The letter appeared some four days later addressed in scrolling script that had a bit of a flourish to it: To the High Lord of the Night Court .

I read the letter straight away. Tarquin kept his correspondence brief and to the point, but it was friendly. Welcoming.

Tarquin.

Winnowing, I found Amren in her study bent over some papers. I tossed Tarquin’s letter on top of the stack, disturbing her work. She tensed, and then spotted the signature. “We leave tomorrow.” She arched a brow at me. “Yes, we. I need you to come to Adriata with Feyre and I.”

Amren leaned back in her chair, not bothering with the letter. The Summer Court wasn’t really her aesthetic, but Amren scared the shit out of everyone in that court several times over and her powers would be invaluable keeping Feyre and I safe while we stayed.

Not to mention what getting the book into Amren’s hands would mean if the rumors I’d heard circulating were true.

But that part could wait until we had the book and could know for certain.

“And I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter, Rhysand?” She studied me carefully. I must have sounded more hard set than I felt. I nodded. “Very well. I will go with you to visit Tarquin - on one request.”

“Name it.”

She fingered the thin metal chain dangling around her neck. “I want a ruby before we leave. A large fat one.” The chain curled around her pinkie finger and could have broken for how it twisted when she curled that small digit inward. Only Amren could make delicate jewelry look like a weapon.

I snickered. “Whatever you want, Amren.” Her eyes glowed with a not so subtle greed right before I left.

---

I sent Amren ahead of me to round up the rest of the inner circle so I could fill them in on the plans for our time in Adriata. In the meantime, I wrote Tarquin a swift reply informing him our party would arrive the following afternoon. And then I sat in my own study and tried not to brood too long over the last time I’d seen Tarquin Under the Mountain, when I’d held his blood’s heart in my hands and crushed the life force from it to keep his secrets from an evil queen’s hands.

His mind had been scared. I’d had to calm and distract it like I had Claire, and coordinate the words and shudders coming from his body - a puppet on the strings. All so Amarantha wouldn’t suspect the truth. Killing him had been a mercy. Tarquin knew it and undoubtedly remembered, but...

It had still taken a good long while for his invitation to arrive.

Whatever Tarquin sought to get out of our meeting, there was still a good degree of distrust to be handled.

Smart High Lord.

Despite his youth, Tarquin’s mind was sharp, even with the million different hands Azriel informed me that were seeking to mold it to their will each day. Tarquin wanted to free lesser faeries, make them equals with the rest of us. The Illyrian in me heard and responded to that call. I’d fought for that change my entire life to little success because of the mask I had to wear to keep my court safe.

But Tarquin was making it work. Somehow. I sincerely hoped Feyre got that half of the Book without fuss. Tarquin was maybe one of the few allies I actually stood a chance of making in this damned world, and I... did not want to lose that chance with him.

I ran a hand through my hair and tore myself out of my study.

No matter what, my court came first, and I had to remain vigilent.

Walking out into the sunlight above the House, everyone but Azriel was present. Feyre had a pair of fighting knives dropped at her feet where she stood in front of Cassian, Mor chiding from the sidelines. Amren looked ready to doze off in her chair and I wondered if she’d told them anything at all.

“Sorry to interrupt while things were getting interesting,” I said by way of greeting.

“Fortunately for Cassian’s balls, you arrived at the right time.” Amren resettled herself in her seat. Cassian gave a vague snarl that had me chuckling and no one else.

I was curious what they’d been chatting about before I’d arrived - or quarreling over.

“Ready to go on a summer holiday?” I asked. Mor’s head perked up.

“The Summer Court invited you?”

“Of course they did. Feyre, Amren, and I are going tomorrow.” Now it was Feyre’s turn to look at me. But it was Cassian who loomed forward waiting for me to amend my statement.

“The Summer Court is full of hotheaded fools and arrogant pricks,” he told me pointedly, a general on duty. “I should join you.”

“You’d fit right in,” Amren said with far too much delight. Picking Cassian apart was her favorite pastime. “Too bad you still aren’t going.”

