"No, thank you," She said, gripping her fork so tightly she was probably trying not to throw it at my head.

The thought made me chuckle despite myself.

"You're going to be a High Lord's wife," I said. "You'll be expected to maintain your own correspondences, perhaps even give a speech or two. And the Cauldron knows what else he and Ianthe will deem appropriate for you. Make menus for dinner parties, write thank-you letters for all those wedding gifts, embroider sweet phrases on pillows … It's a necessary skill. And, you know what? Why don't we throw in shielding while we're at it. Reading and shielding—fortunately, you can practice them together."

"They are both necessary skills," I said through my teeth, "but you are not going to teach me."

I scoffed internally. "What else are you going to do with yourself? Paint? How's that going these days, Feyre?"

"What the hell does it even matter to you?"

"It serves various purposes of mine, of course."

"What. Purposes."

"You'll have to agree to work with me to find out, I'm afraid." Withholding information was like second nature to me— usually—but for some reason it felt odd to not be able to share it with her.

A glint of metal in her hands caught my attention. She had folded her fork into a tangle of metal.

There was that unnatural strength I saw last night. Seemingly brought out whenever she was angry—usually around me. Again the thought made me chuckle. "Interesting."

"You said that last night."

"Am I not allowed to say it twice?"

"That's not what I was implying and you know it."

I looked over her again. There was something inside of her...something she was not born with but made with. I could almost see the extra power coursing through her veins. My own power called to it.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're rather strong for a High Fae?"

"Am I?"

"I'll take that as a no. Have you tested yourself against anyone?"

"Why would I?"

I'm enough of a wreck as it was.

"Because you were resurrected and reborn by the combined powers of the seven High Lords. If I were you, I'd be curious to see if anything else transferred to me during that process," I told her honestly.

"Nothing else transferred to me."

"It'd just be rather … interesting," I smirked at the word, "if it did."

"It didn't, and I'm not going to learn to read or shield with you."

Beneath the mask of bravado I felt hurt. She hated me that much.

"Why? From spite? I thought you and I got past that Under the Mountain."

"Don't get me started on what you did to me Under the Mountain."

I went still.

What I did to her Under the Mountain? I'll admit I had to act like a prick but surely she saw it was for her—to save her—to make sure that Amarantha wouldn't torment her if she thought I was doing it for her. She wouldn't dare think that I enjoyed doing what I did to SAVE her while her own High Lord sat idly by and—

I could feel myself losing control— the fury I kept buried underneath the ice starting to thaw its way through. I could feel my chest start to move, faster and faster as I fought to control the rage. I would not lash out at her—never. I must control my temper, I chanted to myself.

I opened my mouth, leaning forward, and then stopped. That familiar smell of citrus and cinnamon had entered the tension-filled air, and I knew my cousin had come to my rescue. Seeing what was brewing in my eyes, she saved me from saying something i'd regret. I relaxed my features and slid the mask back into place, the lazy grin returning. "We have company. We'll discuss this later."

No, we won't." she started to object, but quick, light footsteps sounded down the hall, and then Mor appeared.

"Hello, hello," she chirped, giving Feyre her patented dazzling smile.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Feyre," I said smoothly, "meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet the lovely, charming, and open-minded Feyre."

Mor strode toward her. "I've heard so much about you," she said, and Feyre got to her feet jutting out her hand.

Mor—of course— ignored it and grabbed my mate into a bone-crushing hug, grinning fiendishly. "You look like you were getting under Rhys's skin," she said, strutting to her seat between us. "Good thing I came along. Though I'd enjoy seeing Rhys's balls nailed to the wall."

I glared at her incredulously.

"It's—nice to meet you."

"Liar," Mor said, pouring herself some tea and loading her plate. "You want nothing to do with us, do you? And wicked Rhys is making you sit here."

Oh we will have words after this...

"You're … perky today, Mor," I said, choosing to use a kinder word that what I was thinking.

Mor's "innocent" eyes lifted to meet mine. "Forgive me for being excited about having company for once."

"You could be attending your own duties," I said testily. Why I chose to appoint such an aggravating Third I will never know.

"I needed a break, and you told me to come here whenever I liked, so what better time than now, when you brought my new friend to finally meet me?"

"You two look nothing alike," Feyre said at last after looking at Mor and I—undoubtedly calculating the nature of our relationship.

"Mor is my cousin in the loosest definition," I said as Mor grinned at me, devouring slices of tomato and pale cheese. "But we were raised together. She's my only surviving family."

"And as my only remaining relative," I went on, "Mor believes she is entitled to breeze in and out of my life as she sees fit."

"So grumpy this morning," Mor said, plopping two muffins onto her plate.

Before I could remind her how grumpy I could really be, Feyre said "I didn't see you Under the Mountain". I held my breath.

"Oh, I wasn't there," Mor replied. "I was in—"

No. Not yet.

"Enough, Mor," I said, hoping my tone was enough to tell her I was serious.

I rose from the table hastily before Feyre could read too much into the interaction. "Mor will be here for the rest of the week, but by all means, do not feel that you have to oblige her with your presence."

Mor stuck out her tongue at me, the child. I rolled my eyes.

I examined her plate. I would never, ever order her to do anything…. but I would always make sure she had all that she wanted. "Did you eat enough?"

She nodded. Though my male instincts were roaring at me that she hadn't had enough at all, all I replied with was, "Good. Then let's first lesson awaits."

Mor—who I knew was analyzing my every word behind her facade of nonchalance— said, "If he pisses you off, Feyre, feel free to shove him over the rail of the nearest balcony."

I gave my cousin a smooth, filthy gesture before striding down the hall.