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The Dawn Court was just as beautiful as she’d hoped. Lucien had told Feyre plenty of stories about it—though his heritage meant that all he could give her was second hand accounts and stories.
The Spring Court was the last to arrive at the meeting. They weren’t late, just not nearly as early as the other courts.
According to Tamlin, meetings among all the High Lords were few and far between before Amarantha’s reign. But in the aftermath of her defeat, it was made a point that the meetings should occur more frequently. To at least keep diplomacy.
Those meetings were held every five to ten years. Tamlin had been to at least fifteen of them. This was Feyre’s first.
And only because her presence had been specifically requested.
She tried not to think bitterly about it. This was her first visit to another court, she wouldn’t let Tamlin’s…tendencies sour it.
It made some sense; it was the one hundred year anniversary of Amarantha’s defeat. She wasn’t surprised that they wanted the Cursebreaker present. She disliked that name, yet still preferred it to Lady of Spring. She loved her people and Tamlin, but she often wished to just be free. When she was a human, wealthier girls used to whisper that she was as feral as the beasts she hunted. Feyre longed to be that girl again.
The other courts watched them as they entered. In particular, no one from the Night Court took their eyes off her. They all gazed at her with intrigue, but not in the way everyone looked at the Curbreaker. No, their curiosity was mixed with something else, something colder. Like resentment. It made her feel somewhat self conscious.
Had Rhysand’s opinions of her affected their perception of her? Likely. It was quite logical. She didn’t think they were on terrible terms after everything they’d been through together during Amarantha’s reign. But maybe a century of distance had soured his memory of her.
It didn’t matter…
She had plenty of reasons to hate him. And she did. She cared little for what he thought of her.
The Spring Court took their seats near the other seasonal courts, forcing them to pass by the Night Court’s seats right in order to get to their own.
Feyre looked every single one of them in the eye as she passed. The two winged males. (Illyrians. She thought that’s what Tamlin called them when referring to the Night Court) A blonde fae who looked like if sunshine was a person. Her bright gaze warmed when she looked at anyone but Feyre, and the rest of the Spring Court. And a smaller female whose silver eyes held more intrigued than hatred. Maybe a small part of Feyre was grateful for that. Though flames of disapproval still flickered.
Feyre met all of their stares as she walked. All except one. She wouldn’t look at Rhysand—wouldn’t dignify him by acknowledging his existence.
“Now that everyone is here,” Thesan’s voice rang out. “Shall we begin our reports?”
Feyre didn’t ask any questions, even though she was incredibly confused. She recalled what Tamlin had told her before their arrival in the Dawn Court.
‘Don’t speak unless spoken to. And if you are spoken to, keep your answers brief. We don’t want to the other courts to get anything out of you.’
She knew that when Tamlin said ‘other courts’, he meant Rhysand. She normally couldn’t care less about his paranoia, but after a long argument, she eventually agreed to be docile as can be.
When Feyre thought everyone was well and truly too distracted with the conversation, she dared to risk a glance at Rhysand. She thought she was being sneaky, but she looked over at him, he was already gazing back.
A dark, smooth voice crept into her mind. ‘Did you miss me, Feyre darling?’
She forced her mental shield to strengthen.
When Tamlin had to leave the manor for longer trips, Feyre was left behind. As a result, she grew quite bored. Not even Lucien could stay with her, because he was apparently important enough to travel with Tamlin. Feyre wasn’t though.
She had to find some way to keep herself sane. And when she learned of her mind reading abilities, she at least had something to do to pass the days. She would enter the minds of servants, just to keep entertained by their thoughts. Guilt flooded her when she thought of it, but she could never find it in herself to stop. She quickly learned the dangers of mind readers, and taught herself how to shield.
And now she knew the best course of action with Rhysand would be none. She wouldn’t offer him any piece of her mind, no matter how intrigued she was by another mind reader.
- - -
Her room was quite lavish.
Giant marble pillars surrounded the room, framing the enormous, plush bed against the right wall. Purple sheets covered every inch of it.
She’d been given a room separate to Tamlin’s, although it wasn’t a long walk from his.
A tray of food sat on her bed. The selection looked as if no one was sure what she wanted, so they simply gave her a little bit of everything. Chicken, duck, and fish had been placed on one half of her plate, all coated in rich seasonings. Two little bowls of soup were offered, one was hearty, filled with vegetables and chunks of meat. The other consisted largely of a tomato base combined with herbs and garlic. Feyre liked the second choice better.