“Watch it, Amren,” Cassian said and there was a strange fire in his eyes, a fire to attack and defend, that wasn’t usually there among just us. Only the smile on Amren’s face that remained no more than a taunt kept me from wondering just what sort of conversation I’d interrupted.

“Believe me,” my Second said, “I’d prefer not to go either.”

“Cassian,” I said, increasingly frustrated with whatever bizarre tension was floating around, “considering the fact that the last time you visited, it didn’t end well-”

“I wrecked one building-”

“ And , considering the fact that they are utterly terrified of sweet Amren, she is the wiser choice.”

Cassian took another step forward against me. I half expected him to invite me to spar for a place in our party. “It could easily be a trap. Who’s to say the delay in replying wasn’t because they’re contacting our enemies to ambush you?”

“That is also why Amren is coming.” I shifted away from Cassian, annoyed with the aggression in his tone. I would undoubtedly hear about it later. “There is also a great deal of treasure to be found in the Summer Court. If the Book is hidden, Amren, you might find other objects to your liking.”

Amren looked up at me in surprise. I shrugged : You said you wanted a ruby.

“Shit,” Cassian cursed. “Really, Rhys?” Yes, I was definitely going to hear about this later. “It’s bad enough we’re stealing from them, but robbing them blind-”

“Rhysand does have a point,” Amren said wickedly. “Their High Lord is young and untested. I doubt he’s had much time to catalog his inherited hoard since he was appointed Under the Mountain. I doubt he’ll know anything is missing. Very well, Rhysand - I’m in.”

Cassian took another step forward, his mouth opening. I gave him a sharp look, fed up with whatever this bullshit tension he was coming off was. I was already in a piss-poor mood contemplating how I was going to blindside Tarquin and stay in his good graces without him adding his personal grievances to the pile. “I will need you - not Amren - in the human realm. The Summer Court has banned you for eternity, and though your presence would be a good distraction while Feyre does what she has to, it could lead to more trouble than its worth.”

“Just cool your heels, Cassian,” Amren said when Cassian didn’t pull back. “We’ll be fine without your swaggering and growling at everyone. Their High Lord owes Rhys a favor for saving his life Under the Mountain - and keeping his secrets.”

“And the High Lord also probably wants to figure out where we stand in regard to any upcoming conflict,” Mor added. Feyre was watching the back and forth with deep seated interest.

Seeming to realize he wasn’t going to get anywhere with all of us, Cassian lowered his wings and evened out his voice, though there was still a good degree of bite beneath it. I scanned the group and realized Azriel wasn’t here, but Amren and Mor were.

That explained enough for me to imagine... certain dynamics muddling about the air.

“Feyre, though,” Cassian said, staring daggers at me. “It’s one thing to have her here - even when everyone knows it. It’s another to bring her to a different court, and introduce her as a member of our own.”

Yet another little problem I’d be discussing with Azriel later and further reasoning for Cassian to stay behind in Velaris. Cassian’s eyes were fire. One more word against him and he’d launch himself at me, ready to go to blows. It wouldn’t even have been personal. Whatever was brewing in his bones, it was something wholly unrelated to the direct conversation making him itch to get away for a week.

So I dropped it. Nodded at Amren, and made for the door, and heard Mor tell Cass to just back off and leave it. If my suspicions were correct, that reproach coming from her probably didn’t help much. I half expected him to push past her and follow me.

It was Feyre’s voice, however, that eventually caught up to me. She was hounded in dirt and sweat from training. For the past four days straight, she’d spent her mornings with Cassian - and Azriel when he was free to join - and her afternoons with me. Her fire magic was yielding more and more each day.

“Any more traps I should know about before we go tomorrow?” she asked. There was a taunt hidden somewhere in that remark.

I looked over my shoulder, barely hiding my smirk. “Here I was, thinking your notes the other night indicated you’d forgiven me.”

She stopped walking rather abruptly. “One would think a High Lord would have more important things to do than pass notes back and forth at night.”

More important things, indeed .

My mind had rather run away that night, if I were honest. Probably not the best idea before taking Feyre out where she’d be throwing herself in the paths of friends and enemies alike.

