The Prophecy - ACOTAR

Chapter 57

Feyre sat at the formal dining table in a soft pink gauzy dress with Tamlin and Lucien flanking her while she daydreamed of the different ways she would love to murder the High Priestess, Ianthe. Murderous thoughts that almost caused her to break the mask she had on, because she couldn't help but think of her two favorite psychopaths. Astrid and Azriel would be proud of her, they'd probably offer to help or offer their own dark ideas.

She used to think there was something horribly wrong with someone if they could plan a murder multiple ways, she used to think that Astrid was turning into a disgusting and vile Fae, but now she wished she could go back in time and smack some sense into past human Feyre. There were reasons that Astrid is the way that she is, reasons she could be so vengeful and angry, and she hated that she never took the time to ask. That she never took the time get to know her when everything had started changing, and that decision had mangled their relationship beyond recognition.

It was these thoughts that helped Feyre keep any sort of happy feelings off her face. Right now, she needed to be upset and pained.

It helped that she had been there when Astrid had first come to Velaris too, because she had seen what the face of someone who was distrustful of a male, she should trust beyond doubt, looked like. She used that memory to help in her present.

Feyre was thankful neither Tamlin nor Lucien had brought up Astrid, she wasn't sure how she would approach that topic. Astrid hadn't left much to question on her loyalties, but she had expected Lucien to ask about her, at least in regard to Elain. Which, unfortunately for him, even if Elain was in danger Astrid most definitely wouldn't help her. She was almost worried Astrid might be a danger to her sister, but she could acknowledge that Elain had dug her own grave.

Feyre had served her time in Astrid's ire; Elain could do her own work if she wanted her sister back.

She pulled her mind back to female in front of her, Ianthe. She wore a siphon like jewel in the center of silver circlets set on top of a pale hood. Ianthe lowered her teal eyes to the dark table; her hood casting shadows across her face.

"I wish to begin by saying how truly sorry I am. I acted out of a desire to ... to grant what I believed you perhaps yearned for but did not dare voice, while also keeping our allies in Hybern Satisfied with our allegiance." Ianthe spoke, keeping her eyes glued to the table.

"Why would I ever wish for my sisters to endure that?" Feyre asked, her voice trembling and cold.

Ianthe lifted her head, scanning Feyre's face. "So you could be with them forever. And if Lucien had discovered that Elain was his mate beforehand, it would have ... been devasting to realize he'd only have a few decades." Ianthe paused, almost like she was deciding whether she should continue the thought in her head. "It's been hard enough on you both with Astrid's betrayals. Serving Amarantha and now mated to the Shadowsinger and proclaimed the Princess of the Night Court."

Feyre let her face fall into a pained, quiet look instead of the snarl she could feel building in throat.

It was Lucien who answered, "If you expect our gratitude, you'll be waiting a while, Ianthe."

Feyre didn't miss the look of hurt and confusion at the mention of the delightfully violent females' name. She had suspected for some time now, that Lucien never quite hated Astrid's antics, that he might even have liked them.

Feyre continued to resist the urge to maim the High Priestess as she rambled off how sorry and remorseful, she was about her grievances. She kept her eyes wide in the perfect picture of remorse and guilt. The silver bracelets clanging on her wrists and the silver rings glinting in the light as she gestured.