Prologue - Part I

I felt her before I saw her.

The Grand Hall was teeming with its usual excess; the edged sconces and lavishly decorated tables paled in comparison to the glittering jewels and embellished textiles adorning the High Fae of the Court of Nightmares. I could have tolerated the opulence, if not for the feel of the crowd: I thought I might suffocate from the multitude of overinflated auras pushing against my chest and stomach, all vying for the biggest, most prominent space in the room.

My ridiculous outfit wasn't helping. Rhysand had insisted we avoid dressing as if we were still at War, and so I exchanged my battle gear, as secure and comfortable as a second skin, for a gaudy, velvet tunic. Although mercifully less embroidered than those surrounding me, I could still feel the ornamental thread scratching my neck and poking me through my linen undershirt, reminding me that if I judged this Court too harshly for their obsession with image, I need only look down at my equally ludicrous costume to find the same.

The Nightmare Fae were flamboyantly illuminated by hundreds of glamours, used to shimmer skin, broaden shoulders, enhance scents, amplify the feel of small magic, anything they could think of to ensure they felt the upper hand amongst their peers as they mingled. The result was a gigantic room filled with garish, cloying auras, all jostling against each other as various social circles melded and weaved into each other in a meticulously choreographed, aristocratic display.

I wondered what all of these High Fae, gathered for an evening of pretense and revelry, would think if they could see their own thinly-veiled insecurity the way I could, glaring above them like so many overlapping beacons, as if highlighting the mottled underbelly of a gigantic, decaying beast. Another moment showed me they had no need for my ability after all, as I felt their auras swell and shrink in time with the flutter of fans and carefully chosen words, pointed glances and imitation smiles.

I felt a feather-light tendril of shadow glide smoothly up my neck and along my jaw, and I braced myself as the murmured voice of a High Fae from across the Hall pressed itself against my temple. 'Perhaps tonight will be the night I get my hands on one of those gorgeous brutes. I would even take the sinister one. Alas, he's so much more handsome than the other, if only I didn't have to look at those hideous shadows.' Another shadow immediately followed the first, jabbing an icy hiss into my ear: 'Do not tell me you are being serious. Just look at that ill-bred cur, standing there like he owns the place. I cannot believe those two are even allowed in the Grand Hall. It's an affront to our very being. You'd be better off bedding one of those handsome fellows-in-waiting, over there; they may be well beneath us, but at least they're still Fae.' Then, a third, carrying a prickly, taunting laugh: 'Myself, I'd take my chances with one of each, to see which species fares better. I'm sure they'd slaver all over themselves for even the smallest opportunity with someone of our status. After all, what other use is there for them, and what better cure for our boredom? It's a double-win, I'd say.'

I hated it here. I willed myself to stay perfectly still, keeping my face neutral as I surveyed the crowd, trying my hardest to ignore the shadows swirling around me, delivering words I would rather not hear. Try as I might, however, one still managed to find its target: a dark tendril slithered over my earlobe, leaving an oily trace in its wake. They're right, you know. You and your no-status brother are only allowed into the Grand Hall because your Lord allows it. You may dress the part all you want, but the High Fae see you for exactly as you are: nothing but an ill-bred cur, riding the coattails of royalty.

I gritted my teeth in an effort to mentally shove the shadow away from me, and it let out a low chuckle before slinking back down my neck, though not before depositing a couple of additional scathing comments from the crowd directly into my ear. They were enjoying this, the shadows; they reveled in the latent poison in the air, following every movement of the slick, calculated conversations flitting about the room from their perch on my nape.

I spotted a High Fae general taking up a swaggering path back and forth through the Hall, puffing out his decorated chest and preening to any females who looked his way, and promptly had to bite back a grimace. During the War, the only "battlefield" I knew were the generals' war tents, overflowing with a pomposity that made the room I was standing in seem modest. Never mind that I held rank as a warrior, a position that I had prided myself on, that had taken years to achieve; never mind that combat training had been my only escape, the only thing that kept the shadows at bay, even for a short while. All of that effort, all of that discipline was laid to waste, and I was assigned to instead lurk in shadowed corners of various tents, privy to the commanders' animalistic grunts more often than their back-room alliances or potential coup attempts.

I supposed I should be grateful to be coddling a room full of fragile auras instead of being subjected to everything the shadows had lanced through my ears during the War. These frivolous conversations were better than the alternative, I told myself as I shook off my revulsion. The shadows were bad enough; I refused to give these High Fae the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort in their presence.

