Rhae

Tamlin and Lucien showed no sign of knowing she'd been gone for half the night. Seemingly the two of them had been so exhausted they slept like the dead. She's not sure how they managed to do that, Rhae always found herself on edge the night before a battle.

Missions were different, they were run of the mill excursions out. Maintenance most of the time.

But meeting with a self proclaimed queen who controls the power of seven High Lords? That should have them on edge. She would like them to be a little on edge. Lucien is, she has no qualms with him, Tamlin though.

It's disturbing, he should be sweating or breaking out in hives. Little flowers should be sprouting wherever he steps as he loses his grip on the Spring Court's power. He looks a little dead inside.

Rhae needs him to not be dead. Because Tamlin needs to fight for his life and his people's. Not just his people's. The amount of times she has suicidal soldiers parading around as Martyars.

If he's trying to die then that is his real goal. He won't look beyond it. One course of action might save half his people but kill him. Then he'll fixate on it and not see the other course that would save three quarters of his court and badly injure him, or kill him, or whatever.

The point is, he'll jump on the first possibility he's greeted with. He won't think.

"Well this is just as twisted as I pictured." Lucien sighs to himself, wincing at the sight of the Middle. "Why does it look so... gnarly?"

Rhae shrugged, "Cese pit of magic."

Tamlin dumps his pack onto the floor beside them, it sinks into the thin layer of snow still present. The three of them are on the border line between Winter and the Middle, a bit of a no man's land where the snow is interspersed by dark trees since there's no definitive line like the wall between the mortal realm and Spring.

He rummages around, searching for the letter they had written back in his manor. It already felt like a lifetime ago, when they were sitting and having breakfast as she taunted the little lord. The concept of time has always been a funny thing, especially since she spent so long in the dark.

Rhaemarys hasn't slept in the pitch black since.

"We'll send the letter by Raven." Tamlin states, head tilting as he peers into the forest. For a moment it's as if his eyes were glowing but a soft spring breeze flows past and moves his shoulder length hair. "It should reach her within the hour."

"And her reply?" Rhae queries, staring at the dark bird circling them up above.

"That will come in person."

Lucien huffs, pulling his gloves off in frustration. "If we're unlucky I know exactly who she will send."

Rhae does too.

She prays they're lucky. The last thing this ramshackled plan needs is his interference.

"Let's pray that we are lucky then." Tamlin murmurs as the Raven lands on his arm. In seconds the message is tied to the creature's claw and with a few whispered commands back in the air.

The reply did not come within the hour. They're on hour three and growing bored.

"Please stop pacing." Rhae continued to braid her hair back. "It's a power move–"

"I'm aware of that." Lucien hisses, scrubbing at his forehead.

She rolls her eyes, giving up on the Emissary who seems content to work himself into a panic attack. Tamlin gave up sooner than her, leaning against a tree while she perched high up on one of the branches.

"Besides, don't we need to get into character?"

"Role play," She pouts, "How kinky."

A snarl cuts chases after her laughter but Lucien makes no further move beyond glaring at her.

"Must you make everything a joke?"

"Would you rather I be a depressing old fart." She arches a brow, "I could list all the ways this could go wrong but there's no point in that. Might as well make the most of the little freedom we have left."

"You don't seem very concerned about being traded in as a slave." Lucien peers up at her, eyes narrowed in distrust. "I thought you would be more jittery after your supposed history."

"Supposed." She whispers, voice cold. The wind dies around them, the bird quieting until even the magic in the land seems to negate and shy away from her. "There's nothing to speculate about."

That magical eye of his whirls and stutters.

Rhae drops down silently from her perch, landing in crouch before straightening to her full height. Not a single hair out of place, the ground around her hardly seemed touched. Her tail brushed along the floor, spines clicking out in preparation of a fight.

Lucien's throat bobbed at the noise.

"Don't ever presume to belittle what happened, Lucien." Rhae murmured, stalking towards the emissary and feeling her canines descend. "You wouldn't know a revolution or war if it hit you in the face."

"And ain't that the truth." A cruel voice drawled and Rhae whipped around to face the High Lord of the Night Court. "Seems poor little Lucien has bitten off more than he can chew."