Someone must have been looking out for her, because tucked under the napkin was a piece of rich, chocolate cake. Some of it had smudged onto the white fabric of the napkin, but Feyre couldn’t care less. She devoured dessert, trying to enjoy the food she hadn’t eaten in decades—Ianthe claimed it was unbecoming of a lady—yet it was gone too soon.
When her stomach was full and her heart felt contented, she turned to explore the bathroom, marveling at the large bathtub.
Feyre stripped off her clothes and entered the warm water. It felt cleansing, almost purifying. Though her body wouldn’t feel that way for long, Tamlin would come to her room soon enough, and she would be anything but clean afterwards.
She soaked in the water for at least an hour. She briefly wondered if she was keeping Tamlin waiting, but he would have announced himself if he’d entered her room.
Once she had finished drying herself and dressing, she finally left her bathroom.
And there was a man lounging on her bed. The man certainly wasn’t Tamlin. She almost shrieked from being so startled, but upon realizing who was on her bed, she managed to rein it in.
“Get out!” She yelled at Rhysand.
His mouth curled into a smirk. “Feyre darling, has anyone ever told you your manners need improvement?”
Tamlin and Ianthe did. Constantly. That seemed to be everyone’s biggest complaint about her. In her earlier years, she wished to rip her own ears off her own head. Their nagging was simply too incessant. And something about Rhysand joining their chorus irked her.
His smile faltered, replaced by something darker. “That wasn’t what I meant. I’m sorry.”
Despite her anger, she wanted to laugh. “You? Sorry? The same man who just broke into my room?” Her gazed flickered between him and the door. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“About as long as you’ve been in there.” He pointed to bathroom. “You have no idea how torturous it was waiting here. Walking in there and joining you in the bath was far too tempting.”
Her cheek burned. “I would never let you join me,” she muttered.
Clearly he heard it all the same. Rhysand stood up from the bed, taking three long strides toward her. He reached for her and traced her cheek. Feyre tried to step away and out of his touch, yet something held her in place. It wasn’t his hands, one was too busy caressing her face while the other rested in his pocket.
She looked down, curiosity getting the better of her.
Two tendrils made of shadows were wrapped around her ankles, locking her completely in place. A third tendril came around her waist, only bringing her closer to Rhys. “You won’t?” He mocked.
She was certain her face was redder than the tomato soup she’d enjoyed so much. Still, she wouldn’t back down. “I won’t,” she reaffirmed.
“Not even if I did this?” The dark tendrils loosened, and Rhysand picked her up. She was too shocked to even try and fight her way out of his arms. Though, she wasn’t there long; he only took a few short steps before she was the bed, lying on her back…with her legs spread wide. Embarrassingly, he had no part in that.
She was quick to rectify her mistake, but not before he caught her thighs and forced them open again. Her clothing was gone with a wave of his hand. So was his.
She stopped squirming for a moment, if only to let her eyes drift over his body. Tattoos covered the majority of his chest, and Feyre fought the urge to trace each and every one of the lines with her fingers. She banished that thought from her head. She told herself that her react only stemmed from intrigue, not attraction.
Her gaze didn’t stop at the tattoos. Her eyes dropped lower, down to his thick, hard—
She snapped her eyes away.
A laugh escaped Rhysand. Maybe she didn’t need to feel embarrassed about her gawking. He was doing the same thing. Shamelessly.
“So beautiful,” he muttered, reaching for her head and taking a handful of her hair. He didn’t pull, he just slowly moved his fingers through her hair. Almost like he was petting her. Her body got strangely hot at the idea of that. “So beautiful. And perfect. And mine.”
“Not yours.” She argued, finally snapping out of her daze.
The gentle hand in her hair paused, then he released his hold. “Oh?”
He dragged a hand down her body, lazily tracing every curve, all the way until he reached that sensitive spot between her thighs.
“So you aren’t absolutely dripping for me?”
He didn’t wait for a respond before he inserted two fingers into her very much wet and ready cunt.
Against the protests of her head, her body arched toward him. He obliged her, pumping his fingers in and out of her while she tried to stifle her moans.
