(I acknowledge that some of the descriptions and dialogue in this chapter are pulled directly from the text of A Court of Wings and Ruin)

Just as Tamlin had announced, the first Hybern delegation arrived the next day, not a minute past noon. As Jurian and two Hybern commanders winnowed into the gravel of the front drive and strutted through the manor doors, Feyre couldn't help but think that maybe Tamlin was onto something with wanting to get the Queen out of the Spring Court as soon as possible.

The introductions were filled with tense words and underhanded cuts, but Feyre's attention was solely on the two commanders. They were high fae in appearance, with the same ruddy skin and inky black hair as their king; however, their eyes-- vacant and unfeeling-- were what caught her notice. It was a darkness honed by a millennia of cruelty.

Jurian presented them "--Their Highnesses, Prince Dagdan and Princess Brannagh, nephew and niece to the King of Hybern."

The twins had come to inspect the wall and evaluate the position from which they would use the cauldron-- from which they would destroy the barrier between Prythian and the mortal realms. Feyre snarled in her head-- that Tamlin actually believed Feyre would stomach Hybern's decimation of the human realm for the sake of the Spring Court-- for him.

If Feyre had to appreciate one thing about the Hybern delegates, it was that they didn't flit around with formal dialogue and pleasantries. The princess immediately requested sentries to show them the locations of the holes.

"Lucien and I can take you," Feyre offered.

Tamlin whipped his head to her, and she waited for the refusal-- the shutdown. But it never came. He merely gestured to Lucien "My emissary knows the wall as well as any sentry."

Feyre didn't leave any room for debate. "We'll leave tomorrow after breakfast," she told the princess.  "--With a few sentries as well." Tamlin loosened his shoulders, and began leading the new delegation to their rooms.

...

Jurian and the Commanders stayed out of sight for the rest of the afternoon. Feyre smiled to herself as she imagined Ianthe cornering them with her many ceremonial plans for the upcoming Summer Solstice.

Feyre was on her way to the gallery, when a series of loud noises drew her attention down one of the corridors. What she saw when she turned the corner gave her pause.

All down the hallway, doors were flung upon, and furniture displaced. None of the decor was broken or thrown about; the rooms hadn't been seized and ransacked. In fact, to an outside set of eyes, perhaps nothing would have looked amiss.

However, for someone intimately familiar with every nook and cranny of the house, the movement of the decor was blatantly obvious. Every couple of minutes, a fae male-- one of the Queen's guards-- would exit a room, and fling open the door of the next nearest to him, where he then proceeded to continue the search. The guards all worked with lethal efficiency and determination, none of them acknowledging Feyre's presence.

Eventually, Feyre turned and left, now walking with no destination in mind. She assumed that the males' uncharacteristic respect of the Spring Court's property was one of the few conditions Tamlin had made in negotiations.

Otherwise, the animalistic intent on the fae males' faces spoke enough of the potential for mass destruction.

The hallway Feyre had witnessed the search in was on the opposite side of the manor as her rooms. If the males continued with their current system, she reasoned that she had at least a few weeks before they came barging into her chambers, where they would presumably discover the hidden stone.

Still, as Feyre continued walking, while reinforcing the glamours which shielded the wyrdkey, she felt the pressure of time settle heavily onto her shoulders. She had yet to come up with a reasonable plan to remove the stone from the Spring Court.

Her options were running low, and now, so was her time. The Queen's search had already begun.

...

The newly arrived delegation may have kept out of sight throughout the afternoon, but that night's evening meal was a different entirety.

The dining hall table was about the fullest Feyre had ever seen it, and the palpable tension seemed to stifle the air. Sitting in that room, bearing witness to the constant underhanded threats and beguiling smiles of the Spring Court and the two delegations made Feyre want to hand the wyrdkey over right then and there. Anything to get this Queen out of the manor. Anything to separate these sadistically cunning and immortal leaders.

With every conversational topic and plate of food that passed across the table, someone's temper or ego rose another degree-- Jurian's getting the hottest the fastest.

