#Tamlin: *being an idiot and jumping out a window*

[bookishfeylin]

“Hmm,” he said, not stepping away. “What about the ringing of bluebells? Or a ribbon of sunshine? Or a garland of moonlight?” He grinned wickedly.

High Lord of Prythian indeed. High Lord of Foolery was more like it.

nothing just thinking of this cute feylin scene in TAR where feyre calls him high lord of foolery 🥰

Bro I forgot about thissssss

Let them be stupid and goofy with each other Sarah!!!

[court-0f-dreamers]

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 3

Chapter 1   Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

CHAPTER 3

He was livid. Rage pulsed off him in lashes of warm night. Idiot girl. Stupid, unthinking, impulsive girl. He continued pacing across the floor of his private study.

“She wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so scared, Rhysand,” Cassian snapped, from his seat in the comfortable brown leather chairs, “You should have given her more of a reception.”

“She jumped out of the window!”, Rhysand said through clenched teeth, unable to stop himself gesticulating wildly.

“She abseiled out of the window.” Cassian couldn’t help the small smile across his face as he corrected Rhys, “Using your priceless curtains.

“And you know, you could make her feel more welcome. Find out what she likes. Be less...this”, Cassian continued, pointing to all of Rhys.

And then he leaned back and put his dirty boots on the ebony coffee table.

Azriel sighed from his spot on the mantelpiece, “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, please do it after we eat.”

“I can’t just go into her mind and find out what she likes, Cassian”, Rhys continued. He moved in between Cassian and the table and tossed his feet back down onto the carpet. “The curse doesn’t allow me to just delve into her mind. If not, don’t you think I would have just made her fall madly in love with this!” He pointed at himself, repeating Cassian’s gesture.

Cassian pushed on, “Now that we’ve found her, can’t you just do your daemati business and make her like you-”.

“You know I can’t, Cassian”, Rhys responded with equal snap. But Cassian’s words had found their mark.

He turned hitting his palm on the coffee table with an uncharacteristic unchecked rage, “Dammit! If I could enter minds so thoroughly, I’d have fed Kier and his subjects out there pillaging my city to the damn Attors!” His expression was fierce as his anger grew, and a dark shadow of his wings appeared behind him. “And then I would mist them all while they were still being devoured.”

He locked eyes with his brothers. His brothers knew him so well that they hardly blinked at the Highlord mask he wore. They had unshakable faith in the man underneath. Faith that he would uphold his duty to his land, his people, and most of all to his family. Looking at them reminded him of what he had to do here - and all that he couldn’t do.

He sighed and sat down next to Cassian. “Amarantha’s spell was so cunning. So slippery and yet so pervasive. The more I try to delve into its magic, the more it evades me. Now that Feyre is here, it’s starting to change, starting to become...more oppressive.”

He put his head in his hands. “I can feel it inching towards the core of my power.”, he softly whispered.

He could see Cassian schooling his features to hide his surprise.

Some nights were harder than others, but for them, for his people, Rhysand would never give up. “I am trying. With Feyre, I will try better-”

Azriel coughed. Rhysand could hear hesitant steps down the hallway.

They all fell silent and waited for the door to slowly open.

When they brought her home, she was in no state to talk to anyone. The girl, Rita, who was with her was equally shaken, but Az made sure she was returned to her family, while Cassian flew Feyre back to the House of Wind. On arriving, the always courteous Cassian pointed out the closest bathroom, and asked her to meet them in Rhys’ study when she was done hauling her guts out.

Feyre slowly stepped in, shoulders hunched, head held low but unharmed. Rhys didn’t let himself imagine what would she would look like if his brothers hadn’t happened to be flying so close to the Rainbow.

Almost unharmed. Rhys’ eyes immediately went to the backs of her hands. The cuts there were relatively shallow, but dirty. He had spent enough time during the war with humans to know how quickly those simple wounds could become life-threatening infection.

She met his eyes, and straightened her spine defiantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. So you think you were right to come up with that ridiculous escape plan?, he thought.

The fire in her stormy blue eyes clearly answered the unspoken question.

He peaked his fingertips together and lifted them to his lips. His hold on his emotions tonight was taut, like a tightly pulled string. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Azriel coughed again.

He sighed, anger deflating.

He was actually at a loss. How am I meant to treat you?, he thought, grappling for words. He was five hundred years old. He had ruled over two very different courts for most of that time. He used to command legions of Illyrians and Fae alike. And he didn’t know what to say to a 19-year old human girl. Not just any human girl.

He looked into her small, proud face, holding her gaze.  Feyre Archeron, you could save us all.

“Sooooooo...” Cassian came and stood between Rhys and Feyre, breaking their intense stare, “you seem to have some battle scars there.”, he gestured to her hands.

She quickly tucked them behind her back.

Azriel looked pointedly at Rhysand.

Rhys broke his silence. “The Attors have their own poison. To prevent those from getting worse they should be cleaned. There are those I trust, in fact I can have Velaris’ best healer-”

Azriel coughed a third time. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at him, I should punch him in the throat, give him something to cough about. The stoic shadowslinger barely moved a muscle, but the small gleam of light in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Ok Rhys, big smile, he thought and forced a smile of his face, “Well, how about I’ll heal them myself. Please sit down, Feyre”.

                                                          *** *** ***

Cassian and Azriel subtly stepped out of the room.

Feyre had been terrified that whole walk into the study.

After their initial interaction, the highlord suddenly excused himself, remembering something important he had to tell the two males outside the room.

Feyre was left alone in the surprisingly personalised and homely study. Unlike the rest of the palace, the usually bald red walls were covered with rich tapestries and abstract artwork, with the most surprising being a wall-high landscape vista painted directly onto the stone face.

Amazing. She had never seen art like this.

The painting showed a beautiful waterside city, teeming with life. There were vibrant buildings, giant cargo-filled boats, lush trees and pockets of wildlife scattered throughout. And there were people - well, Fae. Fae from all different origins; High fae that looked like the highlord, and faeries that looked like those in the dockyard.

That was when she noticed how familiar the broadwalk looked, how if the light was different, the dark looming mountains that shadowed her flight here could be like the open and inviting peaks of the painting. And the city, the colourful, alive city, could have been like Velaris. She turned towards the window where a wretched dying mirror image of the painting looked back at her. Why did he have this here, only to create the world outside?

Wait, what are you doing you idiot!, Feyre started, You’re alone in his study. Stop examining the art and find something that will help you.  

She began looking around. There were rows of books stacked neatly, a few choice artifacts on the low table between the couches, and in the far corner a desk with-

A desk! Feyre quickly moved to the desk hoping she would gleam any information that might help her.

She was ecstatic to find a map. She had never learned to read, she family too consumed by their own poverty to realise that she only knew her alphabet and nothing more, but she could understand a map.

Or so she thought.

There was neat scrolling writing throughout, possibly labelling cities, rivers and mountains. There were also lines all through it, making paths through various points on the continent. None of it makes sense, the script didn’t look like she expected. She squinted in the dim firelight, her eyes frantically trying to find the human settlements beneath the wall.

“Interesting technique. Not one I’ve seen before”, a cool voice said behind her.

Shit! Feyre said, jerking and dropping the map. Before it could hit the floor, he bent down snatching it up.

The Highlord of the Night Court. She dared to look him up and down properly for the first time since she returned - if only to see if he had any weapons on him. Instead, all she saw was his all-black fitted suit jacket and tapered pants, this one with violet embroidery on the edges. Even after midnight he looked pristine. Did he sleep in that? Feyre thought, despite knowing that she really had more emergent things to worry about that his sleep attire.

Just distraction as a coping mechanism. She knew being caught rummaging in his desk was only going to make her night worse.

“Maps,” he said, a self-satisfied tone to his voice, “are usually read with the inked side facing the reader, and the right way up.” He spun the map around.

Oh. She couldn’t stop the shame from blooming on her face.

His looked at her again, head cocked to the side.

She just stood there silently, holding her head low in a fake gesture of subservience. Try not to piss him off any more, Feyre, she told herself.

He rolled his eyes, not buying it, “Alright, fine. I’ll ignore your invasion of my privacy. Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”, she tried to not let the very real fear show on her face as she whispered, “...Magic?”

She almost thought she saw a shadow of a smile, “Not today. Just antiseptic and bandages.”

He waved his hand and a metal table with various sized pieces of cloth and brown glass bottles appeared next to her. He carefully picked up her hands.

Silence descended over them as he methodically cleaned each scratch. He seemed content not speaking, which suited Feyre perfectly.

