"So, that went well", Mor commented, noting the anger still lingering on my face. Of course she was listening to the entire exchange and caught me in the other room.

I snarled, not in the mood.

"I've never seen anyone get under your skin that fast...not even me or cassian," she wondered aloud, more to herself than me.

"Well she is my equal. Apparently that means she'll hate me as equally as I love her," I said bitterly.

"Rhys…," she started wearily.

"Don't bother Mor—"

"No. Rhys you need to tell her. Tell her that she's your mate. She's only recently fae she won't be able to feel it herself yet, but if you tell her—"

"I can't tell her! You don't understand," I burst, more angry at the universe than at my Third. "She's so broken, Mor..she's still trying to figure out who she is. She's so distraught from the guilt of what she had to do Under the Mountain that its overshadowing whatever she's trying to find in herself. I can't drop this bomb on her, telling her who to love and who she belongs to—I can't put her in another prison."

"I doubt loving you would be prison," Mor interjected.

"Pressuring her into loving me would be the same thing. And you're forgetting a certain golden haired High Lord that she happens to be in love with," I reminded her.

She scoffed. "That prissy little Male with his rules and his traditions—bah anyone would get sick of him eventually."

Smiling reluctantly, I remembered why I had missed my cousin so much down in that mountain.

I listened to the trickle of bathwater and the soft pad of her feet coming from her room up the stairs as I waited patiently for her at the breakfast table.

When the table started to shake I realized I had been bouncing my leg up and down unconsciously, hitting the edge of the table.

Get a grip, Rhysand. You've fought in wars and faced death a thousand times, and here you are nervous about breakfast with a girl. What a mighty High Lord.

Becoming bored of the sound of my own pathetic thoughts, I reached for the bond between us and pulled, summoning her like I did the day after she died. I chuckled, guessing her indignation at being summoned.

Stupid, insufferable prick summoning me like it's some servant's bell

I laughed softly, looking away towards the horizon to hide my smile as her curses became louder and more colorful as she descended the staircase and made to join me at the table.

"I'm not a dog to be summoned," she said by way of greeting.

I looked over my shoulder and studied her.

She was wearing Night Court attire—loose, billowing high-waisted peach pants that gathered at the ankles and a matching top that hung just to her navel, revealing a sliver of skin as she walked reluctantly towards me and took a seat.

The sight of her wearing my court's clothes gave me no small amount of primal male satisfaction. Not just from the exotic, feminine beauty they brought out in her but from the small (and most likely reluctant) amount of trust she had to place in me to wear them. However as I noted her ribs visible beneath the gossamer shirt and the looseness of the waistband of the pants I frowned. Did her beloved High Lord not notice his already slender fiancee losing weight?

"'I didn't want you to get lost," I replied at last.

"I thought it'd always be dark here," she told me, eyeing the pot of tea steaming in the middle of the table.

"We're one of the three Solar Courts. Our nights are far more beautiful, and our sunsets and dawns are exquisite, but we do adhere to the laws of nature."

"And do the other courts choose not to?"

"The nature of the Seasonal Courts," I said, "is linked to their High Lords, whose magic and will keeps them in eternal spring, or winter, or fall, or summer. It has always been like that—some sort of strange stagnation. But the Solar Courts—Day, Dawn, and Night—are of a more … symbolic nature. We might be powerful, but even we cannot alter the sun's path or strength. Tea?"

She splashed some milk in the tea, staring at the liquid. "Why is it so warm in here, when winter is in full blast out there?"

"Magic."

"Obviously,"she replied shortly "But why?"

I liked that she was no nonsense. She reminded me of my mother when I'd said something stupid as child.

"You heat a house in the winter—why shouldn't I heat this place as well? I'll admit I don't know why my predecessors built a palace fit for the Summer Court in the middle of a mountain range that's mildly warm at best, but who am I to question?"

I watched as she scooped some fruit onto her plate. Her slender arms had become thin, and her fingers wrapped around the spoon had become wan. "You've lost weight," I said quietly, knowing she wouldn't like me ordering to eat more.

"You're prone to digging through my head whenever you please," she said, stabbing a piece of melon with her fork. "I don't see why you're surprised by it."

I put the mask in place, smiling to hide the worry that I'm sure was unwelcome."Only occasionally will I do that. And I can't help it if you send things down the bond."

"How does it work—this bond that allows you to see into my head?" she asked reluctantly.

"Think of the bargain's bond as a bridge between us—and at either end is a door to our respective minds. A shield. My innate talents allow me to slip through the mental shields of anyone I wish, with or without that bridge—unless they're very, very strong, or have trained extensively to keep those shields tight. As a human, the gates to your mind were flung open for me to stroll through. As Fae … " I shrugged. "Sometimes, you unwittingly have a shield up—sometimes, when emotion seems to be running strong, that shield vanishes. And sometimes, when those shields are open, you might as well be standing at the gates to your mind, shouting your thoughts across the bridge to me. Sometimes I hear them; sometimes I don't."

She scowled, her soft, bow shaped mouth turning down into a pout. "And how often do you just rifle through my mind when my shields are down?".

The mask fell away. She thought I would just invade her mind for entertainment...that I would violate her more than she's already been violated if I didn't have to.

"When I can't tell if your nightmares are real threats or imagined. When you're about to be married and you silently beg anyone to help you. Only when you drop your mental shields and unknowingly blast those things down the bridge. And to answer your question before you ask, yes. Even with your shields up, I could get through them if I wished. You could train, though—learn how to shield against someone like me, even with the bond bridging our minds and my own abilities."

She ignored the offer, true to form. "What do you want with me? You said you'd tell me here. So tell me."

Remembering the trial where it had almost killed her, and knowing it would be essential for what I needed her to do I replied, "For this week? I want you to learn how to read."