A Court Of Lost Queens

Powerful

Aelin

The pain was screaming louder than ever. With her bare back against the hard iron she could barely breathe. She'd tried it several times, to stop, just simply giving in to the darkness. But yet not entirely, she let those weak, almost smothered, ember flames burn her inside. What she thought would be enough to forge. Everything would be so much easier that way. Maeve would never find the keys, she would never have the leverage over her court, and she would never contain the power of Malas heir. But the gods, the fate and Maeve herself would not let her drown. All she got after that was an extra session with Cairn, who was savoring his every second with her, torturing her in every possible way. 

She kept telling herself, if she would not die, then she would not break. No matter how many whips she took and no matter how long it lasted, she would not break. For her court, her friends, her mate, she would endure. Even if she would spend the rest of her life here, grown old and wrinkly, her love for her people would carry her through. When the all too familiar face opened the coffin's lid she was still smiling. 

"Good morning Cairn" She purred and felt oddly ready for the day.

Maeve 

She was furious. No, furious was an understatement, she was way above that. No matter how much she pushed her, tortured her and tried to break her, she wouldn't budge. She just wouldn't talk, not even after Maeve spent the entire day with her.

The anger was boiling in her veins, so hot she might even have thought there were flames in her as well. Fine, she thought to herself, if the Queen decided not to talk, she would search for someone who didn't need words to understand.

And she knew exactly where to find one.

Feyre 

Every High Lord was supposed to come, yet there were still some missing. Stressfully she tapped her fingers on the oak table and counted again. Dawn, Summer, Night and Day, four out of seven. Mor reassured her Kallias and Viviane were on their way, no one had heard from either Beron or Tamlin. There were more than just the High Lords here, except her inner circle, Myriam, Drakon, Jurian, Varian among others were standing quietly in the background. 

Jurian seemed just as stressed as Feyre as he impatiently paced across the room with one finger on his mouth. With her fae hearing, she could clearly hear how he clicked his tongue in frustration. "Jurian" She snapped, he stopped and looked at her. There was worry in his human eyes, and if not from there, then the scent would tell enough. Myriam and Drakon were watching him warily. After he seated not far from her. "What is it?" She said kindly, or as kind as she could when she was running out of patience.  "Not now," He said, "Not until everyone is here"

So they waited, at least for another hour until Kallias and Viviane arrived, then one more agonizing hour before both Tamlin and Beron came. When the two High Lords entered, not too long after each other, Tamlins gaze fell upon her. She met his gaze with an identical one, there was no hatred, no loath when he looked at her, but there was no lingering happiness like there was before. She felt somewhat relieved, that they now could be in the same room without wanting to slit each other's throats. She couldn't speak for Nesta though, who looked at him with pure wickedness and evil. The importance was that he wished her well as well as she hoped for him, happiness. 

Finally, Jurian stood up and cleared his throat. The attention was centered at Jurain. He took a deep breath, it looked like there literally was weights on his shoulders. "I-I got a letter" He started. Each time he tried to open his mouth it seemed like he had harder to breathe, harder to form sentences. "What did it say" Said Myriam sharply, who, apparently, was out of patience. "It's not what it says that's bothering me, it's who it's from" My gaze turned to Azriel, who was standing incredibly still, surrounded by his shadows. When he met my stare he shook his head, the spymaster knew nothing. Myriam continued, "Well who was it from" Drakon was holding her hand, trying unsuccessfully to calm her. Unsuccessfully. Jurian was visibly having a panic attack, he braced his fists at the edge of the table, looking at his shoes. 

"Her name is Maeve, Queen of Doranelle" He paused, "She says she harnesses the most powerful weapon"

"And she needs our help to contain it"

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I know this chapter was really short, but it was just kind of a pilot. The chapters will be longer, I promise. Please comment if there is any incorrect grammar. 

Thanks for reading!