“I do have more important things to do,” I said, gentle as the night. “But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can’t resist watching me whenever we’re out. So territorial.” I waited for her to throw the words back at me, to scoff and call me a prick. But it never came.

Instead, Feyre breezed right up to me with all of my own usual grace and nonchalance, nearly brushing me as she went. A chill ran down my spine. “ You haven’t been able to keep away from me since Calanmai, it seems.”

Oh, she was a gem, Feyre. And not only was she sharp as diamonds, she was more right than she knew. I flicked her nose playfully, wishing the gesture could be more than it was as my eyes drew downward and fell on the smooth skin of her lips, still flushed a faint pink from training.

“I can’t wait to see what that sharp tongue of yours can do at the Summer Court,” I said, and enjoyed how her grey eyes flashed before I winnowed into the mist.

---

Cassian, as I should have seen coming, ambushed me and held me up all night. And this time, he brought proper reinforcements. Azriel was naturally on Cass’ side about the entire affair, and for once, pushed just as hard on me to relent. Without Amren there to poke and prod, and with Mor gone... I wondered what itch exactly had come across my brother’s skin.

In the morning, I felt like we’d been out drinking all night even though I hadn’t touched a single drop. Slipping into some of my finest black clothing befitting of the cruel High Lord from Under the Mountain, I was already stewing and not pleased about it. Going into Adriata with a temper wasn’t what I wanted, even if it would support my proclivity for dramatics.

Feyre came down the stairs as Amren and I waited for her in the townhouse. Her hair was done up in soft curls and she wore a pastel purple dress that moved and flowed as she walked. Flowers from my court were pressed carefully into her hair.

When she landed on the bottom step, she seemed almost... normal. Almost herself again. There was color in her face and she was - she was beautiful. I half expected her to smile softly at me, but it never came.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. Throwing her into real work with such high stakes warred against the idea of soon having to share her with another High Lord.

Either way, I felt tension slicing through me.

“Good,” I said in Feyre’s direction. “Let’s go.”

“He’s pissy this morning,” Amren said as thought I were not present when Feyre eyed me curiously.

Something told me Amren could feel my gut rolling about in anticipation.

“Why?” Feyre asked carefully. I grabbed Amren’s hand and extended my free one to Feyre who didn’t take it right away. Shit, I was already so on edge. This wasn’t how I wanted this to start.

“Because I stayed out late with Cassian and Azriel,” I said, “and they took me for all I was worth in cards.”

The cards had lasted only a half hour in reality. But the discussion that broke off our revelry and kept us up late into the night over plans for the oncoming trip had been the real debate. Cassian had hounded me about taking him with us to Adriata. When Azriel wasn’t busy supporting our brother against me, I’d informed him to give it two days to see if Tamlin moved before going back to the mortal lands to spy on the queens.

Then I’d left them be for the evening.

Two days was ample time for Tamlin to figure out Feyre was gone and do something about it if he pleased.

I was betting on Tamlin’s preference toward inaction to keep him from doing anything.

Feyre eyed me squarely, half amusement, half curiosity. “Sore loser?” she asked, finally taking my hand. I felt better just holding on to her.

“I am when my brothers tag-team me.”

The wind swept us away, drowning out whatever reply or retort Amren and Feyre might have made. And we landed on smooth, polished stone set out over the bustling, glistening sea of the Summer Court’s most luminous city.

Adriata.

The sea was the city itself the way the Sidra was Velaris. It was unnerving in the way that only a High Lord could ever feel in another court. Tarquin was simply everywhere, his power thrumming about in currents of the sea that thrashed in and out along the shore, and in the bright sun shining brilliantly overhead. Even the loud turquoises of several hundred different shades seem to ring with the power of the man standing before us and his small party out to greet their guests. A stone castle sat imperiously behind the Lord of Summer, made of sand and sun and light.

Amren looked at the scene rather dully, as though she’d seen better. And even though Feyre kept her face perfectly plain, her eyes wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop roaming over the new landscape.

