𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟐
"𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘮 "
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╰┈˚ · ° . ᴍᴀɪᴠᴇɴ ᴡɪɴɴᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ, Rhysand and Amren were already there, ready to depart.
"Morning" Maiven spoke as she appeared out of a mist made from her powers.
Amren raised her hand, and with her usual glint in her silver eyes, she waived her fingers
"Morning" Rhysand grunted
"Someone is in a mood today" The bloodsinger stated with an amused smirk
Before anyone could answer, Feyre descended down the stairs.
"Good. Let's go." Rhys simply said
"He's pissy this morning." Amren explained with a broad, feline smile as she noticed the look on Feyre's face
"Why?" the girl asked, watching Amren take Rhys's hand, her delicate fingers dwarfed by his.
"Because," Rhys answered for her, "I stayed out late with Cassian and Azriel, and they took me for all I was worth in cards."
"Then it's probably not much" Maiven grinned at the High Lord earning a snicker from Amren and a hard glare from the male
"Sore loser?" Feyre asked, gripping his hand.
"I am when my brothers tag-team me," he grumbled.
With a snort, Maiven placed her hand on his shoulder. Enough for her to follow his magic as she winnowed herself.
Rhysand offered no warning before they vanished.
They appeared on a landing platform at the base of a tan stone palace, the building itself perched atop a mountain-island in the heart of a half-moon bay. The city spread around and below, toward that sparkling sea—the buildings all from that stone, or glimmering white material that might have been coral or pearl. Gulls flapped over the many turrets and spires, no clouds above them, nothing on the breeze with them but salty air and the clatter of the city below.
Various bridges connected the bustling island to the larger landmass that circled it on three sides, one of them currently raising itself so a many-masted ship could cruise through. Some merchant vessels, some fishing ones, and some, it seemed, ferrying people from the island-city to the mainland, whose sloping shores were crammed full of more buildings, more people.
Half a dozen were before them, framed by a pair of sea glass doors that opened into the palace itself. On the little balcony, there was no option to escape—no path out but winnowing away ... or going through those doors.
"Welcome to Adriata," said the tall male in the center of the group.
The High Lord of Summer. With rich brown skin, white hair, and eyes of crushing, turquoise blue. Maiven remembered him. He was there, Under the mountain. Her gray eyes freezed as the memories crushed through her brain. His voice, Braken voice. The cold marble under her knees as she kneeled for him. The way her head bowed in submission, how his words echoed in her mind.
Ice spread through her heart as the facade of the League's assassins slipped into place. Cold, unemotional, full of power, because she was the hand with which death choosed destinies.
Rhys merely drawled, "Good to see you again, Tarquin."
The five other people behind the High Lord of Summer swapped frowns of varying severity. Like their lord, their skin was dark, their hair in shades of white or silver, as if they had lived under the bright sun their entire lives. Their eyes, however, were of every color. And they now shifted between Maiven, Feyre and Amren.
Rhys slid one hand into a pocket and gestured with the other to Amren. "Amren, I think you know. Though you haven't met her since your ... promotion." Cool, calculating grace, edged with steel.
Tarquin gave Amren the briefest of nods. "Welcome back to the city, lady."
Amren didn't nod, or bow, or so much as curtsy. She looked over Tarquin, tall and muscled, his clothes of sea-green and blue and gold, and said, "At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore." A female behind Tarquin outright glared. Amren's red lips stretched wide. "Condolences, of course," she added with as much sincerity as a snake.
Amren stepped to the side leaving a space between her and Rhysand. A wicked smile formed on Maiven's lips as she took her place on the right side of the High Lord.
"Maiven, the bloodsinger, I guess you recognized her already" Rhysand stated with a sly smirk.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Tarquin said pleasantly.
"The pleasure is all mine." Maiven answered wryly
Rhys then gestured to Feyre. "I don't believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin."
The High Lord of the Summer Court did not smile.
His gaze drifted to Feyre's chest, the bare skin revealed by the sweeping vee of her gown, as if he could see where that spark of life, his power, had gone.
Rhys followed that gaze. "Her breasts are rather spectacular, aren't they? Delicious as ripe apples."
"Here I was, thinking you had a fascination with my mouth." She replied
Delighted surprise lit Rhys's eyes, there and gone in a heartbeat.
I'm gonna throw up— Maiven thoughts disgusted
"You have a tale to tell, it seems." Tarquin said carefully
"We have many tales to tell," Rhys said, jerking his chin toward the glass doors behind them. "So why not get comfortable?"
The female a half-step behind Tarquin inched closer. "We have refreshments prepared."
Tarquin seemed to remember her and put a hand on her slim shoulder. "Cresseida— Princess of Adriata."
"A pleasure," Cresseida murmured huskily, "And an honor."
