A Court of Frost and Starlight (A Court of Thorns and Roses #3.1) by Sarah J. Maas

No, there were just High Lords and lords. And now a High Lady.

I wondered if the humans had taken to using only lord as a title thanks to the High Fae who lurked above the wall.

Lurked—but no longer.

Lucien considered my question. “Vassa and Jurian are two sides of the same coin. Mercifully, their vision for the future of the human territories is mostly aligned. But the methods on how to attain that …” A frown to Elain, then a wince at me. “This isn’t very Solstice-like talk.”

Definitely not, but I didn’t mind. And as for Elain …

My sister rose to her feet. “I should get refreshments.”

Lucien rose as well. “No need to trouble yourself. I’m—”

But she was already out of the room.

When her footsteps had faded from earshot, Lucien slumped into his armchair and blew out a long breath. “How is she?”

“Better. She makes no mention of her abilities. If they remain.”

“Good. But is she still …” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Does she still mourn him?”

The words were little more than a growl.

I chewed on my lip, weighing how much of the truth to reveal. In the end, I opted for all of it. “She was deeply in love with him, Lucien.”

His russet eye flashed with simmering rage. An uncontrollable instinct—for a mate to eliminate any threat. But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair.

I continued, “It has only been a few months. Graysen made it clear that the engagement is ended, but it might take her a while longer to move past it.”

Again that rage. Not from jealousy, or any threat, but—“He’s as fine a prick as any I’ve ever encountered.”

Lucien had encountered him, I realized. Somehow, in living with Jurian and Vassa at that manor, he’d run into Elain’s former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

“I would agree with you on that,” I admitted. “But remember that they were engaged. Give her time to accept it.”

“To accept a life shackled to me?”

My nostrils flared. “That’s not what I meant.”

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

“Would you, if your positions were reversed?”

He didn’t answer.

I tried, “After Solstice wraps up, why don’t you come stay for a week or two? Not in your apartment, I mean. Here, at the town house.”

“And do what?”

“Spend time with her.”

“I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.” His jaw worked as he studied the fire.

Fire. His mother’s gift.

Not his father’s.

Yes, it was Beron’s gift. The gift of the father who the world believed had sired him. But not the gift of Helion. His true father.

I still hadn’t mentioned it. To anyone other than Rhys.

Now wasn’t the time for that, either.

“I’d hoped,” I ventured to say, “that when you rented the apartment, it meant you would come work here. With us. Be our human emissary.”

“Am I not doing that now?” He arched a brow. “Am I not sending twice-weekly reports to your spymaster?”

“You could come live here, is all I’m saying,” I pushed. “Truly live here, stay in Velaris for longer than a few days at a time. We could get you nicer quarters—”

Lucien got to his feet. “I don’t need your charity.”

I rose as well. “But Jurian and Vassa’s is fine?”

“You’d be surprised to see how the three of us get along.”

Friends, I realized. They had somehow become his friends. “So you’d rather stay with them?”

“I’m not staying with them. The manor is ours.”

“Interesting.”

His golden eye whirred. “What is.”

Not feeling very festive at all, I said sharply, “That you now feel more comfortable with humans than with the High Fae. If you ask me—”

“I’m not.”

“It seems like you’ve decided to fall in with two people without homes of their own as well.”

Lucien stared at me, long and hard. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Happy Solstice to you, Feyre.”

He turned toward the foyer, but I grabbed his arm to halt him. The corded muscle of his forearm shifted beneath the fine silk of his sapphire jacket, but he made no move to shake me off. “I didn’t mean that,” I said. “You have a home here. If you want it.”

Lucien studied the sitting room, the foyer beyond and dining room on its other side. “The Band of Exiles.”

“The what?”

“That’s what we call ourselves. The Band of Exiles.”

“You have a name for yourselves.” I fought my incredulous tone.

He nodded.

“Jurian isn’t an exile,” I said. Vassa, yes. Lucien, two times over now.

“Jurian’s kingdom is nothing but dust and half-forgotten memory, his people long scattered and absorbed into other territories. He can call himself whatever he likes.”

Yes, after the battle with Hybern, after Jurian’s aid, I supposed he could.

But I asked, “And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organize party-planning committees?”