The Moonlit Terrace of the House of Wind

The night sky stretched endlessly above them; stars scattered like shards of broken diamonds. A cool breeze swept through the terrace, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and mountain air. Rhysand stood at the edge; his silhouette framed by the glow of Velaris far below. He was silent, contemplative, his wings tucked close to his back as he stared into the distance.

Behind him, Nala stepped onto the terrace. Her golden-brown hair caught the starlight, cascading down her back like molten sunlight. She moved with a predator's grace, the faint whisper of her gown against the stone the only sound she made.

"You called for me?" she said, her voice carrying both curiosity and mild irritation.

Rhysand turned; his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those violet eyes that could pierce through the hardest defenses—were solemn.

"I did," he said, gesturing for her to join him. "We need to talk."

Nala raised an elegant brow as she crossed the terrace to stand beside him. "That doesn't sound ominous at all."

Rhysand huffed a quiet laugh, though the tension in his shoulders remained. "I need you to take control of Hawn City."

Nala blinked; her surprise quickly masked by a faint smirk. "Is this some sort of test, brother? Or have you finally grown tired of ruling and decided to delegate all the unpleasant tasks to me?"

"I'm serious, Nala," Rhysand said, his tone cutting through her humor. "Keir is... a problem. One that I've let fester for too long."

Her smirk faded, replaced by a more calculating expression. "What has he done?"

Rhysand's jaw tightened. "Nothing yet. But he's ambitious. And I can feel it, the undercurrent of rebellion stirring in the shadows of his Court. He may claim loyalty, but his allegiance is as brittle as glass. If an opportunity arises that benefits him more than serving the Night Court, he won't hesitate to take it. I fear that he might take a deal with Hybern should it come to that."

Nala crossed her arms, her amber eyes narrowing. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face, uncharacteristic and fleeting. "And you think putting me in charge of Hawn City will solve this? Rhys... I'm not even your blood sister. What makes you so certain they'll accept me?"

Rhysand's expression softened, though his voice remained firm. "You are my sister, Nala, in every way that matters. Blood is irrelevant. You've stood beside me, bled for this Court, and proven your loyalty a thousand times over. If they dare to question your place, they'll have me to answer to."

Nala's arms tightened around herself, her gaze dropping to the terrace floor. "It's not just that," she admitted quietly. "Taking Hawn City... it'll mean leaving Velaris, leaving everything I've built here. My place, my life..." She hesitated, her voice softening further. "Azriel and Amren."

Rhysand stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "I know this isn't an easy decision, Nala. But you won't be leaving them. They'll follow you, in their own ways. And this Court needs you—not just for what you can do but for what you represent. You're a force, a balance, and you'll make Hawn stronger by being there. Azriel and Amren will understand that."

Her amber eyes met his, filled with a mix of doubt and resolve. "And if they don't?"

"Then they're fools," Rhysand said without hesitation, his voice gentle but unyielding. "And I know neither of them are that. You're not just a piece of this Court, Nala. You have become a cornerstone. Trust yourself as much as I trust you.""

"As for Hawn city, they don't need to accept you," Rhysand said simply. "They need to fear you. And if there's one thing, you're more adept at than anyone I know, it's commanding fear."

A faint smile played on Nala's lips. "Flattery, Rhys? Careful, or I might start thinking you're buttering me up for something far worse."

Rhysand returned her smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm asking this because I trust you, Nala. Keir's influence doesn't extend far beyond the Hewn City and its ilk. But Hawn is different. It's a city of merchants and soldiers, a place of strategic value. If Keir turns on us and Hawn follows... it could weaken our entire Court."

Nala studied him for a long moment, her gaze searching his face. "You really think he's planning a coup?"

"I think he's planning something," Rhysand admitted. "And I'd rather not wait to find out what it is. I need someone there who can keep the city in line, someone who won't be swayed by his schemes or cowed by his threats. Someone who can remind him—and anyone else who might get ideas—why the Night Court is to be feared."

Nala's smile turned sharp, her amber eyes alight with a dangerous glint. "You want me to play executioner."

"I want you to be yourself," Rhysand said, his voice low and steady. "Whatever that entails."

For a moment, she said nothing, the silence between them heavy with unspoken possibilities. Then she inclined her head, her golden-brown hair sliding over her shoulder.

"Very well," she said. "I'll take Hawn City. But don't expect me to rule it with a gentle hand."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Rhysand said, a hint of amusement breaking through his seriousness.

As Nala turned to leave, Rhysand called after her. "And Nala?"

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Be careful," he said. "Keir may fear you, but fear can make people desperate. And desperate people are dangerous."

Nala's smile turned wicked. "So am I."

And with that, she vanished into the night, her shadows trailing behind her like a cloak.

***

The Hewn City's throne room was a shadowy cathedral of menace. Ebony pillars twisted into serpents and beasts framed the vast hall, their glittering eyes catching the faint silvery light of faelamps suspended like ghostly moons. The throne itself loomed on its dais; a structure of polished black stone adorned with carvings so intricate they seemed to writhe.

Keir stood before the throne, his expression a mask of irritation tempered by wariness. He had ruled here in Rhysand's absence with an iron grip, reveling in the decadence and cruelty that was the Hewn City's lifeblood. But now, everything was about to change.

The heavy doors at the far end groaned open, their sound like the growl of some ancient beast. A chill swept through the room, sharp as a blade, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine coiled through the air.

She entered.

She was a silhouette of dark power and impossible beauty. Dressed in a gown of midnight silk that clung to her like shadows given form, her presence silenced the whispers of the courtiers gathered along the edges of the room. Her long golden-brown hair flowed like a waterfall of molten sunlight, and her amber eyes—smoldering with flickers of flame—glittered with an ancient, predatory light.

