A Court of Frost and Starlight

  The perfect way to then reveal the full extent of what we knew.

  If the Illyrians revolted … I didn’t want to think that far down the road. What it would cost me. What it would cost Cassian, to fight the people he still so desperately wanted to be a part of. To kill them. It’d be far different from what we’d done to the Illyrians who’d gladly served Amarantha, and done such terrible things in her name. Far different.

  I shut out the thought. Later. After Solstice. We’d deal with it then.

  Cassian, mercifully, seemed inclined to do the same. Not that I blamed him, given the hour of bullshit posturing he’d endured before we’d winnowed here. Even now, centuries later, the camp-lords and commanders still challenged him. Spat on him.

  Cassian toed his own footboard, his legs not even fully stretched out. “Who used this bed anyway? It’s Amren-sized.”

  I snorted. “Careful how you whine. Feyre calls us Illyrian babies often enough.”

  Azriel chuckled. “Her flying has improved enough that I think she’s entitled to do so.”

  Pride rippled through me. Perhaps she wasn’t a natural, but she made up for it with sheer grit and focus. I’d lost count of the hours we spent in the air—the precious time we’d managed to steal for ourselves.

  I said to Cassian, “I can see about finding you two longer beds.” With Solstice Eve here, it would take a minor miracle. I’d have to turn Velaris upside down.

  He waved a hand. “No need. Better than the couch.”

  “You being too drunk to climb the stairs last night aside,” I said wryly, earning a vulgar gesture in response, “space in this house does indeed seem to be an issue. You could stay up at the House if you’d prefer. I can winnow you in.”

  “The House is boring.” Cassian yawned for emphasis. “Az sneaks off into shadows and I’m left all alone.”

  Azriel gave me a look that said, Illyrian baby indeed.

  I hid my smile and said to Cassian, “Perhaps you should get a place of your own, then.”

  “I have one in Illyria.”

  “I meant here.”

  Cassian lifted a brow. “I don’t need a house here. I need a room.” He again toed the footboard, rocking the wood panel. “This one would be fine, if it didn’t have a doll’s bed.”

  I chuckled again, but held in my retort. My suggestion that he might want a place of his own. Soon.

  Not that anything was happening on that front. Not anytime soon. Nesta had made it clear enough she had no interest in Cassian—not even in being in the same room as him. I knew why. I’d seen it happen, had felt that way plenty.

  “Perhaps that will be your Solstice present, Cassian,” I replied instead. “A new bed here.”

  “Better than Mor’s presents,” Az muttered.

  Cassian laughed, the sound booming off the walls.

  But I peered in the direction of the Sidra and lifted a brow.

  She looked radiant.

  Solstice Eve had fully settled upon Velaris, quieting the thrum that had pulsed through the city for the past few weeks, as if everyone paused to listen to the falling snow.

  A gentle fall, no doubt, compared with the wild storm unleashing itself upon the Illyrian Mountains.

  We’d gathered in the sitting room, the fire crackling, wine opened and flowing. Though neither Lucien nor Nesta had shown their faces, the mood was far from somber.

  Indeed, as Feyre emerged from the kitchen hallway, I took a moment to simply drink her in from where I sat in an armchair near the fire.

  She went right to Mor—perhaps because Mor was holding the wine, the bottle already outreached.

  I admired the view from behind as Feyre’s glass was filled.

  It was an effort to leash every raging instinct at that particular view. At the curves and hollows of my mate, the color of her—so vibrant, even in this room of so many personalities. Her midnight-blue velvet gown hugged her perfectly, leaving little to the imagination before it pooled to the floor. She’d left her hair down, curling slightly at the ends—hair I knew I later wanted to plunge my hands into, scattering the silver combs pinning up the sides. And then I’d peel off that dress. Slowly.

  “You’ll make me vomit,” Amren hissed, kicking me with her silver silk shoe from where she sat in the armchair adjacent to mine. “Rein in that scent of yours, boy.”

