𝔸 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕎𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕙 (Book 2)

Fifty-three

Both our sisters stood next to the window, the candles reflecting from their hair like sunlight. They were so tense I could have sworn they were statues. They were so young—mortal. Breakable.

    What would happen when they'd become riddled with age and my sisters could no longer recall who I was? My immortal existence would have barely started when they died.

    The room suddenly felt too small. My world felt too big all of the sudden. My insides churned with dread. I would outlive everything familiar. Outlive my mortality. At some point everything I used to be would fade into oblivion...and I didn't know what would be left in its place.

    A flicker of something against my barriers drew me away from my looming horrors. I slowly turned my gaze away from my older sisters, my eyes connecting with those of violet. Another burst of comfort against my mental barriers.

    Had my barriers been down. I checked my mental walls where a thick shield of electricity lay. How did he know what I was feeling?

    I turned back to my sisters, focusing on the task at hand. I walked to the side of my sister, slightly shivering at the cold. I'd taken off my cloak and now stood in the dress I'd picked out earlier. Fae clothes. It was me and Feyre that Nesta and Elain stared at—not at the Illyrian warriors and High Lord of the Night Court. Us.

    Because we were strangers.

    I could see it in their eyes. They had no idea who we were anymore.

    Honestly, I was starting to doubt they ever did...

    My eldest sister's eyes fine left us as they traveled to the winged males in the room—two of them. Rhys had tucked away his wings, replaced them with a black suit with his hands neatly tucked inside his pockets.

Nesta took a not-so-subtle step in front of Elain as she stared at Cassian and Azriel's wings. At least they didn't faint. Thankfully, Feyre spoke first. I felt like words were beyond me at the moment.

    "Our sisters, Nesta and Elain Archeron."

    Danika Archeron. My family name, and yet I could never recall a moment that it didn't feel separate coming out of my mouth. Archeron. Maybe it was because I was adopted. Maybe it was because my Mother had screwed me up so terribly that I no longer felt connected to it.

    I heard my sisters heart's pounding from beside me. They scarcely breathed.

    I finally regained my courage, "Cassian," I said inkling my head towards the Illyrian clad in red stones. "Azriel," I nodded toward the shadowsinger, "And Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court."

    He had dimmed it. I realized. The thrum of power and night that usually rolled across rooms in waves was non-existent. But he couldn't get rid of it all. Looking at those violet eyes, Rhys could never be confused for anything but extraordinary.

    He bowed to my sisters, "Thank you for your hospitality—and generosity." he said with a strained smile.

    Elain tried and failed to return the smile.

    Nesta's eyes wandered the room, taking in each and every one of us with a scrutinizing glare before her eyes found purchase on Feyre and I once more. "The cook left dinner on the table. We should eat before it goes cold." She didn't allow anyone to get a word in before she stalked off toward the dining room, right to the head of the table.

    "Nice to meet you," Elain gasped before hurrying off.

    Cassian grimaced as the five of us followed. I looked to my left finding Rhys with his brows lifted to his hairline and Azriel looking like he might just blend into the nearest shadow and leave us to deal with my sisters.