled. She laughed, eyes lighting with relief.

Feyre took my hand as we went back to that little table. Rhys still had his drink in hand. Feyre poured a drink for both me and her.

“To the people who look at the stars and wish,” Feyre said.

She lifted her glass, and both Rhys and I followed suit. We clinked our drinks together.

"To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered,” Rhys said.

Chapter 39

Two days of careful planning passed. Rhys and Feyre had both toned down the flirting, and were checking in with me more often. It meant a lot to me that they cared--and that Rhys didn't tease me for my jealousy anymore.

Feyre and Amren were finding the Book today. I stayed on land with Rhys, very anxiously waiting. Rhys assured me that if something went wrong, we'd both feel it through the bond. But I still felt unsure.

"She'll be fine, bunny," he assured me.

"And if something goes wrong, are you planning on helping her?" I demanded, picking at the skin on my fingers.

"You are quite neurotic," he mused. "Has anyone ever told you that?" I narrowed my eyes at him, sneering slightly. He only chuckled.

The sound of a loud, desperate gasp took my attention away from the infuriating male. My green eyes went wide, and I took off towards the shore, struggling to get footing in the soft sand. Amren and Feyre were swimming for us as fast as they could, alarms going off behind them.

When they finally reached shore, they collapsed onto the sand, gasping for air. I knelt by their sides, reaching for Feyre.

"Are you okay, Fey?" I fussed as she lifted her head. She couldn't catch her breath long enough to reply. Rhys finally made his way over to us, albeit, slowly.

"What are you two doing?" Rhys asked casually.

"Where the hell were you?" Amren demanded.

"I thought you had it covered," he said to her.

"That place, or that damned book, nearly nullified my powers. We almost drowned," Amren hissed.

My gaze shot up to Rhys, my nostrils flaring as I took in his features. He had told me he'd be able to sense if they were in trouble.

"I didn't feel it through the bond--" Rhys began.

"It probably nullified that, too, you stupid bastard," Amren snapped.

"Did you get it?" he asked.

"That's what your concerned about?" I grumbled as Feyre groaned, resting her head on my lap.

I brushed her wet hair away from where it was sticking to her face. She swept a hand over her pocket, where the book was stowed away.

"Good," Rhys said. "I missed some guards."

He gripped our arms, and winnowed us away. We landed in the entryway of the house, and the two females collapsed the second we got our footing. Feyre whimpered as she hit the ground, and I was immediately knelt by her side again, my arms wrapped around he.

"What the hell?" Cassian shouted as he stormed into the room.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, too," Rhys shrugged. I glanced up, eyes brushing over Cassian, Azriel, and Mor.

"How?" Amren asked Feyre. I was unaware of what she was asking.

"During the Tithe, the water-wraith emissary said they had no gold, no food to pay.They were starving," Feyre said.

I recalled that day. How I'd given them all of the jewlery I'd been wearing, save for the necklace Rhys had given me. The necklace that was still around my neck, now.

"So Mary and I gave her some of my jewelry to pay her dues. She swore that she and her sisters would never forget the kindness."

"Can someone explain, please?" Mor called from the room beyond.

Amren stared at both Feyre and me, amusement playing her features.

"What?" Feyre demanded.

"Only an immortal with a mortal heart would have given one of those horrible beasts the money. It's so ... " Amren laughed again. I scowled, wondering if she even considered the fact that I had never been mortal. "Whatever luck you live by, girl ...thank the Cauldron for it."

Feyre let out a very small chuckle, just before bursting into a fit of laughter. I rolled my eyes, letting go of her as she sat all the way up.

"Ladies," Rhysand purred, instruction in his tone.

Feyre groaned as she got to her feet, holding onto me for support as I rose with her. She offered her hand to Amren and helped her up. Then, she took the Book from her pocket, tossing it onto the table.

"One last task, Feyre. Unlock it, please," Rhys instructed.

I helped Feyre slide into a chair, then she tugged the Book toward her, pressing a hand on top of it.

Hello, liar, it purred.

"Hello," Feyre said softly.

Will you read me?

"No."

Say please.

"Please," Feyre said.

Like calls to like.

"Open," Feyre gritted out.

Cursebreaker, it called, and the box clicked open.

Feyre sagged back in her chair, and I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I never want to hear that voice again."

"Well, you will," Rhysand said blandly, lifting the lid. "Because you're coming with us to see those mortal queens as soon as they deign to visit." I wanted to groan at the idea of going to the mortal lands again.

"What language is that?" Mor asked while they flipped through the books.

"It is no language of this world," Amren announced.

"What is it, then?" Azriel asked.

"It is the Leshon Hakodesh. The Holy Tongue," Amren explained.

"I heard a legend that it was written in a tongue of mighty beings whofeared the Cauldron's power and made the Book to combat it. Mighty beings who were here... and then vanished. You are the only one who can uncode it," Rhys recalled.

"Don't play those sorts of games, Rhysand," Amren warned.

"Not a game. It was a gamble that Amren would be able toread it—and a lucky one," Rhys shrugged. "I thought, too, that the Book might also contain the spell tofree you—and send you home. If they were the ones who wrote it in the first place."

"Shit," Cassian scoffed.

"I did not tell you my suspicions, because I did not want to get your hopes up. But if the legends about the language were indeed right ... Perhaps you might find what you've been looking for, Amren," Rhys said.

"I need the other piece before I can begin decoding it."

"Hopefully our request to the mortal queens will be answered soon," he said,frowning at the sand and water staining the foyer. "And hopefully the next encounter will go better than this one."

"Thank you," Amren said quietly.

"Even if the book can nullify the Cauldron ... there's Jurian to contend with," Azriel pointed out.
"That's the piece that doesn't fit. Why resurrect him in the first place? And how does theking keep him bound? What does the king have over Jurian to keep him loyal?"

"I'd considered that," Rhys said, taking a seat across from me at the table, right between his two brothers.

"Jurian was... obsessive in his pursuits of things," Mor paled. "He died with many of those goals left unfinished. If he suspects Miryam is alive—"

"Odds are, Jurian believes Miryam is gone," Rhys said. "And who better to raise his former lover than a king with a Cauldron able to resurrect the dead?"

"Would Jurian ally with Hybern just because he thinks Miryam is dead and wants her back?" Cassian said.

"He'd do it to get revenge on Drakon for winning her heart," Rhys said. "We'll discuss this later."

Feyre studied Rhys, then turned her head to glance at where I was standing beside her. My hand was still on her shoulder.

To the dreams that are answered, she said through the bond.

To the huntress and princess who remember to reach back for those less fortunate—and water-wraiths who swim very, very fast, Rhys replied.

Chapter 40

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Feyre's stretching and yawning woke me the next morning. I blinked, clearing my blurry vision as she went to get out of our bed. I whined in protest, wrapping my arms around her and nuzzling my face in her shoulder to make her stay.

"It's too early," I insisted.

"I told you not to stay up late reading," she reminded me.

But her hand intertwined in my hair, and she stayed in bed.

"Your hair is so soft," she mumbled. I hummed my thanks, breathing in her scent.

After ten minutes, Feyre stirred beside me, and despite wanting nothing more than to stay cuddled up with her all day, I sat up and got out of our bed.

Once we got dressed and ventured downstairs, we noticed that the house was unusually quiet. It seemed we were the only ones home.

"Do you want some tea?" I asked her as we entered the kitchen.

"I'd love some," she confirmed.

I made us some peppermint tea, and the two of us brought it up to my garden on the roof.

Rhys was sitting in one of the chairs I had brought up there for when I wanted to relax. He was drinking some sort of alcohol, and I considered pointing out how early it was. But I decided against it. His wings were out, draped on the floor behind him.

"I know you're there," he said without turning to look at us.

"If you want to be alone, we can go," Feyre offered.

He jerked his chin toward the empty chairs beside him. Feyre and I exchanged a glance before sitting down.

On the table beside the chairs, there sat a wooden box. I could scent traces of the Summer Court on it.

"What is that?" I asked before taking a sip of my tea.

"I debated it for a good while, you know," he said. "Whether I should just ask Tarquin for the Book. But I thought that he might very well say no, then sell the information to the highest bidder. I thought he might say yes, and it'd still wind up with too many people knowing our plans and the potential for that information to get out. And at the end of the day, I needed the why of our mission to remain secret for as long as possible. I didn't like stealing from him. I didn't like hurting his guards. I didn't like vanishing without a word, when, ambition or no, he did truly want an alliance. Maybe even friendship. No other High Lords have ever bothered—or dared. But I think Tarquin wanted to be my friend."

"What is that?" Feyre repeated.

"Open it."

I raised a brow at him, then opened up the lid. There was a bed of white velvet, and on top sat three large rubies.

"Blood rubies," he said. "In the Summer Court, when a grave insult has been committed, they send a blood ruby to the offender. An official declaration that there is a price on their head—that they are now hunted, and will soon be dead. The box arrived at the Court of Nightmares an hour ago. I take it one of these has my name on it. And both of yours. And Amren's."

"I didn't do anything," I grumbled, brows furrowing.

"I made a mistake," he said. "I should have wiped the minds of the guards and let them continue on. Instead, I knocked them out. It's been a while since I had to do any sort of physical ...defending like that, and I was so focused on my Illyrian training that I forgot the other arsenal at my disposal. They probably awoke and went right to him."

"He would have noticed the Book was missing soon enough," Feyre pointed out.

"We could have denied that we stole it and chalked it up to coincidence. I made a mistake."

"It's not the end of the world if you do that every now and then," Feyre joked.

"You've been told you are now public enemy number one of the Summer Court and you're fine with it?"

"No. But I don't blame you," Feyre shrugged.

"Perhaps you could return the Book once we've neutralized the Cauldron and apologize," I suggested. Rhys snorted.

"No. Amren will get that book for as long as she needs it."

"Then make it up to him in some way. Clearly, you wanted to be his friend as much as he wanted to be yours. You wouldn't be so upset otherwise," Feyre said.

"I'm not upset. I'm pissed off."

"Semantics."

"Feuds like the one we just started can last centuries—millennia. If that's the cost of stopping this war, helping Amren ... I'll pay it."

"Do the others know—about the blood rubies?" I asked.

"Azriel was the one who brought them to me. I'm debating how I'll tell Amren."

"Why?" I frowned.

"Because her answer would be to go to Adriata and wipe the city off the map," he answered. Feyre shuddered. From beside me. "Exactly."

"I understand," Feyre said. "why you did what you had to in order to protect this city. And I understand why you will do anything to keep it safe during the times ahead."

"And your point is?" he snapped. I shot him a glare for speaking to her like that. But I also understood. He was having a bad day.

"Get through this war, Rhysand, and then worry about Tarquin and the blood rubies. Nullify the Cauldron, stop the king from shattering the wall and enslaving the human realm again, and then we'll figure out the rest after," Feyre advised.

"You sound as if you plan to stay here for a while."

"We can find our own lodging, if that's what you're referring to," Feyre shrugged. "Maybe we'll use our generous paychecks to get ourselves something lavish."

"Spare your paycheck. Both of your names have already been added to the list of those approved to use my household credit. Buy whatever you wish. Buy yourself a whole damn house if you want," he said.

"I saw a pretty shop across the Sidra the other day. It sold what looked to be lots of lacy little things. Are we allowed to buy that on your credit, too, or does that come out of our personal funds?" she teased. I smiled a bit, amused by her attempt to cheer him up.

"I'm not in the mood."

"I never knew Illyrians were such morose drunks," Feyre complained.

"I'm not drunk—I'm drinking," he said, his teeth flashing a bit.

"Again, semantics. Maybe you should have slept with Cresseida after all—so you could both be sad and lonely together," Feyre scoffed. I rolled my eyes at her.

"So you're entitled to have as many bad days as you want, but I can't get a few hours?"

"Oh, take however long you want to mope. I was going to invite you to come shopping with us for said lacy little unmentionables, but ... sit up here forever, if you have to. Maybe I'll send a few to Tarquin—with an offer to wear them for him if he forgives us. Maybe he'll take those blood rubies right back."

I shot her a look, but Rhys's mouth barely, barely tugged up at the corners.

"He'd see that as a taunt."

"I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he'd give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments. Maybe I'll send over a few of Mary's as well."

"Feyre," I scolded, blushing.

"Someone thinks mighty highly of herself."

"Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't the both of us? You seem to have difficulty not staring at us day and night."

"Am I supposed to deny," he drawled, but something sparked in his eyes, "that I find you girls attractive?"

"You've never said it," I pressed him, finally allowing myself to join the teasing.

"I've told you both many times, and quite frequently, how attractive I find you," he said.

"Well, maybe you should do a better job of it," I blurted, surprising myself with my words.

"Is that a challenge, Mary?" he purred.

"Is it?" His pupils flared. He was completely focused on us. On our lips.

"Why don't we go down to that store right now, so you can both try on those lacy little things—so I can help you pick which one to send to Tarquin," he offered.

My breath caught in my throat. Such a dangerous line we walked together. I didn't know what to say, and he had rendered Feyre speechless as well.

Azriel shot up, flying towards us until he had landed on the roof.

"We should go," I muttered. Feyre nodded her agreement, standing up as I did.

I could very clearly sense Feyre's arousal as we entered the hallway of the town house. I wondered if he had been serious with his offer. And if we would have taken him up on it if Azriel hadn't shown up. I could almost see what would have happened.

The shop ladies would have been polite and given us privacy as Rhys sat on the settee in the back of the shop while Feyre and I went behind the curtained-off chamber to try on matching red lace sets. We would have admired each other as we changed, both of us stealing glances at the other.

And when we emerged, mustering up more bravado than we felt, Rhys would have looked us each up and down. Twice. And he would have kept staring at us as he informed the shop ladies that the store was closed and they should all come back tomorrow, and we'd leave the tab on the counter.

We would have stood there, naked save for scraps of red lace, while we listened to the quick, discreet sounds of them closing up and leaving. And he would have looked at us the entire time—at our breasts, visible through the lace; at the plane of our stomachs, now finally looking less starved and taut. At the sweep of our hips and thighs—between them. Then he would murmured, "Come here."

And we would have walked to him, aware of every step, as we at last stopped in front of where he sat. Between his legs. His hand would have slid to Feyre's waist. Then he'd have used his other hand to tug me into his lap, reaching around me to grope my breast. Feyre would still be standing as he brushed a kiss to her navel.

Feyre slammed into the post of the stairwell, pulling me out of my thoughts. I blinked, then exchanged a glance with Feyre, realizing by her blown pupils that her thoughts had been the same as mine. She huffed, glaring at the tattoo on her hand. I swore I heard his laughter in my head.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

 

We ate with Mor that night, but that was fine with me. I needed some time alone with the girls. I was sick of males.

Eventually, she noticed that we scowled every time Rhys's name was brought up. So we admitted to her what had happened--the vision he had sent into our minds.

She had burst into a laughing fit until wine came spewing out of her nose.

We took a bath, this time separately. With all the pent up frustration from that vision, and the flirting, I didn't think bathing with her would quite help. It would only make it worse.

It was well past two in the morning when Feyre decided to go to sleep. She was drifting off while I read my book.

I was peacefully reading a sweet, innocent romance, when the house let out a groan. Like the wood itself was being warped, the house began to moan and shudder—the colored glass lights in the room tinkling.

Feyre jolted upright as I slammed my book down. Something moved out of the corner of my eye, and I turned towards the door, squinting. Darkness was leaking into our room from the hall door.

Feyre jumped from bed, yanked the door open, and darkness swept past us on a phantom wind, full of stars and flapping wings and—pain. So much pain, and despair, and guilt and fear.

I got out of the bed, following Feyre through the hall, utterly blind in the impenetrable dark. We clutched hands, the only guide we had.

But there was a thread between us and Rhys, and we followed it. Feyre fumbled for the handle of his door, then—More night and stars and wind poured out, my hair whipping around me, and I lifted an arm to shield my face as I edged into the room.

"Rhysand," Feyre spoke.

No response. But we could feel him there—feel that lifeline between us. We followed it until our shins banged into what had to be his bed.

"Rhys!" I said over the wind and dark.

The house shook, the floorboards clattering under our feet. I patted the bed, feeling sheets and blankets and down, and then—Then a hard, taut male body. But the bed was enormous, and I couldn't get a grip on him.

"Rhysand!" I heard Feyre scream.

I wasn't sure what she was doing, but I scrambled onto the bed, lunging for him, feeling what was his arm, then his stomach, then his shoulders. His skin was freezing as I gripped his shoulders and shouted his name. I could hear Feyre doing the same, but I wasn't sure if she'd gotten onto the bed yet.

No response, so I slid a hand up his neck, to his mouth—to make sure he was still breathing. Icy breath hit my palm. And, bracing myself, I rose up on my knees, apologized in advance, and slapped him. My palm stung—but he didn't move. I hit him again, pulling on that bond between us.

And then his hands were on me, flipping me, pinning me with expert skill to the mattress, a taloned hand at my throat. I panicked, clawing at the hand on my throat, my heart racing as pure fear overtook me.

"Rhys," I cried, tears stinging in my eyes. "Rhys, let go."

"Rhysand!" I heard Feyre shout. I could feel her trying to pry him off of me. "It was a dream. It was a dream."

The inky blackness cleared enough that I saw his face above me: drawn, lips pale, violet eyes wide—scanning.

"Please, Rhys," I whispered through my teras. "It's me. It's Mary."

His breathing was jagged, uneven. Feyre's hand rested on his shoulder, and his heard jerked towards her.

"Let her go," Feyre said gently. "You're scaring her. You were just dreaming."

The darkness disappeared, leaving the room clear. I was shaking beneath him, his aggression bringing my mind back to places I didn't want to ever go again.

"Mary," he uttered, his eyes becoming his own again. I nodded, my lower lip trembling from my quiet sobs.

He studied my face, then released my throat. I jolted upright, collapsing into Feyre's arms as she sat beside me. She held me, one hand on my back, the other in my hair.

"You were having a nightmare," Feyre said.

"I'm so sorry, Mare," he said quietly. I could hear the shame laced in his voice. I glanced up from Feyre, wiping my tears as I calmed down.

"It's okay," I said to him. "It wasn't your fault."

"That's why you're staying here, not at the House. You don't want the others seeing this," Feyre realized.

"I normally keep it contained to my room. I'm sorry it woke you," he said.

I wasn't until then, when I had stopped shaking, that I realized he was completely naked.

"How often does it happen?" I asked him.

"As often as you two."

I swallowed hard. I knew very well that Feyre still dreamed of what happened Under the Mountain. But me--I usually dreamed of my childhood. Of my father.

"What did you dream of tonight?" Feyre asked.

He shook his head, looking toward the window—to where snow had dusted the nearby rooftops.

"There are memories from Under the Mountain that are best left unshared. Even with you."

"When you want to talk, let us know. We won't tell the others," I said to him.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

The pain in his eyes reminded me of myself--of the years I spent alone in the Spring Court, my nightmares making sure I was never ever to escape my father, even after his death. Nobody had ever comforted me. Nobody had ever told me everything would be okay. And I had desperately needed that.

And as I remembered how desperate I had been for comfort in those dark times, I leaned over to kiss his cheek. His eyes caught onto mine as I pulled away, and I gave him a slight smile. Feyre eased off the bed, taking my hand and bringing me with her.

We were almost out the door when Feyre turned back to him. I turned, glancing at Rhys as he knelt, wings drooping across the white sheets, head bowed, his tattoos stark against his golden skin. I wanted to hold him--to tell him he would be okay. But I sighed, then turned to leave the room, Feyre on my heels.

Chapter 41

Notes:

chapter 42 omgggg im so excited yall. sorry to disappoint, but mary would never be exposed like that by choice. but i still tried to add her into the tensionnnnn. hope yall like it. 

     The meeting with the queens hadn't gone particularly well. But Rhys had given both Feyre and me matching diadems, which we would both refuse to give back.

Rhys had explained that there was an Orb, the Veritas, that was hidden in the Court of nightmares.

Rhys decided that we were to arrive in the Court of Nightmares tomorrow. Cassian, Mor, Feyre, and I would be distractions. And Azriel would steal the orb.

Feyre and I came down the stairs arm-in-arm that evening, finding Rhys standing in the foyer, an expression of confliction on his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"I'm debating asking the two of you to stay tomorrow," he said.

A short wave of distress passed over me. I could not leave one prison to be locked up in another. I could not be told where I could and couldn't go ever again.

"I thought we were going," Feyre said, her voice getting defensive.

"What I have to be tomorrow, who I have to become, is not ... it's not something I want you to see. How I will treat you, treat others ..."

"The mask of the High Lord," Feyre said quietly.

"Yes," he agreed. He took a seat on the bottom step of the stairs.

"Why don't you want us to see that?" I dared to ask.

"Because you've both only just started to look at me like I'm not a monster, and I can't stomach the idea of anything you see tomorrow, being beneath that mountain, putting you back into that place."

"Let us help," Feyre pleaded.

"The role you will have to play is not a pleasant one."

"I trust you," she told him. The two of us sat on either side on him. "Why did Mor look so disturbed when she left?"

Rhys's throat bobbed. He sighed, and I could feel his fury and pain on the other side of the bond. But it took him a second to speak up.

"I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court."

Lucien's brother. Lucien didn't speak of his family to me often, but I'd heard enough about Eris on my own.

"Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor ... begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn't particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock."

"What happened?" Feyre breathed.

"I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she'd do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn't know until after, and ... it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it's another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she'd been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he'd now sooner fuck a sow. Her family ... they ... " Rhys cleared his throat. "When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris's problem."

A wave of nausea passed over me. Nailed to her.

"Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all."

Mor was always so cheerful--so full of life. To think that behind all that there was so much pain--

"Tell me what I need to do tomorrow," Feyre said.

 

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

 

Ultimately, I decided not to play the role Rhys had asked us to. He had known, when asking me, that I was going to say no. But he wanted to give me a choice. And I decided that I couldn't stomach it.

So now, as we flew threw the snowy mountains in his arms, I rested my head on his shoulder, allowing myself to relax despite the fear flying instilled in me.

Rhys was tense--likely nervous about the two of us being in the Court of Nightmares, especially with the role Feyre was playing.

"Amren and Mor told us that the span of an Illyrian male's wings says a lot about the size of ... other parts," Feyre spoke up. It was obvious to me that she was trying to lighten his mood--distract him.

"Did they now," he mused.

"They also said Azriel's wings are the biggest," Feyre shrugged.

"When we return home, let's get out the measuring stick, shall we?" he joked.

I rolled my eyes, and Feyre  pinched his arm. He flashed us a wicked grin, then tiled down and plummeted towards the ground. Feyre shrieked, but I clutched onto Rhys tight, hiding my face in his shoulder--too terrified to make a sound.

"You're willing to brave my brand of darkness and put up one of your own, willing to go to a watery grave and take on the Weaver, but a little free fall makes you scream?" he teased.

"We'll leave you to rot the next time you have a nightmare," Feyre hissed as he snapped his wings to send us into a steady glide.

"No, you won't," he crooned. "You two liked seeing me naked too much." I flushed deep red, my face still hidden in his shoulder.

"Prick," Feyre grumbled.

His laugh rumbled against us. I lifted my face, moving one of my arms. As I did, my hand accidentally brushed one of his wings. I frowned at the texture--much different than I thought it would be,. I reached out again, running my finger along the inner edge.

Rhysand shuddered, a soft groan slipping past my ear. "That is very sensitive."

"Oh, sorry," I uttered, my hand retreating. I snatched my finger back. "Does it tickle?"

"It feels like this," he said.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he sent a gentle breath into it. I lifted my chin for more, my back arching as a quiet whimper left my lips. He smiled against my ear at the sound, then pulled away.

My face was pink when I met Feyre's gaze, and realized she was staring at me--studying me. I couldn't quite read the expression on her face, and her side of the bond was closed off.

"If you want an Illyrian male's attention, you'd be better off grabbing him by the balls. We're trained to protect our wings at all costs. Some males attack first, ask questions later, if their wings are touched without invitation."

"And during sex?" Feyre blurted out.

"Feyre!" I scolded, shocked by the question. She glanced at me apologetically.

"During sex, an Illyrian male can find completion just by having someone touch his wings in the right spot."

"Have you found that to be true?" Feyre wondered.

 

"I've never allowed anyone to see or touch my wings during sex. It makes you vulnerable in a way that I'm not ... comfortable with."

"Too bad," Feyre mused.

"Why?" he asked warily.

"Because I bet you could get into some interesting positions with those wings," Feyre teased. Rhys loosed a laugh, even as I gasped at the words.

But before he could say anything, something dark shot for us, and he plunged down and away, swearing. But another one, and another shot at us.

As Rhys veered, snatching an arrow out of the air, I realized that they were ash arrows. Rhys threw up a shield, and more arrows bounced off of it.

Rhys shot for the ground, and I shrieked, clutching onto him again as I squeezed my eyes shut. The wind was brutal against my skin.

Azriel and Cassian were already fighting against our assailants while simultaneously hurtling towards us.

Rhys slammed into the ground when the arrows finally ceased. I had yet to feel this much fury from his side of the bond.

Azriel and Cassian finally got to us, and Rhysand didn't even look at Feyre or me as he ordered Cassian, "Take them to the palace, and stay there until I'm back. Az, you're with me."

"No," Feyre spoke up, clutching my arm as she stepped away from Cassian.

"What?" Rhys snarled, the word near-guttural.

"Take us with you," she pleaded. "I've seen ash arrows. I might recognize where they were made. And if they came from the hand of another High Lord ... I can detect that, too. And I can track just as well on the ground as any of you. So you and Cassian take the skies. And Mary and I will hunt on the ground with Azriel."

I expected her to get shot down--to be told to stay in the palace where she was safe. I expected us both to be locked up until Rhys decided it was safe for us.

"Cassian—I want aerial patrols on the sea borders, stationed in two-mile rings, all the way out toward Hybern. I want foot soldiers in the mountain passes along the southern border; make sure those warning fires are ready on every peak. We're not going to rely on magic." He turned to Azriel. "When you're done, warn your spies that they might be compromised, and prepare to get them out. And put fresh ones in. We keep this contained. We don't tell anyone inside that court what happened. If anyone mentions it, say it was a training exercise."

"We've got an hour until we're expected at court. Make it count."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿

 

It seemed our attackers had collected their missed arrows, and even with Azriel's powers, we were unable to find anything.

Mor found us after twenty minutes, and after we explained what had happened, she winnowed us to the base of the Court of Nightmares.

It seemed that Amarantha's court had been nothing compared to the true Court of Nightmares. It was a true city.

Mor ignored every Fae that we passed. And I didn't blame her, after the way she'd been treated by her people.

Mor was the only color in this dark mountain. She wore a deep red sleeveless gown, that clung to her curves. Her stomach and back were left exposed, and her hair was down.

Feyre wore something incredibly similar to the gowns we were forced to wear Under the Mountain. The two shafts of fabric barely covering her breasts, then meeting with a belt that joined them into one long shaft between her legs.

I had opted for something modest, the only thing I was comfortable with. But neither of them had shamed me for it, or tried to convince me to wear something different. Mor had even complimented my dress.

It was a long sleeved black gown that went down to just above the floor. The skirt flowed out beautifully, and the bodice covered all of my scars and insecurities. I wore strapped heels that were hard to walk in, and Mor had curled my hair.

When finally arrived at the ebony throne room. It was so much more grand than Amarantha's, and part of me felt embarrassed for her--for such a pathetic attempt at a replica.

A crowd had gathered, and Feyre's hand found mine. I squeezed in reassuringly, reminding her that she was not competing in those trials again.

Mor halted, and I knew why the second I eyed the male approaching us. I knew he was her father without him saying a word.

"Where is he?"

"He arrives when he wishes to."

Mor approached obsidian dais, and Feyre and I halted at the foot of the steps as she took up a place beside the throne and said to the crowd in a voice that was clear and cruel and cunning, "Your High Lord approaches. He is in a foul mood, so I suggest being on your best behavior—unless you wish to be the evening entertainment."

I could feel him approach. Not only in our bond, but from his power. It was filling the room. His footsteps sounded from a room away, the mountain seeming to shudder with each step.

Cassian and Azriel were the first to appear in the doorway, smirks on their faces.

But I barely noticed them when Rhysand appeared. His power filled the throne room, the castle, the mountain. The world. It had no end and no beginning.

