Author: Jordan "jwootan02" on fanfic dotnet and "jaryn02" on wattpad and ao3
POV: Brynle
Other Works By This Author:
A Court of Night and Shadows: Elain's favorite folklore of the fae mating bond was never so real as when Feyre comes face to face with her rescuer at Fire Night and that internal, invincible twine snaps into place.
My Brother's Keeper: Rhysand's sister is alive and Under the Mountain by his side, the Night Court whores. She finds solace in a sexual relationship with Eris only to find out Tamlin, High Lord of Spring, is her mate just as his lover, Feyre swoops in the save them all.
Chapter One:
Brynle
"You look disgusting," I tell my father who's determined to make this "party" something the likes of which Prythian has never seen before, or so he says.
"It's called dapper," he says back to me while he buttons a copper cape that matches his burnished auburn hair beneath his throat, the thick velvet falling to his knees. He's standing before a mirror, my image a small reflection in his backdrop as he stares down his own nervous eyes. I shouldn't give him a hard time before he faces all the other High Lords and not their emissaries for the first time in over a century, but I can't help it. He's just so easy to goad.
I roll my eyes and step up to rest a hand on his shoulder. "It's called old. What are you, ten thousand now?"
"Six hundred or so," he says, brushing off my touch. "And what are you, five?"
I stick out my tongue at his mirror self.
"Thought so," he says before turning to face me in the small closet nook within his quarters, a candle lit on every surface behind us as the bedroom stretches to fit his ungodly large oak furniture. We use only candles for light within the Forest House, their flames a constant reminder of who we are, for ourselves and all those who lay their eyes on our power.
Eris, High Lord of the Autumn Court, raises one eyebrow when he sees me. "Are you sure you want to go looking like that?"
My long sleeved midnight gown twinkles with its blue undercurrents and I shrug. "Why not?"
"Because you belong to Autumn Court? Because tonight is a big night for us. Because the Night Court is the closest thing we have to allies right now and," he lets out a low scoff eyeing his defeat, "never mind. We're late."
He slips past me and after a lingering glance at my reflection, at the face of a woman I hardly even recognize, save for the hair I share with my father, I follow him. The candles in our path light as we make our way down the halls of teak and mahogany, the festive smells of pumpkin and cinnamon spice growing stronger with each step. A small part of me questions whether I made the right choice in challenging another court with something as simple as the clothes I met them in, but it's too late to change my mind.
We pass guard after guard and the occasional messenger, someone purposed with the simple task of learning information and bringing it to my father immediately, and I bat my lashes at each and every one. A favorite of mine with glowing green eyes sucks in a staggering breath as I light the candle at his side even long after my father and I have walked by.
Something about having rules has never sat well with me. And given that my father and uncles all preside over my life, dating has never quite been a safe option for me. But today…
Today could be different. Today I have the opportunity. Today we are finally opening up our doors to the rest of Prythian. Today, I'll have my taste of freedom beyond the ever enclosing walls of this never ending home that is my family name - my pride and my curse.
The sounds of the masses stirring kisses my ears as we weave through the upper level of our home. Perhaps if I were ever to leave this endless wooden maze I might know where all my restlessness comes from. I tear at the corner of my thumb nail with my teeth as the whispers turn to chatter, its clanging music echoing off the hallway, surrounding the taps of our feet as we click in unison to the waiting noise.
"Ah, there you are," Aalaric says as my father turns the last corner before the stairs to the northern hearth room. Aalaric has kept my family organized since before I was ever born, and though the grey haired fae is near fading, my father has kept him at his side, in our home, despite the fact that I would have probably made him retire a century ago. "Nearly everyone is here."
My father nods and I hold my chin up high and check that my shoulders are straight. He looks back at me, and for a second I think I can see why everyone says I have my father's eyes. They seem tired after all these years of solitude. It's not only me who has locked themselves within our borders for far too long.
