Battle Scars

Fire-ling and Lady Death

The Winter Solstice was in two days. Eve had already bought presents for everyone- even Nesta with whom she wasn't on talking terms yet. The Lady Death would give her side glances almost anytime and every time they were in the same room, had tried to apologize but Eve was beyond it. It had become a pattern- hurt her and then say sorry. No, Eve refused to accept this behaviour for herself. She had acknowledged to Cassian- whom she knew never kept anything from Nesta- that she was proud of how Nesta and how far she had come. That she hoped Nesta healed and found herself again. However, no matter how proud and happy she was for her, Eve would not out herself through the toxic cycle again- even if Nesta did not do it intentionally.

The day after she had said so to Cassian, Nesta had stopped trying to earn her forgiveness with verbal apologizes. When Eve had raised her brow and looked at Cassian, the Illyrian had simply smiled and shrugged her question off. Nesta was determined and seemed to have started searching for new tactics to win Eve back.

It turned out the new tactic was actions speak louder than words.

Eve had come from her bath, post training to find a gown on her bed. It had an ink blue base with shimmering silver and white net like material over it. It had a boat neck and full sleeves which almost disappeared by the time it reached her hands. It had the look of a starry night and Eve almost tried it on when she found a note beside it.

Nesta. It was from Nesta.

***********************

After much debating and a nudge from Azriel, she wore the dress. It fit her perfectly and almost bought Az to his knees the second he saw her in the full-length dress with delicate silver jewellery and heels that put her prettiest imagination to shame. She might just forgive Nesta.

Unlike last year where the evening had been spent in Rhys and Feyre's home, this year they would be going to the Court of Nightmares. The Court of Nightmares was adorned for the celebration that lasted three whole days surrounding the longest night of the year. Each night held a different ball, and at the first of them, Nesta would dance with Eris. Of course, they would still meet at Feyre's on the last night.

The Court was dark- Eve thought as she stood waiting with Nesta. Cassian and Az were on the dais both looking like they were plotting successful murder plots. Azriel's shadows had almost encased half the dais and were hissing aggressively at anyone who dared come near. Mor stood by Feyre's and Rhysand' thrones, representing them until they arrived. The entire throne room was bedecked in black candles, evergreen wreaths and garlands, and holly berries. The twin banquet tables flanking either side of the massive space overflowed with food, but it was forbidden to all until Feyre and Rhys allowed it.

Nesta, Elain and Eve stood near the door. First, Rhys and Feyre would enter with Feyre no longer glamoured, and standing proud and deadly. Later, Nesta and Eve would enter- the King-Slayers as they were come to be known here. Of course, Eve had other titles too the Fae liked to use but for this time, when Nesta and Eve would enter hand in hand, none but their slaying of the king together will be recalled first.

Rhys nodded at her once. She nodded back. Ready. Dark power rumbled through the mountain, warning of their approach. The mountain sang with it. Everyone turned as the High Lord and High Lady appeared, crowned, and garbed in black.

Feyre wore a dress of sparkling black panels, much like the one she'd first worn here—and it did nothing to hide her swelling belly. No, it showed off her pregnant womb, gleaming in the candlelight. Rhys's face was a portrait of smug, male pride. Cold violence rippled off Rhys as they walked toward the dais, Feyre's baby rich scent filling the air. He'd let everyone here smell it, further confirming that she was with child. Feyre might as well have been a goddess of old, crowned, and glowing, her belly swollen with life. Her serene face was lovely, and her full red lips parted in a smile at Rhys as they aimed for their thrones. Keir looked torn between anger and shock; Eris's face was carefully neutral.