Rhysand forced himself not to slam the door as he exited the townhouse. Charging down the doorstep, he finally allowed the long-suppressed growl to escape his throat.

Feyre's sisters were insufferable. Or, more accurately- Nesta was. Rhysand didn't think he'd ever met such a singularly hostile and combative person. He could have offered her a potion to turn back time, and he would have been met with a hateful retort and her glaring eyes. Cauldron only knew the sort of damage she would be doing if she were properly battle trained.

As for Elain- if it weren't for Nesta's vicious guard-like stance every time someone entered the room, Rhysand wasn't sure most would notice the sister's presence at all.

As far as he knew, all the young girl did anymore was sit in her chair and stare out the window. She was quiet and, most days, nearly unresponsive. Rhysand hadn't known her well in her human life, but what he had garnered from their few meetings, the sweet-tempered, bubbly girl was nowhere to be seen.

Between the two sisters, he wasn't sure which was worse.

Though it wasn't their ill-temperedness toward himself that infuriated him so. Nor their reported misconduct toward Nuala and Cerridwen, whom had been seeing to their needs. No, those things he deemed reasonable responses for what had been done to them. For the way their mortal lives had been shattered and upended.

The reason that Rhysand now stormed down the road was Elain and Nesta's blatant disregard for their youngest sister's whereabouts. Once, a couple days after their arrival, Elain had quietly inquired about Feyre, but Nesta had cut her off, denying any interest. Elain had not asked since.

Neither of them had any comprehension of the sacrifices that their youngest sister had made for them. Both in their mortal lives, and presently. Nor did they seem to care.

Rhysand clenched his fists as the townhouse grew smaller behind him. He was already late for the meeting, but his temper was in such a precarious state that he opted to walk rather than winnow. Hopefully, it would be enough to calm himself before hearing whatever intel Az had to share.

Upon returning to Velaris just a few hours prior, Azriel, without much context, had immediately called for a meeting. The shadowsinger had not deemed the matter worth dropping everyone's activities, but he had pronounced it urgent enough to meet at everyone's earliest convenience. Which was supposed to have been five minutes ago.

As Rhysand walked through Velaris, he tugged on the bond. Still no reply.

It had been nearly a week since Feyre's previous note. Once arriving back at the Spring Court, she had kept him rigorously informed about every one of Tamlin's movements, and the note served simply as an update to the state of Prythian's foreign guests. Aside from an idea or two about the situation with the stone, Feyre had no new information. Rhysand had plenty to contemplate as it was.

If the Queen's prisoner, a woman named Aelin, was to be trusted, then the stone and amulet could bring about great destruction. This Queen Maeve was obviously aware of this power, and Feyre's intuitions, which he trusted wholeheartedly, meant that if the Queen gained possession of them, they wouldn't be used to help feed the poor.

After learning Feyre's intel, Rhysand thought that the Queen would make a strong, if not, interesting adversary. As far as he knew, she had yet to display any form of magic or battle skill set; yet, she commanded many fae warriors who possessed shape-shifting abilities and heightened senses, even beyond those of the high fae. Males like that would not follow someone without cause, and Rhysand suspected that the guiling fae queen was much worse than either of them could currently discern. Feyre's descriptions reminded him of an Amarantha who had yet to be unleashed. Rhysand shuddered.

In addition to the Queen's movements, with Hybern's nephews investigating the breaches in the wall, the Spring Court seemed like a cauldron of catastrophic disaster just waiting to boil over. And the Night Court had too little information to do anything about it. With Tamlin's borders still sealed tight, and Feyre's position so precarious, they had just enough information to be worried.

Rhysand tugged on the bond again. In her previous note, Feyre had also written that she was being watched closely, and upon discussion, they had decided to stop all direct communication for the time being. It would last no more than four weeks, and as soon as she felt it was safe, she would tug on the bond or resume communication. If four weeks passed, and it still wasn't secure, Feyre would return to the Night Court- return home. If the weeks passed without notice from Feyre, Rhysand would take it as something gone awry, and they would extract her from the Spring Court. Until then, she would lay low, and they would brainstorm ways to get the stone out of the Spring Court.

Though less than a week had passed, Rhysand had already taken to tugging on the bond whenever he was alone, which, by his own doing, had not been very often. Feyre had yet to tug back, and every lack of response put him a little more on edge. Because of this, he had also taken to organizing a very busy schedule for himself, so that he didn't spend all of his time brooding over his mate's whereabouts.

As he continued to walk, his anger slowly ebbed away. He unclenched his hands and slid them into his pockets. Cresting a slight hill in the pavement, a little restaurant came into view. Azriel had called the meeting, but Mor had organized the location, insisting on somewhere that served food.