"The honor's mine, princess."
The others were hastily introduced: three advisers who oversaw the city, the court, and the trade. And then a broad-shouldered, handsome male named Varian, Cresseida's younger brother, captain of Tarquin's guard, and Prince of Adriata. His attention was fixed wholly on Amren—as if he knew where the biggest threat lay.
They 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. High fae—servants and courtiers—hurried across and around them, most brown-skinned and clad in loose, light clothing, all far too preoccupied with their own matters to take note or interest in our presence. No lesser faeries crossed their path—not one.
Feyre kept a step behind Rhysand as he walked at Tarquin's side, talking lightly, both already sounding bored, of the approaching Nynsar—of the native flowers that both courts would display for the minor, brief holiday. Amren and Maiven both stayed within reach of the group. The bloodsinger's eyes sharp as she scanned the palace with attention and precision ready for any inconvenience.
The High lord of summer led the group into a vaulted room of white oak and green glass—overlooking the mouth of the bay and the sea that stretched on forever.
Feyre ventured to the wide windows observing the view, while the others had seated themselves around the mother-of-pearl table. A handful of servants were heaping fruits, leafy greens, and steamed shellfish onto their plates.
"How, exactly, do you fit within Rhysand's court?" Tarquin suddenly asked the oldest Archeron twin.
Maiven and Rhysand turned their heads towards the duo. Both already followed the conversation from their seats at the table.
"Feyre is a member of my Inner Circle. And is my Emissary to the Mortal Lands." Rhys said
Cresseida, asked as Feyre took her seat, "Do you have much contact with the mortal realm?"
"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."
Varian drew his focus away from Amren long enough to say roughly, "So it's been confirmed, then? Hybern is readying for war."
"They're done readying," Rhys drawled, at last sipping from his 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 an unusual female would be nothing unexpected." Cresseida crooned to Feyre
"Try not to look too excited, princess. The High Lord of Spring has no plans to go to war with the Night Court." Feyre said, bored and flat and dull,
"And are you in contact with Tamlin, then?" A saccharine smile.
Her next words were quiet, slow "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 else's. But I do know Tamlin, and I know that there will be no internal war between courts —at least not over me, or my decisions."
"What a relief, then," Cresseida said, sipping from her white wine before cracking a large crab claw, pink and white and orange. "To know we are not harboring a stolen bride—and that we need not bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep."
"I left of my own free will," she said. "And no one is my master."
Cresseida shrugged. "Think that all you want, lady, but the law is the law. You are—were his bride. 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."
Rhysand sighed . "You are always a joy, Cresseida."
Varian said, "Careful, High Lord. My sister speaks the truth."
"And here I thought that Fae didn't take slaves anymore." Maiven cut through their conversation "He was to be her husband not her master"
"No, we don't take slaves anymore." Cresseida chuckled "But there are always some who continue to live in history." She said slipping on sympathetic smile "Of course, I'm sure that that is not Tamlin"
Everyone at the table stilled because everyone knew what the princess referred to.
Braken and his League of Assassins.
A predatory smile bloomed across the bloodsinger's features as she eyed Cresseidra as if she was her prey "It's a good thing that you remember where I came from, princess. Who I was before becoming fae." Her voice then lowered, sharpening as the blade of knife "Who I still am"
A moment passed in complete silence before Tarquin started to talk."Rhysand is our guest—his courtiers are our guests. 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." The High Lord of Summer shook his head and said to Rhys, "We have more to discuss later, you and I. Tonight, I'm 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, the icy boredom now shifting into something razor- sharp. "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 her to him, their lives will be forfeit."
And then even the sea breeze died.
"Do not threaten me in my own home, Rhysand," Tarquin said. "My gratitude goes only so far."
"It's not a threat," Rhys countered, the crab claws on his plate cracking open beneath invisible hands. "It's a promise. One which me and my bloodsinger will make sure to maintain"
Their eyes shifted to Maiven again, who in response, just twirled her dining knife in her hand before using it to stab a piece of fruit and bring it to her mouth. Almost as if she was unaware of their eyes on her.
They all looked at Feyre, waiting for any response.
Feyre lifted my glass of wine, looked them each in the eye, holding Tarquin's gaze the longest, and said, "No wonder immortality never gets dull."
✎
˗ˏˋ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ˊˎ˗
Hello everyone! New chapter!
I'm back!!! And I really hate this chapter lmaooo!!
Honestly writing this was actually harder than any of my other chapters. I don't have much inspiration for this part of the story so I will make it as short as possible so we can continue on the good parts.
Thank you for reading and if you'd like, please, let me know what you thought of this chapter with a comment and a star.
𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞!
– 𝐋𝐨𝐥𝐚 ☾