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Chapter Text

The Legacy of Spring

The meeting of the High Lords was being held this time in the territory of the Summer Court. Most of the delegations from the various courts had arrived, except for the Spring delegation. Although that wasn’t unusual, considering what Feyre Archeron, the Lady of the Night Court, had done at the Spring Court, that court often skipped the High Lords' meetings.

Whether the Spring Court delegation attended these meetings always depended on luck and the mood of their High Lord.

Tarquin was convinced this would be one of those occasions when his direct neighbor wouldn't show up, given the current date and time. Therefore, he was quite surprised when one of his attendants announced that the Spring Court delegation had just arrived. He ordered them to hurry and let them into the hall where a pre-gathering was being held before the High Lord meeting.

When the large doors opened, to his surprise, among the envoys dressed in the beautiful greens distinctive of their court, Tamlin was not present. But at the head of the delegation was a young male, with golden hair tied in a high ponytail that revealed his pointed ears. His skin was clearly sun-kissed with a light golden hue, and his eyes were a haunting and hypnotic violet. The young male was very handsome and, in some way, reminded him of someone, but Tarquin couldn't pinpoint exactly who.

Next to the male was a female, beautiful and delicate like a rosebud. Where the male had blonde hair, the female's hair was black as night; where the male had violet eyes, the female's were a bright green with golden flecks. She was shorter than him, with the same golden skin and a sweet, kind smile, while the male appeared serious.

The two fae at the head of the delegation walked toward Tarquin, followed by their guards dressed in Spring uniforms.

"High Lord Tarquin," greeted the blonde male with a deep, serious voice. The black-haired female smiled at him.

"Thank you for your invitation," he said, extending his hand. "My name is Erebo, I am Lord Tamlin's eldest son, and allow me to introduce my sister Ostara."

Tarquin shook the young male's hand and then kissed the female's hand, trying not to show his surprise. He hadn't even known that Tamlin had children… let alone ones this old. Because, in terms of fae, they could be young, clearly, but they were also older than most mortals on the other side of the wall. If Tarquin had to place them in an age range, he would say that, especially the male, was close to his own age.

"I must admit my surprise at your presence, Lord Erebo. I didn’t know Tamlin had children," he said kindly.

The young man, with a serious appearance, gave a warm smile, softening his features for a moment.

"Yes, well... both my sister and I were conceived during Amarantha’s reign. Given how obsessed that bitch was with our father and might use us to hurt him, our father took us out of Prythian and kept us hidden for our safety. Then the war broke out, and after that... Spring went through hard times because of the Night Court," the boy said bluntly, not bothering to be diplomatic when assigning blame about his court's situation. "Just a year ago, when we learned everything, we stopped waiting for father to call us home and returned on our own. We've been busy with the rebuilding of Spring, so we hadn’t found time to introduce ourselves properly until now," he explained.

Tarquin nodded, understanding the young man.

"In that case, Lord Erebo, welcome. Will your father be joining us?"

"No, my father will not come," the female, Ostara, denied, speaking for the first time. Her voice was melodic, like the soft song of a nightingale.

"In that case, please allow me to guide you and introduce you to the other envoys at this meeting."

He offered his arm to Ostara. The female laughed softly, wrapping her small hand around the bronzed arm the High Lord of Summer offered her. Erebo positioned himself beside his sister, and they both followed the High Lord of Summer to meet the other High Lords.

Most reacted with surprise when they met the two young envoys as Tamlin's children. Even Beron raised an eyebrow, but no one said much more. Every court had its secrets, and if both young people had been born during Amarantha's reign, it had been wise of Tamlin to keep them hidden. That was probably the reason they had both made it to adulthood alive.

Tarquin considered whether to introduce them to the Night Court or not. After Erebo’s first words, he doubted it was a good idea, but before he could make a decision, it was taken out of his hands when Lucien approached them.

"Erebo? Ostara?"

Tarquin could clearly see the youth in both fae as Erebo’s hard mask cracked into a sincere smile, and Ostara’s eyes, which always carried a smile, turned warmer.

"Uncle Lucien!" they both exclaimed, rushing to the red-haired male and hugging him.

"Uncle Lucien, you look so handsome without your mask," Ostara laughed softly.

"You were handsome with it," Erebo nodded with youthful enthusiasm. "Without it, now you must have all the women of Prythian at your feet."

Lucien let out a genuine and warm laugh as he heard them.

"You two haven’t changed," he said warmly. "When did Tamlin bring you back?"

"Father didn’t bring us back. According to him, nothing is certain yet; it’s hard for him to see that we’ve grown. We found out everything and came back on our own a year ago, so he had no choice but to accept that we’re here now," Ostara explained.

"Oh, yes, that sounds more realistic," Lucien sighed. "How is he?"

"Much better than when we found him," Erebo sighed. Each of the siblings wrapped an arm around Lucien to stand by his side. "At least now he’s actively working on rebuilding Spring and making it a safe place again."

Lucien’s relieved smile was so obvious it spoke volumes about how much the redhead still valued his old friend, even though Feyre Archeron had destroyed that relationship with her own hands.

"I’m glad. I’m glad you’re here for him. It’s time for Tamlin to understand that you’ve grown up," the redhead assured.

The two youths nodded firmly. Just then, Feyre Archeron approached along with Rhysand. A step behind them were Morrigan, the stunning blonde in a red suit; Azriel, the silent shadow singer; and the other two Archeron sisters, Nesta and Elain.

"Lucien… will you introduce us to your friends?" Feyre asked in a cheerful, melodic voice, which was only met with a serious, dead-eyed stare from both youths. Even Ostara, who had been smiling kindly since she entered, suddenly had the same impassive expression as her brother.

Lucien uncomfortably glanced from Feyre and the Night Court members to the two young fae dressed in the bright green of the Spring Court. Ostara finally nodded, and Lucien relaxed a bit. Ostara felt bad seeing the look Lucien was giving Elain Archeron.

"Feyre, these are Ostara and Erebo, the princes of the Spring Court, Tamlin’s children. Ostara, Erebo, this is Feyre Archeron, the High Lady of the Night Court; he is Rhysand, her High Lord, and the rest are part of their court," he introduced briefly, a bit awkwardly.

Neither Erebo nor Ostara extended their hands; they only gave a diplomatic nod, which Rhysand and Feyre returned. Or at least it was diplomatic until Ostara spoke up.

"So, this is the spoiled brat who destroyed an entire court over a broken heart?"

She asked Lucien. Tarquin was impressed that the girl who had seemed so sweet was capable of such a lack of diplomacy. Apparently, Erebo, despite his seriousness, was the true diplomat. That notion quickly went to hell just a minute later when Erebo looked the female up and down.

