Feyre was sure that Nala was dressed to shock everyone around her. She had almost lost her jaw when she had seen the dress that her little sister had shown up in the morning of the Queens' visit. Nala had worn a black silk dress with a halter-style neckline with crisscross straps that formed a dramatic plunging neckline, revealing a central cutout at her chest, with slits on either thigh showing the entirety of her legs. Nesta had looked ready to murder the youngest Archeron for the outfit but one glance at the massive men in the room, especially Azriel who had put his arm around the winged female's waist as the fae had shown up. Now the oldest simply stared at her half-sister with hate and disgust in her eyes. 

Nala stood next to Rhys alongside Feyre by the fireplace. Rhys was wearing his classic black suit and with Feyre in her white chiffon and silk dress, the two looked divine, like yin&Yang. 

Azriel and Cassian stood at the room's far wall, monitoring everything going on. And while neither had their weapons out in the open, the two stood as a massive wall of danger. Their Siphons were clear on their armor but the queens had specified no weapons, so the fae had complied. But the queens had said nothing about their powers, and so, neither Nala nor Azriel tried to hide their shadows. 

Mor was standing off to the side on Feyre's right in a deep red dress in a similar style to Feyre's. The female was frowning at the clock atop the white mantel, her foot tapping on the ornate carpet. Feyre had hoped that Mor could get to know the two oldest Archerons, but both stood stiff as a board when the six fae had shown up. 

Eleven o'clock struck. Azriel and Nala tensed just enough for their family to notice and just a second later five figures appeared, flanked by two guards apiece. The queens could, somehow, winnow. 

***

The mortal queens were a mixture of age, coloring, height, and temperament. The eldest of them, clad in an embroidered wool dress of deepest blue was brown-skinned, her eyes sharp and cold, and unbent despite the heavy wrinkles carved into her face.

The two who appeared middle-aged were opposites: one dark, one light; one sweet-faced, one hewn from granite; one smiling and one frowning. They even wore gowns of black and white—and seemed to move in question and answer to each other. 

And the youngest two queens ... One was perhaps a few years older than Feyre, black-haired and black-eyed, careful cunning oozing from every pore as she surveyed the group of fae and humans before them.

And the final queen, the one who spoke first, was the most beautiful—the only beautiful one of them. These were women who, despite their finery, did not care if they were young or old, fat or thin, short or tall. Those things were secondary; those things were sleight of hand.

But this one, this beautiful queen, perhaps no older than thirty ... 

Her riotously curly hair was as golden as Mor's, her eyes of purest amber. Even her brown, freckled skin seemed dusted with gold. Her body was supple where she'd probably learned men found it distracting, lithe where it showed grace. A lion in human flesh.

"Well met," Rhysand said, remaining still as their stone-faced guardsscanned us, the room. As the queens now took measure of the Archerons and the Night Court.

The sitting room in the Archeron Mansion was enormous enough that one nod from the golden queen had the guards peeling off to hold positions by the walls and by the doors. Elain and Nesta, silent before the bay window, shuffled aside to make room. 

Rhys stepped forward and the queens sucked in a small breath. Nala had not looked up from the flames since the queens had winnowed in. She had stood silently with her hands locked together behind her back, her side to the queens, her back to where Azriel and Cassian stood and her face turned toward the flames. The queens' guard casually, and foolishly in Nala's opinion, rested a hand on the hilt of their broadsword - so large and clunky compared to the Illyrian blades that the youngest Archeron sisters had been training with the last couple of months. As if they stood a chance - against any of the fae from the Night court, even Feyre could take on the ten guards spread across the room. 

But only Cassian and Azriel stood to be guards on this visit. The female fae in the room played the part of advisers and diplomats. 

Rhys bowed his head slightly to the queens. "We are grateful you accepted our invitation." He lifted a single brow. "But where is the sixth queen?" Nala had wondered the same when the queens had first showed up. 

The ancient queen, her blue gown heavy and rich, merely said, "She is unwell, and could not make the journey." The queen moved her eyes to Feyre, staring the made Fae down with cold eyes. "You are the emissary." Nala hadn't liked the way the queen had dismissed the missed queen and her shadows were already on the case to locate the queen or the mention of the queen in her kingdom. 

