Calliope Fallon grew up in a war camp along the Illyrian steppes.
For centuries she's fought tooth and claw to protect her wings against the misogynistic ways of her people. Her father being amongst those who wish to harm her, her father who didn't...
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- Rhysand's POV -
Rhysand's patience was visibly wearing thin at this point.
Lord Devlon was obviously stalling the conversation, but Rhys just couldn't figure out why. Devlon's hands and feet were abnormally fidgety, almost nervous. In all the years that Rhys had known the stubborn bastard, he'd never seen him so overcome with nerves. Even Azriel, concealed amongst his shadows in the far corner, was perturbed. It was unsettling to say the least.
Just as Rhysand was about to call Devlon out on his shit, the flaps of the command tent parted in the wake of an Illyrian female. The first thing that hit him was her scent. It was familiar, yet diverse. Like she didn't stay in one place too long. He would go as far to say it was almost exotic. The citrus and jasmine and the smell of mist on a wind chilled night. And yet, just beneath that was a layering of spice. The scent was so familiar, yet he couldn't quite place it.
Devlon's demeanor completely changed as the female strutted in. His hands clasping together in excitement, his smirk returning. The female looked less than enthused at Devlon's reaction. Choosing, instead to ignore the Lord and scan the room quickly before returning his stare. Rhysand was struck by the startling color of her iris'. Normally illyrians had hazel or brown eyes, but no, this Illyrian had simmering molten gold eyes. She was becoming more interesting by the second.
"Ah Calliope, I see you got my message. How was the flight?"
The female's stunning eyes narrowed at the use of her name, continuing to peak my interest. "Indeed Father, your message was received. But let's not bother with pleasantries. Especially when we both know they're fake."
Well now this was a surprise. Rhysand never considered that the War Lord would have offspring, let alone one that looked like this.
The female, Calliope, had obviously undergone extensive training. Her build, the way she carried herself. How her eyes immediately scanned the room when entering. Her hands that have remained lose at her sides, ready to reach for a weapon if need be. All of it was surprising considering who her sire was. Although the most astonishing was the fact that she wasn't clipped. Proud, strong membranous wings stretched from her back. The size far surpassing my own, maybe even Azriels.
Devlon's face soured at her lack of respect but turned to Rhysand instead.
"This is my daughter, Calliope Fallon. She will be overseeing the camp while I am gone. Any concerns or demands for the females training can be directed towards her."
Rhysand's face maintained a disinterested air, "And you are to visit the other camps during their transition?'
"Correct High Lord." Rhysand hummed in thought, as Devlon continued to explain the duties within the transition.
Before a thought could register in Rhys' mind about the subtle shadows curling around the females wings, she cut in, her eyes narrowed to the far corner. "Before we continue this discussion, will your shadowsinger stop sulking in the corner and join us?"
Ah rutting hell. Looks like Devlon found himself a shadowsinger.
With the simpering smirk stretching across her elegant face, Rhys knew he was utterly fucked.