Her mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. It was hard to rationalise this male next to her. Here, in what had to be his personal study, there were personal touches and an inherent warmth that did not fit in with the dangerous and destitute city below and the dark highlord who ruled it.

Not to mention, he surely has more important things to do that tend to his latest prisoner’s minor wounds.

She was surprised by how gently he picked swabbed the fragile skin before applying a cool cream. She noticed he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. And she very much noticed that when his warm hands did lightly brush her skin, she didn’t want to jerk away.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned how thoroughly her escape plans had failed.

As if by thinking it, she had jinxed herself, he said “Unlike your cartography skills, I hope your survival instincts are sharp enough that I don’t need to elaborate just how insanely stupid your plan was tonight.”

And just like that every kind thought she may have had about him was gone; he is such a arrogant, self-absorbed…

“Not only was it stupid, but I would have lost something valuable to me,” he continued while tying off the clean bandage on her hand.

...entitled, egotistic... wait, what?

He looked up at her as he finished the clipping the gauze in place, “My beautiful curtains.”

...PRICK!

She snatched her hands back, huffing out a breath.

He stood up, nodding towards the door.  

Feyre was sick of him having the last word; “Well the only thing truly beautiful in your disgusting city is that painting!” she blurted, pointing to the painted wall.

He didn’t say anything as he rearranged the bottles and gauze pads on the table. His head down, it was as if he didn’t even hear her.

She felt stupid standing there, after being so clearly dismissed by the highlord.

However, as soon as she stepped outside she could have sworn she heard him whisper; “I know.”

                                                         *** *** ***

She wasn’t sure how she managed to fall asleep that night, but at some point during her uninterrupted mental stream of swear words to describe Rhysand, she had drifted off into dreamless sleep.

She was awoken the next morning by gentle sunlight as Cerriwden pulled back the curtains. She could not recall the last time she had slept in after dawn, and it looked terrifying like midmorning already.

“The highlord requests your presence on the grounds this morning.”, she informed Feyre softly, while subtly ushering her out of bed and in the direction of the bath. Feyre’s eye caught on the tray Cerridwen had brought up, laden with breakfast food.

Food. She skipped the bath and immediately sat down devouring the fresh pastry and brightly coloured fruits.

Halfway through, a thought struck her and her eyes jerked up at Cerridwen, “Oh! Can I eat this? I mean, is this safe for...humans?”. Cerridwen looked at her with a small smile, “Yes Miss. I would never serve you otherwise. You are safe here.”

Safe. She held back a snort, Cerridwen sounded like a parrot for her prick of a highlord. 

Although - she had been treated with nothing but kindness by her, Feyre wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could truly trust anyone in this world - she thought, as she relished a second serving of fluffy flourcakes and spiced milky tea.

“Sorry Miss Feyre, I’ll make sure that there is lunch waiting for you when you return, but the Highlord insists on your presence now”.

Feyre may have been dragging out her breakfast, particularly as as she doled out the last of a large bowl - which had likely contained a serving size for at least four people - of cream and strawberries onto her plate. She knew the highlord was waiting, she somehow sensed his…impatience.

“Miss Feyre--”, Cerridwen’s voice held a strong warning now.

Before she could shovel the plump strawberry with the perfect ratio of cream into her mouth, it vanished.

In the next heartbeat, the whole breakfast tray vanished!

And then, before she could voice her outrage, her table and chair vanished - landing her smack on her bottom on carpeted floor.

Fae prick! She narrowed her eyes. She had seen him perform his vanishing trick before.

Fine, I’m on my way.

                                                         *** *** ***

Rhysand squinted in the distance, fiddling with the coins in his pockets. The training ring on top of the House of Wind almost had a pleasant view, if you overlooked his ruined, sprawling city. He looked away and started rearranging the knives.

“We have company” Azriel mumbled.

A moment later, Feyre walked into their training room, her duelling emotions of surprise and agitation clear in her expression. It’s the tilt of your eyebrows, I can tell exactly what you are thinking, little darling, Rhysand thought.

He knew his little magic would have made her angrier with him. He was willing to pay what it may cost him - it was infinitely preferable than her being scared of him again.

He turned around reaching for her bow. Azriel had found it when he returned to make sure all the Attors were taken care of. Rhys had fixed it himself this morning with a bowstring that wouldn’t fail her again.

“Good morning, Prick,” she said.

Rhysand’s head snapped up in surprise. Oh!

“Good morning, Fiery”, he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. He could almost hear Az rolling his eyes. His brothers had made it very clear later last night that his skills with the ladies had truly suffered in the last few decades, and he wasn’t doing a great job at proving them wrong.

“Well ‘Highlord’ seems to be pronounced ‘arsehole’ so why not?” she retorted.

“His name is Rhysand,” called Azriel, the nosiest shadowslinger he had ever met, from his spot near the grass.

Feyre pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying it.

“Oh. “No shove it up your arse” for Azriel here? He is saved from your loving nicknames, even though I am the one who made sure you had a delicious breakfast waiting this morning.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?”, she snapped, with none of the confused reticence she had last night.

She turned gesturing around her. “Since you seem to have so quickly forgotten. I am a prisoner here. I’m your prisoner, entirely at your mercy. My whole life and my family’s life is in your hands, and- and” she voice shoke, all her bravado stripped away, “And you expect me to be grateful?”

Her words hit him hard. He had sworn her safety to her family and to her. He had made sure her rooms were fittest with the most luxurious trappings, and even had Cerridwen, one of his most trusted employees watch out for her, and yet his city, his palace remained a prison. He shouldn’t have been surprised, its destitute walls were a cell for people who called it home, let alone a human he had forcibly brought here. 

He suddenly wanted to do anything in his waning, fading power to help her. He would at the very least help her.

“Let me make you a bargain.” he said quickly, “In my lands, you will be safe, you will not be harmed by anyone’s hand, not even my own. And I promise that while you are here your family will not want for anything.”

It was intricate, difficult magic but he could do it. He understood more than a little of that magic now, and Cauldron-damn him it was the very least he could do for this girl that he had taken everything from.

“And what do ask from me in return?”, she asked cautiously.

Smart girl. “Your time. No more escapes. No more climbing out windows. No ripping up my curtains.” he replied, holding all emotion out of his voice.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the uncertainty on her face.

“Oh and - let’s throw in learning to read there too.” Rhysand said, picking invisible lint off his suit.

Her face became flushed and her eyes narrowed. He could see her weighing up lying versus admitting her vulnerability. He noticed how she misread the map, it was clear she didn’t understand what was written on it. Plus, he knew how cruel human societies could be towards their females, it wasn’t unheard of that she wouldn’t be given her right to education.

Come on, take my offer, he urged her.

“Okay”, she whispered, looking at Azriel, rather than Rhysand.

“What did you say?” Rhys pushed.

“I said Okay!”, Feyre growled at him.

With a half-smile, Rhys dug in deep, deep into the recesses of his power, and starting winding out the bargain magic. In response, he felt a twinge between his shoulder blades, just as he could see the tattoo forming on Feyre’s forearm. He couldn’t help but detail in night court-black  ink, his beloved illyrian whorls, sprinkled dots shaped like Velaris’ unique starlight, and the leaves and blooms of jasmine, the flower of his court and his mother’s favourite.

He was surprised at the twinge of joy he felt looking at her arm.

And she looked appalled. “I didn’t agree to this. What is this?”

The unbridled consternation on her face took him the closest he’d been to laughing in half a century. His face remained impassive as he decided to add something to the already-completed tattoo.

A devious cat-eyed pupil winked up at from the middle of Feyre’s palm.

Her jaw could have hit the floor, and this time, Rhysand couldn’t hold back his smile.

                                                        *** *** ***

Eight hours later, Rhysand found Feyre where he had left her at her desk in her room. She knew her letters but she needed to practice her penmanship and progress to words if she was going to learn to read in the next few weeks.

Azriel had checked on her earlier in the day, and the shadowslinger had decided to stay in her rooms finishing off his own work and keeping her company.

Rhys was quite sure she didn’t wanted to talk to him, and he was happy taunting her from a distance. He had given her some provocative lines to copy, that she detested. Plus she was no doubt staring at that eye thinking he could somehow see her through it.

Strangely fun. He had had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like when he finally found the human, but fun was not what he expected. It was not an emotion he thought he could feel anymore; perhaps it wasn’t an emotion he deserved to feel anymore.

Despite his guilt, he found himself looking forward to seeing her progress.

He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, “Ahem,” he said, crossing his arms in emphasis. 

