There were fourteen of them in total. Twelve males. One female. And one unknown. All of them high fae, with the possible exception of whoever, or whatever was confined in chains. Each of the males was large and formidable in their body mass and power; however, for all the sound they made walking down the stone path to the manor, they may as well have been made of air.

Feyre felt Lucien stiffen next to her, and she sneaked a glance at the emissary. He, along with Tamlin, who stood on the other side, and the ten-or-so males who waited behind them, was utterly focused on the approaching group. His face was still and impassive. No one moved, but Feyre sensed everyone's weight shifting, preparing to take action if necessary.

She flicked her gaze back to the stone path on which the powerful queen and her court approached the manor.

As they neared closer, Feyre decided that she found their formation somewhat odd. The male soldiers had positioned themselves around their queen in an oblong triangle, with the chained creature trailing just slightly behind the queen. The males were less of a unit of soldiers than objects simply orbiting their queen.

As they walked, the males in front trained their eyes on the Spring Court's group, flitting from figure to figure, while the males toward the back scanned the perimeter, most of their heads turned slightly, as if listening for danger.

The foreign group stopped about ten feet away. Without the distinct noise of swishing gear and rattling chains, the only sound was of the soft breeze, now stiff with tension. Even the manor behind them had gone silent.

The moment seemed to stretch on for eternities, and the air was taut with the eyes of two dozen high fae sizing each other up.

Somewhere a bird chirped, the single note shattering the invisible barrier, and Tamlin started forward. The moment he left their line of three, Lucien shifted closer to Feyre, like he had no doubt been ordered to do. However, she could also feel him leaning forward, prepared to be at his high lord's side within an instant.

Tamlin approached the front of their group at a moderate pace, his hands delicately resting at his sides, and his head held high. He stopped in front of the first soldier, who was slightly taller than the high lord, but emanated far less power.

Feyre heard an almost imperceptible delicate clearing of the throat, and the first three males in their group shifted to the sides, adjusting the formation so that the queen was completely visible.

Ironically, the first thing that Feyre thought of was the night sky. Not the elegant, beautiful starry skyline and comforting sweet air of the night court, but a darker form of night. The kind of night that smothers you in chilling darkness and suffocating black, or strangles you in nightmares. So much of the foreign queen was darkness. Her long sheet of onyx hair, her swirling robes, even her obsidian eyes all seemed to absorb the light.

If her aura was the night sky, then her skin was the moon-- ethereally pale against a set of blood red lips. Feyre involuntarily shuddered and wondered how much blood this dark queen had tasted.

Tamlin leaned forward, holding out a hand in an open gesture.

Everything about the high fae woman was beautifully ethereal. She graciously raised her arm, even that small movement incredibly graceful, and Tamlin bowed at the waist, clasping her fingers in his, and bringing the back of her hand to his lips.

"Your majesty..." he spoke softly into the close space.

Her red mouth twisted into a faint smile as Tamlin straightened. All twelve males watched him with fierce intensity as he released her hand and stepped backward.

"My name is Tamlin," he projected. "And as one of the seven high lords of the land of Prythian, I welcome you to the Spring Court."

The queen's lips tilted even more, as if amused by the entire encounter. When she spoke, her voice was silkily smooth and endearing, while also laced in chilling authority and power.

"The Kingdoms of Doranelle and Terrasen thank you humbly for your gracious acceptance of our meeting, Lord Tamlin."

The queen was nearly interrupted by the sudden violent rattling of iron, as the creature jerked in the arms of the men holding its chains, shouting something incoherently. Everyone in the Spring Court representatives fixed their attention on the prisoner and the encounter. The three guards holding the chains tightened their grips, and the prisoner's body went taut. Now that they were closer, Feyre could see more clearly, and after a second's consideration, she determined that the prisoner was a she-- appearing to be a young high fae woman as well.

Neither the queen nor her guards acknowledged the disruption. All remained completely still, their eyes on their queen or Tamlin and his own court. Except for a single golden-haired male in the the back of the formation, whose gaze flickered to the prisoner. It was clear that no one had any intentions of addressing the disruption.

Tamlin's gaze lingered only a moment before returning to the queen. They continued forward with more introductory pleasantries, and Feyre began her own sizing-up.

Physically, all of the queen's males were extremely similar-- each possessing a large muscularly toned body, and each dressed in a variety of battle gear and weaponry.