"Wow, I expected something more impressive from the so-called Cursebreaker. Something more impressive from the supposed first High Lady of Prythian… How disappointing," he said flatly, giving a fake smile that would make Eris Vanserra run for his money.

"Erebo, Ostara," Lucien called their attention before anyone else could do anything. "I’ve taught you better diplomacy than this," he warned. "To create diplomatic problems between courts, with your father in Spring, is more than enough."

The two youths laughed, leaning into Lucien with amusement.

"Don’t get mad at us, Uncle Lucien. We were just telling the truth," Ostara pouted.

"Your truth," Lucien corrected. "And the truth..."

"...isn’t always the best diplomatic move," the two youths cheerfully completed Lucien’s phrase in unison, as if they had heard it hundreds of times before.

"I didn’t know Tamlin had children," Rhys said, looking harshly at the two youths, clearly unwilling to engage in a verbal dispute with the princes of Spring.

"Why should you know? You’re not his friend for him to tell you something like that. In fact, considering you told him he should kill himself, you’re..."

"Erebo," Ostara interrupted him, shaking her head. Erebo closed his mouth, but the contempt in his gaze toward Rhysand was something his young face couldn’t hide.

Tarquin intervened before things escalated between the Spring Court and the Night Court. The last thing he needed was for the young princes of Spring to be attacked in his court by the Night Court.

"Lord Erebo, Lady Ostara, would you like to be shown to your quarters?"

Rhys, thank the Mother, had decided that arguing with two young fae like Erebo and Ostara was beneath him. But Feyre, who was painfully young, didn’t have the same diplomatic foresight.

"Your father is a monster."

Lucien looked at her, scandalized, and the two young ones, who had turned toward Tarquin, spun around to Feyre with their eyes gleaming.

"And you're an innocent killer," Ostara said coldly.

"I'm not..."

"Weren't the people of Spring innocent when you systematically destroyed our court because our father broke your heart?" Erebo asked, looking at her with disdain. "Wasn't Clare Beddor innocent when you said her name, causing her death?"

"There are many types of monsters, Feyre Archeron, but you're the kind that uses innocents to get revenge on a man. In my opinion, you're the worst kind of monster. A spoiled brat who, for selfish reasons, decided to destroy an allied court during a damn war, doing the enemy a favor just because the ruler of that court dared to break your heart," Ostara said with contempt. "You're a disgrace to the title of High Lady... you don't even deserve it," she said, spitting at her feet.

"Ostara," Lucien exclaimed, "ladies don't spit," he said, not knowing what else to say, but that was the first thing he thought. Ostara just turned her head like a child refusing to apologize.

"We all know the only reason she could destroy Amarantha is because the Spring warriors died for an opportunity like that. It could have been her, or it could have been any other mortal, and in fact, any other mortal would’ve done it faster, not being as stupid as her, who couldn’t even solve a riddle that even a child would’ve solved," Erebo mocked with a mocking smile.

"She's as bad as Amarantha. The good thing is her damn court is far away from us," Ostara nodded in complete agreement with her brother.

Feyre not only felt humiliated by these two young ones but also very annoyed. These kids hadn’t been there; they were just defending Tamlin because he was their father. They didn’t know the true kind of monster he was. She clenched her fists in frustration, and a sharp gust of wind headed toward Ostara, when suddenly, all the light in the room seemed to be sucked away and a wall of pure darkness absorbed her attack.

For a moment, she thought it was Rhysand, but when everyone stared at the blonde male in shock, she realized it had been him. The darkness enveloped him like a starry night cloak, swirling around him like a kitten seeking attention. Feyre had only seen that before with Rhysand. Rhysand, who was staring in shock at the young blonde male with violet eyes.

"Try attacking my sister again, and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do in your life, Feyre Archeron."

Even Erebo’s voice was covered in darkness. Nesta Archeron stepped forward, surely to defend her sister, but Ostara also stepped forward, long claws extending from her fingers, horns sprouting from her dark hair, and long fangs extending from her mouth: the shifting power of the Spring Court.

But before either sister could say or do anything, Rhysand spoke, stopping everyone, calming the restless shadows of both Azriel and Erebo.

"Who are you?"

"Don't you know?" Erebo smiled, tilting his head with a mocking grin, his long, high blonde ponytail falling to one side of his shoulder as he tilted his head.

"Oh, allow us to introduce ourselves. I’m Ostara, Tamlin’s daughter. It’s in me where Spring’s powers manifest the strongest, which will surely make me the next in line after my father. This is my brother Erebo. Unlike me, he didn’t inherit any of Spring’s powers; all his powers came from our other father. And, of the two children of my father, he’s definitely the strongest," Ostara smiled with delight.

"Two fathers?" Elain asked, confused.

"Well, yes, our father prefers the male appearance and is the one he walks through life with, so we refer to him as father. But basically, you humans would call him... our mother," Ostara smiled with a chaotic expression.

"Tamlin is a male, I can assure you of that," Feyre growled, furious that these young ones were mocking her.

"How ridiculous you are," Erebo laughed. "From our father, you inherited a little of his shapeshifting ability. That ability allowed you to become Illyrian and fuck through the skies, conceiving a totally Illyrian baby... and you still don’t understand how shapeshifting works."

Nesta Archeron, who seemed to be the smarter one of the two sisters, stepped forward, furrowing her brow, looking from Erebo to Rhysand.

"Are you saying that if Tamlin took a female form, he would have all the internal female anatomy working perfectly?"

"Ding, dong, now we know which sister still has the neurons," Ostara crossed her arms, amused.

"Years ago, during a Calanmai, our father took a female form. It was the will of the goddess and... well, guess who was there to mess with that night?" Erebo mocked.

Then, he and his sister looked at Rhysand at the same time.

"Hello, father," they greeted him with evident mockery, as a pair of huge Illyrian wings appeared on Erebo's back out of nowhere, just like Rhysand's when they unfolded.

The paleness of Rhysand immediately made Azriel, Morrigan, and Nesta realize who had been at a Calanmai in the Spring Court thirty years ago.

"Oh, by all the heavens... that’s why he never said anything," Lucien stared wide-eyed from Rhysand to the twins.

It was only then that Tarquin remembered his lungs needed air. Helion whistled in surprise, and then Tarquin noticed that the entire hall had gone silent, watching the new drama unfold between the Spring Court and the Night Court.

Chapter Text

Part 2

Before anyone else could add their two cents to the shitshow the two young fairies had unleashed, the doors were thrown open once again to let in the High Lord of Spring.

“Ostara, Erebo!”

It was almost magical how the two young fairies’ mocking looks turned into puppy-like expressions as they turned to Tamlin.

"You two!" he snapped at his children, then turned his gaze to his guards, who were doing their best to look anywhere but at their High Lord. "You should know better than to just follow this pair," he said sharply, before looking back at his children—who were suddenly standing right in front of him. It was, in a way, adorable how perfectly in sync they were as they tilted their heads and smiled sweetly at their father, before each grabbed one of the controversial blond High Lord’s arms.

