A Court of Starfall & Deception - An ACOMAF Rewrite

Chapter 16

Rhys sauntered toward the two males standing by the dining room doors, giving me the option to stay or join.

One word, he'd promised, and we could go.

Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered in plated, dark leather that reminded me of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Identical long swords were each strapped down the column of their spines – the blades beautiful in their simplicity. Perhaps I needn't have bothered with the fine clothes after all.

The slightly larger of the two, his face masked in shadow, chuckled and said, "Come on, Feyre. We don't bite. Unless you ask us to."

Surprise sparked through me, setting my feet moving.

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets. "The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on the offer."

The second one snorted, the faces of both males at last illuminated as they turned toward the golden light of the dining room, and I honestly wondered why no one hadn't: if Rhysand's mother had also been Illyrian, then its people were blessed with unnatural good looks.

Like their High Lord, the males – warriors – were dark-haired, tan-skinned. But unlike Rhys, their eyes were hazel and fixed on me as I at last stepped close – to the waiting House of Wind behind them.

That was where any similarities between the three of them halted.

Cassian surveyed Rhys from head to foot, his shoulder-length black hair shifting with the movement. "So fancy tonight, brother. And you made poor Feyre dress up, too." He winked at me. There was something rough-hewn about his features – like he'd been made of wind and earth and flame and all these civilized trappings were little more than an inconvenience.

But the second male, the more classically beautiful of the two... Even the light shied from the elegant planes of his face. With good reason. Beautiful, but near-unreadable. He'd be the one to look out for – the knife in the dark. Indeed, an obsidian-hilted hunting knife was sheathed at his thigh, its dark scabbard embossed with a line of silver runes I'd never seen before.

Rhys said, "This is Azriel – my spymaster." Not surprising. Some buried instinct had me checking that my mental shields were intact. Just in case.

"Welcome," was all Azriel said, his voice low, almost flat, as he extended a brutally scarred hand to me. The shape of it was normal – but the skin... It looked like it had been swirled and smudged and rippled. Burns. They must have been horrific if even their immortal blood had not been able to heal them.

The leather plates of his light armor flowed over most of it, held by a loop around his middle finger. Not to conceal, I realized as his hand breached the chill night air between us. No, it was to hold in place the large, depthless cobalt stone that graced the back of the gauntlet. A matching one lay atop his left hand; and twin red stones adorned Cassian's gauntlet, their color like the slumbering heart of a flame.

I took Azriel's hand, and his rough fingers squeezed mine. I tried to remember not to squeeze too hard – I'd accidentally crushed the fingers of one of Tamlin's courtiers when we'd been introduced. I'd apologized, of course, but it was hard to break the habit of giving a firm handshake the way my father had taught me. He'd always said I had a stronger handshake than most gentlemen he met and I'd always found a weird sense of pride in that. But now, with this new body, my new strength, I had to remind myself to hold back.

His skin was as cold as his face. But the word Cassian had used a moment ago snagged my attention as I released his hand and tried not to look too eager to step back to Rhys's side. "You're brothers?" The Illyrians looked similar, but only in the way that people who had come from the same place did.