CHAPTER ONE

THE SAFETY OF DEALS

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     REN STUMBLED WHEN he came out of the shadows and smoke, his boots sliding briefly across smooth marble before he found his footing. Steadying himself, he glanced warily at Amren, then looked around him, taking in his surroundings. The marble beneath him was black with gold threaded through, looking like veins under skin. There were no windows or walls, just marble pillars revealing nothing but a dark sky glittering with stars. Golden curtains billowed inward from a slight breeze. A four-poster bed sat in the center of the room, up on a raised platform, and there was a bath built straight into the floor of the room in the corner, steam rising up from the water. Ren took in a shuddering breath, then turned to watch Amren walk casually over to a vanity. The vanity in question was just as golden as the curtains, and littered with various pieces of jewelry, and Ren deduced this could only be her home, her room. He took in another deep breath, then licked his dry lips.

"Where are we?" he croaked. After the chase he had just endured, he suddenly realized he was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He wanted nothing more than to sink down into the bed in the middle of the room and disappear into his own dreams for a while, but he knew better than to drop his guard now. He was inside the Night Court now, he knew that for certain, and he had heard so many foul stories and rumors about the Night Court that he couldn't relax.

"Hewn City," Amren said casually as she rummaged through a deep drawer of her vanity. Ren's next questions died in his throat, his heart jump starting in his chest. Hewn City was the home and domain of the High Lord of the Night Court, Lachlan, and his family—Lady of the Night Court, Briella, and their two children, Rhysand and Maeve. Ren had seen the entire family together only once, during some meeting Under the Mountain that he was promptly dragged out of by Jerrod, but that wasn't even Ren's main concern. The Hewn City had such an awful reputation that it had developed the name the Court of Nightmares, because the citizens were so terrible and cruel. Ren had made a deal with one of those Night Court citizens, and the deal was inked down his spine—he could not break it, not unless he wanted to risk misfortunate to befall him. All official deals from all Courts were that way, but the Night Court was the only place he knew of where deals were inked on someone's skin.

He thought, with a mild feeling of horror, that he had simply traded one hell for a new one.

"Calm yourself," Amren ordered coldly, coming up from the vanity drawer with a gilded cup in her hands, the rim heavy with rubies. The cup looked almost ceremonial. "Our deal said that I would keep you safe as long as you fed me your blood, and I take my deals very seriously. It isn't often I get to feast on High Fae blood." Coming back to him, she shoved the cup forward and stared at him with cold, unnerving eyes, waiting. Ren swallowed the lump of fear stuck in his throat, then scrambled to get his knife out of his boot. He grimaced as he pressed the blade against his wrist, then looked away as his blood poured into the cup.

"I can't do this multiple times a day," he managed to get out as the cup filled. Amren was staring at the cup intently, her tongue coming out to lick her lips.

"I don't need you to do it every day," Amren said, but only when the blood was nearly overflowing the ceremonial cup. She snatched it back and took a long drink, her eyes slipping closed as a drop of Ren's blood missed her mouth and slid down her chin. Ren grimaced and pressed a cloth from his pack against his wrist, holding it there until he felt his skin start to stitch itself back together. Amren gulped the rest of the blood down like she was starving, and then closed her eyes in pleasure, a pleased smile curling her red mouth. She added, absentmindedly, "Once a week will do." Ren swallowed.

"If you don't mind me asking," Ren said slowly, "but what are you?" He had never met a fae creature such as her, not one with unnerving smoke-filled eyes, and not one that simply drank blood. He knew of plenty creatures who feasted on flesh, but they were mostly old creatures, long since having gone into hiding as their numbers dwindled. Many of them had simply settled in The Middle, a rather simple name for a place in Prythian no single Court could claim, as the land wouldn't allow it. Amren certainly wasn't hiding. From the look of her room, she was very wealthy.

"I am a being not of this world," she sighed dramatically, turning to strip herself of her cloak. Ren, despite knowing better, rolled his eyes at her words. She was wearing loose gray pants underneath her cloak, and a gray shirt that showed her entire mid-riff. She was even smaller than he had originally thought, shorter than him by a good bit, and almost delicately boned. Her pointed ears showed her to be of High Fae descent, but from her words, she wasn't High Fae at all. She sensed his new questions and quickly explained, "I am simply trapped in a High Fae body, boy. That is all. Now..." She smiled, then collapsed into a plush chair that practically swallowed her whole. "Who was chasing you?" Immediately, a scowl twisted Ren's face, and he turned to head toward the heated bath in the corner. There were curtains he could pull around it for privacy, the rings attached to circular marble rod on the high ceiling.

