𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚖(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔢𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

    I showed up for lunch late, having slept in. Feyre smiled at me, causing my cheeks to flush. I sat beside Lucien, across from my brother.

"And where were you last night?" Lucien asked Feyre. "I'll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol. With some company. Rumor has it you two didnt come back until after dawn."

    Feyre glanced at Tamlin, biting her lip.

"You bit my neck on Fire Night," Feyre said under her breath. "If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing."

"Nothing?" His eyes flicked to her lips.

     Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him. I silently agreed.

"Nothing," she repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlins mouth move.

"Are you sure?" he murmured.

      I wrinkled my nose at the scent of their arousal, ignoring the immense jealousy that caused my chest to ache.

"Mariangela and I are trying to eat," Lucien said. "But now that I have your attention, Tamlin. Not to be the bearer of truly bad tidings, but my contact at the Winter Court managed to get a letter to me, and I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster. The blight. It took out two dozen of their younglings. Two dozen, all gone. It just burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything—no one could stop it once it turned its attention toward them. Their grief is unfathomable. My contact says other courts are being hit hard—though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed. But the blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way—farther south with every attack."

    I silently begged the Mother that it was anyone other than Rhys that did that. There were others with his powers. And though I knew he was evil and awful, I couldn't shake the friendship I'd formed with him before my nineteenth birthday.

"The blight can can truly kill people?" Feyre managed to say.

"The blight is capable of hurting us in ways you—"

    He shot to his feet so quickly that his chair flipped over. He unsheathed his claws and snarled at the open doorway, canines long and gleaming. Lucien swore and drew his sword.

"Get Feyre to the window—by the curtains," Tamlin growled to Lucien, not taking his eyes off the open doors.

"What's—" Feyre started, but Tamlin growled again, the sound echoing through the room.

    Feyre snatched one of the knives off the table and let Lucien lead her to the window, where he pushed her against the velvet drapes. He glamoured her away, concealing her.

    Tamlin told me to act natural, continue eating. I did just that, though fear was rising in my chest. Footsteps sounded from the hall. Even, strolling, casual.

   And then he appeared.

   I had to keep the gasp from escaping my lips as I looked up at Rhysand. I hadn't seen him since the night he had slaughtered my brothers, yet spared my life.

  With steps that were too graceful, too feline, he approached the dining table and stopped a few yards from Tamlin.

     He was just as gorgeous as I remembered, though he had aged just a bit. I supposed I had, too. 476 years had passed.

"What do you want, Rhysand?" Tamlin demanded. Rhysand smiled—heartbreaking in its beauty—and put a hand on his chest.

"Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I dont see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that."