Feyre's back straightened at the stare. "Yes, I am Feyre." Her voice might have been pleasant and soft, but Nala knew that her sister felt insignificant in front of the mortal queen whose aura radiated royal. 

She cut her glance to Rhys with the same coldness. "And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after your first few were dispatched." 

Nala almost snorted out loud at the words. And what is so funny? She heard Rhys' voice in her head as she had allowed a sliver in her shields just for his darkness to slip in. You, and your sentimental little heart. She mused, her tone laced with humor and she could feel the way he wanted to roll his eyes at her. 

"I am," Rhys said with a hint of a nod. "And this is my cousin, Morrigan." He gestured to the blonde. 

Mor stalked closer to where Feyre and Rhys stood, her crimson gown floating on a phantom wind. The golden queen sized her up with each step, each breath. The two middle-aged queens did however not move their eyes from the youngest Archeron. Either because they knew how much of a threat she truly was or the more likely scenario that they were offended by her lack of disrespect and unwillingness to acknowledge them. Mor bowed to the queen when she stopped next to Feyre. "It has been a long time since I met with a mortal queen." 

The black-clad queen placed a moon-white hand on her lower bodice. "Morrigan - the Morrigan from the War." 

Mor bowed again. "Please - sit." She gestured to the chairs we'd laid out a comfortable distance from each other, all far enough apart that the guards could flank their queen as they saw fit. But none of the queens moved. 

One of the youngest ones, the one with black hair and black eyes gestured to Nala. "And who is this one?" 

Nala finally turned her body and took a single step to stand by her High Lord's side. Her eyes shone in the room with the fire of her Autumn Court heritage. All the queens gave a small gasp as they looked at the halfling. She had a small, slightly manic smile playing on her lips as she stood on Rhys' left, her black dress complementing his dark suit and making the two look like a pair of dark royals. Nala hadn't worn any jewels that evening but had made sure that her veins gave off a slightly orange tinge because of her flames. 

Rhys smiled at the queens' reactions to the female he had come to think of as his sister. "This is my most trusted advisor and sister, Nala." The queens behind the golden-haired one gave each other looks of disbelief. To their knowledge the High Lord of the Night Court had no living siblings, so this came to a shook to them. Feyre simply looked amused by the way Rhys had chosen to introduce her sister. Mor looked slightly mad but tried to hide it behind a mask of indifference and the Illian boys by the wall just looked smug. 

The young queen simply nodded with a tight smile on her lips, accepting the answer without looking at the halfling again, and kept her eyes on the High Lord, the flaming eyes of the only winged female in the room gave her the chills. Rhys urged them to sit once more. 

Almost as one, the queens sat. Their guards, however, remained at their posts around the room. 

The golden-haired queen smoothed her voluminous skirts and spoke. "I assume those are our hosts." She cut a look to the oldest Archerons. 

Nesta had gone straight-backed, but Elain bobbed a curtsy, flushing rose pink. 

"My sisters," Feyre clarified to the queen. 

The queen's amber eyes, so dull compared to Nala's flaming ones, slid to Feyre. To the golden crown, Rhys had gifted her. "An emissary wears a golden crown. Is that a tradition in Prythian?"

"No, Rhys said smoothly, "but she certainly looks good enough in one that I can't resist." Nala felt her older sister's butterflies at the male's words and wanted to roll her eyes. 

The golden queen didn't as much as smile as she mused, "A human turned into a High Fae... and who is now standing beside a High Lord at the place of honor. Interesting." 

"A mortal queen who thinks she is the highest in the food chain..." Nala mused her voice back to its smooth and honeyed darkness that made shivers run up everyone's spine, even Rhys' as everyone's eyes turned to her. "Interesting." She folded her hands before her body as the shadows around her shifted again, dancing around her body in a silent dance. Every single guard in the room tensed at the sound of her voice and the threat in her voice. 

The eldest cleared her voice and turned her attention to Rhys, trying not to mind the fiery female. "You have an hour of our time. Make it count." 

"How is it that you can winnow?" Mor asked from her seat beside Feyre.

The golden queen now gave a smile—a small, mocking one—and replied, "It is our secret and our gift from your kind."

This time Nala physically rolled her eyes at the queen. Rhys looked to Feyre, and she swallowed as she inched forward on her seat. "War is coming. We called you here to warn you—and to beg a boon."