"I dropped my wedding ring at the border," he said through gritted teeth, slouching down onto one of the marble steps leading up to the bath. "Who do you think?" There was heat being pumped into the room, despite the open walls. Magic was keeping out the cold, but he could see snow slowly drifting down. In the Spring Court, it was always spring, no matter what time of the year. Ren hadn't even realized it was winter. Time had collapsed around him inside of that place; he only really felt it when he was feeling dread. Like when he was counting down the minutes until he had to be alone with Jerrod again. Fighting back a shiver, he worked on untying the laces to his boots. "I'm assuming you didn't clear this with your High Lord, so I'm stuck in here until you figure out everything, right? Well, do you mind if I wash?" When he looked back up, he saw that Amren was frowning at him.

"I'm more partial to Lachlan's heir, honestly, but yes, I suppose I will have to tell him about this." She sighed heavily and tilted her head back to stare up at the ceiling. "How inconvenient." She shrugged, then kicked off her silver shoes, which clattered as they rolled under the bed. "But you needn't worry. The Night Court takes their deals very seriously, and Lachlan likes having me around." She flashed him a smile full of teeth. They looked alarmingly sharp. "I scare the ones he needs me to scare." She waved her hand then, the rings on her fingers flashing under the lights. "Bathe. Make yourself presentable. I'll be back in a few hours."

Ren's head jerked up in alarm. Amren still made him incredibly uneasy, but he still preferred her company over being alone in Hewn City. He opened his mouth to tell her just that, but he wasn't fast enough. She was already gone, the door closing behind her, and he was left in the large room alone. It went without saying that he wasn't allowed to leave. He was an outsider as far as everyone else was concerned. Pursing his lips, he glanced around, then slowly continued undressing to bathe.

He was locked up inside of yet another place, but at least Jerrod wasn't there. That was all he ever really wanted.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He ended up falling asleep hours later, collapsed on the large bed, soft silk sheets around him. Granted, he hadn't slept well. Every small noise had him jolting out of bed, and he hadn't once forgotten where he was or who the room he was staying in belonged to. But no one bothered him during the night, and Amren hadn't come back. The blankets were soft and the room was warm. As sunlight filtered through the floor to ceiling curtains, covering the open air between the pillars, Ren decided he wouldn't get much more sleep and simply opened his eyes to stare at the sunlight. It was mildly surprising to see sunlight at all in the Night Court; he, as well as many others, had assumed the lords had at least filtered out the sun from coming into their homes. Subconsciously, his thumb reached to touch his wedding band, only for him to remember that he had left it in the dirt between Spring and Autumn. It was an anxious habit he would need to lose.

Sitting up slowly, he brought his knees up to his chest and looked around himself, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was truly here, in the Night Court, in the Hewn City. He had no doubt sentries and lords were out searching for Ren at that very moment, probably assuming he was hiding out in the Autumn Court. That would buy him a lot of time. Weeks. Months, if he was truly lucky. The Autumn Court was large than the Spring Court, and had plenty of places to hide. It would take them time to comb through it. Then they would broaden their search to every court, and the time it would take to even make the Lords agree to let Jerrod search their lands...

Ren could hide in the Night Court forever, if he wished. It was well known the High Lord of the Night Court didn't like strangers in his lands. Especially not with his mate and children, his heirs, living there. Ren sighed and pushed himself out of bed, running his fingers through his long hair—Jerrod had liked it long. Had liked knowing he could grab a handful of it if he wanted to. Ren usually kept it up in a bun for that very reason, but he'd had to loosen it during his bath. His fingers got caught in new tangles, and panic and anger surged through him. Irrational anger, maybe, as it was just hair, but it still made him seethe through his teeth. Launching himself out of bed, he strode over to his small bag of things and went through it until he found the kitchen knife he'd managed to slip from the dinner table. It was surprising Amren hadn't taken his weapons away, but then, he supposed a tiny knife wouldn't do anything to a creature like her.

