The first thing I registered was the silky touch of fabric draped over my legs. It extended, I felt through the weight, over my stomach and ended just after breaching my sternum. I had never felt anything quite like the welcoming it gave, the unrelenting desire to just keep my eyes closed and mould into the fabric and hope that it could keep me within its web for eternity. But regardless of how comfortable the silk draped over me was a twisting, blunt pain in my stomach was louder and much more ferocious on my senses. It made the silk fabric feel like a prison.

My eyelids peeled apart, and with a few slow blinks, they adjusted themselves to the muted light of the room that I lay in. The first thing I could take note of was the glossed stone floor. I couldn't perceive its true colours under the dim light of an early night, but there was a palette of different shades like unmixed paint.

I pushed my legs across the mattress until the skin connected with the temperate air and then I slid them down until my toes graced the stone floor. It was cool, but not unbearably so. Sitting up, the blanket which felt like silk – but was not – fell into my lap in a small heap and my gaze fell down to my aching body.

Aching being used heavily.

I felt better than I had in weeks. My muscles were stiff but it felt more like the good stiff that you gained after a hard day of training. I was wearing the bare minimum of my previous attire. No more torn overshirt and leather leg braces, just a simple shirt and pants. I had a few notable places of patchwork performed – a few stitches here and there. My wings felt heavy and weak, but I could also sense the pain of healing and they too had been tended to. My feet were the worst of it all, along with my wings. They still had bruises and scrapes but trying to add anything on them to heal would only be ruined unless my takers expected me to not leave the confinements of my room.

I looked back up to the door which was crafted into the wall parallel to the left side of the bed. It was shut and I imagine myself twisting the handle only to find it jarring with the slightest turn. Without anything else to wait for, I surged from the bedside and strode across the silent, empty room towards the door. Laying my hand on the handle, I took a moment of pause to think, then twisted.

The handle clicked under my fingers and the hinges easily let it swing open. I watched it move outwards on its own, like an invitation for me to use it. I couldn't quite believe it at first. I darted over the threshold, envisioning it slamming shut and the echo of the sound it makes taunting me.

The hallway was better lit than the room, but it was still just as empty.

But the place wasn't. I could sense the presence of others somewhere, as though their energies drifted through like a gentle wind. I considered using my skills to find them; to search the building and look for a way out and who I would face finding it. But the unknowingness of what this place entails left me jittery at the thought of leaving my body vulnerable if my mind was someplace else. I could not protect myself in that state.

Finally, barefoot and wings hanging, I crept along the stone-floored path towards the direction that the energies seemed to radiate from. The walls were a crimson colour and seemed to be carved from stone as well, but not as polished or refined as the floor.

I pass more rooms and even a few off-shoots of the main hall which I saw led to spaces outdoors. Every now and then, I peak out of a window and find that in whatever place I am, it is above sea level, and above the other inhabitants.

My pace slows upon reaching the end of the hallway, which transforms into a short carving of stairs and down into a slightly lower level gallery that I could not see into as it hard large, closed arch doors of frosted glass. But I could hear through it. Two of the voices I heard were familiar, one was not. It was light but powerful and feminine.

"I think it's a good thing," the deepest voice declared. The general, I pinpointed.

"I'm not saying it isn't," the strong, feminine voice stated in agreeance. There was the soft click of heels against the stone. "Just..."

"I believe it is rude to talk about guests while they are still here," the third and final voice called out. Rhysand. It was louder than the general and woman's and I knew instantly that it was a gesture towards my secretive arrival. I wasn't too sure what to make of being called a guest. But I supposed, that having my wounds tended to, waking up in a bed inside an unlocked room was more suggestive of being a guest than a prisoner.

Taking a long breath, I took three long strides forward with my aching soles and pushed one of the frosted glass doors open. The gallery was wide and tall-roofed. There was little furniture besides a few seats, a lowered table and accented artwork to fill in the spaces. Rhysand stood between the two others, wearing now a simple, half-unbuttoned black shirt and pants to match. His wings were gone and his pointed ears were easy to see over his short and styled hair. Cassian stood to his right, also wearing something of more casual attire but there were no buttons on his full-length shirt. His long hair was pulled into a lazy bun near his neck.

The woman, on the left, had golden blonde hair that cascaded like a flowery picture down her chest and back. Her dark red dress would be a promiscuous style in the camps but she wore it well and confidently and her skin was so beautiful that it would have been a shame to cover so much of it anyway.

Their heads turned to me with a various range of expressions. I only bothered to read the High Lord's. "A guest?" I called to him, walking down one step at a time. "Is that what I am?"

Rhysand flicked his brows upwards and shoved a hand deep into his pocket. "A guest of the house. It may be your permanent residence one day. Or it may not be. Depends on the choices you make."

I felt the hidden threat behind his light and teasing words. But it was a threat that anybody would face if they were a threat to something so it did not pierce me with any more fear than I had faced already.