She quickly discovered that these were no mere soldiers-- they were warriors. Immortal high fae who emanated raw power, and had spent lifetimes honing it into a lethal weapon.

Feyre silently devoured their group, quickly assessing. Flitting from male to male, she brushed up against all of their minds, testing their walls. She was slightly surprised to find that the males all had fairly weak barriers, her own powers slipping between the cracks with ease. However, she couldn't reject the possibility that the males simply didn't have their mental guard up. Perhaps they were unaware of her powers. Or maybe the daemati didn't exist in their world at all.

Feyre felt the weight of someone's gaze and changed focus. She immediately recognized the tall raven-haired male as one of the delegates from two days prior. From the moment the queen and her court had arrived, Feyre had felt the presence of her guards' eyes-- cold, calculating, assessing. Most of them were fleeting, sparing only a few seconds before switching focus to a more formidable threat-- practically dismissing her presence entirely.

However, she felt a few of their gazes linger. She took a mental note of the guards who watched her more closely than the others.Feyre was much more confident with her daemati abilities, and felt little guilt at sifting through the minds at the Spring Court. If they began to suspect her for the threat that she was, or decided to draw attention to herself, then she would not hesitate to do some mental coaxing.

Feyre snapped her attention back to the center of the groups, when Tamlin turned and gestured to her and Lucien. "--Lucien, my personal advisor and emissary to the Autumn Court. And Feyre, soon-to-be consort of the Spring Court, and the lady of the house."

Though the entire conversation was cheerily eloquent, these last words were emphasized with a subtle lethal calm. An outward threat to all of the males, that the female standing behind him was his.

Feyre fought to keep her muscles relaxed and her expression sweetly aloof. She allowed herself the small movement of curling her toes against her shoes. The action did little to soothe the raging hatred which constricted her bones. She broadened her mental net, taking a general census of the opposing warriors. All of them recognized the threat for what it was, some taking closer head than others; however, most of them simply filed it away. Some distant part of Feyre's mind relaxed slightly with the knowledge that these males were not particularly interested in her as one of Tamlin's belongings.

She slowly released another breath. Despite her utter disgust for Tamlin and everyone at the Spring Court, she couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that she was there. Before, Tamlin wouldn't have allowed her within 2 miles of this strange queen's arrival. And not with only Lucien as a guard. She hadn't even had to ask him to let her come-- he'd acted as if it her presence was a given.

Some small, distant thing in her stirred, but it was a mere blip on her radar-- completely overcome with her hatred for him and Ianthe and the King and what they had done to her sisters. With the overwhelming happiness she experienced with the court of dreams, and the all-consuming love she felt for Rhysand-- her mate.

A warm sensation traveled down her arm, and it took all she had not to look down at it-- at her high lady mark. Her toes un-clenched, and she carefully wiggled her fingers, releasing the warm tingling out through her nails and into the air.

A few more pleasantries were exchanged, and Tamlin gestured to the manor, inviting everyone inside. A few Spring Court soldiers separated off to stand by the door entrances as Feyre and Lucien led their group into the main entrance, followed by the Queen and her many fae warriors. They stopped in the middle of the marble foyer, circling the exact spot Feyre had broken down before Mor came to rescue her. The same spot on the marble floor where she had caved in on herself and almost let herself become consumed by her own darkness. Fighting the urge to glance down, she absentmindedly ran her fingers across the spot where her ring had been. Before she'd melted it off.

She felt Tamlin's eyes land on her, and glanced his way. He, too, was looking at her hand, as if imagining the ring that used to be there. She gently cleared her throat, and his eyes flicked up. She softened her eyes and gave him a small reassuring smile with as much calm and endearment as she could muster. He nodded briefly before turning back to the group.

He gestured to the doors to his right. "We are prepared to serve dinner in the dining hall through these doors--" He looked pointedly to the many guards, perhaps more than he had expected. "Afterwards, servants of ours will show you to your rooms, so you can get settled in, and we can begin our business in the morning."

The end of his brief instructions was clearly the cue for everyone to enter the dining hall, but the room remained still with a brief moment of tension. The Spring Court's gaze had shifted back to the chained prisoner-- the high fae woman.

As if she knew she was about to be addressed, the chained woman straightened, appearing more alert. Tamlin tilted his head in her direction, his voice slightly colder.

