Chapter Text
“Absolutely not!” Cresseida snapped.
I let out a sigh of frustration and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Cresseida—”
“No! I will not allow you to let that traitorous whore and his court into Adriata. You owe him nothing. ”
“We owe the Cursebreaker,” I argued, “and we do owe Rhysand our lives for not outing us as rebels when he clearly saw it!” This meeting had been going on for hours, and not for the first time, I wished I sat where Varian sat—a Captain and a Prince again, able to take off to sea at will, and not deciding whether we would meet with the man who had stood at the left hand of Amarantha.
Cresseida threw up her hands. “Why are we even having this meeting if you aren't going to listen to a word we say?”
I sat back in my chair. “That’s what I would like to know, seeing as you are the one who wanted to have it in the first place.”
“Tarquin is right, sister,” Varian interjected. “We do owe the Cursebreaker. It is just our unfortunate luck that she is with the Night Court.”
“How do we know that isn't just him manipulating her?” She turned to me. “You said yourself that he melted our courtier’s mind. Who's to say he wouldn't do it to her to—”
“Cresseida,” I said firmly. “They are coming tomorrow. I see no better way to test if Rhysand's request for a meeting and possible alliance is genuine. If he does anything untoward to anyone while he's here, we will have justice.” I let out a sigh. “We don't have many options. The last fifty years have left us all trying to recover—”
“We can recover just fine without that monstrous court,” she said stubbornly.
“You weren't there!” I snapped, my patience running thin. “You cannot possibly imagine what it was like to watch that, and know that all it would have taken for me to befall the same fate would have been one look from Rhysand. And the Cursebreaker’s title speaks for itself. If you will not play nice for another High Lord, at least try not to embarrass us in front of the one who saved us all.” I was probably being too harsh, but Cresseida had the decency to look embarrassed nonetheless. Varian cleared his throat.
“While it is true we weren't there, Rhysand's reputation still stands. Are you sure this is a wise move?”
No. I wasn't sure of anything. That's why I’d appointed my siblings as my advisors—to keep me from making ignorant moves. But somehow, I still ended up reining them in sometimes. It was a vicious cycle.
As if she'd sensed my thoughts, Cresseida asked nonchalantly, “I wonder if Tamlin is aware how close she will be to his lands.”
“Cresseida,” I warned. The last thing we needed was to be the ones instigating a war between Spring and Night. For all that one or the other might consider us allies depending on who we helped, I couldn't get rid of the nagging animosity I felt for our southern neighbor. It was Tamlin's inaction that made it so we had to rebel. It was our own mistakes that got us caught, but had there been some kind of effort for the remaining courts to go against her…
But that was in the past. We now had the freedom and the luxury to ponder the what-ifs, and right now, we had the chance to gain an ally of one of the most powerful courts in Prythian.
“I’m simply saying we don't know that Rhysand didn't kidnap her,” Cresseida continued, clearly having taken my silence as an opportunity to try to convince me. “Tamlin has been beside himself, if the rumors are to be believed. I somehow doubt after all she went through to free him that she would suddenly just abandon him.”
“Why are you paying any mind to rumors from the Spring Court?” I asked, my irritation growing.
“I simply do not want to be caught off guard if we are asked about her.”
It was Varian who answered this time. “Cresseida, do not go courting trouble.”
I let out a sigh and slumped in my chair as the conversation, and thus the bickering, started all over again.
~~
The day passed by rather quickly, turning into the hour of their arrival before I knew it. I now waited with my siblings at the entryway to the palace for our guests, who would be here any moment. There was a nice sea breeze, but there was no denying it was a warm day, even for Adriata. I wondered how long we would be standing here waiting. My only real interactions with Rhysand had thankfully been from a distance Under the Mountain, but this meant I didn't really know what to expect from him when it came to punctuality.
And speak of the devil himself, there they were.
Rhysand winnowed into sight, standing between two women, each with a hand in his. A short, raven haired woman dressed in grey, and the other—
The last time I’d seen this woman, she'd been a mortal whose neck had been snapped by Amarantha for daring to challenge her and winning. She'd been resurrected, Made into a High Fae. The Cursebreaker herself. She snatched her hand away from the High Lord, a scowl on her face.
“Welcome to Adriata,” I said, eyeing my guests.
“Good to see you again, Tarquin,” Rhysand drawled. He looked almost exactly as I remembered him, down to his midnight black outfit. The only difference was the tan that now colored his skin, and the considerable power I could feel in the air around him. He could hide his power well, but for another High Lord… it was still clearly there. I began to wonder if I had made a bigger mistake than I’d realized, letting him into my court.
But he could have outed me Under the Mountain. He could have had my entire court wiped out with merely a word, tortured… and he didn't. And despite all the alarm bells ringing in my head, I chose in that moment to give him a chance.
He gestured to the tiny woman next to him, inspecting her sharp looking nails. “Amren, I think you know. Though you haven't met her since your… promotion.”
