A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,208

needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.

Nesta in Night Court black threatened to bring him to his knees.

She’d braided her hair over her head in her usual style, but atop it, a delicate tiara of glinting black stone rested, slender spikes jutting upward in a dark corona. Each spike was topped with a tiny sapphire, as if the spikes were so sharp they’d pierced the sky and drawn cobalt blood.

And the dress …

Silver thread embroidered the skintight velvet bodice, the straps so narrow they might as well have been nothing against her moon-white skin. The neckline plunged nearly to her navel, where the silver thread gathered to hold a small sapphire that matched the ones on her crown. The full skirts brushed the dark floor, rustling in the rippling silence.

Nesta’s chin remained high, accentuating her long, lovely neck. Her red-painted lips cocked in a feline smirk as her kohl-lined eyes took in the room watching her every breath.

Nesta seemed to glow with the attention. Owned it. Commanded it.

Feyre and Rhys took their thrones, and Nesta and Elain came to stand at the foot of the dais, between him and Azriel. Cassian didn’t dare say a word to Nesta, or even glance at her, at the body on display—the body he’d tasted so many times now it was a miracle no imprint of his lips lay against her neck.

He didn’t dare look at Eris, either. One glance and it’d give away their entire game. Even her scent—his scent, Cassian knew with no small amount of satisfaction—had been carefully glamoured to hide any trace of him.

Feyre declared to the assembled crowd, “May the blessings of the Winter Solstice be upon you.”

Keir scuttled forward, bowing low. “Allow me to extend my congratulations.” Cassian knew the bastard didn’t mean a word of it.

Eris stalked to his side, their honored guest. “And allow me to extend mine as well, on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court.” He flashed Feyre a pretty, cultivated smile. “He shall be thrilled by this news.”

Rhys’s mouth curled in a cruel half smile, the stars winking out in his eyes. “I’m sure he will.”

There was no pretending tonight: Rhys truly was the High Lord of the Court of Nightmares while Feyre and their babe were here. He’d slaughter anyone who threatened them. And enjoy it.

Rhys said to no one in particular, “Music.”

An orchestra hidden in a screened-in mezzanine began playing.

Feyre raised her voice and said, “Go—eat.” The crowd undulated as people aimed for the tables.

Only Eris and Keir remained before them. Neither spared Mor so much as a glance, though she smirked down at them, her red dress like a flame in the gloom of the hall.

Cassian, in his black armor, felt more like the beasts carved into the towering pillars beneath this mountain. He’d brushed his hair and left it loose, and that had been the extent of his grooming for tonight. He’d spent most of his time thinking about how he’d like to peel Eris’s skin off in tiny strips, how Rhys and Feyre had crossed a line by asking this of Nesta. He loved them both, but they could have found another way to ensure Eris’s allegiance. Not that Cassian had come up with a better alternative.

At least Briallyn and Koschei had not yet acted further. Though he had no doubt they’d be making their next move soon.

Feyre commanded the crowd, her voice like thunder at midnight, “Dance.”

People paired off and fell seamlessly into the music. Keir went with them this time.

“Before you join the merriment, Eris,” Rhys drawled, a long black box appearing in his hands, “I’d like to present you with your Solstice gift.”

Cassian kept his face blank. Rhys had gotten the bastard a gift?

Rhys floated the box over to Eris on a night-kissed wind. Let enough of that wind remain, wrapping behind Eris, for Cassian to know it blocked him from sight. From Keir’s sight, specifically.

Eris lifted his brows, flipping open the carved lid. He stiffened, voice going low. “What is this?”

“A present,” Rhys said, and Cassian caught a glimpse of a familiar hilt in the box.

The dagger Nesta had Made. Cassian refrained from whirling on Rhys and Feyre, demanding to know what