Many of the Queen's guards watched the commanders with outward hostility. Once or twice, Feyre saw the Queen give a flick of her wrist in some sort of hand signal, as if calling off her males.

It took two courses and a series of blatant threats for Feyre to realize that the Commanders and Jurian were being intentionally provocative.

Ever since their arrival, Feyre found herself checking her mental shields every few minutes, but she reinforced them once again.

Tamlin and Lucien's minds, however, were not protected.

As soon as she had the thought, Feyre felt a tap on her shields, trying to get through her impenetrable wall of black adamant.

She brushed her mind up against Tamlin and Lucien's and immediately felt two black oily tendrils shooting for their minds-- thrown from the Commanders like spears. She slammed two walls of adamant down, and the two Commanders jolted physically as their powers collided. They both turned to Feyre, and she narrowed her eyes in slight recognition. Then she gouged a black claw into their walls of white bone, and they flinched again.

Feyre pulled away, a dull headache forming at the back of her temple, as both groups settled back into their chairs. Noticing the sudden silence, Tamlin asked what was wrong. Feyre feigned sweet ignorance.

Jurian laughed into his bowl of soup and gave Feyre a leering wink, while the Queen merely sat in silence, the corner of her lips tilted upward slightly, as if enjoying the show.

...

Since her time away, Feyre's old rooms had become overrun with foliage, so she was assigned the chambers across from Lucien.

After the evening meal, they found themselves walking side by side on the way to their rooms. He was the first to break the heavy silence.

"Hybern's commanders..." he started.

"--are horrible." she finished somewhat hysterically.

She continued. "How could Tamlin willingly let monsters like that into his home--our home?" She gestured desperately.

Lucien remained quiet, but his eyes flashed with anger akin to her own-- not all of which was for show.

They turned a corner and passed by one of the halls that had been searched. Somewhere, the sound of doors being opened and furniture being moved echoed across the tall ceilings as the process continued.

She took a deep breath, reigning in her contempt. "Has the Queen found what she's looking for?" she asked, despite knowing otherwise.

Lucien shook his head, his posture tensing with more anger.

"Not from what I've been told. I've tried talking to Tamlin-- this manor has two-hundred plus rooms-- how she can think that they'll find something as small as a stone or an amulet-- or that her misplaced items would even be in our possession is madness!" His voice rose. "--What will she do if she doesn't find it in the house? Will she then scour the gardens, and the forest?"

He turned to her, his eyes flaring and his anger now palpable. Apparently, Feyre wasn't the only one who had spent some time thinking. "-- Can you imagine putting any of the rest of the Spring Court at the mercy of her primal thugs?"

Feyre merely nodded in acquiescence.

"And now with the Hybern delegation..." his jaw clenched "...Jurian." He shook his head, "If we can't get her out of here soon, this whole manor is going up in flames."

They reached the doors to their rooms, and he seemed to come back to himself. "Get some rest, Feyre. We head out tomorrow."

He swung into his chambers and shut the doors, throwing the hallway into tense silence.

Before the Queen had arrived, Feyre had been developing a plan to drive a wedge between Lucien and Tamlin-- to weaken the Spring Court from the top down.

But now Feyre had bigger, more dangerous, things on her mind. So she, too, swept into her rooms without another word and closed the doors with a soft, resounding click.

...

Feyre awoke the next morning from an uneasy sleep. She had tossed and turned all night, hyper conscious of how close the chamber which held the key was to her bed-- of how easy it would be for the Queen to find it once her guards searched her rooms.

She thought about the possibility of moving the key to a room that had already been searched, but she could hardly move anywhere in the manor without noticing the presence of the foreign males , and with so many powerful eyes and ears in the manor, she didn't want to risk it.

Finally the sun rose, and Feyre was able to justify getting out of bed.

She dressed hurriedly-- pulling on pants and boots and throwing her hair into a braid.

She was relieved to put on something other than a dress for once. If nothing else came from the trip to the wall-- at least she had that.

