Chapter Text
Rowan Whitethorn had a gods awful day.
First, he had been awakened at a gods-awful hour by a tug on the blood-oath, Maeve wanting him to get to training early that day. Queen Maeve was throwing a ball for all the nobles in Doranelle, hosted in her palace in the City of Rivers, meaning he was on gods-damned guard duty for all the vendors and hired personnel for this event.
Now, the music was playing, the nobles chatting and mingling, and thus the ball had begun.
The stuffiness of the combined perfumes and scents overwhelmed his Fae senses, and his green and silver tunic was much too restricting, in his opinion. He was required to be there, for what he didn’t know, since Fenrys and Gavriel were on guard duty, scanning the room beside Maeve’s stone throne, from where she sat inspecting the room.
All the high fae were there, along with some royalty travelled from faraway lands, all pure-blooded Fae, of course. The lavishness of these events made Rowan grind his teeth, he’d seen the struggling demi-fae and poorer aspects of this fucked-up world, but, after all, it wasn't his place to question Maeve. Not with the blood oaths constraints. It was beginning to seem like an honour less and less, with all he and his… companions were forced to do. Especially Fenrys, behind closed doors. The male grated on his nerves endlessly, but he was loyal to those he loved to a fault, and he, under all his arrogance and swaggering, was a good male.
Rowan was hiding from Remelle, a female with whom he had a… past, as he had been for the last hour.
He was nursing a glass of strong faerie wine, wishing he could drown himself in it.
Nothing at this gods-forsaken ball was remotely interesting, and he found himself wondering whether he’d even enjoy training his cousin’s younglings rather than being in this gold-gilded hall.
-x-
Two painful hours later, just as true night had fallen, was when Rowan felt it. Power. An alluring tug in his blood at the sheer amount of it. He saw Fenrys perk up, and Maeve sit a little straighter, just as the tall stone doors at the end of the room opened with a flourish.
A female strode in, flanked by two others. She was unfairly beautiful, flowing blonde hair and turquoise eyes, highlighted by black cosmetics around her eyes. She wore a floor-length, rich black velvet dress, completely covering her arms and back, but the modesty of it undone by how tightly it hugged her generous assets, and the leg slit revealed just enough of a tanned thigh to push the boundaries of propriety. Tall, strappy silver heels were on her feet, and although no crown or tiara decorated her head, she radiated status and demanded respect. And she was completely blooded with power. It was like she oozed it, and as she took a swaggering step forward, sparks flashed at her feet. Embers rippled through her hair, revealing her pointed ears and flames flickered in the depths of her eyes. Nobody would ever mistake her for anything but regal.
Her companions, flanking her, one a human man armed to the teeth despite his finery, and one female, beautiful beyond measure, no weapons to be seen despite the feral look in her eyes. A strange, ever-changing scent reached him. A shifter then. Rare, formidable opponents, capable of slipping anywhere unseen, unequalled spies and assassins.
The strange trio had reached Maeve, and although the shifter and the man bowed at the waist, the Fae female at the head of the company simply stared directly at Maeve, her gaze flicking over and Fenrys once, a cool, calculating glance, pausing slightly at Gavriel, before returning to the Fae Queen.
She gave Maeve a once over, a feline smirk curving her painted lips.
“Cute dress.” The newcomer’s voice was as smooth as silk, her voice revealing a foreign accent. It sent unexpected shivers down Rowan’s spine.
Maeve looked down from the dais, her expression telling Rowan that no, she was not expecting these guests.
“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius," was all Maeve said, disregarding the female’s earlier comment.
Holy burning gods. Rowan’s shock hit him like a blow to the face. Aelin Galathynius, freshly crowned Queen of Terrasen, after the assassination of her parents, Rhoe and Evalin, just last year. Aelin of the Wildfire was rumoured to have unparalleled fire power, and be a formidable opponent in battle, after she helped defeat an Ironteeth uprising two years ago, at the side of Crochan Queen Manon Blackbeak.
The nobles around them were tittering, on edge from this god-like presence.
“Hello, Aunt.” Aelin replied smoothly, her honeyed voice sliding over Rowan’s skin.
“What a...lovely surprise.” Those words were a threat and a question.
“Well,” Aelin snagged a glass of fizzing wine from a table nearby, not at all fazed by the eyes on her, “since I figured my invitation got lost in the mail,” another smirk and sip of her drink, “I thought I’d come see what my predecessors made such a fuss about.”
“And how long will you and your,” Maeve swept her gaze over the rounded ears of Aelin’s friends, “companions, be staying, exactly?”
“We merely wish to enjoy Doranelle, a nice little break from ruling, maybe set up a few trade contacts.”
Rowan didn’t believe that for one second, and from the twist of Maeve’s mouth, she didn’t think so either.
“Of course, my dear niece. And will you be needing accommodation in your… free spirited stay here.”
“Only for tonight, in the morning we will find more… casual accommodation.” Aelin looked faintly amused at the way this conversation was going, and took a sip of her drink, maintaining eye contact with Maeve all the while.
The Fae of Doranelle were watching this exchange like a sporting match, never daring to re-start the music, less they find themselves at the end of Maeve's wrath. Or, Rowan supposed, the wrath of this new queen, daring to address Maeve without her proper title or respect that came with being Queen of the Fae. Aelin Light-Bringer was a female, perhaps, of equal power and standing, maybe the only one in a thousand years to rival Maeve. And that made her a threat. One of the biggest threats Rowan had ever faced, despite his admiration for this bold female.
Indeed, Fenrys was staring at her with poorly disguised reverence, as well as running his eyes over her lithe body repeatedly. Gavriel was watching with interest, maybe a hint of fear and confusion and Lorcan, who Rowan saw entered at the waves of power, was glaring at the young Queen of Terrasen with violent promises in his eyes.
Maeve was watching her with caution, and almost a gleam of hunger in her eyes. Hunger for this female’s power, youth, spirit.
Yet despite the unspoken threats and power that rippled in the room, the Heir of Fire just seemed endlessly amused, as if she had just made a move in the game of worlds. Aelin simply downed her glass of wine and stepped onto the dancing floor as Maeve nodded to the entertainment, the music starting up again and the Fae hesitantly murmuring among each other.
Yes, it seemed Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had made quite the impression on Doranelle, and didn’t seem likely to stop any time soon.