The shadowslinger nodded his hello from the couch across the room, but Feyre continued to ignore him. He didn’t expect any less. It was odd, he hadn’t known her for very long but he felt like he knew her responses exactly. Not that she was predictable, but rather, somehow, she was familiar.

“You know if you don’t speak, I can just hear what you are thinking,” he said.

Her head snapped up, shock in her eyes.

“Just joking.” Rhys said, using her distraction as a reason to jump up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

She smelled...nice. She smelled like citrus and a fresh cool breeze. And her hands, most of them were covered in his dressings, but he could see her long delicate fingers poking out of them. Her hands were poised gracefully, like an artist’s.

“Are you happy, Highlord?” she looked up at him.

He paused, lost in those stormy eyes. He took in a breath, that was the first time she didn’t look at him with fear, or anger, or feigned disinterest. She was looking at him with laughter.

He snapped back, quickly looking down remembering he was meant to be checking her progress.

In already surprisingly neat script she had 100 lines of Rhysand is the most pompous Highlord. Rhysand is the most conceited Highlord. Rhysand is the most FLATULENT Highlord.

Feyre sniggered. Cerridwen, making up Feyre’s bedroom, giggled. And he could have swore he heard quiet laughter from Azriel’s newly-vacated chair, where now only wisps of smoke remained.

Unable to stop himself, and even Rhysand let out a small but very real laugh.

                                                        *** *** ***

Nesta pushed through a bramble of thornbushes, and came upon a tree with dark peeling bark and sprawling roots - a very familiar, tree with dark bark and lots of roots.

“The fire of all the hells!”, Nesta swore aloud, likely realising this was the third time she had come upon this same tree in an hour, from three entirely different directions.

Cassian stepped out from where he was hidden from her eyes.

“Why are you here?”, he asked frankly and with authority.

She straightened herself, trying to hide the shock from her face. “None of your business. Leave me alone.” Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route.

Stupidly, she pulled out a kitchen knife, which she held with clear ineptitude.

He was tempted to roll his eyes.

He had been monitoring the Archerons. Rhysand had made sure they were cared for, the day he brought Feyre home. He had seen the poverty they lived in, and he knew Feyre had kept them alive. Cassian was there to make sure that everything went to plan, that they had everything that humans desired. He was on his way in when he scented the older Archeron sister in the woods. He scoffed, he could have just as well heard her. Not only did she swear every five minutes, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her position in the woods a secret.

In a few hours, her dress was already ripped, her shoes were falling apart, and her face covered in mud. But her eyes were clear as they looked up at him, instead of fear, he was fierce determination thinly veiling crushing despair.

Cassian didn’t want to feel sorry for this girl.

Damn myself! He thought - because he did feel sorry for her. Rhysand had shown him all of what happened that day in the cottage. This girl standing before him with squared off shoulders had let her little sister get taken away by a stranger, had not fought back one bit to keep her, had not used her last moments to bid her goodbye. 

He understood what it was like to have family that rejected an innocent. Despite that, the girl was standing in front of him with her head held high. 

“You are Fae. Show me how to get through the Wall.”, she demanded. 

“Why?”, he demanded back. 

“None of your business.” she retorted. 

Cassian’s temper was uncharacteristically short. He wanted this girl back in her home. He didn’t want to have his Highlord or Feyre troubled by her insignificant family anymore. 

He became the Commander of the armies of Night Court, the Lord of Bloodshed, and he held it all over this girl. Standing to his full height, letting his wings flare out.

Her eyes widened as she took in the wings he knew she hadn’t seen yet. Instead of cowering, she stood her ground, even widened her stance. And unblinkingly locked her stormy grey eyes with his hazel ones. That was not something even most battle-hardened soldiers could do. 

“Tell me where the hole in the Wall is.” she said, this time slowly, vehemently.

“No,” he said, trying not to be impressed. “Go home.” 

“You know her?”, her wall of ice chipped, there was some hope in voice. 

“Yes.” 

Despite the set of her shoulders, her eyes betrayed relief, and he could see the toll of physical exhaustion hitting her.   

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “She is safe. She will not be harmed. And honestly, she is better off without you.”, he said, knowing his last words would find a mark. He needed her to stop looking for Feyre, and he needed to know.

“Now GO HOME. If not I can promise you the next time you run into a Fae in the woods, they won’t hesitate ripping you into little shreds.” he said. He pointed behind her. “Go that way, in about twenty minutes you will be on the border of your town. Now.”

She didn’t look like she was going to go anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stared him down. But finally, something in her snapped. Her shoulders sagged as she sensed the truth in his words. She turned around and started walking away, but not before imperiously glancing over her shoulder with one last word: “Bastard.”

How she knew he was from Rhysand’s court, he didn’t know. How she knew he wasn’t there to hurt and harm humans like some of the other Fae that made it over the wall, he had no idea. How she knew that that he could be trusted, that he would eventually give her the information she so desperately wanted, he didn’t know. 

But he thought about it the whole way home.

                                                       *** *** ***

The Highlord watched Cassian fly back into the city borders. It was a common sight, the silhouette of the Highlord looking out of the watchtower above the heavy city gates. Most knew, and those who didn’t, suspected the truth; that the curse trapped the Highlord in Velaris. As payback for keeping this city a secret from Amarantha, he was sentenced to watch it fall. He could leave sometimes, when the terms of the curse allowed him to, but he could not leave of his own free will. They watched his harsh, cruel expression as he stood unmoving as a statue above the city dying around him.

No one noticed the hooded figure walking straight through the small service door in the iron fence. No one could truly see him, their brains filling in his image as a just another guard or part of a shadow. No one saw as he finally did what he had been planning for the last 49 years, the plans that caused him to stretch him magic further than he ever had before, the plans her arrival had solidified. He was going to save Prythian. 

And as Rhysand, Highlord of the night court, winnowed away, no one would know.  

[getalittlecountry]

Shape of You (5)

Guys. I’ve seen so much hate against ACOWAR that it’s killing me. I know at the end of the day I will love this story but still. I hope everyone enjoys it too.

I’ve got a lot planned for this story and I hope you’re ready for the ride!

one two three four

Chapter 5

The sun was shining through the window which meant it was a new day. So I tried to stop thinking about Tomas and the terrible dinner we had experienced last night. Cassian had stayed beside me and somehow that had helped. Like he knew I needed someone to lean on but I wasn't going to ask for the support.

When I woke up I found the room empty. It took me a moment to remember someone was supposed to be asleep on my floor. As I laid there I heard laughter come in through the window. I looked at the clock, it was almost eleven. Everyone was already outside and I had slept late. Cassian was out there too, his tan skin glistening in the sun. I smiled slightly when I saw him push his fingers through his long hair. I noticed the way my sisters watched him.

They couldn't decide if they liked him or not.

Standing there watching them all I realized I had been selfish last night. I made it about me instead of being happy that my baby sister had finally married the man who loved her more than life itself. He had saved her from Tamlin, he had saved her from the life she thought she would always live since our father left us with nothing. That mattered more than anything else.

I didn't have to be there for the wedding, because I had been their for the entire love story. I needed to apologize.

Something I wasn't very good at.

I grabbed a bathing suit and then changed quickly. I pulled on a shirt and then brushed my teeth. I fixed my hair and once I was somewhat put together I headed down to meet everyone. I thought over the apology in my head. I said the phrase over and over again.

I’m sorry Feyre. I was selfish. I’m happy for you.

It was strange, yesterday I had fought with Cassian. When we got here and he started his comments about the room I wanted to throttle him. But now, waking up and seeing him already hanging out with my sisters, I realized I was excited to join them. I wanted to be included.

Maybe it was because he had stuck up for me with Tomas. Or maybe he was just a friend I didn't realize I wanted or needed. Either way I pulled open the doors and smiled as everyone kept swimming.

The boys were rough housing, Elain was sun bathing. Feyre and Mor were trying to get in on the boys game. As I walked towards them I watched Cassian get out of the water, little droplets dotted his skin. I fought the urge to reach out and draw with them.

I stopped short when I was standing right behind him. His dark skin was beautiful but it wasn't smooth. There were lines all over his back, scars of a life I didn't know. And I was reminded once again how much of a stranger he actually was. Because I never knew he was hiding something like this.

He was good at playing the fun charming guy. He was good at hiding the pain that lay beneath the surface. Maybe we had more in common than I thought.

"Cassian," his name was barely a whisper. He jumped when I ran my hand along his shoulder. He shivered, sitting on the grass beside the water. His skin was warm, "what happened?"

We were in our own little bubble, everyone else barely noticed we were sitting on the sidelines. He avoided my gaze, but I knew he understood my question.

