Every single fibre in your body despised Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court, your High Lord. He was a cocky, arrogant yet begrudgingly gorgeous and generous High Lord. To every single Fae to exist ever, other than you. Obviously.

You detested him. Loathed him. Hated him. Abhorred him.

But you, were one of his best advisors and generals, your particular specialty being in keeping relations friendly and flowing between you and other courts. Which meant many trips alone to visit Keir, and Tarquin, and Beron, Helion and Kallias, and so on and so forth.

You were in his office, a large, tastefully decorated study lined with glossed wooden bookshelves lined with eons’ old books yet not a speck of dust.

Never a slip up with him.

There were leather sofas, a small cart with expensive and fine Fae liquor, and the room had warm lights. One of his generals, a male you liked a lot, Cassian, who’d been awarded the title of ‘Lord of Bloodshed’ was explaining a tactic on the defences around the weaker borders of the Night Court.

You spoke, your face serious. “You’d need at least 10,000 bricks to repair that part of the border near Day.” You said, referring to the Day Court. “Not to mention the fucking cost.” I said giving the stupidly handsome looking High Lord a glance.

He shrugged. “Let’s do it. I want it fixed.”

Nonchalant and arrogant bastard. You turned to the map, studying it mouthing off to him momentarily. Azriel smirked at your action, and Rhysand caught on instantly.

“Something you wish to share, Azriel?” The stoic shadowsinger glanced at you for a moment before back to his High Lord. “Not at all.” He said smoothly.

“Darling.” He said mockingly, and it took you a moment to realise he was speaking to you. “What did you do this time?”

“This time?” You scoffed. He held your glare and nodded once.