“Welcome to Adriata,” Tarquin said, eyeing me keenly. He was not unwelcome in his greeting, which was more than I could say for the crowd behind him. Cresseida hadn’t taken her eyes off me once yet in the several seconds since we’d appeared.

I slid one hand into my pocket, keeping the other free to gesture idly about - the bored High Lord looking for an activity worthy of distracting him. “Good to see you again, Tarquin,” I said.

He nodded. And it struck me how refreshed he looked. Something that mirrored a piece of my own recovery. His eyes were bright with many shades of blue. His dark brown skin had evened out in complexion, and his hair, while still short, had grown back in fuller and well cut.

Yes, Tarquin looked well.

At least one of us was here to have a good day.

“Amren, I think you know,” I said gesturing to my Second and enjoying the reprieve Cresseida’s gaze offered me finally as she took in my Second with clear disapproval. “Though you haven’t met her since your... promotion.” Cresseida’s glare returned to me in full force.

I bit back a taunting smirk. She’d be the one to play with while Feyre was distracting Tarquin.

My stomach cursed the reminder, a shot of adrenaline rolling through me as I considered the lengths to which Amren and I were handing Feyre over to Tarquin to play. My skin started to crawl - to itch.

Tarquin didn’t notice as he eyed Amren thoughtfully. “Welcome back to the city, lady,” he offered. Amren looked him over, her eyes the only piece of her bothering with him.

“At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore,” she said. Tarquin, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Condolences, of course.”

Cruel. Such a cruel, cruel game we were setting ourselves about.

I stifled a sigh as I turned to Feyre and set my mask firmly in place. “I don’t believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin.”

Tarquin seemed momentarily speechless. He stared transfixed at Feyre, his gaze sliding down from her face to her chest. I leashed a growl that had loosened in my chest.

I didn’t like that look. Didn’t like him looking at her - like that . It was too close. This close to Feyre, I could smell her. Her face was a mask of stone, but her scent was near enough to call my blood to it. Not Tarquin’s. He probably didn’t even care one way or the other, was likely thinking some other thought I couldn’t have guessed, maybe even wondering if it was his powers he was picking up on that drew him straight to her, but all the same... I hadn’t seen another male look at Feyre like that since Tamlin.

“Her breasts are rather spectacular, aren’t they? Delicious as ripe apples.” I stood perfectly still, the picture of poise, but there was enough implied in the words that Tarquin could understand: You aren’t the only one to look at her .

I felt Feyre’s head turn to me and readied myself for a prick or a go to hell commentary, but instead, a feline expression curled quietly onto her face. “Here I was, thinking you had a fascination with my mouth,” she said, leaving her lips slightly parted.

Oh, she could play. And play well .

“You have a tale to tell, it seems,” Tarquin said, pulling our attention back to him.

“We have many tales to tell,” I said. “So why not get comfortable?”

Beneath Cresseida’s dark skin, the faintest red flush was discernible. Interesting. She stepped up to meet Tarquin and only just stopped short of getting on equal footing of him. “We have refreshments prepared,” she said.

Tarquin’s eyes briefly flashed as he turned to his cousin and glossed right over his misstep. “Cresseida - Princess of Adriata.”

I could have snorted when Cresseida blew me off and took to Feyre first. Azriel was right - she’d be the one to watch out for. “A pleasure,” she told Feyre, neither friend nor foe. “And an honor.”

Feyre shrugged, keeping it casual and decidedly off-hand like we’d discussed. “The honor’s mine, princess.”

Another well played move as Cresseida held her tongue. Tarquin rushed through the final acquaintances, which included Varian, the other royal of Adriata high up on Azriel’s priority list to keep watch for, and then Tarquin motioned for us to follow him inside.

The palace really was crafted from the sand and sea. Shells flecked the walls and floors in beautiful arrangements that created nautical designs repeating across the tiles and stone. And the passageways were open and airy. The construction of the palace was similar enough to my residence in the Night Court that the open breezes and sun felt familiar. But the colors, the textures... they were all wrong. And with Tarquin standing so near, my own powers dim to make him feel less wary, it was like a sickness that comes with the changing of the seasons.