I gave her a small nod. One would be remiss to forget the unnerving, silver eyed woman that I now remembered was Rhysand's Second. He wasn't fooling around. “Welcome back to the city, lady.” She didn't nod, or bow, or so much as curtsy. She looked me over appraisingly, as though she were eyeing her next meal.
“At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore.” Her red lips stretched wide as her gaze shifted behind me. “Condolences, of course.” I wasn't quite sure how to answer this… could it be considered a compliment? The Night Court clearly had a different way of interacting than we did in Summer. I could only imagine the look Cresseida was giving them right now.
Rhysand gestured to the Cursebreaker. “I don't believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin.” A very informal formal introduction. But even though I’d hardly spoken to her before this, really only thanking her for saving us, there was still something so familiar feeling about her. I fixed my gaze on her, keeping the political mask that Varian and Cresseida insisted I needed to use with them in place. Her expression was the same, though I couldn't shake the feeling that Cresseida might not have been entirely wrong about Rhysand controlling her.
Dressed in a flowing lilac and pearl dress, and her brassy hair in curls, Feyre was clearly prepared for our court’s weather and looked like she would fit right in. However, there were hints of the Night Court in her dress—night blooming flowers, specifically. Subtle enough to be overlooked, but still spoke volumes. I couldn't help but letting my gaze wander to the plunging neckline of her gown, accentuating her figure attractively.
Rhysand had clearly noticed. “Her breasts are rather spectacular, aren't they? Delicious as ripe apples.”
I didn't like the possessive tone that was lightly woven into that statement, but wondered if that was his way of letting me know hands off .
Feyre slid her gaze to him, keeping her face neutral. “Here I was, thinking you had a fascination with my mouth.” The look of surprised delight that crossed his face made me rethink my suspicion, but I still remained wary.
“You have a tale to tell, it seems,” I said finally.
“We have many tales to tell,” Rhysand said, jerking his head towards the glass doors behind me. “So why not get comfortable.”
“We have refreshments prepared,” Cresseida said. I suddenly realized I had never introduced my Court. An amateur’s mistake. I placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Cresseida—Princess of Adriata,” I said, trying to correct my mistake. Cresseida took a step forward.
“A pleasure,” she murmured. “And an honor.”
Feyre shrugged in an almost perfect imitation of Rhysand. “The honor is mine, princess.”
I hastily introduced the rest of our courtiers and Varian, in hopes of moving us along, though Varian kept his eyes fixed wholly on Rhysand's Second, his stance wary at best and hostile at worst. The small woman returned his glare with a smile of feral delight. Thankfully, it didn't progress any further, and soon we were walking into the palace. Rhysand walked next to me, his companions falling into step behind him.
“Nynsar approaches soon,” Rhysand said suddenly. “Have you decided what flowers you’re going to decorate with?” It was such an odd question, and so… normal. His letter had been more urgent of a request, stating that he had information regarding a potential uprising from Hybern. While I would never allow them to dock in my port after Amarantha, it never hurt to be prepared in the event they tried to force my hand.
“I haven't really thought about it yet,” I said carefully, not sure where he was going with this. “I imagine Cresseida has some ideas, though I’m sure there will at least be some hibiscus and water lilies. And you?”
“Jasmine,” he said matter of factly. “Maybe something else, but for us, the real show will be in the sky, so not many will be caring about the flowers around them.” Indeed, I’d heard the stories of Nynsar in the Night Court—Starfall, they called it. It was supposed to be one of the most beautiful sights in Prythian. Our conversation died off, neither of us really knowing what to talk about. It was hard to converse when the last time you had seen each other, you had been reveling in the freedom you’d been denied for half a century. I looked behind me. The group followed us, with my siblings bringing up the rear. Feyre wasn't far from Rhysand or Amren, but seemed… distracted.
“We have four main cities in my territory,” I said to her over my shoulder, trying to be a good host. It was her first visit here after all. “We spend the last month of winter and first spring months in Adriata—it's finest at this time of year.”
She nodded. “It’s very beautiful.” Her tone was sincere as far as I could tell, but I couldn't help staring at her. That… something… it was still there. I couldn't place what it was, and I was sure before this visit was over, I’d either ask her or go insane.
“The repairs have been going well, I take it,” Rhysand said suddenly, hauling my attention back to him.
“Mostly,” I admitted. “There remains much to be done. The back half of the castle is a wreck. But, as you can see, we’ve finished most of the inside. We focused on the city first—and those repairs are ongoing.”
“I hope no valuables were lost due its occupation,” he said. Another odd question, but from the expression on his face, it seemed innocent.
