The carriage and horses stopped in the town square. It was beautiful, the white marble water fountain sat at the center of a cobblestone road. Rows of bakery's, jewelry shops and florists surrounded the area, with four roads traveling north, east, south and west. The think green jungle around them brought amazing color, and Feyre plastered on a face of admiration. The vibrant colors, the plain white buildings. It was all a lie. Pretty, innocent.
Tamlins hand trailed her arm as he said; "It's beautiful isn't it?" Feyre nodded, though did not believe it. "It's one of the only High Fae villages in the Spring Court. The rest are inhabited by lesser fae, but not this one." He seemed to take pride in this, and Feyre held back her scoff. "And this one is one one of the few that has a leader, other than me of course." He smiled at her, and Feyre forced a smile back. She had become quite used to it lately, pretty good at it too.
Lucien came to Feyre's side of the carriage, offering her his arm. She took it, as she should. He looked at her, nothing short of a fake smile spreading on his face. Feyre didnt bother to smile back, didn't feel like it. She only stepped from the carriage, and walked around it to Tamlin. High Fae dressed in elaborate clothing began to gather around, bowing deeply to their High Lord. One man, tall with a deep blue t-shirt and fawn hair, stepped up to Tamlin. She greeted Tamlin with a warm smile, yet the way a servant would greet their master. The way Lucien greeted Tamlin.
The young Fae male said to Tamlin, his voice rough; "High Lord. What is the meaning of this visit?" He didn't bow, and Feyre realized he was the leader of the village Tamlin spoke of not five minutes ago. He was handsome, as most High fae were. His hair was a light shade of fawn that reached down half-way down his back. His eyes were a deep brown, and his skin was the same golden as Tamlin's.
Tamlin approached the man. "Conn, we must speak eminently. Argent matters have just come to notice." Only because you caused them Feyre was itching to say, but held her tongue. Tamlin turned to her, but addressed Conn. "Please show Feyre someplace to stay, and give Lucien a room close by." He turned to face Conn.
Conn only nodded. He turned slightly, and inclined his scarred hand behind him. A female stepped forward from the gathered crowd. She had the same colored hair as Conn, the same eyes and skin. Feyre assumed they were related by some way. Siblings probably. She was very young, very beautiful. Her hair was wavy, and came not even to her shoulders. It was not much longer than Amrens. Her face was round, her nose small and her dark pink lips full. She wore a two piece outfit, the lightest of blues embedded with small jewels. The top came up to her neck but left her arms uncovered. The bottom half flowed around her and came to her knees. She also wore smooth white boots that came to her knees. If the color was different, it would be considered Night Court fashion.
She approached and stood close by Conn. He slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. He spoke to Feyre, gesturing to the girl. "This my my sister, Cynthia. She'll take you and Lucien to our home and get you settled in." He smiled a warm smile, and Feyre only nodded. She looked over to the girl, who didn't smile. Her face was set in a grim expression, and Feyre wondered of it was anything to do with Tamlin's presence. Her presence.
But Cynthia walked over to Feyre and Lucien who stood by her side. She approached smoothly, the grace of a wolf. The grace of a predator. Feyre wished to show her her power. But Feyre was to be the meek prey. Tamlin's little child to protect. Cythia's voice was soft, yet rough. As if shouting or crying for too long. "Follow me." That was all she said as she turned to Feyre's left and began walking towards the East road. Feyre looked over to Lucien, who began to follow her. Feyre followed suit. But she looked over to Tamlin who was talking to Conn more formally now, a stern look on his face. Then Conn turned and Tamlin followed him up the North road.
Cynthia led Lucien and Feyre down a long cobblestone road to a house. Larger than the other houses we had passed, white marble and around the size of a small cottage, but much smaller than Tamlin's Manor. They still looked like mini versions though, covered in thick green vines and open to sunlight with their abnormally large windows. The house Cynthia led us to had a cobblestone path leading through a small front yard filled with blood-red roses. Feyre wondered if Tamlin had any influence over the deliberate copy of his home, or if they simply took too much praise in him.
Lucien seemed to be thinking the same thing, scanning the scenery around him with a stern expression resting on his face. Then he looked down to Feyre, not bothering to smile. Neither did she, was Cynthia entered the house and left the door open. Lucien entered the house first in case of any danger that might have been set up, whether it was for show or not, Feyre slouching behind.