She stalks away from the Emissary, stepping closer to where Rhys is flanked by a group of six fae and two attor creatures. The fae are shifting, slowly stalking around them, penning them in. She lets them.

Tamlin is by her side in second, steeping in front of her to snarl at his fellow Lord. Lucien was on her right, armed with a casual fighting stance and twin blades in hand. Rhae folded her arms across her chest, pouting as she let the spines click closed on her tail.

She keeps the dragon eyes though, they tend to put people off.

"Rhysand." She can practically hear the way Tamlin's jaw clenches.

"Rhys, please." A slick sleazy smile as he steps forward. "Only my enemies call me Rhysand."

Tamlin remains silent, long enough that Rhys rolls his eyes with a sigh.

"Did you get my letter?"

"An interesting proposal." He croons and Rhae tries not to collapse in relief at the familiar playful glint in his eyes. She ignores the sunken cheeks, and pale skin. He's alive and still in there somewhere. "Her majesty is interested in hearing more."

"Have you been given permission to bargain on her behalf?"

Rhys straightens his cufflinks. "Certainly not. She wants to see the.... Creature herself."

Rhae smirks, enjoying the way the High Lord sneers at her. Scanning her head to toe. It's just a game, she tells herself. Enjoy it. Lean into it.

"Hello Rhysand." She purrs and he tilts his head.

A second later he appears before her, stepping out of the shadows as he peers down at her. Lucien flinches back before raising his sword. Rhae doesn't flinch, tilting her head up to stare down her old friend.

"And what shall I call you."

"Rhaemarys." She purrs, eyeing him and down in return. "And you most certainly can't call me Rhae."

He grinned, malicious but there was legitimate rage in his eyes. Oh he was pissed. Scared for her but pissed. Too bad, he was the arsehole who hadn't contacted her for so long that she feared he was dead.

But she knew he was alive, some intrinsic part told her he was.

"You've caused quite the stir, Rhae."

"And here I was thinking you'd be glad to see me."

His eyes narrow, no other sign of his expression faltering. She arches her brow.

"What with her majesty so desperate for my attention."

The guards snarl and even Rhys' lip curled up in disdain. An act. Just an act she reminded herself. But oh she wished he would play the game with her. Join her in the fun instead of wallowing in defeat.

"She has indeed been looking for you." He muses, gaze dropping to the tail that flicks back and forth across the ground, dragging through the snow and mud. "Interesting that you decided to join us now."

Translation: What the fuck are you doing here?

"It seemed there was a deal to be made," She raises her chin. "One that benefits my Spring Court companions."

Translation: I'm trying to help these dimwitted fools.

Interpretation: Tamlin is holding me hostage.

Because of course that's how Rhys would see it. She'd forgotten how overprotective he was. For a moment she remembers another time. Days spent chasing young children through the fields as a shadow watches over them. She remembers the gifts and parcels they would receive from a distant aunt, ones wrapped in paper painted to look like constellations.

He was rarely subtle with his affection but this time he is. This time he glares at the High Lord of Spring but makes no move against him.

It pisses her off for some reason.

She didn't want him to rip Tamlin to pieces but accepting the deal and moving on so easily was insulting. Even if it did play perfectly into their plan.

Rhaemarys for the Spring Court. They couldn't keep Amarantha away for long but 25 years was enough time, years where they would work with her but still maintain some form of autonomy in the sense that their High Lord and his people wouldn't be imprisoned.

It was a good deal. Tamlin could have asked for more but no one was going to tell him that. Well, he could have had more if someone was willing to verify Rhae's heritage. As it stands the deal has been made with the stipulation that Rhae is who she says she is. If not, then they all die. Or face a fate worse than death.

It was only when they winnowed into the dark mountain that the three of them were separated. It seemed the Attor creatures were instructed to take the High Lord and his Emissary to temporary rooms. 

The dragon of course would be taken to a cell or a cage.

Except when she opened her eyes they were in a pristine room filled with a familar scent. One belonging to a fae that was currently staring her done, rage twisting his features. For once, Rhae felt a twinge of guilt as she was faced with the High Lord of the Night Court's wrath.

A/N: And we're going under the mountain people. Let the angst begin.