“Dad, we thought you were too busy to come,” Erebo said with a youthful smile, gazing at his father with big violet puppy eyes.

“Yeah, Dad. You said you wouldn’t come,” added the black-haired girl, rubbing one side of her face against the arm she was holding.

“Yeah, that was the plan, until two little fairies decided to stir up trouble,” he said with a tired gesture. “I swear, I just have to lose sight of them for one second and something happens,” he sighed heavily, receiving two very innocent smiles in return.

“Uncle Lucien always said we’d make great diplomats,” the twins declared.

“Lucien was lying,” Tamlin said at the same time as:

“I was lying,” Lucien confirmed. Then he looked from Tamlin to Rhysand, who currently looked like he’d been carved from stone. “Though now I understand why both of you are so terrible at politics. I thought it was all Tamlin’s genes… now I know better,” he muttered to himself —but with everyone paying attention, everyone heard him clearly.

Helion stifled a laugh as he raised his glass, amused.

Tamlin sighed and looked at Tarquin, ignoring the others.

“I apologize for any trouble my children may have caused,” he said as diplomatically as he could manage, though coming from Tamlin, the apology felt rather clumsy.

“It’s nothing… they only insulted their other father and their stepmother,” Cresseida noted with an amused look, standing beside Tarquin. Cresseida never forgot past offenses, so she’d quite enjoyed seeing the two young fairies provoke Rhysand and Feyre.

Tamlin winced and then looked at the twins with disbelief as he shook his head.

“Three hours… three hours I left them out of my sight… how is it even possible they managed something like this in just three hours?” he said, on the verge of tears from frustration, while the twins hugged him sweetly and completely unrepentant.

“Don’t be mad, Daddy,” Ostara pleaded with a pout.

The desperate, tear-filled look of the High Lord of Spring made every parent in the room feel deeply sympathetic.

“This is ridiculous. What are they, thirty? They act like children,” Feyre said, disgusted by the whole spectacle.

Most of the fae looked at her incredulously.

“They act like what they are —barely more than children in our eyes,” said Cresseida, looking at her as if she were stupid.

“They’re adults just like us,” Feyre protested. Cresseida laughed openly.

“The only reason you’re considered adults is because you were humans before. Humans live what? Eighty years, if they’re lucky? By twenty, humans have lived 25% of their life. We, on the other hand, live thousands of years. A thirty-year-old fae? At that age, my mother barely let me leave her skirts,” she mocked of Feyre, clearly enjoying the moment as the oh-so-proud only High Lady of Prythian showed she didn’t even know something so basic about fae life. “Of course, that’s with decent, normal fairies. I’ve heard certain rotten-hearted ones are fond of child marriages in a certain court,” she added with a shrug.

“So, Lord Tarquin…?” Elain asked curiously, looking at the High Lord of Summer.

“He’s considered young by our standards —a genius and powerful teenager who, sadly, was orphaned because of Amarantha.”

Feyre hated to admit it to herself, but that explained the way everyone treated Tarquin. In her eyes, he was a young man barely granted a seat at the table with the other High Lords.

“Fae are legally considered adults and outside their parents’ control only after their hundredth year,” Ostara said mockingly to Feyre when she saw her expression.

Tarquin grimaced and crossed his arms.

“Lord Tarquin was emancipated due to extraordinary circumstances. If it weren’t for Amarantha, my brother and I would probably be following him around, trying to convince him to play with us, and he’d be trying to get away from us because he’s right on that edge —just a step away from adulthood in the fae world,” Ostara laughed.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta felt a little disoriented —even foolish —for not knowing something that seemed so obvious. Then they looked at the two youths. They were considered adults at a hundred? Then, at thirty, calling them “young” was being generous. No wonder no one seemed particularly shocked or upset at the Spring twins for causing trouble. It was like watching two kids throw a tantrum —they barely warranted a glance.

Nesta even understood why Rhysand —so quick to attack and judge her— had been reluctant to react when the two youngsters were rude… because, in fae eyes, he would’ve looked like an adult fighting two children, which would’ve made him look ridiculous.

Erebo winked at her, as if he knew what conclusion she had just reached. And Nesta realized, with horror, that he probably did. That little demon was Rhysand’s son… he could probably read minds. Erebo’s laughter filled the room, confirming Nesta’s awful theory.

“Erebo,” Tamlin warned, raising a hand to rub his temple. Ostara, who lost the arm she had been clinging to, wrapped her arms around her father’s waist. Erebo, for his part, just smiled innocently at his father.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t use those powers. It’s rude. I’ve warned you,” Tamlin said —as if he had a sixth sense, he always seemed to know what powers and when his children were using them. “I’m taking these two. Everyone, I apologize for my children,” Tamlin gave a half-bow, and his large hands went to the backs of his children’s necks, forcing them to do the same.

It would’ve been more effective if the sound of the two siblings trying to stifle their laughter hadn’t been so obvious.

“They’re just children,” Beron scoffed. “A little switch to make them behave better and that’s that. No one pays attention to children’s mischief,” he said magnanimously, like the father of seven he was… well, six —but that was another story. “The switch always worked fine for mine.”

"I’d rather not take parenting advice from you," Tamlin said, holding back a growl as he instinctively stepped in front of his children. A second later, he felt someone on his back. He didn’t mind, because he would recognize that scent anywhere: it was Ostara jumping onto his back. His daughter’s black hair fell over his right shoulder as she rested her chin there.

"Your problem. They seem pretty… wild," Beron said, shrugging.

"They’re just children, Beron. Let them be," Helion cut in, narrowing his eyes. Beron was unpleasant; there was no need to be so strict or to pull out a cane just to discipline a couple of kids for acting their age.

Lucien moved and reached out before he could stop himself, smoothing down Erebo’s golden hair.

"Don’t give your father a hard time, kids," Lucien asked them.

"Yes, Uncle Lucien," they replied adorably soft and obedient.

"A gentle hand with children is often better than a harsh one," Vivian pointed out softly, noting how the two had instantly responded to Lucien’s kind words. She couldn’t help but feel a certain tenderness for those two boys from the Spring Court. Fae children were incredibly rare and scattered; most fae were not like Beron, who never counted his blessings despite having so many children, and treated them cruelly. On the contrary, most—like Vivian—were extremely permissive and tolerant with the young.

