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redbleedingrose · 2 days

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Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

Sea of Change: Part Three

Pairing: Rhys x female!Reader

Wordcount: 5,264

Series Masterlist

The shining sea of Summer is nothing like the deep, dark waters that flood the harbor in Velaris. An endless expanse of turquoise tipped in seafoam so white it rivals the sparkling, sandy beaches lining the coast. The moment we step out onto the landing platform, I take in the looming palace crafted of warm, sandy stone and the half-moon bay it rises from with a shaky, nervous giggle on my lips. The city sprawls around and below us, an array of buildings crafted of stone and shells and coral, with panes of mother of pearl that shine brilliantly in the buttery morning sunlight.

The night-kissed breeze that blew us into Adriata fades with a final burst of sea salt and citrus. The tendrils of vines clinging to the castle’s pillars sway in the breeze, laden with sweetly scented morning glories. A few of their white petals fall free to swirl around our feet. My bottle blue trousers and the embroidered hem of my gauzy tunic rustle in the wind. The feeling of the fine silk on my skin serves as a reminder that I am out of my element. I can’t bring myself to fear it, though. Not in a place so lovely as this.

“Wolves only, girl,” Amren hisses in my ear, a reminder of the briefing she’d given me over breakfast just two days prior. “No room for trembling fawns today.”

Rhysand’s head tilts ever so slightly in our direction as his sun-kissed brown hand smooths down the front of his jacket. The fabric seems to eat up the light here, his presence a dark silhouette amid the dazzling hues of Summer. Silky, dark hair tumbles over his forehead as his eyes meet mine. In spite of my best attempts to mirror his stony expression, I find myself grinning like a child.

To my surprise, he smiles back, a dimple forming in his cheek as he nudges me with his elbow. Amren tuts her disapproval, looking for all the world like a ruffled hen in her grey trousers and matching billowing top. She’s beautiful in a way that might be deemed ethereal, alluring in spite of her scowl. The wind gusts at her back and she looks like an elemental heralding an oncoming storm.

Like an omen.

For a moment, I can’t look away.

Then I feel the pull, like a wave dragging me under. A moment flashes of another day, a female dressed in lilac standing where I am now, beautiful and pale at the High Lord’s side. I can’t find my breath; it somehow feels right and so wrong and nausea flares in my stomach until the vision falls to ash. A blinding flash of white brings another: a whispering book locked away in the dark. Cold, damp air settles on my skin, but it’s no match for the icy chill seeping into the soles of my feet, suddenly bare against slick, age worn tile. I can’t get a good look at where I am, the ancient walls are dark and the only light in the room comes from the braziers lit with teal green faerie fire.

When I blink, the vision is gone, and I’m back on the landing pad with Rhys’s hand encircling my wrist.

“I’m fine,” I breathe, giving my head a little shake to clear it. I’d neglected to pack any of my scarves, not that I had any to compliment the trunk of lovely clothing Mor had presented me with for this excursion. Though it has been argued that I don’t need them, that they may even be detrimental to my magic, I can’t deny I long for the familiar comfort of them. They are a crutch I should no longer lean on. The High Lord’s hand slips from my wrist, his fingers trail over my skin as it returns to his side.

My gaze turns to the gulls swooping low over the water, diving into the waves only to return with wriggling silver fish in their bright yellow beaks. They soar beneath the various bridges connecting the castle’s island to the main lands and, through the scalloping along the bottom of the nearest bridge, I spy dry grass haphazardly peeking from beneath the bridges. What a smart place to roost. The bay is filled with ships, some like the fishing and merchant vessels that come into our own harbors, and others that seem to be delegated to ferrying people to and from the island portion of the city.

At the sound of a door opening, I look back at the lovely sea glass doors in time to see them swing open. A small group of people spill out onto our little balcony and a tall, white haired male steps forward, a cautious smile lighting his startling turquoise eyes. Leanly muscled with warm brown skin, he’s one of the most handsome males I’ve ever seen. My mouth goes dry and my face heats just to look at him.

