The Heir of Night

20

"I thought it was far fetched when I first heard of it, too, but it has been centuries and they still do it every year," Feyre laughed. Theia took the cue to let her own laugh out.

"No offense, but I can hardly imagine the High Lord laughing, let alone throwing a snowball." That made Feyre laugh harder.

"You only know the ruling side of him. He's not even half as serious as that when he's around friends and family. He just refuses to show that side of himself to those who live within the court," Feyre explained, earning a nod of agreement from Mor.

"I still find it difficult to imagine. I don't think he likes me much, he asked me if I'm sleeping with Nyx yesterday," Theia murmured, poking a fluffy egg with her fork. Bursts of laughter erupted from around the table. Theia fought her grin and lost, meeting the teary eyes of the laughing females.

"I was wondering the same thing, Nyx isn't platonic with most females," Mor said through laughs.

"I'd hardly call us even platonic. He's only tolerating my mother, but he and I can't wait until my home is repaired. We don't get along well," Theia explained, taking a sip of her water. Feyre brushed her fingers through Theia's hair, which made her lean into the female. Even looking the same age as herself, Theia couldn't help but soak in the small maternal touches.

"I'm sure he means no harm. Nyx's friendships throughout his life have been few, and it's not often that he's in close quarters with people. I'm sure you'll become friends." Feyre's words had Theia biting down on a laugh. She had hopes at the beginning that they would become friends, but after a month of living in his home, she was sure that any chance at friendship was severed. The only intent they had toward each other was malicious.

"Mm, we will see," Theia responded, knowing full well this 'friendship' would end in a dagger entering someone's flesh. When everyone finished their meals, which is called brunch according to Mor, they retired to the sitting room. Here, Theia was told to sit on the floor and Elain began messing with her hair. Theia had never made an effort in her appearance, and it was sort of nice to have someone fussing over her.

"I think you need to cut these ends, don't you? They're dead," Elain continuously made suggestions. The other females either chatted amongst themselves or listened intently and added their own input about Theia's appearance.

"Surely you're uncomfortable in this gown. Let me go get you something else," Nesta spoke up, setting down a mug of tea to leave the room. Theia just settled against Elain's legs and let her continue messing with her hair.

At the sound of scissors, Theia nearly leapt up. "What was that?"

"I'm cutting it," Elain chirped, grabbing a handful of Theia's hair and tugging her back. She didn't truly have much of an argument, she hardly knew what her own hair looked like. Nesta returned after a while with clothes draped over her arm. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw what Elain was doing, but Theia swallowed her anxiety and trusted that the female wasn't purposely making her hair horrendous. Her only complaint was how her back was aching from keeping her wings spread enough for Elain to get to her hair.

"Alright, I'm finished," Elain announced. Theia brought her hand up to feel her work. It felt softer without the broken ends, and wasn't too much shorter than it had been before. Theia thanked her and stood from her seated position on the floor. Cut hair fell from her shoulders and back.

"I'll clean that up," Theia began, but Feyre waved a hand.

"Don't worry about that. Go get changed." Theia gave them a grateful smile and took the clothes from Nesta. She left the room and hurried to the guest room, ready to get out of this gown. Quickly, she pulled the gown from her body and pulled on the loose satin-like pants. They billowed out and hung low on her hips. When she held up the shirt, she noticed that Nesta had done some work on it. The back of the shirt had been cut straight up the middle with a hole to accommodate the base of her wings. Buttons had been sewn on to put it together after she put it on.

Theia put her arms through the sleeves and reached behind her to button the shirt. Her arms ached at the angle, she could only get the bottom couple done. By the grace of the Cauldron, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Theia called, turning to face her visitor. Her stomach dropped when the door opened and Nyx slid in.

"I need to speak to you," he spoke low, his back stiff. Theia glanced around his body for a moment, not seeing any visible blades.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" She asked, studying him suspiciously. Nyx's brows pressed together.

"Not at the moment..." He trailed off, matching her expression. Theia turned, showing the back of the shirt to him.

"Will you help me button this?" She heard him let out a heavy breath and his boots thudding against the floor. Her own breath hitched when warm hands met her bare back, fingers working on the buttons.

"Why'd you ask if I had weapons?" He asked as he fastened the last button. Theia turned and gave him a sarcastic grin.

"I didn't want a blade buried into my spine when I turned around." Nyx rolled his eyes and crossed his muscled arms, glaring down at her.

"I need to speak with you about last night."

Theia's face twisted with confusion. "What about last night?"

"You don't remember?" He asked, throat bobbing. The sudden flash of anxiety across his features had Theia's own anxiety rising. She shook her head. His throat bobbed again and she watched it move.

"I- Fuck, Theia. We kissed last night. It almost went too far but I remembered that you hadn't even been kissed yet, except for that prick at the tavern. I left before anything else happened." He spoke so quickly that she hardly caught his words. Theia fell back a step, shock filling every part of her nerves.

"I was drunk, Nyx," she spoke slowly, lifting her eyes from the floor to meet his gaze. He swallowed again and nodded.

"I was, too. Otherwise it wouldn't have happened." Something about that ached, but Theia ignored it. She licked her lips as though she'd taste the phantom of his on them; a way of proof.

"You said I could choose my first kiss," she murmured, leaning back against the bed. Nyx seemed to hesitate, but took a step closer. His eyes seemed darker than their usual blue, his brows lowered.

"I did."

Theia lifted her chin, meeting his gaze thoroughly. "I don't like you, Nyx." She felt as though she had said those words before, but the taste of him, the feeling of him, the words they spoke felt like a ghost; untangible, pieces of a broken line.

"I don't like you either, Theia," he responded, stepping closer. She craned her neck to keep her eyes on his. The pounding of her pulse filled her ears.

"I don't want you to be my first kiss," she whispered, watching his mouth for a response rather than his eyes. Theia didn't want to know what his eyes would tell her. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, sucked in his cheeks and let out a heavy breath. She felt the warmth of it across her cheeks, the minty smell. Finally, she brought her eyes up to meet his.

"I'll bring you back to Windhaven to spend the day with your mother." Her stomach coiled, hands sweating. With a shaking breath, she gave him a nod.