And he kept looking back to Feyre as we walked. Every few steps, his head would glance over his shoulder and fixate on her for a few seconds before turning back. The hand in my pocket kept a tight fist, my lone release of tension.

“You’ve yet to decorate for Nynsar,” I said, noting the lack of ornamentation about the palace.

“No,” Tarquin said. He sounded rather glum about it for a High Lord giving back a fae holiday to its people. “Flowers and frivolity have held little consequence for me in light of more serious projects going on.”

I gave no indication if I agreed or not. “You have a good deal of work to be done without one night interrupting you.” His head drifted away, glancing back over his shoulder again. My fist began to ache at my side.

Cauldron, how was I going to get through a week or more of them spending time together? And why did I even care this much? The agitation was strong enough that when Tarquin looked back to Feyre yet again , I wondered how my own father had felt when he’d seen my mother in the camps kicking and thrashing about, and cursed the Mother silently that I’d never get to ask him.

“We have four main cities in my territory,” Tarquin explained, his body half turning to face Feyre as we walked. “We spend the last month of winter and first spring months in Adriata - it’s finest at this time of year.”

There was a brief pause before Feyre replied. “It’s very beautiful.”

Tarquin looked delighted, though he was smart enough not to give too much away. But he kept staring at her. And staring some more. I reminded myself it could likely just be his power thrumming in Feyre’s blood that called out to him and bid his head turn round to inspect, but...  he looked at her the way he’d stared at her chest on the reception platform, with a trace of desire.

Mine .

A vicious word. A filthy word. A word that made me want to peel myself out of my skin and hide if I wasn’t going to indulge my primal instincts to grab Feyre and prove just how much she was mine. Though she wasn’t mine at all, really. And I had no right until she said otherwise.

That didn’t stop the voice from appearing all the same, though.

“The repairs have been going well, I take it.” Tarquin looked at me as though I’d plucked him from a daydream. And for once, acting mildly irritated and bored with him felt natural.

“Mostly,” he said, turning back around properly. My chest eased with the movement - slightly . “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.” An admirable decision, and the right one.

“I hope no valuables were lost during its occupation.”

It wasn’t a question, but Tarquin answered it for me anyway. “Not the most important things, thank the Mother.”

Interesting.

White oak columns surrounded by a collage of stained glass ushered us into a magnificent dining area. I felt as though a thread was carefully unraveling, traveling farther and farther out to be lost at sea as I took my seat at the table and watched Feyre drift almost unconsciously to the huge, clear glass window. The bay, teaming with life and purpose, no doubt bustling below it.

I took a deep breathe, and savored the notes of sea and salt billowing in the air from that ocean outside. Maybe I was not to be totally out of my element here.

Varian and Cresseida accompanied me while keeping careful watch over Amren as we all took our seats. Tarquin, however, went to Feyre and explained his fixation with the view. I was pleased to note others at the table who seemed uncomfortable with where their High Lord had wandered off to.

“My cousin puts it modestly,” Cresseida said beside me. I removed my eyes, but not my mind from Feyre as she complimented Tarquin’s court. “Reconstruction is moving forward splendidly.”

“Oh?” I drawled, making it plain I cared little one way or the other. Her face tightened.

“Yes,” she said, a bit of heat flaring behind the lone word. “Nearly all the debris has been cleared of the city center and every single business has re-opened its doors even if only with limited hours. Our fish markets-”

“Are thriving as ever,” Varian said cooly. Cresseida cut him a glare I was glad not to be on the receiving end of. “And how fare your own markets, High Lord? What damage did they see during your recent imprisonment.”

I didn’t honor him with so much as a stare. Given the choice, I’d have taken Cresseida. Amren could have this one.

Amren made a rather sharp note that the Night Court wasn’t one for fish markets, but that she could tell Varian about all variety of trade and purchase if he believed himself capable of handling it. She swirled her glass of wine viciously.