Keir stiffened as she approached, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Lady Nala," he said, his voice low and taut. He bowed, but it was shallow, bordering on insolent. While his spies had confirmed that the girl had not been sired by Rhysand's father, Rhysand had made it clear to anyone and all that she was his sister and would be treated with the respect of a royal, and now this.

Nala's lips curved into a smile that did not reach her eyes. "Lord Keir," she purred, her voice a melody of danger and allure. "It's been far too long since I graced this... lovely little pit."

Her gaze swept over the throne room, lingering on the leering carvings and the shadows that seemed to breathe. Then her eyes locked onto Keir's, and he felt his stomach twist.

He hated her. Her poise, her power, her utter disregard for the games he played. Yet, even as hatred burned in his chest, something darker stirred beneath it. A desire he could neither name nor deny, and it terrified him.

"You've done well for yourself in my brother's absence," Nala continued, her voice like silk wrapped around steel. "But playtime is over. I'm here to reclaim what is my brother and I's." She made sure to put pressure on Rhys being her brother despite blood relations. made sure that everyone in here knew that he had claimed her to his family and now she would take the throne of the court of nightmares in his name. 

Keir forced himself to straighten, his jaw tightening. "The Hewn City belongs to the Night Court, and as its steward, I—"

"Steward?" Nala cut him off with a soft laugh that sent a shiver down his spine. "You've mistaken your leash for a crown."

Her steps were slow, deliberate, as she ascended the dais. Keir's heart hammered as she approached, her presence as overwhelming as the weight of the mountain above them. When she stood before him, close enough for him to feel the cold, otherworldly power radiating from her, he found himself rooted in place.

Her hand rose, brushing lightly against his cheek. The touch was cool, almost gentle, but Keir flinched as if burned. "You don't belong here, Keir," she murmured. "You never did."

His voice, when it came, was hoarse. "And you think you do? The court despises you. They fear you. They all know that you are not of the High Lord's blood. They will never accept you as their ruler."

Nala's smile widened, revealing a glint of teeth. " Fear is the language of the Hewn City. It is the only thing this place understands. And they don't get a say in who sits this throne, my dear."

With a flick of her wrist, the shadows around her surged to life, coiling and snapping like living serpents. One lashed out, wrapping around Keir and dragging him to his knees. His breath caught as he felt the heat of flame lick at his skin, her fire and shadows twining together in a dance of domination.

The courtiers gasped, shrinking into the edges of the room.

Keir's knees hit the polished stone floor, and he glared up at her, his pride warring with his terror. "You won't hold this city. They'll turn against you."

Nala leaned down, her voice a whisper that cut through him like a dagger. "Let them try."

She straightened, turning her back on him as she settled onto the throne. The room seemed to shudder, the shadows growing deeper, more alive, as if the city itself recognized its true ruler.

Keir remained kneeling, his hatred and desire twisting together into something unnameable.

The Court of Nightmares had a High Lady now, and there would be no escaping her.

A ripple of defiance stirred among the courtiers. One, a tall male draped in black armor etched with jagged silver, stepped forward. His face was sharp and proud, his voice carrying a sneer. "You expect us to bow to you, Lady Nala? You, who is not of the High Lord's blood, you who doesn't know the struggles of this city?"

Nala's gaze snapped to him, her amber eyes flaring with fire. The room grew colder, as though the air itself feared her wrath. "The High Lord's blood?" she echoed, her voice dangerously soft. "You think blood means anything against power and loyalty?"

The male sneered. "The blood of the High Lord is power. You are weak compared to that of the High Lord."

The words had barely left his lips before the shadows struck. They surged from the corners of the room, a black tide that wrapped around him with unrelenting force. His sneer faltered, replaced by a gasp of pain as the shadows lifted him into the air, his armor creaking under the pressure.

Nala rose from the throne, her movements slow and deliberate. Flames danced at her fingertips as she approached the suspended male. "Weak?" she repeated, her voice now laced with mockery. "Let me show you the price of insolence."

With a flick of her wrist, the shadows tightened, and the flames leapt from her hand, spiraling up his body. He screamed as the fire licked at his skin, though it did not burn—not yet. Instead, it seared into his mind, a torment that made him writhe and claw at the air.

The courtiers recoiled; their whispers silenced by the display.

Nala's voice cut through the room like a blade. "I do not need your loyalty. Only your obedience. And if I have to use violence and fear, then so be it, but remember that you brought that upon yourselves."

She released the male, letting him crumple to the floor in a heap. His breath came in ragged gasps as he scrambled back into the shadows, his defiance extinguished.

Another voice dared to rise, trembling but resolute. A female with silver hair and sharp, calculating eyes stepped forward. "You think violence will keep us in line forever? You may control the shadows and fire, but the Court of Nightmares answers to power, not fear."

Nala's laughter rang out, cold and sharp. "Power? Is that what you believe this is about?" She gestured to the throne, the room, the city beyond. "This court has thrived on fear, on cruelty, on the illusion of control. But I... I am no illusion."

The female took a cautious step back, but it was too late. Nala's shadows surged again, this time dragging the female to her knees before the throne. Flames flickered around her, not touching her but close enough that the heat made her pale.

"You will learn," Nala said, her voice low and commanding. "Or you will burn."

The female's defiance crumbled, her head bowing in submission. Around the room, the courtiers followed suit, dropping to their knees one by one.

Nala surveyed them, her expression unreadable. The shadows coiled around her like living extensions of her will, and the fire at her fingertips flickered once before extinguishing.

The Court of Nightmares was silent, its denizens cowed and broken.

Nala's voice echoed through the chamber, a final proclamation. "This city is mine. Challenge me again, and I will show you what true nightmares are."