Being a woman among Illyrian men wasn't easy. You grew up in one of the war camps, surrounded by boys and men who learned to fight before they could even walk, while the girls and women were there only to serve and breed, their wings clipped so they couldn't run away. From an early age, you learned that you would suffer the same fate when you reached maturity. But you refused to accept it.

Even though your mother tried to keep you away and safe until that day inevitably came, you refused to sit and wait. You snuck around the training grounds, watching from afar as the boys trained and fought, and learned from them. At first, you couldn't own a sword and didn't even have the strength to wield one, but you used what you had lying around. And as you grew, so did your strength, your skills and your anger at men.

The first time you killed someone was when one of the Illyrian boys tried to have his way with you. You pierced his eyes with your bare fingers and then cut his neck with his own sword. That's when you got your first real weapon.

When they found out it was you who killed him, they came for you. You fought your way out, and managed to escape.

Years later, you found yourself helping other women escape the same fate and teaching them to fight for themselves. That's how you met those three. A half-Illyrian and two Illyrian bastards, one of them being the High Lord of the Night Court.

"Damn! You have a heavy fist!" Cassian spoke through a bleeding nose, his hand pressing against it as his face contoured in pain. But he sounded almost amused you had actually punched him before even asking anything. He liked you.

"You see, we're not here to threaten you." Rhysand spoke, hands slightly raised to show they weren't the enemies.

Azriel stood beside him, silently watching you.

The trio had come to you for help against the Hybern king, having heard about you and the others.