A mention of Amarantha caught my ear as Tarquin looked at Feyre with a smile in his turquoise eyes. “You are a pearl,” he told her. “Though I knew that the day you threw that bone at Amarantha and splattered mud on her favorite dress.”

If I’d hoped Feyre would stand back, I was horribly disappointed to see her step closer to the High Lord of Summer, looking him over. It was precisely the right move, but I hated it.

Hated it, hated it, hated it.

Hated it even more when she looked up into those inviting eyes and purred, “I do not remember you being quite so handsome Under the Mountain. The sunlight and sea suit you.”

My blood boiled. She’d never looked at me like that and meant it. Not once. And her voice - it was like liquid silk. The voice she’d use when the flirtation was real for her.

“How exactly do you fit within Rhysand’s court?” he asked, no discernible reaction.

“Feyre is a member of my Inner Circle,” I said, unable to stand it any longer that they weren’t at our table, even if I hid the frustration behind the mask and dull conversation about fish . “And is my Emissary to the Mortal Lands.”

Feyre sat down in front of me eyeing me carefully. “Do you have much contact with the mortal realm?” Cresseida asked coyly. Tarquin sat regarding his cousin, but his attention was still very much concerned with Feyre - and now myself.

Good.

I picked up my wine glass and swished the liquid about, prolonging the silence before I answered. The last time I’d drank wine in a foreign court without taking the necessary precautions, my powers had drained and I’d wound up under a rock for fifty years. Tarquin didn’t appreciate the motion, but looked as though he too might sniff his own glass.

“I prefer to be prepared for every potential situation,” I said, still refraining from a single sip. I could feel hot irritation rolling off of Cresseida next to me and wanted to chuckle darkly at her. At least someone was going to be fun here. “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 leaned forward. Now we were getting somewhere. “So it’s been confirmed, then? Hybern is readying for war.”

My fingers curled on the stem of the wine glass. I knew it would taste magnificent, the ocean striped of salt and brine and left to only pure, undiluted air flirting about the fruity undertones. But otherwise, the scent was empty. Finally, I deigned a sip.

“They’re done readying. War is imminent.”

“Yes, you mentioned that in your letter,” Tarquin said. I’d been rather blunt with him in that regard, which made his delayed reply all the more infuriating - Cresseida be damned. “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.” In that, we were of one mind. I was halfway to another sip when he added, “But if you are here to ask me to fight in another war, Rhysand-”

My teeth grounded together on the way he said my full name so sharply. “That is not a possibility,” I said, no room for argument, “and had not even entered my mind.”

Carefully, I kept my eyes trained from Feyre. But Cresseida gave it away anyway. “High Lords have gone to war for less, you know. Doing it over such an unusual female would be nothing unexpected.”

Unusual - a compliment and a marking, as if Feyre were Other or unwelcome. Oh yes, Cresseida was going to be very fun to crack. She at least had the spice Tarquin lacked as High Lord. And the way her cousin seemed to brush her off so easily, well - I’d know where to hit. And feel guilty for doing so after.

All eyes somehow turned to Feyre, giving me free reign to watch Cresseida and gage her reaction as Feyre leaned forward and uttered, without missing a beat, “Try not to look too excited, princess. The High Lord of Spring has no plans to go to war with the Night Court.” Cresseida leaned forward herself, her tongue leaping from her lips with a trap at every syllable.

This was almost better than Cassian and Nesta, Mother above.

“And are you in contact with Tamlin, then?”

Again, Feyre didn’t balk. My mate was her own weapon, free to blow holes and sink ships wherever she pleased. “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.”

A little thrill went through me then, even as Cresseida prepared another barbed insult to throw at Feyre. Finally - this felt familiar. This felt almost... normal, in a sick and twisted kind of way. I’d played these games all my life and had perfected my match play for the past fifty years.

Cassian and Nesta were all heat and emotion flooding between them. Instinct. But this was sword play - one move countered carefully by another. A game I had mastered, and Feyre too, now, it seemed.

How good it felt. Like a welcome home.

To a home I had sorely missed.

