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It was daunting to realize that her first ever trip beyond the borders of the Spring Court was not only to Summer on a diplomatic mission, but as the intended Lady of the High Lord of Spring. Had anyone told Feyre a year ago that she would be betrothed to the High Lord, she would've certainly laughed them from her father's hall. Nesta, her eldest sister, would be the Archeron offspring to make a fine match. Not only was her dowry sizeable, but her unique gifts that both frightened and awed her fellow fae would net a worthy marriage. If Nesta was to find success on the marriage mart, then Elain wouldn't be far behind. Sweet Elain, the most delightful of the three sisters, had males nearly throwing themselves at her feet from the time of her debut. Her seer abilities only make her all the more desirable.
Feyre, as the youngest of the three, was the last to ever be considered for a match. That was perfectly fine by her; she'd much rather be left to her paints and the open forest that surrounded her family's estate. Her peaceful, albeit somewhat neglected, existence was forever changed upon her evaluation by the priestesses prior to her debut at court. Whatever power that existed inside her was enough to garner not only the High Lord's attention, but his hand in marriage as well.
She'd only ever come into contact with the High Lord- Tamlin- a handful of times, and hadn't been able to form a clear opinion of him beside ingrained respect as her High Lord. To Feyre's surprise, she found she genuinely liked spending time with him the more she did so. When he'd requested her presence at a trade summit in Adriata, Feyre had been only too happy to accept. The purpose of her attendance was not to actually take part in the negotiations, but rather to serve as an introduction to the other courts as the future Lady of Spring.
The first day of negotiations found Feyre in one of the many courtyards that were littered throughout Tarquin's castle. In her lap lay her open sketchbook, the page blank as she considered the scenery before her. She had little over an hour before she was due to have tea with the Lady of Autumn; plenty of time to sketch and scrub the charcoal from her fingers.
Feyre bent her head to her sketchbook and began to draw, unknowing as to the interloper in the courtyard.