Even with Tarquin, who was already eighty years old, it was hard not to feel a certain indulgence. Though legally the High Lord of the Summer Court and burdened with overwhelming power and responsibility—far too soon, thanks to that witch Amarantha—many women, and even some of his peers, still couldn’t help but see him as too young. In the terms of the long-lived fae, eighty years barely placed him at the doorstep of adulthood: technically, he was still a teenager. And though his extraordinary circumstances required him to be treated as an adult on the Council, the truth was that few actually saw him that way. Not when, under normal conditions, he should have been having fun, exploring his sexuality, making mistakes without major consequences, and living carefree before real responsibilities arrived. A luxury that the early loss of his parents at Amarantha’s hands had stolen from him.

The same Tarquin who, Under the Mountain, had received his powers at an age just slightly older than Tamlin’s children, couldn’t help but look at them with indulgence. He, too, had wished for his parents to be around so he could act like a spoiled child, just like those twins. He wouldn’t wish on anyone the need to grow up and mature as fast and as harshly as the war had forced him to.

Tamlin nodded at Vivian’s words.

"Let’s go," he said, with his daughter clinging to his back and holding the blond boy’s hand. The older blond pulled them toward the exit. "You’re grounded until the autumn equinox," he whispered to the pair of teenagers, who wanted to protest but were wise enough not to. So they kept their mouths shut, knowing their father was at the edge of his patience. Instead, they tried to charm him. Ostara kissed her father’s cheek, and Erebo shut his mouth, obediently squeezing his father’s hand.

"Tamlin… will you stay for the meeting?" Tarquin asked. Tamlin paused for a second, and the escort who had come with his children also stopped. He looked at his children, then at the High Lord and the room, sighing as he shook his head. He didn’t want to stay, but despite that, he replied:

"Well… since I’m already here, and the cat’s out of the bag," he said with a shrug. Tarquin smiled.

"I’ll show you the quarters for the Spring delegation," he offered.

"Thanks," Tamlin nodded.

Chapter Text

Part 3

For a second, it seemed like Rhysand would step forward, but he remained in place, jaw clenched and gaze hard, almost like a statue. He watched Tamlin and the Spring delegation as they left following Tarquin. The High Lord, however, turned to Lucien instead.

“Vanserra,” he said through gritted teeth. “We need to talk,” he added, turning to leave, expecting to be followed without even looking back.

Lucien grimaced, but after glancing at Elain, he knew he had no choice but to follow the pompous Lord of the Night Court.

The Night Court delegation walked in silence to the rooms that had been assigned to them earlier. The scarred redhead quickly raised his hands the moment the door shut behind the Shadow Singer, once everyone was inside the Night Court’s quarters.

“Don’t look at me like that—I didn’t know they were yours!” the redhead declared immediately.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rhysand asked through clenched teeth.

“Say what?” Lucien asked, raising a brow, not understanding Rhysand’s question. He had already told the other male he had no idea they were his, though now it explained Ostara’s black hair, Erebo’s violet eyes... or Erebo’s pure darkness powers. Now that he really thought about it, he must have been blind or something not to realize those powers could only come from Rhysand. And Lucien wasn’t stupid… how could he have not noticed before? How had he not connected the dots? Or was it that he hadn’t wanted to notice?

Lucien felt confused in that moment. It had never crossed his mind, he hadn’t thought about it, but now it was so obvious he didn’t understand how he hadn’t seen it from the beginning. Damn, he had been there when the twins were born; he had seen every light go out into utter darkness when Erebo was born.

“Telling us he had kids!” Rhysand snapped, jaw tightening further.

“Because they’re his kids and his problem, not anyone else’s,” the redhead finally shrugged, answering. “I didn’t see how talking to you about Tamlin’s children was relevant when I arrived at your Court… and even if you don’t like it, Tamlin was once my friend. I saw those children born, I held them, I watched them take their first steps, I held Tamlin when he broke down over having to send his five-year-old kids away, when because of you they were almost discovered hidden in our… in the Spring Court. I covered for him every time he slipped away for short visits to see them; I even went myself many times because it was easier for me to sneak away than it was for him. No… I would never have given you a weapon like that. If you wanted to destroy Tamlin for what happened with Feyre, fine… but I would never have given you information about those kids back then. I would never have betrayed the children I saw born… not even for my mate,” he stated firmly, refusing to apologize for not telling him anything about Erebo or Ostara when he arrived at the Night Court.

“Besides, hiding the twins during Amarantha’s reign and during the war was the smartest decision Tamlin ever made. Those children wouldn’t have even lived to see their first year if Amarantha had known of their existence. With her obsession with Tamlin, she never would’ve allowed them to live, because they weren’t hers,” he said with another shrug.

Rhysand nodded, jaw still tight.

“Fine, I can understand during Amarantha’s rule. But when you came to us, the bitch was already dead,” he reminded him, annoyed.

“Yes… and we had Hybern beating down our doors on the brink of war. And you had just watched Feyre destroy an entire Court in the middle of that war just because she hated Tamlin,” he reminded him. “Why would I tell you about those children at that point? So they could be kidnapped and used to force Tamlin to obey you? So they could be hurt in revenge? In revenge for what he ‘did to Feyre’? No, even if I had to turn my back on Tamlin for my mate, there was no way in this world I would hand over a pair of children who had grown up at my knee… I’m not Beron,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest with determination.

“You really think we would hurt a pair of children?” Morrigan asked, incredulous.

Lucien looked her straight in the eyes. There was no point in lying to Morrigan, considering her power. Lucien was an expert politician: he knew how to hide information, how to omit it, and how to manipulate it to get his way without ever needing to lie. That’s why he had passed Morrigan’s scrutiny so easily. He was also powerful enough to share only what he wanted from his memories and to lock away the things that mattered or that he didn’t want to share… like the twins.

“I believe you're capable of doing whatever you believe is for the ‘greater good,’ for your goals and for Velaris,” he said plainly. Then he sighed, looking at Rhysand. “Look, if I had known they were yours… maybe I would’ve said something, I don’t know. Probably not when I first arrived. I know well enough that being a father doesn’t guarantee love or compassion. My own father tried to kill me,” he reminded him, “so no… at that moment, even if I had known, I probably wouldn’t have said anything because I wouldn’t have believed Erebo or Ostara would be safe with you… because I might’ve even believed you capable of killing them for carrying Tamlin’s blood,” he admitted. “But maybe with time… you’re not a complete monster, Rhysand… if I had known they were yours… maybe I would’ve said something eventually… I don’t know,” he confessed, shrugging.

Rhysand hated with every fiber of his being that he understood Lucien. Even if Lucien wasn’t Beron’s son, the truth was that even Beron’s legitimate sons, like Eris, hadn’t turned out well. Beron had been an abusive bastard as a father—just as his own father had been… just as Tamlin’s father had been.

“Is it true what Cressida said?” Elain interrupted.

When everyone looked at her, she shrank back, but still added:

“The part about them being children in their thirties?”

“For the High Fae… yes.”

“So do they see us as children?” Nesta asked with her arms crossed.