  I cut her an incredulous look. “Apologies.” I threw a glance to Varian, standing to the side of her armchair, and silently offered him my condolences.

  Varian, clad in Summer Court blue and gold, only grinned and inclined his head toward me.

  Strange—so strange to see the Prince of Adriata here. In my town house. Smiling. Drinking my liquor.

  Until—

  “Do you even celebrate Solstice in the Summer Court?”

  Until Cassian decided to open his mouth.

  Varian turned his head toward where Cassian and Azriel lounged on the sofa, his silver hair sparkling in the firelight. “In the summer, obviously. As there are two Solstices.”

  Azriel hid his smile by taking a sip from his wine.

  Cassian slung an arm across the back of the sofa. “Are there really?”

  Mother above. It was going to be this sort of night, then.

  “Don’t bother answering him,” Amren said to Varian, sipping from her own wine. “Cassian is precisely as stupid as he looks. And sounds,” she added with a slashing glance.

  Cassian lifted his glass in salute before drinking.

  “I suppose your Summer Solstice is the same in theory as ours,” I said to Varian, though I knew the answer. I’d seen many of them—long ago. “Families gather, food is eaten, presents shared.”

  Varian gave me what I could have sworn was a grateful nod. “Indeed.”

  Feyre appeared beside my seat, her scent settling into me. I tugged her down to perch on the rolled arm of my chair.

  She did so with a familiarity that warmed something deep in me, not even bothering to look my way before her arm slid around my shoulders. Just resting there—just because she could.

  Mate. My mate.

  “So Tarquin doesn’t celebrate Winter Solstice at all?” she asked Varian.

  A shake of the head.

  “Perhaps we should have invited him,” Feyre mused.

  “There’s still time,” I offered. The Cauldron knew we needed alliances more than ever. “The call is yours, Prince.”

  Varian peered down at Amren, who seemed to be entirely focused on her goblet of wine. “I’ll think about it.”

  I nodded. Tarquin was his High Lord. Should he come here, Varian’s focus would be elsewhere. Away from where he wished that focus to be—for the few days he had with Amren.

  Mor plopped onto the sofa between Cassian and Azriel, her golden curls bouncing. “I like it to be just us anyway,” she declared. “And you, Varian,” she amended.

  Varian offered her a smile that said he appreciated the effort.

  The clock on the mantel chimed eight. As if it had summoned her, Elain slid into the room.

  Mor was instantly on her feet, offering—insisting on wine. Typical.

  Elain politely refused, taking up a spot in one of the wooden chairs set in the bay of windows. Also typical.

  But Feyre was staring at the clock, her brow furrowed. Nesta isn’t coming.

  You invited her for tomorrow. I sent a soothing caress down the bond, as if it could wipe away the disappointment rippling from her.

  Feyre’s hand tightened on my shoulder.

  I lifted my glass, the room quieting. “To family old and new. Let the Solstice festivities begin.”

  We all drank to that.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Feyre

  The glare of sunlight on snow filtering through our heavy velvet curtains awoke me on Solstice morning.

  I scowled at the sliver of brightness and turned my head away from the window. But my cheek collided with something crinkly and firm. Definitely not my pillow.

&nbsp
; Peeling my tongue from the roof of my mouth, rubbing at the headache that had formed by my left brow thanks to the hours of drinking, laughing, and more drinking that we’d done until the early hours of the morning, I lifted myself enough to see what had been set beside my face.

  A present. Wrapped in black crepe paper and tied with silver thread. And beside it, smiling down at me, was Rhys.

  He’d propped his head on a fist, his wings draped across the bed behind him. “Happy birthday, Feyre darling.”

  I groaned. “How are you smiling after all that wine?”

  “I didn’t have a whole bottle to myself, that’s how.” He traced a finger down the groove of my spine.

  I rose onto my elbows, surveying the present he’d laid out. It was rectangular and almost flat—only an inch or two thick. “I was hoping you’d forget.”

  Rhys smirked. “Of course you were.”