Ren didn't bother going to the mirror across the room. He just wrapped his long hair into a fist and started sawing at it, not caring if the cut was ugly, not caring if it would come out uneven or if he cut his fingers in the process. He wanted the length gone. He needed it gone. He felt the tip of the knife nick his fingers more than once, felt blood well up before his skin healed, but he didn't feel it. He just kept cutting and cutting until long locks were around his feet, and his hair hung just past his chin. It was still too long. Still enough for someone to grab and yank, but the irrational anger was gone now, and he didn't have enough energy left to meticulously cut his hair shorter. Panting slightly, he slumped to the floor and let the knife fall from his fingers, clattering toward the marble floors. His head suddenly pounding, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and tried to get the feeling of Jerrod yanking on his hair out of his mind.

Jerrod had been gentle, once. Sweet. Charming. Ren knew now that it had been all an act. He'd wanted Ren the second they'd seen each other at a party, and the Spring Court and Dawn Court had always wanted an alliance. Ren wasn't the heir to the Dawn Court—that was Thesan—but he was Dawn Court nobility, his family close with Thesan's. Ren had been good enough, and Jerrod had been deemed good enough for him by his parents and by the High Lord of Dawn, and that had been that. His parents didn't know he'd been treated cruelly by Jerrod as soon as their marriage had been made official, and thanks to Ren's letters—filled with lies about how he was happy and healthy, about how they were looking for a suitable Fae female to birth their child, Jerrod's heir—they were now none the wiser. His mother was probably commissioning a crib at that very moment, not even aware her son was missing. He doubted Jerrod would let that out unless he was truly desperate.

Perhaps that was what made Ren run. Not the abuse escalating, but the thought of a child being brought into the middle of it. The type of son Jerrod would raise, a copy of Jerrod himself despite Ren's influence—or even worse, a daughter he would abuse too, because a daughter wasn't what Jerrod wanted. Ren didn't even know if he wanted children, and even if he did, he never would've wanted one with Jerrod. Never would've subjected an innocent child to a household like that.

"When Amren told me she found a stray," a deep voice suddenly said lightly from the doorway, "I certainly didn't expect it to be you." Ren launched to his feet so fast that he was a blur, his hand curling around the handle of the dinner knife. It wasn't a large weapon, but it was something. Ren grasped it tight and turned toward the doorway, the place he had foolishly put his back to, and an animalistic snarl rumbled deep in his throat. The male in the doorway was smiling faintly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. He was bedecked in black, from the glittering jacket around his shoulders that reminded Ren of starlight, to his dark boots. Ren could feel the power emanating off of him, dark and strong, and with his black hair falling into vivid violet eyes and light brown skin, Ren recognized him immediately.

Ren had seen him once, from a distance, what felt like years ago. It wasn't Lachlan, but it was his heir. Rhysand. Ren could remember thinking Rhysand had been beautiful from a distance, but this close, he was absolutely breathtaking. And dangerous. So dangerous that Ren didn't even dare breathe, less Rhysand call for the guards and throw him back to the Spring Court.

Rhysand tilted his head slowly, stepped forward to close the door behind him, and then softly said, "It's Ren, isn't it?"

Ren opened his mouth to say yes, to be polite and ask formally for asylum, anything, but what came out was a weak, "Don't send me back there." His voice was, much to his frustration, trembling. His entire body was trembling. The faint smile on Rhysand's face seemed to dim, and then he finally seemed to look at Ren—at the gaunt hollow of his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the uneven cut of his hair, the black locks fallen around his feet. He took it all in silently, his face becoming unreadable, and Ren sucked in a shuddering breath. "I know the High Lord doesn't know I'm here, I know I'm not supposed to be here, but—please. Please don't send me back to him. I'll do anything." Rhysand was frowning by then, drumming his fingers along his arm as he thought.

"You shouldn't promise such things, especially not here. Fortunately for you, I am not my father," Rhysand said finally, and Ren had no idea what that meant, because he didn't know Lachlan or Rhysand, but Rhysand didn't sound enraged or annoyed. He sounded calm. "Amren came to me because she didn't know what to do with you, but she thinks she can get away with what she did with you, especially since my father likes using her to hunt his enemies down." Rhysand stepped closer, and Ren went still, afraid to move too quickly. He had forgotten about the knife clutched in his hand until Rhysand glanced down at it. He looked amused at the sight, at the thought of the little dinner knife hurting him, and Ren couldn't blame him. The knife wouldn't have even done much to hurt Ren. Ren wasn't weak by any means, power-wise, but he didn't compare to a High Lord's heir. Rhysand studied the knife, then dropped his gaze to the hair littered on the floor, and the amused smile disappeared. "Why did you do that to your hair?"