“Welcome to Adriata,” he says, his voice as warm and rich as the Summer sun. I wish Yasmin were here. Naturally charming, when she wants to be, I know she’d have this male disarmed and defenseless in moments. What fun that would be to watch.

Rhys responds with a voice as dark as the oncoming night, “Good to see you again, Tarquin.”

Behind the High Lord of Summer, the five others who had accompanied him swap frowns of varying severity. Rhysand slides a hand into his pocket and uses the other to gesture to Amren, whose chin tilts slightly higher. Though it’s arguable she’s a slip of a female, she’s formidable in her own right. Her mercurial eyes narrow briefly as she catches sight of a male glaring over Tarquin’s shoulder, but the lone sign of her irritation is dismissed in a blink.

“Amren, I believe you’re acquainted with.”

True to form, she does not bow or nod or show an iota of subservience to this male in spite of his station. Amren is every bit the wolf she instructed me to be as she looks him over with a vicious smile on her red lips. I had told her then that I would try, but now as I watch her deliver a sly compliment on his appearance, I don’t think I don’t think I have it in me. She and Rhys have mastered the art of cold detachment, even now there is something calculating about my High Lord’s stare as he sizes up the group before us.

I am none of those things. I don’t think I can even slip into it as a performer might a mask. I try to reach for those feelings, but they do not come. A warm breeze dances over my skin and I get the notion that, perhaps, this may be to my benefit. I cannot play the part of someone else, but I can be wholly myself. When I hear Rhys say my name, introducing me, I take an uncertain step forward off the dais. The guards posted at either side of the door shift, their hands on their weapons, but I merely offer the brightest smile I can muster and reach out a hand.

The High Lord of Summer does not look down his nose at me, as I might have expected him to. And he does not turn away. To my surprise, he waves a hand at the guards to settle before he takes my own in both of his and shakes it.

“You have the loveliest home I’ve ever seen,” I tell him earnestly, “thank you for having me.”

“Wait until you see the rest of it,” Tarquin says, his turquoise eyes shining with delight. “I assure you, the pleasure is mine.”

Rhys clears his throat behind me, but I don’t spare a glance in his direction. He brought me for a reason, certainly more than the mere pleasure of my company. I have to figure out why. I don’t think I’ll get anywhere using his tactics, but I might by using my own. Especially if he’s looking to make allies and not enemies out of this court. Kindness can be its own sort of weapon.

The female a half-step behind Summer’s High Lord inches closer, a bemused tilt to her head as her sharp brown eyes rake over me. “We have refreshments prepared.”

“Cresseida,” Tarquin says, seeming to remember himself as he angles his body towards her. My hand remains held in one of his. “Princess of Adriata.”

I give her my sweetest smile and curtsy in a fashion that I hope is appropriate for greeting a princess. Needless to say, I’ve not had the opportunity before. The princess seems to be amused by my attempt, if not delighted, and inclines her head in kind. The rest of Tarquin’s company are introduced in short order: three advisers who oversee the city, court, and trade. The one who had been glaring at Amren is Prince Varian, Cresseida’s younger brother and captain of Tarquin’s guard. The way he’s looking at her now, a mixture of ire and intrigue, practically has her preening - if Amren can preen, that is.

“What a delightful courtier you’ve brought this time, Rhysand,” Tarquin says, casting a polite smile over my shoulder at the male behind me. “I can’t say I’m not relieved you left your general to his own devices.”

“For now, Cassian’s enthusiasm serves me best overseeing the leadership training and promoting my soldiers.” I glance over my shoulder to see Rhys shrug, his hands comfortably in his pockets as he steps down off of the platform with Amren close at his side. “In any case, she is lovelier and far better company on most occasions - unless, of course, you’re looking for a game of cards. Cassian may have her there.”

“Don’t listen to him,” I sniff, pulling my hand away so I can cross my arms over my chest. “He’s not played cards against me a day in his life.”

“Bit of a card shark, are you?” Tarquin asks, eyes dancing with amusement as he turns to lead us in.

“Not necessarily,” I admit. “But I know my way around a deck. And I don’t relish the idea of being shown up by any male on most occasions.”

