Somewhere else in this nest of the Winter Court's fae, there is the sudden feeling of rising fury. Some disturbed force of wrath boiling up, seeping through the walls and floors, its source unseen and distant. But it is felt.

It is bitter and cold, as suits this place, almost like an acrid taste in the air as it seeps across the battlefield. There's no blind frothing berserk frenzy here, not this frigid building storm of rage. No passionate intensity, but so easy to pick up on anyway, so easy to feel, so easy to make one's own, as if that feeling had once been theirs..

The fury of someone tricked, kidnapped, manipulated, trapped and only realizing it for the first time.

and someone will pay DEARLY

That force of terrible rage is coming this way. Slowly. Inexorably.

That too can be felt.