𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞-𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖊**

Battle was something I was unfamiliar with.

Cassian had taught me self defense, but that was all. The only reason I'd been able to murder Demetri was because he hadn't expected me to be as strong as I was. I had the element of surprise on my side.

So when I heard that there had been an attack on the Summer Court, I had been frustrated.

My job in the war had been organizing the armies and creating the battle plans. I also tended to the wounded. But this was an unexpected attack. I had no time to organize anything.

Azriel didn't even want me at the court until the battle was over. We had fought for over ten minutes before Rhys shut us down and commanded me to stay put until he came back for me.

So now, I was just sitting in the townhouse, anxiety eating away at me. I was nearly shaking, my head filled with the awful possibilities of things that could happen to my family.

It wasn't until hours, and a bottle of wine, later that Rhys came back for me. I wiped the tears form my eyes.

"We're staying in a camp above the hills of Adriata," he explained to me. I pursed my lips and took his hand, letting him winnow me to the camp.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I was up the whole night, tending to the wounds the healers were unable to fix. Some of the injuries were minor, others were near fatal.

     Eve spent the night going around the tents to make sure her daughter wasn't one of the dead or injured.

"Diana doesn't live anywhere near her, she's perfectly fine," Rhys had assured her. But Eve had always been a neurotic female, so she continued to search.

Despite the circumstances, I was still struggling to be surrounded by so many people. I kept having to ground myself, take deep breaths.

Of course, most of the males were injured or too focused on the war to intimidate me. But the screams of pain, the sobs, the panicked female healers. All of it was only adding to the anxiety that was welled up in me.

Only a few Illyrians died during the night. But high up in the hills, the screams and wails of Tarquins people rose to us on plumes of smoke from the still-burning fires Hybern had set. They continued burning when we left in the early hours after dawn, winnowing back to Velaris.

Cassian and Azriel remained to lead the Illyrian legions to their new camp on our southern borders —and the former left from there to fly into the Steppes. To offer his condolences to a few of those families.

Nesta was waiting for us in the foyer of the town house, Amren seething in a chair before the unlit fireplace of the sitting room.

"What happened?" Nesta demanded.

"There was a battle. We won," Rhys said.

"We know that," Amren said, her small feet near-silent on the rugs as she strode for us. "What happened with Tarquin?"

"Well, he didn't try to slaughter us on sight, so things went decently?" Feyre said.

"The royal family remains alive and well. Tarquin's armada suffered losses, but Cresseida and Varian were unscathed," Rhys explained to her.

Something tight in Amren's face seemed to relax at the words—his careful, diplomatic words. But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line.

"What happened to her?"

"Who?" Rhys crooned.

"Astraea," she snapped at him. "Why is she covered in blood? I thought she wasn't trained for battle?"