The Summer lord laughs at that. I feel Rhysand close to me, and he makes no move to touch me when he moves to walk at Tarquin’s side, leaving me with his second-in-command. Amren’s gaze on the side of my head is dagger sharp and it's a fight to keep from sucking my lip between my teeth. The instructions she'd given me certainly didn't include my clumsy attempt at being charming, but I can’t help feeling this was the right move to make. Perhaps I’m not built for court games, and I may as well make the best of it while I’m here.

The path through the palace consists of shell-flecked walkways and walls lined with windows overlooking the bay and mainland or the vast, open sea. The warm breeze rattles the sea glass chandeliers hanging over countless gurgling streams and fountains of fresh water. Various courtiers and servants hurry by our little group, all of them too preoccupied to pay us any mind, but I note no lesser faeries among them. Velaris is a lovely amalgamation of High Fae and lesser faeries, all working and living together in relative harmony. Perhaps not all courts are that way? Come to think of it, I don’t even know if the rest of our court is as well blended as the city I’ve spent my life in.

I glance again at the High Lords walking ahead of me, the muted powers of sea and starlight flowing between them like pieces of a whole longing to be reunited. They speak casually of Nynsar and the flowers that will be displayed for the Day of Seeds and Flowers, and my heart twists as I think of Starfall. It’s certain to be an incredible celebration this year, I’ll need to speak with Roz about my gown. I’m not usually one to make a fuss over my dress, but it might be nice to do something a little special this year.

“There are four main cities in my territory,” Tarquin says, glancing over his shoulder at me. “We spend the last month of winter and the first spring months in Adriata–it's the finest at this time of year.”

“Right,” I murmur, internally marveling at the idea of having to move between cities instead of having a central home for your court. How do they keep it all together? Are there other palaces in the territory more lovely than this one? Surely not, a giant sandcastle would be hard to beat. “It’s beautiful.”

“Are the repairs going well?” Rhys asks, idly picking invisible lint from his sleeve. I curl my hands into fists at my side to keep from batting at his hand, hoping it might be taken as a nervous habit. How I flatter myself, thinking anyone would care enough to pay attention to my every movement.

“Most. The back half of the castle is a wreck, but the interior is finished. Our focus was on the city first, and those repairs are ongoing.”

Amarantha must have sacked this city. Guilt twists in my gut as I think of Velaris, untouched behind a shield while the residents of this beautiful city were visited by unspeakable horrors. I’m grateful we were so well protected, but the cost is not lost on me. My eyes drift to Rhys, as they so often do, and I take in his profile as he inquires about lost valuables. I hear Cresseida’s breath catch at her High Lord’s response, though it doesn’t sound as though anything truly valuable was lost, and three of their court break away to attend to other duties. Tarquin gives them a smile that doesn’t quite reach his bright, lovely eyes as he leads us into a vaulted room of white oak and green glass that overlooks the mouth of the bay and the bright, endless sea.

I hear the faint scraping of chairs behind me, the sounds of our small party being seated, but for a moment I am lost in the crystalline waters and the fluffy clouds dotting the blue, endless sky. Towards the mouth of the bay, I see a spout of vapor rise from the water and float away on the breeze. Something large and dark rises from the water and, as it sinks back beneath the waves, the realization strikes me that it must be a whale.

“Oh,” I whisper, resting my hand against the shell-flecked window frame. I squint, hoping to see the creature rise again, but it does not.

“What did you see?” the warm voice of Summer’s High Lord washes over me, pulling me back into the moment. He stands at my back, a respectable distance between us as he gazes over my shoulder, and I take a moment longer to admire his bright, ethereal eyes that shift colors with the tide.

“A whale, I think,” A flush stains my cheeks as I cross my arms once more. “I didn’t realize they’d come so close to the city.”

“Ah. That is one reason this is my favorite view. They have never been hunted in our waters, so they choose to birth their calves here each winter. They’ll be gone within the week, I’m afraid.”

