A Court of Fire and Shadows.

chapter fifteen.

They'd been waiting for two hours, and Elena's back had begun to cramp from sitting up straight, and she'd resorted to counting the amount of spots on the long, old, table they were all sitting at. Rhysand at the head, Cassian to his right, Elena to his left, and Azriel standing in the shadows behind him. Rhysand had told her the man wasn't like Tarquin or Kallias, and he's apparently got a flair for the dramatics. But gods, the only thing dramatic about this is the pain lashing up her spine. She was tempted to stick her tongue out at Rhysand just to see how he reacted.

Just as her tongue begins to poke it's way out of her mouth, the doors slam open and reveal Beron, surrounded by waist-high flames, one's she could feel the heat of on her skin. She slowly turns her head to look at the man, and sees there's a crown of orange flames atop his head, one that reminds her of intricate lace. Fire flickers in his eyes with the confidence of a Fae who has seen eons of pain and lived through it. His face a composed mask of cold fury and power—

Elena bursts out laughing.

She simply props her boots up onto the table and leans back, interlocking her fingers behind her head, drawling, "Are you done?"

Beron simply looks at her, words failing him and he tries to regain his composure, and she could feel the weight of Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel's eyes on her, but she simply stares right at Beron. Before the room went black, every flame gone, the room plunged into unfathomable darkness. Save for the crown on Elena's head. And if Beron's crown was like lace, Elena's crown was like spidersilk, infinitely more ornate and thousands of times more beautiful.

And then the room erupts into a display of light. Purple, green, blue, orange, red, all swirling around Elena and funnelling into a shape of a mighty dragon on the ceiling, the wings stretching over the hall. She kept the heat under control, but everyone could feel the raw power that she excluded. And then the flames became a mass of interwoven colours, a display of the complete control she had over this utter chaos.

Elena allowed them to admire the flames for a few seconds, before breathing in, all the flames rushing into her, soaking into her body, and sinking underneath her skin. Opening her eyes to make contact with Beron's, letting all the golden flames spark in them. 

That's when they all realized that he might have some control over the flame, but this Princess... she was the flame.

And then she returned the pitiful waist-high flames to the High Lord of the Autumn Court, who was so awe-struck the smell of burning fabric stained the air for a few seconds.

"I think I've seen what all the Autumn Court has to offer," she says to Rhysand, a dazzling smile on her face, almost as bright as those flames that filled the room only moments ago. Rhysand winking at her before turning to Beron, "It seems both you and me have gotten what we wanted. We'll be returning to the Night Court, I wish I could say it was lovely to see you, but I've decided to only lie when it benefits me," he stands up and straightens his suit jacket, Cassian and Elena rising with him, Azriel stalking out of the shadows with his eyes on Elena, although they quickly flicker back to Rhysand, then Beron. Fighting the urge to stretch, she followed Rhysand out, Cassian at his side and Azriel at hers. Passing Beron and giving him a wink before blowing a kiss as the doors were closed behind them.

When they walked out of the gates, Elena first stretched as far as she could, arching her back like a cat, and then she began laughing. "Did you see his face? God that was brilliant," she says, her hands already moving to braid and tie her hair down her back. She noticed Cassian and Rhysand laughing too, and even Azriel's lips were tilted upwards, as if he just couldn't help himself. The three males' wings flare wide as Azriel stalks towards her, holding out a hand. "Your chariot awaits," he says, her hand finding his before he suddenly stops moving. Just like that. Frozen.