He added a third, and curled his fingers in a way that perfectly hit that sensitive spot inside of her. All she saw was the white light of her ecstasy.
“Still don’t want me?” He asked.
“Absolutely not.” She tried to make her voice sound strong, but the words only came out as a shaky cry of pleasure.
Feyre’s cheeks redden at the sound of her own voice. Her jumbled thoughts cleared up as she came down from her high. She only then realized the extent of what she’d done.
Rhysand fucked her with his fingers, and she allowed him to. She’d pushed back at first, but ultimately gave up once the feel of his body touching hers became too much. Her husband was just across the hall… Oh cauldron, what would Tamlin think?
“Who cares what he thinks, darling?” Rhysand drawled. “You were enjoying yourself. That’s what matters.”
She let out a small shriek. “Get out of my head. And I was not enjoying myself.” She could practically taste the lie on her own tongue.
He rolled his eyes. “Still on that, are we? Very well.”
He gripped her hips and yanked her to the edge of the bed. Her thighs were already opened and spread. He took that advantage and knelt down, hooking her legs over his shoulders.
She squirmed when he plunged his tongue into her. Feyre was still reeling from her last release, yet Rhysand didn’t seem to care. He kept licking, feasting on every drop of her.
Her hips bucked involuntarily, grinding her body against his face.
He chuckled and pinned her hips down with his hand. “I adore your enthusiasm, but you must stay still for this.”
He made sure to remove his tongue a few times, only to run it over her clit.
She realized he was drawing out her release. Either because he wished to watch her squirm, or he wanted to keep tasting her. Perhaps for both reasons.
He withdrew his tongue from her cunt, alternating to just barely graze the sensitive skin. Her entire body shivered at that, trying to arch closer to him.
“I didn’t plan on doing this tonight,” he murmured into her thigh in a rare break from licking her, instead choosing to rub his thumb over her clit. “I planned to wait until we were completely together in the right place, then I would taste you, fuck you, do whatever it was that would make you happy.”
He paused, and she wondered if was expecting a response to his confession. If so, he wouldn’t get much of anything. She was only half listening, being far too caught up in her own pleasure to give his words any further consideration. Maybe he was counting on that.
“But then I realized, I don’t know when I would have another opportunity to ravish you.”
That caught her attention. A strange, irrational anger consumed her.
“You could have called in the bargain at any time.” As much as she hated him, nothing could compare to how much she despised being cooped up in the manor for a century. She almost resented him for it. Almost. Some small tug in her ribs kept her from fully holding it against him. That same tug also wanted to cling to his body and ride him into oblivion, so clearly it couldn’t be trusted.
That earned a snarl from him. “And lose you in a week? No, Feyre. I have a plan, just be patient.”
What plan? She almost asked, until his tongue swiped through her again and she couldn’t hold back a loud, wild moan.
Finally, he put her out of her misery and allowed her to come all over his face.
The sound of her shallow pants filled room, accompanied by the sound of his tongue lapping up her release.
He seemed to take pity on her this time, giving her a moment’s rest to come down from her pleasure.
He pulled her body towards his, holding her close to his bare chest. He started petting her hair again, gentle as can be.
He murmured something unintelligible in her ear before biting its lobe and tugging just a bit. Feyre thought that was the end of their night. That maybe he had some mercy left in his twisted soul not to fuck her entirely. That tiny, traitorous part of her almost groaned with dismay. It asked questioned with nonsensical answers.
Why didn’t he claim her?
Did she not do a good enough job?
Did she not please him?
Was she not good enough for her m—
Rhys's pointed ears twitched just a little, and his eyes were on the door to the hall, perhaps whatever lay behind it.
Either he heard the thoughts buzzing within her mind, or he simply fell victim to his own desires. With one brash movement, he flipped them over so that she was lying beneath him. His eyes were just in front of her own, his pupils blown and wild.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she kissed him. Rhysand was frozen for a moment, as if surprised she would do such a thing. His shock quickly disappeared and he kissed her with an intensity Feyre had never experienced before. She could taste her own release on his lips.
It was different from their kiss Under the Mountain. That exchange was unwanted, practically repulsive. And as much as she hated herself for admitting it, Feyre wanted this. Badly. The kiss was just as forceful as it was Under the Mountain, if not more so.
He was the one to break first. She would have mourned the loss of his mouth on hers had he not trailed his lips lower.
