In the end, only Amren, Feyre and Nala joined Rhys, Cassian having failed to sway his High Lord, Azriel still off overseeing his and Nala's network of spies and investigating the human realm, and Mor was tasked with guarding Velaris. Rhys would winnow them directly into Adriata, the castle-city of the Summer Court – and there they would stay, for however long it took Feyre to detect and then steal the first half of the Book.

As Rhys's newest pet, Feyre would be granted tours of the city and the High Lord's personal residence. If they were lucky no one would realize that Rhys's lapdog was in fact a bloodhound. And that was Nala's job, making sure that none paid any attention to what Feyre were doing.

Rhys, Amren and Nala stood in the town house foyer the next day, the rich morning sunlight streaming through the windows and pooling on the ornate carpet. Amren wore her usual shades of gray – her loose pants cut to just beneath her navel, the billowing top cropped to show the barest slice of skin along her midriff. Alluring as a calm sea under a cloudy sky.

Rhys was dressed head-to-toe in a black suit accented with silver thread – no wings. The cool, cultured male the Archeron sister's first met. His favorite mask.

Nala wore a tight black dress with long sleeves and a deep back with silver chains. The dress was floor length and had a tight top with a puff skirt. The dress screamed night and darkness, it suited Nala perfectly.

Feyre were dressed in a flowing lilac dress, its skirts floating on a phantom wind beneath the silver-and-pearl-crusted belt at her waist. Matching night-blooming silver flowers had been embroidered to climb from the hem to brush her thighs, and a few more twined down the folds at her shoulders. The perfect gown to combat the warmth of the Summer Court.

It swished and signed as she descended the last two stairs in the foyer. Rhys surveyed her with a long, unreadable sweep from her silver-slippered feet to her half-up hair. Nuala had curled the strands that had been left down – soft, supple curls that brought out the gold in her hair.

Nala whistled at her sister, making Feyre laugh and blush madly.

Rhys simply said, "Good. Let's go."

Feyre's mouth popped open, Nala glared at the man, but Amren explained with a broad, feline smile, "He's pissy this morning."

"Why?" Feyre asked, standing next to her sister, watching Amren take Rhys's hand, her delicate fingers dwarfed by his. He held out the other to Feyre. Nala already had a firm grip on Amren's other hand.

"Because" Rhys answered for her, "I stayed out late with Cassian and Azriel, and they took me for all I was worth in cards."

"Sore loser?" Feyre griped his hand. His calluses scraped against her own – the only reminder of the trained warrior beneath the clothes and veneer.

"From what Azriel said, then yes, he is a very sore loser." Nala laughed, Azriel and Cassian had told her all about the night they had with their brother. Nala had spent the night with Amren at her place, drinking and talking.

Rhys shot her a glare – one that Nala answered with a sweet smile – and then looked at Feyre again. "I am when my brothers tag-team me," he grumbled. He offered no warning before they vanished on a midnight wind, and then –

Then they were squinting at the glaring sun off a turquoise sea, Nala's shadows closed themselves around her, trying to keep the suffocating heat away.

The group was standing on a landing platform at the base of a tan stone palace, the building itself perched atop a mountain-island in the heart of a half-moon bay. The city spread around and below them, toward that sparkling sea – the buildings all from that stone or glimmering white material that might have been coral or pearl. Gulls flapped over the many turrets and spires, no clouds above them, nothing on the breeze with them but salty air and the clatter of the city below.

Various bridges connected the bustling island to the larger landmass that circled it on three sides, one of them currently raising itself so a many masted ships could cruise through. There were more ships than any on the Night Court Party could count – some merchant vessels, some fishing ones, and some, it seemed, ferrying people from the island-city to the mainland, whose sloping shores were crammed full of more building, more people.

More people like the half dozen before the Night Court Inner Circle, framed by a pair of sea glass doors that opened into the palace itself.

"Welcome to Adriata," said the tall male in the center of the group.

