Chapter 13 — Cassian / Feyre - A Court of Splintered Harmony

“I hate getting dressed up,” Cassian complained to Nesta the next morning as he ran his hands through his damp hair. He’d just made it back from yet another visit to Windhaven in time to bathe off Lord Devlon’s nastiness and slip into what he hoped was a decent enough jacket and pants. Black on black, and certainly not as fancy as Rhys’s embroidered pieces, but . . . he smirked in the full-length mirror of their bedroom in the House of Wind. He did clean up nicely. He’d even given the tips of his wings a quick polish.

Nesta strode by, clad in a dove-gray silk robe, her hair already styled into an elegant bun atop her head that set the long lines of her neck on stunning display. “We’re not getting dressed up,” she said without looking at him, aiming for the bathing room. “You just happened to wash up before this ceremony and change out of your leathers for once.”

Each word was clipped. She’d barely spoken since he’d walked in. A new, hotter sort of anger shimmered around her. Something had happened since he’d last seen her. He’d done something to piss her off, he was willing to bet.

Cassian tracked her movement in the full-length mirror as far as he could follow, then turned to watch as she positioned herself in front of the mirror above the sink, making quick work of sweeping a line of kohl along her eyelash line. Then applying a glorious red to her lips.

But she still didn’t so much as look at him as she finished and walked back to the armoire in the bedroom proper. He might as well have been a painting on the wall. He’d gotten used to the tension between them lately, but she seemed especially riled. On edge.

He’d spent the night at Windhaven again yesterday. And—he did the mental math. Until a few minutes ago, he hadn’t seen her for three days, not since that conversation in the hallway downstairs. It ripped him apart to realize it, set the primal, mated male within him roaring.

Only the Mother knew what had happened to make Nesta even more agitated. He certainly didn’t.

It was concerning enough that he asked as casually as he could, “What’s up, Nes?”

His mate flung open the armoire doors and surveyed the array of gowns. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She didn’t respond as she untied her silk robe and let it fall to the ground.

His mouth dried out at her naked body on full display. The lines of her back, the curve of her ass, the hint of those lush breasts he could barely glimpse at this angle. The tattoo of the eight-pointed star that had graced her spine for so many months was gone, leaving only glowing flesh that his fingers practically ached to stroke. His cock tightened, and he shifted his stance.

Gods, she was beautiful. And Eris, the bastard, was right: some days, he honestly couldn’t figure out why the Mother had deemed him deserving of such a mate. Not merely her physical beauty, but the spirit inside…

Even if that spirit had made some dumb fucking choices lately.

The thought doused any building desire, replacing it with a heaviness in his chest that had grown too familiar. So Cassian returned to his own reflection while she donned her gown. If she didn’t want to talk, fine. They could co-exist in miserable silence.

Only when skirts rustled did he turn to find her approaching in a twilight-gray silk gown a shade darker than her robe, cut low enough to put her breasts on display to devastating effect. Maybe they should go to the temple more often, if this was what passed for pious attire these days.

He clenched his jaw. Perhaps the desire wasn’t entirely doused. Before, he would have had no problem walking right up to her, sliding his arms around her waist, and exploring that bare, creamy expanse of neck and breasts. Nuzzling into that velvety skin, tasting every inch of it. Now he hesitated.

He lifted his eyes to hers and found something simmering there—there, and gone in a blink.

He crossed his arms. “So we’re not talking about anything now?”

She crossed her arms as well. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Something’s happened in the past few days—I can see it written all over you.”

“Nothing happened. Not that you’ve bothered to be around much anyway.” She yanked open a drawer on her vanity hard enough that the jewelry within rattled. Jewelry Rhys had heaped upon her for saving his mate and child. She selected a necklace made of a single flexible line of small square-cut diamonds, delicate and glittering and made to draw the eye to that long, lickable neck.

Fitting it to her throat, she lifted her arms to latch it—and couldn’t get it to catch.

He certainly wasn’t going to help her. Her nostrils flared, sensing that.

“I do have a position within this court that requires my time, you know,” he said tightly.