On his head sat a crown of stars. No sign of the male who had been drinking on the roof; no sign of the fallen prince kneeling on his bed.

And even with this evil mask on, he was beautiful. And I was utterly breathless just looking at him. When his violet eyes met mine, everything else vanished. There was only him.

Mor stepped off of the dais, dropping to one knee. Everyone in the room followed suit, including myself. But I glanced up at him through my lashes, and he smirked down at me. Such a gorgeous smirk.

"Well, well," he said to no one in particular. "Looks like you're all on time for once."

 

He approached Feyre, and I knew the part she had to play had begun. I wasn't quite sure why there was a pit of anxiety in my stomach.

"Welcome to my home, Feyre Cursebreaker," Rhys said to Feyre, her chin in his grip. He tugged a bit, making her rise to her feet. "Come with me."

He led her up to the throne, then sat himself onto it. He tugged on her waist, perching her on his lap.

I wouldn't have been able to stomach this role--the High Lord's whore. I would never be able to step into that place again. I admired Feyre for being able to do this so confidently.

Rhys's hand slid along her bare waist, the other running down her exposed thigh. His thumb curved around the inside of her thigh. Rhys leaned in to bring his mouth near her ear, well aware that we hadn't yet risen from the floor.

"Try not to let it go to your head," Rhys said to Feyre, his hand stroking the bare skin of her ribs.

"What?" Feyre uttered.

The sound of her breathy voice would've been enough to bring me to my knees if I wasn't already on them.

"That every male in here is contemplating what they'd be willing to give up in order to get that pretty, red mouth of yours on them."

He was wrong about it just being the males . . . because looking at her now, I was feeling the exact same way.

Feyre smiled a bit, straightening up. His hand slid higher up her thigh. She leaned into that touch, leaned back into his body.

"Rise," he instructed.

We did. Mor stood beside me as I stared at Rhys's hand on her soft thigh. Feyre smirked at the crowd. Rhys brushed a knuckle along the inside of her knee.

"Go play," he instructed.

Everyone dispersed as music began to play. I stayed where I was, beside Mor, watching Feyre and Rhys intently.

"Keir," Rhys summoned the male.

Keir bowed again, his face lined with icy resentment as he took in Rhys, then Feyre—glancing once at Mor, myself, and the Illyrians.

"Report," Rhys said, stroking a knuckle down Feyre's ribs.

He gave a dismissive nod to Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and me.

I stayed put, my eyes so stuck on Rhys and Feyre that I hadn't realized the others had walked away.

Mor sighed, coming back to take my hand and drag me into the corner. I blushed, hoping she didn't realize why I had been distracted.

"Greetings, milord," Keir said. "And greetings to your ... guest."

"She is lovely, isn't she?" Rhys murmured, taking her in.

"Indeed," Keir said. "There is little to report, milord. All has been quiet since your last visit."

"No one for me to punish?" Rhys asked, seeming mildly disappointed.

"Unless you'd like for me to select someone here, no, milord," Keir said.

"Pity."

Rhys leaned to tug her earlobe with his teeth. Feyre leaned farther back as his thumb drifted high on the side of her thigh. His thumb stroked again—this time joined with his pointer finger.

While his fingers continued their slow, steady stroking on her thighs, rising higher with every pass.

Vaguely, I knew that there were many watching them. But I drowned everyone else out. There was only them.

His nose brushed the spot between her neck and shoulder, followed by a passing graze of his mouth. The bond was wide open, and I could feel arousal through it, from both of them.

"I had heard the rumors, and I didn't quite believe them. But it seems true: Tamlin's pet is now owned by another master."

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

"I assume you brought her to make a statement."

"You know everything I do is a statement."

"Of course. This one, it seems, you enjoy putting in cobwebs and crowns."

"Perhaps I'll put a leash on you," Feyre replied smugly. I almost smirked at her words.

"She does enjoy playing," Rhys mused. "Get her some wine."

Keir stiffened, but strode off.

Rhys pressed a kiss beneath her ear, and Feyre twisted around to study his face. He stroked her ribs again, his thumb rising nearly high enough to graze the underside of her breasts. She dropped her head drop back against his shoulder.

Feyre dragged a hand down his thigh. The hand that had been on her waist slid across her abdomen, hooking into the low-slung belt there.

She rested her head between his shoulder and neck, staring at the crowd until her eyes met mine. Feyre smirked at me, and Rhys's gaze followed hers until his eyes rested upon me.

"Jealous, bunny?" he said into my mind.

I wasn't quite jealous. It wasn't that I wanted one of them to myself. I was more envious of the fact that I wasn't up there with them. I would hate to be exposed in front of all these people. But if we were alone . . . I wouldn't hate to be the one on his lap. I wouldn't mind having the two of them working to pleasure me--then I could pleasure them in return.

"Her thoughts are wandering," Feyre observed with a smug expression. My eyes went wide as I realized my side of the bond was wide open.

"Who would've thought that such an innocent girl would have such a dirty mind?" Rhys drawled. "I think we should put on a show for our pretty girl."

I flushed deep red, heat growing in my core. Rhys smirked, his eyes dragging over my body as he sensed it.

Rhys skimmed the underside of her breast with his knuckle. She arched her back, eyes heavy-lidded, breathing uneven. And I knew she was exaggerating her reactions just to tease me, but I didn't care.

His hand slid to her upper thigh, fingers curving in. She ground against him, and Rhys let out a low, rough laugh. Feyre turned around again and licked up the column of his throat.

Rhys dragged his mouth along the back of her neck, while his hand slid high on her inner thigh. His arms tightened around her, and her face burned.

I jumped as Azriel appeared beside me again and gave Rhys a subtle nod. My face burned when I remembered that Cassian and Mor had been beside me the whole time. I wondered if they could scent my arousal, or if they realized Feyre and Rhys had been putting on a show to get this reaction out of me.

Rhys crooked a finger to Keir, who, scowling a bit in his daughter's direction, stumbled forward with Feyre's wine. He'd barely reached the dais before Rhys's power took it from him, floating the goblet to them.

"Should I test it for poison?" Rhys drawled.

"No, milord," Keir groveled. "I would never dare harm you."

Feyre stood up, getting off of Rhys's lap, and strode to Cassian. I stared at her, my pupils blown from arousal.

But as she passed Keir, he hissed, "You'll get what's coming to you, whore."

Night exploded into the room.

When the darkness cleared, Keir was on his knees. Rhys still lounged on the throne. His face a mask of frozen rage.

"Apologize," Rhys said. Keir's neck muscles strained, and sweat broke out on his lip. "I said apologize."

Bone cracked, and Keir screamed. I cringed as his arm was split in four places, the skin going taut and loose in all the wrong spots—Another crack. His elbow disintegrated. Keir began sobbing, his lips forming the words, I'm sorry.

The bones of his other arm splintered, but I knew he well deserved it.

"Should I kill him for it?" Rhys contemplated. He chuckled. "When you wake up, you're not to see a healer. If I hear that you do ... " Another crack. "If I hear that you do, I'll carve you into pieces and bury them where no one can stand a chance of putting you together again."

Keir's eyes widened in true terror now. Then, he collapsed to the floor.

"Dump him in his room," Rhys instructed.

Chapter 42

Rhysand had winnowed us far from Velaris, directly from the Court of Nightmares. One second, I'd been standing there, staring down at Keir's broken body. The next, Rhys had grabbed the both of us, and we vanished into thin air.

We were met with a moonlit lake, surrounded by pine trees. When I glanced around, I quickly realized that we were on a mountain. It was dark outside by now, night finally falling. The stars truly were beautiful in the Night Court. I'd seen nothing of the sort in Spring.

"I'm sorry," Rhys said hoarsely.

My light brows furrowed, and Feyre blinked as she and I exchanged a confused glance. In my opinion, things went quite well. Keir had deserved every bit of what he got.

"What do you possibly have to be sorry for?" Feyre asked him, her voice gentle.

Rhysand's hands were a trembling mess, and a strong part of me wanted to reach out and grab them in my own. I craved nothing more than to comfort him--hold him. It was the same feeling I'd had when we'd found him in the midst of that nightmare.

"I shouldn't have let you two go. Let you see that part of us. Of me," he said quietly. I tensed at the word 'let.'

"We're fine," I said, an edge in my voice. "Please--please don't start ... protecting us. Not like that."

Not like him, I was thinking. But I didn't say that part. I didn't need to. Rhys knew exactly what I meant.

"I will never—never lock you up, force you to stay behind. But when he threatened you tonight, Feyre, when he called you ... " he rasped, trailing off. "It's hard to shut down my instincts." I remembered my brother giving me that same excuse many times.

"Then you should have prepared yourself better," Feyre snapped, stepping forward. "You seemed to be going along just fine with it, until Keir said—"

"I will kill anyone who harms either of you," Rhys snarled, his eyes bright with fury. "I will kill them, and take a damn long time doing it. Go ahead. Hate me—despise me for it."

"You are our friend," I said, tears welling up in my eyes, that fear of being trapped again creeping up in my chest. "But I can't... I don't want you to stop telling us things, inviting us to do things, because of the threats."

Darkness rippled, and wings tore from his back. I flinched, taking a step back as a sob left my lips, tears falling down my cheeks.

"I am not him," Rhys breathed, jaw clenched. "I will never be him, act like him. He locked you up and let you wither, and die."

"He tried--"

"Stop comparing. Stop comparing me to him. You think I don't know how stories get written—how this story will be written? I am the dark lord, who stole away the bride and princess of spring. I am a demon, and a nightmare, and I will meet a bad end. He is the golden prince—the hero who will get to keep you as his reward for not dying of stupidity and arrogance."

"And what about our stories?" Feyre hissed, sneering at him. "What about our rewards? What about what we want?"

"What is it that you girls want?"

Neither of us had an answer. I truly didn't know what I wanted. All I knew for sure was that I wanted to keep my freedom. I could not be locked up again--told what I could and couldn't do.

"What is it that you want?" he repeated. We stayed silent. His laugh was bitter, soft. "I thought so. Perhaps you should take some time to figure that out one of these days."

"Perhaps we don't know what we want, but at least we don't hide what we are behind a mask," Feyre snarled. "At least we let them see who we are, broken bits and all. Yes—it's to save your people. But what about the other masks, Rhys? What about letting your friends see your real face? But maybe it's easier not to. Because what if you did let someone in? And what if they saw everything, and still walked away? Who could blame them—who would want to bother with that sort of mess?"

He flinched.

"Feyre," I said softly, placing a hand on her arm as she seethed beside me.

Feyre's head turned just slightly, but she seemed to calm when her blue eyes met mine. After a moment, she nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Let's go home," Feyre said.

He winnowed us away, back to the town house. Feyre and I were brief with our goodnights to the rest of them, both of us unhappy with how the night ended.

Things had been so good for a second. Rhys had called me 'their girl.' Let's put on a show for our girl, he had said. And my heart had jumped. Because I wanted, so badly, to be theirs. For them to love me.

"Can we go to your garden, Mary?" Feyre asked me quietly, when we were alone. I nodded, taking her hand in mine.

I could sense her guilt on the other side of the bond, dark and ugly. Even I had to admit that what she said to him was harsh. But I would never abandon her side, especially when she was feeling this way.

The moonflower that greeted us as we stepped onto the roof was glowing in the light of the moon. I felt more at home around the nature. It seemed to fuel my energy, my mood.

I pointed a finger at a sprouting bud and made it bloom into a fully grown flower. Feyre watched, though her eyes were empty.

"Fey, it's too cold for you to be wearing that," I fussed, realizing she was still in the dress she'd worn in the Court of Nightmares.

"I'll be fine," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself.

I sat down on a chair, and beckoned her to sit beside me. She sighed, sitting herself beside me and slumped against me. I wrapped an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder to warm her up.

"I feel . . . I feel awful, Mary," she whispered.

"You didn't mean it," I said to her. "You were angry. I was, too. When he starts telling us what he will and won't 'let' us do, it reminds me so much of Tamlin, and I can't stand it. I can't stand being controlled again, Fey. I don't think I could survive it, this time."

"He can't do that to us, Mare," she promised me. "And he won't. I just wanted to hurt him. And I went too far."

"You did, but he's gone too far many times," I reminded her. "He'll get over it."

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she whispered. "I love you, Mary." I smiled slightly, feeling a fluttering sensation in my stomach at the words.

"I love you, too, Fey."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

Chapter 43

Starfall was a holiday that I had never heard of before, but it sounded so much more wonderful than the Spring Court's Calanmai. Not that I was ever allowed to attend, anyway.

Rhys had left us two breathtaking gowns. Both very similar, but with striking differences that brought out the best features in both of us.

I stared at myself in the mirror, noticing that I was filling the dress out much more than I would have when I was living in that manor.

I used to be tired all of the time. My head always hurt, and it would spin when I stood up. When I walked for too long, I'd get dark spots in my vision.

Ever since I'd started eating well, all those problems had disappeared. I'd gained weight, and my mother would've lost her mind if she could see me. But I was healthy, now.

It was easier to do most everything now. I wondered if Tamlin had starved me so I'd be too tired and weak to question his decisions, or fight back.

I glanced over at Feyre, who was standing beside me. Her dress was crafted of tiny blue gems so pale they were almost white. It clung to every curve and hollow before draping to the floor and pooling like liquid starlight. The long sleeves were tight, capped at the wrists with cuffs of pure diamond.

My gown was of the same design, made of gems, as well, but in a light shade of violet. The color brought out the green in my eyes. It also clung to my curves at the top, the long sleeves covering the scars that Rhys knew I was insecure about. The flow of the skirt made me feel like a true princess.

Feyre's hair was swept off her face with two combs of silver and diamond, then left to drape down her back. Mine had been separated into two parts; the top part in a braid that sat like a crown across my head. The lower part hung loose and curled.

Feyre and I went up to my rooftop garden, hand-in-hand. She looked like a fallen star; truly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Rhys was nowhere to be seen, but Cassian whistled when he saw us, and a slight shy smile spread across my features. He looked nice, too. It seemed that he combed his hair, actually taming it for once. And he wore a lovely suit instead of the training leathers I always saw him in.

"I should have let Nuala and Cerridwen dress me," he joked. I giggled at the words.

"You look rather good despite it," Feyre promised him.

"Ready?" he asked. I nodded, squeezing Feyre's hand. "With all those gems and beads, you two might be too heavy to carry. I hope you've been practicing your winnowing in case I drop you."

"Don't joke like that," I warned him, the smile dropping from my face.

I was already nervous about flying, especially with someone that wasn't Rhys. I'd grown to trust Rhysand's abilities, but I wasn't quite used to the others yet.

Cassian soared through the quiet dark to where the House of Wind loomed. I could make out crowds gathered on the many balconies and patios only from the faint gleam of starlight on their hair, then the clink of their glasses and low chatter as we neared.

Cassian set us down on the crowded patio off the dining room, only a few revelers bothering to look at us. Dim bowls of faelight inside the House illuminated spreads of food and endless rows of green bottles of sparkling wine atop the tables.

Someone called Cassian's name from down the patio, and he clapped Feyre on the shoulder before striding off. Azriel stood with the stranger already, his wings tucked in tight.

I was holding tightly to Feyre's hand, glancing around nervously at the crowd around us. Her thumb stroked the back of my hand, soothingly.

"Let's find a less crowded area," she said softly.

I nodded my agreement, letting her lead me along until we found a balcony that wasn't quite empty, but wasn't crowded, either.

I went to the edge, placing my hands on the railing and staring up at the beautiful night sky.

Feyre stood beside me, placing her own hand over mine. I turned my head to glance at her, a smile on my lips.

"You look so gorgeous," I said to her, taking her in.

She was truly glowing, the life having finally come back to her face. And I had to admit, that I'd felt the life come back to me, as well.

"Oh please, you're the most beautiful female I've ever seen," she expressed.

Her blue eyes were wandering a bit farther than she meant them to, I believed. A blush stained my cheeks, but I managed a soft 'thank you.'

"Is everything all right?" she asked me, her brow quirking in concern. "I can hear your heartbeat from over here."

"I want to tell you something, but I don't want to scare you away," I murmured, not even able to meet her eyes.

"Mare, we shared a one-room cell for three months," she mused, her finger tracing patterns on the back of my hand. "There's nothing you can do or tell me that would scare me away."

"I just want you to want me in the way I want you," I rambled, my cheeks heating.

Her hand stopped moving, simply resting on mine again. Her head tilted just slightly. She raised her other hand, carefully lifting my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes.

"And how do you want me?" she asked, her blue eyes boring into mine. It was a dangerous question.

"In every way possible," I breathed, finally allowing myself to be honest. "And it's okay if you don't feel the same way. You mean everything to me, and I've never been so close to somebody before. I'm sorry if I ruined everything, I don't think I could ever stand to lose--"

I was cut off by her lips meeting mine. I froze, eyes still wide despite hers being closed. Once the shock wore off, I relaxed, melting into the kiss.

It was a simple kiss--one that only last a few seconds. But when she pulled back, I was absolutely breathless.

But before I could say anything, her eyes caught on something behind me. I spun around, finding myself facing Rhysand. If he saw us kissing, he didn't let it show.

He was wearing a black jacket, which was casually unbuttoned at the top. The white shirt beneath was also unbuttoned at the neck, his tattoos peaking through.

"You girls look like women again," he said to us. I rolled my green eyes, not quite sure if that was a compliment or not.

"Do you plan to ignore us some more?" Feyre asked coolly.

"I'm here now, aren't I? I wouldn't want you to call me a hateful coward again."

That shut Feyre up, and I glanced away awkwardly at the silence. The last two days had been strange. Rhys had avoided Feyre, but I had seen him. The two had been asking me about the other, and it had eventually led me to snap at them. I would not act as a messenger.

"Will you please tell us what this ... gathering is about?" I spoke up, trying desperately to change the subject.

Rhysand stepped up behind us, snorting as he said into our ears, "Look up."

I gazed up at the night sky, hearing the crowd silencing themselves. I stepped closer to Feyre, taking her hand again, not even caring that Rhys was standing behind us.

"No speech for your guests?" Feyre murmured.

"Tonight's not about me, though my presence is appreciated and noted," he said. "Tonight's about that."

As he pointed . . . A star vaulted across the sky, brighter and closer than any I'd seen before. The crowd and city below cheered, raising their glasses as it passed right overhead, and only when it had disappeared over the curve of the horizon did they drink deeply.

Another star crossed the sky, twirling and twisting over itself, as if it were reveling in its own sparkling beauty. It was chased by another, and another, until a brigade of them were unleashed from the edge of the horizon, like a thousand archers had loosed them from mighty bows.

The stars cascaded over us, filling the world with white and blue light. They were like living fireworks, and my breath lodged in my throat as the stars kept on falling and falling.

The sky was full with them, when the stars raced and danced and flowed across the world, the music began. Wherever they were, people began dancing, swaying and twirling, some grabbing hands and spinning, spinning, spinning to the drums, the strings, the glittering harps.

"Come. There's a better view. Quieter." he said softly.

Rhys led us to a small private balcony jutting from the upper level of the House of Wind. On the patios below, the music still played, the people still danced, the stars wheeling by, close and swift.

Feyre went to jump onto the balcony rail, but seemed to decide against it when she saw the fall. I smiled softly, shaking my head at her slightly.

"If you fell, you know I'd bother to save you before you hit the ground," Rhys mused.

"But not until I was close to death?"

"Maybe."

Feyre leaned her head on my shoulder, her hand still firmly in my own. And I realized that I couldn't live without her touch. I wasn't sure how I'd survived so long without it.

"As punishment for what I said to you?"

"I said some horrible things, too," he murmured.

"I didn't mean it," Feyre blurted. "I meant it more about myself than you. And I'm sorry."

Relief seemed to wash over me. I hated when they fought. I hated that I seemed the be a buffer between them for the past two days. He watched the stars for a moment before he replied.

"You were right, though. I stayed away because you were right. Though I'm glad to hear my absence felt like a punishment."

Feyre snorted, rolling her blue eyes. Her eyes reminded me of the sky, the little flecks of light in them like the stars.

"Any news with the orb or the queens?" I asked after a silence settled between them.

"Nothing yet. We're waiting for them to deign to reply."

I nodded, gazing back up at the sky. I'd never quite seen stars like that before. I'd read of shooting stars in storybooks, but never anything like this.

"They're not—they're not stars at all," I realized.

"No." Rhys came up beside us at the rail. "Our ancestors thought they were, but . . . They're just spirits, on a yearly migration to somewhere. Why they pick this day to appear here, no one knows."

"There must be hundreds of them," Feyre gasped.

"Thousands," he said. "They'll keep coming until dawn. Or, I hope they will. There were less and less of them the last time I witnessed Starfall."

"What's happening to them?" I asked.

Spirits, he had said. I wondered if my mother was among them. Or if his mother and sister were in the sky tonight.

"I wish I knew," he said. "But they keep coming back despite it."

"Why?"

"Why does anything cling to something? Maybe they love wherever they're going so much that it's worth it. Maybe they'll keep coming back, until there's only one star left. Maybe that one star will make the trip forever, out of the hope that someday—if it keeps coming back often enough—another star will find it again."

"That's ... a very sad thought," I frowned.

"Indeed." Rhys agreed. "Every year that I was Under the Mountain and Starfall came around, Amarantha made sure that I . . . serviced her. The entire night. Starfall is no secret, even to outsiders—even the Court of Nightmares crawls out of the Hewn City to look up at the sky. So she knew . . . She knew what it meant to me."

"I'm sorry," Feyre said softly. And I placed a hand on his arm, a comforting touch.

"I got through it by reminding myself that my friends were safe; that Velaris was safe. Nothing else mattered, so long as I had that. She could use my body however she wanted. I didn't care."

"So why aren't you down there with them?" Feyre asked.

"They don't know—what she did to me on Starfall. I don't want it to ruin their night."

"I don't think it would," Feyre assured him "They'd be happy if you let them shoulder the burden."

"The same way you rely on others to help with your own troubles?" he asked her.

Feyre went to turn to him more fully, but something blinding and tinkling slammed into her face. I gasped, reaching for her to make sure she was okay. She reeled back, crying out as she bent over, shielding her face against the light. Rhys let out a startled laugh.

"I could have been blinded!" she hissed, shoving him.

I went to snort, but a second later, I was hit as well. Square in the face, sending me a few steps back as blinding light took over. Even with my eyes closed, I could see it. Rhysand burst out laughing, a real laugh--one that was rare for him.

I turned to Feyre, who was still pouting. Splattered stardust glowed on her face, her hands. I glanced down at my own hands, only to see the same. Feyre went to wipe her face--but Rhys caught her hands.

"Don't," he said, still laughing. "It looks like your freckles are glowing."

A smile spread across my face, but Feyre's nostrils flared, and she went to shove him again. He sidestepped her, but not fast enough to avoid the careening star that collided with the side of his face. He leaped back with a curse.

Feyre and I broke into cackling laughter--laughing in a way that we hadn't in a very long time. Feyre gripped onto my shoulder to support herself.

The side of his face was covered in stardust, as was his hand. I took one of his hands and traced the shape of a star into his palm. Feyre smiled at the both of us, taking my own hand to do the same to me.

"Smile again," he whispered.

And I realized that it had been a very long time since I'd smiled for him. And I wasn't sure Feyre ever had. I exchanged a glance with the female, before we allowed true, broad smiles to spread across our faces.

"The two of you are absolutely exquisite," he breathed.

I stared up at him, feeling just as breathless as I had been when Feyre kissed me. My feelings for them confused me--they confused me.

"You owe us two thoughts—back from when we first came here. Tell me what you're thinking," Feyre said to him.

"You want to know why I didn't speak or see you?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because I was so convinced you'd throw me out on my ass. I just . . . I figured hiding was a better alternative."

"Who would have thought the High Lord of the Night Court could be afraid of an illiterate human?" Feyre purred.

I grinned, as did Rhys. And I realized for the first time that one of my hands was in hers, and the other was in Rhys's.

"That's one," I pushed. "Tell us another thought."

"I'm wishing I could take back everything I did to the both of you Under the Mountain I didn't make it pleasant for you, and I was jealous and pissed off, and I knew you hated me."

I glanced away at the confession--at the memory of what he made us do. I hadn't forgotten it, and I wasn't sure I ever could. But I wanted to forgive. I really did.

"Do you—do you two want to dance with me?" Feyre whispered, not able to look at us.

"You want to dance?" he rasped.

"Down there—with them," Feyre clarified, gesturing to where our friends were.

"Yes, Fey, I would love to," I spoke up, squeezing her hand in mine.

"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?" Feyre joked.

"Even then."

He leaned in, brushing his mouth against my heated cheek, then hers. And it nearly destroyed me as much as the kiss with Feyre did.

Bits of stardust glowed on his lips as he pulled away, as we stared up at him, breathless, while he smiled.

"Come on," Feyre said. "Let's go join the dance."

-✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

 

Feyre and I stumbled back to our room, giggling and tipsy from the full night of drinking and dancing.

I collapsed onto the bed before I could even take my dress off. But Feyre began to peel hers off of her body immediately. I'd seen her naked many times, but this felt different. After the kiss--I wasn't sure where we stood.

"You're perfect," I whispered.

My cheeks heated when the words left my mouth--I hadn't meant them to. A smirk fell upon her full lips.

"Oh, you like what you see, Mare?" she hummed, the wine making her more self assured than she usually was.

"Yes," I breathed, nodding my head.

"Then let me see you," she instructed, a finger lifting my chin so I had to look up at her.

The words made me freeze for just a split second, but then I was shedding my dress as quickly as she had.

She grew impatient quickly, leaning over me and helping me take it off, though she was careful not to rip it.

When I was left bare, she stared down at me, drinking me in. I grew shy under her gaze, and she could tell.

She climbed onto the bed very slowly, crawling over me. She lowered her lips to mine, this time her tongue prodding at my lips, asking for permission to enter. I opened my mouth just slightly, allowing her in.

She explored my mouth with her tongue, her hands exploring my bare body. She rolled her tongue over mine as her nails dug into my hips.

When she pulled back, I realized how badly I needed to breathe. My head felt light, the two of us gasping for air, our lips just barely touching.

"In every way possible, you said?" she asked, repeating my words from before.

"Yes, please," was all I could whisper.

Her lips met my neck, kissing lower and lower until she got to my chest. She paused there, her tongue flicking my nipple, her fingers pinching the other. I groaned, throwing my head back at the feeling.

"Lower, please," I pleaded with her, my core pounding for her.

"What nice manners," she teased, making my cheeks flush.

But she listened to me, her tongue trailing down my stomach, right to where I needed her the most.

"Spread your legs for me, darling," she instructed.

I obeyed, parting my legs. Her hands rested on my knees, and she smirked when she got a full view of me.

"So pretty," she praised, running a finger down my center. I gasped, biting back a moan. She hummed in approval. "Sensitive, too."

Without saying another word, she leaned down, licking up my core. I could only mewl above her as she gripped onto my thighs so keep me still.

She pressed a few kisses to my inner thighs before delving in, parting my lips with her tongue. She lapped at my clit as though it was her last meal, leaving me a moaning mess.

I covered my mouth to stifle my moans, but Feyre reached up to grip my wrist and drag it away. I whined when she lifted her head, her mouth and chin shining with my arousal.

"I want to hear the pretty noises you make for me, flower," she scolded.

"Yes, Feyre," I gasped out, nodding. Anything to make her put that mouth on me again.

"Good," she hummed, then dove right back in.

I collapsed back onto the bed, squeezing my eyes shut and allowing myself to make noise for her. Her nails dug into my thighs as she held them steady, making sure I couldn't squirm away from her. Not that I ever would.

She moaned against me, sending vibrations up my core, and making me cry out. I was sure the entire House could hear me, but the pleasure was too good to care.

"Just like that, Fey," I whimpered, my hands in her hair.

She listened, knowing exactly what I wanted, and how I wanted it. It was incredible how well she knew my body, having never pleasured it before.

She began sucking my clit into her mouth in a way that made my thighs clench around her head. She didn't seem to care.

"Gods, I'm so close," I warned her.

That encouraged her on, as she went from a pattern of long, circling licks to sucking at the bundle of nerves.

She was flicking her tongue against me in a way that made me see stars more brilliant than the ones that had shot across the sky just hours prior. I felt as though I was falling through the air with no one to catch me.

