A/N: I do not own.

The day would reverberate in his skull for as long as he lived.

It started simply: Tarquin was getting married. And, to his dismay, when a High Lord got married, everyone else showed up. It was a weeklong affair, and Raedan was just beginning to believe he could forget the rather scarring ordeal when he met her.

It was day three of the celebration when, taking pity on the young heir, Uncle Azriel told him to "go on to bed."

So that's what Raedan did. He had gone into his guest bedroom at the Summer Court. He just hadn't gone to sleep. Instead, he'd pulled his Illyrian leathers over his head and promptly winnowed to wherever he could find some damn quiet-

The splash of salty air hit him before his surroundings did. Then his feet found solace in a grove of palm trees, a thankful several miles from the festivities. Inhaling deeply, Raedan closed his eyes and turned his face to the horizon. The setting sun warmed his cheeks, comforting him. It reminded him of a Winter Solstice, when his mother, swollen with child, had taken him out before Starfall. They'd gone down to the Rainbow. In the dying light, Velaris opened up in all its glory. Vendors waved. Performers leaned down to show him their instrument. A woman gave him a paper flower from the fistful she carried in her hands.

Raedan missed those days. His parents loved him- they did- but they had a court to run. A court that, one day, he would inherit. Still, he longed for-

"Are you going to stand there all night?"

Despite all his training that told him to pull a dagger, Raedan did not. Despite his family reputation that told him to react regally, Raedan slumped.

"Well?"

So much for quiet.

The voice was high- obvious a female's- and coated with what could only be described as amusement.

Perturbed, Raedan faced the voice, his violet eyes opening to meet those of…

Oh, holy cauldron.

A moment, or an hour, or perhaps several sunlit days passed in which Raedan scarcely remembered to breathe.

The female had eyes blue as oceans- swimming with a fire of youth and defiance. Locks of gold spilled just beyond her shoulders, framing her thin face. She was sitting against a palm tree, her knees lazily pulled to her chest, making her toned body appear smaller than it was.

Suddenly, her mouth twitched into a quirky smile. Raedan cursed himself as his heart skipped a beat. He was a warrior. Trained to be a soldier since he could-

"You're gawking, batboy."

Raeden's jaw slammed shut. He straightened, regained his compsure as he prepared to diplomatically apologize.

Then she held up her hand. To stop him.

Once again, to his surprise, his mouth closed instantly.

"No," she shrugged, amusement in her eyes. "It's a compliment, I'm sure."

Her assurance was sarcastic at best. She stood and planted her hands on her hips. A twinge of anger boiled in his stomach. Why was he allowing this girl to step all over him like… Deep breath, Raedan. He pushed the poisonous emotion back, channeling the calm his father was known for. Raedan flashed her a smile.

"Of course," he nodded. "You took me by surprise." He extended his hand in greeting. The girl stared at it, unamused, for several moments before taking it.

Her knuckles, when met with his lips, felt like a warrior's. His training had taught him to notice the weapons slung around her hips, of course, but the calluses were not something he was expecting. She was obviously of noble descent- an air of superiority surrounding her entire being. Noble ladies were not often combatants in other courts.

The girl pulled her hand away. Raedan straightened, looking her in the eye.

A beat. A bird started chirping somewhere in the distance.

"What's your name?" Raedan asked finally.

The girl laughed lazily. A genuine, bell-like laugh.

"Guess," she challenged him.

Before he could answer, content to play her little game, she was gone.

The next time Raedan saw her, it was the eve of the ceremony. While Tarquin's betrothed and the rest of the Summer Court argued over last-minute floral arrangements, Raedan hid in the shadows with Azriel.

His curiosity had gotten the best of him. The "girl" (he felt a twinge of guilt, calling her by such a plain name) had, despite his best intentions, occupied his thoughts. As he flew over the Summer Court at night- on purpose above the exact spot he'd met her- he would recall the upward quirk of her lips as she smiled. He could still see her golden tresses- how the dying sunlight made it seem to glow.