There were so many scars up and down his back. But the worst of them were in the middle. Two long jagged scars, made up of raised skin that looked like wings had once sat there and been pulled out. He let out a slow breath. They weren't fresh, they were old and they were still angry.

"I was a reckless child. I didn't listen, I acted out. I ran away a lot. My step father owned that gym and well he was a strict parent. But even his whips couldn't break me. My parents finally sent me to a boarding school and well. Let's just say their form of punishment quickly got me in line."

I ran my finger down one of the scars closet to me. It ran down the side of his back. Cassian’s hands balled into fists as I traced it gently, "I'm sorry."

He finally brought his eyes to mine, "it's not your fault. But when I asked you at the diner, who hurt you. I wasn't prying. I just," he held my gaze even as I tried to look away, "I understand. Because I have scars too, Nesta. Yours are just inside, while mine are on display."

I felt tears gather in my eyes. Cassian reached over and brushed it away before it could slip down my cheek. I let out a breath and leaned towards him, feeling a pull that hadn't been there before.

"Hey you two!" Mor's voice broke through the new tension, "are you going to sit there and stare at each other all day? Or are you going to get in?"

I jumped back slightly, Cassian's eyes lingering on my mouth a moment longer and then he smiled. One minute his brown eyes were filled with pain and the next there was that mischief again. He grabbed me around the waist and before I could protest we were falling into the water.

"You giant prick!" I gasped for air as I broke the surface. All the seriousness from our earlier conversation was gone. Cassian was laughing, he was the guy I had met at the diner. The one full of secrets and smiles that were only skin deep.

He grabbed my waist, "now is that any way to talk to your favorite boyfriend?"

I pushed on his shoulders as he tried to kiss my cheek, "yeah well if you do that again you won't have a girlfriend."

Everyone laughed as they watched us. I pushed him away and under the water before I pulled my soaking wet shirt over my head. Cassian watched as my bathing suit pulled up with the motion. I pulled it back down over my stomach and threw the shirt in the grass to dry. He tried to grab me again. This time I gave in when he caught me and pulled me onto his back.

"You two are adorable," Feyre sighed happily, "I can't believe Nesta is finally in love."

My eyes got wide, my mouth fell open. Thankfully Cassian was holding me behind my knees so I didn't slip into the water and hit my head. Love. I wasn't sure I could ever fall in love. Too much trust, too much risk in falling in love.

"Well it's only been a few months," Cassian answered as he squeezed my calf under the water, "but I'm definitely smitten with your sister."

I hugged him tightly, my chest pressed against the warmth of his back. Even in the cool water he was still warm.

I pulled away and looked at the tattoo that I barely saw the other day at the diner. I ran my finger across the black swirl that reached the side of his hip, "what does it mean?"

"It means I get to be whoever the hell I want to be," he answered in that deep voice that made my knees weak. I smiled, pressed a kiss full of lake water to his cheek. Cassian seemed surprised I was playing along so well today.

Maybe it was the warm air, the fact that we were in the lake and my sisters weren't hounding me. Whatever it was I was happy. Even Feyre's announcement didn't hurt as much today. Because I realized that she was her own person. And I would've wanted to get married the same way.

It's like my sister read my mind. She came back over to us and touched my shoulder, "I'm sorry Nes. I should've told you before I sprang it on everyone. I just. I love Rhys and in that moment that was all that mattered."

"I understand. I'm sorry I got upset. I'm happy for you two, I really am."

My sister hugged me tightly. When I pulled back I touched her cheek, "but when you're pregnant you tell me first."

Her cheeks turned red, "Nesta I'm not pregnant."

I laughed, "I know. But I want to know first. It's only a matter of time."

She smiled, "fine you've got a deal. Only if it means you'll start coming around more. And you'll bring that big idiot with you."

I glanced at Cassian, who was showing Elain how to get the most out of splashing with her arms. I bit my lip, wondering what it would be like to bring him around more. It would break my sisters hearts to know we weren't real. So I suppose I'd have to find a reason to "break up" with him after we all left on Monday.

"He's sweet."

"He's good for you," she answered as Rhys swam up and grabbed her, "he makes you smile in a way I haven't seen before. Don't be afraid of him, Nesta. Don't be afraid of you."

I nodded as Cassian came to my side and the boys looked at each other, "so who wants to play chicken?"

Before I could answer Cassian hauled me up over his shoulders. I had never laughed so hard or for so long in my life as I did sitting on top of Cassian’s shoulders fighting my sister. He was strong, his arms held me steady. I wasn’t afraid I would fall, I wasn’t afraid of anything, I realized, with Cassian here. He was like this buffer between me and everything that had happened here.

It was like he was my saving grace. In all the ways I never knew I needed to be saved.

We played more games and by the time I pulled myself out of the water my skin was crinkly and my chest was heaving. Feyre came and laid down beside me, letting the sun start to dry our skin. She rolled her head towards me, smiling as she grabbed my hand.

“Happy looks good on you Nes.”

She squeezed my hand as I let out a breath, “yeah. It looks good on you too.”

Maybe I had been wrong, maybe my sisters didn’t side with Tomas. Maybe they had been afraid to hurt me by bringing up everything that had happened. Maybe I had over reacted and maybe this was not as big a deal as I had made it. Maybe, just maybe, Tomas hadn’t won whatever battle he had tried to start.

I wanted to talk to Feyre, I wanted to ask her why she invited him. I wanted to know why she was still friends with someone who had hurt me. Except she didn’t know he had hurt me. She didn’t know the game he was playing.

"God I'm starving," my stomach rumbled just as hers did. Elain had found her way to us a few minutes ago and laid down beside me while the boys cleaned up the mess they made.

"Rhys!" Feyre sat up, "let's order pizza."

My sister yelled to her husband. Her husband, I would have to get used to that word, offered her a smile as he walked towards us. He kissed her as soon as he could, "alright I'll go order it."

My little sister smiled as he disappeared, Azriel and Cassian were left to clean up. I shook my head, "he spoils you."

Her diamond sparkled in the sun, "I know. I got really lucky. But something tells me you did too, Nesta. Have you seen the way Cassian looks at you?"

I blushed, wondering if she noticed his lingering glances. He was staring now, but I refused to look. It was a game. This was his job. To make us look good.

"Well to be fair if he's not staring at me he's usually staring at himself in the mirror."

Feyre laughed, "god I missed you."

I leaned back on the grass and closed my eyes. But before I could be content to continue to lay there a shadow crossed my vision. I opened one eye and found Cassian staring down at me. His long hair hung like a curtain around his face.

"Take a walk with me," he said softly, Feyre and Elain watching as he offered me his hand. I sighed and stood up, letting him lead me away from my sisters. He laced our fingers together, offering me his warmth. I accepted it without a doubt, without a care. Somehow this big brute had gotten to me, he had gotten under my skin in less than two days.

I had no idea how I was going to survive life when we came back to reality. When we left our happy bubble here at the lake house and went our separate ways.

Cassian kept holding my hand as we walked down the path that lead away from the house. He was quiet, which even in the short time I had known him was rare. I didn’t interrupt the serene moment. I let the sun warm my shoulders, glancing his way every once and a while. I had given up believe he wasn't handsome. He was the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on.

Not that I was going to tell him that anytime soon.

“Hey. A penny for your thoughts," I nudged his shoulder with mine.

"Would you. Tell me what happened with Tomas?"

I bit my lip. I wanted to tell him. He was the first person I wanted to talk to about everything. But the words always got stuck in my throat. I shivered and Cassian pulled his shirt off and offered it to me. I smiled slightly before pulling my hand away and putting it on.

"No," I finally answered, my heart hurting, "it's not that I don't want to it's just. I can't. I can barely think about the story without breaking down. If I say the words out loud then I'll fall apart."

Cassian grabbed my hand and pulled me to a stop on the other side of the water, "I understand. But I don't care what you say, Nesta. We are friends. I saw the way he affected you. I saw the way you faltered. Fake boyfriend or not I won't let someone make you feel worthless."

I offered him a small smile, "I don't even deserve a friend like you."

I stood up on my tip toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Cassian went stiff, but smiled brightly as I pulled away.

"I told you I'd break you."

I rolled my eyes, "yeah well. We still have two more days with my sisters. I have to play nice right?"

Cassian shook his head, "I've known you for less than a week and I know you never play nice, Nesta."

I shrugged, "well maybe I was looking for something to stick."

We walked back to the group, the pizza was on its way. Cassian wouldn't let go of my hand and it felt nice to see his smile whenever I stole a glance in his direction. Maybe he was right. Maybe I just needed to find the right person to finally break down my walls.