"I didn't want it long anymore," Ren said shortly, and then he glared, a bit of his former temper flaring. He didn't know why he felt the need to defend the decision, but he did. "It's my hair. I can do whatever I like to it." And then he tensed, waiting, biting down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood. If he'd dared say that to Jerrod, Jerrod would've hit him. Ren had fought back once, yelled and became furious, but it had only made things worse. He expected that same violence now, but Rhysand just blinked and studied the hair still on Ren's head.

"You could've at least cut it well," Rhysand pointed out, nose wrinkling almost delicately, and his purple eyes were suddenly twinkling like before, amused once again. "It looks absolutely horrendous. Like a wild animal went at it with their teeth." Ren released a huge breath, blinked at him, and then blinked again. He felt, suddenly, very confused.

"You are very, very strange," Ren said bluntly. Ren was a stranger in his court, or his future court, and yet Rhysand was perfectly at ease, not at all concerned about Ren possibly being a spy or an assassin. Though, if he looked half as bad as Rhysand was hinting at, Ren supposed the ease was warranted. He must not have looked like much of a threat.

"Maybe," Rhysand said cheerfully, "but I'm still here to help." Ren blinked again, then his eyes grew wide in disbelief. Rhysand gave him a blinding smile. "Amren made a deal with you. You are bound to fulfill it. She is off to tell my father of the news now, and for your own safety, I am here to escort you to a place you'll be safe until you can prove yourself trustworthy. Or until my father calms down from the rage he will surely fly into soon. Besides—" His smile grew wider. "—I take every chance I get to rebel against my father."

"Just like that?" Ren asked in disbelief. "I'm just...being offered asylum?"

"No," Rhysand corrected, his expression growing a bit more serious. "Not yet. For now, you are someone Amren made a deal with, and we fear Amren's wrath more than we fear if you're a liar." Rhysand tugged at the lapels of his jacket, then offered Ren a single hand, palm toward the ceiling. Ren stared at it, then glanced up at Rhysand's face. He was smiling that wide, teasing smile again. "Shall we?"

Gulping, Ren figured he had no choice, and promptly placed his hand on Rhysand's. He felt something then, right behind his ribs, right where his heart was. A very small tug. He brushed it off as nerves or a fresh pulse of adrenaline, especially since shadows seemed to whirl around them, signaling that Rhysand was about to winnow Ren somewhere.

"Where are you taking me?" Ren asked through the shadows and night, dark clouds and stars that suddenly surrounded them.

"To my mother," Rhysand announced, and then they were gone, falling through whatever night sky Rhysand had just conjured.

When Ren blinked his eyes open, he was no longer in the Hewn City. He could tell that immediately by the scent that attacked his nose—burning wood, snow outside, the wet slide of mud where snow had melted under feet. Beside him, Rhysand let go of Ren's hand and stepped off to the side, going to the fire and stroking it with an iron poker. He threw another log into it, and Ren took in the rest of the room. They were in a sitting area in front of the fireplace, and across the room, he could see a dining table, and a pot of what smelled like soup simmering over an oven in the kitchen. A set of wooden stairs led to a second floor, but the cabin they were standing in still seemed small. It was warm, keeping out the cold and snow from outside, but small. Certainly not something Ren expected for Lachlan's mate to live in.

"Where are we?" Ren asked, crossing his arms over his stomach. He had left his small pack of things at the Hewn City, but he found that he didn't miss it much. The only things of value inside the pack were the jewels, necklaces, and rings he had stolen, and he had already promised those to Amren, anyway. The only other thing he had packed was a single spare outfit, and he was already wearing it thanks to his bath.