"I was not made aware that your prisoners would be joining you." He said this with noticeable condescension and disdain, several of the queen's males stiffening at the insult. But the Queen seemed to take no notice.

"It was a last minute decision," she explained curtly. "-- She gets antsy when I leave her home alone."

Feyre was slightly taken aback by this. Everything about this queen was so poised and ethereal, but when she spoke of the prisoner, her words were nefarious and dripped with cruel humor. If Tamlin was intrigued by the situation, he did not show it.

"We have several holding cells available in our prison blocks. It would be my pleasure to have one commissioned for your use during your stay." Immediately, he waved a soldier over, preparing to issue orders, but the queen stopped him.

"That won't be necessary," she drawled. "-- A simple room for my men to station themselves and keep watch would be favorably adequate. Might I suggest one of your courtyards which is not in use...?" It may have been worded like a question, but her beguiling voice made it much more of a command than a request.

This, Tamlin did pick up on. The room went taut between the two rulers. A moment later, the high lord seemed to determine that there was no harm in granting this. "I am sure that can be arranged." He seemed ready to let it go and be on their way to dinner, but to Feyre's immediate agreement, Lucien stepped in.

"Is she dangerous?" he asked sternly. All eyes turned to Lucien, forever the loyal emissary, worried about foreign dignitaries bringing danger into his Court.

The Queen's lips turned. "Not as dangerous as she thinks she is." The prisoner visibly strained against her chains, one of the guards forcibly restraining her by her forearm. The Queen's lips widened into a smile, and Feyre involuntarily shuddered. It was the smile of a powerful leader who enjoyed the blood of war. A woman who relished in the torment of others, and controlled her subjects with fear and cruelty. It was Amarantha's smile.

She glanced to Lucien and Tamlin, who had both noticeably stiffened. They saw it too. Feyre's hands trembled as her anger resurfaced. Anger towards Tamlin for bringing yet another monster into his court. Who knew what kind of destruction this woman could bring. Prythian still hadn't fully recovered from Amarantha's reign, and it would not be able to handle Hybern and another sadistic female.

Tamlin nodded to Lucien, and the emissary peeled away from their group. "If you will follow me, I will see that a position is secured for your use." Lucien immediately started across the foyer to one of the many doors which led to the courtyard. Soon after, the prisoner and her three guards separated as well, two more following in their wake.

Feyre found her intrigue in this prisoner increasing by the second-- five immortal high fae warriors for one woman. A woman who was wrapped nearly head to toe in chains and looked as though she could fall over at any moment. Feyre wondered if she was really that dangerous, or just hard to hold on to.

The tension in the foyer was noticeably more relaxed with the prisoner and nearly half the queen's guard gone. Tamlin walked to Feyre and brushed his hand against her lower back, as if making sure that she was still there. He gently ushered her forward as he turned and led the group into the dining hall, his spine straighter, and his gait slightly stiffer than before.

They filed in through the doorway, Tamlin standing at the head of the table, Feyre on his left, and the Queen to his right. To Feyre's slight surprise, none of the queen's guards took a seat, but positioned themselves around the perimeter of the room. Tamlin kept only a single pair of guards at the door, the rest of the soldiers stationing themselves outside the room. In terms of immediate man-power, the Spring Court was currently outnumbered.

As Feyre took her seat across from the Queen, she noticed that Tamlin was radiating more power than before. When she had first arrived at the Spring Court, he had purposefully dampered his powers, so as not to frighten her. But now, he was emphasizing them-- his usual soft-golden light emanating much stronger than usual. Feyre wondered if anyone else had noticed the slight change-- Tamlin's attempt at male bravado in the face of intimidation. The Queen delicately sat down, slight amusement written on her face, and Feyre knew that she had.

Continuing with his embellishment of power, before sitting down, Tamlin clapped his hands together and quickly spread them apart, as if pushing air. A moment later, the table was filled with food and extravagant decoration, the room vibrating with magic. The high lord immediately began transferring food to his plate, and soon after, both Feyre and the queen began gingerly reaching for fare as well.

No one spoke for a long time. The Queen's males stationed themselves around the perimeter of the room, holding so still they might as well have been their own pillars. Feyre wondered if Tamlin noticed that they were nearly completely surrounded by foreign soldiers.

The space was beginning to feel cavernous, with the defined echoes of silverware moving across plates, when the Queen spoke.

