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“Elain,” I started, but stopped. It occurred to me, too late, that I perhaps should have informed her already, but the damage was done.

Lucien strode into the temple, clad in a deep blue jacket cut close to his muscular body, the color setting the reds and subtle golds of his hair ablaze. He blinked at the surreal display—and then that mechanical eye whizzed right over to us. To Elain.

He went as still as my sister, if not more so.

And he must have seen, with perfect clarity, every trace of joy vanish from Elain’s face. Seen the radiant smile—and how fast it withered upon seeing him. Lucien said nothing. Didn’t so much as lift a hand in greeting to his mate. Or to me. He remained still, as if waiting for her to scream at him to leave, to go to hell.

But it was worse than that. Elain didn’t even acknowledge him with her anger. Instead, her eyes slid toward mine. Something like betrayal shone there.

I said quickly into her mind, I’m sorry for not telling you. We invited him when we saw him in the human lands. He’s an important . . .

Asset. Resource. Tool.

Friend to this court, I finished. I refrained from adding, Please, if just for our sakes, say a kind word to him. Even a hello will do.

Elain said nothing. The wall encasing her mind, one of pale stone and crawling vines and flowers, was down. But only silence lay on its other side.

I’ll make sure he doesn’t sit near you, I added pathetically.

She didn’t answer me that time, either. She walked down the aisle without offering Lucien another look.

It was an effort to turn to greet him, knowing the pain that would be on his face. But I found that Lucien was instead smiling softly at Nyx while he approached, even as Rhys watched him like a hawk.

More like a fire-breathing dragon, really.

“He’s beautiful,” Lucien said to me, to Rhys. Calmly—like he was talking to an apex predator one loud noise away from ripping out his throat. Which Rhys was, though he appeared for all the world like the epitome of male beauty and grace. I’d seen the talons of that predator rip out the guts of an enemy with a single swipe. He’d do it here, now, if necessary.

“Thank you,” I said to Lucien, stepping pointedly on Rhys’s booted foot.

My mate didn’t thaw. But he’d allowed Lucien to enter this temple. And now allowed him to pass by us—even if Lucien gave us a wide berth.

“I’ll sit . . . over there,” Lucien said to me, still calm as he pointed to the other side of the temple from where Elain had found a seat near Nesta and Emerie.

Fortunately or unfortunately for Lucien, Amren sat right where he pointed, Az and Mor flanking her, all of them talking in low tones.

Amren, whom I hadn’t spoken to all morning. Whom I hadn’t wanted to see upon our return last night, leaving Rhys to find and talk to her. Maybe it made me childish, but if she’d shown any smugness when she heard we’d failed to secure Tarquin’s alliance . . . I knew how well I’d have received it. About as well as Rhys had received my suggestion that he become High King.

Amren hadn’t once looked back here—to me. She was surely as unwilling to speak to me as I was to her. When we’d begun planning this weeks ago, we’d wanted to invite Varian, but Amren had said if we did that, we’d have to invite Tarquin. And if we invited one High Lord, we’d have to invite them all.

Sometimes, being High Lady was a pain in my ass.

But after yesterday, I was glad I wouldn’t be seeing Tarquin or the others anytime soon. And I wasn’t above being glad that Amren was without her lover. Alone, even amongst us.

Lucien continued down the aisle, keeping his movements small and steady—and I wondered if inviting him here was more of a punishment than a nicety. Between Elain’s and Rhys’s reactions to his presence . . . maybe it hadn’t been worth it. I wasn’t at all surprised when Lucien found an empty bench several rows back from Amren and the others. Elain didn’t once check to see where her mate had wound up sitting.

A tall, dark-haired figure emerged onto the dais, nearly impossible to make out with all the flowers choking the view. And as the High Priestess raised her hands upward in welcome, Rhys spoke into my mind. Ready? he asked.

This feels like a dream, I said, my throat closing up as I hefted Nyx higher.

A good dream, I hope. I’m looking handsome in it, aren’t I?

I smiled slightly.

And you’re looking beautiful—as always, Feyre darling.

I’d worn my favorite gown for the occasion: the dress he’d given me on our first Starfall together. Just as I had that night, I’d pinned my unbound hair back with combs of silver and diamond, and kept my cosmetics light.

I’d needed to adjust the dress slightly to accommodate my larger bust, but considering the number of times I’d caught Rhys glancing at me, it clearly hadn’t taken away from its impact.