She was strapping her lone dagger to her side-- the small bejeweled thing being the only weapon she could carry without drawing suspicion-- when a knock sounded at her door.

Throwing a glance at  the clock to confirm that she wasn't running late, she opened the door, expecting Lucien or a servant who had been sent to retrieve her.

To Feyre's surprise, one of the Queen's guards stood in the hallway. Panic crashed through her veins, and she fought the urge to look down the hallway for signs of the hallway being searched. She had thought she had a few more days before they reached her rooms.

She lifted her eyes to the towering male and forced her muscles to relax. "Can I help you?" she asked.

His deep voice echoed indifferently down the empty hallway. "My Queen has sent me as a gift."

Feyre was stunned into brief silence.

The guard's stillness was disconcerting, and though his expression held no interest, his eyes watched her with immense intensity as her expression flitted from one embarrassing horror into the next.

"--to paint," he finally elaborated.

Feyre's eyebrows narrowed slightly. The Queen had sent one of her guards as a gift...?

It has not escaped Feyre's notice that the Queen treated her males more as property than individuals, but this seemed to cross a new line.

If the lack of inflection in his voice way any indication, then the male standing in her door jamb detested the idea as much as she. Feyre found herself wondering, not for the first time, what the Queen had done to warrant such unwavering loyalty from so many immortal warriors.

"Why, I'm not painting today." She glanced down at herself, as if the outfit was explanation in itself. "--I should be available in a few days, after I've finished with some business. Please give your Queen my gratitude."

She gave a small apologetic smile and began to close her door, but the male pushed past her arm and strolled into her rooms.

Feyre whipped around, her hand still clutching the edge of the door.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Ignoring her, he prowled farther into her room, his battle gear swishing with each movement. He turned in a circle, inspecting the room with a dark predatory gaze.

"My Queen insists that you use your gift right away", he repeated after he'd finished his brief inspection.

Holding back a bitter retort, Feyre reached into his mind and tried to coax him into leaving. When he made no indication of moving, Feyre pulled back. Either his will was stronger than her powers, or something else at play was.

She willed ice into her veins. "I'm sorry. I am physically unavailable to paint you today. It'll have to wait."

Feyre waited another moment, but the male made no indication of leaving.

She grabbed her pack that had been sitting on the chair, and started to leave. She stopped in the doorway when the guard took a seat on her chaise.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he seemed to sense her question before she asked it. "I'm waiting here until you return."

Feyre huffed a breath. "If you insist on waiting, can you at least have the decency to wait outside of my personal chambers?" He turned his head and met her eyes with a fierce intensity that was answer enough. He planned to stay exactly where he was until she painted him-- no doubt because his Queen had ordered it so.

Feyre wondered what game the Queen was playing. Was this a ploy to get access to her rooms? To force her to miss the trip to the wall with the Hybern delegation?

Maybe she wanted to see what depths Feyre would go to to keep others out of her rooms. Or quite possibly, she simply wanted to keep closer tabs on the Lady of the Spring Court.

Feyre forced herself not to look at the tapestry which concealed the wyrdkey-- mere feet away from where the fae warrior sat-- and prayed to the cauldron that he couldn't smell the anxiety which clouded her mind.

If she left with Lucien to go to the wall, then one of the Queen's guards would spend days within finding distance of the key. If she stayed behind, then she might miss valuable information on Hybern's plans-- information that could be vital to her own court.

Feyre considered having some of the Spring Court guards remove the male, but then what would it matter if Tamlin had given the Queen free reign to search every room anyways?

Feyre imagined quickly what might happen if the wyrdkey was found in her possession, and knew that she would have to stay behind.

She could not risk this male discovering the wyrdkey. Lucien would go to the wall, and he or Tamlin would relay the information to her at some point. She could explain missing the trip, but she could not explain hiding an object that the Queen had been explicitly searching for.