The pleasure took over my body, and I threw that feeling down the bond towards her. I could feel her gasping against me, and I knew I had made her feel exactly what I was feeling. But she didn't stop. She just worked harder to prolong my pleasure--our pleasure.

She didn't stop until my thighs were shaking, and my cries had become hoarse. She wiped her mouth as she pulled away, our eyes locking.

"That was . . . Gods, Mary, I didn't even know you could do that," she panted, and I realized she meant the way I had made her experience the shattering orgasm she had given me.

"I didn't, either," I admitted, my chest heaving. "Do you . . . do you want me to return to favor?"

"I don't think I can handle another one," she confessed. I smiled sheepishly. She crawled back up to me and planted a sweet kiss to my lips. "Do you need a bath, lovely?"

"No, I'm tired," I said to her. "I just want to fall asleep in your arms."

Chapter 44: 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔶-𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔯

I had woken in Feyre's arms, feeling at peace for than I had in a long while. I had wanted to stay in her arms forever, never leaving our cozy bed. But we were also well aware of the plans Rhys had for us today.

After a few lazy morning kisses, we dragged ourselves out of the bed and managed to bundle up in some fur-lined leathers.

Part of me just wanted to ask where we stood after last night, but the other part recognized that there were more important things at hand.

When Mor had winnowed us deep in the Illyrian mountains, I realized that I'd never truly felt a temperature this cold. I'd also never seen this much snow. It snowed in Velaris, but not like this.

Built near the top of a forested mountain, the Illyrian camp was all bare rock and mud, interrupted only by crude, easy-to-pack tents centered around large fire pits. Near the tree line, a dozen permanent buildings had been erected of the gray mountain stone. Smoke puffed from their chimneys against the brisk cloudy morning, occasionally swirled by the passing wings overhead.

So many winged males soaring past on their way to other camps or in training. Indeed, on the opposite end of the camp, in a rocky area that ended in a sheer plunge off the mountain, were the sparring and training rings. Racks of weapons were left out to the elements; in the chalk-painted rings males of all ages now trained with sticks and swords and shields and spears.

"Another camp inspection?" An Illyrian male asked Rhys as he approached. "Your dog," he jerked his chin at Cassian, "was here just the other week. The girls are training."

"I don't see them in the ring," Cassian pointed out, crossing his arms.

"They do chores first," the male said, "then when they've finished, they get to train."

A snarl loosed itself from Mor's lips, making the male stiffen. Mor noticed, and a grin spread across her features.

"Hello, Lord Devlon," she grinned.

"Pleasant as it always is to see you, Devlon, there are two matters at hand: First, the girls, as you were clearly told by Cassian, are to train before chores, not after. Get them out on the pitch. Now," Rhys commanded. "Second, we'll be staying here for the time being. Clear out my mother's old house. No need for a housekeeper. We'll look after ourselves."

"The house is occupied by my top warriors."

"Then un-occupy it," Rhysand said simply. "And have them clean it before they do."

Devlon turned his attention to Feyre, dismissing me entirely after looking me over, and his brows furrowed.

"Another like that ... creature you bring here? I thought she was the only one of her ilk."

"Amren," Rhys drawled, "sends her regards. And as Feyre and Mary ... They're mine. And if any of you lay a hand on them, you lose that hand. And then you lose your head. And once Feyre and Mary are done killing you, then I'll grind your bones to dust."

A soft smile graced my lips, at hearing him claim us as his. Feyre gave them a threatening smile, one that warned them not to provoke her.

"We're heading out," Rhys said to Cassian and Mor. "We'll be back at nightfall." He gave his cousin a look. "Try to stay out of trouble, please. Devlon hates us the least of the warlords and I don't feel like finding another camp."

"I'll try," Mor sighed.

"Check on the forces, then make sure those girls are practicing like they should be. If Devlon or the others object, do what you have to," Rhys said to Cassian, who only grinned.

Rhys turned to us, his beautiful violet eyes assessing our demeanors before he jerked his head to the side.

"Let's go."

"You heard from my sisters?" Feyre spoke up.

"No. Azriel is checking today if they received a response. We're going to train," Rhys smirked.

"Where?" I demanded, having no interest in training around all of these Illyrians.

"Away from any potential casualties," he said.

He offered us hands as his wings flared, his body preparing for flight. He took us into his arms, and I settled against him, my hand finding Feyre's.

"I've never seen this much snow," I murmured in awe as I took in the snowy mountains we were flying over.

"Never?" Rhys repeated, his hand settled on my waist.

"We don't really get snow in the Spring Court, Rhys," I reminded him, rolling my green eyes. I hadn't seen any snow at all until he had brought us to the Night Court.

"Did you ladies have a nice night?" he asked us, casually.

Feyre's head shot up at the words, her wide eyes meeting my own. My grip on her hand only tightened as an anxious feeling settled in my stomach.

"Starfall was lovely," I nodded, a blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"I'm well aware that you enjoyed Starfall," he mused. "I meant after."

"We just went to sleep," Feyre lied with a shrug. If I hadn't known the truth, I would've believed her. He hummed, nodding his head.

"Oh, and Mary," he said to me. I glanced back at him. "Next time you wish to make Feyre feel your pleasure, be sure she's the only one on the receiving end of the bond."

My face went deep red, and I immediately averted my gaze. And while I fully expected Feyre to be on my side, she burst into laughter beside me.

"You mean, you were just lying in your bed when . . . " Feyre hinted through her hysterical laughter. Rhys snorted, and I groaned, hiding my face in my hands.

"Well, then, next time you won't get any pleasure at all, Feyre," I glared.

"Next time?" she smirked. My face only get redder.

"Okay, I think we've teased her enough," Rhys smiled, squeezing my waist. "But I didn't mind it at all, bunny." I rolled my eyes, but allowed myself to relax again.

"You're training female Illyrian warriors?" I asked him, turning my head so I could meet his pretty eyes, and change the subject. The flirty smirk was wiped from his face.

"Trying to," he scoffed. "I banned wing-clipping a long, long time ago, but ... at the more zealous camps, deep within the mountains, they do it. And when Amarantha took over, even the milder camps started doing it again. To keep their women safe, they claimed. For the past hundred years, Cassian has been trying to build an aerial fighting unit amongst the females, trying to prove that they have a place on the battlefield. So far, he's managed to train a few dedicated warriors, but the males make life so miserable that many of them left. And for the girls in training ... It's a long road. But Devlon is one of the few who even lets the girls train without a tantrum."

"I'd hardly call disobeying orders 'without a tantrum," Feyre pointed out, her hand still in mine.

"Some camps issued decrees that if a female was caught training, she was to be deemed unmarriageable. I can't fight against things like that, not without slaughtering the leaders of each camp and personally raising each and every one of their offspring."

"And yet your mother loved them—and you three wear their tattoos," I pointed out, quirking a brow.

"I got the tattoos in part for my mother, in part to honor my brothers, who fought every day of their lives for the right to wear them."

"Why do you let Devlon speak to Cassian like that?" I asked him.

"Because I know when to pick my fights with Devlon, and I know Cassian would be pissed if I stepped in to crush Devlon's mind like a grape when he could handle it himself."

"Have you thought about doing it?" I questioned, curious about that little power of his.

"I did just now. But most camp-lords never would have given the three of us a shot at the Blood Rite. Devlon let a half-breed and two bastards take it—and did not deny us our victory."

"What's the Blood Rite?" Feyre wondered.

"So many questions today," he mused. Feyre pinched his shoulder, making him chuckle. "You go unarmed into the mountains, magic banned, no Siphons, wings bound, with no supplies or clothes beyond what you have on you. You, and every other Illyrian male who wants to move from novice to true warrior. A few hundred head into the mountains at the start of the week—not all come out at the end."

"Do you—kill each other?" I dared to ask, my green eyes wide.

"Most try to. For food and clothes, for vengeance, for glory between feuding clans. Devlon allowed us to take the Rite—but also made sure Cassian, Azriel, and I were dumped in different locations."

"What happened?"

"We found each other. Killed our way across the mountains to get to each other. Turns out, a good number of Illyrian males wanted to prove they were stronger, smarter than us. Turns out they were wrong."

Rhys began to soar towards the ground, but was careful to land soft enough to not jar us. He set us down in a clearing surrounded by pine trees.

"So, you're not using magic—but I am?" Feyre asked, taking a few steps from him.

"Our enemy is keyed in on my powers. You, however, remain invisible." He waved his hand. "Let's see what all your practicing has amounted to."

"When—when did you meet Tamlin?" Feyre asked.

I knew it was her way of avoiding training, but I settled in, wanting to know Rhys's side of the story. I'd only ever heard my brother's, and I wasn't sure how much of it was true.

"Show me something impressive, and I'll tell you. Magic—for answers."

"I know what sort of game you're playing—" she cut herself off at the hint of a smirk. "Very well."

She held out her hand, palm cupped. In her hand, a butterfly of water flapped and danced. I smiled, watching as it flew away.

"Tamlin was younger than me—born when the War started," Rhys said. "But after the War, when he'd matured, we got to know each other at various court functions. He ... He seemed decent for a High Lord's son. Better than Beron's brood at the Autumn Court. Tamlin's brothers were equally as bad, though. Worse."

I pursed my lips, sitting down in the snow, and not allowing myself to think too much about my elder brothers.

"And they knew Tamlin would take the title one day," Rhys continued. "And to a half-breed Illyrian who'd had to prove himself, defend his power, I saw what Tamlin went through ... I befriended him. Sought him out whenever I was able to get away from the war-camps or court. That was how Mary and I became friends. Maybe it was pity, but ... I taught him some Illyrian techniques."

"Did anyone know?"

He raised his brows—giving a pointed look to her hand. She scowled at him and summoned songbirds of water, letting them flap around the clearing.

"Mary knew. Cassian and Azriel knew," Rhys went on. "My family knew. And disapproved. But Tamlin's father was threatened by it. By me. And because he was weaker than both me and Tamlin, he wanted to prove to the world that he wasn't. My mother and sister were to travel to the Illyrian war-camp to see me. I was supposed to meet them halfway, but I was busy training a new unit and decided to stay. Tamlin's father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin—from me—where my mother and sister would be, that I had plans to see them. I was supposed to be there. I wasn't. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway."

I hid my face in my knees, eyes burning with tears, chest heavy with guilt and shame. I had stayed in my room and sobbed after I heard what they had done. And after that, I didn't see Rhys for nearly five centuries. He was my first friend. I remembered begging my brothers not to ruin that for me. They had just laughed.

"It should have been me," he said. "They put their heads in boxes and sent them down the river—to the nearest camp. Tamlin's father kept their wings as trophies. I'm surprised you didn't see them pinned in the study." Tamlin had burned their wings long ago.

"What else?" Feyre asked.

"When I heard, when my father heard ... My father and I . . . we winnowed to the edge of the Spring Court that night, then went the rest of the way on foot—to the manor. I slew Tamlin's brothers on sight. I held their minds, and rendered them helpless while I cut them into pieces, then melted their brains inside their skulls," Rhys said. I flinched at the words. "And when I got to the High Lord's bedroom—he was dead. And my father ... my father had killed Tamlin's mother as well."

Rhys turned to me, his eyes meeting my own, and he shook his head, "My father had promised not to touch you or her, Mare," he said to me. "That we weren't the kind of males who would do that. But he lied to me, and he did it, anyway. I found Mary hiding in a closet, and I put up a ward to make sure he wouldn't find her. And then he went for Tamlin's room. I tried to stop him. He didn't listen. He was going to kill him, too. And I couldn't ... After all the death, I was done. I didn't care that Tamlin had been there, had allowed them to kill my mother and sister, that he'd come to kill me because he didn't want to risk standing against them. I was done with death. So I stopped my father before the door. He tried to go through me. Tamlin opened the door, saw us—smelled the blood already leaking into the hallway. And I didn't even get to say a word before Tamlin killed my father in one blow. I felt the power shift to me, even as I saw it shift to him. And we just looked at each other, as we were both suddenly crowned High Lord—and then I ran."

I hadn't known that Rhys put up a ward to protect me. I just knew that he had spared my life. I reached my arm up, and took his hand in mine. An act of gratitude, because I realized then that I had never thanked him for that.

"He didn't tell you any of that," Rhys realized.

"I—I'm sorry," Feyre breathed. "I didn't know. I didn't know that he'd done that." Feyre turned on me, her brows furrowed. "Mare, why wouldn't you tell me?"

"I . . . " I trailed off, trying to find the words. "At first, because Tamlin would've killed me. But once we moved here . . . it wasn't my story to tell, Fey. It was Rhys's decision." Her gaze softened, less accusatory than before.

"Why did you stop?" Rhys said, motioning to the ice shards that had once been her water animals.

The clearing exploded in flame. The pine needles vanished, the trees groaned. I shrieked, and even Rhys swore as he yanked me to my feet. Fire swept through the clearing.

"Feyre," Rhys said as the fire died, tucking me in his arms as I shielded my face from the heat in his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she demanded.

"I didn't want you to think I was trying to turn you against him," he said, truthfully.

I glanced up, gazing around to see that the fire was gone. I allowed myself to fully relax in Rhys's arms. The flame slowly disappeared from Feyre's eyes.

She stood there, staring at us, taking us in, something in her eyes that I couldn't quite read.

"I want to paint you two," Feyre murmured. He gently lifted her into his arms, alongside me.

"Nude would be best," he said. "And I think Mary would agree."

 

Chapter 45: 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔶-𝔣𝔦𝔳𝔢

     I was shivering, my arms wrapped around myself, my fur-lined coat doing nothing against the harsh wind. The snow had fascinated me at first--but now I considered myself lucky that snow never came to the Spring Court. I decided I would be fine living in Velaris. I wasn't sure I ever wanted to visit Illyria again after this. 

     We were gathered in a stone house, one that had no heat. It was no better than being in the snow. I tried to stop my teeth chattering just long enough for me to eat, but I knew I wouldn't be able to keep anything down.

"They pick these locations," Cassian said, the group of us sitting around a table and feasting on mutton. "Just to ensure the strongest among us survive." 

"Horrible people," Mor grumbled. "I don't blame Az for never wanting to come here." 

"I take it training the girls went well," Rhys drawled from beside me, his thigh so close its warmth brushed my own. Part of me wanted to lean into him. But Feyre sat on my other side, our bodies quite close together. 

"I got one of them to confess they hadn't received a lesson in ten days. They'd all been too busy with 'chores,' apparently," Cassian grumbled. 

"No born fighters in this lot?" Rhys asked. 

"Three, actually," Mor said. "Three out of ten isn't bad at all. The others, I'd be happy if they just learned to defend themselves. But those three ... They've got the instinct—the claws. It's their stupid families that want them clipped and breeding." 

"When do you head for the Hewn City tomorrow?" Cassian asked gently. 

"After breakfast. Before. I don't know. Maybe in the afternoon, when they're all just waking up." 

     Rhys and Feyre took that as their cue to get to their feet, leaving their dirty dishes in the sink. I stood, pushing my chair in, and followed them. I hadn't eaten a bite of my food, but nobody called me on it. 

     Feyre gestured to the stairs, and I nodded. We disappeared up the stairs, and I did my best not to eavesdrop on Cassian and Mor's quiet conversation. 

     When we were at the top of the stairs, I glanced around, noticing that there were only two rooms. And it was colder up here than it was downstairs. My Spring Court upbringing had not given me thick enough skin for it.  

"You guys can share a room with Mor tonight—just tell her to shut up if she babbles too much," Rhys joked. 

     I glanced up at him, smiling softly at the words. The violet stardust of his eyes bore into mine, and I had a sudden urge to jump at him, kissing him as sweetly as I had Feyre.

     He opened his mouth to speak, but Feyre had already disappeared into the room, and I decided it was best to go along with her.  

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

     The freezing rain had soaked through my leathers--through the fur lining. I shivered, harsh breaths leaving my lips. Rhys had given me a bow and quiver to defend myself--not that I would know how to use it. 

     Cassian hadn't quite gotten to the weapons part of our training, yet. Feyre taught me how to shoot this morning, but my aim wasn't any good. She assured me that it took practice. 

     Rhys followed a few hundred feet behind us. We'd flown deep into the forest steppes, far enough that we'd have to spend the night out here. But at least we wouldn't have to camp out here. Rhys had promised there was some sort of wayfarer's inn nearby. 

     Feyre's thoughts were loud through our bond, her confliction and irritation swirling into my own mind. As her thoughts pivoted from her training to Rhys--my cheeks heated at the things she was thinking about him. 

     Rhys's amusement flowed down towards us, and Feyre glared over her shoulder, flipping him off. Even if he was too far to see us. 

      She stopped by a small cliff, with a stream flowing beneath it, and knowing she was using her Autumn Court powers today, I realized that it might've been the best place for her to train. 

     The wind blew away from us, tugging our scents southward, deeper into the forest. A sense of unease washed over me, and just as Feyre was about to warn Rhys to stay back, I felt them. 

"Mary. Feyre." 

     We whirled, Feyre with an arrow nocked and aimed at the source of the voice—Four Spring Court sentinels stalked from the trees behind us, armed to the teeth and wide-eyed. 

     And between them, was Lucien.  

     They had us surrounded, nothing but a stream behind us. Lucien had his hair tied back, wearing leathers, and armed with swords and knives. I couldn't breathe as our eyes met, the only thought in my mind a pure desperation to keep him away from me. If he took me back to the manor, I wasn't sure I would survive it, this time. 

"We've been hunting for you for over two months," he breathed, now scanning the woods, the stream, the sky. Rhys was too far back to save us. 

"How did you find us?" Feyre demanded, her voice steadier than I expected. 

     I was frozen in utter fear, tears welling up in my green eyes. And I felt so weak, so ashamed. Feyre stood strong, an arrow pointed at our old friend. And I could barely hold it together as the fear of being dragged back to that awful manor overtook me. 

"Someone tipped us off you'd been out here, but it was luck that we caught your scents on the wind, and—" 

     Lucien took a step toward us, but we stepped back. Lucien's eye widened slightly. "We need to get out of here. Tamlin's been—he hasn't been himself. I'll take you right to—" 

"No," I spoke up, my voice breaking. 

"Mary," he said, holding out a hand. "Let's go home."

"That stopped being our home the day you let him lock us up inside of it," Feyre snarled.

"It was a mistake. We all made mistakes. He's sorry—more sorry than you realize. So am I," Lucien insisted. 

"He's been locking Mary up for centuries," Feyre sneered at him. "He's only sorry now because he faced the consequences for it." 

    He stepped toward us, and we backed up another few inches. The stream below us was only a few feet away, now. Lucien dared another step, his hand outraised. 

     Feyre's arrow angled toward him, her bowstring groaning.

"Put the arrow down," Lucien murmured, like he was soothing a wild animal. Tamlin had spoken to me in that manner too many times. Behind him, the four sentinels closed in. Herding us. 

"Don't," Feyre breathed. "Touch. Us." 

"You don't understand the mess we're in. We—I need you both home. Now." 

     Feyre peered at the stream below, as though calculating her odds. The look cost us both. Lucien lunged, hand out. One touch, that was all it'd take for him to winnow us away.

"We winnow behind the sentinels the second he tries to touch us," Feyre spoke into my mind. I sent her a wave of acknowledgement, preparing myself. 

     Lucien's finger grazed the sleeve of Feyre's leather jacket. She gripped my hand, and the two of us became smoke and ash and night. The world stilled and bent, and there was Lucien, lunging so slowly for what was now blank space as we stepped around him, as we hurtled for the trees behind the sentinels. 

     We stopped, and time resumed its natural flow. Lucien staggered, catching himself before he went over the cliff—and whirled, eye wide to discover us now standing behind his sentinels. 

     Bron and Hart flinched and backed away. From us. And from Rhysand standing between us. 

     Lucien froze. I lifted my chin, forcing my face to become neutral, forcing all of the fear away. Because Rhys was here, now. And he wouldn't let them take me back. 

"Little Lucien," Rhys purred. "Didn't the Lady of the Autumn Court ever tell you that when a woman says no, she means it?" 

"Prick," Lucien snarled, storming past his sentinels, but not daring to touch his weapons. "You filthy, whoring prick." Feyre loosed a growl, and a sneer twisted my features at the word. 

"What have you two done?" Lucien breathed, staring at Feyre and me, his expression one of horror. 

"Don't come looking for us again," I said, the words more pleading than threatening. 

"He'll never stop looking for you; never stop waiting for you both to come home." 

     I flinched, and Lucien noticed. He focused in on me, his eye narrowing as he studied my features. 

"What did he do to you? Did he take your mind and—" 

"Enough," Rhys said. "We are busy. Go back to your lands before I send your heads as a reminder to my old friend about what happens when Spring Court flunkies set foot in my territory." 

"You made your point—now come home." 

"We are not a children playing games," I snapped at him. That's how they'd always seen me: in need of coddling, explaining, defending--

"We are not your enemies," Lucien pleaded. "Things got bad, Ianthe got out of hand, but it doesn't mean you give up—" 

"You gave up," I said quietly, my voice breaking. "You gave up on me. On Feyre. You were my friend--I considered you a brother. And you picked him—picked obeying him, even when you saw what his orders and his rules did to us. Even when you saw us wasting away day by day."

"You have no idea how volatile those first few months were," Lucien snapped. "We needed to present a unified, obedient front, and I was supposed to be the example to which all others in our court were held."

"Don't lie to me, you know very well this was going on for centuries," I snapped. "You saw what was happening to me, long before Feyre ever arrived. But you were too afraid of him to truly do anything about it." 

     I hadn't realized how angry I was with Lucien until the words were leaving my mouth. Because he could've helped me, and he never did. 

"How many times, in the 200 years that I knew you, did I beg you to help me?" I demanded, the tears falling. "I begged you so many times to help me, to get me out of the house, even for an hour. And you left me alone, when I couldn't stand to be alone with myself--when it wasn't safe for me to be alone with myself." 

"And I suppose the Night Court is so much better?" he scoffed. 

"When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back," Feyre said. And when I glanced over at her, I saw that she had grown dark, membranous wings.

"What did you do to yourself?" Lucien breathed, eyes wide. 

"The human girl you knew died Under the Mountain. I have no interest in spending immortality as a High Lord's pet," Feyre said to him.  

"Feyre—" 

"Tell Tamlin if he sends anyone else into these lands, I will hunt each and everyone of you down. And I will demonstrate exactly what the darkness taught me," Feyre threatened. 

     Lucien nodded to his sentinels. The three disappeared, but Lucien lingered for a moment, nothing but air and rain between us. 

"You're dead," he said to Rhys. "You, and your entire cursed court." 

     Then he was gone. 

     I hadn't even realized I had been shaking, just slightly, until I went to wrap my arms around myself. I sniffled, wiping the tears from my eyes, relief falling over me. I felt so pathetic. I wished I was stronger--braver. Like Feyre. 

     Rhys ran a finger down the membrane of Feyre's wing, causing her to gasp and shudder. I turned to them, finally able to take in the full majesty of Feyre's wings. 

"How?" I wondered.  

"Shape-shifting," she replied. 

     The wings flickered, then faded. I frowned at the empty place where they once were. I'd never liked the Spring Court's shifting power. It left males more animalistic than Fae, especially in their anger. I'd seen it first hand in both my father and Tamlin. 

"That was a very convincing performance," Rhys said to Feyre. 

"I gave him what he wanted to see," Feyre murmured. "

"I wish I could've been that strong," I said quietly, shame heating my face. 

"It took quite a lot of strength to speak your mind like that," Rhys said to me. "You stood up to him. You told him how you felt. I'm proud of you for that." 

     I lifted my head, staring up at him. I let a soft smile spread across my features, and I nodded my thanks. 

"We should find another spot," Feyre said.

     He nodded, and his tunic and pants vanished, replaced by those familiar fighting leathers, the wings, the sword. 

"Are you two all right?" he asked as he scooped us into his arms to fly us to another location. I nestled into his warmth, savoring it. 

"The fact that it was so easy, that I felt so little, upsets me more than the encounter itself," I admitted to him.

"I knew things were bad," Rhysand said with quiet rage, "but I thought Lucien, at least, would have stepped in."

"After a century, I stopped wasting hope on that," I said, my voice small.

     And at that, he held us both closer. I rested my head on his shoulder, my face finding warmth in the crook of his neck. 

 

Chapter 46

     The inn that stood nearby was more of a tavern with a few rooms for rent. We had been instructed to go to a tiny room in the attic. I frowned as I took in my surroundings, the three of us making our way up the stairs.

      There was a bathing room a few floors below where our room was. Feyre and I used it quickly on our way up, not wanting to have to venture down in the middle of the night. Neither of us would be able to bathe, which was so irritating when we were soaked to the skin and freezing. 

     Rhys opened the dingy door to our bedroom, and the two of us had to squat to get into the room. The ceiling was slanted in a way that made it so we would have to crawl across the mattress to get to the other side of the bed. 

      The one bed. 

"I asked for two," Rhys said, hands already up. His breath clouded in front of him, and I wondered if anyone in Illyria had access to fireplaces.

      I glanced at the floor, but there was no room for any of us to sleep on it. I could feel Feyre through the bond, pondering whether she could use her powers to warm the room. But she didn't trust herself, not quite yet. 

"If you can't risk using magic, then we'll have to warm each other," Feyre said. 

     I raised a brow at the words, and Rhys smirked. Her cheeks heated, eyes flitting around the room. 

"Body heat," she clarified, the words an embarrassed mumble. "My sisters and I had to share a bed—I'm used to it."

"I'll try to keep my hands to myself." 

"Rhys," I grumbled, shooting him a look to show how unamused I was. He only winked at me. 

"I'm hungry," Feyre said, and I nodded my agreement.

"I'll go down and get us food while you two change," he said. "Remarkable as my own abilities are to blend in, my face is recognizable. I'd rather not be down there long enough to be noticed." 

      He fished a cloak from his pack and slid it on, the panels fitting over his wings—which he wouldn't risk vanishing again. He'd used power earlier in the day—small enough, he said, that it might not be noticed, but we wouldn't be returning to that part of the forest anytime soon. 

     He tugged on the hood, and I stared at the shadows and menace and wings. It was so beautiful, yet so deadly. I'd never seen much beauty in darkness before. Not until I met him. 

"I love it when you two look at me like that," he purred. I blushed, glancing away.

"Like what?" Feyre asked, not blanching away from him. 

"Like my power isn't something to run from. Like you see me." 

"I was afraid of you at first," Feyre said. I never had been. Not until the Mountain, at least. 

"No, you weren't. Nervous, maybe, but never afraid. I've felt the genuine terror of enough people to know the difference. Maybe that's why I couldn't keep away." 

      He left before Feyre could press him more, and I could tell she wanted to. The two of us began to peel our clothes off, my body shivering against the cold air. I pulled a nice, warm sweater over my head. Then fleece pants and a pair of thick socks.

      Feyre was dressed in a similar outfit, and when we were done changing, we sat on the bed. I rested my head on her shoulder, allowing myself to relax. She hummed softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Her lips were cold against my skin, but I didn't care. 

"If you hadn't been there, Lucien would have been able to take me," I said quietly. 

"Don't say that, Mare," she murmured softly. 

"It's true," I said. "I froze. It was pathetic. I'm not smart or agile enough to get away from him. Not without you." 

"Then you'll keep training until you are," she declared. "If that's what you want." 

"It is," I realized. "I don't want to be a warrior, but I want to be able to defend myself." 

      I heard the stairs creak outside the door, and I lifted my head from Feyre's shoulder, standing up as Rhys opened the door.

"Tell me that's stew I smell," Feyre breathed in. 

     Rhysand set a tray on the bed, three trays on top of a larger one. I felt my stomach rumbling at the smell, desperate hunger tugging at my gut. 

"Rabbit stew, if the cook's to be believed," he joked with a hum.

"I could have lived without hearing that," Feyre grimaced. Rhys grinned, and the smile on his lips made something stir in my lower stomach. 

"What's the other one beneath?" I asked, gesturing to the large tray.

"Meat pie. I didn't dare ask what kind of meat," he said with a wink. "Go ahead and eat. I'm changing first." 

"You should have changed before going downstairs," I fussed, realizing that he was soaked--and likely very cold. 

     I picked up a bowl of stew, sighing deeply as I felt the steaming dish to my face, allowing it to warm my features up. My nose was nearly numb.

     Part of me wanted to spare a look as he changed behind us, but I knew that would be wrong. So I willed the tempting images out of my mind, focusing on eating the stew. 