“Day and night, apparently.” She breezed over to him, smooth as a panther, and got right up in his face before she said with saccharine sweetness, “Move, General.”

Cassian gave her an exaggerated bow, wings folding elegantly as he made space before the mirror. She half turned, puzzling out the clasp, those pale fingers fumbling. Her eyes narrowed into slits of annoyance as she tried again.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded. “Why are you even more pissed off at me today?”

She rotated the necklace to figure out the clasp from the front. “There’s more I should be mad about? You mean, beyond the fact that you shut me out completely these weeks so you could sulk? Or how when you do speak to me, you pretend everything is fine—until it isn’t and you shut me out again? Or how you won’t even touch me for sheer disgust?” She pointed to the bed. “It’s been weeks. You haven’t reached for me once.”

“You want me to touch you?” His voice had dropped an octave, even as a corner of his mouth kicked up.

She snorted. “Not at the moment, no.” She gave up on the necklace and made to tear it off, but Cassian moved faster.

“Allow me,” he drawled, grabbing the necklace and laying it gently along her throat and chest. His fingers grazed the warm skin at her nape.

His cock tightened again at that touch. At the way she went utterly still, sucking in a small breath. He leaned in slightly, unable to help his deep inhale of her scent. “Do you miss this? Is this what you’ve been waiting up for these past few days?” As he’d wished to moments ago, he trailed his fingers down the column of her spine, light as a feather.

Arousal washed over her scent. But the witch said, “No.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, making quick work of fastening the clasp. His fingers lingered at the base of her neck, withdrawing only as he leaned down to brush his nose over the same spot. Gods, she smelled incredible. “What about this?” His words were a hot push against her skin. “Have you been missing this?”

A small tremor went through her. He knew if he stripped off that dress, he’d find those glorious breasts peaked and ready for his tasting.

But she said, “I certainly do not miss that.”

“Too bad.” He flicked his tongue over her nape. She shivered. He did it again, a longer sweep, curving around her neck, up toward her ear. His cock was throbbing now, aching so badly that he knew he’d probably spill in his pants if she even touched him.

She let him reach her ear. Let him nibble on that velvet-soft lobe.

“Do you want me to bend you over this dresser?”

Her swallow was audible.

He smiled against her shoulder. “I could lift all these pretty skirts, Nes, and slide right into you. Did you even put on undergarments? Were you hoping I’d have the chance to find out?”

Her need wrapped around him. To deny them this pleasure would be agony, and maybe he’d been a stubborn, stupid idiot for keeping his distance these weeks, for holding on to this anger.

He skimmed a hand down her side, gathering fistfuls of silk skirt as he went, hefting it higher. “Just a taste before the ceremony, I think,” he purred against her neck, his words near-guttural. “Something to whet the appetite for later—”

She was there, in his arms, and then gone.

She might as well have chucked a bucket of water on him. Cassian could only blink, mastering himself, his body, his reality without her scent, and so wet for him that he could smell it.

But Nesta was already striding to the door. She yanked it open and threw icily over a shoulder, “I find I don’t have much of an appetite for Illyrian cock these days.”

He gaped at her. What the fuck had just happened?

Nesta added with a taunting smile, “And I’m not wearing any undergarments. Though you’re not going to benefit from that anytime soon.” Unholy fire flickered in her eyes. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for the past couple days. Talk, Cassian. But you wouldn’t even come home to give me the chance, couldn’t even try to be around me.”

He opened and shut his mouth, searching for words. She wanted to talk—at fucking last, she wanted to talk it all out, but—

Nesta stalked into the hall and slammed the door behind her.

Nyx might have been a High Lord’s son and presumed heir, but the High Priestess of Velaris’s duties lay first and foremost with honoring the Mother. So Nyx’s ceremony was wedged between the two rites of the Autumn Equinox, at sunrise and sunset. It was perhaps a gift of the Mother that the timing of our own ceremony fell perfectly between them, a scheduling concern I’d never once considered before having a child of my own—yet one that now seemed to dictate a good chunk of my daily life.