Feyre shot up a silent curse and told the male to wait. She hurried to Lucien's rooms across the hall, relieved to find him still there. She explained to him that she would not be able to accompany them to the wall, for fear of gravely insulting the Queen by not accepting her gift. Though not without one of his signature looks of suspicion, Lucien was quick to agree, and after warning her to be careful, he took off down the hall to meet the Hybern delegation.

Feyre returned to her rooms to find the male still lounging on her chaise, now with a book in his hands. She glanced to the empty space on her shelf and didn't fight the irritation in her voice. "Alright. I've cancelled my plans to paint you... though I don't understand why it has to be now."

She tossed her pack back onto the chair and started across the room to the wall with all of her art supplies. She began scooping the loose brushes and paints into the tote.

Without turning to face him, she asked bitterly "Do I have to paint you dirtying my furniture as well, or can we go somewhere with decent lighting that won't leave my bedspread smelling like fumes?"

She gathered the supplies tote in her arms and stood up. The guard closed the book and looked at her for a moment before nodding his head in allowance.

She, too, nodded in answer and strolled out of her rooms, the tote rattling in her arms.

Soon after, she felt the presence of the male following closely behind, and she forced herself not to loose a breath of relief. Every step they took away from her chambers and the discovery of the wyrdkey helped to release the tension in her shoulders and cool the pulsing in her veins.

...

Feyre and the foreign male saw few others as she led him throughout the manor and to the outside drive. When they did pass someone in the hall, it was usually a small cluster of servants who, upon seeing the guard and lady, seemed to look away and change direction abruptly. If not from intimidation of the male warrior himself, then from the assumption that he and Feyre were associating in a matter of business in which eavesdropping would be punishable.

They pushed through a set of external doors and began down the gravel drive. Feyre slowed her gait slightly as she swept her eyes across across the treeline, looking for an ideal spot to position the male.

She was about to head to a small clearing on the left, when her eyes caught on a relatively small stone structure along the edge of the property. She changed her direction and started across the grass toward it.

The structure was a sort of crumbling wall made up of light gray stones and the dark foliage that grew between them. Probably the remnants of a storage building or other used by the servants before Amarantha's reign.

Feyre stopped in front of the wall and looked over her shoulder at the male. Everything about him was dark-- dark hair and dark eyes-- which she decided would contrast nicely against the stone.

Feyre directed the guard to the shaded area in front of the wall, then stepped backward until her canvas was in the light--outside of the wall's shadow.

She told him to get comfortable, and the male proceeded to cross his arms and lean against the wall.

Then Feyre began to paint.

She started with the stone background and meticulously worked her way inward. Before she knew it, she slipped into what she considered her killing calm. Except instead of a blade, she wielded a brush.

Soon into drawing his features, she became unable to shake a sense of familiarity. As she began the complex process of copying his facial features, she realized why.

The sharp edge of his jawline, the thick arch to his eyes, and the slight curve to his nose. The similarities began stacking into place, and by the time two hours had passed, she had no doubt that this male was related to the Queen's guard named Fenrys.

However, where Fenrys's hair was golden against their bronze skin, this male's was dark.

When she and Fenrys had spoken, he had been so warm and lively-- energy seeping out of his arrogant posture and curved smile. The male sitting in front of her was quite the opposite-- quiet and reserved-- almost thoughtful. The darkness to Fenrys's light.

She opened her mouth to ask him about it, but suddenly thought better of it. She continued to paint.

The painting was finished in a mere handful of hours-- several times during which she offered the guard a break, but all of which he declined. Feyre finished her last few strokes and leaned back to examine her work.

The end result was a full body portrait of the male leaning against the crumbling stone wall. Most of the painting was shrouded in darkness from the wall's shadow, except for a single beam of light slipping through the cracks and the resulting reflections against his battle gear.

Throughout their hours together, Feyre had frequently brushed up against his mind; though she discovered nothing new, she consistently felt the animalistic intensity of his shape-shifting abilities, which prompted her to paint his eyes a wolfish yellow. In context, it appeared as though his eyes were reflecting the light of the sun beam.