"My mother's house in Illyria," Rhysand said calmly, still focused on the fire, though he could've easily used his powers to make the fire stronger. "In the Windhaven Camp where I was trained." Ren sucked in a sharp breath. He had forgotten that Rhysand was half-Illyrian, the warrior race of fae with bat-like wings that resided in the northern region of the Night Court. They made up most of the Night Court's army, and had played a huge role in winning the war against Hybern only five years ago. Ren, who had been only eighteen at the time, had been too young and inexperienced to fight in the war, but he knew that the Dawn Court had fought against Hybern. Had fought for humans, for their right to live freely. Now the Wall separated Prythian and the human domain. Ren had never been on the other side of the Wall, but he would like to. Some day.

"Am I safe here?" Ren asked, doubtful. He was starting to feel reassured at having made at deal with Amren instead of any other Night Court citizen. It seemed like she could get away with anything she wanted, and so Ren doubted Rhysand would risk her wrath by putting her food in danger. But he had also heard horror stories about the Illyrians, about how they clipped their female's wings so they could never fly, about the Blood Rite, where most of the warriors trained didn't even make it out alive. This place didn't seem any safer than the Hewn City.

"No one would dare go against Lady Briella where her guests are concerned," a new voice said. Ren whirled around to where the sound came from, his eyes blowing wide and his heart jumping into his throat. A male close to Rhysand's age—twenty-five, maybe, still very young for Fae standards—seemed to step right out of the shadows. Blue stones were on the back of both his hands, and he was twisting a dagger around his fingers, hazel eyes cold and glued to Ren's face. The male's eyes went to Rhysand. "This is Lord Ren?"

"The one and only," Rhysand said cheerfully. "Put Truth-Teller away, Azriel. He is no spy or assassin. I already checked." Ren turned just in time to see Rhysand smirk and tap at his temple. The other male, Azriel, hummed and obediently put away the dagger in his hand, sliding it into a holster at his hip. Ren looked between the two of them, mind racing—and then he whirled toward Rhysand, his temper flaring so high that the cabin itself seemed to tremble around them. Rhysand blinked, looking startled as he glanced around at the walls, but Ren wasn't concerned about the cabin, or about Azriel at his back.

"You were in my mind?" Ren all but shouted, face flushing with anger and shame. He didn't want anyone going through his thoughts, anyone seeing what he had endured, how low he had gotten, how scared. He had foolishly forgotten that Rhysand was a daemati—a faerie that had the ability to control, infiltrate, and even shatter someone's mind—but he had assumed he would feel it. There were so many rumors about Rhysand's daemati powers feeling sharp like claws, cold as ice and invasive, that Ren had thought he would know if Rhysand would resort to it. "You had no right. Absolutely no right—"

"I've brought you to my mother's house," Rhysand said, a slight growl in his voice, "where my closest friends live, where my cousin comes to, where my sister is. I had every right to make sure you're not dangerous."

"It didn't occur to you to ask first?" Ren spat. Apparently, it hadn't, because Rhysand had that startled look again. Ren glared as hatefully as he could. "I would have let you look to make sure I wasn't lying. I never expected to come here and be trusted immediately. I just wanted out. Now I have no idea what you saw, what you can use against me to—"

"I didn't go that far," Rhysand said immediately, cutting off Ren's tirade. He glanced over Ren's shoulder, to where Azriel was still standing, and gave a small shake of his head. Telling Azriel to stand down. Ren had no doubt in his mind that Truth-Teller was once again in his hand. "I was only on the surface of your mind, just far enough to see if you were lying while I spoke to you in the Hewn City. Truthfully, it was as far as I could go." Rhysand tilted his head then, looking thoughtful. "Who taught you to keep out daemati?" Ren blinked, then straightened. He had completely forgotten about his mental shield, taught to him as soon as it was revealed the High Lord's heir had daemati powers. He'd been holding it in place for so long, as long as he could remember, that it was second nature now. A flush of embarrassment rose to his cheeks.

"My mother," Ren said quietly, clearing his throat and taking a step away from Rhysand. He was embarrassed now, for how badly he had reacted, how easily his temper had slipped. He felt out of control, and so very exhausted. "Lady Lillian. She taught my father, too. Lord Ignace." Ren glanced up to catch Rhysand's gaze, then glanced over his shoulder at Azriel, who was glaring suspiciously. "I...apologize. For that. I'm not...I don't..." Falling silent, he ducked his head and played with the end of his coat sleeves. He was starting to feel a little warm now, the cabin well-heated, but he refrained from shedding his coat. He felt too raw and exposed, his outburst alarming even to himself. His coat felt like a last defense.