To my surprise, he extends a hand to me. "Ready?" he asks and with a steadying breath, I nod and reach for him. He gives me hand a quick squeeze before letting go.
He slides on the mask of the High Lord like a second skin, a heavy, brutal obligation that hits me like a punch in the gut everytime I see it. The clamour beneath the staircase falls to a hush as my father steps into view and though I considered hiding in my rooms for this event, I follow his footsteps once again, always watching from a few paces behind.
There are bodies everywhere. Fae, High Fae. Male, female. All shapes and sizes, the clothing all strikingly different. The effect is jarring. I have never felt that I was missing out on life amongst the other courts as my father had portrayed it during the war, but now… One woman is wearing robes that cover her head to toe, all but her eyes, and not ten paces away are two women with completely exposed stomachs, their clothes loose, but made to show off the shape of their feminine bodies.
I can see why we had to host them in the northern chambers. This gathering room is our largest, centering around the wildfire within the massive stone hearth that remains lit at all hours of the day and night by the power of the High Lord. The space is peppered with extra seating and a few buffet tables for food. If this was only some of our guests, we might need to open up the northwestern wing as well.
"Good evening," my father says, his voice a boom through the great room. "Thank you all for coming. Tomorrow the High Lords will congregate to discuss the great plague that has been purging our peoples, but for tonight," he pauses and I could honestly gag that he's trying to build dramatic suspense. "Tonight everyone enjoy yourselves."
"Here here!" someone shouts and a few other fae raise their glasses in a cheer.
The stairs descending to the waiting fae below are possibly the greatest enemy I've ever faced, despite the years I've spent hunting throughout our country. The faces of the many fae blur together as one, all strange and unfamiliar.
"Who knew you had such a way with words?" A voice says through the crowd.
I ignore the pang of childishness I feel at following my father around as I watch him turn toward a High Fae male dressed in head to toe black. "Rhysand, my friend, how are you faring these days?"
The High Lord of the Night Court chuckled. "Friend? Oh, fatherhood must have made you soft, Eris."
"Not exactly the term I would use to describe him," I smart and Rhysand raises his brows at me.
"My, aren't you bold?" he purrs giving my dress a once over just as one of the women with their midriff showing approach at his side. "Feyre, darling, you remember Eris?"
Her smile stings when I look at it, not reaching her blue-grey eyes, the uncertainty of its authenticity creeping into my belly. "How could I forget?" she answers before turning to me. "And you are?"
I try not to show my fear. "Brynle."
"My daughter." My father confirms.
Feyre nods. "A pleasure to meet you. I like your dress," she says just as someone shoves me from behind.
"Watch it," I mumble as they disappear into the crowd, but not before I spotted the strangest yellow eyes…
"This is my son, Vega," Feyre says, pulling my attention back to her. At first I think I'm seeing double before I finally realize their son is an exact replica of his father; His hair is effortless and dark as a raven's feathers, his eyes are such a deep blue they seem violet in the amber light of the hearth fire. "You two are about the same age and so is…" she trails off, searching the room. "There," she points to a girl with short black hair wearing a black, brocaded jumpsuit - her fringe lighting her bright blue eyes as she talks to a dark skinned male in a fine plum tunic. "That's my daughter Lyra and then the youngest, Nyx, is off running around with his bargain friend," she sighed and shared a look with Rhysand.
"Your youngest has already made a bargain?" my father asks.
Rhys shrugs. "What can you do?"
"Rhysand!" a deep voice calls and we all turn to face another High Fae, this one with dark skin and hair as light and warm as a white sand beach. Behind him, a male who must be his son follows in his wake, akin to the way I follow my own father.
I avoid eye contact.
"Tarquin! High Lord of Summer, long time no see," Rhysand says with a laugh brushing his hand on the Lord's shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah," Tarquin smiles, "It took long enough to get you out of my house for your beach vacation last month and now you're just popping right back up in my life."
Feyre snorts. "It is what he does best."