“No, not you. You were humans. While the lives of Fae unfold very slowly, human life is much too fast. When you entered our world, you were already adult women by human standards; upon becoming Fae, you became adults—not children. Sometimes it's hard to take you seriously when you've lived so little time… but no, we don’t see you as children,” Lucien replied.

Nesta gave a small nod in thanks for the answer.

“But the Illyrians...? So the blood rite… is it just a slaughter of Fae children?” she asked, a bit horrified.

Everyone looked uncomfortable, but since they were opening up, Lucien nodded.

“That’s one of the reasons they’re seen as savages by the rest of Prythian. They marry off their females when they’re still children and mutilate them. Their males are thrown into a brutal, bloody rite while they’re still young. It’s true that this has given the Night Court a strong army… and a pretty horrible reputation as child abusers,” he added, educating them a little on politics. “The Court of Nightmares isn’t any better, allowing child marriages. When Morrigan, at eighteen, was betrothed to my brother—who was even younger than her—it was considered normal in the Court of Nightmares, where child marriages are a custom. But from what I heard—since I was born many years after that—Beron nearly faced a rebellion because of it… and he never dared do anything like that again. Trying to arrange a child marriage for his son almost cost him the throne. In the Autumn Court, it’s frowned upon. My mother was fifty when she married him. That’s considered a horribly young age… but young, not childish. Eighteen… is still considered a child by our standards. A youthful marriage might be tolerated—after all, the reality is that at that age, they’re already exploring their sexuality, alcohol… and all the fun things in life. But a child marriage? Not a chance.”

Nesta, Elain, and even Feyre listened intently to what was probably their first real lesson in Prythian politics.

“Take Cassian, for example. He was taken to a war camp at four years old to train, if I’m not mistaken. Rhysand himself was thrown into one by his mother at eight... At four years old, Tamlin still took his feminine form to nurse the twins if they had a rough night. At that age, Ostara and Erebo spent more time in Tamlin’s arms, mine, or Alis’s than walking on the ground. It’s true that because of this difference in how we treat our children, the Night Court has a much more powerful army… and a much more horrible reputation. That’s why they say the Illyrians are brutes: because they use their children like disposable animals. The child mortality rate in the Illyrian camps is the highest of all the courts. In fact, it’s said that during Rhysand’s father’s reign, Illyrian females were allowed to have their wings clipped so they couldn’t escape, used as incubators and forced to give birth again and again to replace those who died in their war camps,” Lucien looked at Rhysand, expecting him to stop him, but the High Lord just looked away and let him continue. “And the truth is, the other courts looked the other way, because although it was cruel—horribly cruel—it gave the Night Court the strongest army in Prythian. The weak died, the strong survived. That was the Illyrian attitude. Also, since they were considered lesser Fae… the High Fae simply ignored the horror inflicted upon those children,” he said with a trace of shame for the High Fae’s attitude toward something everyone knew about but chose to ignore. “After all, with the High Fae of the Night Court, it was a different story. No High Fae was taken to those camps or treated like that. And child marriages have always affected girls more than boys, so it was easy… to ignore what was happening,” he admitted, uncomfortable, looking away toward the end.

“We’ve banned wing clipping,” Morrigan protested weakly.

“I know,” Lucien admitted with a sigh. “I’ve seen the changes… at least you intend to improve, if that means anything to you.” He looked at Rhysand. “You’re a better male than your father ever was. But the Night Court already has a well-known reputation… and it’s not a good one. The only reason you usually get away with things is because your army is the biggest and strongest… do you understand now?” he asked Feyre.

“Understand what?” she asked, confused for a moment.

“Why Tamlin and I thought we were saving you.”

“You can’t still believe that…”

“Not now… but at the time, we did, and you have to admit we had reasons to think that way.”

“Rhysand was just wearing a mask for the good of the Night Court.”

“You can’t wear a mask for that many years and then get mad at everyone for believing you were who you made them think you were, Feyre,” Lucien said, shaking his head.

“That didn’t give him the right to lock me up.”

“And him locking you up didn’t give you the right to destroy the Spring Court. You could have gone for him… but instead, you chose to go after the innocents who cared for you, just to hurt him. And then you celebrated it. Not once did you feel bad for the civilians who had appreciated you,” he said, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder… what happened to the Feyre who gave her jewels to lesser Fae who couldn’t pay their taxes because she didn’t want to see them suffer? How is that Feyre the same one who later destroyed and undermined a court on the brink of war, weakening it and costing it hundreds of innocent lives that could have been saved?” he said bluntly.

“That’s enough, Vanserra. Don’t overstep,” Rhysand warned him, glaring.

"And that’s why, politically, she doesn’t grow: because she doesn’t understand what she’s doing wrong or what she’s doing right," Lucien said directly to Rhysand, locking eyes with him. "I think while the rest of the world sees them as adults, because they became Fae as adults and are judged as such… you’re the one who sees them as children. Hell, not even as children… I doubt even Tamlin shielded the twins from their mistakes the way you ‘protect’ Feyre from the truth about her actions," he said, shrugging.

Feyre’s eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t cry because someone told you the truth,” Nesta scolded her. “Part of growing up is understanding where we truly stand, Feyre,” she warned.

Rhysand glared at her for her words. Nesta rolled her eyes at him but looked away. Lucien sighed heavily.

“If there’s nothing else… I’ll take my leave,” he began, but Rhysand interrupted.

“Show them to me.” It was half an order, half a request… and with a touch of plea. It was that slight trace of pleading that made Lucien nod. He looked into his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he invited him into his mind.

Chapter Text

Part 4

Rhysand was unexpectedly gentle when he entered Lucien's mind. And this time, he could see the firmly closed door that the fox had kept hidden from him; the sunlight had obscured it before. He placed his hand on it, and the door didn’t resist, opening smoothly. Then, Rhysand was pulled into seeing the world through the red eyes of the fox.

Tamlin still had the same feminine form from that last Calanmai, but she didn’t look like she had that night. Now, her long blond hair clung to her cheeks, her body, and her back with sweat. She was naked, standing only with the help of Lucien and another warrior—Andras, he realized.

“When you’re ready, my lord,” a woman, the midwife, spoke firmly.

Tamlin nodded, clearly exhausted; they had been there for hours.

Andras was extremely gentle as he guided Tamlin’s hands to a pair of white fabrics hanging from the ceiling. Lucien brought her other hand to the other white curtain. Tamlin wrapped her hands tightly around them. Andras supported her from behind; Lucien placed his hands on the swollen belly.

“They’re in position, Tam,” the redhead assured his friend.

Tamlin looked at him with green eyes, tired from the hours of labor, but she nodded resolutely and, biting her lower lip, began to push.

“I see the head!” came the midwife’s cry.

