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A small tremor went through her. He knew if he stripped off that dress, he’d find those glorious breasts peaked and ready for his tasting.

But she said, “I certainly do not miss that.”

“Too bad.” He flicked his tongue over her nape. She shivered. He did it again, a longer sweep, curving around her neck, up toward her ear. His cock was throbbing now, aching so badly that he knew he’d probably spill in his pants if she even touched him.

She let him reach her ear. Let him nibble on that velvet-soft lobe.

“Do you want me to bend you over this dresser?”

Her swallow was audible.

He smiled against her shoulder. “I could lift all these pretty skirts, Nes, and slide right into you. Did you even put on undergarments? Were you hoping I’d have the chance to find out?”

Her need wrapped around him. To deny them this pleasure would be agony, and maybe he’d been a stubborn, stupid idiot for keeping his distance these weeks, for holding on to this anger.

He skimmed a hand down her side, gathering fistfuls of silk skirt as he went, hefting it higher. “Just a taste before the ceremony, I think,” he purred against her neck, his words near-guttural. “Something to whet the appetite for later—”

She was there, in his arms, and then gone.

She might as well have chucked a bucket of water on him. Cassian could only blink, mastering himself, his body, his reality without her near, and so wet for him that he could smell it.

But Nesta was already striding to the door. She yanked it open and threw icily over a shoulder, “I find I don’t have much of an appetite for Illyrian cock these days.”

He gaped at her. What the fuck had just happened?

Nesta added with a taunting smile, “And I’m not wearing any undergarments. Though you’re not going to benefit from that anytime soon.” Unholy fire flickered in her eyes. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for the past couple days. Talk, Cassian. But you wouldn’t even come home to give me the chance, couldn’t even try to be around me.”

He opened and shut his mouth, searching for words. She wanted to talk—at fucking last, she wanted to talk it all out, but—

Nesta stalked into the hall and slammed the door behind her.

Feyre

Nyx might have been a High Lord’s son and presumed heir, but the High Priestess of Velaris’s duties lay first and foremost with honoring the Mother. So Nyx’s ceremony was wedged between the two rites of the Autumn Equinox, at sunrise and sunset. It was perhaps a gift of the Mother that the timing of our own ceremony fell perfectly between naps, a scheduling concern I’d never once considered before having a child of my own—yet one that now seemed to dictate a good chunk of my daily life.

Rhys had wanted a grand ceremony at the city temple, even though it was only to be us and our closest friends—and Elain, who had done most of the planning, had settled on something between reason and extravagance. Garlands of autumnal flowers had been artfully coiled around the towering pillars, and lest that seem too much of a nod to an enemy’s court, she’d also made sure archways of jasmine spanned over the aisles, filling the temple with a familiar and comforting scent. White, magenta, and bloodred peonies bloomed in giant clusters at the end of every pew, and vines of honeysuckle, lilac, and roses traced over the lines of the vaulted ceiling. Flowers everywhere—from each season and court, it seemed. Even bits of holly and snowdrop could be found.

It was lovely, if a bit pointless, as we were the only court here—we hadn’t invited anyone from the other courts who might appreciate my sister’s respectful acknowledgment. Except for Lucien, who didn’t really seem to truly belong to any court these days.

But perhaps it made sense, I thought as I beheld the long aisle. I possessed the powers of all seven High Lords. It was too early to tell, but Nyx might, too. In that regard, he could be a child of all the courts of Prythian.

Not that I felt inclined to be proud of such a thing, given how yesterday at the Summer Court had gone. If I could have torn out the part of my magic that had originally belonged to Tarquin and shoved it in his face, I would have.

Elain was standing off to the side, smiling nervously as she waited for our verdict on her decor. She was lovely in gauzy blush pink, her hair loose, adorned only with an arc of bleeding heart flowers.

I grinned broadly at her, pushing aside all thoughts of Tarquin and our failure at the Summer Court. Today was for my son. I wouldn’t darken it. “It’s perfect.” Nyx wriggled in my arms, his blue eyes wide at all the color and shapes around us. He reached a chubby hand toward one of the deep violet cones of lupine woven into the nearest archway, presumably brought from the mountain meadows around our cabin. “It’s more than perfect, Elain.”

Elain’s smile broadened, her eyes lighting to a caramel hue as she watched Nyx paw at the lupine.

“Thank you,” Rhys said, drawing his eyes from the spectacle and our gathered family at the far end of the temple, awaiting our arrival.

“The flowers will all be brought to infirmaries and orphans’ homes after this,” Elain explained sweetly. “As a gift from Nyx to his people.”

Rhys nodded his appreciation. “Good thinking.”

My mate and I had spoken little last night. I wasn’t mad at him, and I knew Rhys wasn’t mad at me, but we both needed a moment to piece ourselves back together after that conversation on the beach. We’d awoken this morning still tender, but clear-eyed. We were mates—we were in this together. And today was for our son, the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful part of our existence. We’d make it a happy day, appreciate every second of it.

Elain smiled again, beaming at my mate’s praise. “I should take my seat,” she said, turning toward the aisle. But she halted. Went rigid.