Rhys had wanted a grand ceremony at the city temple, even though it was only to be us and our closest friends—and Elain, who had done most of the planning, had settled on something between reason and extravagance. Garlands of autumnal flowers had been artfully coiled around the towering pillars, and lest that seem too much of a nod to an enemy’s court, she’d also made sure archways of jasmine spanned over the aisles, filling the temple with a familiar and comforting scent. White, magenta, and bloodred peonies bloomed in giant clusters at the end of every pew, and vines of honeysuckle, lilac, and roses traced over the lines of the vaulted ceiling. Flowers everywhere—from each season and court, it seemed. Even bits of holly and snowdrop could be found.

It was lovely, if a bit pointless, as we were the only court here—we hadn’t invited anyone from the other courts who might appreciate my sister’s respectful acknowledgment. Except for Lucien, who didn’t really seem to truly belong to any court these days.

But perhaps it made sense, I thought as I beheld the long aisle. I possessed the powers of all seven High Lords. It was too early to tell, but Nyx might, too. In that regard, he could be a child of all the courts of Prythian.

Not that I felt inclined to be proud of such a thing, given how yesterday at the Summer Court had gone. If I could have torn out the part of my magic that had originally belonged to Tarquin and shoved it in his face, I would have.

Elain was standing off to the side, smiling nervously as she waited for our verdict on her decor. She was lovely in gauzy blush pink, her hair loose, adorned only with an arc of bleeding heart flowers.

I grinned broadly at her, pushing aside all thoughts of Tarquin and our failure at the Summer Court. Today was for my son. I wouldn’t darken it. “It’s perfect.” Nyx wriggled in my arms, his blue eyes wide at all the color and shapes around us. He reached a chubby hand toward one of the deep violet cones of lupine woven into the nearest archway, presumably brought from the mountain meadows around our cabin. “It’s more than perfect, Elain.”

Elain’s smile broadened, her eyes lighting to a caramel hue as she watched Nyx paw at the lupine.

“Thank you,” Rhys said, drawing his eyes from the spectacle and our gathered family at the far end of the temple, awaiting our arrival.

“The flowers will all be brought to infirmaries and orphans’ homes after this,” Elain explained sweetly. “As a gift from Nyx to his people.”

Rhys nodded his appreciation. “Good thinking.”

My mate and I had spoken little last night. I wasn’t mad at him, and I knew Rhys wasn’t mad at me, but we both needed a moment to piece ourselves back together after that conversation on the beach. We’d awoken this morning still tender, but clear-eyed. We were mates—we were in this together. And today was for our son, the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful part of our existence. We’d make it a happy day, appreciate every second of it.

Elain smiled again, beaming at my mate’s praise. “I should take my seat,” she said, turning toward the aisle. But she halted. Went rigid.

“Elain,” I started, but stopped. It occurred to me, too late, that I perhaps should have informed her already, but the damage was done.

Lucien strode into the temple, clad in a deep blue jacket cut close to his muscular body, the color setting the reds and subtle golds of his hair ablaze. He blinked at the surreal display—and then that mechanical eye whizzed right over to us. To Elain.

He went as still as my sister, if not more so.

And he must have seen, with perfect clarity, every trace of joy vanish from Elain’s face. Seen the radiant smile—and how fast it withered upon seeing him. Lucien said nothing. Didn’t so much as lift a hand in greeting to his mate. Or to me. He remained still, as if waiting for her to scream at him to leave, to go to hell.

But it was worse than that. Elain didn’t even acknowledge him with her anger. Instead, her eyes slid toward mine. Something like betrayal shone there.

I said quickly into her mind, I’m sorry for not telling you. We invited him when we saw him in the human lands. He’s an important . . .

Asset. Resource. Tool.

Friend to this court, I finished. I refrained from adding, Please, if just for our sakes, say a kind word to him. Even a hello will do.

Elain said nothing. The wall encasing her mind, one of pale stone and crawling vines and flowers, was down. But only silence lay on its other side.

I’ll make sure he doesn’t sit near you, I added pathetically.

She didn’t answer me that time, either. She walked down the aisle without offering Lucien another look.