Raedan was not infatuated, per se, but rather, curious. He was certain of it. He'd been infatuated before- perhaps even in love- and it had not felt at all like this. In fact-

"Are you keeping up with your drills?"

Azriel's familiar voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"Yes," he responded quickly. "Every morning."

Azriel nodded. "Good. As soon as we get back to the Night Court we can…"

The shadowsinger trailed off. The room, which had been tense for hours, was suddenly dissolving into chaos. This would have been fine, had the majority of Prythian's power not been bottled within the walls. The two Illyrians instinctively reached for their blades.

It seemed everyone else in the room had as well.

Dozens of eyes darted left and right, assessing the danger. In the dead quiet, the sound of a shattering vase could be heard like an explosion.

Every head in the room whipped to the entrance of the room, where she was in the doorway, picking up shards of glass. Feeling the eyes of dozens of people, or perhaps suddenly realizing the tension, the girl looked up.

For a while, no one spoke. Raedan examined the silken material of her blue dress- the elegant bun on the top of her head. His gaze travelled down to her eyes, where she was staring. Her ocean-like orbs were fixed on something behind them.

"Well," Tarquin broke the silence. He turned to his lover, taking her delicate hands in one of his. "I believe we shall be using the gold vases, then."

A murmur of satisfaction swept through the crowd. Those who'd previously been poised for battle relaxed. Raedan caught his mother's gaze as she traversed the room to his Aunt Mor. We have to be entertained by something after two hundred years together, she seemed to say.

The atmosphere returned to normal. Servants began setting up the desired vases around the room. Raedan waited for Azriel to untense beside him before he began to walk toward the doorway, intent on getting a conversation out of the girl through his assistance.

Raedan made a show of putting his hands in his pockets as he casually strolled toward her. Still, her eyes gazed passed him.

What is she looking at?

And then it dawned on him: the golden hair, the blue eyes, the impractical gown..

He stopped, turned around.

His violet eyes travelled through the crowd to the wall parallel to the girl.

The High Lord of Spring stared straight back at her.

Despite the bloodbath that was the family history, Raedan finds himself at her door three hours later. The rehearsal broke up soon after the final arrangements were set, leaving the attendants to their own devices. He was watching his Aunt Mor flirt with a Summer Court female when his father, as suave and serene as ever, clapped him on the shoulder.

"We're going to the Court of Nightmares," Rhys briefed. "You can come, or if you prefer the entertainment-" he inclined his head to where Cassian and Nesta were bickering loudly- "you may stay."

If Rhys was surprised at his son's decision to stay in the Summer Court, he did not show it. Instead, he simply gave him brief instructions before winnowing him and his mother away.

(They got along rather well, Rhys and Raedan. He'd grown up hearing tales of sons killing their fathers for power. Just days after his birth, Eris killed the late Beron of the Autumn Court. Luckily, the King and Prince of Night got along rather well, much to the Inner Circle's glee.)

Following the departure of his parents, Raedan had retired to his quarters. He'd sat at the desk for a solid hour, watching the drawings appear on the wood surface from his little brother, who was with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Raedan was just sending back a smiling stick figure when he felt her- physically felt her- pass by his quarters.

He could almost hear the swish of her pale blue skirts against the stone floor, could almost feel the silken texture on his flesh…

But there was something else.

He smelled the air: no blood, no wound…

Still. Something hung in the air, metallic-like and heavy.

Raedan rose to his feet, cursing the creak of the chair as he did so. Her footsteps were growing fainter, heading west…

He grasped the hilt of his blade as he turned the doorknob and stepped into the hall. The stone floor was hard under his slippered feet- the cold slight cold of the night leaking through.

His heart quickened. Each step brought him closer, until he was knocking on her door.

The doorknob turned. He contemplated winnowing away.

The door creaked open- just enough so he could see her eyes.

"Hello, Auria."

The Daughter of Spring smirked. "Good guess."