Nala's eyes ran over the man, took in his rich brown skin, white hair and crushing turquoise blue eyes. Took in his muscles and analyzed every curve of his body for weaknesses. Nala knew that this was the High Lord of the Summer Court, she could feel his power and see his magic essence surround him. But it was also clear to her that he didn't feel comfortable in his power yet, he was having a hard time controlling it. Opening her mind to Rhys she let her High Lord see though her eyes, seeing the pale magic around the other High Lord.

Rhys merely drawled, "Good to see you again, Tarquin." He didn't let it show what he had learned from Nala and what power it gave him over Tarquin.

The five other people behind the High Lord of Summer swapped frowns of varying severity. Like their lord, their skin was dark, their hair in shades of white or silver, as if they had lived under the bright sun their entire lives. Their eyes, however, were of every color. And they now shifted between Feyre, Nala and Amren.

Rhys slid one hand into a pocket and gestured with the other to Amren. "Amren, I think you know. Though you haven't met her since your... promotion." Cool, calculating grace, edged with steel.

Tarquin gave Amren the briefest of nods. "Welcome back to the city, lady."

Amren didn't nod, or bow, or so much as curtsy. She looked over Tarquin, tall and muscled, his clothes of sea green and blue and gold, and said, "At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore." A female behind Tarquin outright glared. Nala's amber eyes burned into the female from beside Amren. Amren's red lips stretched wide. "Condolences, of course," she added with as much sincerity as a snake.

Wicked, cruel – that's what Amren, Nala and Rhys were... what Feyre was to be to these people.

Rhys gestured to Nala next. "My newest member, Nala Archeron, my advisor and strategist." Nala smirked, letting her wings stretch out and let her fire run up her wings. The Summer Court gasped lightly. Their eyes wide. No one knew what to say. The short female scared them just as much as Amren, despite Nala haven't said anything yet, and didn't plan on doing unless necessary. She was here to gather information.

Rhys then gestured to Feyre. "I don't believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain, Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin." No titles here – either to unnerve them or because Rhys found them a waste of breath. Nala bet that it was the last.

Tarquin's eyes – such stunning, crystal blue – fixed on Feyre. Nala growled in the back of her throat at the rise in the male's scent.

The High Lord did not smile. He tried to keep his eyes from shifting to Nala in fear.

Feyre kept her face neutral, vaguely bored. Mentally using her sister as support.

Tarquin's gaze drifted to Feyre's chest, the bare skin revealed by the weeping vee of her gown, as if he could see where that spark of life, his power, had gone. Nala's snarl got a bit louder, and Tarquin's guards tensed.

Rhys followed that gaze. "Her breasts are rather spectacular, aren't they? Delicious as ripe apples." Nala stop snarling as her High Lord spoke. Showing the Summer court that only he was allowed to speak like that to/ about her sister.

Nala felt her sister's annoyance down their bond. Feyre slid her attention to the Night High Lord, not letting her annoyance show, as indolently as he's looked at her, at the others. "Here I was, thinking you had a fascination with my mouth."

Delighted surprise lit in Rhys's eyes, there and gone in a heartbeat.

They both looked back at the Summer Court, still stone-faced and stiff-backed.

Tarquin seemed to weigh the air between the Night Court members and Feyre, ten said carefully. "You have a tale to tell, it seems."

"We have many tales to tell," Rhys said, jerking his chin toward the glass doors behind them. "So why not get comfortable?"

The female a half-step behind Tarquin inched closer. "We have refreshments prepared."

Tarquin seemed to remember her and put a hand on her slim shoulder. "Cresseida – Princess of Adriata."

Nala raised an eyebrow at the female, she was the one that had been glaring at Amren. His cousin, Nala's shadows whispered, answering her unasked question.

"A pleasure," she murmured to Feyre. Ignoring Amren and Nala completely. "And an honor."

Feyre felt her stomach turn but made sure to cannel her inner Nala and didn't let the princess see it. She did her best imitation of Rhysand's shrug. "The honor's mine, princess."