Down her jaw and neck until he reached her breasts. He didn’t hesitate to take one in his mouth, circling her nipple with his tongue. Feyre could’ve found release from that alone. It would have been humiliating, had she not been so caught up in the pure feeling of him.
He released her breast, but not before causing a few shallow whimpers to escape her throat.
He lined up the head of his cock with her entrance. Rhys moved slowly, carefully entering her soaked cunt one inch at a time, while Feyre wrapped her legs around his waist.
He gave a short thrust, finally filling her with his entire length. “Cauldron, you’re tight,” his words came out more strained than Feyre ever would have thought possible for him. “My good girl has such a perfect cunt. All for me.”
He pounded into her, forcing her to abandon any thoughts that he would take pity on her.
“Yours,” she agreed. Your good girl. But she wouldn’t say that.
Someone knocked at the door. Tapping their fist against the door three times.
Tamlin.
He told her he would be visiting her room tonight. Rhys’s presence had thrown the fact far out of her mind.
He slowed his pace to a near agonizing rate.
“That’s Tamlin,” Feyre said. She pushed against his chest in hopes he would budge. He didn’t. “You have to leave, otherwise he’ll see you.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said, his voice solid.
“You have—” He cut her off.
“I wasn’t asking to stay.” He leaned down, just above her ear and whispered, “You’re going to be a good girl, and send him on his way.”
“Feyre,” Tamlin said through the door.
“I’m not feeling well tonight. Maybe tomorrow night will be better.”
Rhys snarled at that.
“Feyre, it’s been a long day, I just want to take some of my edge off. You already agreed.”
“I know but—” Rhysand began his pace again, and she had to fight to keep her voice steady. “I’m feeling really awful—” Another hard thrust. “Maybe it’s the new climate—” Another. “or the food here—” Another.
“Fine, I’ll find something else to do tonight.” He tried to listen to his footsteps as he left, but all she could focus on was Rhys and how perfectly full she felt while wrapped around his cock.
“You did so well, darling. I bet he didn’t even he didn’t even hear the sounds you tried to stifle. Though, admittedly, I wouldn’t be too sad if he did.”
Feyre met each one of his movements with her own. He let out a deep groan when she rolled her hips experimentally.
She was close and she knew it. From his ragged pants and groans at every thrust, Feyre knew Rhys was too.
“I should fill you up,” he said, more to himself than her. Yet she still gasped, her body shuddering at the idea. “Is that what you want? You want me to fill you up? Give you a baby? You would look so pretty round with my child.”
Words failed her. All that she could managed was a scream of pleasure. Rhys took that as agreement. He didn’t seem to need much encouragement.
She hit her breaking point and shattered. So did he, filling her cunt to the brim with his release.
“That’s it, come on my cock. Let me fill you up.” His words were nothing more than pants.
Feyre couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could just barely breathe. She could do almost nothing but bask in the aftermath of her own pleasure.
She didn’t have to worry about moving. Rhys took care of that for her. He fell onto the bed, pulling her with him. It was anything but graceful, yet nothing felt so perfect as when he wrapped her in his arms.
She fell asleep like that, happy, contented, and full as his come dripped out of her and onto the bed.
- - -
When she woke up, she was alone.
The bedsheets were clean. Her room smelled as clean as it had when she’d first arrived—nothing like the scent of sex and citrus that had lingered last night. Even her inner thighs were clean. There was no trace of him anywhere.
For a moment she assumed it was all some strange, deranged dream. But when she tried to get out of bed and start the day, she nearly fell. Her core was so incredibly sore, and likely would be for days to come. She didn’t even entertain the idea that Tamlin was responsible for the ache. She knew that wasn’t possible.
She sat on her bed for a long moment, simply considering where to go from there. Was she supposed to seek out Rhysand and ask him what in the Mother’s name could he have been thinking?
Were they something more than adversaries now?
Red, hot shame flushed her cheeks. Of course they weren’t. He left her alone in her bed after erasing any and all traces of himself. He wanted to forget about their night, he wanted her to forget about it as well.
There was a knock on her door. “Feyre, are you awake?”Tamlin’s voice asked. This time, she had no plans to ignore him.
“Yes, come in,” she yelled.
Tamlin’s eyes gazed over her as he walked in. “Are you feeling better? You don’t look too ill.”