“How miraculous it is that life endures beyond our machinations. Faeries and mortals may war all we like, but nature carries on regardless,” I muse, turning my back to the window. Beyond the High Lord, I can see Amren and Rhys seated at a table inlaid with mother of pearl, along with Prince Varian and Princess Cresseida. Servants heap the plates before them with fresh, glistening fruits, shellfish, and lush, leafy greens while clear, crystal goblets are filled with a yellow wine of some sort. Amren leans in to whisper something to Rhys, whose eyes flit between the princess across from him and me. There is an open chair next to him that I can only assume is meant for me.

“Indeed. I find the consistency reassuring. Perhaps our lands have not been so thoroughly corrupted by Amarantha’s reign that they, too, may recover after all.”

“May we all have such resilience.” I incline my head in a sort of bow that I hope is appropriately deferential and promptly step around the High Lord to take up the empty chair at my own High Lord’s side. Tarquin takes his seat at the head of the table and I raise my glass to my lips. The wine is syrupy and bright, tasting of mangoes and pineapple. I take a bite of the red, fleshy fruit on my plate, delighting at the way its light, sweet juice bursts over my tongue.

“And what is it you do for Rhysand?” Tarquin asks, and my eyes dart between him and the High Lord at my side before I shrug.

“I’m a proprietor of books, my lord.” It is truth enough without revealing my own gifts, but a curious look flits across his otherwise placid face as he takes me in. “And I occasionally dispense good advice.”

“I did say she was delightful company,” Rhys drawls. His nose twitches as he finally sips his own wine, and I watch Prince Varian’s eyes narrow slightly. “And she has a way of seeing things others often miss. I find such qualities valuable, particularly in times such as these.”

“How has your own court fared during reconstruction, Rhysand?” The question lacks warmth, like a cautious testing of waters rather than a friendly inquiry, but it's no less sincere. I get the feeling the Summer lord feels as out of his depth with my High Lord as I do in this room, though he's better at hiding it than I am. A twinge of guilt shoots through me as I realize I do not often inquire about cities or villages beyond the walls of Velaris, though I know Rhys frequently meets with the rural lords who oversee those lands as part of his own duties. I’d like to think it’s kind of Tarquin to inquire, but perhaps it’s merely a tactic to root out weakness.

“Our own losses were not so extensive, though I am concerned about the security of our borders.”

“I’d heard rumors of a thwarted attack on a temple in the north. Was it one of yours?”

“I answered a call for aid.” Varian’s sharp gaze returns to my High Lord, who seems to pay him no mind. “Hybern seemed to be looking for something they did not find.”

“Are they a credible threat?”

“It would be foolish to assume otherwise. Amarantha was once one of Hybern’s favored pets. Though her sacking of Prythian may not have been at her king’s behest, he certainly didn’t raise a finger to stop it. With her out of the way, he might seek to exploit our vulnerabilities. I am not keen to see that happen, and I don’t expect you are, either.”

“No,” Tarquin murmurs, briefly turning his gaze to the sea. “Do you believe the whispers are true, that they are readying for war?”

“Oh, I believe they are. They may not have found what they sought at that temple, but that does not mean they have ceased looking for it. I believe their next strike is an inevitability we must be prepared for.”

“How?” Cresseida asks, leveling a complicated look at Tarquin before she turns her gaze upon Rhys at my side. “We are still piecing ourselves together, what resources do we have to withstand a war?”

“That is precisely what we are seeking to avoid,” Amren says coolly, her plate untouched before her.

“And I thought you were seeking a trade agreement.” A smirk quirks Tarquin's lips, and I glance at Rhys in time to see the faintest sparkle in his violet eyes.

“Both of these things can be true,” my High Lord agrees smoothly. “Prythian’s political and economic improvement will only serve to strengthen our position on the world stage. Surely you realize Hybern and their allies will be searching for a vulnerable court to sink their claws into. I'm loath to give them the opportunity without first exhausting my own diplomatic efforts.”

“Why not send an emissary for negotiations? Why come all this way yourself?” Cresseida asks, delicately folding her hands in her lap. “It is the way these things have always been done.”