The others were hastily introduced and with each name, Nala sent out a shadow to gather up every drop of information on the important people in Summer Court. The one that caught Nala of guard was Cresseida's younger brother, Varian, Captain of Tarquin's guard, and Prince of Adriata. His attention was fixed wholly on Amren – as if he knew where the biggest threat laid. And would be happy to kill her, if given the chance. Nala couldn't help but feel protective of the female to her right, so she stepped slightly in front of the female and barred her teeth at the male. Amren herself had never looked more delighted, not even faced by Nala's protective behavior. Amren only found the behavior of the other female endearing; she placed a slender hand on Nala's arm and gave the halfling a sweet smile. "Stand down, love." And just like that, Nala relaxed her posture. But never taking her eyes of Varian.

They were led into a palace crafted of shell-flecked walkways and walls, countless windows looking out to the bay and mainland or the open sea beyond. Sea glass chandeliers swayed on the warm breeze over gurgling streams and fountains of fresh water. High fae – servants and courtiers – hurried across and around them, most brown-skinned and clad in loose, light clothing, all far too preoccupied with their own matters to take note or interest in our presence. No lesser faeries crossed their path – not one.

Feyre kept a step behind Rhysand as he walked at Tarquin's side, that mighty power of his leashed and dimmed, the other flowing behind them. Amren and Nala was walking side by side within reach of Feyre, Nala acting as Feyre's bodyguard. Tarquin and Rhys had been talking lightly, both already sounding bored, of the approaching Nynsar – of the native flowers that both courts would display for the minor, brief holiday.

"We have four main cities in my territory," Tarquin said to Feyre, looking over his muscled shoulder. "We spend the last month of winter and first spring months in Adriata – it's finest at this time of year."

Feyre nodded. "It's very beautiful." Nala rolled her eyes, glad that she didn't have to play the part of Rhys' new and shiny toy.

Tarquin stared at her long enough that Nala spoke up, "The repairs have been going well, I take it."

That hauled Tarquin's attention to her, his eyebrow raised at the mysterious female. "Mostly. There remains much to be done. The back half of the castle is a wreck. But, as you can see, we've finished most of the inside. We focused on the city first – and those repairs are ongoing."

"I hope no valuables were lost during its occupation." Rhys said, hinting towards the book, hoping to get some information for the sisters.

"Not the most important things, thank the Mother," Tarquin said, his shoulders tense. Nala noticed how Cresseida's eyes jumped at the sentence and how Varian went rigid. The three advisers peeled off to attend to other duties, murmuring farewell – with wary looks in Tarquin's direction. They don't trust him. The shadows hissed at Nala. It's his first time hosting another Court and they feel the need to watch his every move to make sure he doesn't mess up. Nala wrote the information behind her ear for her .

Tarquin gave them a smile that clearly didn't reach his eyes and said nothing more as he led the Night Court into a vaulted room of white oak and green glass – overlooking the mouth of the bay and the sea that stretched on forever.

"This is my favorite view," Tarquin said beside Feyre, she had walked up to the windows while the rest – excluding Nala – had seated themselves around the mother-of-pearl table. A handful of servants were heaping fruits, leafy greens, and steamed shellfish onto their plates.

"You must be very proud," Feyre said, looking over her shoulder at her sister. Nala was stood in Feyre's shadow, almost hidden away, all that was clear to see were still burning eyes, "to have such stunning lands."

Tarquin's eyes – so like the sea beyond them – slid to Feyre. "How so they compare to the ones you have seen?"

A much carefully crafted question, Nala had to admit. Sending a shadow out, Nala made a mental map of the palace.

"Everything in Pythian is lovely, when compared to the mortal realm." Feyre said dully.

"And is being immortal lovelier than being human?"

Nala snarled deeply again and stepped closer to her sister, her fire, and shadows bleeding from hands and down to the floor, creeping towards the Summer High Lord.

"Nala," Feyre warned, her voice bored but didn't look away from the High Lord. "You tell me." She told Tarquin after looking him up and down, not politeness to be found in her tone. Nala had stopped her shadows and fire just before Feyre's feet, but her eyes were still glaring heavily at Tarquin.