If it was possible for her face to turn even redder, it certainly did. “I’m feeling much better; lots of good sleep helped a lot.” She tried to sound chipper, yet the words came out strained.
“Good, because we’re leaving.”
“What? So soon?”
“I don’t trust some of the people here. Rhysand was acting strange this morning, I think he’s plotting something.”
Feyre swore she could hear her own heart beating in her ears. “How was he acting strange?”
“He was looking at me all throughout breakfast with such a smug, arrogant grin. Like he knew something I didn’t.”
If only Tamlin knew the half of it. “Oh, well…that is a fair reason to leave early. I’ll pack my things immediately.” She never had the opportunity to unpack in things in the first place.
He smiled at her. “I’m glad you agree with me. Lucien believes it’s all in my head.” She had to suppress a groan, knowing he only valued her opinion when she agreed with him.
He turned and headed for his room. She wondered why she wasn’t woken for breakfast. Ordinarily, she would have been annoyed by her exclusion. But now she was just glad to be saved from the humiliation of facing Rhysand again.
‘…smug, arrogant smile…’
Maybe that’s all she was to him. She was just another way to get back at Tamlin.
- - -
A month passed, and the manor had never felt more lonely.
Every time she turned around the corner, she expected Rhysand to be there, lurking in whatever shadows the light from the stained glass windows couldn’t smother.
Tamlin still visited her room every night. And she had to give him some credit for his determination. Sex with her felt like fucking a dead, rotting fish. And that comparison was doing a disservice to the fish. She simply couldn’t find it in herself to care. Intimacy was an obligation now, not a pleasure. Sometimes she would pretend it was Rhysand thrusting into her, but that rarely worked. Still, occasional release was better than none.
How dare Rhysand do this to her. How dare he suck the life from her in a single night. He had no right.
Yet even in her anger at him, she still longed for his presence.
Tamlin had left again today. He finally felt safe enough after the meeting to travel again. He said he would be back in a few days. He was riding west, off to visit a series of noble Spring families who hadn’t paid tithe in the past few years. Many of them thought they were far enough out of Tamlin’s reach that no one would notice their lack of tax. They would soon learn that they were wrong.
The manor was by no means empty. But only servants filled its corridors. That would have been fine, she had many friends among the guards and servants. But eventually they would have to get back to work, leaving her alone once again.
When Tamlin left the manor, she would occasionally sneak into his study. She hadn’t done a bad job of teaching herself to read. It took a few decades of practice, but eventually she could read with little difficulty. Still, she liked to grow her vocabulary. And no documents used big words as much as Tamlin’s reports from throughout the Spring Court. It also had the advantage of telling her what was happening in their court and in the rest of Prythian.
But today, Feyre couldn’t find a single document. All the drawers were empty when they’d previously been stuffed to the brim. She sighed.
Maybe she could pass the time by entering some of the servants’ minds. She would try to only use her abilities on people she didn’t know.
“What a terrible abuse of power,” someone drawled, the familiar voice coming from far too close a distance.
She turned, just to see Rhysand sitting in a chair just behind her. He’d winnowed in and bypassed the wards. She screamed from the shock. It would have echoed through the halls had he not wrapped a tendril of shadows around her mouth, muffling the sound.
“None of that,” he cooed, gripping her hips and pulling her into his lap. He allowed the shadow around her mouth to disappear.
She could hardly believe it. There he was. He was sitting in Tamlin’s chair. At his desk.
Feyre tried to squirm out of his lap, but his grip was like iron. “Let me go!”
“Oh darling, I could never let you go.” Rhys stroked her hair, like she was a kitten about to claw at him, and not a grown woman.
“Did you take the documents?” She had to ask.
He lazily glanced at the empty drawer. “Of course I didn’t. I would have been far more stealthy about it if I did. He likely figured out what you’ve been doing. He doesn’t want you to know anything about the court.”
She didn’t doubt that was true, but she wouldn’t dare agree with him. Any remaining shreds of her pride and dignity forbade it.
“You need to leave. He’ll be back soon.” She lied.
“No he won’t.” The door shut behind them, followed by the soft click of the lock. He used his magic to lock everyone out, whether it be servants, guards, or Tamlin.
Their clothes had also disappeared. Feyre was bare in his lap. She knew where this was heading. “You left me.”
