✦ 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ✦

Twelve

Instead of the male who looked to be the so-called High Lord speaking, the female spoke.

"Hello Mala, I'd just like to express that I'm very sorry about what had to happen when you first arrived here, I assure you it won't happen again unless absolutely necessary."

Yes, drugging Mala wasn't exactly very polite, but she could understand why the fae had been wary of her. Obviously she was still pissed about it though, to be put in such a grim position.

She was something to be understood, to be figured out, to have her secrets spilled out of her, like her guts would be if she wasn't careful of this.

Mor motioned to her to take a seat in a cushioned chair, seated around a low table that was surrounding a warm burning fireplace.

Fire, like her mother, like Terresan, like herself. Everything seemed to remind her of it when she stopped to think. She needed to desperately stop thinking, to shut down any protruding thoughts.

"It would be delightful if I never had to be anesthetized senseless again, but I trust you to drug me only when necessary, don't worry," the remark slipped out of Mala.

She was already off to a bad start, returning the female's sincerity with scorn. Luckily, her probity tone took away what lack of politeness Mala thought would be the death of her.

The female didn't seem to mind though.

"I'm Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court, and this is Rhysand, High Lord," she motioned at the male sitting close to her.

If Mala had to guess, they were probably mates, going by the way Rhysand's eyes tracked Mala's every move, watching her with such an intensity to make sure she wasn't going to harm his mate, Mala almost doubted her facade would hold up. But still, she held strong. Rhysand's hand rested atop Feyre's thigh, caressing it in a comforting manner and the female didn't seem to mind it either.

"This is Azriel," Feyre pointed a quick finger at the Illyrian with the scarred hands, "and you've met Mor already."

As far as first impressions went, and as well as Mor and her had gotten along, Mala decidedly liked this High Lady.

There was not an ounce of fear in the female's eyes, confident in herself and the people around her. No wonder Velaris was such a thriving place, with it's lords and ladies actually capable of running a virtuous paradise.

Rhysand cleared his throat, "I'm going to require you to lower your walls Mala."

The declaration had to be double meaning, as much as it confused Mala. What walls? Her confusion must have been apparent on her face because suddenly—

A ghastly, harrowing, recondite fortification of thought and mind clawed at her. Not outside—inside. Inside, her mind, her head, it was being attacked. Tearing, striking, and battering her mental walls. Her head throbbed intensely, and her vision became blurry.

These fae—they didn't need to show off any powers, their abilities were obscured from the eye, time-honed talent was what it was, that was trashing the walls of her mind. Her walls fell rather quickly, embarrassingly enough. Her head dropped into her hands, to somehow stop the onslaught, the memories rushing by her. It was the same thing, someone picking through her head like a harvester picking berries. So easy for them, and yet what was happening to Mala now was unfathomable. How was this level of power even possible? To so effortlessly penetrate her mind, to steal all the knowledge of her world, of herself. She wouldn't even need to tell her secrets, they would find them.

The rush of it stopped, finding what it wanted. Everything she had, uncovered from layers of barriers in her mind, gone in the blink of an eye, tender and open for anyone to learn.