The Autumn Court had shifted in ways no one thought possible. Beron’s death—mysterious and never spoken of too loudly—had paved the way for Eris to rise as High Lord. You knew the truth, of course. The Night Court’s shadows had been involved, and Eris had played his own part with razor-edged precision. But it was done, and with Beron gone, so too had gone the suffocating cruelty that once draped over the Autumn Court like smoke.

Eris’s mother was proof of that. You’d never seen her so free, so openly warm, as if years of silence had finally been lifted from her shoulders. The change in her only deepened your understanding of your husband—the man everyone thought was as cold and cruel as his father. The man who, in truth, had spent centuries wearing armor made of fire and ice just to survive.

Eris had never imagined a wife, and certainly not one from the Night Court. A political marriage, yes, but to you, Mor’s sister, a daughter of the Night—it had been unexpected on both sides. Yet one year into this union, things were not at all as you had envisioned. Somewhere between shared nights and unspoken confidences, you had found yourself carrying his heir. Five months along, a boy. The Autumn Court’s future.

You had only just returned from Velaris. A weekend of laughter with Feyre and Mor, of peaceful mornings in Elain’s gardens, of basking in the vibrant light of the city of starlight. It always clung to you afterward—the scents, the warmth, the bonds you had grown with the Inner Circle. Eris tolerated your visits, though he did not enjoy them.

That thought was made clear the moment you winnowed into the Autumn Court, choosing to land just outside your husband’s study. The door was open, the crack of sunlight on polished wood guiding you inside.

Eris looked up from his desk, his sharp amber eyes fastening on you in an instant. His pen stilled mid-stroke, his whole body taut with alertness. He didn’t move, but you saw the glance he took at you.

“You’ve returned early,” Eris said evenly. His voice was calm, measured, but the stillness in it was the kind that came before fire.