Eblis survived years of torment in the hands of Hybern, an enemy continent disrupting the peace of Prythian and the Human Realms below it. She suffered things many wouldn't be able to handle, and lived in the shadow of it's king for five fear-filled...
“We weren’t.” Rhysand settled back in his chair. The room rumbled with power. “We figured we could handle it well enough. Why?”
Eris took a long breath, and he seemed to loosen. He no longer wore a mask, instead appearing disgruntled and weary. “I don’t know how, but my father is aware of the Queen. I suspect correspondence and promises of wealth and power, no doubt.”
A stone dropped into Azriel’s gut. Mor stiffened beside him, brown eyes growing still as a stagnant pond. His High Lord and Lady had their backs to him, so he was unable to quite read their expressions, but he could tell by the way they drew themselves tall that they were equally angered.
“I thought you were keeping your father on a tight leash, Eris,” Feyre snarled in warning. Indeed, the male had promised that upon their last bargain—along with the armies they were to put forth in the army.
His golden skin starkened uncharacteristically. “My brothers support him. I was the last he told, and I suspect he knew my loyalties lie most primarily with Prythian.” One of his hands scrubbed the back of the other, where a tattoo marred his skin. The bargain marking, Azriel realized. “I came as soon as I could. It doesn’t help that as soon as I got here, Keir started whispering about Hybern and your sister,” he grunted. As if he finally remembered, he began to pick at the food before him once more.
Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you’ve come to call in our end of the bargain, because you are failing yours?”
Eris stiffened indignantly, hissing, “I kept my end of the bargain just fine. You won the war, got the glory, and my father is none the wiser. Though Feyre’s blunder at the last meeting revealed her powers to him.” Feyre’s lip curled, but she said nothing.
“Look,” Eris began again, much cooler this time. He scrubbed his forehead. “Kill my father, and we’ll call an emergency High Lord’s meeting. You can tell them everything then—just in case,” he interrupted as Rhys tried to reply. “I’ll help whoever you send to do it. I just have one favor.”
“What.” Feyre had schooled her face again, and she was void of emotion once more.
“Kill my brothers, too.”
“Oh, are you worried they’ll be the ones to inherit instead?” Mor crooned horribly. “I suppose you are killing your own father, so perhaps the magic won’t like you in the end.”
Azriel frowned. “What of Lucien?” The male was also one of Eris’s brothers, but he was part of a human court fighting to get the human Queen’s under control. He was also Elain’s rejected mate.
“Do not worry about him. He won’t inherit,” Feyre replied before Eris could, and the male raised a red brow.
“Is that all?” Rhys sighed. Eris nodded curtly, lips tight. “We need to discuss. We’ll be right back.”
Rhys and Feyre stood, exiting the room with Azriel and Mor on their tail. Eris eyed them, but said nothing.
As soon as the door closed, Rhysand turned to him. “Cassian must return to the Illyrian camps tomorrow. I cannot be the one to kill Beron and neither can Feyre, as fellow High Lord and Lady.” Feyre nodded solemnly.
Azriel took the hint. “I’ll do it. I’ll kill Beron.”
Mor’s brown eyes widened, and she said, incredulously, “What if I wanted to do it?”
“I wouldn’t stop you.” Rhysand’s mouth tightened. No—they’d already promised that if she wanted to kill Eris or even her own father, Keir, they would allow her to, no questions asked. Because of what they’d done to her in the past. “But it’d be a lot cleaner for Azriel to do it, especially if he got caught.”
“If he got caught? Rhys, Azriel would be killed then. There would be no getting him back!” she said furiously, knuckles white as her hands balled into fists. Azriel placed a calming hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll be fine. You’d have to work with Eris anyway if you decided to do this,” he warned. Mor blazed brighter, turning her anger towards him.
“Azriel, this is a High Lord! Even with his son’s help, he is still considered one of the strongest males in Prythian besides Rhys. You could be killed, even if you don’t get caught.”
“I understand the risks, Morrigan,” Azriel said.
The female growled with frustration. “Fine! Go do it. But if you die, your funeral is going to be held on the side of a mountain where I can kick your corpse over a cliff, Azriel!” she hissed childishly, and she stomped away.
Feyre met Rhys’s gaze. “Maybe you should let Cassian do it.”
“Mor would still be upset that we’re risking one of them, but they’re the only ones most capable.” Rhysand sighed. “Mor might’ve said she wanted to do it, but I don’t think she really does.”
Azriel pressed his lips into a thin line. “I will do it, Rhysand. And I won’t get caught.”
“I know you will,” the male replied, offering a small smile. He gripped his shoulder anyway, fingers tight against his armor. “But if you do die, I may be inclined to do what Mor said as well.”
Azriel sighed as if incredibly bothered, nodding.
Feyre surveyed both of them, then glanced down the corridor to where Mor had disappeared. “I’ll check on Mor.” And she winnowed away, black smoke swallowing her whole.
“Let’s inform Eris,” Rhys said. “He’s going to be High Lord by morning.”
***
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Sorry for abandoning all of you again...I really need to work on a writing schedule. I have around three or four versions of this same chapter cause I could NOT write anything up to par with the characters and Sjm's amazing work. I'm only settling in this one because I realized that while this is a fanfiction of Acotar, it is still, in some ways, my own writing. But still, lemme know whenever you feel that a character is out of character-- it would be very much appreciated!
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