“And you see how well that served us.” The dark croon of Rhysand's response sends a chill down my spine. “Our bonds were so weak that, rather than turn to each other for resources, we allowed Amarantha to paper over her past with false promises of renewed wealth and bring ships to our borders that ferried our own destruction. I am not so eager to see any of us so easily fooled again, Princess.”

“And what of your own past, High Lord? Are we to overlook your own transgressions in the spirit of diplomacy?”

“I am who I have always been, princess. I make no excuses for the choices I’ve made, the things I have done or may yet do - it has always served a purpose.”

“Your purpose,” she says, arching a brow at Rhys. He takes another sip of his wine, holding her stare over the rim of his cup, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Though Tarquin’s welcome had been cordial enough, I’m beginning to understand that our visit may be more fraught than I’d imagined. The other courts do not hold favorable views of our own, something I’ve always heard but never truly experienced from my sheltered corner in Velaris. Amren coached me to come in as a wolf for a reason, because that is what they all expect, but their preconceived notions of our cruelty don’t seem to be doing us any favors politically. Why maintain the ruse at all?

“My court is my purpose. The wellbeing of my lands and people are my priority, whatever the cost.”

“And you’re here because…?”

“The wellbeing of your own lands and mine are not mutually exclusive. I believe we are stronger together than we are separated. We will need to be allies rather than enemies if we intend to weather an outside threat, princess.”

“Good luck convincing Kallias of that,” Tarquin says wryly. “He doesn’t appear to be very open to forming an alliance with anyone after what was done to all those children.”

There’s a dark implication in those words that makes my blood run cold. Children? Rhys doesn’t bat an eye and I focus on my plate, willing myself to chew the bite of fruit I’d just put in my mouth.

“Is there something you wish to ask me, Tarquin?”

“Will you tell the truth if he does?” Varian asks. The hair on the back of my neck begins to rise and I level a look at the Summer prince that doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest.

“I will answer for any crime I’ve committed, Prince Varian, so long as I am the one who committed it. The blood that stains my hands is mine to own. I will not claim another’s handiwork and I will not take an accusation lightly. Be certain the blame is mine before you lay it at my feet.”

“I have no quarrel with you, Rhysand,” Tarquin says, his eyes flicking between my High Lord and Summer’s Prince, “and neither do my people. We have no accusations to make. What was done Under the Mountain must be laid to rest if we are to prosper - and that is my only interest. You and your courtiers are our guests, be welcome in our court. We have more to discuss later, you and I, but tonight I am throwing you a party on my pleasure barge. After that, you may roam Adriata as you wish.” Summer’s High Lord looks to me then with a smile as warm as the morning sun. “I do hope you’ll find it to your liking, lady. We have a scant few bookstores open for business.”

“I look forward to exploring them,” I murmur, taking another sip of my wine, “and everything else your lovely city has to offer.”

A brief sparkle lights his turquoise eyes and I drop my eyes back to my plate, my cheeks heating. I wonder if any of the clothes Mor packed will be suitable for a party on a pleasure barge. I wouldn’t begin to know what I might wear to such an event, but surely there will be something that will not be too heavy. I would sooner light myself on fire than ask Amren for assistance.

Once our incredibly awkward meal concludes, a servant appears to bring us to our assigned chambers. It is a suite of connecting rooms centered around a lovely, if lavish, lounge that opens to the sea and city below. I wander into an artfully decorated bedroom done in seafoam and light blue hues with hints of gold throughout. The adjoining bathing chamber - that must be at least the size of my cottage bedroom - has a bath deep enough for me to swim in and large, lovely windows looking out onto the water.

I barely have a moment to settle in before I hear Amren and Rhys speaking in low tones. I slip out into the lounge to see them seated on the white furniture in the center of the room. Amren, perched on a high-backed chair, looks every bit the conquering queen as she stares imperiously at Rhysand - who looks for all the world like he’s having a relaxing time, draped across the settee as he is. He offers me a nod when he notices me peering out, and a small smile warm enough to bolster my confidence.