I glanced across the Hall, towards the center of the room where Rhysand sat on his dais, equally ill at ease amongst this Court, though able to hide it better than I could. The quills of his aura were smoothed over by a thin veneer of polite detachment as he discussed the implementation of the post-war treaties and proceedings with the Lord Noble of the Court of Nightmares. Only a few more hours of this hellscape, I thought to myself, and then we may all go back home, not to return for another long while. At least, I hoped not.

Suddenly, a slight tremor in the air made me internally straighten, putting me on higher alert as I continued my purview of the crowd.

The Court were at their typical obliviousness, unaware of anything other than each others' extravagance. I turned my attention instead to the bodyguards and personal casters, who stood discreetly a few feet away from their High Fae. The bodyguards were calm, their hands relaxed at their sides or casually braced against their belts, and the magic casters seemed only to be focused on providing the preferred features to their Fae. Everything appeared to be normal.

I felt for Cassian's aura, and found the thick, obstinate sphere a few feet away from me, stretched slightly taut and bristling mildly with disquiet, but not out of the ordinary. He hadn't detected anything, either, though that didn't surprise me. I would get his attention only if absolutely necessary, so as to avoid creating a needless disruption in the crowd.

I started to look harder around the room, allowing myself to glance along the periphery of the massive Hall: a captain leaning against a pillar, leering down at a young female; a high-status noble bathed in glamour, waiting for suitors to flock to its lurid flame; a young Fae trying to catch the eye of a higher-born female amidst a crowd of hopefuls, their auras clashing together in a muddle of tarnished silvers and bronzes. Nothing unusual.

I hated it: not the feeling of danger so much as my inability to locate it. The myriad distractions were typically nothing for me, not when I had to constantly contend with the shadows, but I couldn't help wishing there were fewer High Fae in the room. Perhaps I was missing something important, some silent, imperceptible signal before an attack.

I rifled through my mental list of known dissenters as I scanned the Hall. Although the Court of Nightmares had lain low during the War, hiding in their lair until most of the danger had passed, there were still many loyalists who had been weeded out in the years following, and their remaining relations might very well be biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to exact revenge.

I mentally called to Rhysand while continuing my search of the crowd, keeping my face carefully blank. He noted my unease and started to scan the essences of the room as well, all while maintaining a composed conversation with the Head Noble regarding the various goings-on of the Court of Nightmares.

The presence continued, and I realized then that I wasn't feeling the auras around me change. No, these vibrations were igniting something within me, something that made me want to launch myself away from this place, and I couldn't for the life of me find the source. I turned my head to scan the outermost edges of the room. Nothing could be seen; no offensive magic could be detected by either one of us.

I watched as Rhysand dared a casual, bored glance around the Hall, yet couldn't sense any danger for himself. I started to see the beginnings of a prickly aura of concern forming around him, growing sharper as he noticed my teeth setting further and further on edge.

A thorny shadow instantly latched its spines around the fleshy curve of my ear. How dare you compromise the safety of your Lord. This entire room will smell his fear in a heartbeat. What use are you, if you cannot protect your Court? Whatever it is, find it, and quickly.

Just then, I saw the Master of Ceremonies give a single nod to the Fae guards flanking the entrance, and before I could signal to Rhysand or Cassian, they had already started to unbolt the gigantic, oaken doors. I hated how unprepared I felt for whatever was behind them; I readied my guard, and cautioned Rhysand to do the same as the doors to the Grand Hall slowly creaked open.

A single, panicked moment, and then from the darkness stepped dozens of Fae servants, carrying various platters stacked with gently rattling plates and goblets, all ready to serve the Court their food and drink for the evening. I let out a breath, feeling like a fool for my overreaction but relieved nonetheless.

I sent a quick current of reassurance to Rhysand, and drew in a slow, deep breath, working to push the tremors out and away from my body.

I was about to resume my watch over the crowd when I felt it again: that overwhelming presence, much stronger now, sending rhythmic pulses of energy skittering over the surface of my nape, down my spine, along the outer edges of my wings.

I could barely stand it. With each beat, the sensation intensified, raising every last hair on my head, nearly setting my teeth to chattering. As I fought to remain calm against my mounting anxiety, I felt Rhysand send a call to me, a single, questioning toll against the back edge of my skull.

And in that moment, the room started to shift.

Starting from the great doors and rippling through the Grand Hall, a wave of silence fell over the Court of Nightmares, as noble and esteemed High Fae made way for the small, lesser human.