Dark Light

26. Her Claim

Almost immediately, you thought back to the night that Elain had announced her pregnancy.

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You wanted to be happy — you really did. But instead, you were dreading Azriel's reaction.

His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, and even though he was fighting a grimace, a callously bright, murderous look in his eyes already gave him away.

Cassian rose from the settee carefully like he didn't want to startle his friend. "Hey, Azriel, maybe we should go for a walk—"

"No," Azriel said, taking a step back. He looked at you as if you were the source of all his problems, something to be taken care of. "(Y/n), I'm sorry, but I re—"

Rhysand surged past you, his High Lord aura suffocating. "Pull yourself together." He grabbed Azriel's good arm, shoving him toward the foyer. "I won't have you ruin the harp or Cauldron's decision, do you understand me? We can't jeopardize . . ."

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The heavens, swollen with rain, finally burst; it poured.

You felt so many things at once that you felt nothing at all. Your movements were sharp as you pushed back, stood, and then tried to walk away, but Azriel grabbed your wrist.

"Wait, (Y/n)," he said, leaning over your chair. "I can explain."

You hesitated before looking at him down your nose. The crown of your head tingled as something wild and violent fine-tuned the remnants of your human heartstrings. Onyx feathers sprouted from your cheekbones and temples, but when they caught the light, they shone all sorts of colors; blithe oranges, ruby reds, powerful magentas, and royal purples.

A few people gasped. Azriel's eyes widened marginally. His hold on your wrist loosened as if he realized he'd grabbed a stranger by accident.

"Let's make one thing perfectly clear," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Your blood stays in your body because I allow it . . . And because we're in the presence of a child." Ribbons of light pried Azriel's fingers away from your wrist. Only when you were free did you look at Rhysand and Mor. "So. Care to explain?"

Surprisingly, Rhysand moved Mor behind him. "You need to calm down," he said. Amren joined Mor, bringing the decanter of wine with her. "You're changing into your true form. Every High Lord has one, but you don't know how they work yet."

You cocked your head to the side, looking Rhysand over. "I am calm. You're the one who's panicking. I can hear your heart . . . What're you scared of, O Mighty High Lord of Night? That you'll be found guilty?" You lowered your chin, grinning. "You don't need to worry about that. Because I already think you are. I know you are."

"Rhysand," Feyre said, voice thin and weak with disbelief. "What did you do?"

Rhysand glanced at his mate but then immediately dropped his gaze. "What needed to be done."

Feyre blinked furiously, appalled at what she was hearing. "Nothing needed to be done."

Finally, Rhysand's composure snapped. "If we lose her, we die!"

Feyre handed Nyx off to Nesta. "But you don't know that, Rhysand. None of us do. And most importantly, she doesn't belong to us! She's not property!"

Nyx whimpered until the sound turned into a cry.

"Great." Rhysand ran a hand through his hair and then glared at you. "You want me to explain? Fine, I'll explain." He leaned over the table. "Mor exaggerated what I said. All I did was tell Azriel to play nice with you, to make you happy. Your doom and gloom were becoming unbearable. I couldn't take it anymore. Not to mention you were a human with a penchant for chaos and danger. So, yes, I kept you here for your benefit. I needed you smiling and laughing, content with where you were . . . It was the best idea, the safest one."