Chapter Text
You weren’t even supposed to be here. As an Illyrian woman, you were there to serve the males of your camp. The fact that you’d been allowed to keep your wings was a shock that was only even brought about by the Night Court’s Lady being your somewhat-removed aunt. The ensuing job within the Hewn City’s walls--just cleaning and cooking, and there were times when you wondered if it was really any better than where you would have ended up otherwise--wasn’t as revolutionary since you also played spy and reported whatever whispers seemed important to the High Lord in a monthly letter. That very High Lord bringing you to serve--spy--at some ball held over in Spring, though, was almost as surprising as the whole situation with your wings. Later, you came to realize that you were meant to be some sort of exotic spectacle.
Either way, you were to pose as Rhysand’s personal attendant (for the other males to gawk at to a degree) while taking careful note of the goings on and servant gossip to aid Azriel later. Your however-distantly-related cousin liked having you close, fortunately. You and Rhysand had always gotten along famously even if you didn’t see each other very often; plus whenever he was around you didn’t have to deal with Mor’s asshole of a father. You’d never liked that man, but the current mess with Autumn . . . The engagement that Mor was desperately trying to escape . . . It left a bad taste in all of your mouths. Needless to say you hated the man for putting her through that.
~
It was when you were taking a breather from the party (leaning against the wall in an unoccupied hall you’d managed to find) that you first met him.
“Not often that we see one of your kind this far South,” a male voice said from some distance away.
Instinctively, your body straightened to full attention as you turned to face him. He was beautiful--a common thing among High Fae, but still--skin just lightly tanned from some activity or another under the sun, fine features and clothes, and deep red hair tied messily atop his head. “You say that like Azriel doesn’t regularly travel these parts.” Should you be challenging him like that? No, definitely not, but then again you spent too much time in the uncivilized depths of the Hewn City to really know how to bite your tongue.
A flush colored your cheeks when the smirk tugged at his.
“But you’re right, my lord, my kind don’t normally venture far from the mountains,” you ducked your head sheepishly, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t punish you for your foolish words. It was clear from his hair alone that he was kin to the High Lord of Autumn, so he’d be well within his rights to have you flogged at minimum.
“My name is Eris, and I’m no lord.” Something flashed in his amber eyes when you glanced up. “Not yet, anyway. But I suspect you already knew that.”
You hadn’t. Beyond a basic description that could have easily been of one of his brothers, you’d heard little about this man, Mor’s betrothed. Finally, your eyes trailed back up to his more confidently. That wasn’t the tone of someone who’d been angered. Again, you probably shouldn’t have done this, but unlike last time you didn’t feel like you could help it. It was almost like something was pulling your gaze upwards. Those eyes were the most unusual golden color you’d ever seen, your mind mused distantly. And that was all you had time to notice before something thrummed through your head.
Eris seemed to experience the same feeling based on the way those beautiful eyes widened like the serving platter you’d carried earlier and the way his jaw fell open slightly. “No . . .” he breathed, horror dawning in his voice.
“What--”
“Say nothing,” he ordered. Gone was the warmth you hadn’t noticed in his tone until it was missing. Out of habit, you obeyed, so he continued seemingly to himself, “We shouldn’t be seen together . . . Then again no one would think twice about sneaking around with a servant, but someone might remember our faces and fuck us over down the road . . .” His gaze was wild as he fully returned his attention to you. “Tell no one of this, for your own sake,” he implored. “I do not care about why you are truly here,” you almost gasped at the implication that he knew you were spying, “but do not report this to your master.”
You blinked rapidly, dimly aware of the way your wings were tucked tightly to your back because of your fear. “What are you talking about?” you managed to mutter past the anxiety.
His face scrunched in frustration, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose the same way you’d seen Rhysand do a thousand times when Cassian was being particularly stupid. “We have things we need to discuss . . . privately. Will you be able to leave your room tonight?”
“Why--”
“Yes or no?”
“Y-Yes!” you spluttered. “They don’t lock me--”
“Good. There is a clearing in the woods just south of here; you should be able to see it from the sky. You can fly, correct?”
You nodded.
“Meet me there at midnight.” And without another word, he strode off, leaving you standing there confused in his wake.
~
Really, you shouldn’t have been surprised when you entered your tiny guest quarters only to be immediately greeted by the sight of Azriel appearing out of a particularly shadowy corner, but it still sent your heart into a racing rhythm. You’d hoped you would have more time to decide what to do; to tell him about that strange encounter or to keep quiet about that whole thing. Apparently that hope was for naught.
“Anything to report?” he prompted, as quiet as ever. You had no idea how to read his face; you had no idea if he already knew anything.
It took all of your self-control not to nervously twitch your wings. “Nonsensical gossip, mostly,” you stated, voice surprisingly steady. “Nothing particularly useful yet . . .” You hesitated. “Eris . . .”
The spymaster’s already attentive gaze seemed to sharpen. “What about him?”
“He was acting strange.”
“How so? Did he give any indication about his intentions with Mor?”
You shook your head. “No, nothing specific. I ran into him in the hall. Something about the whole encounter was odd; I plan on looking more into it.” There. That should be vague enough that you’ll be allowed to investigate without implicating that your interaction was more than just odd. There was still that strange feeling you hadn’t figured out yet, and it was still scratching at the back of your mind like it wanted you to go somewhere.
“Good,” Azriel was saying. “If he’s having second thoughts, we might be able to free her from this whole scheme.”
“I’m on it,” you announced with no small amount of worry and feigned self-confidence.