     Feyre poured us both glasses of wine—then filled his. She handed me mine, and I thanked her quietly. I took a sip, allowing the warmth in my chest to distract me from the idea of his naked body, so close. 

     At last, Rhys squeezed between the bed and jutting corner of the wall, his wings tucked in close. He wore loose, thin pants, and a tight-fitting shirt. 

"How do you get it over the wings?" Feyre asked while he dug into his own stew. 

"The back is made of slats that close with hidden buttons ... But in normal circumstances, I just use magic to seal it shut." 

"It seems like you have a great deal of magic constantly in use at once," I joked, rolling my eyes at him. 

"It helps me work off the strain of my power. The magic needs release--draining--or else it'll build up and drive me insane. That's why we call the Illyrian stones Siphons—they help them channel the power, empty it when necessary." 

"Actually insane?" Feyre wondered, beginning to dig into the meat pie. 

"Actually insane," he confirmed. "Or so I was warned. I can feel it, though—the pull of it, if I go too long without releasing it." 

"That's horrible," I shuddered.

"Everything has its cost. If the price of being strong enough to shield my people is that I have to struggle with that same power, then I don't mind. Amren taught me enough about controlling it. Enough that I owe a great deal to her. Including the current shield around my city while we're here."

     Everyone around him had some use, some mighty skill. And yet there I was ...nothing more than a pitiful girl that cried when faced with danger. More trouble than I was worth. 

"You're not," he said. 

"Don't go into my mind," I said to him, face flushing.

"I can't help what you sometimes shout down the bond. And besides, everything is usually written on your face, if you know where to look."

"Did you think we would go with him?" Feyre asked him, drinking from her wine. 

"I heard every word between you. I knew you could take care of yourselves, and yet ... " he sighed. "And yet I found myself deciding that if you two took his hand, I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice." 

"And if he had grabbed us?" I asked before taking another bite of the stew.

"Then I would have torn apart the world to get the two of you back," he said coldly. 

"I would have fired at him," Feyre breathed, "And if he had laid a hand on you or Mary, I would've shot to kill." 

      I stared at her, at her lips, stained red from the wine. She would kill for me. And deep down, I knew I would do the same for her. For them both.  

      When we all finished eating, we refilled our glasses, sitting together on the bed. He was so tall he had to stoop to keep from hitting his head on the slanted ceiling. 

"One thought in exchange for another," Feyre said. "No training involved, please." 

      Rhys chuckled softly, placing his glass on the bedside table when he had drained all of the wine. 

"I'm thinking," he said, "that I look at you two and feel like I'm dying. Like I can't breathe. I'm thinking that I want the both of you so badly I can't concentrate half the time I'm around you, and this room is too small for me to properly bed you. Especially with the wings." 

     My green eyes went wide at the confession, my breath catching. Yes, he had flirted with us. But never like this. 

"I'm thinking that . . . " I began, my voice soft and shy. "That I want you both . . . and that confuses me. I know it's not right, it's not proper. But . . . you're both so beautiful, and you make me feel like I'm worth something."

"Just because it's not conventional, does not mean it's improper," Rhys assured me. "And you are worth something. You are worth everything, Mary."

      I nodded, sending my gratitude down the bond, towards him. I glanced at Feyre, ready to hear her thought. 

"I'm thinking that I can't stop thinking about both of you," Feyre breathed. "And that it's been that way for a long while. Even before we left the Spring Court. And maybe that makes me a traitorous, lying piece of trash, but—"

"It doesn't," he said, his face solemn. 

"We should go to sleep," Feyre muttered.

"All right," he said softly.

     Feyre crawled over the bed to the side tucked almost against the slanted ceiling and shimmied beneath the quilt. I slid under the blanket, pressing my front to her back, my arms wrapping around her. Her hands rested over mine, her thumb stroking my hand.

"You're both shivering so hard the bed is shaking," he said.

"Our hair is wet," Feyre said. It wasn't a lie.

     Warmth seeped over me as he sank into the bed behind me. I couldn't help but sink into his body heat. Being squished between them was enough to warm me up.

"No expectations," he said. "Just body heat."

     One of his arms slid over me, his hand pressing against my stomach and pulling my back to his chest. His other slid under me, wrapping around my ribs.

     His wing settled down to cover us. It was long enough to reach Feyre on the other side of me. The texture of his wings were beautiful, and also fascinating. I hadn't yet felt them.

      I hesitated, before lifting a hand toward him, stroking a finger down his wing. He shuddered, his arms tightening around me.

"Your finger is very cold," he gritted out.

     I gasped at the feel of his hot breath on my neck as I scraped my nail across the wing, fascinated by his reaction to the touch.

"You cruel, wicked thing," he purred, his nose grazing my neck. "Didn't anyone ever teach you manners?"

"I never knew Illyrians were such sensitive babies," Feyre mused, taking her own hand to stroke the very edge of his wing.

     With both of us teasing him, something hard pushed against my back. My eyes widened a bit, and my hand stopped. Feyre's only began moving faster, and he twitched against me.

     I realized that I was in too deep. Sure, I'd read about things like this, but other than my night with Feyre, I had no experience. And here he was, hard against my backside.

     I took a deep breath, working up some courage, then lifted my hand again, stroking circles on his wing.

     Rhys's fingers began to trace circles on my stomach. I felt his finger swirling around my navel, and in response, I arched my back and grinded against him, desperate for him to touch a more intimate part of me.

"Greedy," he murmured, his lips hovering over my neck. "First you terrorize me with your cold hands, now you want--what is it you want?"

     I whimpered, just wanting some relief. The circles on my stomach began to travel low . . . lower--until they were almost at the band on my pants.

"What is it you want?" he repeated. He nipped at my earlobe, which only made me whine, and fully arch against him.

"We want a distraction," Feyre admitted, scraping her nail against the tendon of his wing. "We want fun."

     It was a lie. We both knew it. We both wanted more from him--from each other. But neither of us had dared to say it out loud, yet.

"Then allow me the pleasure of distracting you," he said.

     His lips found my neck, and he sucked at the skin, teeth grazing it. I mewled, tilting my head to give him better access.

"Feyre already got the chance to touch you," he murmured against my neck. "It's my turn with you, now."

"Please," I uttered.

"There are those missing manners," he teased. "While I touch you, I want you to touch Feyre."

     Feyre whimpered at the words, trying to shift her body so my hand traveled closer to her chest.

"How do I—" I began. "I mean, I've never—"

“You've touched yourself, have you not?" he asked. My face went pink, but I managed to nod. "Do the same thing you would do to yourself, but to her."

"Please, Mare," Feyre groaned, her hips grinding against me.

     I moved the hand I had been resting on her waist, reaching it under her sweater. My fingers circled her peaked nipple, and I delighted in her moans.

"Was she good for you, Feyre? Did she behave?" Rhys asked the girl.

"Yes," Feyre moaned out beneath my touch. "So good for me."

"Then I think I should reward her," Rhys decided.

     I groaned as he finally slipped his hands under my shirt, his rough skin brushing my nipples.

"I love these," he breathed onto my neck, squeezing my breasts in his hands. "You have no idea how much I love these."

     I arched into his touch, so close to begging as he pinched my nipple between his fingers. I ground against the hardness pressing into my backside, desperate to speed things up.

"Stop that," he warned. "You'll ruin my fun."

     I didn't stop grinding against him as I continued my work on Feyre's breasts, her moans and whimpers sending heat to my core.

"May I touch you, Mary?" Rhys asked me.

"Yes," I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut.

     He reached out to our minds, sharing fragments of thoughts with us.

I cant breathe when I look at you two.

Let me touch you.

Because I was jealous, and pissed off--

They're mine.

     The last two words made my core clench. Rhys slid his finger along the band of my pants, but refused to dip any lower.

“Please," I begged.

"I only touch you if you're touching Feyre," he instructed. "If you stop, I stop. Understood?"

"Yes, Rhys," I replied.

     His hand slid under my pants, his finger brushing up and down my center. I whined, arching under his touch.

"Mary," he warned. I nodded, remembering what he had said.

     I crept my hand beneath the waistband of Feyre's pants. She gasped as my fingers found her. I slid them through her soaked folds.

     Rhys's thumb circled my clit, teasing, brushing up against it, but never quite—

     His other hand squeezed my breast gently as his thumb pushed down exactly where I wanted. I bucked my hips, my head fully back against his shoulder now, panting as his thumb flicked—

     I let out a loud moan, and he laughed

"Like that?" he teased me. I could only nod.

     I circled Feyre's peaked clit, making her whimper in response.

"Mary," she mewled, her hips grinding against my hand. "Please. More."

     I slid a finger inside her, something Rhys had yet to do to me. She ground against my hand harder, her whines sending heat through me.

     I moaned when Rhys's fingers began to circle my clit in the perfect rhythm, just as he began kissing up my neck.

"More, Mary," Feyre begged, and I realized I'd been so lost in my own pleasure and I'd forgotten about pleasuring her. 

     I slid a second finger into Feyre, and her responding moan was loud enough to drown out the rain.

     Feyre twisted her head to me, her lust filled eyes likely matching mine. I let out a shaky breath as Rhys squeezed my breast in his other hand.

     Feyre captured my mouth with her own, and I groaned, plunging my fingers deeper in her. Harder.

     She opened her mouth, and I swept my tongue in. I picked up the pace of my fingers thrusting into her.

     Rhys followed my lead, the circles he was rubbing against my clit becoming harder and faster. I gasped, pulling my mouth away from Feyre's.

"Just like that, Rhys. Don't stop," I begged, eyes squeezing shut as a coil tightened in my lower stomach.

"You have no idea how much I--" He cut himself off.

     I gasped, my body shaking as release barreled through me. I cried out, but was careful not to stop sliding my fingers into Feyre. Rhys's lips found mine, capturing my moans as my body shuddered.

     His fingers didn't stop until I came down, my fingers still working Feyre. Just seconds later, she tightened around my fingers. She moaned, throwing her head back.

"Mary, oh Gods," she cried out.

     I fucked her with my fingers until she was mewling, her head leaning against my sternum. Only when she was mumbling incoherent words did I finally withdraw my fingers.

     Rhys sucked my release off of his fingers before taking my hand, and bringing it to my own mouth. I followed his lead, licking Feyre's sweet release off of my fingers. Feyre watched us with flushed cheeks.

"Do you want us to . . . " I asked Rhys, my voice hoarse from my cries.

"I've had a long, long time to think about how and where I want the two of you," Rhys replied, his fingers sliding under the band of my pants, but stopping just beneath. "I have no intention of doing it all in one night. Or in a room where I can't even fuck you against the wall."

     My core clenched at the thought, and I could feel Feyre's intrigue through the bond. It seemed both of us liked the idea of being fucked against the wall very much.

"Sleep," he said.

     He began stroking my body again—not to arouse, but to soothe—long, luxurious strokes down my stomach, my sides. I did the same to Feyre until we'd all fallen asleep.

Chapter 47

    I awoke tucked between the two of them, feeling safe and cared for. Rhysand's arms were wrapped around me, his breathing deep and even. Feyre had her head on my chest, her arms tucked around my torso. 

     I twisted my head to gaze at Rhysand, seeing that his eyes were open. Feyre was still asleep soundly by my side. 

"Why did you make that bargain with us? Why demand a week from us every month?" I asked him, my voice quiet enough to not wake Feyre.

"Because I wanted to make a statement to Amarantha; because I wanted to piss off Tamlin, and I needed to keep you both alive in a way that wouldn't be seen as merciful," he said to me. 

"Oh." 

"You know—you know there is nothing I wouldn't do for my people, for my family," he said. "Bath or no bath?"

"I'm not bathing here," I grimaced.

"Then wake Feyre, and let's get out of here," he instructed.

     I sighed deeply, feeling guilty about waking the sleeping girl. She looked so peaceful, and it was so rare for her to sleep through the night.

"Fey," I said softly into her ear, my hand cupping her face. She groaned, eyes fluttering open. "It's time to go." 

     She nodded, yawning as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. I pressed a kiss to her cheekbone, and she hummed contently. 

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

     We flew for most of the day, far and wide, close to where the forested steppes rose up to meet the Illyrian Mountains. 

     None of us dared mention what happened between us the night before. In fact, we barely spoke at all. Feyre played with her powers, and Rhys made me winnow over and over again. He made me sprout leaves on the barren trees, and shoot arrows at targets he set up. 

      By the time Rhysand had collected us into his arms, the sun was setting. He was focused on something, distracted by his own mind. 

"What is it?" Feyre dared to ask him. 

"There is one more story I need to tell you." 

     Feyre and I exchanged a glance, then waited. He didn't continue. I placed my hand against his cheek. His skin was chilled, his eyes bleak as they slid to us. 

"We don't walk away—not from you," Feyre swore quietly. His gaze softened.

"I--" 

    Rhys's voice cut off, replacing by a roar of pain, his body folding against us. I felt the impact—felt blinding pain through the bond that ripped through my own mental shields, felt the shudder of the dozen places the arrows struck him as they shot from bows hidden beneath the forest canopy. And then we were falling. 

     Rhys gripped us, and his magic twisted around us in a dark wind, readying to winnow us out—and failed. Failed, because those were ash arrows through him. Through his wings. 

    Rhys flung out his power. Too late. Arrows shredded his wings. Struck his legs. I was sure I was screaming, but I couldn't hear a thing over my erratic heartbeat. 

     A dark wind—his power—slammed into me, and then we were being thrown far and wide as he sent us tumbling beyond the arrows' range, tumbling through the air—Rhys's roar of wrath shook the forest, the mountains beyond. 

     Birds rose up in waves, taking to the skies, fleeing that bellow. Feyre and I slammed into the dense canopy, my body barking in agony as I shattered through wood and pine and leaf. 

      Then, I collided with an invisible wall, and I realized Feyre had thrown out some sort of shield. But—I stopped falling through the branches. 

     Feyre gripped my hand, scrambling across the shield and dragging me along. 

"We need to jump," she whispered. 

"Feyre!" I argued, shaking my head as I glanced down. 

"Trust me," she pleaded, tears of desperation stinging in her blue eyes. 

     I swallowed a lump in my throat, trying to force myself to breathe as we leapt the last few feet onto a wide pine bough.

     Hurtling over the wood, we reached the trunk and clung to it, panting. We both listened—for Rhys, for his wings, for his next roar. Nothing. No sign of the archers who he'd been falling to meet.

"Where are you? Tell me and I'll come to you. I'll find you." Feyre sent into the bond. 

     There was no wall of onyx adamant at the end of the bond. Only endless shadow. Things—great, enormous things—were rustling in the forest. 

"Rhysand," Feyre tried again. No response. 

      The last of the light slipped away. 

"Rhysand, please," I tried. 

     A guttural howl rippled from the distance, and I whimpered in fear, gripping onto Feyre. We never stayed out here past sunset. 

     On the ground, something sleek and dark slithered past, the leaves crunching under what looked to be enormous paws tipped in needle-like claws. Something began screaming. High, panicked screeches. As if it were being torn apart. Not Rhys—something else. 

"We have to go and find him, Mary," Feyre said quietly, her voice trembling. 

"We should go to the last place we saw him," I nodded, agreeing even in my terror. 

"It's dark; don't let go of my hand," she said. 

      We rushed down the branch of the tree, just as a figure crashed through a nearby bush, snarling at us. Feyre and I folded ourselves into the darkness, and she winnowed us into a tree across from us. 

     I threw out my power, causing leaves to sprout of the barren branches. Even in the dark, there was a sort of beauty to it. Green grew around us, concealing us from whatever lurked below. 

      We winnowed from tree-to-tree, me growing leaves to hide us, careful not to be seen by any of the creatures lurking by. Her hand never left mine, and I was grateful for that. 

     We continued until we were at the spot we'd been attacked, and we both desperately tugged on the bond, glancing around with squinted eyes. 

"Mare," she whispered, pointing towards a tree above us. 

     I gazed up, to see an arrow stuck in the branches. Feyre winnowed us onto the bough of the tree, and we followed the area, led by the spare arrows, which Feyre tucked into her quiver as we walked along. 

     Finally, Rhys's scent filled my senses, and a gasp left my lips as I spied the blood spattered on the branches and ground. 

     We continued our hunt, an ash arrow now nocked into our bows, desperation finally convincing me to use mine. My archery had improved, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to hit a moving target. 

     And when we finally tracked his scent, we winnowed toward him. And when the narrow cave appeared at the foot of a mountain, the faintest glimmer of light escaping from its mouth ... we halted. The sound of a whip cracking sounded through the cave, causing me to flinch. 

     Feyre slung her bow over her shoulder and pulled out a second ash arrow. It was quick work to bind the two arrows together, so that a tip gleamed on either end—and to do the same for three more. She handed two of them to me, and I held one in each hand. 

      Mind-to-mind, Feyre instructed me on how to use them. On how to quickly and effectively kill whoever was holding him captive. I nodded, understanding what I had to do. 

"Are you okay with this?" she asked.

"For him, I will kill," I assured her.  

      We winnowed into the cave. They'd picked one with a narrow entrance that opened into a wide, curving tunnel, setting up their little camp around the bend to avoid detection. 

     The scouts at the front—two High Fae males with unmarked armor, who didn't notice as we went past. 

     Two other scouts patrolled just inside the cave mouth, watching those at the front. We were there and vanished before they could spot us. 

     And when we beheld the four others in that cave, beheld the tiny fire they'd built and what they'd already done to him ... we each pushed against the bond between us—but there was nothing behind it. Only silence. 

     They'd found strange chains of bluish stone to spread his arms, suspending him from either wall of the cave. His body sagged from them, his back a ravaged slab of meat. And his wings ...They'd left the ash arrows through his wings. Seven of them. I had to will myself not to vomit all over the floor.

"Now," Feyre said into my mind.

     We winnowed to the two guards holding twin whips. The others around them shouted as Feyre dragged the ash arrows across one of their throats, deep and vicious, just like she taught me. I did the same to the other, though sloppier than she had. But he was dead, nonetheless.

     Before the guards could attack, she winnowed again to the one nearest, striking. And I winnowed to other ones, striking and killing. I was small, and that gave me an advantage. 

     The guards at the mouth of the cave had come rushing in. They were the last to die. I had never killed anybody before. But I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty. 

     I glanced around, and saw the people I had killed standing above their bodies, even their spirits bleeding from the throat. They didn't seem to notice me. Some of the dead did, some didn't. I was grateful they didn't. They were likely still confused.  

     We winnowed in front of Rhys. I gripped his face. Pale—too pale. But his eyes opened to slits and he groaned. 

     I whispered comforts as Feyre lunged for the chains and unlatched him. His knees slammed into the rock so hard I winced, but Feyre unlatched his other hand. 

     Blood flowed down his back, his front, pooling in the dips between his muscles. I cringed, sighing deeply as I took in the damage. 

"Rhys," Feyre breathed. 

     A gasp left my lips as I felt a flicker of him behind his mental shields. His wings, peppered with those arrows, remained spread—so painfully taut. 

"Rhys—we need to winnow home," Feyre said. His eyes opened again, and he gasped, 

"Can't," he said.

"The ash, Feyre," I said to her. 

"Hold on." 

     Feyre and I both gripped his hands, and we worked together to winnow him. But winnowing was so heavy, as if all the weight of him, all that power, dragged us back.

     Feyre sent an image into my mind. A moss shrouded cave we'd seen earlier that day. I nodded, knowing that it would be a struggle. But we would do it. For Rhys. 

     Every mile was agony. And after ten minutes, it felt nearly hopeless. But we dragged on, and then we were there, in that cave, and he grunted in agony as we slammed into the wet, cold stone floor.

"Rhys," Feyre pleaded. 

     I sighed, carefully rolling Rhys onto his stomach, even as he grunted in protest. The lashings across his back kept dribbling blood, but the wings ...

"I have to get these arrows out," I spoke up. He grunted again, hands braced on the floor. "This is going to hurt." 

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Feyre asked nervously. 

"Yes," I confirmed. "Feyre, I need you to do something for me." She nodded. "There's Faebane in these arrows. When we were here earlier, I saw a pink flowered weed by the river. Gather some fo that." 

"Will it reverse the Faebane?" she demanded. 

"No, but it will help," I sighed, feeling hopeless. "Any cures for Faebane are far too complex. And we would not find the ingredients around here." 

"I have an idea," she murmured. "I'll be back." 

"Fey," I stopped her. "Be careful. Contact me if something goes wrong, and I'll winnow to you." 

      She nodded, a determined look on her face. She grabbed my face, kissing me softly, before disappearing out of the mouth of the cave.

    I turned my attention back to Rhys, clenching my jaw as I studied the way they'd pierced the beautiful membrane. I'd have to snap the arrows in two and slide each end out. No—not snapping. I'd have to cut it—slowly, carefully, smoothly, to keep any shards and rough bits from causing further damage.

"Do it," he panted, his voice hoarse. 

     There were seven arrows in total: three in this wing, four in the other. They'd removed the ones from his legs—the wounds already half-clotted. Blood dripped on the floor.

     I took the knife strapped to my thigh, studied the entry wound, and gently gripped the shaft. He hissed. I paused.

"Do it," Rhys repeated, his knuckles white as he fisted his hands on the ground. 

     I set the small bit of serrated edge against the arrow and began sawing as gently as I could. The blood-soaked muscles of his back shifted and tensed, and his breathing turned sharp, uneven. 

     Too slow—I was going too slowly. But any faster and it might hurt him more, might damage the sensitive wing. I would distract him. Keep him awake. 

"Did you know," I said over the sound of my sawing, "that a few centuries ago, I was complaining to my brother about being locked up so incessantly that he allowed me to work as an apprentice for our healer. Marina taught me a lot that year. In return, I supplied her with the herbal remedies I made. Healing has always been a fascination of mine. But Tamlin never allowed me to study it any further than that. I read books, I worked with Marina. That was all." 

     His breath heaved out of him, and I finally sawed through the shaft. I didn't let him know what I was doing before I yanked out the arrowhead in a smooth pull. 

     He swore, body locking up, and blood gushed out—then stopped. I almost loosed a sigh of relief. I set to work on the next arrow.

"I've always had a knack for healing," I went on. "And when I was Under the Mountain with Feyre, it drove me mad that I had nothing to heal her with." 

     I got through the second arrow faster, and he braced himself as I tugged it out. Blood flowed, then clotted. I started on the third. 

"It's funny," I said, sawing and sawing. "That I love healing so much, yet the curse I was given was to see the dead. Those I might've been able to help, but couldn't." 

     The arrow clattered to the ground and I ripped out the other end. I watched the blood flow and stop—watched him slowly lower the wing to the ground, his body trembling.

"And the herbal remedies," I said, starting on the other wing, "Marina told me that mine were better than the ones she bought from the local apothecary. It was a dream of mine to open an apothecary of my own. But Tamlin didn't think I would be able to run a business."

     I finished the fourth arrow and started on the fifth. Rhys's voice was raw as he said to the floor, "I'll help you open one in Velaris if you'd like." 

     I drew out the fifth, moving to the sixth before saying, "I don't know. Maybe Tam was right. I don't know anything about running a business."

     I finished the sixth, and was well on my way sawing through the seventh before I said, "But maybe if I had help. It would be nice." 

     I pulled out the seventh and final arrow. The blood stopped flowing, and his other wing lowered to the ground. Slowly, the lashes on his back began to clot. 

     I walked around to where he was bowed over the floor, hands braced on the rock, and knelt. His head lifted. Pain-filled eyes, bloodless lips. 

"You two saved me," he rasped. 

"You can explain who they were later."

"Ambush," Rhys said anyway. "Hybern soldiers with ancient chains from the king himself, to nullify my power. They must have traced the magic I used yesterday ... I'm sorry." 

     The words tumbled out of him. I brushed back his dark hair.

"Rest until Feyre returns," I said, and moved to retrieve the blanket from my pack. It'd have to do. 

     He gripped my wrist before I could rise. His eyelids lowered. Consciousness ripped from him—too fast. Much too fast and too heavy. Before he could say a word, he passed out. 

Chapter 48

     Rhys had gone in and out of consciousness for the last hour, his head on my lap. I ran my fingers through his damp curls, watching every single breath he took. I monitored him, my heart stopping every time he hesitated to take a breath. 

     Muffled footsteps sounded outside of the cave, and I straightened, peering out to see Feyre. Her jaw was clenched, her jacket and hair coated in snow. 

     Feyre chucked the weed at him, showering his bare chest with soil. I picked up the weed and brushed the dirt off of him delicately, shooting Feyre a concerned glance as I did so. 

“Chew on that,” she instructed.

     I plucked off a few leaves and held them to his mouth. He began chewing on it, grimacing as he swallowed. 

     Feyre tore off her jacket, shoved up her sleeve, and strode to us. She took a dagger from her pocket and dragged it across her forearm, causing me to gasp, my eyes going wide. 

"Feyre!" I exclaimed, cringing at the blood. She ignored me. 

“Drink this. Now," Feyre said.

"Feyre, what--" I began.  

     Feyre gripped the back of his head before I could go on. She lifted her arm to his mouth, and shoved him against her skin. I grimaced, listening to him as he drank her blood. 

     When he was done, she yanked back her arm, and shoved down her sleeve. I stared at her with wide eyes, but she ignored me. 

“You don’t get to ask questions,” she said, and he looked up at her. “You only get to answer them. And nothing more.”

"Feyre, what's going on--" I began. 

"Mary, please," Feyre cut me off, though speaking with more care than before. “How long have you known that we're mates?”

     I froze. My green eyes widened slightly, my breath hitching. I gazed down at Rhys, who had stilled beneath me. 

     Mates. What did she mean by we? All three of us? I'd never heard of that happening before. I didn't even know it was possible. 

“Feyre--” he started. 

“How long have you known?” she repeated, nostrils flaring. 

“You … You ensnared the Suriel?” he realized, and dread dawned on me. 

“I said you don’t get to ask questions.”

"Feyre, what are you talking about?" I demanded, brows furrowing. She finally met my gaze, her blue eyes filled with pure fury. 

"Did you know?" she snapped at me. "That we're mates?" 

"No," I said. "No, Feyre. I swear, I had no idea." I scoffed, shaking my head as I took it in. "All three of us? Mates?" She nodded. 

"All three of us," she confirmed, narrowing her eyes at Rhys. "How long did you know, Rhysand?" 

“I suspected for a while with you, Feyre,” Rhys said, swallowing once more. “I knew for certain when Amarantha was killing you. And when we stood on the balcony Under the Mountain—right after we were freed, I felt it snap into place between us. I think when you were Made, it … it heightened the smell of the bond. I looked at you then and the strength of it hit me like a blow.” 

"And for me?" I demanded, tears welling in my eyes, my voice nothing more than a whisper. 

"The night my father and I killed your family," he confessed, voice breaking. "When I found you in that closet. You looked up at me with wide, terrified eyes. And the bond snapped for me."

"Is that why you spared my life?" I questioned, clenching my jaw. Nearly five centuries, he had known. And he'd never said a word to me. 

"I spared your life because you were innocent," he corrected. "Mate or not, I never would've killed you." 

"And Feyre and I . . . we're mates, as well?" I asked, a hand going to my chest, where that bond was supposed to be.

"I wasn't sure at first," he admitted. "I had never heard of three people being mated. I wasn't sure if you were both just mated to me, or each other as well. But when I saw how the two of you interacted . . . there was no doubt in my mind that you were mates, too." 

“When were you going to tell us?” Feyre demanded. 

“Feyre.”

“When were you going to tell us?”

“I don’t know. I wanted to yesterday. Or whenever you’d both noticed that it wasn’t just a bargain between us. I hoped you might realize when I took you to bed, and—”

“Do the others know?” I asked, cheeks heating at the idea of them knowing before we did. 

“Amren and Mor do. Azriel and Cassian suspect." 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I questioned, cheeks wet with tears that had finally fallen. 

“You were both enduring so much and it didn’t feel right to tell you.”

“We deserved to know,” Feyre glared. 

“The other night you told me you wanted a distraction, you wanted fun. Not a mating bond. And not to someone like me—a mess," he said. 

     My heart ached at the words, at how badly he spoke of himself. But anger . . . pure anger overtook that.

“You promised—you promised no secrets, no games," I reminded him. "You promised.”