[illyrianwingspans]

The House of Beasts, Part 3

Another update. I felt inspired today, and it actually came out really well! Here’s part 3. Happy Easter to all those who celebrate it, and happy sunday to those who don’t! Have a lovely day, nonetheless ;-)

Summary: Prythian University, the grounds where frat houses wage wars and throw the best parties yet. Feyre, an art student and girlfriend to the Head of House of the Spring House, discovers secrets everyone’s been keeping from her for the last year and a half. An ACOTAR/ACOMAF AU, which begins as Feylin then evolves into Feysand. Begins as ACOTAR, includes AU of Under the Mountain, but will focus more on Acomaf.

Word Count: 2555 words

Once again, thank you all for withholding any hate and supplying only constructive criticism (I really need it!) and sending any requests, suggestions, etc.  Disclaimer: All characters and some direct and or modified quotes belong to Sarah J Maas, as well as some of the plot points. I take no credit for them whatsoever

Part 3: Secrets

Once the weekend had blown over, a quiet Sunday spent with my music and my paints in the study room, school came back full swing on Monday. I’d planned my schedule so I had all my harder courses packed early in the week, so Thursday and Friday were much more relaxed and spaced out. Sometimes it was a blessing: lazy Friday mornings when all I wanted to do was get out of school and spend the night with Tamlin, and some days, like today, it was hell, and I had no motivation whatsoever to step foot into a single classroom. I stopped by the Good Bean, ordered a double shot of espresso, and hurried my way over to psych, planting myself in the back of the room with my laptop and my coffee, my fingers hovering over the overpriced keyboard of my Mac Book that Tamlin had bought me at the beginning of the year. A good start to the year, he’d called it.

Today we were discussing Stockholm syndrome. How it was named Stockholm syndrome, in 1973 when two gun men in Stockholm held two hostages as prisoner for almost a week, and by the end of it, the hostages were in complete agreement with their captors, approving of the choice they’d made to hold them captive. The syndrome affects people with any kind of abusive relationship, whether it be child abuse, abusive relationships or even some prisoners of war have fallen in love with their captors. I found it fascinating, really, and kind of disheveling.

Nevertheless, the day went on, and I stopped to have my weekly lunch with Lucien, seeing as though for some reason our schedules seemed to coordinate on Mondays. We were sitting near the window, looking over the quad, seeing everyone passing by.

“I want to know, Lucien,” I said lowly, somehow paranoid that people were listening in. “I need to know who she is. If she’s really harmless, then you shouldn’t be afraid to talk about her.”

Lucien shot me a helpless look, then breathed a sigh of submission. “Amarantha is the owner of a club on the outskirts of campus. The building looks small from above, but it’s underground. They call it Under the Mountain.”

It was fitting, the name. Prythian University was built on a hill, I guess, the highest building pretty far up, yet it was an easily walkable incline. The view from the top was glorious, though, spreading across the whole city. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was a mountain, but dramatics, I suppose.

“She’s ruthless. A lot of underground dealings go on, whether it be drugs or any of the sort. But she’s cruel. And horrible. And she’s done many, many bad things to many people. Including all the Heads of Houses.” His tone was filled with disgust.

“Has she done anything to Tamlin?” now all I felt was concern, concern for the people of this campus, for the other Heads of Houses. I hadn’t met any of them yet, but nevertheless, a life was a life, and it should not be dimmed of happiness due to the doings of one messed up person.

“I…” he trailed off. “That’s for Tamlin to say. When he’s ready.”

I rolled my eyes, and balled the wrapping of my lunch with my fists, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “You know, I’m not an idiot. I can tell something’s wrong, and the more you assholes are going to be cryptic about it, the more I’m going to push to find out.” I stormed away, leaving him there on his own, and blasted the angriest song I could find on my phone as I stomped to art class.

Today, my fingers itched to paint flames. Destruction. Something dark and gruelling and awful, anything to rid myself of the anger that consumed me. But, instead, when I walked into class, a model was standing there, his back to me as he discussed quietly with Ms. Smith. He was dressed in dark, casual clothes, and his black—more navy blue in the sunlight—hair was familiar for some reason. I sighed. No flames today.

I set up shop with my regular spot near the side of the wide, beautifully lit classroom (thanks to the almost floor to ceiling windows) and readied my palette and my brushes. By the time class started, my sketch book was ready on my lap, my slender fingers wrapped around my favourite pencil. I’d been doodling on one of the pages, waiting for the model to step onto the tiny elevated surface, when the teacher addressed the class. I snapped the book shut and tucked it away.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Today we have a model, and though I know some of you were hoping to work on your own personal creations, I thought it’d be a nice change to have someone come in as inspiration. Some of you may be asking yourselves: is it going to be another nude?” the class chuckled along with her, and I gave a small smile. “Not today, folks. Today we’re concentrating on portraits…” she trailed off, and I scanned the room, looking for where the model had gone, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I flinched in my stool and turned around—to see Rhysand leaning against the wall, a smirk on his face, his arms crossed and looking absolutely smug. I couldn’t help but fight a grin.

“I didn’t know that you painted, darling” he murmured, a caress to my ears. My toes curled within my slip-on vans. This man. I should not be having these reactions for anyone who wasn’t my boyfriend, but I guess Rhysand Orpheus was the glorious exception.

“I’m here on an art scholarship,” I supplied lowly, trying to focus (yet failing miserably) on Ms. Smith’s words. “You’re the intruder in this classroom.”

“Yes, well, Ms. Smith is an old friend of mine and she happens to love my face,” he gave me a wink, and I rolled my eyes. “But you see, darling, my best feature is really my body. Especially one part of it, right below—”

“Oh, keep your mouth shut before I barf all over my canvas, you prick,” I said it with good humour, but I was truly embarrassed when my cheeks heated.

“Feyre? Are you alright?” demanded Ms. Smith from the front of the classroom, a displeased frown upon her face.

“Yes, fine,” I squeaked the reply. Shooting Rhysand a look that could kill, I kept my focus at the front.

“Well now, Feyre,” the way my name rolled off his tongue had my toes curling all over again. it hadn’t even occurred to me that he had no clue what my name was. He’d been calling me darling all this time. “I wish you luck. Not many can capture all this beauty onto a canvas.” With another wink, he walked away to the front of the classroom, sat upon the lip of the upraised surface, and forced his features into neutrality. Before I even realized, my fingers were already at work.

The first things that showed up on the canvas were his eyes. Only a brief outline, of course, but out of all the features that danced across his face, those were the ones that demanded attention. Then came his nose, his lips, eyebrows and jaw. And finally, that gorgeous sweep of hair, perfectly tousled yet somehow, every strand was exactly where it was supposed to be.

I ditched my pencil once I was satisfied with all the outlines, then brought out the paints.

I wasn’t even thinking straight. All I could see was his face and his features and his damn eyes, those beautiful eyes, and he may or may not have stared at me every once in a while. I didn’t notice. I was too caught up in my work, in the colours and the features, I was too caught up in him. My blood rushed and my heart soared, and I thought to myself how long it’d been since I felt like this. Like everything in my life could be accomplished if I gave myself to it.

Even once the class was over and people began to file out, I was still painting. Finishing his features, adding touch ups or shading here and there. Filling out the background, though, that was key. Finally, when I stepped away, there he was. Rhysand Orpheus, against the backdrop of a dark night sky.

I don’t know why the night was just so fascinating and comforting for me, but it was. It was infinitely dark and that may scare people, but I somehow felt…comfort. Amongst the darkness.

“It’s extraordinary,” the whisper was breathy against my ear and I jumped, dropping my paintbrush.

“Jesus Christ,” I swore, picking up the brush and dousing it in water. “Can you not?”

But Rhysand just stood there, chuckling to his heart’s content, leaning back against the wall as he was moments? No, almost two hours ago. I hadn’t even realized we were the only ones left in the classroom. This happened often, though, me being the last straggler. Ms. Smith found it charming, actually, that I poured that much time into my work, and she trusted me to lock the place up after I left.

“But it’s just so fun to see you jump in your skin,” he teased. “But of course, Feyre, in all honesty, I believe this is the best depiction I’ve ever seen of myself. And there have been many, believe me.”

I rolled my eyes. “My God, if you love yourself that much, you can keep the damned thing if you like. You probably wouldn’t be able to stop staring at it.”

“Well, of course! How could anyone take their eyes of this?” he gestured to his face.

“I can quite easily, thank you very much. Now leave. I’ve had enough of you for one day.” I shooed him away but he stayed put. Even while I boringly packed my things and put the canvas on a drying rack, carrying it as gently as I would carry a child. Once I was done, I slung my canvas bag over my shoulder, and stared at him.