It was an effort to turn to greet him, knowing the pain that would be on his face. But I found that Lucien was instead smiling softly at Nyx while he approached, even as Rhys watched him like a hawk.

More like a fire-breathing dragon, really.

“He’s beautiful,” Lucien said to me, to Rhys. Calmly—like he was talking to an apex predator one loud noise away from ripping out his throat. Which Rhys was, though he appeared for all the world like the epitome of male beauty and grace. I’d seen the talons of that predator rip out the guts of an enemy with a single swipe. He’d do it here, now, if necessary.

“Thank you,” I said to Lucien, stepping pointedly on Rhys’s booted foot.

My mate didn’t thaw. But he’d allowed Lucien to enter this temple. And now allowed him to pass by us—even if Lucien gave us a wide berth.

“I’ll sit . . . over there,” Lucien said to me, still calm as he pointed to the other side of the temple from where Elain had found a seat near Nesta and Emerie.

Fortunately or unfortunately for Lucien, Amren sat right where he pointed, Az and Mor flanking her, all of them talking in low tones.

Amren, whom I hadn’t spoken to all morning. Whom I hadn’t wanted to see upon our return last night, leaving Rhys to find and talk to her. Maybe it made me childish, but if she’d shown any smugness when she heard we’d failed to secure Tarquin’s alliance . . . I knew how well I’d have received it. About as well as Rhys had received my suggestion that he become High King.

Amren hadn’t once looked back here—to me. She was surely as unwilling to speak to me as I was to her. When we’d begun planning this weeks ago, we’d wanted to invite Varian, but Amren had said if we did that, we’d have to invite Tarquin. And if we invited one High Lord, we’d have to invite them all.

Sometimes, being High Lady was a pain in my ass.

But after yesterday, I was glad I wouldn’t be seeing Tarquin or the others anytime soon. And I wasn’t above being glad that Amren was without her lover. Alone, even amongst us.

Lucien continued down the aisle, keeping his movements small and steady—and I wondered if inviting him here was more of a punishment than a nicety. Between Elain’s and Rhys’s reactions to his presence . . . maybe it hadn’t been worth it. I wasn’t at all surprised when Lucien found an empty bench several rows back from Amren and the others. Elain didn’t once check to see where her mate had wound up sitting.

A tall, dark-haired figure emerged onto the dais, nearly impossible to make out with all the flowers choking the view. And as the High Priestess raised her hands upward in welcome, Rhys spoke into my mind. Ready? he asked.

This feels like a dream, I said, my throat closing up as I hefted Nyx higher.

A good dream, I hope. I’m looking handsome in it, aren’t I?

I smiled slightly.

And you’re looking beautiful—as always, Feyre darling.

I’d worn my favorite gown for the occasion: the dress he’d given me on our first Starfall together. Just as I had that night, I’d pinned my unbound hair back with combs of silver and diamond, and kept my cosmetics light.

I’d needed to adjust the dress slightly to accommodate my larger bust, but considering the number of times I’d caught Rhys glancing at me, it clearly hadn’t taken away from its impact.

Sometimes I do worry that this is all a dream, I said to him, the only person I could ever really talk to like this. Right now, I’m standing here, with our son in my arms, and I just . . . Part of me wonders if I’m still on that bed, bleeding out—

You’re not, he cut in. You’re here. He’s here. We’re all here.

My throat closed up again, and Rhys cupped my cheek with a broad hand. This is a joy I never thought I’d be honored to experience. You should savor every second of today. I know I will.

He kissed me softly, once, twice. Yes, yesterday would be dealt with—for better or worse—but not today. Today was for us. For Nyx. For our family.

A throat cleared somewhere in the temple, and—right. The priestess. The ritual.

I smiled up at my mate, who kissed me a third time. Rhys then whispered to our son, “Start screeching when it gets too boring. We’ll owe you a drink when you’re older.”

I laughed, kissing the top of Nyx’s downy hair. Rhys laid a gentle, guiding hand on my lower back. And together, as a family, we walked beneath the woven flowers of Prythian to officially welcome our son to the world.