"A logical assumption," he mused with a hand against his jawline in through. "And you could never have been certain about which ability manifested in the first place, much less to the extent of power without comparison to your parents." Rhysand mostly spoke to himself at this point, putting the pieces of her broken history together. "Just the same...there is always room for improvement. Furthermore, you simply might not have been training yourself properly." He gave her a soft smile as if to provide comfort as he looked down from his height.
"They do," he then agreed with a soft nod as the wings shifted and folded up behind him ready to spring while also relaxed. "I'm...disappointed--not in you, dear child, but in the cruelty of this place. My father's reign sought to imprison the women of our Court. Illyrian women were not allowed to have wings and they were cut from their backs with cruelty. Their purpose was to breed strong men for the army and nothing else. My mother was spared only because my father delighted in her." There was a darkness in his eyes, one of hatred and loathing, which was swirled and wrapped up in a swath of sadness.
"Once I became High Lord to the Night Court I put an end to that foul ritual. The man that would, I suppose, be your uncle has trained the first female recruits in decades. They give him a run for his money." At this he smiled. His court of hell and depravity was only half of his life. The one made of dreams, where anyone could succeed in whatever they wished, was the other half. It was much more pleasant.
"Do you want to go for a jaunt around the yard?" And the lord held out his hand, one so decorated with rings and marks peeking out from under the sleeve of his light tunic twisted in black threads.