Tamlin’s head dropped forward as if trying to see, but with her swollen belly in the way, that wasn’t even a possibility. Lucien bit his lip, suppressing a smile, and then, after one more push, a blond baby dropped into the midwife’s hands—a blond baby with Illyrian wings. The tiny fists clenched, and the wrinkled face scrunched up even more as that little mouth was cleaned of mucus and the infant roared his discontent at being brought into a hostile world, out of his mother’s womb.

Lucien extended his arms to take him. The midwife barely placed the baby in them when total darkness enveloped the room; every light was extinguished, drawn toward the infant’s body, disappearing into a shroud of absolute blackness. Lucien couldn’t even see an inch in front of his nose, though he could still feel his companions.

Holding the baby securely in one arm, he extended his other hand toward what he was sure was empty space, letting fire erupt from it. But the fire barely lit them for a few seconds before even that light was consumed by the still-crying baby in his arms. Lucien didn’t try to light the room again; instead, blindly and carefully, he brought the baby to Tamlin’s chest. The crying stopped, the light returned, and everyone could see again.

The baby, still connected to the umbilical cord, nestled against Tamlin’s chest. Tamlin released the fabrics he had gripped to push, trusting Andras’s hands to keep him upright as he held his baby. Lucien only let go once both arms were securely wrapped around the blond child.

“Lucien,” the midwife called.

Lucien looked away with a smile and knelt down, taking the knife and cutting the baby’s umbilical cord, which the midwife quickly tied off.

“Take her to the bed,” the woman said gently.

Andras and Lucien did as told. In this feminine form, Tamlin was much lighter than in her masculine one. They settled her gently and covered her with a blanket at least from the waist down. Tamlin settled into the pillows and followed the midwife’s instructions, guiding the baby’s mouth to her swollen nipple, from which the baby suckled eagerly.

“Tamlin…” Andras spoke softly. “The father?”

“The goddess’s chosen, nothing more,” Tamlin dismissed.

“He was… an Illyrian?” Lucien asked fearfully.

“No. I was the one who took that form,” Tamlin stated firmly.

Lucien felt great relief and nodded, looking at the baby’s golden hair, convinced.

“It’s better this way,” he said, and Tamlin nodded, smiling at him briefly before focusing on the baby, who, now full, soon fell asleep in his mother’s arms.

It was a peaceful scene for at least thirty minutes, until Tamlin tensed again from a stab of pain, though she didn’t cry out or make any sudden movements that might wake the blond baby in her arms.

“And here comes the second baby. I think it's safe to say that its twin won’t be going back into the womb and is ready to come out," the midwife smiled kindly, rising and lifting the sheet to look between Tamlin's legs.

Lucien didn’t look out of respect, though Tamlin didn’t seem to mind. Instead, the fox focused on his friend and the baby. He had already gotten used to this feminine form, since Tamlin had held it for so many months. He even felt he was starting to forget his friend’s masculine appearance.

“Can you try to stand again? Gravity will help the second baby come out more easily. But if you can’t, we’ll deliver lying down,” the midwife assured.

“No, I’m ready to stand,” Tamlin said, handing the blond baby to Lucien.

Lucien took him with the utmost care. The baby didn’t wake. Tamlin crawled tiredly to the edge of the bed with Andras and the midwife’s help, placed her bare feet on the floor, but barely started standing before collapsing to her knees.

Lucien stepped forward, still holding the baby, but the midwife and Andras were already there. His friend, on her knees and with hands on the bed, tried to stand, but instead couldn’t hold back the urge to push.

“Don’t move anymore, I see the head,” the midwife announced. “Spread your legs,” she told her, placing a hand on Tamlin’s back. “This is just as good a birthing position as any, boy. Take a deep breath, and come on, one more push and it’s over,” she assured.

Tamlin’s fists clenched the sheets, she took a deep breath, buried her face in them, and pushed. The girl came out more easily and faster than her brother; with that final push, the midwife rotated her, and the baby girl was out. A little tuft of dark hair on her head and lungs as strong as her brother’s—the girl was born crying her discontent. Maybe upset because her brother had been taken from her, or maybe the world outside the warm womb she’d grown in felt hostile.

Andras was the one who cut the umbilical cord. There was no darkness this time. Tamlin staggered on her knees on the bed and fell to her side on it.

“We’re not done yet, Tamlin. You still have a placenta to expel,” the midwife warned.

Tamlin’s tired green eyes looked at the baby girl but obeyed. Spreading her legs, she pushed again, expelling the placenta from her body. Then, finally, the midwife helped her settle into the sheets, and Andras handed over the crying baby girl who, like her brother, quieted the moment she felt her father’s skin against her own. She latched onto the milk-filled nipple even faster than her brother had. And then, those little eyes opened, looking at Tamlin, and all the flowers decorating the room bloomed at once.

Lucien had thought it was just in that room—but it happened throughout all of Spring.

The midwife gently cleaned Tamlin while she nursed the baby girl, and Lucien sat at the edge of the bed with the boy still in his arms. Tamlin smiled at him, looking exhausted yet strangely at peace, as she smiled at Lucien with her baby nursing at her breast.

Rhysand was ripped from that memory, only to be thrown into another.

Tamlin was back in his much more familiar form, his male form again. He was behind his desk, talking to Andras about the new refugees that had arrived at the Court, when Lucien walked into the room carrying the pair of babies. Tamlin immediately turned to his friend, reaching out to take his twins. They were a little bigger now, and on the blonde baby's back, there were no wings to be seen—undoubtedly hidden by Spring magic.

"Are you sure your milk is still safe?" Lucien asked, frowning with concern at the babies. Tamlin shot him a glare.

"If I can’t control my own damn shift, I might as well slit my own throat and let my children rule. Babies would do a better job. Of course I’m sure! I just want to be in a damn skin I feel more comfortable in. I spent months stuck in my female form," he grumbled, "but I assure you, this is only the exterior. My damn interior is still as unchangeably female as it was through the whole damn pregnancy," he added, opening his shirt to feed the twins in that form. The two latched on quickly, nursing eagerly.

"I’ll feed you goat milk as soon as you're big enough," he told the babies, who suckled, unaware of it all. But everyone knew Tamlin wasn’t serious.

Andras and Lucien exchanged amused smiles, and Tamlin made a rude face at them—his hands too busy to do anything else. The pair just laughed, entertained.

He wasn’t allowed to enjoy that memory for long before he was pulled from it and thrown into another.

"I’m going out on patrol personally. You heard it—Amarantha’s minions have been spotted too close to these borders," Tamlin said, jaw tight.

"Let me go. You stay with the twins," Lucien protested.