“I know I did,” Rhys said. “You think I didn’t want to tell you? You think I liked hearing you wanted me only for amusement and release? You think it didn’t drive me out of my mind so completely that those bastards shot me out of the sky because I was too busy wondering if I should just tell you, or wait—or maybe take whatever pieces that you offered me and be happy with it? Or that maybe I should let you go so you don’t have a lifetime of assassins and High Lords hunting you down for being with me?”

“I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to hear you explain how you assumed that you knew best, that we couldn’t handle it—” Feyre began. 

“I didn’t do that—”

“I don’t want to hear you tell me that you decided we were to be kept in the dark while your friends knew, while you all decided what was right for us—”

“Feyre—”

“Take us back to the Illyrian camp," I murmured, not able to stand being near him any longer. 

“Please.”

“You heard her," Feyre snarled at him. "Take us back now.”

     Feyre gripped his hand, and he grunted, gathering his strength, and winnowed us away. 

     We slammed into freezing mud right outside the little stone house. Across the yard, I noticed Cassian—and Mor—at the window of the house, eating breakfast. Their eyes went wide, and then they were rushing for the door.

“Mary,” Rhys groaned, bare arms buckling as he tried to rise.

     My first instinct was to collapse to the ground beside him, help him to his feet, and fuss over him. But Feyre stormed towards the house, and I followed her. He didn't deserve my care. 

     The door flung open, and Cassian and Mor were sprinting for us, scanning every inch of our bodies. Cassian hurtled for Rhys, but Mor—Mor froze when she saw our faces.

“Take us somewhere far away,” Feyre said. “Right now.” 

     Mor looked between us, biting her lip.

“Please,” I whispered, and my voice broke on the word.

     Mor scanned our faces once more, and gripped our hands. We vanished into wind and night.

     Mountains and snow surrounded us, fresh and gleaming in the midday light. We were high up on the peaks, and about a hundred yards away, a log cabin stood tucked between two upper fangs of the mountains, shielding it from the wind. The house was dark—there was nothing around it for as far as I could see.

“The house is warded, so no one can winnow in. No one can get beyond this point, actually, without our family’s permission," Mor told us.  “You’re both allowed in."

“Because we're his mates?” Feyre snipped, crossing her arms and making a sour face. 

“Did you guess, or did he tell you?”

“The Suriel told me. After I went to hunt it for information on how to heal him," Feyre explained.

“Is he—is he all right?” she murmured. 

“He’ll be fine," I promised her. 

     We reached the door to the cabin, which she unlocked with a wave of her hand. A main, wood-paneled room consisting of a kitchen to the right, a living area with a leather sofa covered in furs to the left; a small hall in the back that led to two bedrooms and a shared bathing room, and nothing else.

“We got sent up here for ‘reflection’ when we were younger,” Mor said. “Rhys used to smuggle in books and booze for me.”

“It’s perfect,” Feyre said tightly.

     Mor waved a hand, and a fire sprang to life in the hearth, heat flooding the room. Food landed on the counters of the kitchen, and something in the pipes groaned. 

“No need for firewood,” she said. “It’ll burn until you leave.” 

“Please don’t tell him where we are,” I whispered, staring at my shoes. 

“He’ll try to find you two.”

“Tell him we don’t want to be found. Not for a while," Feyre said. 

“It’s not my business—”

“Then don’t say anything,” Feyre said. 

“He wanted to tell you," she said. "And it killed him not to. But … I’ve never seen him so happy as he is when he’s with you girls. And I don’t think that has anything to do with you being his mates.”

“I don’t care," Feyre mumbled. She fell silent. “Thank you for bringing us here.” 

“I’ll check back in three days. There are clothes in the bedrooms, and all the hot water you want. The house is spelled to take care of you—merely wish or speak for things, and it’ll be done.”

     She disappeared when we had settled, leaving just Feyre and me. I dared to glance up and meet her blue eyes. 

"I swear I didn't know, Fey," I promised her, my voice weak. 

"I believe you, Mare," she assured me. "I'm sorry I was harsh to you earlier." 

"I don't blame you." 

     She sighed, stepping towards me, and pulling me into an embrace. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close and hiding my face in the crook of her neck. 

     My mate. She was my mate. I could get used to that. I didn't want to think about Rhys, yet. But for now, I could get used to Feyre being my mate. 

"Let's take a hot bath," Feyre suggested. I didn't argue. 

Chapter 49: 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔶-𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔢

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

    The bath was a relief for us both, since neither of us had bathed in nearly five days. The bathtub was huge--bigger than I expected. We both had enough space to clean ourselves without even touching one another. 

     Neither of us spoke much. We both had a lot on our minds, and I could tell she was struggling just as much as I was. 

     The fact that he had known for five centuries . . . 

     That wasn't fair. I felt stupid and pathetic for being kept in the dark all those years. Especially when his family had known. 

     Feyre and I went into the kitchen when we both realized how hungry we were. We found a container of soup on the wood counter, and scrounged up a cast iron pot to heat it.

     Fresh, crusty bread sat near the stove, and we split it in half, sharing it while waiting for the soup to warm.

"I was locked up for five centuries, and the entire time, he knew what I was to him," I whispered, staring down at the bread. 

      Feyre's hand on my shoulder was a small comfort. She didn't need to say anything. She pushed a sensation of soothing down the bond--the bond I know knew was not from the tattoo. 

"I'll do the dishes," I offered when we had finished our silent supper. 

"I'll clean the table," Feyre said. 

     Feyre swept the crumbs from the room as I scrubbed the bowls and spoons we had eaten out of.

     We shared the bed, curling up to each other, just like the other night. But Rhys had been on my other side that night. I'd been so close to him, closer than ever before. I'd been in his arms, his fingers between my legs, his tongue in my mouth. 

      He'd waited five centuries to have me like that, and when he finally did, he didn't even have the decency to tell me why he wanted me so badly. 

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

     I woke with Feyre curled up in my arms, her head resting on my breasts, and her arms wrapped around my middle. 

     I didn't want to move and wake her, so I stayed still, savoring her warmth, her scent, the feeling of her. My pretty mate. 

     But thinking of her as my mate only made me remember why we were here in the first place. I huffed a breath of frustration. 

     When Feyre finally awoke, we made the bed, fixed breakfast, washed the dishes, and then went to the living space. I collapsed onto the couch, staring at the fireplace. But Feyre just stood in the middle of the room. 

"We should've heard him out instead of running away," Feyre said softly. I quirked a brow. 

"I'm not ready to hear him out," I admitted. "Five centuries is a long time, Fey." 

✯¸.'*¨'*✿

      Feyre got nosy halfway through the day, going through all of the drawers and closets, cabinets, and living areas to see what she could find. 

     Eventually she ventured out of the supply closet with cans and paint and brushes. I raised a brow at her. 

     But she didn't say anything. She brought the cans and brushes over to a corner of the cabin and began painting the wall. 

      My first instinct was the scold her . . . but then I remembered how pissed I was at Rhys. And Feyre was a skilled painter. I had no doubt she would ruin the cabin with her art. 

     She painted all day and night, and I watched her. She was so pretty when she was painting--her brow scrunched with focus, her golden brown hair tied up lazily, her eyes fixed on her work. Her entire body and clothes covered in specks of paint. 

      I only left to prepare us dinner, which I brought to her. She took a short break to eat her soup, while still sitting on the floor. And I ate on the couch, where I had been sitting all day. 

      Feyre and I didn't get to sleep until early morning, and we slept all day. We woke at the sunset and enjoyed a brief supper.

      We were doing the dishes when a knock sounded at the door. We both froze up, glancing at the door rigidly, then at each other.

     Another knock, light, but insistent. Then—"Please don't be dead."

     I scoffed, rolling my green eyes and breezing to the door, opening it to find Morrigan, huffing hot air into her cupped hands. 

     Mor stepped in and began surveying the painting that Feyre had done. She let out a low whistle as she shut the door. "Well, you've certainly been busy."

     Feyre had painted nearly every surface in the main room, with decorations--little images. Some were basic: clusters of icicles drooping down the sides of the threshold. They melted into the first shoots of spring, then burst into full blooms of summer, before brightening and deepening into fall leaves. She'd painted a ring of flowers round the card table by the window; leaves and crackling flames around the dining table.

     But in between the intricate decorations, she'd painted us. Bits and pieces of me, Mor, and Cassian, and Azriel, and Amren ... and Rhys.

     Mor went up to the large hearth, where Feyre had painted the mantel in black shimmering with veins of gold and red. Up close, it was a solid, pretty bit of paint. But from the couch ... 

"Illyrian wings," she said. "Ugh, they'll never stop gloating about it."

     She went to the window, which Feyre had framed in tumbling strands of gold and brass and bronze. 

"Nice," she said, surveying the room again.

     Her eyes fell on the open threshold to the bedroom hallway, and she grimaced. "Why," she said, "are Amren's eyes there?"

"Because she's always watching," Feyre joked. Mor snorted. 

"That simply won't do. Paint my eyes next to hers. So the males of this family will know we're both watching them the next time they come up here to get drunk for a week straight."

"They do that?" I asked, leaning against the wall. 

"They used to. Every autumn, the three of them would lock themselves in this house for five days and drink and drink and hunt and hunt, and they'd come back to Velaris looking halfway to death but grinning like fools. It warms my heart to know that from now on, they'll have to do it with me and Amren staring at them."

"Who does this paint belong to?" Feyre asked. 

"Amren," Mor said, rolling her eyes. "We were all here one summer, and she wanted to teach herself to paint. She did it for about two days before she got bored and decided to start hunting poor creatures instead."

     Feyre chuckled, striding over to the dining table, which she was using to hold all of her paints. 

"Any news from my sisters?"

"No. Not yet."

"Is he ... okay?" I found myself asking, guilt eating at me now that I was faced with the consequences of leaving him injured in the mud. 

"Still recovering, but fine. Pissed at me, of course, but he can shove it."

"Thank you—for not telling him we were here," I murmured, staring down at the table. 

     Mor shrugged. Food began popping onto the counter: fresh bread, fruit, containers of stews and meats. 

"You should both talk to him, though. Make him stew over it, of course, but ... hear him out. Rhys always has his reasons, and he might be arrogant as all hell, but he's usually right about his instincts. He makes mistakes, but ... You should hear him out."

     And maybe hearing those words made me realize I was ready to hear him out. After giving him hell, of course.

"How was your visit to the Court of Nightmares?" Feyre asked. 

     She paused, her face going uncharacteristically pale. "Fine. It's always a delight to see my parents. As you might guess."

"Is your father healing?" Feyre asked. 

"Slowly," she grinned. "I might have snapped some more bones when I visited. My mother has since banished me from their private quarters. Such a shame."

     I couldn't help but wonder about her mother. Was she simply an enabler of her husband's behavior, like mine had been? Or had she been just as cruel to her daughter as Keir was. I decided not to ask. 

"A pity indeed," Feyre said. "Rhys really makes you do this often? Endure visiting them?"

"Rhys gave me permission the day he became High Lord to kill them all whenever I pleased. I attend these meetings, go to the Court of Nightmares, to ... remind them of that sometimes. And to keep communication between our two courts flowing, however strained it might be. If I were to march in there tomorrow and slaughter my parents, he wouldn't blink. Perhaps be inconvenienced by it, but ... he would be pleased."

"I'm sorry—for all that you endured," I said softly. 

"Thank you," she said. "Visiting them always leaves me raw."

"Cassian seemed concerned," Feyre murmured. It seemed casual, but I knew she was prying.

"Cassian, I think, would also savor the opportunity to shred that entire court to pieces. Starting with my parents. Maybe I'll let him do it one year as a present. Him and Azriel both. It'd make a perfect solstice gift."

"You told me about the time with Cassian, but did you and Azriel ever ... ?" Feyre hinted. Mor let out a sharp laugh. 

"No. Azriel? After that time with Cassian, I swore off any of Rhys's friends. Azriel's got no shortage of lovers, though, don't worry. He's better at keeping them secret than we are, but ... he has them."

"So if he were ever interested would you ... ?"

"The issue, actually, wouldn't be me. It'd be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn't move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won't matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris—he'll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me."

"But ... are you interested?" Feyre asked. I shot her a look for being so nosy. 

"Why are you asking such things?" Mor asked, her voice tight, sharp.

"I'm still trying to figure out how you all work together."

"We have five centuries of tangled history for you to sort through. Good luck."

     I pondered that, jealous that they had such interesting stories, and five centuries of adventures to tell. I had none. My days all looked the same for nearly five hundred years.

"Is it so bad—to be his mate? To be a part of our court, our family, tangled history and all?" Mor asked her. 

"No," Feyre and I answered in unison. 

"No, it's not." 

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

     Mor stayed overnight, even going so far as to paint some rudimentary stick figures on the wall beside the storeroom door.

     Four females with absurdly long, flowing hair that all resembled hers; and three winged males, who she somehow managed to make look puffed up on their own sense of importance. 

     She left after breakfast, having to walk out to where the no winnowing shield ended, and we waved to her distant, shivering figure before she vanished into nothing.

     Five days passed, and Feyre painted every room in the cottage. Mor had winnowed in extra paint before she'd left, along with more food than we could possibly eat.

     Mor returned that night, banging on the door, thunderous and impatient.

     I grumbled at her loud knocking, striding over to the doorway and flinging open the door. 

     But Mor wasn't leaning against the threshold.

Chapter 50: 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔶

Notes:

Hey guys! So sorry it's been so long. I just started classes on top of work, so I haven't had a lot of time. I'm not longer adhering to a schedule, I'm just gonna post shit whenever I can, and I plan to write it most of my spare time.

     We both stared at Rhys, and he stared back at us. His cheeks were tinged pink with cold, his dark hair ruffled, and he looked freezing as he stood there, wings tucked in tight.

     I felt the string in my chest then, as I stared at him. Could feel it tying me to them both, tethering me to my mates. 

     I stepped aside, holding the door open for him. Rhys took in the painting Feyre had done, and said, "You painted us."

"I hope you don't mind," she spoke. He studied the threshold to the bedroom hallway. 

"Azriel, Mary, Mor, Amren, and Cassian," he said, marking the eyes she had painted. "You do know that one of them is going to paint a moustache under the eyes of whoever pisses them off that day."

"Oh, Mor already promised to do that."

"And what about my eyes?"

"I was afraid to paint them," Feyre murmured. 

"Why?"

"At first, because I was so mad at you for not telling me. Then because I was worried I'd like them too much and find that you ... didn't feel the same. Then because I was scared that if I painted them, I'd start wishing you were here so much that I'd just stare at them all day. And it seemed like a pathetic way to spend my time."

"Indeed."

"You flew here," I acknowledged. 

"Mor wouldn't tell me where you'd gone, and there are only so many places that are as secure as this one. Since I didn't want our Hybern friends tracking me to you, I had to do it the old-fashioned way. It took ... a while."

"You're—better?" I asked softly. 

"Healed completely. Quickly, considering the bloodbane. Thanks to both of you."

"You must be hungry. I'll heat something up," Feyre spoke up. 

"You'd—make me food?" he asked. 

"Heat," she said. "I can't cook. Mary can, but I'm useless in the kitchen."

       Feyre and I went to the kitchen, and she dumped some cold soup into a pan, lighting the burner. 

      I wondered if Feyre knew that giving him food would mean accepting the bond. I had been told stories of mates since I was a child, and I'd always dreamed about what I would cook for mine.

"I don't know the rules," Feyre said. "So you need to explain them to me." Rhys and I exchanged a tense glance. 

"It's an ... important moment when a female offers her mate food. It goes back to whatever beasts we were a long, long time ago. But it still matters. The first time matters. Some mated pairs will make an occasion of it—throwing a party just so the female can formally offer her mate food ... That's usually done amongst the wealthy. But it means that the female ... accepts the bond."

"Tell us the story—tell us everything," Feyre stated. 

     A chair scraped against the wood floor as he sat at the table. Feyre continued cooking the soup, but I sat across from Rhys, giving him my attention. 

"I was captured during the War. By Amarantha's army," Rhys began. "Cassian and Azriel were in different legions, so they had no idea that my forces and I had been taken prisoner. And that Amarantha's captains held us for weeks, torturing and slaughtering my warriors. They put ash bolts through my wings, and they had those same chains from the other night to keep me down. Those chains are one of Hybern's greatest assets—stone delved from deep in their land, capable of nullifying a High Fae's powers. Even mine. So they chained me up between two trees, beating me when they felt like it, trying to get me to tell them where the Night Court forces were, using my warriors—their deaths and pain—to break me. Only I didn't break, and they were too dumb to know that I was an Illyrian, and all they had to do to get me to yield would have been to try to cut off my wings. And maybe it was luck, but they never did. And Amarantha ... She didn't care that I was there. I was yet another High Lord's son, and Jurian had just slaughtered her sister. All she cared about was getting to him—killing him. She had no idea that every second, every breath, I plotted her death. I was willing to make it my last stand: to kill her at any cost, even if it meant shredding my wings to break free. I'd watched the guards and learned her schedule, so I knew where she'd be. I set a day, and a time. And I was ready—I was so damned ready to make an end of it, and wait for Cassian and Azriel and Mor on the other side. There was nothing but my rage, and my relief that my friends weren't there. But the day before I was to kill Amarantha, to make my final stand and meet my end, she and Jurian faced each other on the battlefield."

     He paused, swallowing.

"I was chained in the mud, forced to watch as they battled. To watch as Jurian took my killing blow. Only—she slaughtered him. I watched her rip out his eye, then rip off his finger, and when he was prone, I watched her drag him back to the camp. Then I listened to her slowly, over days and days, tear him apart. His screaming was endless. She was so focused on torturing him that she didn't detect my father's arrival. In the panic, she killed Jurian rather than see him liberated, and fled. So my father rescued me—and told his men, told Azriel, to leave the ash spikes in my wings as punishment for getting caught. I was so injured that the healers informed me if I tried to fight before my wings healed, I'd never fly again. So I was forced to return home to recover—while the final battles were waged. They made the Treaty, and the wall was built. We'd long ago freed our slaves in the Night Court. We didn't trust the humans to keep our secrets, not when they bred so quickly and frequently that my forefathers couldn't hold all their minds at once. But our world was changed nonetheless. We were all changed by the War. Cassian and Azriel came back different; I came back different. We came here—to this cabin. I was still so injured that they carried me here between them. We were here when the messages arrived about the final terms of the Treaty. They stayed with me when I roared at the stars that Amarantha, for all she had done, for every crime committed, would go unpunished. That the King of Hybern would go unpunished. Too much killing had occurred on either side for everyone to be brought to justice, they said. Even my father gave me an order to let it go—to build toward a future of co-existence. But I never forgave what Amarantha had done to my warriors. And I never forgot it, either. 

"Tamlin's father--your father, Mary--he was her friend. And when my father slaughtered him, I was so damn smug that perhaps she'd feel an inkling of what I'd felt when she murdered my soldiers."

     My father had never mentioned Amarantha to me. He rarely spoke to me at all, except out of anger. I wondered if Amarantha had been grief-stricken by his death. I certainly hadn't been. 

     Rhys's eyes met mine, apologetic and guilty. "That night--the night my father and I killed your family, and I found you in that closet--I looked at you, and the bond snapped. I wanted nothing more than the pick you up and winnow you back to the Night Court. But I couldn't do that. I didn't think you would ever go with me, and after finding out that my father killed your mother . . . I was sure you would hate me forever. So for years, I tried to forget you. I told myself I couldn't make you love me, not after what I did to your family. I tried to make peace with the fact that I had no chance of being with my mate, but for centuries, I have held you in my chest. And I wanted to be with you every single day."

     I stared back at him, tears watering in my green eyes. I knew I couldn't hold that against him. And I was glad he hadn't tried to force me to accept the bond, despite our history.  

"When Amarantha returned to these shores centuries later, I still wanted to kill her. The worst part was, she didn't even know who I was. Didn't even remember that I was the High Lord's son that she'd held captive. To her, I was merely the son of the man who had killed her friend—I was just the High Lord of the Night Court. The other High Lords were convinced she wanted peace and trade. Only Tamlin mistrusted her. I hated him, but he'd known Amarantha personally—and if he didn't trust her ... I knew she hadn't changed. So I planned to kill her. I told no one. Not even Amren. I'd let Amarantha think I was interested in trade, in alliance. I decided I'd go to the party thrown Under the Mountain for all the courts to celebrate our trade agreement with Hybern ... And when she was drunk, I'd slip into her mind, make her reveal every lie and crime she'd committed, and then I'd turn her brain to liquid before anyone could react. I was prepared to go to war for it."

      Rhys was looking at his hands, not able to look us in the eyes. 

"But she thought faster—acted faster. She had been trained against my particular skill set, and had extensive mental shields. I was so busy working to tunnel through them that I didn't think about the drink in my hand. I hadn't wanted Cassian or Azriel or anyone else there that night to witness what I was to do—so no one bothered to sniff my drink. And as I felt my powers being ripped away by that spell she'd put on it at the toast, I flung them out one last time, wiping Velaris, the wards, all that was good, from the minds of the Court of Nightmares—the only ones I'd allowed to come with me. I threw the shield around Velaris, binding it to my friends so that they had to remain or risk that protection collapsing, and used the last dregs to tell them mind to mind what was happening, and to stay away. Within a few seconds, my power belonged wholly to Amarantha."

     His eyes lifted to look at us. Haunted, bleak.

"She slaughtered half the Court of Nightmares right then and there. To prove to me that she could. As vengeance for Tamlin's father. And I knew ... I knew in that moment there was nothing I wouldn't do to keep her from looking at my court again. From looking too long at who I was and what I loved. So I told myself that it was a new war, a different sort of battle. And that night, when she kept turning her attention to me, I knew what she wanted. I knew it wasn't about fucking me so much as it was about getting revenge at my father's ghost. But if that was what she wanted, then that was what she would get. I made her beg, and scream, and used my lingering powers to make it so good for her that she wanted more. Craved more."

     I felt sick hearing him speak, my gaze dropping to my fidgeting hands. 

"Then she cursed Tamlin. And my other great enemy became the one loophole that might free us all. Every night that I spent with Amarantha, I knew that she was half wondering if I'd try to kill her. I couldn't use my powers to harm her, and she had shielded herself against physical attacks. But for fifty years—whenever I was inside her, I'd think about killing her. She had no idea. None. Because I was so good at my job that she thought I enjoyed it, too. So she began to trust me—more than the others. Especially when I proved what I could do to her enemies. But I was glad to do it. I hated myself, but I was glad to do it. After a decade, I stopped expecting to see my friends or my people again. I forgot what their faces looked like. And I stopped hoping."

     Silver gleamed in his eyes, and he blinked it away. 

"Three years ago," he said quietly, "I began to have these ... dreams. At first, they were glimpses, as if I were staring through someone else's eyes. A crackling hearth in a dark home. A bale of hay in a barn. A warren of rabbits. The images were foggy, like looking through cloudy glass. They were brief—a flash here and there, every few months. I thought nothing of them, until one of the images was of a hand ... This beautiful, human hand. Holding a brush. Painting—flowers on a table. And that time, I pushed a thought back. Of the night sky—of the image that brought me joy when I needed it most. Open night sky, stars, and the moon. I didn't know if it was received, but I tried, anyway.

"Those dreams—the flashes of that person, that woman ... I treasured them. They were a reminder that there was some peace out there in the world, some light. That there was a place, and a person, who had enough safety to paint flowers on a table. They went on for years, until ... a year ago. I was sleeping next to Amarantha, and I jolted awake from this dream ... this dream that was clearer and brighter, like that fog had been wiped away. She—you were dreaming. I was in your dream, watching as you had a nightmare about some woman slitting your throat, while you were chased by the Bogge ... I couldn't reach you, speak to you. But you were seeing our kind. And I realized that the fog had probably been the wall, and that you ... you were now in Prythian.

"I saw you through your dreams—and I hoarded the images, sorting through them over and over again, trying to place where you were, who you were. But you had such horrible nightmares, and the creatures belonged to all courts. I'd wake up with your scent in my nose, and it would haunt me all day, every step. But then one night, you dreamed of standing amongst green hills, seeing unlit bonfires for Calanmai. I knew there was only one celebration that large; I knew those hills—and I knew you'd probably be there. So I told Amarantha ..." Rhys swallowed. "I told her that I wanted to go to the Spring Court for the celebration, to spy on Tamlin and see if anyone showed up wishing to conspire with him. We were so close to the deadline for the curse that she was paranoid—restless. She told me to bring back traitors. I promised her I would."

     His eyes lifted to Feyre's again.

"I got there, and I could smell you. So I tracked that scent, and ... And there you were. Human—utterly human, and being dragged away by those piece-of-shit picts, who wanted to ... " He shook his head. "I debated slaughtering them then and there, but then they shoved you, and I just ... moved. I started speaking without knowing what I was saying, only that you were there, and I was touching you, and ... " 

     He loosed a shuddering breath.

"You looked at me," Rhys said, "and I knew you had no idea who I was. That I might have seen your dreams, but you hadn't seen mine. And you were just ... human. You were so young, and breakable, and had no interest in me whatsoever, and I knew that if I stayed too long, someone would see and report back, and she'd find you. So I started walking away, thinking you'd be glad to get rid of me. But then you called after me, like you couldn't let go of me just yet, whether you knew it or not. And I knew ... I knew we were on dangerous ground, somehow. I knew that I could never speak to you, or see you, or think of you again. I didn't want to know why you were in Prythian; I didn't even want to know your name. Because seeing you in my dreams had been one thing, but in person ...  So I let you walk away. I told myself after you were gone that maybe ... maybe the Cauldron had been kind, and not cruel, for letting me see you. Just once. A gift for what I was enduring. And when you were gone, I found those three picts. I broke into their minds, reshaping their lives, their histories, and dragged them before Amarantha. I made them confess to conspiring to find other rebels that night. I made them lie and claim that they hated her. I watched her carve them up while they were still alive, protesting their innocence. I enjoyed it—because I knew what they had wanted to do to you. And knew that it would have paled in comparison to what Amarantha would have done if she'd found you."

     Rhys kept staring at the table as he said, "I didn't know. That you were with Tamlin. That you were staying at the Spring Court. Amarantha sent me that day after the Summer Solstice because I'd been so successful on Calanmai. I was prepared to mock him, maybe pick a fight. But then I got into that room, and I saw Mary." His gaze turned to me. "You looked the same, just a bit older, but you also looked worn--miserable. Your eyes had no life left in them, you were malnourished, and I knew that if we survived Amarantha, I would need to help you. I thought that with your father dead, your life in Spring would have improved. But I was wrong." 

      I pursed my lips, nodding slightly. 

"Then I realized there was another scent that was familiar, but hidden ... And then I saw the plate, and felt the glamour, and ... There you were, Feyre. Living in my second-most enemy's house. Dining with him. Reeking of his scent. Looking at him like ... Like you loved him. And I decided that I had to scare Tamlin. I had to scare you, and Lucien, but mostly Tamlin. Because I saw how he looked at you, too. So what I did that day ... " His lips were pale, tight. "I broke into your mind and held it enough that you felt it, that it terrified you, hurt you. I made Tamlin beg—as Amarantha had made me beg, to show him how powerless he was to save you. And I prayed my performance was enough to get him to send you away. Back to the human realm, away from Amarantha. Because she was going to find you. If you broke that curse, she was going to find you and kill you. But I was so selfish—I was so stupidly selfish that I couldn't walk away without knowing your name. And you were looking at me like I was a monster, so I told myself it didn't matter, anyway. But you lied when I asked. I knew you did. I had your mind in my hands, and you had the defiance and foresight to lie to my face. So I walked away from you again. I vomited my guts up as soon as I left.

"I checked back once. To ensure you were gone. I went with them the day they sacked the manor—to make my performance complete. I told Amarantha the name of that girl, thinking you'd invented it. I had no idea ... I had no idea she'd send her cronies to retrieve Clare. But if I admitted my lie ... " He swallowed hard. "I broke into Clare's head when they brought her Under the Mountain. I took away her pain, and told her to scream when expected to. So they ... they did those things to her, and I tried to make it right, but ... After a week, I couldn't let them do it. Hurt her like that anymore. So while they tortured her, I slipped into her mind again and ended it. She didn't feel any pain. She felt none of what they did to her, even at the end. But ... But I still see her. And my men. And the others that I killed for Amarantha."