His hungry eyes softened, as if he was just as pained by his actions as she was. “I know.”
“You left me,” she repeated, hoping the words would give her the strength to resist him.
“I know. Let me make it up to you.”
He didn’t wait for her response before inserting two fingers into her cunt. Feyre shuddered, relishing the feeling of his skin against hers. She was already dripping for him the moment he pulled her into his lap, and he seemed all too pleased to learn that.
He pulled his fingers out of her a brought them to her lips. “Taste yourself.”
She didn’t fight him as she sucked on his fingers, moving her tongue in between them as she cleaned his hand.
She was still furious at him. But cauldron, she needed him. Needed to come on his cock while he fill her entirely.
“What would you prefer, Feyre darling. Would you rather ride my cock while I sit in your husband’s chair, or would you like for me to bend you over his desk and take you that way?”
“Why not both?”
A wicked smile lit up his face. Feyre moved to straddle his lap, lining up her entrance with his cock. She lowered herself onto him, adjusting to his size.
She bounced on him as she took pleasure for herself—the very pleasure he had deprived her of for so long. Not just during their month of separation, but during the century when he could have called in their bargain.
Maybe she wanted him to feel bad about it. Just a little.
Maybe she slowed her pace a tad. Just to see if he would be as desperate for her to continue as she was when he slowed during their night in the Dawn Court.
He was.
He tried to buck his hips into her. She could do little to stop him, other than pick up her pace.
His eyes stayed locked on her bouncing breasts. She gave a soft moan when reached to cup one. He pinched her nipple, tugging at it as she kept moving herself on his length.
He shifted just enough to pull out of her, spilling himself all over her stomach and breasts. She found release just after him.
They sat together for a long while, simply savoring each other’s warmth. He had her curled into his chest as they both tried to calm their breathing.
Once her body felt steady, she dared to speak up.
“Why did you…?” She prompted, feeling helpless as all traces of bravery and courage left her body.
“Why didn’t I fill you up?” He chuckled. “Believe me, I plan to do so. But I did promise you a desk first.”
She giggled, thinking it was a joke, but he seemed determined. The forced the both of them to stand up, while partially holding Feyre up as she tried to walk on fawnlike legs. Not quite steady enough.
He flipped her around and bent her over the desk. Pens and notes fell to the floor.
He didn’t take his time entering her gently. That curtesy was only extended to her in the Dawn Court. Now, he entered her aching cunt as quickly as he could.
She screamed as he pounded into her. She had to grip the edge of the desk just to keep herself grounded in the moment.
The desk shook with every thrust. She feared one the drawers would break.
“You want my son?” He asked.
“Yes,” she whimpered. “What makes you so confident it’ll be a boy?” she teased. Though she was truly curious.
“I’ve put a lot of thought into this.” His voice turned from dark to mocking as he said, “What will Tamlin think of this? When he sees you pregnant?”
He picked up his pace. All she could think of was Rhys, Rhys, Rhys.
Her words came out as nothing more than a slurred jumble. Utterly unintelligible.
“He’ll think it’s his child, won’t he?” He chuckled. “Let him. Let his face crumble when the child is born looking like me.”
- - -
In the end, Rhys’s magic is what saved them from getting caught. With a snap of his fingers, Tamlin’s study looked completely pristine.
Rhys snuck into the manor for every single one of Tamlin’s trips.
After almost two months, there were very surfaces left in the manor that they hadn’t fucked on.
The last time he came to the manor, his gaze lingered on her abdomen longer than usual. His fingers traced her stomach every time he wrapped his arms around her waist.
He made sure to take her in Tamlin’s bed.
She didn’t see him again after that. A part of her felt resentful, but she always knew it was temporary. Besides, she hadn’t someone new to love now.
- - -
Tamlin was overjoyed when he learned she was pregnant. So much so that Feyre almost felt guilty. Almost…
Yet no amount of excitement from Tamlin would change the child’s features.
Because months later, a child came in the world. A baby boy with bright blue eyes, a gentle tan to his skin, and hair as dark as the night sky itself.
Tamlin didn’t give her more than a week’s rest after birthing her child. After her time was up, she was ordered to leave the manor immediately.
She didn’t take their parting too seriously. Because within a matter of weeks, the Night Court had a High Lady and a new Crown Prince.