"I should apologize," Rhysand said quietly, making Ren look up at him sharply, utterly shocked. He had never in his life heard any High Lord heir apologize for anything. But then, Thesan and Jerrod were the only two he really knew, and Thesan had always been his friend, and polite even when he wasn't being particularly nice. Thesan's small bit of meanness had never been sent Ren's way. Jerrod was just absolutely horrid. "I should have asked first. I meant no harm. Just know I truly didn't see anything past your mental shield. It's very strong." Rhysand smiled then, a little teasingly, as if trying to ease the tension in the room. "And believe me, I tried. I didn't think a wall made of clouds lit by the sunrise could be so strong."

"You should meet my mother," Ren said, starting to smile, eager to erase the tension as well. "I imagine hers is just as deceiving."

"I have no doubt about that." Rhysand looked over Ren's shoulder again, then laughed. "Azriel, stop scowling in the corner. He means no harm. He came here for help, not to kill me." Rhysand lowered his voice then, leaning closer as if Azriel didn't have enhanced hearing as well. "If he tries to interrogate you later, do just play along. He takes his spymaster duties very seriously."

"Your mother is here," was all Azriel said in response, right before someone cleared their throat. Ren turned to face Lady Briella, clearing his throat and suddenly mildly ashamed of his appearance. Lady Briella was as beautiful as Rhysand, with the same raven-black hair and light brown skin. Her wings were tucked in tight behind her, and at her side—carrying bags of what appeared to be fabric—was another Illyrian warrior, this one much larger than Azriel or Rhysand, his dark hair cut to his shoulders and falling in messy waves. The Illyrian's wings were tucked in tight as well, though that was probably to avoid hitting them on the stairs behind him. There was a beat of tense silence, and then the Illyrian male grinned bright and wide.

"Oh, Rhysie, you're in for it now," he chuckled, and then he dumped the bags of fabric on the couch and strode forward, his boots landing heavily on the wooden floorboards. Ren's first instinct was to flinch away from him, because he was large and broad, and Jerrod had much the same physique, the same arrogant way of filling up a room. Ren must have flinched despite his best efforts not to, because the male came to an abrupt halt an arm's length away from Ren and gentled his smile. "Amren said you ran away from Jerrod, huh?" Warily, Ren nodded, his arms crossing tighter around his stomach. The male studied him for a moment, then chuckled again. "Good. I always thought he was a fucking prick."

"Cassian," Lady Briella said suddenly, "go put my bags in my room." Cassian twisted on his heel, gave Lady Briella a salute, then swept up the bags and climbed the stairs. Briella then glanced at Rhysand, then Azriel. "Boys, go set the table for dinner." They moved into the kitchen obediently, and then Ren and Briella were alone. There was no door to the kitchen, the first floor of the cabin was rather open, but it still felt like he was trapped. Ren swallowed thickly as Briella slowly approached him, her dark eyes narrowed as she took him in. When she reached him, she reached out slowly and took his chin in a gentle grip, studying his face. Her wings flared out behind her, blocking him from looking at anything or anyone else but her.

"Do you know how to cook?" she asked quietly. Ren blinked.

"Yes," he answered, confused.

"Do you know how to clean?"

"Of course," Ren responded.

"Do you know how to fight?"

"My father taught me, yes."

"Good. Then I won't have to look after you like a toddler." Briella smiled then, and it lit up her entire face. "Rhys is very lucky I know your mother." Ren suddenly felt an overwhelming amount of relief. Briella had never planned on turning him away. She had known the second she entered whose son he was. That had probably saved him from being thrown out into the snow to fend for himself. Briella touched his cheek, then the ends of his hair. She clicked her tongue. "Get a chair from the dining table and bring it in front of the fire. I'll fix your hair for you, and then you will eat every last piece of food I put in front of you." Briella turned to go. "No stray of mine will ever go hungry."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was fighting for my life trying to figure out if Rhysand became High Lord before the war or after...The only reason I figured it out was because Rhysand's dad fought in the war. SJM should really have the timeline written out somewhere or something. Anyway, I think part one is really going to be fast paced as I establish Ren into the Night Court and everything, so it'll probably be kinda short.

edited: 4.30.24