You merely nodded.

"Nowadays, most women wed, bear children, and then plan their children's marriages. Some of the poor might work in the fields, and a rare few are mercenaries or hired soldiers, but...the wealthier they are, the more restricted their freedoms and roles become. You'd think that money would buy you the ability to do whatever you want."

"Some of the High Fae," you start, "are the same."

Feyre slipped behind the dressing screen to untie the robe she’d donned moments before you entered to keep her company.

"In the Court of Nightmares," you went on, your soft voice, a bit cold, "we are...prized. virginity is guarded, then sold off to the highest bidder-whatever male will be of the most advantage to our families."

She kept dressing, if only to give herself something to do while the horror slithered through her body.

"I was born stronger than anyone in my family. Even the males. And I couldn't hide it, because they could smell it—the same way you can smell a High Lord's Heir. The power leaves a mark, an...echo. When I was twelve, I prayed no male would take me as a partner, that I would escape what my elder cousins had endured: loveless sometimes brutal marriages."

She tugged her blouse over her head.

"But then a few days after I turned seventeen, my power awoke in full force, and even that gods-damned mountain trembled around us. But instead of being horrified, every single ruling family in the Hewn city saw me as a prize mare. Saw that power and wanted it bred into the bloodline, over and over again."

"What about your parents?" she managed to say,

"My family was beside themselves with glee. They could have their pick of an alliance with any of the other ruling families. My pleas for choice in the matter went unheard…The rest of the story," you said as she emerged, "is long, and awful, and I'll tell you some other time.”