"I am the High Lord of this Court. It’s my responsibility," Tamlin said, shaking his head and adjusting the belt of knives across his chest, once again sculpted and firm. The babies, sitting on the carpet, turned their little heads—one with blonde hair, the other with black—peacefully following their father’s steps. But when Tamlin headed for the door, they began crawling toward him on their hands and knees. Lucien sighed and moved forward like the glorified nanny he was to pick them up, when Erebo stood unsteadily on his chubby little legs.

“Tamlin,” Lucien’s voice stopped him, and Tamlin turned, brows furrowed. A frown that vanished the moment he saw the baby standing on wobbly legs. Tamlin’s mouth opened in a perfect “O” of surprise before breaking into a smile and bending down, arms outstretched.

“Erebo, come here, come to daddy,” he called. And then, the chubby blonde baby took a stumbling step, and then another. He wobbled forward, and just before Lucien or Tamlin could rush to catch him, a pair of bat-like wings sprouted from his back, flapping hard to regain his balance.

“Nice trick,” Lucien joked, but didn’t move a muscle as Erebo took another step. Three steps in total before he reached his father’s arms. Tamlin embraced him, throwing him in the air and catching him, kissing his soft baby cheeks. Lucien clapped. Ostara looked annoyed at all the attention her brother was getting, so she scrunched up her angelic face and simply stood on her two feet and walked toward her father as if she'd always been able to—but simply chose not to. Tamlin laughed, scooping her up and celebrating her just as he had Erebo. Ostara then smiled, pleased, like a proper little princess, as Lucien laughed.

Once again, the memory shifted.

“It’s too dangerous, Tam,” Lucien sounded anguished, almost pained just to speak the words. “Rhys almost found them this time. If he does, he’ll tell Amarantha. And neither Erebo nor Ostara will be safe.”

Tamlin held a sleeping Erebo tightly against his chest, the boy only curling in closer. Ostara slept with her head resting on her father’s legs, a thin line of drool slipping from her half-open mouth. Tamlin’s fingers threaded through the little girl’s black hair, stroking it with a tenderness that felt out of place in a man so large.

“I can’t, Lucien. I can’t lose my children.”

“Because you can’t lose them—because we can’t lose them—that’s exactly why Ostara and Erebo need to leave. We have to hide them. They can’t stay in Prythian. If they’re found… they won’t survive,” Lucien said firmly.

The desperation, the sheer devastation on Tamlin’s face was raw, laid bare before Lucien’s eyes without even a hint of restraint.

“I can’t, Lucien. I just can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Lucien said, placing a steady hand on Tamlin’s shoulder.

The memory, once again, shifted.

Andras and Lucien entered Tamlin’s office. The fae male was at his desk, but his gaze was lost in the window.

“Do you think Erebo and Ostara are sleeping well? Are they eating well?” Tamlin didn’t even turn to look at them as he asked.

“I’m sure they are,” Andras said with a kind smile. “But Lucien and I think it would be better if you checked for yourself,” he added.

Tamlin finally diverted his gaze from the window to look at them, confused.

“We were talking,” Lucien told him. “We think you could transform Andras into yourself, and you could become Andras. Andras can stay here pretending to be you for a couple of weeks, while I handle all the work. And you, as Andras, could be on a mission... and actually stay with the kids. They miss you,” Lucien assured him.

Tamlin’s smile was instant. He jumped from his seat, and in two strides, reached his friends, hugging them tightly.

“Gods, I love you both,” he assured the two men, accepting immediately.

The memory was abruptly interrupted when it was forcefully pulled from Lucien’s mind. The fae staggered a step back, rubbing his temples. Rhysand knew how his powers worked. He couldn’t keep stirring Lucien’s memories without causing him a migraine, so he nodded at him.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

The Autumn male nodded.

“I’ll go rest,” he said tiredly, turning and leaving Rhysand alone with his Inner Circle.

“What did you see?” Morrigan asked. Rhysand didn’t say it, Rhysand shared it.

Amren looked tense. After seeing how Erebo was born… it was clear which of the two children was likely to be the next High Lord of the Night Court. Of course, there was a possibility that if Rhys and Feyre had more children —especially if Feyre wasn’t in her Illyrian form— a more powerful High Fae than Erebo could be born. But between Erebo and Nyx, Amren’s over ten thousand years of experience clearly told her who would be the next High Lord… and it wouldn’t be Nyx.

Feyre looked lost and confused. She didn’t even know how to process the fact that Tamlin, a male she had been with, actually also had the ability to be a female and had even given birth to two children… and had done it much better than she did with Nyx. What did that mean for her? Was Tamlin heterosexual? Could he even truly be considered a man?

“Azriel,” Rhysand began, but the male was already nodding.

“I’ll put my shadows to work and gather information about the children,” the spymaster responded.

Nesta stretched and stood up from her seat.

“I don’t like Tamlin, and I don’t think I’ll ever like him. But at least I’ll give him credit for being a much better father than ours. There’s no doubt he loves his twins, despite who the other parent is,” she simply said, turning and leaving as though the problem wasn’t with her.

“As insensitive as always,” Morrigan complained, just to say something, since she herself was still processing everything. She could hate that those kids were Tamlin’s, but they were also Rhysand’s. She couldn’t hate them for that. Ostara looked almost like a female version of Rhysand, which made her beautiful. And Erebo’s powers… they were all Rhysand. She didn’t know what to think or feel, beyond wishing those kids had been raised in Velaris, far away from Tamlin and his influence. But they were already thirty years old, it was too late. They were too attached to “their mother.” And Tamlin was a horrible being. Tamlin was to blame for what happened with Rhysand’s mother and sister. Tamlin had hurt Feyre. He was a monster… but he was also the mother of those kids, and something told her that the twins would rather kill her than hear a single negative word about Tamlin.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen in my life. A man with two babies. Hell, I was going to become a stepmother to two children that he didn’t even bother mentioning before our wedding,” Feyre shook her head.

“Gender fluid. Tamlin’s powers make him, actually, gender fluid. He just prefers his male form because he was born with it and it feels more natural. Plus, it makes his job as High Lord easier; no one would’ve looked favorably upon a High Lady when he rose to power,” Cassian whispered without looking at her, feeling as uncomfortable as Morrigan.

“They’re not human... actually, we’re not human anymore either. I guess that whole gender... fluid thing is a fae thing, as strange as it may sound to you, Feyre,” Elain spoke softly, drawing her attention.

“I think we all need rest to process this,” Amren stood up. Rhysand nodded, agreeing. Everyone left the room. Feyre and Rhys were the last.

“Are you okay?” Feyre took Rhysand’s hand, worried.

“I’m fine,” Rhys nodded with a sigh. “I just need some time to think about this,” he assured her, moving closer to kiss her softly. “I’m sorry, Feyre. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have hidden something like this from you,” he promised.

“I know. It’s not your fault, it’s Tamlin’s,” she said firmly.

Rhysand sighed but said nothing.

