My uncle enjoyed under the mountain. That's where a lot of his inspiration comes from these days. It certainly explains my gauzy outfit and the swirls of paint that adorn every inch of visible skin. He's taken to parading me about every night this week. As if his horrible parties weren't bad enough, now he's trying to sell me.
I'm powerful. Powerful enough to be a threat to his seat, particularly to his only son. I've barely come of age and already they can smell the power on me. I'm not a direct descendant of the high lord, so it's not like the mantle will pass to me. However it seems like he's got it in his head that I'll try murdering for it. Since he killed my father for the seat, it's no wonder he's suspicious.
So now he's selling me off. It's not a terrible idea. Get rid of me while gaining something for himself. Unfortunately for him it's not really approved of in the Day Court like I hear it is in the Court of Nightmares, but like I said, my uncle enjoyed under the mountain, and we all know where Amarantha got her inspiration from. So maybe he's not saying it outright, but here I am, painted in swirls of gold that match my sunlight hair, dressed in a few scraps of gauze the same silver green as my eyes that barely keep me modest. Cuffs of odd, bone white stone around my wrists. Wandering around a party full of my uncles courtiers and representatives of other courts.
My guards are hovering again. I hate that. It would be one thing if they were here to protect me, but that's what the paint on my skin is for; to keep the males in check. There's instant retribution in this court for touching me. To threaten the so-called-treasure that is my virginity. No, the guards are here to kill me if I try to escape. Or to kill me if anyone tries to steal me. Or tries to rescue me. They all mean my death first, even before my would-be rescuers. So they're hovering, as bored as I am but still with hands within easy reach of their knives. I'm powerful, but that's all they'd need to kill me. The cuffs see to that.
I'm lapping the outskirts of the party for the third time when I see them. They're grouped together in a far corner of the hall. The two males have black wings peaking above their shoulders, one a rugged blonde, one a cold looking but beautiful male with black hair. The female is wearing a red dress and looking like she could kill in it, her golden hair held back in one fine braid. There was a clear space all around the trio separating them from any of the other party guests. All three of them were fascinating to look at, but cauldron boil me was the black haired male beautiful. I wanted to know the color of his eyes. As I watched, the shadows around him seemed to shift and grow closer.
I was staring when the females eyes snapped to me. I saw the moment her gaze shifted to my outfit, to the paint on my skin, and I could practically feel her shock and outrage from across the hall. Some high fae reacted that way when they saw me. They remembered those nights Feyre Cursebreaker spent under the mountain before she saved Prythian. It's been a few decades, but they still remembered. I hadn't even been born then but I had heard the stories.
The blonde females eyes stayed on me as she slowly made her way across the hall. I shifted where I was standing to be partially concealed by a few pillars. If she was going to make a scene, it would be best to try to defuse the situation before she attracted my uncles attention. She and the two males strolled casually around the pillars a few moments later to join me and my guards, still hovering just behind me.
"Why are you dressed that way?" she demanded bluntly. Well, she was quick to the point.
I only stared at her. What a stupid question. Granted I hadn't seen her here before but I thought everyone knew my uncles plan by now. I only raised an eyebrow at her. She took a step closer and I edged back, I couldn't let her get too close. I tried to subtly eye the black haired male but she said fiercely "You will tell me the meaning of your appearance. I am the Morrigan of the Night Court. Feyre is my High Lady and you are making a mockery of her!"
"Do you think I choose this?" I asked quietly. I didn't know how to explain if she didn't already know.
"Who has done this too you, then?" said the beautiful shadowed male. He had a calm, steady voice. I angled my body toward him, away from the angry Morrigan, "My uncle."
"Why?" he asked.
I shifted back toward the Morrigan. "You're the Morrigan?" I asked. She nodded once. "I've heard stories of you. I believe your court has similar traditions when it comes to young and powerful females. Surely you can figure out what's going on here." I kept my voice quiet, flat. You could never tell who would side with my uncle or show interest in what he was offering.
All three of them just stared at me.
They all exchanged a look so loaded I couldn't interpret it. Then the two males were moving. Slowly, almost as if on accident, they began to edge around my guards. The Morrigan made to move toward me but I quick stepped away from her, in a direction that would move the guards that followed away from being flanked by the two winged males. If they attacked, I would die first. I hissed at them as I moved "Stop this! Whatever you're doing."
They all stopped moving, though they looked weary and still ready to strike.
"Don't you wish to be free of this?" the black haired male asked.
"I wish to live," I said, "and for me it is one or the other. If you want to help, stay away from me."
The Morrigan sucked in a breath at that. She held my gaze for a long moment, nodded, and turned to walk away. She didn't look convinced, but at least she was leaving. The blonde male slowly relaxed from his fighting stance and moved to follow. Before they could leave, the black haired male faced me and said "At least tell us your name."
I hesitate. Could it hurt? They'd probably find out anyway, and maybe I could learn his.
"Fairyn."
He held my gaze as he nodded and said formerly "It was a pleasure to meet you Fairyn. My name is Azriel." Then he bowed to me, turned, and walked away with his companions.