The woman chose that moment to walk up to me, stopping a foot away. "You must be Annika," she said. "I'm Mor."

I gave her a weak smile and nod. "I am. It's..." I chose my words carefully, but they felt right. "Nice to meet you." And it was. Mor looked nothing but comfortable around these males, even in clothes that would call a lot of attention back in my own home. It said many things about her and these men – good things I struggled to believe.

"How are you feeling?"

It took me a moment to tear my eyes away from Mor who was keenly reading me as well but I met the hard gaze of the general who questioned me. I gave a small shrug and another smile. "Sore," I admitted. "But better than I would have been."

"You tried to run from us," he pointed out with a single brow raised. His words were more to tease me for my actions than incriminate me.

"I won't apologise for trying to find the safest path," I snapped, nevertheless. "I am aware of your titles and who you are but that does not mean that I trust you." I held Cassian's sharp gaze for as long as I could before looking to the High Lord. "I have had people, both with authority and without, use me simply for my powers before and care little for my wellbeing as long as I could use them."

"I said I would train you," the High Lord offered. He exhaled deeply through his nose and strode forward. "Yes, I would like to utilise your abilities for the benefit of my court and the safety of my home. But I am not one of those camp lords. In return, you have sanctuary, training, pay. It is a job but I like to think that it is a little bit more than that."

His last choice of words poked at my curiosity. I looked to Mor once more as she was the only indication I had of what their females are treated like in this place. Her hands were gracefully clasped by her pelvis, shoulders posed but untensed. "Will I have agency?" Rhysand goes to answer, but I cut him off. "I'm not asking you. Your word means nothing to me. A versed leader can pour lies easier than a Suriel speaks the truth. I want to know what one of your subjects has to say." I gestured firmly to Mor.

Rhysand raised his brows and cocked his chin upwards, but he too looked to Mor in wait of an answer. Mor unclasped her hands and rested them on her hips. "I am not Rhys' subject," she corrected, despite Rhysand's mirthful humph. "But there is no place I would rather be," she added, "And you will be treated well here."

I took my time to deliberate her words. Not that they had any second meaning to them, but they just sounded too delightful to be true. Good treatment typically led to owing someone a favour, and it was never as simple as collecting dinner for someone. "Where am I?"

"City of Velaris," Rhysand answered proudly. "Also known as the Court of Dreams, a safe haven for people that are content under my rule. Those who were not pleased to see me, reside in what you know as Hewn city." I glanced towards the right where a large window overlooked the city I had glimpsed at before. A hint of a smile rose to my lips as I dared imagine what such a city with the name Court of Dreams would look like. Something far more magical than I had ever been to. "Just know-" Rhysand added and my lips dropped flat "-that it is secret and I intend for it to remain that way. I will not hesitate to do what I need to, to protect this city and the people inside of it."

"I would expect nothing less if this place is what you are making it out to be," I replied. "And I hope it is. I've never had a home that I've been willing to give my life for. Or a leader worth sacrificing for. But I've always been willing to give my life to escape them."

"And what leaders have you served under?" the general called. "You still haven't told us what happened to you." His hazel eyes locked on my wings, observing the tears and brazes that I tried to not look at. "Or what camp you come from."

"Sulwood," I told them. "That was where I spent most of my youth."

My exclusion of the events that led me to Windhaven did not go amiss, but mercifully I was not pressed on the matter. Rhysand strode forward. "You've been asleep for a day now, I would presume that you are hungry." I nodded consciously as that indeed was what woke me. The High Lord stretched a hand out to my bicep but I pulled myself away before his skin could touch mine. I watched his hand hover out of the corner of my eye, but it dropped and never reached for me again. "Mor," he called. "Why don't you see to Annika being fed."

I lifted my gaze from the floor to the woman who came nodded with a warm smile. As she gave Rhysand her agreeance, I glanced at the general who still stood behind her. His eyes were squinted – something he seemed to do when he was thinking. "Come with me," Mor said, pulling my attention back to her. She nodded her head towards an off-shoot of the large gallery. "We have a small room that you can eat in. There is a proper dining hall but it is ridiculous for just the two of us."

I nodded and followed after her. Mor led me to a comfortably sized room with a small wooden table and soon a bowl of soup appeared before me. She sat down on the adjacent edge of the table and started to speak to me about this house that I was in. I listened for a while, but while she was distracted in her own whimsical retellings, I took a moment to use my powers. I ducked my head to cover my white-turned eyes and the world around me dissolved.

I saw another room, inside of my head – the gallery – as Rhysand and the general walked towards the hallway that I had come from, slowly stepping up the stairs.

"Curious one, isn't she?" the general mused.

Rhysand gave his friend an amused, but curious pinch in his brow. "In what way?"

Cassian shrugged, his wings flexing and then relaxing. "I don't know," he answered slowly.

I sunk back into my own surroundings just in time to hear Mor question me about the room I was sleeping in. "It was fine," I said quietly. "Thank you."