A Court of Dark and Decay

Chapter 1- "I'll leave."

Nesta's vision turned red.

She understood why Feyre wanted her out of Velaris. In fact, if Feyre had looked at Nesta right then and told her she never wanted to see her again she would've understood that too. Somewhere deep within her it would have hurt more then she wanted to admit, but she understood. She had done nothing but sucked their money and spat in their faces. She was of no use to them. Feyre had a life, a happiness that made Nesta's heart ache. But Nesta would never fit into that life.

So Nesta would go. She would leave Velaris. Where the hell she would go, she had no idea. But it was clear – she was not wanted here.

No one had wanted her here for a long time.

But if Feyre thought for one second Nesta was going to go anywhere with the oversize winged dog that sat to her left, she was sorely mistaken.

Ignoring the pain in her chest, Nesta stood, looking at the open doors to the garden. She could sense Rhysands darkness pooling in the room at Nesta's dismissal of Feyre's words. He was another part of Feyre's life but she would never get along with.

"I'll leave." She said, low and cold.

She started walking toward the door leading out into the hallway. Suddenly this house, this palace of Feyre's, was so vast. So expensive yet suffocating her at the same time. She had to get out. Get away from the eyes staring at her, judging her, disarming her.

No one said anything as she approached the door. She could sense Rhysand following behind her. She turned only her head looking over her shoulder at Feyre still seated on the couch.

"I will leave Velaris," She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "but if you try to make me go anywhere with that Illyrian bastard, that scum, I will rip out his wings with my teeth."

She didn't dare look at Cassian as she turned to leave the room. Her rage was endless. It filled her mind, her soul. Something dark and old stirred in her, that thing that was always there, that pressure as if she were 100 feet underwater. If she did not leave soon, she was going to burst.  But Rhysand was already in front of her. His face was pure darkness.

"What did you just call my brother?" Rhysand hissed. He was two feet in front of her, and his darkness pooled at her feet.

Feyre stood. "Rhys, back off." she warned. Rhysand did no such thing.

Nesta met the eyes of her sister's mate, the most powerful High Lord in the history of Pyrthian, and said, "You heard me."

"You have spent the last 6 months denying any assistance from us other then the thousands you've spent on booze and rent, yet we still fund you." He stepped toward her.

She knew he could smell her fear, but she did not back away one inch. The rage poured over her, under her, through her.

"You don't talk to any of us. You ignore your own sisters - you ignore Elain. Yet she still holds out hope you might visit. Did you know that?"

Her heart clenched at the mention of her younger sister. "You leave her out of this."

All she saw was red hot rage.

"Rhysand, don't-"

He cut Feyre off.

"You bed anyone who's drunk enough to want to. You're clothes are dirty, and I can still smell wine and sex on you. Yet you have the nerve to insult the male who still believes this -" he looked her up and down, "-shell you've become can be fixed?"