“Well?” I said. “You going to walk me home?”

This time, a true smile, I think the first time he’d given me one, lit up his face. “Of course darling.”

+ + +

“As you said so many times, a handsome man like you must have a girlfriend, right?” I raised my eyebrows at him, and he shook his head, laughing.

“Not quite, darling. Women may be attracted to me, but they don’t stick around.”

“What does that mean?”

His eyes had a far off look to them, and he frowned a little when he said, “I’m not a good person, Feyre. Unfortunate as it is.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” I scoffed. “From what I’ve seen so far, Rhysand, you’re very kind. A goddamn prick,” we both chuckled, “But you’re kind.”

“Thank you,” he stared at his shoes for a moment while we walked, “That means a lot, Feyre. For what it’s worth, you’re extraordinary.”

I blushed, and before I even knew it, we were at the Spring House.

“I’m afraid this is about as far as I can go,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, staring up at the white brick of the House.

“What are you saying? Come in. They won’t kill you.”

“Well…” he trailed off, but feeling bold, I grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs.

“Come on. Just a few minutes. I want to show you something.” He sighed dramatically and I rolled my eyes.

Many heads turned once we entered, and I ignored them all, heading straight to the stairs that lead to my room, up on the third floor. And we were almost there, stumbling and laughing, when we ran into someone.

That someone being Tamlin.

The three of us paused on the landing of the second floor, each looking to the other, and I spotted Lucien in the background, whose eyes widened as he quickly approached us. The tension was fathomable in the air, and it seemed as though Tamlin was about to burst at the seams with rage.

“Tamlin Atwell,” Rhysand said with ease, ever so graceful, hands in his pockets. “It’s been a while. Amarantha sends her regards. And reminds you that time’s almost up.”

My head whipped to Rhys. Amarantha. This woman seemed to be intertwined with all their lives, and I was getting to the limit of being in the dark on all this information. And what did he mean that time’s almost up? What the fuck was going on? I stayed quiet though, knowing if I snapped at them, I would only make things worse.

“Rhysand. What are you doing with my girlfriend?” distaste dripped from every syllable that Tamlin uttered, and I winced.

“Girlfriend?” Rhys laughed, looking between the two of us. “The beast finally found someone to love him.” He laughed again, looking incredulous. This wasn’t the person I knew. This wasn’t the kind, albeit cocky prick that’d gotten past my walls of adamant within the past few days.

“Yes, girlfriend,” Tamlin growled. “Tell Amarantha that I haven’t forgotten. I will be there.”

Rhys chuckled, then suddenly turned and gripped both of my shoulders. Not enough to hurt, but just enough that I couldn’t move. This person, who I’d been laughing with only moments ago, now set fear chilling through my bones. Would he hurt me? I had no clue. Maybe that whole nice act had been a façade to keep me from seeing this side of him. His true side.

“Let her go,” Tamlini barked, striding quickly towards Rhysand to tear him off, but he didn’t move an inch. He only stared into my frightened eyes and said, “I wish you the best of luck, Feyre, because once Amarantha is done with you and your boyfriend…” Rhysand shook his head and loosened his grip, true sadness filling his features.

He stepped away, wiped invisible dust off his clothes, and faced Tamlin. “Always a pleasure, Tamlin. Lucien.” He gave them each a nod, held my gaze one last time, then vanished down the stairs without another word.

Instantly, Tamlin was by my side, an arm around my shoulder, and I could feel my hands shaking. Why would he do that? Why would he ever hurt me? He’d been so sweet and kind…I shook my head.

“I’m so sorry Feyre,” he pressed a kiss to my forehead, leading me to my room, but all I could do was stare straight ahead, still shell-shocked. “Rhysand Orpheus is a dangerous man. He’s Head of the Night House. It’s a sick place. Taunting people is a sport for him.” He spat each word. “You should’ve told me about him, Feyre. I would’ve dealt with it.”

I nodded, and he extracted my bag off my shoulder, then led me to the bed, where we both curled into the sheets. I couldn’t speak. I knew that I was overdoing it a little, but I really did like Rhysand. He’d been so kind. Why…? I couldn’t even form a single thought.

So I welcomed the aching darkness when sleep greeted me, and prayed that I could erase any thoughts of him from memory. He was gone.

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Chapter 5

Chapter: I II III IV

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Rhysand shows up unexpectedly to help Feyre's family move, bringing Cassian and Azriel with him. Sparks fly between Nesta and the rest of the family as the new house isn't what any of them were expecting, but Rhys has a way of keeping Feyre from completely breaking down throughout the day. [Almost exactly the same as the “Moving Day” fic I posted over summer, though there are some small changes. Sorry for the redundancy!]

Chapter 5

I awoke to a heavy slam! of the front door downstairs. My eyes flew open at the same time my hand groped for the clock on my nightstand, one of the few remaining items I had yet to pack.

6:39am

My eyes sank shut with a silent growl as my chest deflated. Voices several decibels too high for such an ungodly hour reached me from the living room.

Where does it look like I’m going?

Nesta, my brain registered, cataloging the new shade of anger she had somehow managed to find apart from her usual storm. My eldest sister was always angry, like the Hulk in hipster form.

Half your room is still a mess, my dad shouted back. We’re moving today, if you hadn’t noticed! Elain and Feyre’s things are already on the truck.

They’re my things. What do you give a shit what I do with them?

Nesta-

Just don’t, okay? Save it.

I will not save it! You’re free to do whatever the “shit” you want with your things, as you so beautifully put it. No doubt you get the language from that stupid writing degree you have, but whatever you do with your own room, we could have used you last night with the rest of this nightmare. A pause. You aren’t the only one with “shit” to take care of you know!

His voice rose on the last few words as Nesta’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, approaching.

I’ll give a shit about your shit when you decide being a family again is worth caring about!

My heart sped up as her footsteps reached my door and paused. I prayed silently she would leave me alone at least until I’d had a chance to properly wake up. Her own bedroom door slammed and I heard general clutter being shuffled about before the distinct sound of tape was pulled for boxes.

I breathed a sigh of relief and rolled over onto my back, willing my body to wake up.

The ceiling above me was still the crisp, clean white I’d stared at all yesterday afternoon. Empty. Just like the rest of my room.

Every single item I’d ever decided was worth keeping now sat in less than a dozen boxes in a huge Uhaul moving van parked out front. I had so much useless junk to pack, but in the end, I threw most of it away. I felt guilty at the thought of taking it all with us to the new house where we’d have less space. The entire point of moving was to downsize since dad couldn’t afford the monstrosity of a house we’d grown up in anymore without mom. It felt cruel to make him take all of that extra baggage with him to the new home, even if it wasn’t his extra baggage to deal with.

So I had stuffed most of my room into those hideous black bags that never hold their weight like they claim and dumped it into the trash cans out front along with the rest of my doubts over moving.

I had no choice. This was a thing. It was happening. I could accept it with all of the consequences that came with it and move on, or stay behind and try not to drown. I was choosing the former, but somehow I still felt like I was drowning.

Dad’s shout had been loud and angry, the same as when he would fight with mom. I wondered if he had already opened the liquor cabinet.

A light knock tapped on my door. My stomach twisted into knots immediately at the anxiety of it being Nesta, but Elain’s fairy voice put me at ease.

“Feyre?” she said, the door creaking open. I sat up to find her walking toward me, a small tea cup perched in her hand with steam hissing out the top. She smiled as she handed it to me before sitting next to me on the bed. I closed my eyes as the steam kissed my lips before taking a sip.

Chamomile and honey. My favorite.

“Morning, sleepy head,” my second eldest sister said. “I thought you could use a proper wake up after…”

“After Nesta?” I said. Elain shrugged with half an eye roll. I closed my eyes knowingly and took another sip. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Elain smiled, courtesy oozing out of her like an annoyingly delightful old Hollywood film you know should bore the snot out of your 21st century movie filter, but that you can’t help be inspired by. She was staring at me apologetically and I couldn’t help but compare my two sisters.

Unlike Nesta, Elain still came around occasionally, pretended we were still a family even if she was critical of dad’s drinking, something I couldn’t really fault her for even though heaven knew I tried.

I missed when we were kids. They were both a lot older than me and had always been closer to each other than to me, but I could remember us getting along while I was still small.

Now, they felt like strangers more and more to me every day that I didn’t see them. At least Elain had come home when dad asked to help with the house. Sure she’d gotten her skirts dirty, but today she’d had enough foresight to put on some athletic wear. I tried not to notice the Burberry tags sticking off of it.