There would be no tricks, no stealing, no seduction. Rhys could not even risk looking inside their heads for fear of triggering the inherent wards around the Book and destroying it. The only one who risked anything was Nala who maneuvered her shadows to attach to the guards' shadows, knowing that she wouldn't get close to the queens. Magic was running along the queens' skin, magic that guarded them and would repel her shadows, but the guards had no such protection. 

"We know war is coming," the oldest said, her voice like crackling leaves. "We have been preparing for it for many years."

It seemed the three others were positioned as observers while the eldest and the golden-haired one led the charge.

Feyre spoke as calmly and clearly as she could, "The humans in this territory seem unaware of the larger threat. We've seen no signs of preparation." Indeed, Azriel had gleaned as much these weeks, to her dismay.

"This territory," the golden one explained coolly, "is a slip of land compared to the vastness of the continent. It is not in our interests to defend it. It would be a waste of resources."

No. No, that — Nala looked up, her eyes now a burning inferno and the eldest queen's eyes widened just a fraction at the anger that burned in that inferno. Nala might hate her human family with a passion, but that didn't for one-second mean that she would be okay with the mortal queens sacrificing thousands of innocent lives just because they didn't want to protect this part of the human territory. 

Rhys drawled, "Surely the loss of even one innocent life would be abhorrent."

The eldest queen folded her withered hands in her lap. "Yes. To lose one life is always a horror. But war is war. If we must sacrifice this tiny territory to save the majority, then we shall do it."

Feyre couldn't look at her human sisters, at the mansion, a home for her human family that might be nothing more than rubble. "There are good people here." she rasped, she wanted to cry, to scream, to punch sense into the selfish women in front of her. 

The golden-haired queen sweetly paired with, "Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them." 

Silence followed, for just a second before the table between the mortal queens and the Night Court Fae burst into flame, making everyone around it gasp, all except for Nala who had stood from her seat and leaned on the table, the flames licking at her hands and up her arms. Her head was tilted slightly to the side and her smile had grown into a manic grimace that had the guards around the room frozen in their spots. She looked at each of the queens and fear ran down their spines. "Oh, we will," darkness bled from her voice. "And when Prythian stands at that front line none of your soldiers have the nuts to cross the sea to defend their fellow humans. Just know that every human here will know just how their queens tucked tails and hid behind the wards our ancestors gifted you." A gasp sounded from the five queens and Nala almost laughed. "Yes, I noticed. See those wards are old, but not forever, and when they no longer work and the Fae of the continent comes for your castles, don't expect the Prythian Fae to come to your aid. When your wards fail, I'll personally make sure to notice Vallahan, Montesere, and Rask. And I'll personally be the one to tell all the other Courts to never help a human from the continent." Her voice rang through the queens and their guards. And while the eldest queen tried to show no emotion, the fear was clear in the eyes of her four fellow queens. They all knew that their ward wasn't forever but they had always assumed that the Prythian Fae would stand by the treaty to remark them when the day came. 

Rhys, despite his fear of the small female he saw as a sister, laid his hand on her arm. And while the flames were still licking up and down her arms, none of them hurt him. Pull it in, Nala, we knew this would be difficult. His voice ran in her head, haven pushed through her hate and rage. Nala took a deep breath and focused on the silvery-golden bond that laid around her well of magic, and let it pull her out of her rage. And slowly, along with her rage, the flames died down. Leaving the table only slightly damaged despite the heat of the flames. Nala however didn't sit back down and Rhys gave her a nod, he understood. She lightly squeezed her sister's shoulder before turning on her heels and walking straight to Azriel, melting into the shadows around his wings and letting the Shadow realm hide her and her still simmering rage. 

Technically she was still in the room, but as Queens could no longer see or feel the overwhelming energy of her powers, they let out a breath. 

Nesta, after collecting herself from the display her younger sister had shown, hissed at the queen, "We have servants here. With families. There are children in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?" While her little sister's words had given her some hope, the eldest Archeron sister knew that the Prythian Fae couldn't do this on their own, they might be powerful, but standing against other Fae would be a challenge while trying to protect the humans. 

The eldest one's face softened, the smallest bit. "It is no easy choice, girl..." 

