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ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ

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The inner circle

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To say Rhysand was nervous, was the understatement of the decade.

Telling Amren about him impregnating a female, perhaps when his father was still alive, when they visited Hewn City for a Ball, just a month prior to Rhys's coronation and five weeks prior to the Spring Court incident which ended up with two new, young High Lords or his coronation's afterparty, was a peice of cake. Not recalling who it was easy enough to speak out, but the nasty look Amren threw him was enough to scar his mind not to mention the lecture he got, with her threatening to castrate him if he ever pulled this kind of shit again.

As if his mission was to sire illegitimate children when Amren kept her eyes off him.

She said that only thing keeping her from cutting his manhood off then was that if he were to die, the power of the High Lord may pass to his child at Hewn City and Cauldron knew if Keir knew about the child, especially when he was the next in line; nothing would stop him from killing her or him when the child would be in his City, in his Court. Especially when he may next in line to be High Lord.

He had believed Amren would keep her promise.

The matter of telling his brothers about his possible child was making him act oddly out of character. No, he wasn't scared of their reactions but rather, a part of him was afraid of them being disappointed at him. Mor certainly would be.

His blonde cousin, an inspiration to all with her prowess, who had survived, no lived through that hell and came back stronger than ever, would be apprehensive about the whole ordeal Cauldron, she would be furious to know that the child was in Keir's Court.

He himself had to rein in his worries, the possibilities of the child being used as a weapon against him were endless. It enraged him to no extend. He only knew about the existence of his miraculous child and Mother above, he already grew his sense of possessiveness over the him or her.

Rhys had a sneaking suspicion that his Spymaster and brother in anything but blood, Azriel; might be on to him. He had acted a little out of character when the Shadowsinger had last reported to him about Mor's father and the workings of his Court while Rhysand remained in Velaris. Thankfully he hadn't been called out to his questionable behaviour, Azriel understood if Rhys was uncomfortable sharing something and would wait for him to come to terms with it first.

Understanding.

They all were, that's what made him feel bad about not telling them yet. Even his brother Cassian, a bastard who made himself a mighty general just with a sword and seven siphons to channel his devastating battle power, would wait for him, would put himself in harm's way if it meant Rhys would be better.

Cauldron knew, he do the same for all of them.

Rhys kept his guilt at bay, as he winnowed to the House of Wind, those cold dark wisps swallowing him whole, a pit curled in his stomach; the sensation now familiar to him. He appeared right in front of the dining hall, facing the closed tall draughtproof heavy metal doors with silver carvings engraved on to it making it a peice of art than just a simple doorway yet not overly ornate.

He swiftly egressed his way in, a snap of his power opening the doors at his command, Rhys immediately saw Mor and Cassian bickering, Azriel silently stood at the back; his shadows whispering to him as he watched the ordeal with a small, amused smile on his face.

Had he been so perturbed that he failed to hear them? He was surprised he wasn't sprouting any grey hairs at this point.

Mor took a quick notice at him, as Cassian followed.