     Two tears slid down his cheeks, swift and cold. He didn't wipe them away as he said, "I thought it was done after that. With Clare's death, Amarantha believed you were dead. So you were safe, and far away, and my people were safe, and Tamlin had lost. But Tamlin losing meant Mary was brought down with him. Amarantha wanted to use you to break Tamlin, but I did everything I could to stop that. So you were kept in the dungeons, untouched by her. I wasn't sure how long I could keep you safe, but I took it one day at a time. And then ... I was in the back of the throne room that day the Attor brought you in, Feyre. And I have never known such horror as I did when I watched you make that bargain. Irrational, stupid terror—I didn't know you. I didn't even know your name. But I thought of those painter's hands, the flowers I'd seen you create. And how she'd delight in breaking your fingers apart. I had to stand and watch as the Attor and its cronies beat you. I had to watch the disgust and hatred on your face as you looked at me, watched me threaten to shatter Lucien's mind. And then—then I learned your name. Hearing you say it ... it was like an answer to a question I'd been asking for five hundred years. I decided, then and there, that I was going to fight. And I would fight dirty, and kill and torture and manipulate, but I was going to fight. If there was a shot of freeing us from Amarantha, you were it. I thought ... I thought the Cauldron had been sending me these dreams to tell me that you would be the one to save us. Save my people. So I watched your first trial. Pretending—always pretending to be that person you hated. When you were hurt so badly against the Wyrm ... I found my way in with you. A way to defy Amarantha, to spread the seeds of hope to those who knew how to read the message, and a way to keep you alive without seeming too suspicious. And a way to get back at Tamlin ... To use him against Amarantha, yes, but ... To get back at him for my mother and sister, and for ... having you. When we made that bargain, you were both so hateful that I knew I'd done my job well.

"So we endured it. I made you two dress like that so Amarantha wouldn't suspect, and made you drink the wine so neither of you would remember the nightly horrors in that mountain. And that last night, when I found you and Tamlin in the hall ... I was jealous. I was jealous of him, and pissed off that he'd used that one shot of being unnoticed not to get you out, but to be with you, and ... Amarantha saw that jealousy. She saw me kissing you to hide the evidence, but she saw why. For the first time, she saw why. So that night, after I left you, I had to ... service her. She kept me there longer than usual, trying to squeeze the answers out of me. But I gave her what she wanted to hear: that you were nothing, that you were human garbage, that I'd use and discard you. Afterward ... I wanted to see you both . One last time. Alone. I thought about telling you everything—but who I'd become, who you two thought I was ... I didn't dare shatter that deception. But your final trial came, and ... When she started torturing you, something snapped in a way I couldn't explain, only that seeing you bleeding and screaming undid me. It broke me at last. And I knew as I picked up that knife to kill her ... I knew right then what you were. I knew that you were my mate, and you were in love with another male, and had destroyed yourself to save him, and that ... that I didn't care. If you were going to die, I was going to die with you. But then she snapped your neck."

     Tears rolled down his face.

"And I felt you die," he whispered. "And this beautiful, wonderful thing that had come into my life, this gift from the Cauldron ... It was gone. In my desperation, I clung to that bond. Not the bargain—the bargain was nothing, the bargain was like a cobweb. But I grabbed that bond between us and I tugged, I willed you to hold on, to stay with me, because if we could get free ... If we could get free, then all seven of us were there. We could bring you back. And I didn't care if I had to slice into all of their minds to do it. I'd make them save you." His hands were shaking. "You'd freed us with your last breath, and my power—I wrapped my power around the bond. The mating bond. I could feel you flickering there, holding on. So Amarantha died, and I spoke to the High Lords mind to mind, convincing them to come forward, to offer that spark of power. None of them disagreed. I think they were too stunned to think of saying no. And ... I again had to watch as Tamlin held you. Kissed you. I wanted to go home, to Velaris, but I had to stay, to make sure things were set in motion, that you were all right. So I waited as long as I could, then I sent a tug through the bond. Then you came to find me. I almost told you then, but ... You were so sad. And tired. And for once, you looked at me like ... like I was worth something. So I promised myself that the next time I saw one of you, I'd free you both of the bargain. Because I was selfish, and knew that if I let go right then, he'd lock you up and I'd never get to see you again. When I went to leave you ... I think transforming you into Fae made the bond lock into place permanently. I'd known it existed, but it hit me then—hit me so strong that I panicked. I knew if I stayed a second longer, I'd damn the consequences and take you with me. And you'd hate me forever.

"I landed at the Night Court, right as Mor was waiting for me, and I was so frantic, so ... unhinged, that I told her everything. I hadn't seen her in fifty years, and my first words to her were, 'She's my mate.' And for three months ... for three months I read every book in that library about mates, seeing if it was possible to have two. And it was rare, but very possible. So I tried to convince myself that you were both better off without me. I tried to convince myself that everything I'd done had made you hate me. But I felt you two through the bond, through your open mental shields. I felt your pain, and sadness, and loneliness. I felt you struggling to escape the darkness of Amarantha the same way I was. 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 mates, you'd earned that happiness.

"The day of your wedding, I'd planned to get rip-roaring drunk with Cassian, who had no idea why, but ... But then I felt you again. I felt your panic, and despair, and heard you beg someone—anyone—to save you. I lost it. I winnowed to the wedding, andmbarely remembered who I was supposed to be, the part I was supposed to play. All I could see was you, in your stupid wedding dress, and Mary standing beside you—both of you so thin. So, so thin, and pale. And I wanted to kill him for it, but I had to get you out. Had to call in that bargain, just once, to get you away, to see if you were all right."

     Rhys looked up at us, eyes desolate. "It killed me to send you two back. To see you both waste away, month by month. It killed me to know he was sharing your bed, Feyre. Not just because you were my mate, but because I ... I knew ... I knew I was in love with you that moment I picked up the knife to kill Amarantha. And you, Mary. I knew I was in love with you before the bond even snapped. A month before your family killed mine, and I saw you in your garden. You were in another ridiculous dress, and it was dirty. You had your hair pulled back, your face was pink from the sun, and streaked with dirt. You flushed even deeper when you saw me watching you, and began going on about how you were such a mess, and you didn't want me to look at you like this. I told you it was fine, and I thought you looked cute. You began stammering and avoiding my gaze, though you were smiling. And I realized that I was in love with you." 

     I remembered that day, how embarrassed I had been when I saw him watching me. I had been a mess, and my mother had been furious when she saw me. 

"When you two finally came here ... I decided I wouldn't tell you. Any of it. I wouldn't let you out of the bargain, because your hatred was better than facing the two alternatives: that you felt nothing for me, or that you ... you might feel something similar, and if I let myself love you, you would be taken from me. The way my family was—the way my friends were. So I didn't tell you. I watched as you both faded away. Until that day ... that day he locked you up. I would have killed him if he'd been there. But I broke some very, very fundamental rules in taking you away. Amren said if I got you both to admit that we were mates, it would keep any trouble from our door, but ... I couldn't force the bond on you. I couldn't try to seduce you into accepting the bond, either. Even if it gave Tamlin license to wage war on me. You two had been through so much already. I didn't want you to think that everything I did was to win you, just to keep my lands safe. But I couldn't ... I couldn't stop being around you, and loving you, and wanting you. I still can't stay away."

     He leaned back, loosing a long breath. Slowly, Feyre turned around, to where the soup was now boiling, and ladled it into a bowl. I went over to the jar of cookies I had baked the day before, taking one out and putting it on a small plate. 

     He watched every step we took to the table, the steaming bowl in her hands, the plate in mine. We stopped before him, staring down.

"You love us?" Feyre asked him. Rhys nodded.

"Then eat," she said. 

      She placed the bowl in front of him, and I gave him the plate. 

Chapter 51: 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔶-𝔬𝔫𝔢*

Notes:

don't question logistics, just pretend it's a realllyyyy tall table.

     We watched him consume every spoonful, his eyes darting between where we stood and the soup. When he was done, he set down his spoon. 

"Aren't you going to say anything?" he said at last.

"I was going to tell you what we'd decided the moment we saw you on the threshold."

     Rhys twisted in his seat toward me. "And now?"

     Feyre sat herself in his lap. His hands gently braced her hips as she studied his face. She then turned her focus to me, gesturing for me to join them. I made my way to their sides, sitting myself on Rhys's other thigh.

"And now I want you to know, Rhysand, that we love you. I want you to know ... " His lips trembled, and Feyre brushed away the tear that escaped down his cheek. "I want you to know that we are broken and healing, but every piece of our hearts belongs to you. And we are honored—honored to be your mate."

     His arms wrapped around us and he pressed his forehead to Feyre's shoulder, his body shaking. I stroked a hand through his silken hair.

"I love you both," I spoke up. "And I'd endure every second of it over again so I could find you. And if war comes, we'll face it. Together. I won't let them take me from you. And I won't let them take either of you from me, either."

     Rhys looked up, his face gleaming with tears. He went still as I leaned in, kissing away one tear. Then the other. When my lips were wet and salty with them, I pulled back far enough to see his eyes.

"You're ours," I breathed, a sudden wave of possessiveness washing over me.

     His body shuddered with what might have been a sob, but his lips found my own. It was gentle—soft. The kiss he might have given me if we'd been granted time and peace to meet across our two separate worlds. To court each other.

     I opened my mouth to him, and his tongue slipped in, caressing my own. Feyre's hand tangled in my hair, guiding me as my lips were pressed closer to his. My mates.

     He hardened against us, and I whimpered into his mouth. Feyre tugged me away from him at the sound, capturing my mouth with her own. She kissed me greedily, moaning into my mouth as she did so.

     The view snapped whatever leash Rhys had on himself, and he scooped Feyre up in a smooth movement before laying her flat on the table—amongst and on top of all the paints. He kissed her, and she wrapped her legs around his back, hooking him closer.

      He tore his lips from her mouth to her neck, where he dragged his teeth and tongue down her skin as his hands slid under her sweater and went up, up, to cup her breasts. She arched into the touch, and lifted her arms as he peeled away her sweater in one easy motion.

     Rhys pulled back to survey her, but I barely noticed him. I was too busy staring at her, her body naked from the waist up--paint soaked into her hair and arms.

     His mouth lowered to her breast and sucked, his tongue flicking against her nipple. She plunged her fingers into his hair, and he braced a hand beside her head—smack atop a palette of paint.

     He let out a low laugh as he took that hand and traced a circle around her breast, then lower, until he painted a downward arrow beneath her belly button.

"Lest you forget where this is going to end," he said.

     She snarled at him, and he laughed again, his mouth finding her other breast. He ground his hips against her.

"Mary, while I take care of our girl, I want you under the table, on your knees," he instructed.

     I went a bit breathless at the order, but nodded. Feyre was removing Rhys's leathers until his tattooed chest was revealed to us.

     I climbed under the table, resting on my knees. I unbuckled Rhys's belt, pulling his pants down until I had freed him from them.

     My eyes went a bit wide as I took the length of him in. He was bigger than I expected, the girth of him intimidating me more than the length.

"Like what you see?" he teased.

"I've never done this before," I reminded him, nervous that I wouldn't be very good at it.

"Don't worry, bunny," he assured me. "You'll be perfect."

     I heard him yank Feyre to the edge of the table, her moans filling the room as he leaned down and tasted her.

     I listened to him groan into her core as I wrapped my hand around him, pumping once. I tried to remember the things I had read in those books Mor had given me.

     I stroked my thumb over the tip of him, smearing the precum that had collected there. He twitched in my hand

     I very gently took the head on him into my mouth, starting off slow, my tongue swirling around his tip. He grunted above me, making Feyre cry out.

     I spent a moment with just his tip in my mouth, allowing myself to adjust. Then, I took his just a bit deeper, stroking the underside of his shaft with my tongue.

     I grew more confident from hearing his pleasured sounds above me. I took him as deep as I could, stopping just as he hit the back of my throat, then pumped the rest of him with my hands.

     I hollowed my cheeks out, bobbing my head and working his base in my grip. I began to feel more comfortable, more at ease. My nerves settled, and I found that I enjoyed making my mate feel so good.

"Rhys," I heard Feyre rasp as her release found her.

     The sounds of her moans, her half-sobs, sent desperate heat through me. With Rhys still in my mouth, I snaked my hand down to my neglected core. But Rhys went into my mind and stopped my hand, punishing me by thrusting his hips. I choked, my hands bracing themselves on his thighs.

"No touching what's ours, bunny," Rhys warned me.

     I couldn't deny the arousal that sparked in me at the words. I went back to working his cock, hallowing out my cheeks as I swirled my tongue around him and took him deeper.

     I ran my hands over what I couldn't fit in my mouth, until he grunted, his cock twitching against my tongue. His release spilled into me, and I swallowed every drop.

     When I got out from under the table, Feyre was shaking on top of it, covered in paint. I stared down at her, at her perfect body, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch her.

     But Rhys lifted me into his arms, carrying me into the bedroom we'd been using. Feyre followed us, entering the room as Rhys set me down on the bed gently.

"We're gonna make this special for you," Rhys promised me, stroking my hair back. I didn't even care that the paint on his palms got smeared into my blonde locks.

     Feyre, though still covered in paint, climbed onto the bed beside Rhys. I laid there, staring up at my gorgeous mates.

"Have you ever had anything inside of you before?" Rhys asked me.

"No," I replied, cheeks flushed. He hummed, seeming aroused by that.

"Then this might hurt a bit," he warned me.

     I didn't care. All I could think about was the desperate pounding in my core, pleading for release from my mates.

"Just want you inside," I pleaded. He chuckled.

"Not quite yet," he decided. "Feyre, get our girl ready for me. Stretch her out with your fingers, use your mouth the way she likes."

     Her answering smirk was promising.

     I was the only one still in my clothes. Feyre began unbuttoning the front of my dress, then nearly ripped it off of me. She tore my underthings away before she could even process the color of them.

     Feyre stared down at me when I was exposed to her, as if she'd never seen my body before.

"You're so beautiful," she breathed. "Our pretty, little flower."

     Feyre's hands ran down my body, squeezing my breasts, leaving two painted handprints on them as she did so. They traveled down my sides, and to my hips. She leaned down, trailing her tongue down the valley of my breasts.

"Fey," I whispered, my hands intertwining with her long hair.

     Her tongue trailed down my stomach, finally getting exactly where I wanted her. She glanced up at me with a slight smile, then gripped my knees, and spread my thighs.

     She pressed a sweet kiss to my core, and I moaned out, her hair becoming tighter in my grip. She licked from my hole to my clit, swirling her tongue at the bud when she got there.

     Rhysand waved his hand, making the paint disappear from her fingers before she slid one inside of me. She began lapping at my clit again, and I gasped, back arching off the bed.

"You're so tight, baby," Feyre cooed as she lifted her face, finger slowly pumping in and out of me. "Just relax, my love."

     I nodded, allowing the tension to leave my body. The pleasure intensified at that, and she hummed in approval.

"Much better," she said. "I think I can fit another finger, now. Is that okay?"

     I nodded desperately, and she slid another in. A soft moan left my lips, my core clenching on her fingers. She pressed a kiss to my clit before going back to work on it.

     Her free hand gripped my hip, her thumb stroking the skin very softly. The gentle gesture made me relax more, feeling cared for as the pleasure took over my body.

     She sucked my clit into her mouth, her thumb putting pressure just under it while her two fingers fucked me.

     Rhys placed a hand on Feyre's head, pushing her face farther into me, which made me cry out. Feyre moaned against my core, sending vibrations through it that made me shudder.

"My perfect mates," Rhys murmured. "So pretty like this."

     His words were my undoing, sending pleasure wracking through my body, my hips bucking uncontrollably against Feyre's mouth and hand. She worked me through my high, moaning against me the whole time, as if tasting me was pleasure enough for her.

     When my body was trembling with overstimulation, she pulled away, licking my release from her fingers.

"You taste so nice," she said to me. "Like the flowers that bloom in the Spring." I doubted that, but I blushed at the words, anyway.

     One glance at Rhys showed me he had hardened again watching us, but he hadn't touched himself at all, yet.

     The smirk on his face was sinful when his violet eyes caught mine. And as Feyre shifted to the side, he settled in her place, kneeling between my thighs. He lifted my hips up, resting them on his thighs, and I wrapped my legs around him, keeping him close to me.

"Take care of her while I fuck her," he instructed our mate. "Make sure she's comfortable, make her feel loved."

     Feyre obliged, laying beside me. She cradled my face in her hands, bringing her lips to mine so softly as Rhys lined up with my entrance.

"Are you ready for me?" he asked. I pulled away from Feyre to nod. "I need words, bunny."

"Yes, Rhys, I'm ready," I confirmed.

"Good," he uttered. Feyre's lips met mine again as he slid in.

     The stretch was painful, but Feyre clutched one of my hands in hers, letting me squeeze it as she kissed me. And once he had bottomed out, he halted his movement, staying completely still inside of me.

"I'll give you a moment to adjust," he explained to me. "Tell me when you're ready for me to move."

     After a moment or so, the pain had subsided, and it was just him inside of me, the two of us connected in a way that was completely new to me. Feyre's sweet kissed moved to my jawline and neck, leaving my lips free to speak.

"I'm ready," I whispered.

     He slid out very slowly, then slid back in. He was so gentle, so loving through it all. He kept the slow, soft pace, letting little moans and gasps leave my lips.

"You feel so good," he said to me. "Relax."

     And I did, remembering how much better it had felt with Feyre after the tension had left my body. Feyre sucked and licked at my neck, surely leaving marks that would last a few days. I found that I didn't mind, though. The idea of being marked by her only sent arousal through me.

     Feyre's hand trailed down the valley of my breasts, then my stomach, finally reaching my clit. Her fingers rubbed tight circles on it, which caused my hips to grind against the both of them. Rhysand let out a grunt at that, his brows scrunching with pleasure.

"You are ours," Rhysand said to me, his eyes meeting mine as he picked his pace up, just a bit.

     I let out a cry, wrapping my legs tighter around his hips, forcing his cock deeper. He groaned, throwing his head back.

     I felt myself going completely limp as he continued fucking into me, impossibly deep now. Feyre cooed into my ear, licking up the column of my throat, her fingers still working my clit.

     I felt the bond between the three of us, connecting our souls in a way I'd only read of in storybooks. It had always been a thing of fiction to me, something I never thought I would experience. But here, the three of us together--it was more real than anything I'd ever experienced.

"You're so good for us," Feyre cooed into my ear.

     I could only let out soft moans, my eyes closed, pure bliss coming over me. It was as though he had fucked me unresponsive, and I could focus on nothing else but them.

"Do you feel good?" Rhys teased me, smirking.

     I could only nod, incoherent words falling in a jumble from my mouth. He only chuckled, reaching out to stroke my cheek.

    Feyre's fingers began working faster, pressing harder, and I could feel that coil tighten in my lower stomach. I mewled, bucking into her hand, harsh breaths forced from my lungs as Rhys fucked into me faster.

"Cum for us, pretty girl," Feyre granted.

     And as I let the bliss wash over me, she captured my moans with her mouth, tongue tangling with mine, pretty hums meeting my pleasured whines.

     I felt Rhysand spilling inside of me just a moment later, sweet groans alerting us of his climax. When he pulled out of me, I could feel our combined releases on my inner thighs.

"Clean her up, and I'll reward you," Rhys said to Feyre.

    She practically jumped at the opportunity, sitting up and lifting my hips off of Rhysand's thighs. She held my legs open, her tongue lapping up the mess on my inner thighs, her satisfied moans sounding through the room.

     She swiped her tongue across my hole, collecting the release before diving in, her tongue reaching farther into me than I expected. I was too overstimulated to moan. Rhysand brushed the hair sticking to my forehead back, then pressed a kiss to it.

     Rhysand sat beside me, collecting Feyre's hair in his grip. He lifted her face off of me, tugging her up towards us. He laid down beside me, already hard again.

     Feyre straddled him, and I curled up by his side. He placed a hand on Feyre's hip, and slid his other arm and wing under my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I rested my head on his chest.

     Feyre leaned down, reaching over his shoulder to caress the powerful curve of his wing. Rhys shuddered.

"Play later," he ground out.

     She laid herself on top of him, his mouth finding hers. I watched their open mouthed kiss, clashes of tongues and teeth.

     And as she sat up, he took his cock in his hand, just gently prodding it at her entrance, not allowing her to fully sink down on it, yet.

"Play later," she snarled. Rhys laughed and slid in.

     He stilled, letting her adjust, just as he had done for me. She look glorious, her eyes shut, brow quirked with focused pleasure.

"Say it again," he murmured.

"You're ours," she breathed, beginning to grind down on his cock, so slowly. He worked with her, pulling out and pushing back in.

"You're ours," I said from beside him, my fingers finding a spot on the wing he had slid under me. He turned his head to look at me.

"You're ours," Feyre moaned, their pace beginning to speed up, her voice breathless.

"You're ours," I whispered, dragging my hand across his wing.

     And he was. Ours through everything. Just as we were his. Just as Rhys and I were hers. Just as they were mine. My mates who had saved my life, noticed when I was dying, realized how broken I was, and put me back together.

"I love you," he whispered.

     Release tore through Feyre body, and he pounded into her, his thrusts meeting her hips. I found a spot on his wing that made it twitch, and the two of them came together, Rhysand's groans meeting her cries.

     Silence fell, interrupted only by their panting breaths. Feyre collapsed on his chest, and he held the two of us close to him. Feyre turned her head so she was looking at me, her hand coming up to stroke my hair.

     I wasn't sure how long we laid there, lazily touching one another.

"I knew I loved you that moment in the garden, Mary. But I think I really started to fall in love with you the day that I met you," Rhys murmured, stroking a finger down my arm. "You were in the most ridiculous dress I'd ever seen. You looked like a cupcake."

"Shut up," I chuckled, hiding my face in his shoulder.

"I teased you for it," he remembered. "You told me your mother picked your clothes, and I teased you for that, too. You got so flustered, and I felt guilty. I hadn't meant to make you feel bad. When I apologized, I called you Mary, and you looked at me with these wide eyes."

"Nobody had ever called me Mary before," I explained to him. "And it sounded so nice coming from you lips."

"I know," he mused. "Because your thoughts were very loud." I rolled my eyes. "But it was the way you looked at me, with those wide, green eyes. I'd never seen anything so beautiful."

     I smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He turned his attention to Feyre, still lying on top of him.

"For you, Feyre darling," he began, "it was the moment I realized you were cleaving those bones to make a trap for the Middengard Wyrm. Or maybe the moment you flipped me off for mocking you. It reminded me so much of Cassian. For the first time in decades, I wanted to laugh."

"You fell in love with me," she said flatly, "because I reminded you of your friend?"

     He flicked her nose. "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. I felt Cassian's spirit beside me in that moment, and could have sworn I heard him say, 'If you don't marry her, you stupid prick, I will.'"

"For you, Fey, it was the Summer Solstice," I spoke up. "You got so drunk, and you tried to get me to dance with you. When I turned you down, you brushed my hair out of my face and said I was pretty. After that, I couldn't get you out of my mind."

     She smiled softly at me, then planted a gentle kiss between my eyes. I ran my hand down her body, then took hers in mine, squeezing it.

"And Rhys, for you, it was the first time you brought me Night Court herbs," I recalled. "This sudden realization came over me that you had listened to me when I spoke about my interests. Nobody had ever really listened to me before. And if they did, they didn't care enough to support me like you did. You let me go on and on about my garden and my herbal remedies. And I thought you were just being polite, but you actually cared about what I had to say. You let me teach you my process. You let me show you my garden. And you asked questions and seemed so curious about it. Nobody . . . nobody had ever paid that much attention to me, before."

     And as my voice broke with the last sentence, his paint covered hand caressed my cheek. As the paint got all over my face, the three of us seemed to realize what a mess we were. I had handprints all over my body from the both of them, and my hair was a multi-colored mess.

"How convenient that the bathtub is large enough for three," Rhys grinned.

     Feyre and I went to stand, but he was quicker, scooping us up in his arms as if we weighed nothing.

     He carried us into the bath, where the water was already running. He strode down the steps into the water.

     When he placed us into the hot water, I let out a groan, feeling my muscles relax. A basket of soaps and oils appeared along the stone rim. The steam wafted between us, and Rhys picked up two bars of soap, handing one to Feyre and one to me. He then passed us washrags.

"Someone, it seems, got my wings dirty," he chastised us.

     I went to point out that I had no paint on my hands, therefore I had played no part in his dirty wings, but then I remembered how sensitive he had been when I had touched them. Maybe helping clean his wings wouldn't be so bad.

     He spun around, spreading those magnificent wings enough for us to find the paint stains. Feyre focused on his right wing, and I, his left.

     I soaped up the washcloth and began wiping the red and blue and purple away. He shuddered with each pass, hands braced on the lip of the tub.

     Feyre peeked over his shoulder to see the evidence of that sensitivity, and said, "At least the rumors about wingspan correlating with the size of other parts were right."

     I snorted, and he choked out a laugh, his back muscles tensing as he did so. "Such a dirty, wicked mouth."

"I think I was falling in love with you for a while," Feyre said to him. "But I knew on Starfall. Or came close to knowing and was so scared of it that I didn't want to look closer. I was a coward."

"You had perfectly good reasons to avoid it."

"No, I didn't. Maybe—thanks to Tamlin, yes. But it had nothing to do with you, Rhys. Nothing to do with you. I was never afraid of the consequences of being with you. Even if every assassin in the world hunts us ... It's worth it. You are worth it."

"Thank you."

"And Mary," she continued, glancing to me as the both of us continued washing the paint from his wings. "For you, it was Under the Mountain. Through it all, even when you were struggling just as much as I was, you took care of me. You held me, you nursed me through my injuries, you made a bargain just to save my life. And I fell harder for you every moment. And what helped me get through those tasks was knowing when it was over, you would be waiting for me in that cell."

     I placed the washcloth on the side of the tub, and pushed myself off to edge to be by her side. I wrapped my arms around her neck, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"I'm sorry I didn't act sooner," she whispered. "I'm sorry that it took you confessing your feelings for me to do anything about it. I was just scared. I wasn't sure if you could care for me like that. And I needed you. I couldn't risk losing you, or scaring you off."

"I felt the same way," I admitted to her, tears shining in both of our eyes.

     Rhysand turned back around, his arms wrapping around our waists, and pulling us to him. I laid my head on his shoulder, my fingers intertwined with Feyre's.

"What now?" Feyre asked him.

     Wordlessly, he took the soap from her hands and turned her, rubbing down her back, scrubbing lightly with the cloth. I picked mine back up and went to work on her shoulders and arms.

"It's up to you two," Rhys said. "We can go back to Velaris and have the bond verified by a priestess—no one like Ianthe, I promise—and be declared officially Mated. We could have a small party to celebrate—dinner with our ... cohorts. Unless you'd rather have a large party, though I think we are all in agreement about our aversion for them. We could also go before a priestess and be declared married as well as mates, if you want a more human thing to call us."

"What will you call us?"

"Mates," he said. "Though also calling you my wives sounds mighty appealing, too.

     The two of them turned their focus on me, then, washing the handprints they had left on my body. I allowed them to take care of me, letting myself relax.

"Or if you want to wait, we can do none of those things. We're mated, whether it's shouted across the world or not. There's no rush to decide."

"I was asking about Jurian, the king, the queens, and the Cauldron, but I'm glad to know we have so many options where our relationship stands. And that you'll do whatever we want. We must have you wrapped completely around our fingers."

"Cruel, beautiful things," he grinned. I could feel Feyre's doubt through the bond--doubt of being beautiful. And that broke my heart.

"You are," he said to her. "The two of you are the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I thought that from the first moment I saw you. Which is good because both of you thought I was the most beautiful male you'd ever seen. So it makes us even."

     I flushed, and Feyre scowled. He laughed, hands sliding to grip our waists and tug us to him again.

"Tomorrow," Rhys said, features becoming grave. "We're leaving tomorrow for your family's estate. The queens sent word. They return in three days." 

"You're telling us this now?"

"I got sidetracked," he said, his eyes twinkling. I gave him an exasperated look, and he flicked my nose.

     Feyre smiled slightly, studying us. And as she reached out to touch us, her skin began to glow. I stared in amazement at the faint light shining beneath her skin.

"Well, at least now I can gloat that I literally make my mate glow with happiness," Rhys joked.

     I laughed with them, only for Feyre's glow to flare brighter. It must've been Day Court, but it fascinated me.

     Rhys stood from the water, and we got out with him. None of us bothered to dry ourselves off before we got back into the bed. The sheets were now clean, and warm as I laid back on them, Feyre beside me.

