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The table had exactly fourteen scratches on its otherwise smooth surface. Fourteen, nondescript, barely there gouges that she was very sure no one else would ever see. This table had been here since she’d first come to the meeting in this same room. Many, many years ago, yes, but the table hadn’t changed.
There had been six marks at the time.
She’d counted and counted over and over and every damn time, the number refused to change. Until they did.
The next time they came, not even a decade later, was by mention of some mysterious general in the North by the name of Amarantha. She’d never seen the High Lords so spooked. And that next time, there had been ten scratches.
Then that mortal woman, now a Fae High Lady, had called for a meeting again.
Another war, her entourage said. Another useless spilling of innocent blood was more like it.
Today, barely half a decade later, there were fourteen. No Amarantha. No Hybern. No queen or king that was supposedly about to overturn the very being of Prythian, and yet, those were exactly fourteen scratch marks on the surface of the table right in front of her. Glaring her down. Challenging her to bring them up, explain that this beautiful façade its owner was putting up was a lie.
It shouldn’t have surprised her considering everything here was a lie. No matter how beautiful it looked from far away. If anyone looked close enough, and she really wasn’t trying that hard to either, all the inane imperfections became clear.
Death God, the beautiful warrior female explained. Another war, her mate, the Commander, warned.
The High Lords were split for solutions. Half seemed to distrust the word of the Night Court, and she didn’t really blame them. Not with the stunts they’d pulled through the years.
The rest were stuck in how to respond.
Thesan, who she’d noticed was always a fair judge, kept speaking to his lover that commanded the legions. Perhaps taking stock of how well they’d fare so soon after the war with Hybern.
Kallias wouldn’t meet Rhysand’s eyes nor his mate’s, who looked to be on the verge of grabbing a sword herself and marching out of the room this very instant into battle.
And Helion…
Helion did not speak, nor move, nor make any indication that he’d just been asked by his good friend to begin preparation for a new war. A new battle that would no doubt be just as grisly, if not more, than the previous one. The only thing that gave any indication to what he was feeling were his hands. Slightly flexing and relaxing, she knew he was keeping the talons at bay by moving his wrists around. Knew that if he wished, he could turn Fae to ribbons with those talons, which were so sharp they could pierce through skin and perhaps even shatter bone if they wished.
She’d seen it time and again. Just what the silver-tongued High Lord was capable of behind the charm and gallantry.
Those gouges on the seemingly normal visage of a slowly aging oak table, those marks, were the work of the High Lord sitting opposite her. It was the wrist he kept flexing over and over, trying to reign in the temper, or perhaps the worry, now showing up in delicate imprints that no one except her seemed to have notice. Because surely, if his staff, or he himself ever saw the damage that was being done, surely, the table would be replaced. Or maybe he would stop and just breathe, and leave the poor thing alone.
But that wasn’t the way of High Lords. They so rarely noticed the destruction they left behind, whether by force or by discontent, or perhaps apathy. Maybe irritation. And what was she after all, if not a mild inconvenience in his life that he’d conveniently forgotten about?
Helion wasn’t unique in that, but really, what High Lord was when it came to ignoring their misdeeds?
Their victims did not forget though. Small scars, big scars, invisible scars, and bleeding ones all shared some form of parentage with a vengeful being that was just a tad stronger than them, just a bit more than what they’d bargained for.
Just a bite harder than they were used to expecting.
She would know. Even if now was not the time to know or to reflect on how she’d been wronged by males in her life.
“What?,” Beron snarled low in her ear as she placed a hand on his forearm.
“My head aches. I’m going to retire to my room early.”
Beron grunted, still too occupied with appearing the victor of the self-proclaimed contest he’d begun in his head. Not one head turned towards her as she made her way out of the room and into the hallway she’d become familiar with so many years prior.
Perhaps it was habit or foolish, reckless, idiocy that had her turning that familiar left instead of the instructed right at the fork in the hallway. Perhaps it was arrogance in part as well, assuming she wouldn’t be caught.