Tarquin returns a grin to the High Lady before facing my father. "Eris," he says, his voice low, "Good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."
My father nods. "Yes, I wouldn't wish this blight on my worst enemies."
"Mm," he agrees before turning to the male at his side. "This is my son and heir, Merytt."
Merytt reaches out a hand and, surprisingly, my father takes it. "This is my daughter, Brynle."
Not heir. Never heir.
All the time he spends with me working on diplomacy and strategy, on war and battle and yet he's never once spoken of whether I would inherit his land, his people, his power.
"Hello," I say, keeping my voice at that perfect level between too weak and too bold, something I'd had to learn the hard way long ago.
"You're beautiful," Merytt says and my head jerks back. Not what I expect from a political meeting.
"I know," I counter and, unwilling to face my own boldness, turn and go.
I push through the throng of gathered fae from all the courts throughout Prythian in one of my living rooms. Their feet wearing on my family's ageless hand woven rugs, their eyes judging all of our hard won skins and horns that dawn the mahogany walls. Food is filtering in from servants running to and from the kitchens with our delicacies, our favorites - meats I have personally worked hard for, scouring the northern mountains near the Winter border for days at a time.
"Sharing is caring," a small voice says, so small I almost think it's in my head. But no, I look down as I near an edge in the room and there's a boy, no older than eight with dark hair and familiar bright, blue-grey eyes.
"What did you say?" I ask.
"It's okay to share, you know," he says matter-of-fact, not offering an explanation.
Something cold slides down my throat and settles in my gut. I'm sure I wasn't saying any of that out loud.
Then the lights go out.
Immediately I send out a wave of magic that crashes into my father's as we re-light all the candles, even letting a few flames hover on their own in some of the darker corners. The crowd is a flurry of hushed fear, everyone searching for the cause.
"A storm is coming." someone says over my shoulder.
A chill runs down my spine as I turn to face that ragged, familiar voice.
"Mira!" I scream-whisper. "What are you doing here?"
My peculiar almost friend has that weird look in her eyes again. "Something is brewing, Brynle of Autumn."
I sigh and look toward my father to make sure he hasn't noticed us. "You're being creepy. What are you talking about?"
Her dark matted hair hangs stiff down her shoulders. "I sensed something… off."
"Off?" I repeat. "What does off mean?"
She starts looking around the room restlessly and I can't help thinking she's worrying for her dog that must be waiting somewhere outside for her. "There's something evil going on here, Brynle. It's not safe. I came…" she pauses, turning back to look at me with those large, ominous eyes. "I came to check on the threat."
"I promise you, Mira, there's no threat here except for me if I can't stop freaking out," I say, shaking my head.
"Freaking out?" she echoes as if she's never heard the term.
"Yes, freaking out. Not being myself. Doing and saying weird things."
She looks at me for an uncomfortable moment longer before saying, "I think I'm freaking out too."
My laugh is quick, but efficient. My mood has officially been lightened.
"Bryn!" my father's voice calls out from across the room and my nerves crash back into my crawling skin.
"I've gotta go," I tell Mira, my new, but only friend. I found her wandering in the mountains a few weeks ago with nothing but her dog, massive and black as a shadow. I've been housing her in an old abandoned stone cottage not far from my wing of the Forest House. "But you should stick around the party. Go get some food for you and Kona. I'll come find you before I go to bed tonight, cool?"
She nods and though I don't believe her, I leave her behind to follow after my father.
"I want to introduce you to someone," he says once I'm close enough to hear, but something is off about his voice. He turns to look at another High Fae, smaller than my father but almost similar looking with a single russet eye and red hair, though the hue is off. "This is Lucien, High Lord of the Day Court, and my youngest brother."
Of course I have another uncle.
But before I can smart off any of the possibly offensive things I've thought to say, something cold whispers through my chest, sucking the air right from my lungs and I waver on my feet. Just as my father does the same all the candles burn out at once and there's nothing but darkness.