He cringed slightly as he reached the door, which sported a "closed for the afternoon" sign. It wasn't as if the owners were forced to clear out their restaurant. In fact, Rhysand couldn't keep track of the number of times he had had to convince a business owner not to close his or her entire establishment for the sake of Rhysand and his court. He despised the sensation that he was disrupting everyone else's activities, when an owner reserved the entire building.

However, with Feyre's sisters staying in the townhouse, at which none of them were particularly inclined to spend any amount of time, they had been forced to find another location. And for the purpose of the meeting, it was necessary to have the space to themselves.

Pushing open the door, Rhysand was reminded of another reason that Mor had chosen a location in Velaris, rather than the House of Wind. Cassian leaned against the kitchen doorway, twirling a dagger. The meeting location being in Velaris meant that none of them would have to winnow or fly to get there. Though Cassian's wings were no longer bandaged, and Rhysand had been assured by the healer, who he, Mor- and he suspected Azriel- had kept in constant contact with, that the exercises were going very well, until he saw the war general in the skies, Rhysand would take none of it for fact.

"Nice of you to stop by, high lord," Amren drawled from where she sat at the table. Rhysand closed the door behind him and made for a chair.

"I just came from the townhouse," he gave as a reply.

He was met with knowing looks across the room. Mor, who had already been seated, turned to Cassian and nodded some sort of unspoken consent.

"Thank the cauldron," he said, moving from the doorway to join them.

Looking around, the majority of the tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides, leaving only one long, rectangular table in the middle. However, the owner had left them use of more than just the space. Stretched out across the table were many tiered towers of varying delicacies, the spices wafting through the room.

Before Rhysand had even taken his seat, Cassian's plate was half full. He had two bit-size sandwiches in his mouth before he spoke again.

"She," he said while pointing his fork accusingly at Mor "- made us wait until you got here."

Mor rolled her eyes. "Common courtesy, Cassian."

"I've got loads of courtesy," he continued around a mouthful of food. "Just not when I haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

He was reaching for another sandwich, when the table of food suddenly disappeared. "Hey!" Cassian roared, turning to Amren.

She wrinkled her nose, her hand still lifted from making the food disappear. "Gorge yourself on your own time, Illyrian."

"Just because you don't eat, doesn't mean you can go around depriving us of food," he growled.

Amren's eyes flared. "Can't you males set aside your barbarous habits for five minutes."

Cassian opened his mouth to retort, when Rhysand cleared his throat. They turned to him, where he sat with his arms folded and his legs propped up on the table, waiting. Their argument fell silent.

Cassian's eyes were lethal as he grumbled and took a seat. He examined his now empty hand, as if imagining the food that had been there a mere second ago.

The four of them at the table turned expectantly to where Azriel still lurked in the corner. Meeting their gazes, he pushed off the wall and stalked forward, shadows trailing behind him. Resting a single hand against the table, he announced. "We have intel that Hybern is launching an attack on the Summer Court. Half a legion, maybe less. And aiming straight for Adriata."

"Bull shit," Cassian interjected. "Why would Hybern strike Adriata? There's nothing for him there."

"Maybe not in Adriata, no."

Rhysand turned to Azriel. "You think it's a distraction?"

The shadowsinger shrugged. "Possibly. It could be a ploy to draw attention to the Summer Court, while Hybern does something elsewhere."

"Or moves something elsewhere." Mor added.

The table nodded. It was entirely possible that Hybern was planning on moving the cauldron and wanted Prythian's attentions divided. It seemed logical; however, it troubled Rhysand just how logical.

Amren looked up from her nails with a sardonic smile. "It would be too obvious. To cause trouble in one court, just do they could slip something through another."

She had taken the words right out of his mouth.

"Even if they're winnowing the cauldron around, they'd still want the least amount of eyes possible," Mor continued. "If that's not what's going on with this attack, then it's still something to consider."

"Agreed" Rhysand concluded while making a note to think more on it. He turned back to Azriel. "How long?"

"They arrive at the city in four days."

"Does Tarquin know?"

"We believe so."

Rhysand nodded. He, Feyre, and Amren still had blood rubies on their heads, and he didn't think Cassian would ever be allowed back into the city. However, if Tarquin would allow them to fight, it might help heal their relations. And if they could get their hands on one of Hybern's generals doing so... it could mean more information.

Even if Tarquin rejected their assistance, it was still wort the effort of warning them of the incoming attack.

A piece of paper and a pen appeared on the table, and everyone watched as Rhysand unfolded his arms and reached for the sheet.

"What are we writing?" Mor asked.

"One hell of a get well soon card" was Cassian's reply.