But really, a small voice in her head said, what exactly will he do if he catches you?
Nothing.
Nothing at all, she decided, as she opened the door and walked in.
She’d been in here countless times on the visits to the Day Court, all those years prior when her life had been easier. When everything had been easier.
The room hadn’t changed much either, although the drapes were new, and the cabinet full of clothes had been moved to the far right instead of the left.
She wondered…
Yes.
She was right she saw, as she pulled open the large cabinet’s oak doors and took in a few of her dresses still draped on the rod to the left side where she’d left them. Her side, Helion had told her, and warned her not to move past. At the time, she had almost taken up the entire rack, and warning or not, he’d found it endearing more than anything that she never listened.
Rebellious little fireling he would call her, chuckling as he drew her close after her many antics. He taunted sometimes too, at the sheer stubbornness she exercised on a High Lord most wouldn’t dare to even cross eyes with.
But from the very beginning, Helion had never been one to balk from. Certainly not by her and certainly not when she’d met far worse.
Not that Helion was worse by any means. Helion wasn’t even…bad. If bad meant anything of real consequence anyways among the Fae who championed immorality for simple entertainment sometimes. She would know. She’d met true monsters who did truly nefarious things to both their people and their family, with not an ounce of consequence waiting for them. No, Helion was all things good in her life at one point, and still a good male to this day.
Not good for you though. Not anymore.
A bitter truth, but truth nonetheless.
Not for her anymore. But he wasn’t bad either. Some horrible mix in the middle that she could never quite figure out if she still loved or hated. Most days she figured it was both.
Maybe she deserved it though given her indiscretions. After all, she’d been raised better than to be an adulterer. Definitely not a whore as her mother would have called her, had she been alive to see and learn of all that her daughter had done in the first years of her marriage to Beron.
Love is not in the cards for you girl. Be a good wife. Be a good mother. He will see that and come to love you as much as males are capable.
The last words her mother had ever told her before she’d succumbed to the ruby fever. Three days before her wedding to Beron.
Three days before true hell had begun.
It had taken some time for her to accept that Helion was not her ending. She was her own ending. Her children were her ending.
Her only true legacy. Because one day, the Lady of Autumn would cease to exist. Maybe by time. Maybe by the hands of a cruel male who only knew power by her split skin and broken bones. Either way, one day, she would no longer be around. Her children were all that would be left to remember her by. Those that were still alive that is.
And if she had to go out by him, she’d rather go out swinging rather than pleading.
“Should you be in here, milady?”
His voice was soft. Gentle. And it made her want to hurt him as he had hurt her.
“I’m leaving.”
Curt and cold. She’d learned it from Beron very quickly after they’d wed. Had made sure that Eris learned it too if he was ever going to have a chance at surviving in the Autumn Court.
Her other children. Her dead children, Mother have mercy on her, but the world was a better place without them. They hadn’t needed her to guide them, or to show them that while their masks were needed for the Court, that was all they were. Masks and nothing more.
The heart beneath had to remain untouched and pure. As Eris’ still was. As Lucien’s had always been. Her other sons had been gracefully taken out of the world before she would have to witness their cruelties on other females, as their father would no doubt have taught them. As they may one day have done to her.
“I didn’t say you had to go,” Helion clarified.
Didn’t you though?
His white robes were almost blinding as the sun washed over from the window behind her, bathing the room and him in such clear, pure light, it became no question at all which Court they were in.
The Lady did not appreciate it though. Not the reminder of how untouched his clothes were. Not the glowing copper skin that had no scars or marks that spoke of a life well led, even if he too had seen countless battles and survived them.
Perhaps it was and could only ever be bitterness that could join them.
“I’m leaving,” she repeated again, moving forward only to be stopped with Helion in her path.
“Move.”
Helion chuckled something sinful, and she almost forgot for a moment all that had transpired between them and that she was still furious with him.
“Why are you in here? Tell me and then you may go.” A haughty command and one that didn’t slip her notice. Who did he think he was?
A High Lord.
