A Court Of Glass And Fear

Three

I knew it was a gods awful idea to follow Cassian to Feyre's newest house. I should've just stayed in my apartment and kept on doing what I did best these days: get drunk and then bring some random male, not a man, back with me. I could've refused to go and then I wouldn't have been kicked out of my newest home. Because that's what it was, my home. I never thought that I would think of Velaris as my home. I'll definitely never share that thought with anyone.

My two sisters and my father would've been the only people I would confide in. Maybe. Probably not. Define not now that Father is dead, Elain can barely stand to look at me these days, and Feyre apparently hates my guts enough to throw me out of Velaris and then have the nerve to look sad about it and try to say that she understood what I was going through.

No one in that room looked happy when it was announced that they were going to make me go to the Illyrian mountains with Cassian. That they were going to train me because they were tired of it. It being how I was acting.

Like my actions affected any of their happy little family. I'd been given a tour of the riverside house and noticed not a single picture or reference of me in the whole giant mansion. There were pictures of Father, Elain, any one in their court. But not me. It was pretty obvious what they were trying to say. Of what Feyre was trying to say.

Rhysand had winnowed Cassian and me out here this morning. When we first arrived, the leader of the camp, Lord Devlon, was introduced to me. Cassian left to go check up on something, I don't even know what. The useless brute didn't even deign to tell me.

Lord Devlon looked at me like I was worthless and a waste of his time. I still remember his self righteous tone as he told me that if I wanted to be trained I would have to "earn my keep around the camp by helping the other females with the chores." He had had his arms crossed against his chest and was standing in a position that could only be described as dominant.

I didn't bother to speak back to him at first. I crossed my own arms and popped out my left hip before making eye contact with him and saying, "No." His eyes narrowed and his wings shuffled behind him.

"I don't care who you are, girl, or who you're related to," He snarled. "But you are going to do as I say exactly when I tell you to. Starting now." Bastard. He smirked at me before grabbing my arm and dragging me through the muddy camp to a stream where other women, no females, were washing out clothes. "I suggest you get started." Devlon said smugly. "If you want to have any chance of having time to start training today, that is." He turned his back and started to walk away when I spit on him. Not my most graceful move, I admit.

The male growled as he turned. The movement was so swift that it shocked me. I was a High Fae now, so it's not like I didn't have the same unnatural speed as he did. But the movement still shocked me. Just because it had been a year didn't mean I was used to it, no matter what Feyre thought.

Devlon stalked up to me and backhanded me across my face. I could taste blood. "Listen here, Nesta," He started. But then I cut him off. "I don't care." Quick, unfeeling. The truth. I didn't care, not about him, nor his rules, nor anything else in this world. Anger was the only thing that I had felt ever since the war ended. Well, that's not entirely true. When the end of the war was still new, I still felt sadness. Sadness, over my Father's death. But now, I felt nothing.

Vaguely, I heard the camp Lord yelling about how I will respect him or I will pay the consequences. Then I felt him slap me again before he turned around and left. I stood there, before the river, watching him walk away with my hands clenched into tight balls by my sides. I would make him pay.

My mind was caught up in scheming how I could kill him when I realized one of the other females had come up to me. She had long black hair that was in one long braid that had fallen over her shoulder and was wearing some of the Illyrian fighting gear that I had seen the court of dreams wear. That I had once worn during the war.