  Yawning, I dragged myself into a kneeling position, stretching my arms high above my head before I pulled the gift to me. “I thought we were opening presents tonight with the others.”

  “It’s your birthday,” he drawled. “The rules don’t apply to you.”

  I rolled my eyes at that, even as I smiled a bit. Easing away the wrapping, I pulled out a stunning notebook bound in black, supple leather, so soft it was almost like velvet. On the front, stamped in simple silver letters, were my initials.

  Opening the floppy front cover, it revealed page after page of beautiful, thick paper. All blank.

  “A sketchbook,” he said. “Just for you.”

  “It’s beautiful.” It was. Simple, yet exquisitely made. I would have picked it for myself, had such a luxury not seemed excessive.

  I leaned down to kiss him, a brush of our mouths. From the corner of my eye, I saw another item appear on my pillow.

  I pulled back to see a second present waiting, the large box wrapped in amethyst paper. “More?”

  Rhys waved a lazy hand, pure Illyrian arrogance. “Did you think a sketchbook would suffice for my High Lady?”

  My face heating, I opened the second present. A sky-blue scarf of softest wool lay folded inside.

  “So you can stop stealing Mor’s,” he said, winking.

  I grinned, wrapping the scarf around myself. Every inch of skin it touched felt like a decadence.

  “Thank you,” I said, stroking the fine material. “The color is beautiful.”

  “Mmmm.” Another wave of his hand, and a third present appeared.

  “This is getting excessive.”

  Rhys only arched a brow, and I chuckled as I opened the third gift. “A new satchel for my painting supplies,” I breathed, running my hands over the fine leather as I admired all the various pockets and straps. A set of pencils and charcoals already lay within. The front had also been monogrammed with my initials—along with a tiny Night Court insignia. “Thank you,” I said again.

  Rhysand’s smile deepened. “I had a feeling jewels wouldn’t be high on your list of desired gifts.”

  It was true. Beautiful as they were, I had little interest in them. And had plenty already. “This is exactly what I would have asked for.”

  “Had you not been hoping that your own mate would forget your birthday.”

  I snorted. “Had I not been hoping for that.” I kissed him again, and when I made to pull away, he slid a hand behind my head and kept me there.

  He kissed me deeply, lazily—as if he’d be content to do nothing but that all day. I might have considered it.

  But I managed to extract myself, and crossed my legs as I settled back on the bed and reached for my new sketchbook and satchel of supplies. “I want to draw you,” I said. “As my birthday present to me.”

  His smile was positively feline.

  I added, flipping open my sketchbook and turning to the first page, “You said once that nude would be best.”

  Rhys’s eyes glowed, and a whisper of his power through the room had the curtains parting, flooding the space with midmorning sunshine. Showing every glorious naked inch of him sprawled across the bed, illuminating the faint reds and golds of his wings. “Do your worst, Cursebreaker.”

  My very blood sparking, I pulled out a piece of charcoal and began.

  It was nearly eleven by the time we emerged from our room. I’d filled pages and pages of my sketchbook with him—drawings of his wings, his eyes, his Illyrian tattoos. And enough of his naked, beautiful body that I knew I’d never share this sketchbook with anyone but him. Rhys had indeed hummed his approval when he’d leafed through my work, smirking at the accuracy of my drawings regarding certain areas of his body.

  The town house was still silent as we descended the stairs, my mate opting for Illyrian leathers—for whatever strange reason. If Solstice morning included one of Cassian’s grueling training sessions, I’d gladly stay behind and start eating the feast I could already smell cooking in the kitchen down the hall.

  Entering the dining room to find breakfast waiting, but none of our companions present, Rhys helped me into my usual seat midway down the table, then slid into the chair beside me.

  “I’m assuming Mor’s still asleep upstairs.” I plopped a chocolate pastry onto my plate, then another onto his.

  Rhys sliced into the leek-and-ham quiche and set a chunk on my plate. “She drank even more than you, so I’m guessing we won’t see her until sundown.”

  I snorted, and held out my cup to receive the tea he now offered, steam curling from the pot’s spout.

