𝔸 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕎𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕙 (Book 2)

Eighty-Seven

The mortal queens varied in age. Some old, some young. Each looked different in their own way: Hair color, eyes, manner, height, temperament. I felt like I was looking at a variety of circus clowns, picking which one would be the most difficult to deal with.

    The two who appeared to be middle-aged, the ones directly in front of us were polar opposites. One dark, one light. One smiling, one frowning. They even wore gowns of black and white and seemed to move in question and answer to each other.

    And the youngest two queens, one was perhaps a few years older than Feyre and I, black-haired and black-eyed. A cold and cunning nature emanated from her. Careful and cunning. She would be one to watch out for.

    And the final queen, the one who spoke first, was the most beautiful—the only beautiful one out of the whole lot. Her hair was riotously curly and golden as Mor's, her eyes just as amber as hers. Even her brown freckles seemed as though they had been dusted with gold—a lion.

    "Well met," Rhysand said, standing still as the stone-faced guards scanned us and the room.

    The sitting room was large enough that one nod from a queen sent the guards into motion. Positioning themselves around the room, by the walls, by the doors. My sisters, silent by the bay windows, shuffled to make as guards practically ushered them away.

    Rhys stepped forward and the queens simulatiosly sucked in a breath, as if waiting for something. Bracing themselves. Their guards casually—and very foolishly—placing a hand on the hilt of their swords. As if they stood a chance.

    But Rhysand simply bowed his head slightly and said to the assembled queens, "We are grateful you accepted our invitation." he lifted a brow, "Where is the sixth?"

    The ancient queen, in a gown so blue it looked like a dark ocean, merely said, "She is unwell and could not make the journey." she surveyed me. "You are the emissary."

    Right. The emissary. I had no idea why I even agreed to that title.

    "Yes." I replied. "My name is Danika." My voice carefully calm, revealing nothing of my feelings in the moment.

    The queen cut a glance toward Rhysand, "And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after the first few were dispatched."

    I did not let my confusion show. Did not so much as bat an eye. How many letters had he sent them? It was not a big deal, but it did make me question what he had written.

    You didn't ask what was inside them, he said mind to mind with me, a hint of laughter in his tone. I resisted rolling my eyes just barely, already loathing that my mental shields had to be left down just in case we needed to silently communicate.

    "I am." Rhysand confirmed, dipping his chin before he nodded his head to the side. "And this is my cousin Morrigan."

    Mor stepped up toward us, her red gown flowing, swept by a phantom wind. The golden queen sized her up with each step, every breath. Two sides of the same coin fighting for which would be upturned. Mor bowed at my side, "It has been a long time since I met with a mortal queen."

    The black-clad queen placed a hand on her stomach, shock lining her features. "Morrigan—the Morrigan from the war."

    Each of the queens froze, pausing in their place.

    Mor bowed again, "Please—sit." she gestured to the chairs we had laid out in, far enough that the guards could flank their queens if they saw fit.

    Almost as if they were one, the queens sat.  Their guards, to my surprise, stayed at their posts. I wasn't sure whether it was the queens being blatantly ignorant to clear threats, or a very sneaky insult toward us.

    The golden queen smoothed her skirts, cutting a glance toward the bay windows, "I assume those are our hosts."

    Elain bobbed a curtsy, her cheeks turning a flushed pink while Nesta had gone straight as an iron rod. Her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.

    "My sisters." I confirmed, glancing over for less than a second.

    The darker of the middle-aged queens arched a brow, skepticism lighting her features. "I do not see much a resemblance." her voice sounded like a sneer, and yet it seemed so natural I wondered if it was her true voice.

    I smiled slightly, putting on my best show of respect. "Yes, well I was adopted when I was quite young."

    Again the queen looked skeptical, her eyes going up and down my frame as she sized me up. Her head dipped just a fraction in a nod as she accepted my answer.

     The golden queen's amber eyes slid to me, "An emissary wears a golden wreath. Is that a tradition in Prythian?"

Though the headpiece was not a crown, it was a...tradition of sorts, within the entirety of the world. Worn by goddesses depicted in past art. By royalty in ancient histories.

    I found it ironic given my status.

    "No," Rhysand spoke smoothly, a small tilt of his lips. "But she certainly looks good enough in one that I can't resist."

    "A human turned into a High Fae...and who is now standing beside a High Lord at a place of honor. Interesting." The golden queen mused.

    I studied the queen, an old habit to feel out an opponent. It certainly came in useful.

    The golden queen was confident, her chin up, her shoulders held back. Even so, amusement glittered in her eyes. She seemed the most human out of each of them. The most alive.

    She reminded me of Astrid. So very much it sent a needle straight to my heart.

    The blonde locks, the caramel eyes. The way she seemed so full of life. It was not just the physical appearance, but her mannerisms too. The way she held herself. How she stood tall and firm, and yet she seemed so joyful still.

    While Mor held a small candle to Astrid's physical appearance when it came to hair and eyes...this queen was almost uncanny.

    My chest ached as though something had cut a hole straight through it.

    I missed them. So much. So gods damned much.

    My thoughts were snipped like scissors cutting string as the eldest of the queens lifted her chin, words spilling from her mouth as though they were an ancient dialect she had memorized for days. "You have an hour of our time. Make it count."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/N: Finallyyyyy, a wee bit late on this chapter but I've been busy and sick, my loves.