"Day Court?" Feyre asked.

"I don't care," he said roughly, and removed the glamour from himself.

     It was a small magic, he'd once told us, to keep the damper on who he was, what his power looked like. As the full majesty of him was unleashed, he filled the room, the world, my soul, with glittering ebony power. Stars and wind and shadows; peace and dreams and the honed edge of nightmares. Darkness rippled from him like tendrils of steam as he reached out a hand and laid it flat against the glowing skin of Feyre's stomach.

     Feyre and I both sat up, Feyre taking his hand and leading him to the bed. She pushed him down so he was laying flat.

"Illyrian baby," she cooed, running her hands down his abdomen. "Mary, I want you to sit on his face."

"What?" I blanched, eyes going wide at the request.

"You heard me, flower," she said sternly. "Now, be a good girl and do as I say." I flushed deep red.

"Just trust us," Rhys assured with a low chuckle.

     I did trust them. So I got back onto the bed, turning to face Feyre. Rhysand gripped my thighs, tossing one of my legs over his face. I hovered above him carefully, not wanting to crush him. But he pulled me down onto his face, his tongue immediately going to work.

     I let out a strangled cry, throwing my head back at the sensation. I realized he hadn't yet gotten the chance to taste me, and he was definitely taking advantage of it.

     Feyre straddled him across from me, taking his cock in her hand. He hissed against me as she ran her finger down him. She brushed her thumb across his tip, smirking as she did so.

     She leaned down and put her mouth on him. He jerked at the contact with a muffled cry that vibrated through my core. I mewled, and Feyre just laughed around him, taking her deeper into her mouth.

     The sounds he made against me had me nearly in tears, his tongue working me like I was his last meal.

     After a minute, Feyre came up, wiping her mouth, and lined his cock up with her entrance. She slammed herself down on him, the both of them moaning.

     Feyre bounced on his cock, our eyes meeting as I grinded down on his mouth, begging for more. She reached out, gripping my hair and pulling my face towards hers as she leaned to me.

     Our lips met as our mate pleasured us, her kiss dominating and aggressive. Not the gentle way we usually kissed. Her tongue writhed with mine, her grip tight in my blond hair. I could feel my head going light from lack of air, but I didn't care. I didn't ever want to stop kissing her.

     Feyre and I climaxed at the same moment, swallowing each other's moans. Feyre began riding him more gently, slower and softer than before.

     Feyre unleashed that light in her, Rhys's darkness meeting it. And as I cried out my own pleasure, the flowers in a vase beside the bed began to bloom, multiplying and growing wild as I lost complete control in my climax.

     When we were done, I collapsed into Feyre's arms. She tugged me off of Rhys's face, rolling off of him, and settling me between the two of them.

"We'll have to find a way to put a damper on that light," Rhys warned Feyre.

"I can keep the shadows hidden easily enough," Feyre recalled.

"Ah, but you only lose control of those when you're pissed. And since I have every intention of making you as happy as a person can be ... I have a feeling we'll need to learn to control that wondrous glow."

"Always thinking; always calculating," Feyre teased.

"You have no idea how many things I've thought up when it comes to the two of you."

"I remember mention of a wall," I recalled. His laugh was a sensual promise.

"Next time, I'll fuck you against the wall."

"Hard enough to make the pictures fall off," I insisted. Rhys barked a laugh.

"Show me again what you can do with that wicked mouth."

     I obliged him.

     We were all utterly ravenous all night. We were able to sleep for maybe an hour, but none of us could stop. I couldn't stop, couldn't get enough of the taste of them in my mouth, the feel of them inside of me.

"It's normal," Rhys said around a mouthful of bread as we sat at the table for breakfast.

     We'd barely made it into the kitchen. He'd taken one step out of bed, giving Feyre and me a full view of his glorious wings, muscled back, and that beautiful backside, and we'd leapt on him.

     We'd all tumbled to the floor and he'd shredded the pretty little area rug beneath his talons.

"What's normal?" Feyre said.

"The ... frenzy," he said carefully. "When a couple--or throuple in our case--accepts the mating bond, it's ... overwhelming. Again, harkening back to the beasts we once were. Probably something about ensuring the female was impregnated. Some couples don't leave the house for a week. Males get so volatile that it can be dangerous for them to be in public, anyway. I've seen males of reason and education shatter a room because another male looked too long in their mate's direction, too soon after they'd been mated. I'd like to believe I have more restraint than the average male, but ... Be patient with me if I'm a little on edge."

"You don't want to leave this house," I realized with a snort.

"I want to stay in that bedroom and fuck you two until we're all hoarse," he said.

"About—pregnancy," I spoke up. "We didn't—I'm not taking a tonic. I don't believe Feyre is either."

"Do you want to start taking it?" he asked.

"If we are to be a High Lord's mates, we're expected to bear you offspring," I spoke, remembering what my mother had taught me. "So perhaps we shouldn't."

"You are not expected to bear me anything," he promised. "Children are rare, yes. So rare, and so precious. But I don't want you to have them unless you both want to—unless we all want to. And right now, with this war coming, with Hybern ... I'll admit that I'm terrified at the thought of one of my mates being pregnant with so many enemies around us. I'm terrified of what I might do if one of you is pregnant and threatened. Or harmed."

"Then we'll start taking it today, once we get back," Feyre decided, placing a hand on top of mine.

"I would be happy beyond reason, though, if you one day did honor me with children. To share that with you two."

"Not until the war is over," Mary decided firmly. "I will not bring a child into this world until it is a world I deem worth living in." 

"Agreed," Feyre nodded. "And I want to live first. With you both. I want to see things and have adventures. I want to learn what it is to be immortal, to be your mate, to be part of your family. I want to be ... ready for them. And I selfishly want to have the two of you all to myself for a while."

"You take all the time you need," he smiled. "And if I get you two all to myself for the rest of eternity, then I won't mind that at all."

Chapter 52: 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔶-𝔱𝔴𝔬

     Rhys winnowed us to the Illyrian camp. We wouldn't remain long enough to be in danger, and with ten thousand Illyrian warriors stationed on the surrounding peaks, Rhys figured that no one would be foolish enough to attack.

     We had just emerged from the mud outside the small house when Cassian called from behind us, "Well, it's about time."

     Rhys let out a fierce, primal snarl, and I grasped his arm as he whirled toward Cassian. Cassian met his gaze and chuckled.

"Hard ride?" Cassian asked. I snorted despite myself, and Feyre just rolled her eyes.

     An unnatural silence now emerged from Rhys, replacing the snarl he had just released.

 "When he bashes your teeth in, Cassian, don't come crying to Mary and me," Feyre teased him. 

"Mating bond chafing a bit, Rhys?" Cassian asked, crossing his arms. Rhys said nothing. Cassian snickered. "If I was mated to two gorgeous females, I'd been worn, too. Feyre and Mary don't look too tired, though. Maybe they could give me a ride—"

     Rhys erupted in fury. With wings, muscles, and snapping teeth, they tumbled in the mud, fists swinging, and—

"Cassian knows what he's doing," Feyre murmured to me. I raised a brow at her, glancing back at the fighting brothers. "He's getting Rhys to work his temper off." 

     They were a sight to behold, two Illyrian males fighting in the mud and stones, panting and spitting blood. Cassian laughed as Rhys punched him, blood spraying. Cassian retaliated with a punch, making Rhys's head snap to the side, and I flinched. 

"They'll be at it for a while," Mor said, leaning against the house's threshold. "Welcome to the family."

     A grin spread across my face as I felt a warmth spread in my chest. I had never experienced a loving family before. 

     Rhys and Cassian spent an hour beating each other into exhaustion, and when they trudged back into the house, bloodied and filthy, one look at our mate was all it took for Feyre and me to crave his scent and feel.

     Cassian and Mor instantly found somewhere else to be, and Rhys didn't bother taking our clothes all the way off before he threw me onto the table and bent Feyre over it, fucking me with his cock and her with his fingers, making us moan his name loud enough for the Illyrians still circling high above to hear.

     After we finished, the tension in Rhys's shoulders and eyes vanished. A knock from Cassian prompted Rhys to hand us damp washcloths. Feyre cleaned me up while I cleaned her. 

     Moments later, we winnowed to the music and light of Velaris.

     As the sun set, Rhys, Feyre, and I entered the House of Wind's dining room and found Mor, Azriel, Amren, and Cassian already seated, waiting for us.

     As one, they stood. As one, they looked at Feyre and me. And as one, they bowed.

"We will serve and protect," Amren spoke. 

     They placed a hand over their hearts, waiting for our reply. Rhys hadn't warned us, and I felt a flush creeping onto my face. 

"Thank you," Feyre spoke up. "But I believe I speak for both Mary and myself when I say we'd rather you were our friends before the serving and protecting."

"We are. But we will serve and protect," Mor winked. I smiled, squeezing Feyre's hand in mine. 

"Now that we've settled that," Rhys drawled, "can we please eat? I'm famished." Amren opened her mouth with a wry smile, but he added, "Do not say what you were going to say, Amren. Unless you want to have it out on the roof."

     Amren clicked her tongue and then jerked her chin toward Feyre and me. "I heard you girls grew fangs in the forest and killed some Hybern beasts. Good for you."

"They saved his sorry ass is more like it," Mor said, filling her glass of wine. "Poor little Rhys got himself in a bind."

"He does need unusual amounts of coddling," I teased my mate, grinning at him. 

     We departed for the mortal lands soon after dinner. Mor carried the orb; Cassian carried her, Azriel flying close, while Rhys held Feyre and me firmly in his strong arms. 

✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿

     Spring finally arrived in the mortal lands, with crocuses and daffodils emerging from the thawed earth.

     Only the eldest and the golden-haired queens came this time, escorted by many guards.

     Feyre and I matched with flowing, ivory gowns and crowns of gold feathers, once again beside Rhysand as the queens and their sentries winnowed into the sitting room.

     Rhys stood between Feyre and me, holding our hands—unflinching.

"We appreciate you taking the time to see us again," Rhys spoke. 

     The young queen nodded, her amber gaze meeting our friends: Cassian and Azriel by the windows, Elain and Nesta in their finery, and Elain's blooming garden behind them. Mor, in blue-green, stood beside me, holding the onyx box containing the Veritas.

"After being so gravely insulted the last time … " the ancient queen began, a simmering glare thrown at Nesta. Nesta shot back a fiery glance. "We debated for many days whether we should return. As you can see, three of us found the insult to be unforgivable."

"If that is the worst insult any of you have ever received in your lives, I'd say you're all in for quite a shock when war comes," Feyre snapped. 

     The eldest eyed Feyre, then me, then our mate standing between us, an air of judgment about her.

"So he won your hearts after all," the woman said. I stopped myself from glancing at the floor shyly. 

"I do not think," Feyre said, "that it was mere coincidence that the Cauldron let us find each other on the eve of war returning between our two peoples."

"The Cauldron? And two peoples?" The golden one asked. "Our people do not invoke a Cauldron; our people do not have magic. The way I see it, there is your people—and ours. You are little better than those Children of the Blessed. What does happen to them when they cross the wall? Are they prey? Or are they used and discarded and left to grow old and infirm while you remain young forever? Such a pity… so unfair that you, Cursebreaker, received what all those fools no doubt begged for. Immortality, eternal youth … What would Lord Rhysand have done if you had aged while he did not?"

"Is there a point to your questions other than to hear yourself talk?" Rhys demanded. The question was ignored.

"Is that the proof we asked for?" the ancient one asked, pointing to the box in Mor's hands. 

"Is my love for the High Lord not proof enough of our good intentions? Does my sisters' presence here not speak to you? There is an iron engagement ring upon my sister's finger—and yet she stands with us," Feyre said. 

"I would say that it is proof of her idiocy," the golden one sneered, "to be engaged to a Fae-hating man … and to risk the match by associating with you."

"Do not," Nesta hissed, "judge what you know nothing about."

"The viper speaks again," the golden one said. "Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out."

"She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings," Feyre said. "She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the people of these lands. They both do."

"Show us, then," the crone said to Mor. "Prove us wrong."

     Mor lifted the lid of the black box. Inside, a silver orb sparkled like a star encased in glass. 

"This is the Veritas," Mor announced. "The gift of my first ancestor to our bloodline. Only a few times in the history of Prythian have we used it—have we unleashed its truth upon the world. Truth is deadly. Truth is freedom. Truth can break and mend and bind. The Veritas holds in it the truth of the world. I am the Morrigan. You know I speak truth."

"You desire proof of our goodness, our intentions, so that you may trust the Book in our hands?" Rhys asked. "There is a place within my lands. A city of peace. And art. And prosperity. As I doubt you or your guards will dare pass through the wall, then I will show it to you—show you the truth of these words, show you this place within the orb itself."

     Mor stretched out a hand, and a pale cloud swirled from the orb, merging with its light as it drifted past us. The clouds roiled as the truth of Velaris leaked from the orb, revealing whatever it dragged up from Mor and Rhys, from the world's truth.

     In the gray gloom, a picture appeared: Velaris from above, seen by Rhys flying in.

     A speck on the coast, but as he descended, the city and river became more transparent and vibrant. The image banked and swerved like Rhys had flown through his city just this morning, shooting past boats, piers, homes, streets, and theaters. Past the colorful Rainbow of Velaris, lovely in the spring sun, people waved to him, happy, thoughtful, kind, and welcoming. 

     Moment after moment, images of palaces, restaurants, and the House of Wind. There was love in that image. The illusion faded, color and light and cloud sucked back into the orb.

"That is Velaris," Rhys said. "For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from outsiders. And now you know. That is what I protect with the rumors, the whispers, the fear. Why I fought for your people in the War—only to begin my own supposed reign of terror once I ascended my throne and ensured everyone heard the legends about it. But if the cost of protecting my city and people is the contempt of the world, then so be it."

"Your trust is … appreciated," one spoke. "We will consider."

"There is no time to consider," Mor countered. "Every day lost is another day that Hybern gets closer to shattering the wall."

"We will discuss amongst our companions and inform you at our leisure."

"Do you not understand the risks you take in doing so?" Rhys said. "You need this alliance as much as we do."

"Did you think we would be moved by your letter, your plea?" the ancient one asked. She jerked her chin to the guard closest, and he reached into his armor to pull out a folded letter. The old woman read, "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. To save her people—to help save my own. I write to you so one day we might know true peace. 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." 

     She set down the letter. My heart warmed at the letter, and I glanced at Feyre, who squeezed Rhys's hand. 

"Who is to say that this is not all some grand manipulation?" the ancient one asked. 

"What?" Mor blurted.

"A great many things have changed since the War. Since your so-called friendships with our ancestors. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe you are the Morrigan."

"This is the talk of madwomen. Of arrogant, stupid fools," Nesta snarled. 

     Elain grabbed for Nesta's hand to silence her. But Nesta stalked forward a step, face white with rage. "Give them the Book. Give them the Book."

"No," the eldest spoke. 

"There are innocent people here. In these lands. If you will not risk your necks against the forces that threaten us, then grant those people a fighting chance. Give my sister the Book."

"An evacuation may be possible—"

"You would need ten thousand ships," Nesta said. "You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us. We are stranded here."

"Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea, girl."

"Please," Nesta begged, throat bobbing. "Please—do not leave us to face this alone."

     The eldest queen stood firm. Rhys was silent, his face unreadable. 

     Cassian crossed to Nesta, the guards stiffening as he moved through them like stalks of wheat.

     He studied Nesta for a long moment. She glared at the queens, tears of rage and despair in her eyes. When she finally noticed Cassian, she looked up at him.

     His voice was rough as he said, "Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most."

     A tear slid down Nesta's cheek. Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.

     Nesta swallowed and turned away from Cassian. He stared at her for a moment before facing the queens.

"Is it a sum you're after? Name your price, then," Mor demanded. 

"We have all the riches we need. We will now return to our palace to deliberate with our sisters."

"You're already going to say no," Mor pushed.

"Perhaps."

     She took the crone's withered hand. The ancient queen lifted her chin. "We appreciate the gesture of your trust."

     Then they were gone.

     As I turned to Rhys, I noticed his gaze fixed on the chair where the golden queen had sat. Beneath it, hidden by her voluminous skirts, lay a box.

     The voice of the second and final piece of the Book filled the room and sang to Feyre.

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, sing me. 

     Rhys picked it up and placed it on the queen's chair. He flipped back the lid to find a note on the Book's gold cover. 

     I read your letter. About the woman you love. I believe you. And I believe in peace. I believe in a better world. If anyone asks, you stole this during the meeting. Do not trust the others. The sixth queen was not ill.

     That was it.

"It is your choice, ladies, whether you wish to remain here or come with us," Rhys spoke to Elain and Nesta. "You have heard the situation at hand. You have done the math about an evacuation. Should you choose to remain, a unit of my soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should you wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, I'd suggest packing now."

     Nesta turned to Elain, who remained quiet and wide-eyed. Elain fiddled with the iron ring on her finger.

"It is your choice," Nesta said gently. 

"I—I can't. I …" Elain said softly. Rhys nodded. 

"The sentries will be here and remain unseen and unfelt. They will look after themselves. Should you change your minds, one will be waiting in this room every day at noon and at midnight for you to speak. My home is your home. Its doors are always open to you."

     Nesta glanced at Rhys and Cassian, then at me and Feyre, before bowing her head, her face still pale with despair. "That was why you painted stars on your drawer."

Chapter 53: 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔶-𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢*

Summary:

Hello, everyone! Again, sorry for how long it's been. But this is my second day in a row updating one of my stories. I'm on a roll, y'all. Hopefully, it sticks.

Also, a few chapters ago, I had Mary talking about how she doesn't want to be pregnant because it scares her. I am retracting that because I have come up with some plans. Because fuck canon with the last book, Mary would love that Rhys. I will be changing a loooot of things about that book, because again, fuck ACOSF Rhys.

I'm switching to third-person pov because I've just preferred it lately.

   The group promptly returned to Velaris after they had received the book, choosing not to tempt fate. Amren isolated herself in her apartment with the book and had yet to emerge two days later. 

     Rhysand and Mor had left for the Court of Nightmares, leaving the rest of them behind. Mary hadn't been thrilled about being separated from her mate so soon after accepting the bond, but she knew they had more important matters to attend to. 

     And besides, she still had Feyre. And with just the two of them in the town house, they had plenty of privacy to enjoy their time together. 

     Mary was tending to her garden on the roof of the house. Although she had been concerned about neglecting it had faced while she was gone, it appeared to be thriving.

     She could sense Feyre coming up the stairs, nearing her as she watered the flowers. Her scent--the scent of lilac and pear--made Mary's shoulders relax. Everything about the girl made Mary relax. 

"What are you doing, my love?" Feyre asked, her arms wrapping around Mary from behind. 

"Watering the oleanders," she hummed, resting her head against Feyre's sternum.  

"Those are poisonous," she observed, her voice laced with concern.

"Yes, lots of flowers are poisonous," Mary agreed, furrowing her brows.

"You can't grow anything poisonous, Mary," she told her, a sigh in her tone.

"I wouldn't be growing much if that were the case," Mary mused, rolling her green eyes. 

"With your . . . history, I don't feel comfortable with you growing poisonous plants," she insisted, stepping away from Mary and forward so she could see her. 

"I'm better now," Mary promised her, fidgeting with her hands as she stared down at them.

"You know it doesn't work like that," she told her. "Please, Mare. It worries me."

"Fey, if I wanted to kill myself, getting rid of my poisonous plants wouldn't stop me," Mary pointed out. 

     Feyre flinched slightly at the words. It was blunt, Mary knew that. But it was the truth. "But I don't. I promise, Feyre. This is the happiest I've ever been." 

"Okay," she said softly, though there was still worry in her features. 

"Come on," Mary urged, taking both of Feyre's delicate hands in her own. "We have the entire town house to ourselves. Let's enjoy it." 

      Feyre smiled gently, her eyes sparkling, while Mary guided her down the stairs, still gripping one of her hands as they entered the sitting room of the house. 

     As Mary pulled the girl into the room, Feyre pushed her onto the couch, causing her to squeak in surprise as she toppled over the arm and reclined back on it. 

     Feyre crawled on top of her, kissing up her neck and pinning her hands above her head. Mary moaned softly when Feyre's knee slipped between her legs, grinding against her core. 

     Before they could proceed, the front door swung open violently. Feyre immediately sat up, huffing as she glanced at the entrance. Blushing, she rose to her feet and arched an eyebrow at the person who had barged in. 

"We didn't mean to interrupt," Azriel immediately prefaced. 

     Mary sat up, only to see Cassian and Azriel standing in the doorway, carrying several bottles of wine. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation at the interruption. 

"We brought Rhys's good wine," Cassian announced, holding up one of the bottles. 

     Mary sighed deeply, fixing her hair even as Cassian smirked at her flushed face. She glared at him.  

"Well, bring it over here," Feyre instructed, plopping down on the couch. 

      Mary sat beside her, resting her head on the girl's shoulder. Feyre wrapped an arm around her as the males neared them and scattered the wine bottles across the coffee table. 

"I'll get glasses," Azriel suggested, going off to the kitchen. 

"I'll drink straight from the bottle," Cassian snorted, reaching for one. 

"Please don't," Mary pleaded with him, having never liked drinking after people. 

"Afraid of germs, Mary?" he teased, winking at her. 

"Yes, and you should be, too," she retorted, looking at him as though he were crazy. 

      She would've gone on about how germs and sickness could be spread, but ultimately decided against it. She didn't want to dampen the mood. 

     Cassian chuckled at her, but put the bottle down until Azriel returned with the wine glasses. He handed one to each of them, then sat in a chair across from the couch. 

"What are you guys doing here?" Mary demanded, still a bit upset about being interrupted. 

"Mary," Feyre scolded her mate for her bluntness. 

"We thought you two would want company," Cassian shrugged. "And wine." 

"And we thought it'd be a nice way to celebrate the new mating bond," Azriel added, shooting Cassian a look. 

"Yes, that too," Cassian shrugged, eyes flitting between the two girls. "I can make us some dinner." 

"You can cook?" Mary asked, glancing at him doubtfully. 

"He's actually really good," Azriel admitted, nodding his head. "It surprises us all." Cassian just grinned. 

     Cassian took it upon himself to make steak and potatoes, while the other three got drunk in the sitting room. By the time dinner was ready, they all gathered into the kitchen, laughing and stumbling over themselves. 

     The four toasted to the new mating bond and ate their meals, drinking more wine as they did. And Mary had to admit, Cassian was exceptionally talented in the kitchen. 

     Feyre and Mary retired to their bedroom at the end of the night, the alcohol finally wearing off. 

     The boys hadn't yet gone to their own rooms; they were still drinking. Granted, they could handle a lot more wine than the two girls. 

"They were babysitting us," Mary murmured, struggling to untie the back of her dress as she spoke. 

"Yes, I noticed that, too," Feyre mused, coming over to the girl and undoing the dress for her. 

     Mary threw off the dress, then began pulling off her underthings. She climbed under the covers fully naked, much too tired to change into her night clothes. 

     Feyre undressed herself as well before getting into bed with the girl. She took a pad of paper and a pen from the nightstand and began jotting something down. 

     Mary scooted closer to Feyre, looking over her shoulder at what she was writing. 

How do we tell Cassian and Azriel we don't need them here to protect us? The company is fine, but we don't need sentries.

     Mary watched as the letter disappeared into thin air, and the two waited a few minutes before another paper returned. 

You don't tell them. You set boundaries if they cross a line, but you are their friends—and my mates. They will protect you both on instinct. If you kick their asses out of the house, they'll just sit on the roof.

     Mary smiled a bit at that. She had been overprotected her entire life in a much different way. She decided she much preferred this type of overprotection to being locked up. It was slightly endearing. 

     But Feyre just scribbled, You Illyrian males are insufferable.

Good thing we make up for it with impressive wingspans.

     Feyre and Mary exchanged a smile at that, though there was a bit of longing in it. They missed their mate.

We both seem to be missing that impressive wingspan in our bed. Inside of us.

Of course you are.

     Mary rolled her eyes at his cocky response, even as Feyre replied, Prick. 

When I return, we're going to that shop across the Sidra, and you're both going to try on all those lacy little underthings for me.

     The idea of that made Mary's blood heat. She exchanged a glance with Feyre, her face flushed. 

"You like that idea, Mary?" Feyre teased her, placing the pen and paper on the nightstand. Mary could only nod. "Use your words." 

"Yes, I like that idea," Mary admitted, red-faced. Feyre smirked, climbing on top of her. 

"Let's finish what we started before we were interrupted." 

 

Chapter 54

Summary:

My writers block has been crazyyyy and my computer is lowkey broken. It keeps like pressing random things on the screen which is sooo frustrating, but I just bought a new one and it shipped today so yayyyyyy

My writers block just needs to get through the rest of ACOMAF because I have SO MANY plans for ACOWAR

Sorry if this chapter is boring. I promise it will get better soon

     Mary had been harvesting her herbs from the roof of the Town House when Velaris was attacked. Feyre had stepped out with Cassian, the two of them going on a stroll through Velaris. 

      She had run down the stairs, running straight into Morrigan, who was pulling on fighting leathers in the sitting room. 

     Mary had helped heal the wounded, using the skills she had gained working with Marina, the Spring Court healer. 

"Velaris is secure," Rhys said in the black hours of the night. "The wards the Cauldron took out have been remade."

     No one had stopped to rest, as they worked for hours to rebuild the city. Mary had gone all over Velaris to help the injured. 

     As the clock chimed three in the morning, they rested at last. Feyre was slumped on Mary, her head on the blonde's shoulder. Mary wrapped an arm around Feyre, holding the girl close to her. Morrigan sat beside them, all three girls covered in dirt and blood. 

"Velaris might be secure," Cassian replied, "but for how long? Hybern knows about this place, thanks to those wyrm-queens. Who else will they sell the information to? How long until the other courts come sniffing? Or Hybern uses that Cauldron again to take down our defenses?"

"If we all go to Hybern to destroy the Cauldron ... who will defend the city?" Feyre asked. 

"I'll stay," Amren offered. "If Rhys must go to Hybern, then I am the only one of you who might hold the city until help arrives. Today was a surprise. A bad one. When you leave, we will be better prepared. The new wards we built today will not fall so easily."

"So what do we do now?" Morrigan sighed. 

"We sleep. We eat," Amren stated. 

 "And then we retaliate," Azriel snarled. 

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

     When Feyre and Mary emerged from the bath, they climbed into bed together. They waited an hour for Rhys to come to bed, but when he did not, they grew concerned. 

     The girls found their mate sitting on the roof in the dark. Feyre sat beside him on the bench he was on, and Mary slid into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Feyre rested her head on his shoulder. 

"So few lights. So few lights left tonight," he murmured. Mary pressed a kiss to his brow, running her fingers through his curls. 

"It is not your fault," Feyre said quietly.

"Isn't it? I handed this city over to them. I said I would be willing to risk it, but... I don't know who I hate more: the king, those queens, or myself."

"You shut me out," he accused Feyre. "You—shielded against me. Completely. I couldn't find a way in."

     Mary was surprised by that, but she did not let it show. Because Feyre had not shut her out for even one moment in that battle. 

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he scoffed. "Be impressed. That shield ... What you did to the Attor ... " He shook his head. "You could have been killed."

"Are you going to scold me for it?" she asked. 

"How could I scold you for defending my people?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her. "I want to throttle you, yes, for not going back to the town house, but ... You chose to fight for them. For Velaris. And you, Mary." He scoffed. "You helped heal so many of them. I don't deserve either of you."

"We all deserve each other," Mary whispered to them. "And we deserve to be happy."

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

     By the following afternoon, they'd received news that Amren had cracked the code. The family was crowded around the dining table of the town house as she explained. 

"To nullify the Cauldron's power, you must touch the Cauldron—and speak these words."

     She handed Feyre the piece of paper on which she had written the words.  

"You know this for certain?" Rhys asked.  

"I'm trying not to be insulted, Rhysand," Amren hissed. 

"What happens if we put both halves together?" Mary wondered, quirking a brow at the halves. 

"Don't put them together," Amren cautioned. "You put the pieces together, and the blast of power will be felt in every corner and hole in the earth. You won't just attract the King of Hybern. You'll draw enemies far older and more wretched. Things that have long been asleep—and should remain so."