“And you,” she says, her fierce eyes snapping to me as I wander over to windows to take in the view. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Precisely what she was brought to do,” the High Lord answers before I can formulate a response.

“You brought her to simper at Tarquin? You might have said as much before I debriefed her, I would have coached her in a different way. She’ll need to do far better than that meager display if you intend to use her as a distraction, Rhysand.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, blinking back at Rhys’ second-in-command.

“It would be inauthentic,” he says with a shrug. “Unlike the two of us, Amren, she’s likable. No one has any reason to be suspicious of her and she’s not going to give them one. We’ll need that if we’re to get Tarquin on our side.”

“And what of the book? Are we to sit by while she charms it out of him, or will we stick to the plan we made before we left.”

The book? I quickly sift through my memories, trying to remember any mention of a book, and my stomach begins to churn as I recall our conversation with the Bone Carver. The Book of Breathings is in this court - how could I have been so stupid that I didn’t think of it first? Our failsafe should Hybern reunite the cauldron with its feet. Of course Rhys would want it. How much of their scheming have I been left out of?

“Plan? If you came here with some sort of agenda, one of you might have let me in on it beforehand,” I murmur shyly.

“No,” Rhys says, giving me an appraising look as he taps his finger against his chin. “You are exactly as I hoped you would, any further direction might affect the way you present yourself. If I thought she would benefit from further information, Amren, I assure you I would have provided it. We need her to be the best of us and she’s doing a splendid job.”

“In service of what?” I ask, frowning at him. It seems I’m a pawn in a much larger game than I’d anticipated, and I don't like feeling used. “What am I here for, Rhys?”

“You’re here to enjoy Adriata, as I said when I extended the offer. Matters beyond that are not your concern.”

“Not my concern.” The words slide from my lips like oil, and I think he actually winces when he hears them repeated back. “Right. Well, I’ll just go find something suitable to wear for the party. I assume that is my concern.”

I don’t give either of them time to respond before I return to my room, shutting the door firmly behind me. Why was I brought here? To be a pretty distraction and enjoy the city, as though I did not delve into the belly of the Prison at Rhysand’s side? Did they not trust me to be more useful or, at the very least, to keep their plan a secret if they’d bothered to inform me of it? Amren I cannot blame, she and I have interacted exactly once before today, she does not know me any better than any other Night Court citizen, but Rhys? I thought, after the months we’ve spent getting to know each other, at least he might trust me enough to keep me informed.

Blinking back hurt tears, I rifle through the clothes in my trunk until I come across a silk sari the color of Tarquin’s eyes trimmed in gold. The blouse is reminiscent of cresting waves and, beneath it all, there are a pair of sandals that barely qualify as a shoe. The lightly cushioned soles are lined with delicate gold chains to secure them to my feet. I can only hope they are enchanted to be comfortable as I carry the white robe hanging on the back of my door to the bathing chamber, where I fill the bath with warm water and sweet, citrusy bubbles from a glass vial perched in the corner.

Rhys might have insisted I’m only here to enjoy the city, but I intend to be useful through any means necessary. Amren implied I might be a distraction, if that is to be the case then I will endeavor to be the loveliest female in the room - which may be asking a lot, but it’s worth a shot. Before I submerge myself in the tub, I open the windows alongside it to let the sea air in and find myself staring into the bright blue water beneath my window. There, twirling in the bay, are seven large, green sea turtles. They seem to be swimming out of synch, several of them nearly run into each other as they dart beneath the waves. The longer I stare, the more attuned they seem to become to each other’s movements, and before I know it they’re floating in a perfect circle beneath my window.

The sight of them is so breathtaking, I miss the dark outline of the shark until it darts beneath them, heading for the center of their circle. The turtles scatter, swimming with a speed I didn’t think possible in different directions, leaving the shark to sink beneath the waves. Once I’m sure the show is over, I sink into the bath and lean my head against the rim of the tub. I close my eyes to find the outline of those turtles burning against the darkness, floating in a perfect circle.

A breeze brushes against my cheekbone, as light and sweet as a kiss from the Mother herself.

#heart of velaris #rhysand x reader #roses recs

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