𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐼𝓉 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝐵𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓃 | Prequel

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The clanking of polished silverware against their plates was obnoxiously loud. Rhysand glanced down the large dining table, all of it empty except the three occupied seats in which he, his mother and father sat in. Despite that, all the thin candles were lit and fresh bundles of wreaths were lain on the table runner. On the other side of the chamber, a servant sat with Arwen, attempting to feed her dinner.

"Devlon says the legion you've been training is behind," a gruff yet solid voice said. Rhysand looked to his father. His father was an imposing figure, with a stern face and the violet eyes that his children inherited. His hair was dark but not so dark as their mother's who Rhysand sat opposite to. "Do I need to remove you from that duty and give you something more to your abilities?"

"No, Father," said Rhysand. "They began behind. I'm doing my best to catch them up. They will be ready on time."

A huff struck the thick air, and he ignored the mutter of something about putting the blame on others rather than owning to his own shortcomings. "Never mind it," his father declared. "I have other duties for you to attend to. Inform Devlon that the legion will no longer be under your charge."

Rhysand opened his mouth to argue, but a cold look from his mother made him shut it. Devlon had been the one to give him that responsibility. Of course his father would take it away. Ever since the war, he had grown weary of Rhysand, and Rhys couldn't help but wonder if his father suspected he might try and usurp the title of High Lord. But that would require slaughtering his father, and even though he may not like his father—hate him, even at times—killing his own blood wasn't of any interest.

A loud clang from the other side of the room had three heads snapping in its direction. The servant, a lesser fae with yellowish skin, scurried to clean up the mess of Arwen's spilt dinner. His sister fussed, trying to pull herself free of the chair restraint.

His mother rose from her chair. A firm hand grasped her wrist. "Leave her," Father said. "She must learn to eat what she is given."

"It's not the food," Rhys grumbled, mindlessly prodding his dinner with his fork.

"What was that? Do not mumble at me, boy."

He looked up. "Nothing." But he knew his father's fae hearing had heard him. It was true though; Arwen was particular with her food, but not in the way that she would throw a fit about something she didn't like. It was simply a matter of when and where she had it. If his father had spent any time with her, he would know that. Rhysand had never had issues feeding her. Forcing it down her throat was only asking for a tantrum

Which came.

His mother itched in her seat at the rising sound of dry cries. His father seemed insistent on ignoring it for some time, drinking his wine and talking over the ear-grating sound. Rhysand watched from the corner of his eye at the helpless servant wondering what to do.

'Leave her something in my chambers,' he sent to the servant whose head snapped around. His daemati abilities were still a shock to some. 'I will see that she eats later.'

The servant couldn't leave until she was dismissed, but it didn't take much longer for his father to grow agitated and command she be taken away. His mother's hazel eyes watched her daughter go. Once his father had placed down his utensils, Rhysand took his leave and strode through the long, open halls of the House of Wind.

Along one of them, a blonde form swung into step with him. Mor's golden hair looked like it had siphoned the light of the sun. His cousin kept out of the way these days, knowing that she would only receive looks of scorn from his father for... past events. "How was dinner?" she asked.