Right. She still didn’t care.
She snapped back. “It must be all the pleasant memories. Forgive me for the intrusion, I have no interest in them anymore.”
But Helion did not move, transfixed on her face, and she did not push for him to do so either. His eyes snapped to the bed and an intensity took hold in his amber eyes.
Lust.
She knew it well. Had been the cause of it on more than one occasion.
“Goodbye Helion,” she tried again, but even to her own ears it was weak and a pitiful whisper.
Not one step was in front of her when Helion’s arms shot out and stopped her.
You never said goodbye, he almost told her aloud.
You didn’t need it, but the words wouldn’t come forward. All she could do was grip the forearms tightened on her shoulders as she looked at the man she’d once been ready to destroy herself in.
“I’ve always needed you,” he spoke hoarsely.
She couldn’t stop herself from answering back anymore.
Yes, I have always needed-
No!
She pushed away from his hold, and tumbled back, barely stopping herself from falling completely.
She wasn’t that girl anymore. She loved him. She did. But she did not need him anymore. Because he had shown her that when she had needed him, when she had needed only him, he would not come. Would not fight for her, would not ravage worlds and storms for her as she would have easily done for him.
“Is that what it is then? Base need? Lust? I have no need for that Helion. If it’s need you must have satisfied you have a slew of patrons you fuck each night to deal with that. Don’t tell me about your needs, I have no wish to see to them anymore.”
The shock on the High Lord’s face, barely concealing the wrath underneath, emboldened her. Livened her in ways that Beron’s anger never had. Here there was no threat to being whipped or tortured if she spoke her mind.
Helion gaped, opening and closing his mouth over and over before finally settling on what to say.
“You’ve changed fireling. You didn’t swear before. Beron’s certainly been busy with you.”
She shook her head. No she hadn’t changed. She’d simply lost the desire to keep hiding behind the delicate lady she’d been molded to be.
“And you’re the same,” she finally told him. “At least Beron doesn’t hide behind a smile and charm. He’s a monster and he shows the world.”
“Are you saying I’m like Beron?,” he scoffed.
She sneered right back. “You’re all the same. All you males. Too self-obsessed to see what monsters you’ve become. At least have the balls to own it instead of acting like you’re better than anyone else at that table.”
She’d crossed a line. She saw it in the way Helion reared up and tensed. Right before he sprung forward.
Helion snarled down at her, barely an inch separating them anymore. “I am nothing like that piece of shit you’re married to. Don’t ever say that kind of bullshit to me again. I would never, never hurt you if you were my wife. I would-”
She cut him off. “But I’m not your wife, am I? I’m his. You made sure of that the day you decided you couldn’t fight for me. It doesn’t matter that it’s not you doing the hitting. You know it happens, knew how long it was happening for, and you did nothing to stop it. So long as I was your pretty whore in your bed, you didn’t care about the consequences. And when it became too difficult, you let go.”
“Because you chose him,” he grunted.
“Because you didn’t choose me,” she screamed up at him. “Because you didn’t want to risk a war with another High Lord. Even Rhysand was ready to take on Tamlin when it came to freeing the High Lady. Rhysand.”
She may find the High Lord cruel and vexing, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, deny how much he loved his mate.
Helion looked at her, dumbfounded. “I never said I wouldn’t take on Beron for you. I told you-”
“You didn’t have to,” she stopped him. Before he could break her heart again, she cut him off, pushing him out of her way for good this time.
She’d already reached the door when his reply came to her.
“You left me first,” Helion whispered at her back. “You never said you wanted out. You just told me you were done and that Beron was your husband. You left me.”
Her breath threatened to leave her. Rob her of life itself. She’d always known her choices would have consequences. Just not this much. She’d done it. Done this. But she was not entirely to blame.
Turning the knob and holding back tears, the Lady of Autumn left Helion’s room. She did not want to see or feel his response as she opened up the bond and sent her reply back. Promptly clamped it shut the minute she knew he heard her reply to his words.
You left me, he had accused.
And you let me go, my love.