“Pop downstairs when you’re ready, mmkay?” she said. “We need to get going by 8am sharp if we want to beat moving in the heat!” She bounced up and glided to the door, her hair swishing in a perfect ponytail behind her. She had slipped out the door for half a second before her head darted back in and I saw all of her pearly whites gleam at me. “And I’ve got pancakes!”

And then she was gone again.

It was comforting to know that if Nesta was going to come round today with her usual fire, Elain would be here with her beautiful, happy calm. I needed to stop judging her so harshly when she was so pleasant with me.

I stood up, stretching in my yoga pants and tank. I didn’t bother leaving out a change of clothes or makeup since it would be ruined after a sweaty hour of traipsing up and down stairs. My lone oversized sweater, the one covered in paint stains from evenings spent painting, was all I kept out, figuring it was good for a fight. Maybe it would even bring me luck today. I shrugged it on savoring the smell of the dried paint and the way it knew my soul so well.

Glancing at the clock, I scooped up Elain’s tea and allowed myself the last lazy stare out of my bedroom window I’d refused last night. It was the last time I’d ever see this view. The sunlight filtering through the panes of glass looked stale. I probably should have been sad, but there was some relief in leaving. Maybe the prospect of a fresh beginning in a real neighborhood would make being a family more real.

But my naive morning zen was cut short when I looked out my second story window and saw not the oversized manor across the street, but Rhysand strutting up my driveway with two hulking figures behind him. Tea spat out of my mouth in a spray on the window as the cup toppled on the bed.

I bolted downstairs flying for the door, anxiety crippling my stomach as a million questions flew at once.

What the hell is he doing here! Oh my gosh, I didn’t invite him. I told him I didn’t need help! Why did you have to word vomit on him like that last night, Feyre, you idiot. Now he’s going to think you’re a complete basketcase and he’ll never talk to you again. Wait - why do you even care if he talks to you again??

I reached the door and pulled on the handle, but not before the ring of the doorbell shattered through the house.

Shit.

Rhys’s eyebrows rose as he took in my flushed appearance standing at the door. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra beneath my sweater - thank goodness it was oversized - or that I hadn’t yet brushed my teeth. The corners of his lips threatened to turn up in that infuriating smile he made a habit of flashing me, the one that always seemed permanently plastered over his beautiful face.

I quickly stepped outside, forcing Rhys and his friends to jump back in surprise before I shut the door behind me. Crossing my arms, I stared him down.

“What are you doing here?” I spat in a low voice. “And how did you get my address?”

I was going to murder Amren.

Rhys chuckled. “Is there a reason we’re whispering?” he asked. “Are you scared of your family finding us? Or do you have a house ghost? Please tell me it’s not haunted. I’m not sure I’m prepared for protective snuggling this early in the morning.”

I gaped open mouthed at him before darting forward. “Very funny,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who knew the High Lord of the Student Body Council would be afraid of ghosts.”

“Oh it’s not me,” Rhys replied, hands up cooly in defense. “It’s Cassian.” His head flitted over his right shoulder in the direction of the most chiseled, hulking boy, man - man-boy? - I’d ever seen grace the body of a teenager. Assuming he was a teenager. He had to be if he was hanging out with Rhys, but hot damn, the idea of that monstrosity lurking around campus was almost scary. If it weren’t for the shoulder length hair I imagined was just long enough to tie up, he would have looked way too old for high school.

How had I never spotted him before? The man was a beast.

Rhys leaned in and held a hand up to my ear. I had to resist the urge to back away as he spoke. “Poor kid still can’t get through Casper the Friendly Ghost without crying.”

Cassian shoved Rhys roughly, but Rhys laughed it off uproariously right as the door opened behind me. I froze as I heard my dad’s voice. The boys straightened up at once.

“Feyre?” my dad asked tentatively, eyeing Rhysand warily and very clearly looking around for what should have been Tamlin’s blonde facade. “What’s going on? Who are these-”

“Rhysand, sir,” Rhys said, reaching around me to hold out his hand, no trace of fear whatsoever. My father took it with a look on his face as if he were being asked to hold a viper. “And these are my brothers, Cassian and Azriel.”

My eyes darted briefly to the boy on Rhys’ left, the one he’d named Azriel. He was muscled, but not nearly as much as Cassian, though not as lean as Rhysand either. Somewhere in the middle. But though he had build to him, he looked like a shadow that might float away at the slightest touch. His eyes felt hollow as he took me in and I wondered where the color had gone in them. He hadn’t said anything or so much as moved since I’d stepped out on the porch and he didn’t look as though he intended to change that anytime soon.

And his hands. They were scarred terribly. Even standing behind Rhys in the shadow of our porch, I noticed them. I shivered imagining what could have done something so gruesome. His eyes met mine, catching me staring and immediately our gaze bounced away, the wrong ends of two magnets meeting.

“Brothers?” I asked looking for a distraction. Rhys merely darted his eyebrows up once in reply.

“We heard you could use a hand - or six - moving that truck around today, sir,” Rhys said. At the offer of help, my dad’s entire demeanor changed.

“Oh that’d be great!” my dad said, joining me a step closer, his arm going around my shoulder. He looked so genuinely pleased for me. “You didn’t tell me you had friends coming to help. Good for you, kiddo! Your old man appreciates it.”

The momentary smile so rarely seen on my dad’s face felt like a gift from the gods who must have known I’d been struggling. I sensed a warmth coming from Rhys half a step away and was about to turn and give my thanks, all of my earlier hesitancy about his arrival gone, when a sharp voice snapped from behind my dad.

“That’s because Feyre doesn’t have friends, dad,” Nesta said with that razor of a tongue. Elain stood next to her, a look of worry flickering in her soft grey eyes. My own anxiety returned in full force.

Nesta was wearing a baggy pair of grey cargo pants with a tight fitting crop top that was an equally depressing shade of grey, but I suppose Nesta would have said it was trendy. It showed off her generous curves, particularly the full bust her bra failed to strap down properly, though it wasn’t without taste. Long ash blonde locks similar to my own flowed in waves on either side even as she tucked one length behind her ear to reveal a small patch of hair she’d buzzed short. Dark ruby red lipstick the color of dried blood stained her lips.

I had expected nothing less.

“And who the hell are you, dollface?” Cassian said, eyes widening while a huge grin of interest set off on his face. Nesta’s expression soured even more as she looked at Rhysand’s hellhound before her nose sort of pinched together and she ignored Cassian outright. Cassian chuckled a bit incredulous at the gesture, crossing his arms with sway - a lion preparing for a fight.

“You wanted me to help,” Nesta spat at my dad. “So why are we all standing around out here like a bunch of apes while Feyre pretends to have a life? My shit’s all packed up,” and she pointed behind her to the first of what I was sure would be many boxes to come that she’d brought down. “I’d like to move it into the truck now, unless you’ve decided this family’s actually worth saving and we’re staying?”

I closed my eyes and held my breathe, tension roiling in my gut. With my back turned on him, I was glad Rhys couldn’t see my face where I was sure embarrassment would read in the redness settling in on my cheeks. I had told him we were moving and my parents had split - but he didn’t know the circumstances of how or why and Nesta was riding dangerously close to that line.

“Oh-ho,” Cassian said and he sounded… delighted? “Allow me, dollface.”

He moved forward and Nesta couldn’t help but to stand back and let him by with that huge frame of his looming at her, but she still managed a snarl at him. She was at least a good foot shorter than him. “Don’t call me dollface, shithead,” she said and she sounded furious.

“Nesta Archeron!” my father said and already, my family was shouting at each other again.

“What would you prefer I call you?” Cassian retorted. “If I went with something more honest, I fear we’d enter into a battle of wits and I get the sense you don’t like losing very much.”

My jaw dropped at the same time Nesta’s did, right before her eyes narrowed. Cassian had grabbed two of Nesta’s boxes and was back out the door before she could say another word. I’d never seen her speechless before or called out on her bitchery right to her face. My dad had practically stopped breathing.

“Coffee,” I said to him firmly, grabbing him by the shoulders and willing him to go away. “For the boys? The boys who are so graciously helping us move for free today?”

He took a deep breathe while closing his eyes for a moment before nodding. “Coffee,” he agreed and trudged off to the kitchen I knew was mercifully on the other side of the house.

Nesta was watching Cassian in the distance with a venomous stare that could have murdered him if he wasn’t careful. When he had set the second box down, that stare turned on me.