“What a relief, then,” Cresseida said. The crab on her plate cracked like a broken bone beneath her touch, the snaps sounding in time with her words. She drank greedily from her glass and I could sense both Tarquin and Varian tensing, and yet neither of them bothered to cut Cresseida off as they waited for her to finish her sip. “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.”

Amren was as angry as I should have, perhaps, felt. But the lady of Adriata was nothing compared to Amarantha. I found myself truly disinterested in her idle threat.

Let Tamlin come. He would not like what he would find waiting for him, a greeting far unfriendlier than the one Tarquin had bestowed upon me thus far.

Feyre seemed to agree. “I left of my own free will,” she said. “And no one is my master.”

“Think that all you want, lady,” the title sounding dismissive, “but the law is the law. You are - were his bride. Swearing fealty to another High Lord does not change that.” A half truth. Feyre had sworn no such fealty - nor would I ever ask her to - and we’d done everything ‘by the book’ as Mor had said. She was free, tradition and laws be damned. At this point, Cresseida was just playing with what she thought was food. “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.”

Part of me hoped Cresseida was there the day we did meet Tamlin again, for almost inevitably we would, and I would relish the look on her face when Feyre shredded him to pieces - claws or no.

“You are always a joy, Cresseida,” I said blandly, eyeing my wine.

“Careful, High Lord.” Varian’s voice, so rare and collected, bid me look up. “My sister speaks the truth.” Cresseida sat tall and proud in the wake of her brother’s defense.

But it was Tarquin, her High Lord, who drowned her out. Both of them.

“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.” He turned back to me - and Feyre. I remained carefully unfeeling, but inside, his words rang a truth that captured me.

This was the High Lord who saw the broken and insisted on justice. The High Lord of Summer who saw more in the lesser. He didn’t need centuries of experience to earn my respect for that. He was already more than ahead on that count.

It would be a miserable dishonor to betray him, I realized - any of my personal sentiments over Feyre aside.

“We have more to discuss later, you and I,” he said directly to me. And the way he spoke - so sincerely and regally - for a moment, none other was present save two recovering High Lords trying to save their kingdoms the best way they knew how. Perhaps the only ones in all of Prythian. “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.”

And what was interesting was the hurt that flashed in Cresseida’s eyes as her cousin spoke. Not from the losses her court had suffered, but the dismissal of her own opinion and authority sentenced by her cousin.

Such a different dynamic between them when sat next to myself and my own cousin - Mor, who I might bicker and battle with behind closed doors, but never would I dismiss so clearly in front of another court. Cresseida, for all her strengths and powers that filled in Tarquin’s gaps, was still a princess in this land.

At home, Morrigan was a Queen.

I simmered into my wine glass. I knew exactly how I’d get under Cresseida’s skin tonight. She would be angry afterward, and I didn’t like it one bit. But... so be it.

I felt suddenly less poorly about the idea when Tarquin offered a personal coo to Feyre. “Cresseida made many sacrifices on behalf of her people,” he said, and Cresseida might as well have not even been at the table. “Do not take her caution personally.”

No - it was as though I may as well have been absent from the table.

“We all made sacrifices,” I said, letting a little bit of the sting pierce through. She was not his mate to defend. She was -

Mine .

“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.”

Tarquin himself must have cut the air from the room. But the ocean was still distinguishable - salt and sea and citrus, second nature to me. I felt the starlight flicker through my eyes as the Lord of Summer leveled a stare containing the heat of the sun at the Lord of Night.

“Do not threaten me in my own home, Rhysand,” Tarquin said. “My gratitude goes only so far.”

Good , I thought. You can play games too .

“It’s not a threat,” I said, enjoying Cresseida’s near jump when the crab claws on my plate cracked seemingly of their own will, my hands no where near the plate. “It’s a promise.”

As though he needed some kind of permission not to fight, Tarquin turned to Feyre after we held each other’s gaze for only so long. Feyre caught my eye, and whether she did it intentionally or not, I felt the bond dance between us.

“No wonder immortality never gets dull,” Feyre said.

Our game. We were playing this game together, my mate and I.

And she was magnificent at it.