2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

The High Lord of the Night Court sniffed at his wine—white, sparkling—and I
wondered if he was trying to piss them off by implying they’d poisoned it as he said, “I
prefer to be prepared for every potential situation. And, given that Hybern seems set on
making themselves a nuisance, striking up a conversation with the humans might be in our
best interest.”
Varian drew his focus away from Amren long enough to say roughly, “So it’s been
confirmed, then? Hybern is readying for war.”
“They’re done readying,” Rhys drawled, at last sipping from his wine. Amren didn’t
touch her plate, though she pushed things around as she always did. I wondered what—
who—she’d eat while here. Varian seemed like a good guess. “War is imminent.”
“Yes, you mentioned that in your letter,” Tarquin said, claiming the seat at the head of
the table between Rhys and Amren. A bold move, to situate himself between two such
powerful beings. Arrogance—or an attempt at friendship? Tarquin’s gaze again drifted to
me before focusing on Rhys. “And you know that against Hybern, we will fight. We lost
enough good people Under the Mountain. I have no interest in being slaves again. But if
you are here to ask me to fight in another war, Rhysand—”
“That is not a possibility,” Rhys smoothly cut in, “and had not even entered my mind.”
My glimmer of confusion must have shown, because Cresseida crooned to me, “High
Lords have gone to war for less, you know. Doing it over such an unusual female would
be nothing unexpected.”
Which was likely why they had accepted this invitation, favor or no. To feel us out.
If—if Tamlin went to war to get me back. No. No, that wouldn’t be an option.
I’d written to him, told him to stay away. And he wasn’t foolish enough to start a war he
could not win. Not when he wouldn’t be fighting other High Fae, but Illyrian warriors, led
by Cassian and Azriel. It would be slaughter.
So I said, bored and flat and dull, “Try not to look too excited, princess. The High Lord
of Spring has no plans to go to war with the Night Court.”
“And are you in contact with Tamlin, then?” A saccharine smile.
My next words were quiet, slow, and I decided I did not mind stealing from them, not
one bit. “There are things that are public knowledge, and things that are not. My
relationship with him is well known. Its current standing, however, is none of your
concern. Or anyone else’s. But I do know Tamlin, and I know that there will be no internal
war between courts—at least not over me, or my decisions.”
“What a relief, then,” Cresseida said, sipping from her white wine before cracking a
large crab claw, pink and white and orange. “To know we are not harboring a stolen bride
—and that we need not bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any
wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep.”
Amren had gone utterly still.