Daisy Blooms - Azriel

Chapter 19

The Court of Nightmares was decorated as it usually was, adorned for the Winter Solstice celebration that lasted three whole days surrounding the longest night of the year. Each night held a different ball, and at the first of them, Nesta would dance with Eris.

Tonight. In a matter of moments.

Cassian stood at the foot of the black dais, staring out at the glittering throng with a face that promised death. Az stood on the other side of the dais, wearing a similar expression with me next to him. I'm wearing a slightly proofed out ball gown that's black, to match Azriel. Mor stood by Feyre's and Rhysand's thrones, representing them until they arrived.

The entire throne room was bedecked in black candles, evergreen wreaths and garlands, and holly berries. The twin banquet tables flanking either side of the massive space overflowed with food, but it was forbidden to all until Feyre and Rhys allowed it.

We'd heard nothing of the Crown, nothing from Briallyn. She had not come for the Trove. I'm not stupid enough to believe it was over. None of them were.

The towering doors to the throne room at last yawned open.

Dark power rumbled through the mountain, warning of their approach. The mountain sang with it. Everyone turned as the High Lord and High Lady appeared, crowned and garbed in black. Rhys looked his usual handsome self, but Feyre . . . The room gasped.

Tonight also served another purpose: to tell the world of Feyre's pregnancy. She wore a dress of sparkling black panel like she had first worn here-and it did nothing to hide her swelling belly. No, it showed off her pregnancy womb gleaming in the candlelight.

Rhys's face was a portrait of smug male pride. He'd shred anyone who so much as blinked wrong at Feyre into a million bloody ribbons. Indeed, cold violence rippled off Rhys as they walked toward the dais, Feyre's baby-rich scent filling the air.

Feyre might as well have been a goddess of old, crowned and glowing, her belly swollen with life. Her serene face was lovely, and her full red lips parted in a smile at Rhys as they aimed for their thrones. Keir looked torn between anger and shock; Eris's face was carefully neutral.

Motion at the back of the room tugged our stare from our enemies, and then-Both sisters wore black. Both walked behind Rhys and Feyre, a silent indicator that they were a part of the royal family. Had mighty powers of their own. They'd planned it that way, wanting Eris to see for himself how valuable Nesta was. I wonder if Elain and Nesta had broken their silence while waiting for their entrance. They hadn't spoken to each other for months now.

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn't hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court-and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. I've never once found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court ... It sucked the life from her.

Nesta had braided her hair over her head in her usual style but atop it, a delicate tiara of glinting black stone rested, slender spikes jutting upward in a dark corona. Each spike was topped with a tiny sapphire, as if the spikes were so sharp they'd pierced the sky and drawn cobalt blood. And the dress . . .

Silver thread embroidered the skintight velvet bodice, the straps so narrow they might as well have been nothing against her moon- white skin. The neckline plunged nearly to her navel, where the silver thread gathered to hold a small sapphire that matched the ones on her crown. The full skirts brushed the dark floor, rustling in the rippling silence.