  But two massive figures filled the archway of the dining room, and Rhys paused.

  Azriel and Cassian, having crept up on cat-soft feet, were also wearing their Illyrian leathers.

  And from their shit-eating grins, I knew this would not end well.

  They moved before Rhys could, and only a flare of his power kept the teapot from falling onto the table before they hauled him out of his seat. And aimed right for the front door.

  I only bit into my pastry. “Please bring him back in one piece.”

  “We’ll take good care of him,” Cassian promised, wicked humor in his eyes.

  Even Azriel was still grinning as he said, “If he can keep up.”

  I lifted a brow, and just as they vanished out the front door, still dragging Rhys along, my mate said to me, “Tradition.”

  As if that was an explanation.

  And then they were gone, off to the Mother knew where.

  But at least neither of the Illyrians had remembered my birthday—thank the Cauldron.

  So with Mor asleep and Elain likely in the kitchen helping to prepare that delicious food whose aroma now filled the house, I indulged in a rare, quiet meal. Helped myself to the pastry I’d put on Rhys’s plate, along with his portion of the quiche. And another after that.

  Tradition indeed.

  With little to do beyond resting until the festivities began the hour before sundown, I settled in at the desk in our bedroom to do some paperwork.

  Very festive, Rhys purred down the bond.

  I could practically see his smirk.

  And where, exactly, are you?

  Don’t worry about it.

  I scowled at the eye on my palm, though I knew Rhys no longer used it. That makes it sound like I should be worried.

  A dark laugh. Cassian says you can pummel him when we get home.

  Which will be when?

  A too-long pause. Before dinner?

  I chuckled. I really don’t want to know, do I?

  You really don’t.

  Still smiling, I let the thread between us drop, and sighed at the papers staring up at me. Bills and letters and budgets …

  I lifted a brow at the last, hauling a leather-bound tome toward me. A list of household expenses—just for Rhys and me. A drop of water compared with the wealth contained across his various assets. Our assets. Pulling out a piece of paper, I began counting the expenses so far, working through a tangle of mathematics.

  The money was there—if I wanted to use it. To buy that st
udio. There was money in the “miscellaneous purchases” funds to do it.

  Yes, I could buy that studio in a heartbeat with the fortune now in my name. But using that money so lavishly, even for a studio that wouldn’t be just for me …

  I shut the ledger, sliding my calculations into the pages, and rose. Paperwork could wait. Decisions like that could wait. Solstice, Rhys had told me, was for family. And since he was currently spending it with his brothers, I supposed I should find at least one of my sisters.

  Elain met me halfway to the kitchen, bearing a tray of jam tarts toward the table in the dining room. Where an assortment of baked goods had already begun to take form, tiered cakes and iced cookies. Sugar-frosted buns and caramel-drizzled fruit pies. “Those look pretty,” I told her by way of greeting, nodding toward the heart-shaped cookies on her tray. All of it looked pretty.

  Elain smiled, her braid swishing with each step toward the growing mound of food. “They taste as good as they look.” She set down the tray and wiped her flour-coated hands on the apron she wore over her dusty-pink gown. Even in the middle of winter, she was a bloom of color and sunshine.

  She handed me one of the tarts, sugar sparkling. I bit in without hesitation and let out a hum of pleasure. Elain beamed.

  I surveyed the food she was assembling and asked between bites, “How long have you been working on this?”

  A one-shouldered shrug. “Since dawn.” She added, “Nuala and Cerridwen were up hours earlier.”

  I’d seen the Solstice bonus Rhys had given each of them. It was more than most families made in a year. They deserved every damned copper mark.

  Especially for what they’d done for my sister. The companionship, the purpose, the small sense of normalcy in that kitchen. She’d bought them those cozy, fuzzy blankets from the weaver, one raspberry pink and the other lilac.

  Elain surveyed me in turn as I finished off the tart and reached for another. “Have you had any word from her?”

  I knew who she meant. Just as I opened my mouth to tell her no, a knock thudded on the front door.