𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

song of the chapter: roslyn by bon iver

"aren't we just terrified?"

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

       The mortal queens were a mixture of age, coloring, height, and temperament. The eldest of them, clad in an embroidered wool dress of deepest blue, was brown-skinned, her eyes sharp and cold, and unbent despite the heavy wrinkles carved into her face.

      The two who appeared middle-aged were opposites: one dark, one light; one sweet-faced, one hewn from granite; one smiling and one frowning. They even wore gowns of black and white—and seemed to move in question and answer to each other.

         And the youngest two queens--One was perhaps a few years older than Feyre, black-haired and black-eyed, careful cunning oozing from every pore as she surveyed us.

        And the final queen, the one who spoke first, was the most beautiful—the only beautiful one of them.

     This beautiful queen, perhaps no older than thirty. Her riotously curly hair was as golden as Mors, her eyes of purest amber. Even her brown, freckled skin seemed dusted with gold.

         Rhys stepped forward. The queens all sucked in a little breath, as if bracing themselves. Their guards casually, perhaps foolishly, rested a hand on the hilt of their broadswords—so large and clunky compared to Illyrian blades. As if they stood a chance—against any of us.

       But it was Cassian, Azriel, and me who would play the role of mere guards today—distractions. But Rhys bowed his head slightly and said to the assembled queens.

"We are grateful you accepted our invitation," Rhys said. He lifted a brow. "Where is the sixth?"

The ancient queen, her blue gown heavy and rich, merely said, "She is unwell, and could not make the journey." She surveyed Feyre. "You are the emissary."

"Yes," she said. "I am Feyre."

"And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after your first few were dispatched."

"I am," Rhysand said with a hint of a nod. "And this is my cousin, Morrigan."

       Mor stalked toward them, her crimson gown floating on a phantom wind. The golden queen sized her up with each step, each breath.

"Morrigan—the Morrigan from the War."

        They all paused as if in surprise. And a bit of awe and fear.

Mor bowed again. "Please—sit."

       She gestured to the chairs we'd laid out a comfortable distance from each other, all far enough apart that the guards could flank their queens as they saw fit.

       Almost as one, the queens sat. Their guards, however, remained at their posts around the room. The golden-haired queen smoothed her voluminous skirts and said, "I assume those are our hosts."

      A cutting look at Elain and Nesta. Nesta had gone straight-backed, but Elain bobbed a curtsy, flushing rose pink. Nesta and I had both been awkwardly avoiding each other's gaze.

"My sisters," Feyre clarified.

          Amber eyes slid to her. To her crown. Then Rhys's.

"An emissary wears a golden crown. Is that a tradition in Prythian?"

"No," Rhysand said smoothly, "but she certainly looks good enough in one that I cant resist."

      The golden queen didnt smile as she mused, "A human turned into a High Fae and who is now standing beside a High Lord at the place of honor. Interesting."