The High Lord's eyes crinkled. "You are a pearl. Though I knew that the day you threw that bone at Amarantha and splattered mud on her favorite dress."

"I do not remember you being quite so handsome Under the Mountain. The sunlight and sea suit you." Feyre flirted, needing to get closer to Tarquin to get the book, but still Nala couldn't help but roll her eyes at her older sisters attempt at flirting. It did seem to work though. At least Nala could see it work, his magic made itself more apparent, growing slightly.

"How, exactly, do you fit within Rhysand's court?" Tarquin asked Feyre, looking past for only a second at her sister.

A direct question, after such roundabout ones – to no doubt get Feyre on uneven footing. It almost worked, Feyre almost said; I don't know, but Rhys said from the table, as if he'd heard every word, "Feyre is a member of my inner Circle. And is my emissary to the Mortal Lands."

Cresseida, seated beside him, said, "Do you have much contact with the mortal realm?"

Feyre sat herself at the table, trying to get away from the too-heavy stare of Tarquin. She sat herself next to Amren, across from Rhysand. Nala placed herself behind Feyre and Amren's chairs. Her hands clasped behind her back like a warrior, even though she was clad in a beautiful dress.

The High Lord of the Night Court sniffed at his wine – white, sparkling – and Nala wondered if he was trying to piss them off by implying, they'd poisoned it as he said, "I prefer to be prepared for every potential situation. And, given that Hybern seems set on making themselves a nuisance, striking up a conversation with the humans might be in our best interest."

Varian drew his focus away from Amren long enough to say roughly, "So it's been confirmed, then? Hybern is readying for war."

"They're done readying," Rhys drawled, at last sipping from his wine. Amren didn't touch her plate, although she pushed things around as she always did. "War is imminent."

"Yes, you mentioned that in your letter," Tarquin said, claiming the seat at the head of the table between Rhys and Amren. A bold move, to situate himself between two such powerful beings. Arrogance – or an attempt at friendship? Tarquin's gaze drifted to Nala.

"You can sit you know?" He chipped at her, gesturing to the seat next to Amren. Nala lifted a brow but didn't move a muscle.

"She is protective of her sister," Rhys said with a wave of his hands and Nala gave a sweet smile that promised trouble.  "And of my second in command."

"And how is she going to protect anyone in that?" Cresseida commented, trying to be sneaky, but Nala only smiled even bigger.

She let her fire burn her dress away, revealing her Illyrian leather underneath. "This better for you princess?"

Before Cresseida could say anything, Tarquin focused on Rhys, trying to get back on track. "And you know that against Hybern, we will fight. We lost enough good people Under the Mountain. I have no interest in being slaves again. But if you are here to ask me to fight in another war, Rhysand –"

"That is not a possibility," Rhys smoothly cut in, "and had not even entered my mind."

Feyre's glimmer of confusion showed, Cresseida crooned to her, "High Lords have gone to war for less, you know. Doing it over such an unusual female would be nothing unexpected."

Nala snarled again, her right hand falling to Cleaver at her hip. Feyre didn't let her thoughts show on her face, she kept her tone bored, flat and dull as she said, "Try not to look too excited, princess. The High Lord of Spring has no plans to go to war with the Night Court."

"And no legit reason for it," Nala snarled, looking ready to kill someone.

"And are you in contact with Tamlin then?" A saccharine smile formed on the princess' face. Nala acted quicker than anyone could move, even the guards around the room. She had moved through the shadows, standing just behind the princess, Cleaver held tight against her throat and leaned down to her ear.

"Say one more thing to my sister and your blood will paint this palace red." Her tone was cold and dark. Varian had stood up, trying to get to his sister but Nala snarled at him.

"No one moves, or the princess loses her head. And don't try me from behind." She snarled, her shadows building up to make a stone hard wall behind her, making sure no one could hurt her.

Tarquin held up his hands, "let's not do something drastic now, we don't want internal conflict if Hybern is ready for war."