"It is the choice of cowards," Nesta snapped, beyond pissed at these so-called Queens. 

Feyre stepped in before Nesta said something to offend the queens more than Nala already had done. "For all that your kind hate ours... You'd leave the Fae to defend your people?" Nala smiled from her spot in Azriel's shadows. This was the first time that Feyre had called herself one of the Fae and not the humans. 

"Shouldn't they?" the golden one asked, her bravado back now that the fire-wielding female had left, sending the cascade of curls sliding over a shoulder as she angled her head to the side. "Shouldn't they defend against a threat of their own making?" She snorted and somehow made it sound royal and ladylike. "Should Fae blood not be spilled for their crimes over the years?" 

"Neither side is innocent," Rhys countered calmly, even though Nala was sure that the man was far from it, he was simply better at hiding it than she was. "But we might protect those who are. Together." Always the charmer. She called to his mind, knowing that he could hear her with his freaky mind powers. And she heard his cold laughter a second later. Someone has to be when you take the role of the dangerous so seriously. He jested back at her and she simply flipped him off in her mind. 

"Oh?" said the eldest, her wrinkles hardening as she looked from Nesta to Rhys. From human to Fae. "The High Lord of the Night Court asks us to join with him, save lives with him. To fight for peace. And what of the lives you have taken during your long, hideous existence? What of the High Lord who walks with darkness in his wake, and shatters minds as he sees fit?" She laughed a crow laugh. "We have heard of you, even on the continent, Rhysand. We have heard what the Night Court does, what you do to your enemies. Peace? For a male who melts mind and tortures for sport, I did not think you knew the word. And you sister? While we don't know much of her, it is clear that she thrives in the darkness and madness that is the Night Court. Of the madness in her mind that so clearly craves chaos and death." 

Nala felt Amren's rage through their bond, just as much as she felt Azriel's silent fury. Her high heels clicked on the wood floor as she walked out of the shadow with a sickly-sweet smile on her face, loving the way every guard in the room tensed and how the queens shifted in discomfort. "Oh," she tilted her head as she stepped up behind Rhys' chair and laid her hand on his shoulder. "And do you also know how much both my brother and cousin have sacrificed for the humans? Do you know how the first six queens tortured and killed our kind in spades those first years after the war? How they ripped halflings from their human mothers, no older than ten, tortured and enslaved them simply for being born to a Fae father?" The queens' faces paled. "Yes, I have done my homework, so how about you five get off your fucking high horse and think about your subjects rather than the past." 

Wrath began simmering in Feyre's blood; embers crackled in her ears. But she cooled that fire she'd slowly been stoking these past weeks and tried, "If you will not send forces here to defend your people, then the artifact we requested—"

"Our half of the Book, child," the crone cut her off, "does not leave our sacred palace. It has not left those white walls since the day it was gifted as part of the Treaty. It will never leave those walls, not while we stand against the terrors in the North."

"Please," was all Feyre said and Nala hated how her sister was begging.

Silence again.

"Please," she repeated. Emissary—she was their emissary, and Rhys had chosen her for this. To be the voice of both worlds. "I was turned into this— into a faerie—because one of the commanders from Hybern killed me."

Through their bond, Feyre could have sworn she felt Rhys flinch.

"For fifty years," she pushed on, "she terrorized Prythian, and when I defeated her when I freed its people, she killed me. And before she did, I witnessed the horrors that she unleashed on humans and faeries alike. One of them—just one of them was able to cause such destruction and suffering. Imagine what an army like her might do. And now their king plans to use a weapon to shatter the wall, to destroy all of you. The war will be swift, and brutal. And you will not win. We will not win. Survivors will be slaves, and their children's children will be slaves. Please ... Please, give us the other half of the Book."

The eldest queen swapped a glance with the golden one before saying gently, placatingly, "You are young, child. You have much to learn about the ways of the world—"

"Do not," Rhys and Nala said in tandem with deadly quiet, "condescend to her." The eldest queen—who was but a child to Rhys, to his centuries of existence—had the good sense to look nervous at that tone. Rhys's eyes were glazed his face as unforgiving as his voice as he went on, "Do not insult Feyre for speaking with her heart, with compassion for those who cannot defend themselves, when you speak from only selfishness and cowardice."