"Lord Tamlin," she prompted beguilingly. "--you said that there are seven courts in your land, but all under the name Prythian. Could you elaborate further?"

Tamlin swallowed and leisurely adjusted the cloth in his lap before answering. "The continent is called Prythian, but the land is divided into seven domains-- seven courts. Each governed by its own high lord."

The Queen remained in a graceful position of authority, but her eyes bore into Tamlin with great interest. "Are all of the courts named after seasons?" The words rolled almost seductively off her tongue.

"No," Tamlin continued. "--There are the seasonal courts: Spring, Winter, Summer and Autumn. And there are the solar courts: Dawn, Day and Night." His brow darkened almost imperceptibly at the mention of the Night Court. Feyre, like the obedient domestic servant she pretended to be, reached under the table to grasp his knee-- comfort and assurance that she was there. She tried not to recoil at the touch.

As if she could see the gesture, the Queen turned to Feyre then. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her full lips lifted into a warm smile. "Lady Feyre," she spoke her name slowly, as if testing how the syllables would feel on her tongue. "Which of the courts have you found the most enjoyable?"

Tamlin tensed, and Feyre met eyes with the woman across the table. Her head was tilted in an indulging, conspiratorial way, like two females sharing secrets. But her eyes were cold and sharp. The Queen had recognized a weakness in the Spring Court and jumped on it; her gaze seemed to press at Feyre, a wall of power daring her to push back.

Feyre considered it, but a slight chill ran down her arm, reminding her why she was here. She had already made the unnecessary risk of revealing her powers to the delegates, and she would not repeat the same mistake. So she broke the woman's stare, dropping her eyes to the table and shifting in her seat uncomfortably. She gave herself a moment to draw up old frightening situations, so that fear glazed her eyes when she looked to Tamlin. She swallowed, and subdued the emotion until she was back to an easy-going, hospitable demeanor. 

"Well, I've yet to visit all of them, and I am slightly biased towards the Spring Court," she said with a delicate, admiring expression towards the high lord. "-- But if I'm being honest," Feyre leaned forward slightly, meeting the Queen's conspiratorial disposition. "--from what I remember, I really enjoy the warm weather and ocean view of the Summer Court."

The hall echoed with Tamlin's hearty laughter, though the action didn't quite meet his eyes. Deceit. That's what the Spring Court now relied on-- deceit and facades to try to manipulate people. Feyre smiled along playfully, despite every bone in her body beginning to thrum with resurfacing disgust.

The Queen cocked her head again, her long dark sheet of hair falling in front of her shoulder, and illuminating her pale complexion. "I don't mean to pry, but do you often have troubles with your memory?" Her voice was sickly sweet.

Both Feyre and Tamlin stilled, his laughter dying off. Feyre quickly ran through their conversation in her head. 'from what i can remember...' she had said. 

Once again, the Queen's posture was nonchalant, but her eyes bore into Feyre with a humorous condescension, as if she already knew what had happened between the Spring Court and the Night Court, and was daring her to speak otherwise. As if she knew Feyre's true allegiance and the extent of the powers that lay in her veins.

Feyre turned to Tamlin, again the timid fiance who has only just begun to heal from her traumatic experiences. He gave her a knowing look, and she curved her shoulders inward, bowing her head slightly, and allowing the fear to return to her eyes, as she prepared herself for the resurfacing of her ghosts. She checked her mental shields, and despite not finding any cracks, doubled their thickness.

Tamlin's weight leaned forward slightly as he prepared to answer, probably with some cryptic story about the evil sadism of the Night Court, when Lucien--cauldron bless him-- entered through the dining hall doors.

Only those who knew him best could tell that he was slightly exasperated as he crossed the room. He bowed his head in acknowledgement to the Queen before taking his seat beside Feyre.

"I apologize for my disruption." As if Tamlin's magic recognized Lucien's voice, a place setting appeared in front of him.

Tamlin merely nodded his head. "That's quite alright, Lucien."

The emissary turned to the Queen. "--Your Majesty, the remainder of your guards have stationed themselves in the East Wing Courtyard. I would be happy to show you where at your earliest convenience."

The Queen had straightened back into her seat, the set of her shoulders pronounced with an air of nobility that had been dulled before. Her voice was noticeably colder, and Feyre knew that she was suppressing irritation at being interrupted.

