𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 | 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

𝘽𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙨

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╰┈˚ · ° .  IT TURNED OUT THAT DINNER WAS THE ONLY MEAL where we were invited to attend, which was fine. Three meals a day with Tamlin and Lucien would have been torturous. Definitely blood would've been spilled easily.

While Lucien ranted to Tamlin about some malfunction of the magical, carved eye that indeed allowed him to see, I continued to eat carefree, quickly noticing how Feyre slipped a dining knife in her sleeve.

I had to refrain from chuckling putloud at her actions. It was kind of amusing watching my sister try not to panic and not be discovered by the two High Fae in the room with her sleeve stuffed with the dining knife.

On the other hand, I had noticed something different from Lucian's normal wear. The firelight that made his red hair shine, the colors flickering with every movement he made, but the fire also highlighted his sword, making the jewels in the hilt glint—the ornate blade so unlike the baldric of knives still strapped across Tamlin's chest. And while the sword was embedded with jewels and filigree, it was large enough to be more than decoration. But for sure not comfortable enough to use its full potential.

Lucien paused his talk, turning toward me with a smirk adorning his features that made the scar on his skin even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Maiven?"

"Both." I answered unbothered, my eyes never glancing off from the weapon strapped to his side. A beautiful sword, sure, but definitely not my first choice weapon.

After that, it was Tamlin that broke the silence. "Feyre likes to hunt." He announced as it was simple, a pastime like painting.

"I don't like to hunt. I hunted out of necessity." Feyra clarified Tamlin's statement. "And how did you know that?" She then questioned the blonde Fae, her forehead furrowed at the insinuation.

Tamlin's stare was bald, assessing. "Why else were you in the woods that day? You had a bow and arrows in your... house. When I saw your father's hands, I knew he wasn't the one using them." He gestured with a pointed look to her scarred, callused hands. Hands that had seen labor in her life. not soft and delicate like the one of our sisters. "You told him about the rations and money from pelts. Faeries might be many things, but we're not stupid. Unless your ridiculous legends claim that about us, too." He then switched his stare to me, trying to find anything in what my expression, or maybe my body language would reveal. Which was exactly nothing, to his misfortune. "You on the other hand, your scars are different from the one Feyre bare. You could hunt too I could guess–"