The overall work was dark and eerie, and for someone who spent most of her time painting flowers, Feyre felt a strange sense of pride for it.

She began wiping off her brushes and invited to male to look. With no indication that he'd spend hours standing completely still, he pushed off the wall with unhindered grace and joined her in front of the canvas. His face gave nothing away as he inspected the painting.

Mere seconds later, and without a single word or motion of acknowledgement, he turned on his heel and started back up to the manor-- his weapons reflecting the light of the setting sun in a similar fashion to her painting.

Feyre turned back to the easel, and looking at the darkness in which she had shrouded him, wondered if she should have chosen the colorful tree background instead.

...

The next few days were silent agony for Feyre-- walking around the manor while Lucien dealt with the Hybern delegation at the wall and Tamlin participated in business throughout the Court. An opportunity had arisen for her to spy on Hybern, and the Queen had ripped it away from her.

At all hours of the day and night, her guards could be found--or heard-- marching between hallways and rooms, scouring every nook and cranny for the stone and necklace-- the wyrdkeys. What Feyre had originally assumed would be weeks of time had dwindled to a handful of days. She wondered when-- or even if the males ever slept. The Queen had them searching the manor like a non-stop machine.

It occurred to Feyre often that she might search for the second wyrdkey herself, but again, she couldn't risk drawing further suspicion from either foreign delegation. And she assumed that if the necklace were in the manor, then she would have sensed it the same way she had the stone.

During times of the day when she wasn't particularly doing anything, which had become quite often, she found herself checking and strengthening her shields and glamours every two minutes or so-- to the point where it almost became an obsession. Every day that the males came closer to searching her rooms helped to fuel Feyre's anxiety.

She saw Tamlin only at meals, which she began to believe was for the best. Lucien's words echoed against her own. She didn't want to ask the High Lord what would happen if--when --the Queen didn't find what she was looking for. Didn't want to ask who else he would allow to be put at the mercy of Queen Maeve and her fae warriors.

The knowledge that Feyre had to get the stone out of the Spring Court pressed on her-- the plotting of ways to get rid of it clawing at the back of her mind at all hours of the day.

But now that two enemy threats were lodged in Tamlin's territory, she also felt it even more essential than ever that she stay. The future of the war might very well depend on it.

Feyre paced her room one night, continuing to contemplate this very problem. She could think of no scenario that would allow her to contact Rhysand without drawing large amounts of unwanted attention. She still couldn't risk using the bond.

She stopped pacing in front of her balcony doors and threw back the curtains, allowing the moonlight to illuminate her room. She looked up at the night sky and swallowed thickly.

She quietly opened the balcony doors and stepped outside.

Clutching the railing with both hands, she closed her eyes and tilted her head backward, while breathing deeply.

She opened her eyes and smiled up to the stars, imagining a similar scene from another time, in another city that lived under the starlight.

Though not using their actual bond, Feyre sent a small prayer up to the sky, willing it to reach Rhysand-- wherever he was.

She took another deep breath and turned to go back to her chambers, when something made her stop.

In the distance, a warm light radiated from within the gardens-- a set of lanterns being used by guards to keep watch. Though she couldn't see the group of foreigners from that particular balcony, Feyre knew what the scene looked like: five immortal fae warriors tasked with watching one prisoner wrapped head to toe in iron chains. A single fae woman who sat comfortably on the ground in the center of a stone circle and continued to hold herself with the dignity of an empress. A powerful female who already knew the risks of allowing the wyrdkeys to fall into the wrong hands.

Feyre was struck with an idea. She, herself, could not leave the Spring Court or risk communicating directly with the Night Court. But if someone else could transfer the stone and a message to Rhysand without implicating her...

Feyre was suddenly overcome with a sense of certainty. As she shut her balcony doors and pulled the curtains closed, she began developing a plan. She knew just the person to get the wyrdkey out of the Spring Court... but first, Feyre would have to help her escape.