"That's alright, emissary. I won't be needing your assistance. I'm sure I can find my own way around your master's house."

The dismissive tone in her voice was not lost on anyone at the table. Emissary--as if she didn't deem Lucien worthy of proper addressing. House-- implying that the giant, elegant manor was well below her standards.

Feyre's blood stirred. Not that she felt particularly attached or loyal to the Spring Court anymore. But she had spent enough time in wealth and in poverty to recognize the greed and inferiority of a person who didn't care that others around them were starving when he or she had more than enough. And despite everything that Tamlin had done to betray her friends and family, Feyre still liked Lucien. He was a spineless coward who couldn't bring himself to stand up to his High Lord, but at least he wasn't completely oblivious.

Tamlin was inflamed. Insulting a High Lord's adviser may as well be an attack on the High Lord himself. And no one in Prythian insulted someone in the bloodline of a High Lord in such a way and got away without severe punishment. His fingers curled against the wooden table, whatever powers laying beneath his skin threatening to surface.

Feyre sensed movement across the room, and looked up to see that several of the guards were leaning forward with their hands on the handle of their various weapons, preparing to intervene.

Lucien had gone still, shrinking into his chair, as if avoiding sudden movements would calm the situation.

By the cauldron-- Feyre thought. No on one in this court could take any criticism without threatening to bring the manor down.

Feyre broke into a warm smile, subtly placing her hand on Tamlin's. "No offense to Lucien," she glimpsed at him, playfully apologetic. "--but I think that's a good choice. I, too, much prefer exploring things on my own."

She met eyes with the Queen, lifting her expression into a friendly aloofness. "I must say, though, that you will have your work cut out for you. It took me months and months to see every room in this place. And even then, without keeping track, I'm still not entirely certain I've seen them all." Feyre turned back to Tamlin with a look of admiration.

The Queen seemed to contemplate Feyre for a moment before returning her smile. The tension in the room thinned, and Feyre removed her hand from Tamlin's, which had finally stopped fidgeting.

The males surrounding the room eased back into their ethereal silence, and the rest of the meal continued forth with the typical level of tension. The Queen, who later revealed that her name was Maeve, asked more questions about the Spring Court, and Tamlin and Lucien obliged with varying levels of detail or obscurity.

When everyone was finished, the Queen excused herself, refusing Lucien's offer to show her to her rooms, and left the dining hall with her males in tow.

Tamlin waited until a few minutes before dismissing himself to go check on some things, and Feyre and Lucien were left sitting at the table alone, the two Spring Court soldiers leaving their posts at the door and exiting behind the High Lord as well.

Feyre twisted her fork in her hand and loosed a breath, slouching back into her chair.

"Thank you," Lucien broke the silence. She started to reply, but he cut her off.

"I don't know what you have planned, Feyre, or where your loyalties lie. But I know that part of you still cares. What you just did proves it."

He ran his hands through his hair, the stress of the past few months beginning to show on his features. "I don't know what happened to you at the Night Court, but you have to know that anything that happens to Tamlin or this deal with Hybern will have a direct effect on not only the rest of the Spring Court, but all of Prythian as well."

He looked at her pointedly, his eyes glossy with sincerity. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to help you when you needed it, but you saw how things just went--" He gestured to the now-vacant seats. "You and I both know that things are only going to worsen, especially with Hybern's delegates arriving in a few days. We need to bridge this gap-- even if it's just for the next few weeks. I think that Tamlin and all of the Spring Court could depend on it."

Feyre set her fork down, swallowing thickly. She knew that he was coming to her now, because Tamlin wouldn't-- or already hadn't-- listened. She wanted to stand up and scream at him. For his cowardice. For standing aside and watching as her and her sister's lives were torn apart. For still not being able to convince Tamlin to listen, even after everything had happened. She wanted to throw and shatter something-- to unleash her powers on the room so that someone might open their eyes and listen for once.

Feyre met Lucien's eyes. She did not forgive him. But he was right about some things. This Queen Maeve was going to bring disaster to an already precarious situation. And they needed people to keep an eye on things with the foreknowledge and hindsight of that danger. So she slowly nodded, before carefully sliding her chair back and standing up. "You're right," she said. "Now, more than ever, we need to keep our eyes and ears open, and stay vigilant."