“Go ahead and rest… I need a few moments for myself,” he asked, kissing her hands.

Feyre nodded with a hint of doubt, but understood that the information must have been overwhelming for Rhysand, so she agreed. She headed to her room, taking one last look back. The last thing she saw was Rhysand pouring a drink from the minibar.

Chapter Text

Part 5

Rhysand didn’t know what he expected to see when he slipped like darkness into Tamlin’s room, but it wasn’t this. The rooms were as luxurious and comfortable as the ones given to himself and his court. He also assumed the other guests had the same, because that was Tarquin’s style. No, the matter wasn’t the room, but the tall blond lord sleeping in the huge bed and the pair of twins curled up on each side of the Spring Lord.

Ostara, the girl, slept with her dark-haired head tucked under Tamlin’s chin, and Erebo, with his golden beauty, slept unconscious of the world, curled against Tamlin’s left side, using his arm as a pillow. It was a homely scene… and Rhys felt unexpectedly excluded.

He told himself it was only because Erebo and Ostara were his children, two children who, now that he knew the truth, he could see how much they resembled both him and Tamlin—a perfect mix of both. As if sensing it, Tamlin opened his eyes and looked at him directly.

Rhys didn’t try to hide in the shadows. Tamlin furrowed his brow, and Rhys could see every protective movement toward his children. Tamlin was protecting his children from him, as if he were Beron, a monster capable of hurting his own children. They looked at each other and understood without a single word spoken.

Rhys had to admire the experienced way Tamlin untangled himself from the twins without lifting them both at once. Both youngsters sought, even asleep, the warmth that had left and ended up curled together. Tamlin covered them and kissed their foreheads before walking toward the balcony. Rhys followed silently. They closed the balcony doors behind them so as not to wake the pair of sleeping twins in the bed, unaware of everything.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” was the first thing he could ask before thinking. Tamlin raised one of his blond eyebrows in disbelief.

“Why would I tell you?” he asked instead, with a hint of incredulity.

“Because they’re my children,” Rhys said, annoyed but keeping his voice low out of consideration for the children sleeping nearby. “I wouldn’t have denied them my name, even if they were yours too.”

“Don’t be stupid. You were Amarantha’s lover, your name would have killed them quickly.”

“I would never have told them,” he protested.

“You would do anything to protect your utopian Velaris. And they are my children,” he reminded him without apologizing or showing regret.

“Do you think I’d just give them up because they’re yours too?” the High Lord of the Night asked incredulously. Tamlin didn’t answer, but the blond’s silence was the loudest answer he could have given.

“We both know well how you feel about me and how much you like to see me suffer,” he said instead, after the uncomfortable silence. “And nothing has ever been more important to me than them,” he assured him.

—Not even Feyre?

—Not even close —he said firmly.

—Is that why you didn’t tell her about the children she would gain as yours if she married you?

Tamlin didn’t take the bait; instead, he leaned on the balcony railing and looked out at the ocean.

—I didn’t tell her because she didn’t know how to protect her mind. I didn’t trust that her mind would keep the secret and the safety of my children, not when she was bound by that stupid pact to be near you. It was also hard to explain to someone who was essentially human that I was the one who gave birth to them and that their parents were two males. I didn’t think she could understand it or that her fragile mind could keep the secret. I planned to tell her when she learned to defend and protect her mind, or at least when your deal was broken. And considering how everything ended between us, I’m glad I never said a single word about Erebo and Ostara —he assured.

—You started it, and you know it —Rhys growled, although at that moment he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the Feyre situation or what had happened between them regarding his own sister and mother.

—Maybe, and in revenge, she decided to take it out on the innocent people of Spring to hurt me and destroy a Court that never harmed her. In fact, a Court that sincerely cared for her, simply because she knew it would hurt me. She chose to hurt innocents to get back at me. Yes... —he nodded— I am guilty —he admitted—. But she is not innocent of the lives lost in Spring —he assured—. And you know it. That’s why you like her so much.

—Is that what you told the twins? —Rhys asked, reproachfully.

—Never. I have never spoken a single word about Feyre to them, not even once. They found out for themselves. They’re smart children. Also, Erebo has powers like yours, Daemati powers that make it very difficult for anyone to hide secrets from him. And Ostara, the trees and animals whisper the secrets of the earth to her. You’ll discover, if you ever get to know them, that when they want to know something, it’s almost impossible to hide anything from them. And if they hate Feyre, it’s not just because of me, not just because of Spring… but also because of Andras, the male who never harmed she but was killed by her with a heart full of hate —he acknowledged that his children did not appreciate the former human.

—Just for that? —Rhys asked, thinking of a way to fix things.

Tamlin shrugged.

—I don’t really know, I’m just guessing. I’m not the one with the power to read minds —he reminded him—. It could be for that reason, as I believe, or it could be for something much more childish, like she married you or because she gave you a son you love while despising me, the person who is, after all, their mother. Or maybe it’s just their age. I don’t know, I can only make assumptions. They’re at a difficult age —he admitted, shrugging again—. They used to confide more in Lucien than in me, after all, I’m their “mother.” Lucien was their accomplice.

Rhys opened his mouth to reply not very kindly about how little help the blond male was, but his words died in his throat before coming out because both of them heard the light steps of small bare feet approaching… only seconds later, Ostara appeared before them, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

—Mom —she called, more asleep than awake, dragging her feet toward Tamlin.

The blond male lifted the young dark-haired girl as if she weighed nothing. Ostara curled up with her face buried in Tamlin’s neck and her legs wrapped around the blond’s waist, like a little koala. It was painful for Rhys at that moment to notice how much his daughter resembled his deceased sister.

—It’s late, princess, you must sleep —Tamlin whispered softly in her ear with a paternal voice.

—You weren’t —the girl complained.

— I was talking to someone, —he informed her, rubbing her back in circles with his large hand.

Ostara barely lifted her head to look at the other speaker and saw Rhys fully awake, and she smiled.

—Hello, Dad —she said in the middle of a big lazy, sleepy yawn.

Rhys’s heart jumped at that moment with a somersault the very second his daughter called him Dad, his only girl. He loved her with such an immediate force that it made him stagger with surprise. It was like a missing piece inside him finally fitting into place. It didn’t matter that the other half of that piece’s creation was Tamlin himself. She, Ostara, his girl… was perfect.

—Hello, princess —he finally found his voice to say something and respond—. You should listen to… your mother and sleep your beauty sleep —he whispered uncertainly, reaching out his hand and stroking the long, soft black strands of his daughter’s hair like silk. He felt a little more confident when his daughter didn’t reject the touch, nor did Tamlin step back with her to pull her away from him. He didn’t mind that only moments later Ostara was completely asleep on Tamlin’s shoulder. He could still feel the tingling in his fingers from the moment he touched her.