"Then we move in now," Cassian said. "Since you can't winnow without being tracked, Mor and Az will winnow us all in, Feyre breaks the Cauldron, and we get out. We'll be there and gone before anyone notices, and the King of Hybern will have a new piece of cookware."

"It could be anywhere in his castle," Feyre pointed out. 

"We know where it is," Cassian countered.

"We've been able to narrow it down to the lower levels," Azriel explained. "Every inch of the castle and surrounding lands is heavily guarded, but not impossible to get through. We've worked out the timing of it—for a small group of us to get in and out, quick and silent, and be gone before they know what's happening."

"But the King of Hybern could notice Rhys's presence the moment he arrives. And if Feyre needs time to nullify the Cauldron, and we don't know how much time, that's a risky variable," Morrigan said. 

"We've considered that. So you and Rhys will winnow us in off the coast; we fly in while he stays," Cassian said. "As for the spell, it's a risk we'll have to take."

"It's a solid plan," Azriel pushed. "The king doesn't know our scents. We wreck the Cauldron and vanish before he notices ... It'll be a graver insult than the bloodier, direct route we'd been considering, Rhys. We beat them yesterday, so when we go into that castle ... We'll leave a few reminders that we won the last damn war for a reason."

"Are you asking me," Rhys finally said, far too calmly, "to stay outside while my mates go into his stronghold?"

"Yes," Azriel said with equal calm, Cassian shifting himself slightly between them. "If Feyre can't nullify the Cauldron easily or quickly, we steal it—send the pieces back to the bastard when we're done breaking it apart. Either way, Feyre calls you through the bond when we're done—you and Mor winnow us out. They won't be able to track you fast enough if you only come to retrieve us."

     Rhysand dropped onto the couch, loosing a breath. His eyes slid to his mates'. "If you two want to go, then you go."

"He's just letting us go?" Mary asked Feyre down the bond. 

"Of course, he is," Feyre replied. "He would never lock us up, Mare." 

     And a thought occurred to me. I shouldn't have been so shocked to be given my own free will. I shouldn't have felt so excited about it. It was utterly normal to be allowed to choose for myself. And yet, it was a right I had never been given. 

"You might be my mates," Rhys said, "but you remain your own people. You decide your fates—your choices. Not to me. You chose yesterday. You choose every day. Forever."

     I smiled at them both, lacing Feyre's fingers with mine. 

"Let's go to Hybern," Feyre said.

Chapter 55

     Mary felt entirely out of place in the Illyrian fighting leathers she had been dressed in. Rhysand had strapped blades all over her, and yet she still felt as though she were not threatening at all. 

     Feyre looked lethal beside her, but Mary wondered if her mate felt as unprepared as she did. Feyre caught Mary's hand in her own, as though noticing her apprehension. 

"The King of Hybern is old, Rhys—very old. Do not linger," Amren warned Rhysand. 

“We’ll be in and out before you miss us,” Rhysand said. “Guard Velaris well.”

“That Cauldron,” Amren said, directing her words at Feyre, “makes the Book seem harmless. If the spell fails, or if you cannot move it, then leave.” Feyre nodded. “Fly well.” 

     Morrigan flashed Feyre and Mary a ready smile, holding her arms out for the two. As the girls stepped towards her, their mate took a step in front of them. 

     Mary caught his face in her hands, lifting to her toes to press a kiss to his lips. He ran a hand through her blond hair, his face tense as they pulled away. 

“We’ll be fine—we’ll all be fine," Feyre promised him, then kissed him as well. 

“With my life, High Lord. I’ll protect them with my life," Cassian swore with a bow. 

“With both of our lives," Azriel added. 

     Rhysand nodded, then turned his attention to Morrigan, who nodded at him. “I know my orders.”

     Morrigan took both Mary and Feyre's hands, and then they were gone. When they materialized, Cassian took hold of both girls, soaring up into the sky. Morrigan winnowed again, disappearing before them. 

“Easy,” Cassian said, banking right. I looked below to see

     Azriel flew ahead, over the water and towards a mass of land. It was dark, and Mary could sense that it was ancient. 

“I’ve been here twice,” Cassian murmured. “Both times, I was counting down the minutes until I could leave.”

      A wall of bone-white cliffs arose, their tops flat and grassy, leading away to a terrain of sloping, barren hills. 

“That’s his castle ahead,” Cassian said.

     Around a bend in the coast, built into the cliffs and perched above the sea, was a lean, crumbling castle of white stone. No guards, no sense of anything at all. 

“Where is everyone?” Feyre wondered. 

“Guard shift. There’s a small sea door at the bottom. Mor will be waiting for us there—it’s the closest entrance to the lower levels.”

“I’m assuming she can’t winnow us in.”

“Too many wards to risk the time it’d cost for her to break through them. Rhys might be able to. But we’ll meet him at the door on the way out.”

     They swept in toward the base of the cliffs to the sea door before a platform. Morrigan was waiting, sword out, the door open.

     Cassian loosed a breath as the three landed. Mary was glad to have the ground beneath her feet once again, but her hands were trembling just slightly as she took in the dark passage ahead of them. 

     Azriel disappeared for only a short moment, but when he returned, there was blood on his knife. a heartbeat later. “Guards are down. Hurry.”

     Feyre led the way, as though she could sense the Cauldron's very being. Mary followed her close behind, not wanting to leave her side for a moment. They descended through an ancient dungeon, the stones dark and stained.

“There. It’s down there," Feyre murmured, pointing down a flight of stairs. 

     Cassian went first, dagger held before him. Nobody dared move or even breathe until Cassian’s whistle sounded from below. The group descended into the dark. 

     Cassian was standing in a round chamber beneath the castle—a ball of faelight floating above his shoulder.

     And in the center of the room, atop a small dais, sat the Cauldron. It was perhaps the size of a bathtub, forged of dark iron.

"Hurry,” Morrigan said. “We’ve got a few minutes.”

     Feyre moved toward it, Morrigan and Mary close behind her. She stepped up onto the dais, staring into the Cauldron.

    Everyone seemed to tense as Feyre laid a hand on the lip. Her hands trembled as she pulled the Book from her pocket. 

“Feyre,” Morrigan warned. 

     She slid the other half of the Book from her pocket, tucking it into the crook of her arm as she tugged the second half free. 

“Feyre," Morrigan repeated. 

     Morrigan lunged at Feyre as she realized what she was about to do, but she was too slow. Feyre laid the second half of the Book atop the other. 

     Nothing happened. 

“We can’t risk—”

“Give her a minute,” Cassian cut her off.

     Feyre seemed groggy, not herself. Mary neared her mate, studying her with furrowed brows. Her eyes were glassy, her body trembling and blood streaming from her nose. 

     Azriel surged forward, tugging Feyre back and wrenching her away. Feyre gasped a breath, Azriel shaking her. 

     Steps sounded above. Azriel instantly shoved both girls behind him, bloodied blade lifting. 

     But those steps grew louder, and a handsome brown-haired male swaggered down the steps. 

“Stupid fool,” the man said to Feyre.

“Jurian,” Feyre breathed.

"You," Cassian snarled, taking a step toward him.

“Worked your way up the ranks, did you? Congratulations," Jurian snickered 

     Rhysand winnowed in at his mates' sides. The Book was instantly gone, his movement slick as he took it from Feyre and tucked it into his own jacket.

“You look good, Jurian,” Rhysand said. “For a corpse.”

“Last time I saw you,” Jurian sneered, “you were warming Amarantha’s sheets.” 

     A snarl loosed from Mary's lips at the words, but Feyre placed a hand on the girl's wrist. 

“So you remember,” Rhysand mused. “Interesting.”

“Where is Miryam?” Jurian asked Morrigan, his eyes narrowed.

“She’s dead,” Mor said flatly. “She and Drakon drowned in the Erythrian Sea.” 

“Liar,” Jurian crooned. “You were always such a liar, Morrigan. Where did you take Miryam?”

“Away from you,” Morrigan breathed. “I took her to Prince Drakon. They were mated and married that night you slaughtered Clythia. And she never thought of you again."

     Rhysand, who it seemed had seen enough, reached for Feyre and Mary's hands. Feyre gripped the rim of the Cauldron, to bring it with them. But nothing happened. 

     Mor gripped Cassian and Azriel’s hands—and stayed still.

“New trick?” Rhysand drawled, his grip on his mates' hands tightening. 

“I was sent to distract you—while he worked his spell," Jurian shrugged, smiling. “You won’t leave this castle unless he allows you to. Or in pieces.”

     Rhysand fixed his gaze on Jurian, but as he went to use his power, he found he was unable to. 

“Then there’s that,” Jurian said. “Didn’t you remember? Perhaps you forgot. It was a good thing I was there, awake for every moment, Rhysand. She stole his book of spells—to take your powers.”

     Feyre and Mary exchanged a glance, the both of them reaching down the bond for one another. Only to slam into a wall. 

“He made sure that particular book was returned to him. She didn’t know how to use half of the nastier spells. Do you know what it is like to be unable to sleep, to drink or eat or breathe or feel for five hundred years? Do you understand what it is like to be constantly awake, forced to watch everything she did?” 

“It couldn’t have been so bad if you’re now working for her master," Rhysand replied. 

“Your suffering will be long, and thorough," Jurian growled. 

“Sounds delightful,” Rhys said, now turning them from the room. 

     But someone appeared atop the stairs.

     Just a glance at him had Mary's blood running cold. The shoulder-length black hair, the ruddy skin, the clothes that edged more toward practicality than finery.

“The trap was so easy, I’m honestly a bit disappointed you didn’t see it coming," The King of Hybern mused. 

     Faster than any of them could see, Jurian fired a hidden ash bolt through Azriel’s chest. Morrigan screamed.

     The ash bolt was coated in bloodbane that the King of Hybern claimed flowed where he willed it. If they fought, if they did not come with him upstairs, the poison would shoot to his heart. 

     Cassian and Rhysand hauled Azriel between them, his blood splattering on the floor behind them as they went up the twisting stairways of the king’s castle. 

     The throne room doors were open. Faelights slithered along the bone-white walls, the windows looking out to the crashing sea far below.

     The king mounted a dais carved of a single block of dark emerald. His throne was made of what seemed to be bones. Mary shuddered at the mere thought.

“Now that I’ve upheld my end of the bargain, I expect you to uphold yours," The King announced.

      From the shadows near a side door, two figures emerged. 

     Mary rasped a breath when they came into the light. Feyre was shaking her head, her eyes distant. 

     Tamlin and Lucien stood in the light, their gazes fixed upon Feyre and Mary. Rhysand went still as death. Cassian snarled.

     Mary studied her brother, blinking rapidly as she took him in. His hair was shorter, and he had lost weight in his face. His eyes--their father's eyes--scanned her from head to toe. 

“No,” Feyre breathed.

     Tamlin braved another step towards them, staring at the girls as if they were ghosts. Lucien placed a hand on the male's shoulder, stopping him. 

“No,” Feyre said again, this time louder.

“What was the cost,” Rhysand said softly. 

     Tamlin promptly ignored him, only looking to the king. “You have my word.”

“What have you done?” Feyre snarled. 

“We made a bargain. I give you two over, and he agrees to let my forces enter Prythian through his territory. And then use it as a base as we remove that ridiculous wall," the king announced. 

     Mary's hands were trembling, and she was unable to find her words. She was paralyzed to the spot, not able to move towards or away from her brother. 

“You’re insane,” Cassian hissed.

     Tamlin only held out a hand. “Mary. Feyre. Come.” 

     Mary's posture stiffened at the order. A part of her shrank away when she recalled how easily she used to obey those orders. 

“You,” the king said, “are two very difficult females to get ahold of. Of course, we’ve also agreed that you’ll both work for me once you’ve been returned home."

“Tamlin,” Lucien murmured, his tan skin paling.

“I’m taking you both home," Tamlin stated. 

“There’s that other bit, too. The other thing I wanted,” the king went on. “Well, Jurian wanted. Two birds with one stone, really. The High Lord of Night dead—and to learn who his friends were. It drove Jurian quite mad, honestly, that you never revealed it during those fifty years. So now you know, Jurian. And now you can do what you please with them.”

"We're not going anywhere with you," Feyre snarled.

“You’ll say differently, my dear,” the king countered, “when I complete the final part of my bargain.” He jerked his head toward the tattoos on the arms of the girls. “Break that bond between you two.”

“Please,” Feyre whispered. “Don’t. Don’t let him. We wrote to you! We told you that we were fine. That we left—”

“You weren’t well,” Tamlin snarled. “Neither of you were. He used that bond to manipulate you both. Why do you think I was gone so often? I was looking for a way to get you free. And you left.”

“We left because we were going to die in that house!” Feyre snapped. 

“Come home with me. Now," Tamlin growled. 

“No.”

     Jurian’s sword was already out—and he was looking at Morrigan as if he was going to kill her first. Cassian, still holding Azriel upright, took them all in, assessing, readying himself to fight, to defend.

“We'll come with you,” Feyre said softly to Tamlin, to Lucien, shifting on his feet, “if you leave them alone. Let them go.”

“They’re monsters. They’re—” 

     He didn’t finish as he stalked across the floor to grab them. Tamlin lunged for Feyre first, but she disappeared, winnowing beyond his reach.      

     The king let out a low laugh as Tamlin stumbled and went sprawling, and Rhysand’s fist connected with his face.

     Feyre retreated right into Rhysand’s arms. Mary took the distracting moment to rush to their side, knowing she could not winnow to protect herself as Feyre had. 

      Tamlin rose, backing to where Lucien held his position with a hand on his sword. But just as Tamlin neared his Emissary, he staggered a step. His face went white with rage.

“I don’t believe it," the king mused. "Your bride left you only to find two mates. A mating beyond between all there. The Mother has a warped sense of humor, it seems. And what a talent—tell me, girl: how did you unravel that spell?”

"That's not possible," Tamlin uttered, brows furrowing. Mary couldn't meet his green eyes as Rhysand's arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her protectively. 

"Oh, it's very possible," the king disputed. "Just extremely rare." 

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said to Tamlin. But his eyes were on Rhysand, his face near-feral. 

“You,” he snarled. “What did you do to them?”

     Behind them, the doors opened and soldiers poured in. Morrigan and Cassian, Azriel sagging and heavy-lidded between them, scanned each soldier and weapon, sizing up our best odds of escape. 

     Mary stared at her brother with desperate eyes, finally finding it in herself to speak. "Don't take us back there. Please, Tamlin. I'm happy with them. I'm much happier than I ever was in Spring. Please." 

"Happy in the Night Court?" he snarled. "He's twisted your mind, Mariangela."

“We're not going with you,” Feyre spat. “And even if we did … You spineless, stupid fool for selling us out to him! Do you know what he wants to do with that Cauldron?”

“Oh, I’m going to do many, many things with it,” the king said. The Cauldron appeared again between them. “Starting now.”

     Feyre unleashed herself. Talons and wings and shadows were instantly around her, surrounded by water and fire—

     Then they vanished. 

“Ah,” the king said, “that. Look at you. A child of all seven courts—like and unlike all. How the Cauldron purrs in your presence. Did you plan to use it? Destroy it? With that book, you could do anything you wished.” She didn’t say anything. The king shrugged. “You’ll tell me soon enough.”

“I made no bargain with you.”

“No, but your master did, so you will obey.”

“If you bring us from here, if you take us from our mate, I will destroy you. I will destroy your court, and everything you hold dear," Feyre hissed at Tamlin. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about," Tamlin said. Lucien cringed.

“No—she doesn’t," the king said. 

     The doors opened again. 

“There will be no destroying,” the king went on as people—as women walked through those doors. The four remaining queens. “Because you will find, Feyre Archeron, that it is in your best interest to behave.”

     The four queens sneered, and parted to let their guards through. A gasp left Mary's lips as the men dragged Feyre's sisters before the king. The young girls were still in their nightgowns, bound and gagged.

     Elain was sobbed softly, the gag soaked with her tears. Nesta, hair disheveled, was panting as she took them in. Took in the Cauldron. Rhysand's arms tightened around his two mates.

“You made a very big mistake the day you went after the Book. I had no need of it. I was content to let it lie hidden. But the moment your forces started sniffing around … I decided who better than to be my liaison to the human realm than my newly reborn friend, Jurian? He’d just finished all those months of recovering from the process, and longed to see what his former home had become, so he was more than happy to visit the continent for an extended visit.

“The brave, cunning Jurian, who suffered so badly at the end of the War—now my ally. Here to help me convince these queens to aid in my cause. For a price of his own, of course, but it has no bearing here. And wiser to work with me, my men, than to allow you monsters in the Night Court to rule and attack. Jurian was right to warn their Majesties that you’d try to take the Book—that you would feed them lies of love and goodness, when he had seen what the High Lord of the Night Court was capable of. The hero of the human forces, reborn as a gesture to the human world of my good faith. I do not wish to invade the continent—but to work with them. My powers ensconced their court from prying eyes, just to show them the benefits. Such impressive attempts to infiltrate their sacred palace, Shadowsinger—and utter proof to their Majesties, of course, that your court is not as benevolent as you seem.”

“Liar,” Feyre hissed, and whirled on the queens, daring only a step away from Rhys. “They are liars, and if you do not let my sisters go, I will slaughter—”

“Do you hear the threats, the language they use in the Night Court?” the king said to the mortal queens. “Slaughter, ultimatums … They wish to end life. I desire to give it.”

“Then show us—prove this gift you mentioned," the eldest queen said.

     Rhysand tugged Feyre back against him. Mary's hand sought Feyre's, squeezing it in reassurance. 

"You’re a fool," Rhysand stated. 

“Is she?" the king cut in. "Why submit to old age and ailments when what I offer is so much better? Eternal youth. Do you deny the benefits? A mortal queen becomes one who might reign forever. Of course, there are risks—the transition can be … difficult. But a strong-willed individual could survive.” 

“Show us," the ancient queen instructed. "Demonstrate it can be done, that it is safe.” 

“Why did you think I asked my dear friend Ianthe to see who Feyre Archeron would appreciate having with her for eternity?” the king asked. “Oh, I asked them first. They deemed it too … uncouth to betray two young, misguided women. Ianthe had no such qualms. Consider it my wedding present for you both."

“What?” Tamlin demanded, his face going pale. 

“I think the High Priestess was waiting until your return to tell you, but didn’t you ever ask why she believed I might be able to break the bargain? Why she had so many musings on the idea? So many millennia have the High Priestesses been forced to their knees for the High Lords. And during those years she dwelled in that foreign court … such an open mind, she has. Once we met, once I painted for her a portrait of a Prythian free of High Lords, where the High Priestesses might rule with grace and wisdom … She didn’t take much convincing.”

“She sold out—she sold out Feyre’s family. To you," Lucien stammered. 

“Sold out?” The king snorted. “Or saved from the shackles of mortal death? Ianthe suggested they were both strong-willed women, like their sister. No doubt they’ll survive. And prove to our queens it can be done. If one has the strength.”

“Don’t you—

“I would suggest bracing yourselves," the king cut her off. 

     Power, white and unending and hideous, barreled into them. They were thrown to the floor, and Rhysand quickly threw his body over Mary and Feyre's, shielding them with a shout of pain. 

     Cassian twisted, wings flaring wide as he shielded Azriel. Cries of agony fell from Cassian's lips as his wings were shredded under the magic. Morrigan surged for him, but she was too late. 

     Tamlin ran for the girls. Feyre hurled a knife at him—as hard as she could. He had to dive to miss it. 

     As Morrigan lurched for the King, Azriel let out an agonizing scream. Morrigan froze, as though remembering the king held Azriel's life in his hands. 

“What a mighty queen you are,” the king mocked. “What a prize."

“Don’t you touch her," Azriel spat through his pain. 

“Put the prettier one in first,” the king said.

     Feyre twisted—only to have the king’s guards grab her from behind. Rhysand was instantly there, but Azriel shouted, back arching as the king’s poison worked its way in.

“Please refrain,” the king said, “from getting any stupid ideas, Rhysand. If any of you interfere, the shadowsinger dies. Pity about the other brute’s wings.” 

     Rhysand snarled, clutching Mary in his arms before the guards could get to her. 

   “Ladies, eternity awaits. Prove to their Majesties the Cauldron is safe for … strong-willed individuals.”

     Elain sobbed as she was hauled toward the Cauldron. Nesta began thrashing against the men that held her.

“Stop," Tamlin said. 

“Stop this," Lucien reiterated, a hand on his sword. 

     Nesta was screaming as Elain yielded step after step toward that Cauldron. As the king waved his hand, and liquid filled it to the brim. 

“This is not part of our deal. Stop this now," Tamlin spat. 

“I don’t care,” the king replied. 

     Tamlin launched himself at the throne, but that magic slammed into him, shoving him to the ground. Leashing him. Tamlin strained against the collar of light on his neck, around his wrists. 

     Elain began kicking then, weeping while her feet slammed into the sides of the Cauldron.

“That is enough.” Lucien surged for the Cauldron. But the king’s power leashed him, too. 

“Please,” Feyre begged. “Please, I will do anything, I will give you anything. Please—you do not need proof, I am proof that it works. Jurian is proof it is safe.”

“You are a thief, and a liar. You conspired with our sister. Your punishment should be the same as hers. Consider this a gift instead," the ancient queen crooned. 

“Please,” Feyre sobbed as Elain screamed in terror. 

     The guards shoved Elain into the Cauldron. The only sound in the room were Nesta's screams. 

“Behold.”

     The Cauldron turned on its side. A wave of water cascaded down the side and onto the stone. And with it, was Elain. 

     Elain sucked in a breath, rising onto her elbows. Her skin was glowing, her face enchantingly beautiful. And her ears were pointed. 

“So we can survive,” the dark-haired queen breathed.

“The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind,” the King of Hybern said.

     Nesta went silent. The Cauldron righted itself.

     Elain shivered on the stones. Her nightgown had become fully see through from the water, which made the guards snicker at her. 

“Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” Lucien snarled, stalking toward Elain as he broke through his restraints. Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. 

     Mary's attention turned back to the guards as they hauled Nesta toward the Cauldron. The young girl fought every step of the way. 

     Nesta was shoved into the water up to her shoulders. She bucked even as the water sprayed. She clawed and screamed her rage, her defiance.

“Put her under,” the king hissed.

     The guards, straining, shoved her slender shoulders. And as they pushed her head down, she thrashed one last time, freeing her long, pale arm. Teeth bared, Nesta pointed one finger at the King of Hybern.

     As Nesta’s head was forced under the water, as that hand was violently shoved down, the King of Hybern had the good sense to look somewhat unnerved.

     Feyre vomited on the floor. The guards at last allowed Rhysand and Mary to go to her side. Mary held the girl in her arms, allowing her to pant and sob as she supported her. Rhysand came up behind them, his arms wrapping around them both. 

     Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way. Nesta sprawled upon the stones.

     She was on her feet in an instant, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth—

     Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, “Get off her!”

     Nesta held her girl, running her hand's over her. “Elain, Elain, Elain,” she sobbed.

     But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder. At Lucien—whose face she had finally taken in.

     Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”

“She is no such thing,” Nesta said, and shoved him again.

“Interesting. So very interesting,” the king murmured. He turned to the queens. “See? I showed you not once, but twice that it is safe. Who should like to be Made first? Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.”

     The youngest queen stepped forward.

“Very well, then.”

“If you’re so willing to hand out bargains,” Rhys said, rising to his feet and tugging his mates with him, “perhaps I’ll make one with you.”

“Oh?”

     Feyre dropped to her knees in a spasm, gripping her head as she gnashed my teeth and sobbed, sobbed and panted, pulling at her hair—

     But Mary understood. Mary knew what had to be done. The part they would have to play. Defeat hit the girl like a blow, realization that she would have to go with her brother, whether she wanted to or not.

     Feyre's magic hit Mary, not painful, but utterly overpowering. The blonde cried out, collapsing beside Feyre, nearly paralyzed from the power. Tears fell from her eyes, not entirely fabricated. 

     It erupted through the room, the gathered force hissing and dropping back. A purifying, clear power. Cursebreaker—spellbreaker. 

     The light faded, and Feyre was curled on the floor, head in her hands, and Mary at her side.

“Tamlin?” Feyre uttered, her voice quiet. Mary whimpered, rising to her elbows as she got the feeling of her body back. 

“Tam?” Mary whispered, gazing at her brother, meeting his eyes. 

     Feyre scrambled away from Rhysand. "Mary get away from him!" Mary had the sense the to follow Feyre, toward Tamlin. 

“Where—” Feyre faced Rhysand. “What did you do to us? What did you do? ”

“How did you get free?” Rhysand demanded, playing along. 

“What?” Jurian seethed.

      Feyre grasped Mary's wrist, yanking her farther from Rhysand's grip. Mary did not have to fake the fear that was taking over every inch of her body. 

“Don’t let him take us again, don’t let him—don’t—” Feyre broke into sobs, so broken that tears stung Mary's eyes as well. 

“Feyre,” Tamlin said softly.

"Tam, take us away from here," Mary pleaded with her brother.

"You're safe now, Mary," Tamlin said gently, pulling her into his arms. 

      She sobbed into his shoulder, allowing him to hold her even as her entire body screamed at him to let her go. 

“Don’t let him take us,” Feyre sobbed again. “We don’t want to go back.”

“What did you do to that girl?” Morrigan demanded of her cousin. 

“How did you do it?” Rhysand asked..

“Break the bond," Feyre begged the king. Even Mary went still at the words, her emerald eyes flashing. “Break the bond. The bargain, the—the mating bond. He—he made us do it, made us swear it—”

“No,” Rhysand said.

“Do it,” she pleaded. “I know you can. Just—free us. Free us from it.” Feyre turned to Tamlin. “No more. No more death—no more killing. No more. Take us home and let them go. Tell him it’s part of the bargain and let them go. But no more—please.”

“Take us home," Mary whispered, though the words broke her heart. "Please." 

“Let them go, break her bond, and let’s be done with it. Her sisters come with us. You’ve already crossed too many lines," Tamlin stated. 

“Very well," the king said. 

“No,” Rhysand said. 

“I don’t give a shit if they're your mates. I don’t give a shit if you think you’re entitled to them. One day, I am going to repay every bit of pain they felt, every bit of suffering and despair. One day, perhaps when they decide they wants to end you, I’ll be happy to oblige them.”

“Don’t," Rhys pleaded, staring at the girls.

“Do it,” Tamlin said to the king.

“No,” Rhys said again, his voice breaking.

     But the king pointed at Feyre and Mary. Pain tore through Mary's body, and she slumped to the ground with agonizing cries. Lucien rushed forward, helping her to her feet. He held her up, even as she sobbed through the pain. 

     A crack sounded in her ears. And the world cleaved in two as the bond snapped. Feyre fainted into Tamlin's arms, and Mary reached for her. But Lucien's grip on her body was firm. 

     Tamlin yanked off the glove on Feyre's left hand. Pure, bare skin greeted him. No tattoo. Mary managed to get to her feet as Feyre came to. 

“You are free to go, Rhysand. Your friend’s poison is gone. The wings on the other, I’m afraid, are a bit of a mess," the king said. 

     Mary stared at her family with tears shining in her green eyes. She wondered if she would ever see them again. Or if Tamlin would lock her up so thoroughly this time, that nobody would ever be able to rescue her. 

     Morrigan winnowed to Feyre's sisters, grabbing the girls and vanishing. Rhysand lunged, gripping Azriel and Cassian, then winnowing away. 

“Thank you,” Feyre breathed to the king. “Thank you.”

     He merely said to the gathered queens, now a healthy distance away, “Begin.”

“Do you know what Illyrian bastards do to pretty females? You won’t have a mate left—at least not one that’s useful to you in any way," Jurian laughed to Lucien. 

     Mary flinched at the words, and at the implication. The Illyrian males she'd grown to love would never do such a thing.  Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral.

“You can go to hell, you hideous prick," Feyre spat. She turned to Lucien. “We will get her back.” 

      But Lucien was watching Feyre warily, as though realizing she was not panicking as she should at her sisters being taken. 

“Take us home," Mary murmured to them, distracting Lucien from his suspicions. 

“Where is it," the king demanded. “You—you were to wield the Book of Breathings. I could feel it in here, with …”

“Your mistake," Feyre said. 

“When the Book is retrieved, I expect your presence here," the king said to Tamlin. 

“I will light your pyres myself for what you did to my sisters," Feyre growled at the room. 

      Then they were gone.