the illusion was up again.

rhys sat on his separate throne, his legs spread out comfortably as he ran his gaze over the high lord currently trying to earn an alliance of some sort.

you were sat beside rhys in your throne, a delicate crown placed upon your head. every so often rhys' hands would grip the arm rests and a tight pang of annoyance would slip through the bond.

your legs were crossed, your chin tilted up as you listened to tarquin try and shimmy his way into the night court's trust. he was a trustworthy man, for the most part.

"if our forces combined, we could counter the attack easier." he tried to argue, hands out and palms facing the sky like he was offering up the cauldron itself. however, the bead of sweat on his neck provided enough evidence about his inner thoughts and intentions.