Lucien's eyes chilled, clearly having expected a different conversation; nevertheless, Feyre pushed on. "We should be watchful and report any findings to each other." She began walking across the hall, turning back when she reached the door. "It's like Tamlin's been saying. It's important for us to be united right now. To put up a solid front. And to show the rest of Prythian that the Spring Court is not to be messed with."

Feyre pushed through the doors and out into the main hall, while forcing herself not to gag on her own words.

...

There was a noticeably larger number of guards stationed throughout the manor. Feyre spent the entire walk to her rooms acknowledging soldiers she knew. She decided that it was probably for the better, as she saw a couple of the Queen's warriors patrolling as well. Despite her continuous insistences that she could dress herself, Alis was there to help her prepare for bed, which they did in near silence.

Alis dismissed herself as soon as she saw it fit and left Feyre to wait for Tamlin's arrival. When she had arrived at the Spring Court, not entirely feigning the shock from the events of Hybern, he had had the decency to ask if she still wanted to share a bed. She assumed he was under the impression that she may not be able to stand a man's touch for a while. She told him not right away, that she needed time to recover, and so far, he had respected her wishes.

They had much to discuss, but even after the day's events, Feyre knew he wouldn't be visiting her. So she checked her mental shields once more, climbed into bed with a book, and waited for sleep to claim to her.

...

There were so many gods-damned roses.

Aelin had never really been a fan of roses. She much preferred lilies or orchids. Roses were just so cliche. The entire manor was surrounded by them; she didn't think she'd be able to live in a place where she looked out her window, and all she saw was roses. 

The emissary had led them throughout the large house, each room more elegantly furnished than the last. She hadn't gotten very close to the tan, redheaded male, but she could have sworn that his right eye was a different color than his left.

They stopped a little ways into a hedge garden, in the middle of a stone clearing where it looked like a fountain should have been. Three of her guards led her to the middle of the circular stone pathway and sat her down, the other two positioning themselves at the two entrances, or in her case: exits.

The emissary made to walk in, but the nearest guard blocked him with a hand. The emissary-- Lucien, she thought she'd heard-- looked ready to object, but his gaze flicked to the four other males, and he almost immediately backed down. He met eyes with Aelin briefly, before promising to have a servant bring provisions and stalking off.

With the mask on, her vision was severely hindered; now that she was sitting on the ground, she could barely see above the hedges. Aelin turned to one of the three guards surrounding her and lifted her chains, looking questioningly at where she was sitting. He met her gaze and smirked. "I should think you'd be used to sleeping on dirt by now."

Aelin snarled against her mask, and the fae male laughed, re-positioning her chain in his hands. She marked his face for later.

Aelin positioned herself on the ground, relishing the relief of not having to hold up chains, and waited for the servant the emissary had promised. While she waited, she contemplated everything that she had seen. She wasn't able to catch the entire welcoming conversation, but she felt she had the gist.

Like Maeve had said, this place was called the Spring Court, which Aelin thought very fitting considering that the whole place looked like it came out of a floral fairy tale. The tall blonde male-- the 'the High Lord' they had called him, was clearly in charge. Though the emissary also had authority.

The woman, Feyre, was still a bit of a mystery to Aelin. At first glance, she seemed like any ordinary consort, just a frivolous female who oriented all of her decisions around the wishes of men. However, Aelin's interactions with Kaltain had proven to her otherwise, so she kept the woman in the back of her mind.

The High Lord and emissary were obviously powerful, but she couldn't tell exactly how powerful.

What she wouldn't have given to take these gods-damned chains off. They oppressed not only her magic, but her ability to sense magic as well. It felt as if someone had cut off one of her senses, leaving her unable to properly assess threats or make necessary calculations. In this unfamiliar world, which was clearly brimming with magic, the sensation left her feeling more disadvantaged than she'd ever felt in Adarlan. Even before she'd mastered her powers.

She huffed a breath, the weight of the mask and chains bothering her even more than usual.

A long time later, the sun had begun to set, and Aelin came to the conclusion that her so-called provisions would not be brought until the next day. She moved a few of her chains and stretched out on the ground, stifling a groan as her muscles uncoiled. The guards tensed at her movement, but quickly settled back into casual attention.

The male who laughed may have just made her list of first people to kill, but he wasn't wrong. Aelin had spent enough time in various cells, that sleeping on the ground was no longer an issue. And despite her precarious situation, it took only a few minutes for her to fall into a surprisingly comfortable sleep.