Females were very rare in the night court's ruling family as it was, all either die young or end up forgotten in the abyss of history.
Rhysand ever thought he'd have to father one of these, in fact, he did't believe he even deserve to be a father, u...
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
this scene feels like what I once saw on a screen
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The library of the old house Elayla used to live in wasn't a s big as the one beneath the House of Wind by any means, but it still had that secret charm about it, maybe it was the memories, or the fading of thereof, but the smell of that place made her feel safe, at ease.
"You looked lovely..." Elayla walked with calm, straight steps to the female that had decided to join the desperate efforts the night court made to stop a potential war with Hybern. "Illyrian leathers ended up suiting you very well, Cursebreaker."
Feyre twirled to look back at the High Lord's daughter, the straight posture of her spine. The smeared silver dusting her high cheekbones. She looked every bit the image of what she thought Rhysand's daughter to be, gracious, malicious, a panther waiting for the right time to bounce on its prey.
Feyre honestly awaited for her to despise her, maybe even resent her for some reason, especially when Rhysand told her that she didn't really like having new people. And yet, there she was, complimenting her over Illyrian leathers.
She didn't answer, she just looked at how she ran her hand across the spines of the ancients books, before stopping at one made of velvet, dark blue with the title written in golden thread.
'A thousand Illyrian nights'
Elayla brushed the dust of it in near veneration, running her beringed fingers through the hard cover. "Illyrian tales?" The Made Fae asked "Rhys told me about it."
"Of course he did." A smile tugged up Layla's lips before she controlled it. Rhys, that's what he was to Feyre, a stranger was what he was to his own daughter. Feyre was nearly started by it, of how frightening it was to see Rhys's smile on another person's face.
"You have his smile..." She said, a statement "You have his eyes too." Elayla turned her head to her. She's heard these words far too many times to consider them as a compliment, but for a mooment, if she saw the personal version of him or the High Lord.
"I owe you." She changed the subject. "You saved our High Lord." Feyre frowned. She didn't see any sort of strict formal boundaries in the Night court, she heard Cassian throw that title out the win and yet, hearing Elayla call her father that felt weird even for her.
"You owe me nothing." Feyre answered, her defences right back in.
"I do." She denied with a flat tone. "Someday, Cursebreaker." She mused. "But now, just keep him alive." She asked. Elayla closed the book in a quiet thud, putting it in Feyre's hands "And now, I'm pretty sure you would love to read something that isn't related to his inflated ego."
Feyre smiled to the female. "Should I be surprised that you know?"
"The first sentences he made me read were 'Rhysand is the best Baba in Prythian' and 'I won't have a lover until I am a thousand years old.'" There was some kind of twisted humour in these words, a hint of nostalgia too.
"That sounds like something he'd do." The Cursebreaker agreed. Elayla smiled politely before turning her back, feeling like she had to say one more thing to push Feyre to try to see the Bone Carver again.
"Feyre." She let out the two syllables for the first time "What woman wants, Gods want."
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The appartment felt odd, threatening. Elayla couldn't shake off the feeling of having an outsider in her house, a stranger yet familiar scent. Nightfell in her hand, she cautiously walked around the house, praying for at least a peaceful night.
Why in Hel was there the smell of food in the apartment she never cooked in.
Then it hit her, an Illyrian male, wings tucked tightly behind his back, humming to himself.
He turned to her, golden eyes met violet ones. She knew that face, that sly smile.
"What the actual fuck?" She choked out.
Alaric was there.
"Way to say hello to an old friend, Princess." He grinned.
Yup, Alaric was absolutely so back.
He was back and even before she could even process that fact, she was engulfing him in the tightest hug.
A hug that reminded him of the one she offered him for the first time all these decades ago.
"Easy there tiger." He chuckled through the emotions blocking his throal. "You're still short."
"You're gigantic." She muttered, face pressed against his shoulder.
"Fifty years in Illyria would do that to anyone." He brushed it off quietly.
"How did you get to Velaris anyways?" She asked, not daring to pull away. She was terrified of her letting go and him disappearing into thin air.
"Your father's generous offer." He said, pulling away. She willed herself to untangle her arms away from the only friend she's ever had.
"I doubt that Rhysand would just Offer a generosity." She rolled her eyes. "Look at you, though. You have a beard now." She teased.
"It's the general's example." He grinned slyly. "Wouldn't want to be any less of a good warrior to my future High Lady."
At the words, Elayla's heart stopped. Her smile faltered for a split second.
"Hey, El." He frowned in worry. "You all right?"
She didn't know what to say, or what to think, and in the end she let it go. Alaric was back, fighting with Rhys could wait another day.