Nala smiled at the High Lord, her fangs on clear display. "Oh, no we don't, but you see little High Lord, I don't do well when people are disrespectful to someone who is trying to save their lives. So, little princess, I'm going to say this one time," Nala snarled down at Cresseida. "Tamlin can't do shit about Feyre leaving his ass, you see, because despite what that shithead says, Night Court didn't 'steal his bride'," she mocked the High Lord of Spring, "you see, Night Court did nothing, I got her out. So that little bitch can come to me with his problems about her leaving his abusive ass. And if you, little princess, are going to tell that we were here to Tamlin, then do that, just remember to tell him that he can fight me, not Night Court."

"Good to know," Tarquin said, his back rigid as he and Varian kept their eyes on Nala. Cresseida swallowed nervously. None of the Summer Court had thought that Nala would react that violently, but they of course didn't know her that well. Rhys just took a sip of his wine with a small smile. "To know we are not harboring a stolen bride – and that we need not bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep. So, Nala, please release the princess and we can get on with this meeting."

"I left of my own free will," Feyre said. "And no one is my master. Nala let her go, she has learned her lesson." Nala snarled down to the princess before removing Cleaver and slipping back into the shadows to return between Feyre and Amren's chair.

Cresseida cleared her throat, trying to shake the feeling of the blade. She shrugged slightly – trying her hardest not to show fear. "Think that all you want, lady, but the law is the law. You are –" Nala snarled, "were his bride. Swearing fealty to another High Lord does not change that. So, it is a very good thing that he respects your decisions. Otherwise, all it would take would be one letter from him to Tarquin, requesting your return, and we would have to obey. Or risk war ourselves."

Rhysand sighed. "You are always a joy, Cresseida."

Varian said, "Careful, High Lord. My sister speaks the truth."

"Your sister is incompetent and a fool, then," Nala countered, staring the prince down. He snarled at her, and she sent him an innocent smile in return.

Tarquin laid a hand on the pale table. "Rhysand is our guest – his courtiers are our guests. And we will treat them as such. We will treat them, Cresseida, as we treat people who saved our necks when all it would have taken was one word from them for us to be very, very dead."

Tarquin studied Feyre and Rhysand – whose face was gloriously disinterested. Studied how Nala and Varian were staring one another down while Amren smirked at the two, her eyes hungry as the two's powers swirled around her. The High Lord of Summer shook his head and said to Rhys, "We have more to discuss later, you and I. Tonight, I'm throwing a party for you all on my pleasure barge in the bay. After that, you're free to roam in this city wherever you wish. You will forgive its princess if she is protective of her people, you know how females are, Rhysand" he looked at Nala before focusing back on Rhysand. "Rebuilding these months had been long and hard. We do not wish to do it again any time soon."

Cresseida's eyes grew dark, haunted.

"Cresseida made many sacrifices on behalf of her people," Tarquin offered gently – to Feyre. "Do not take her caution personally." Nala scoffed but otherwise kept quiet.

"We all made sacrifices," Rhysand said, the icy boredom now shifting into something razor-sharp. "And now you sit at this table with your family because of the ones Feyre made. So, you will forgive me, Tarquin, if I tell your princess that if she sends word to Tamlin, or if any of your people try to bring her to him, their lives will be forfeit."

"Do not threaten me in my own home, Rhysand," Tarquin said. "My gratitude goes only so far."

"It's not a threat," Rhys countered, the crab claws on his plate cracking open beneath invisible hands.

"It's a promise." Nala finished with an innocent smile that showed off her fangs, her eyes burning with red hot flames.

They all looked at Feyre, waiting for any response.

So, she lifted her glass of wine, looked them each in the eyes, holding Tarquin's gaze the longest, and said, "No wonder immortality never gets dull."

Tarquin chuckled – and Feyre wondered if his loosed breath was one of profound relief.

Nala saw the flicker of approval in Rhys's eyes as he looked at her sister. And the amusement when he looked at her.