Court of Shadows (Indefinite Hiatus)

PART 11: FEYRE & AELIN

There were fourteen of them in total. Twelve males. One female. And one unknown. All of them high fae, with the possible exception of whoever, or whatever was confined in chains. Each of the males was large and formidable in their body mass and power; however, for all the sound they made walking down the stone path to the manor, they may as well have been made of air.

Feyre felt Lucien stiffen next to her, and she sneaked a glance at the emissary. He, along with Tamlin, who stood on the other side, and the ten-or-so males who waited behind them, was utterly focused on the approaching group. His face was still and impassive. No one moved, but Feyre sensed everyone's weight shifting, preparing to take action if necessary.

She flicked her gaze back to the stone path on which the powerful queen and her court approached the manor.

As they neared closer, Feyre decided that she found their formation somewhat odd. The male soldiers had positioned themselves around their queen in an oblong triangle, with the chained creature trailing just slightly behind the queen. The males were less of a unit of soldiers than objects simply orbiting their queen.

As they walked, the males in front trained their eyes on the Spring Court's group, flitting from figure to figure, while the males toward the back scanned the perimeter, most of their heads turned slightly, as if listening for danger.

The foreign group stopped about ten feet away. Without the distinct noise of swishing gear and rattling chains, the only sound was of the soft breeze, now stiff with tension. Even the manor behind them had gone silent.

The moment seemed to stretch on for eternities, and the air was taut with the eyes of two dozen high fae sizing each other up.

Somewhere a bird chirped, the single note shattering the invisible barrier, and Tamlin started forward. The moment he left their line of three, Lucien shifted closer to Feyre, like he had no doubt been ordered to do. However, she could also feel him leaning forward, prepared to be at his high lord's side within an instant.

Tamlin approached the front of their group at a moderate pace, his hands delicately resting at his sides, and his head held high. He stopped in front of the first soldier, who was slightly taller than the high lord, but emanated far less power.

Feyre heard an almost imperceptible delicate clearing of the throat, and the first three males in their group shifted to the sides, adjusting the formation so that the queen was completely visible.

Ironically, the first thing that Feyre thought of was the night sky. Not the elegant, beautiful starry skyline and comforting sweet air of the night court, but a darker form of night. The kind of night that smothers you in chilling darkness and suffocating black, or strangles you in nightmares. So much of the foreign queen was darkness. Her long sheet of onyx hair, her swirling robes, even her obsidian eyes all seemed to absorb the light.

If her aura was the night sky, then her skin was the moon-- ethereally pale against a set of blood red lips. Feyre involuntarily shuddered and wondered how much blood this dark queen had tasted.

Tamlin leaned forward, holding out a hand in an open gesture.

Everything about the high fae woman was beautifully ethereal. She graciously raised her arm, even that small movement incredibly graceful, and Tamlin bowed at the waist, clasping her fingers in his, and bringing the back of her hand to his lips.

"Your majesty..." he spoke softly into the close space.

Her red mouth twisted into a faint smile as Tamlin straightened. All twelve males watched him with fierce intensity as he released her hand and stepped backward.