“Not the most important things, thank the Mother,” I said honestly. I could feel the eyes of my advisors on me, each one digging into my back. As they peeled away, making excuses to go do other duties, I wondered if I had done something wrong. But now was not the time to worry about that. I smiled at them as best I could, and led our guests into the dining room. Feyre walked right past the table, as though she hadn't even seen it, and stood at the windows that overlooked to the bay and the sea that lay beyond. “This is my favorite view,” I said to her, seeing the awe on her face as I moved to stand next to her. I looked out at the water again. It really was—it was one of the first places I went to see when we returned to the palace after starting the rebuilding effort in the city, and it would likely be my last stop when we left for the season.
“You must be very proud,” she said, “to have such stunning lands.”
I slid my gaze over to hers. “How do they compare to the ones you have seen?”
“Everything in Prythian is lovely, when compared to the mortal realm,” she said dully—a diplomatic answer.
“And is being immortal lovelier than being human?” I asked.
She turned to me and looked at me up and down, brazenly and without a shred of politeness said, “You tell me.”
Any worries I’d had that her mind was being controlled by Rhysand were gone. This was the fire I’d seen in the mortal woman Under the Mountain. No one could replicate that so flawlessly, not even Rhysand. I smiled genuinely at her. “You are a pearl. Though I knew that the day you threw that bone at Amarantha and splattered mud on her favorite dress.”
“I do not remember you being quite so handsome Under the Mountain. The sunlight and sea suit you,” she said flirtatiously. If this had been anyone else, I'd probably have been embarrassed by the comment, even flattered. But this was the woman who had been a part of two other courts in the span of a year, and the favorite of both of their High Lords.
“How, exactly, do you fit in within Rhysand's court?” I asked baldly. If she could be frank, then so would I. It was so much more honest, and a better way to negotiate.
She looked uncertain of her answer, but before I could press further, Rhysand's voice rang out from the table, as if he'd heard every word—somehow I didn't doubt he had. “Feyre is a member of my Inner Circle. And is my Emissary to the Mortal Lands.”
Cresseida, seated beside him, asked, “Do you have much contact with the mortal realm?” Feyre took this opportunity Cresseida had unwittingly given her, and moved to the table to sit next to Rhysand's Second, away from me and directly across from Rhysand.
Rhysand sniffed at his wine, to the clear chagrin of Cresseida. “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 Rhysand's Second. “So it's been confirmed?” he asked roughly. “Hybern is readying for war.”
“They’re done readying,” Rhysand drawled, sipping his wine. “War is imminent.”
“Yes, you mentioned that in your letter,” I said, finally taking my seat at the head of the table between Rhysand and his Second. “And you know 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,” he interrupted smoothly, “and had not even entered my mind.” Though I doubted that, I was glad that he seemed to understand my warning.
“High Lords have gone to war for less you know,” Cresseida crooned from her seat. I looked at her and saw her gaze was focused on Feyre. “Doing it over such an unusual female would be nothing unexpected.”
“Try not to look so excited, princess,” Feyre said flatly. “The High Lord of Spring has no plans to go to war with the Night Court.”
“Are you in contact with Tamlin, then?” My sister's saccharine smile was borderline feral. She was playing with fire, but she didn't seem to care.
“There are things that are public knowledge, and things that are not,” Feyre said quietly, measured—a voice that didn't demand attention, but you couldn't help but be drawn in. “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 her white wine and cracking a crab claw open. “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 knew that last part was for me, though I could feel Rhysand Second still next to me, recognizing my sister's threat.
“I left of my own free will,” Feyre answered, clearly unhappy with the direction of this conversation. “And no one is my master.”
My sister 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.”
“Careful, High Lord,” Varian warned. “My sister speaks the truth.”
I laid a hand on the table, my siblings antics finally too much for me to ignore. “Rhysand is our guest—his courtiers are our guests. And we will treat them as such.” I decided to throw a reminder of my own to her. “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.” I studied Rhysand and Feyre. While Rhysand's expression was completely disinterested, Feyre's eyes betrayed how bothered by my sister's comments she'd been, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. She'd been thrown into our world simply because she'd fulfilled the criteria to save us, and now was one of us. I wondered how that had affected her since her Making. I shook my head—these were thoughts for another time. I turned to Rhysand. “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 are 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.”
I turned to Feyre. “Cresseida made many sacrifices on behalf of her people,” I offered gently. “Do not take her caution personally.”
“We all made sacrifices,” Rhysand said suddenly, his voice razor-sharp and icy. “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.”
Even the sea breeze died. This was the man who led the Court of Nightmares. Who could—and did—kill in Amarantha's name for fifty years.
“Do not threaten me in my own home, Rhysand,” I warned, though my bravado was on shaky ground. “My gratitude only goes so far.”
“It's not a threat,” he countered, the crab claws on his plate cracking open all at once, the meat practically exploding out of the shells—under his power. “It’s a promise.”
I turned towards Feyre, to see how she would respond to such a… protective statement. Especially for one who said she had no master.
Feyre merely looked at all of us and raised her glass as if in a toast. She held my gaze the longest. “No wonder immortality never gets dull.”
The charged air crackling about the table dissipated almost instantly, and I chuckled.
This was going to be a very interesting visit.