The eldest stiffened. "For the greater good—"

"Many atrocities," Rhys purred, "have been done in the name of the greater good. Just ask your predecessors and the many halflings they ripped from their mothers' tits. My sister wasn't wrong in that. I was there. I saw it." 

The old crow simply looked at Rhys. "The Book will remain with us. We will weather this storm-" 

"That's enough," Mor interrupted.

She got to her feet.

And Mor looked each and every one of those queens in the eye as she said, "I am the Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is truth. So, you will hear my words now, and know them as truth—as your ancestors once did."

Not a word.

Mor gestured behind her—to Feyre. "Do you think it is any simple coincidence that a human has been made immortal again, at the very moment when our old enemy resurfaces? I fought side by side with Miryam in the War, fought beside her as Jurian's ambition and bloodlust drove him mad, and drove them apart. Drove him to torture Clythia to death, then battle Amarantha until his own." She took a sharp breath, and Feyre thought Azriel inched closer at the sound, he had moved, but closer to Nala, who knew this story from Amren. But Mor blazed on, "I marched back into the Black Land with Miryam to free the slaves left in that burning sand, the slavery she had herself escaped. The slaves Miryam had promised to return to free. I marched with her—my friend. Along with Prince Drakon's legion. Miryam was my friend, as Feyre is now. And your ancestors, those queens who signed that Treaty ... They were my friends, too. And when I look at you ... " She bared her teeth. "I see nothing of those women in you. When I look at you, I know that your ancestors would be ashamed. Do you laugh at the idea of peace? That we can have it between our peoples?" Mor's voice cracked, Nala's eyes flickered to the female and almost wanted to comfort her, but stood still at her spot behind Rhys' right shoulder. "There is an island in a forgotten, stormy part of the sea. A vast, lush island, shielded from time and spying eyes. And on that island, Miryam and Drakon still live. With their children. With both of their people. Fae and humans and those in between. Side by side. For five hundred years, they have prospered on that island, letting the world believe them dead—"

"Mor," Rhys said—a quiet reprimand.

A secret, Feyre and Nala realized, that perhaps had remained hidden for five centuries. A secret that had fueled the dreams of Rhysand, of his court. A land where two dreamers had found peace between their peoples. Where there was no wall. No iron wards. No ash arrows. 

The golden queen and ancient queen looked at each other again. The ancient one's eyes were bright as she declared, "Give us proof. If you are not the High Lord that rumor claims, give us one shred of proof that you are as you say—a male of peace."

There was one way. Only one way to show them, prove it to them.
Velaris.
Feyre's very bones cried out at the thought of revealing that gem to these ... spiders. And Nala almost growled as she came to the same realization. 

Rhys rose in a fluid motion. Nala's hand fell from his shoulder and she stepped to his right, staring down the queens. The queens did the same. His voice was like a moonless night as he said, "You desire proof?" The two youngest Archerons held their breath, praying... praying he wouldn't tell them. He shrugged, the silver thread in his jacket catching the sunlight. "I shall get it for you. Await my word, and return when we summon you."

"We are summoned by no one, human or faerie," the golden queen simpered. Perhaps that was why they'd taken so long to reply. To play some power game.

"Then come at your leisure," Rhys said, with enough of a bite that the queens' guards stepped forward. Cassian only grinned at them and Azriel turned his cold face and eyes to stare them down—and the wisest among them instantly paled.

Rhys barely inclined his head as he added, "Perhaps then you'll comprehend how vital the Book is to both our efforts."

"We will consider it once we have your proof." The ancient one nearly spat the word. Some part of Feyre reminded herself that she was old, and royal, and smacking that sneer off her face would not be in their best interests, Nala had no such qualm and only Rhys grip on her mind stopped her from smacking some sense into the old woman. "That book has been ours to protect for five hundred years. We will not hand it over without due consideration."

The guards flanked them—as if the words had been some predetermined signal. The golden queen smirked at Feyre, not daring to look at Nala, and said, "Good luck."

Then they were gone. The sitting room was suddenly too big, too quiet.

And it was Elain—Elain—who sighed and murmured, "I hope they all burn in hell."

"They will," Nala growled, her nails digging holes in her palms, making a few drops of blood hit the wooden floor before Azriel stood before her and held her hands between them.