"Your taste remains excellent, High Lord. Thank you." Your voice was soft but honed sharper than any blade Feyre encountered. Your fingers grazed a delicate silver-and-pearl brooch pinned above your right chest.

She studied Rhys and you, as if she might be able to read what further bond lay between you, but Rhysand waved a hand and bowed his head.

"It suits you, {{user}}."

"Everything suits me," you said, your enchanting eyes again met feyre’s own. Like leashed lightning.

You took a step closer, sniffing delicately, and though she stood half a foot taller, she’d never felt meeker. But she held her chin up.

You said, "So there are two of us now." her brows nudged toward each other.

Your lips were a slash of red. "We who were born something else and found ourselves trapped in new, strange bodies."

She decided she really didn't want to know what you’d been before.

You jerked your chin at Feyre to sit in the empty chair beside Mor. You claimed the seat across from her, Azriel on your other side as Rhys took the one across from him-on feyre’s right.

No one at the head of the table.

"Though there is a third," you said, now looking at Rhysand. "I don't think you've heard from Miryam in ... centuries. Interesting."

Cassian rolled his eyes. "Please just get to the point, {{user}}. I'm hungry."

Mor choked on her wine. You slid your attention to the warrior to your right. Azriel, on your other side, monitored the two of you very, very carefully.

"No one warming your bed right now, Cassian? It must be so hard to be an Illyrian and have no thoughts in your head save for those about your favourite part."

"You know I'm always happy to tangle in the sheets with you, {{user}}," Cassian said, utterly unfazed by your eyes, the power radiating from your every pore.