The inside of the house stayed true to Tamlin's manor, again, just smaller. White marble walls which checkered floors made the first room. The sitting room was full of wooden furniture with vine green cushions. The large windows let in golden beams of sunlight, filling the room with golden light. White doors on the back doors were closed, uninviting. Cynthia walked over to a seat by one of the large windows and sat down, hands in her lap. She looked over to Lucien, as if avoiding eye contact with Feyre. She spoke for the first time since Conn introduced her. "Come and sit, I would like to get to know you." Lucien looked over the Feyre, as if asking permission. She only walked to take a seat on the lounge opposite Cynthia. Lucien sat beside her, eyes on Cynthia. She stared back at him, a challenging stance swirling behind her eyes. Lucien held his stare, and Feyre found herself feeling quite uncomfortable. She cleared her throat, and Cynthia looked over to her for the first time.
"Hello." Feyre said, unsure of what to say in such an awkward situation. She looked over to Lucien for support, only to see Lucien's eyes still plastered on Cynthia. She didn't look back at him her eyes on Feyre. Feyre looked back at her eyes. Persian blue, swirling in a forbidding black mist. They were beautiful, and Feyre began to wonder if she was from the Spring Court at all. It seemed the night court suited her better. "Your name is Cynthia?" It was more of a statement than a question.
She nodded. "As far as I know." She turned her head to Lucien. "I suspect there will be things you must bring into your rooms." She inclined her head towards two doors on the back wall, identifying them as their rooms. "Would you like to go and get them?" It seemed more of an order than a question. Her voice was that of a commanders, but not at all brimmed with brutal history as Cassians is when he commands the armies.
Lucien stiffened beside Feyre. "And leave my High Priestess with you?"
"Are you seriously questioning my intensions?" Her voice became brimmed with controlled anger. Lucien opened his mouth the reply, but Cynthia beat him to it. "May I remind you that you are in my home, and my village. I will not have you come in and threaten me and accuse me of wrong intentions." Her gaze held Luciens, the silent command worded in her eyes.
Lucien gave in, standing from the lounge and leaving the room, with one last glance at Feyre before exiting the door. Feyre felt uncomfortable, yet remembered the part she was to play. The obedient, reserved High Priestess. She kept her back straight like a proper lady as she faced Cynthia whom she found slouching in her chair, hand on her face. She began sobbing, soft and innocent and broken. A woman she wasn't yet a second ago. Feyre didn't know what to do, so she sat there and watched in confusion and amazement as Cynthia sobbed.
It was minuted before Cnythia looked up again, tears stained her cheeks from her tears. And Feyre realised, there were a lot of tears. Cynthia's voice cracked as she spoke, and broken soul. She was so tired of keeping on her mask. Being a commander, a strong woman. That mask of the unbreakable, strong fae that she was support to be was shattered before Feyre, and she didn't know what to do. What would Rhys do? "It's so hard to be around you people." She sobbed again, and Feyre's head spun. Why? Why was it hard? What had caused her to break down like that?
Feyre dared to venture "Why?" Was all she said.
Cynthia looked up from her hands, eyes red and puffy. "I can't tell you why. I've been forbidden." She sniffled, calming down. "I shouldn't say anything. I'm not suppose to. It's the rules, cry behind closed doors and windows. Cry where there's no one to watch you. No one can know, no one can find out." Feyre's head spun, as she held out a hand to Cynthia. Cynthia only looked at it, a disgusted look in her eyes. "No one can know."
"Know what?" Feyre pressed, leaning closer to Cynthia. "Who made those rules? What can't anyone know?"
"If I tell you, it defeats the purpose of it being a secret." Her voice cracked with her tears.
"Is it Conn? He was the only one who could have made these 'rules'. The one with power. Cynthia shook her head. But she didn't mean it. Then a thought caught Feyre's mind. She inclined her head, leaning in closer to Cynthia. "Why are you crying?"
Cynthia looked up at Feyre, Tears stained her cheeks, her hair disheveled from grabbing it. The words she spoke stopped Feyre's heart, it stopped the world from turning.
"Under the mountain, you killed by Mate."