“He doesn’t touch any more of my stuff. Not a single damn-”

“I know!” I hollered, trying not to join the frenzy of raised voices in this house. “I won’t let him touch any of your precious bloody books. Just go get your junk and move already, okay?”

Nesta scowled, but spun on her heel with a click and disappeared to the bowels of her room upstairs. Elain followed.

When I went back to the boys on my porch, Rhys had tucked his hands into his pockets while a  small, sweet smile played out on his face. “Your family’s positively delightful, Feyre,” he said as if he meant it. As if we were anything but a delight. I still didn’t understand what he was really doing here. “But you’ll have to excuse me if I do say you’re the clear standout among them by a very long mile.”

For the first time, Azriel moved, a short sigh of exasperation escaping him. It was almost imperceptible. Rhys’ eyes danced as he stared into me daring me to laugh. If Tamlin hadn’t canceled on me today, I knew he would have run in the opposite direction the second Nesta appeared at the door ready for a fight. They never got along.

And here was Rhys flirting with me over her.

But the laugh faltered on my lips and with it went Rhysand’s smile. I shook the comparison away, surprised I’d even made it. There was no Rhysand in my life so there was nothing to really compare.

“Let’s just get started, hmm?” I said. “Before I figure out what you three are really up to and I kick you all out on your sorry asses.”

“Oh I like her already, Rhys,” Cassian said walking back to us.

Rhys’ smile returned and he laid a hand out before me to gesture us inside, far too much bravado dripping from his voice. “After you, milady.”

A knight in shining armor after all.

“So what’s the deal with your sister?”

I groaned internally, wishing Cassian hadn’t just asked me that question.

I spent the good part of an hour trying to keep everyone apart while we loaded the last remnants of my old life onto that truck. It wasn’t easy, but somehow I’d managed. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken long.

Nesta dragged behind the longest of all, but by that point I was already sitting in the front seat of Rhys’ car while Cassian and Azriel popped in the back and we shot off.

My stomach growled loudly as Rhys put the car in gear. Whether he heard it or not, he didn’t say, but he did reach into the back seat and pull out the distinctly pink cardboard box that could only house one thing: donuts.

“Thank you,” I said, reaching in for a sugar twist, my absolute favorite. He watched me lick the excess sugar from my fingers with a bit of a haze on his face that I had to remind him he was meant to be driving. He smirked before his head faced forward and concentration became his mask.

I couldn’t help but to study him. That smirk had saved me more than once already this morning. Between Nesta and Cassian nearly crossing paths at every second, my dad rubbing a frustrated hand over his neck when one of mom’s vases dropped, Elain twirling around pretending to be useful when really she was just pretty, Rhys anchored me back to earth with the promise of better on his lips every time.

And now I was sitting in a car with less than a foot separating us while Cassian shoved a devil’s food in his mouth and inquired about my sister. “Like, is she single?” he asked between bites. I snorted.

“Nesta is nearly ten years older than you,” I said leaning around the front seat to look at him. “Ten.”

Cassian shrugged. “I like an older woman.” I scowled and leaned away as he finished chewing, the chocolate glaze smacking against his lips. “Seriously, what’s her deal?”

Rhys kept his eyes on the road like I’d asked, but I could feel his attention on me. I sighed.

“Nesta is, like I said, ten years older than me, which makes her way too old for you, Cassian, so don’t get any ideas. I don’t care what you think you want in a woman. She goes to school in LA where she’s studying Comparative Literature with concentrations in Russian lit and Slavic Languages.”

A tisk from the back seat interrupted me. Azriel. When I looked at Rhys, amusement was flickering on his face before he risked a quick glance at me and cut it short.

Okay…

“She and Elain were only a year apart. I didn’t come along until much later and by that point, I was just a nuisance and a distraction for my parents from giving them the attention they were used to. My parents split over summer and that seems to have been the final nail in the coffin. She’s had a stick up her ass ever since.

“So you see,” I said, leaning back around the seat to look at Cassian again, “you don’t want to bother yourself with her. Nesta is Nesta and nothing and no one has ever - or will ever - change that, including you. I don’t care if your bulky jock brain says otherwise.”

Cassian chuckled. “I’ll try to take that as a compliment.” If he wasn’t a jock, he didn’t care to deny it. He tipped his head back against the leather headrest of the seat seemingly amused and asked, “So where’s the Tool? Isn’t he supposed to be here today?”

I mouthed the word Tool before I realized who Cassian was referring to. My eyes went wide with shock. “Cassian,” Rhys hissed, glaring at him in the rear view mirror.

“You said you guys were brothers?” I shot at Rhys, wondering where in the hell Cassian had come from with his one-thousand interrogation questions and if Azriel would ever say anything to me at all.

“Not by blood, but as good as,” Rhys explained, his voice tight at the sudden mood swings of conversation. “Where are we going exactly?” I gave him clarifying directions and when we’d situated ourselves on a long stretch of the route that would take us nearly to the house, he continued. “I’ve known these pricks since I was a kid. Cass and I met in little league-”

“You were in little league?” I choked. Rhys waved me off proudly with his hand.

“Yes I was,” he said. “And I had baseball’s finest ass while I played, worthy of the big leagues.”

“That has got to be the vainest comment I have ever heard for a - what? Nine-year-old to be so self-aware of their own rear.”

Rhys leaned his head toward me and was completely serious as he said, “You would have drooled over my nine-year-old rear, Feyre.”

I narrowed my glare, aware of the twitch at my lips threatening to break free and tried not to imagine how his now 18-year-old rear might compare. His gaze danced all over my face and I sensed the cocky prick knew what I was thinking. “Eyes,” I warned and he promptly returned to driving, but not without a very smug look on his face.

“Azriel didn’t come along until middle school. He moved in across the street from me and well…” Silence dragged for a moment before I heard Azriel shift in his seat and that was the end of that conversation. I didn’t ask questions. “We’ve been thick as thieves ever since.”

Things were quiet again in the car and I was grateful just to sink into the drive even if I could feel Rhys’ thoughts on me the entire trip, sticking to my skin like glue. But every time I looked at him, the way his hands would tighten on the steering wheel like he wanted to hide them somewhere or how he’d lick his lips with the briefest of exhales as if he’d had trouble breathing, I realized he was nervous.

Rhysand, the confident boy who led student council meetings at school with the principal and administration heads, who walked up to my father and extended his hand the way he would meet the President of the United States and had prepared for it his entire life, was nervous sitting next to me.

“So about the Tool,” Cassian said out of nowhere. I whipped around, feeling suddenly very defensive despite my boyfriend’s failure to appear this morning outside my front door, much like… well much like Rhys had.

“Tamlin is not a tool!” I shouted.

“And yet, you knew exactly to whom I was referring.” Cassian’s arrogance mocked me with every word and I felt as if I could reach back and slap him, muscles and all.

“Cassian!” Rhys barked, nearly slamming on the breaks. I thought he might pull the car over, but he didn’t. “That’s enough.” And somehow, it really was. Cassian didn’t press the issue after that, understanding his captain’s orders, but he still couldn’t get his mind off my sister.

“Do you really think she wouldn’t go out with me?” he asked. I concentrated very hard on not rolling my eyes at him.

“No!” I protested.

“I bet she would. I bet by the end of the day, I can get her phone number.”

“Twenty bucks,” said a deep, velvet voice I wasn’t expecting, so much so that I jumped in my seat and embarrassingly looked at Azriel as if he were the ghost haunting my old house.

Cassian reached his arm out immediately and shook Az’s hand. “Deal.”

I was about to butt in to say they would do no such thing, that he was asking for it and it would be his funeral, but the car slowed to a halt as Rhys put it in park and I realized we’d arrived. At my new home.

A weight sank into my gut, my attention pulled back to the view of my dad jumping out of the truck already in the driveway, my sisters staring forlornly at the much smaller dwelling than they were used to. It wasn’t even a modern track home - a real horror for the pair of ‘em. I could see the ivy curling around the brickwork of the front facade. It had character, could even be considered charming if you didn’t mind that it was an older home, which I certainly didn’t.

Cassian and Azriel got out straight away to start unloading, but I was glued to my seat, my hands braced on the leather of the armrest.

“It’s okay, you know,” Rhys said, his voice quiet. I felt his fingers brush against my hand, not trying to pry, only to reassure. I wondered foolishly what it might feel like if he took it. I couldn’t remember the last time Tamlin and I had simply held hands and I missed it.

Why wasn’t he here?

“They hate it,” I said.

“Your sisters?”

I nodded, staring hard out the window at my broken family. And then it was all flooding out of me and I couldn’t stop it if I had wanted to. “They hate the move so much, the idea that we might be poor by horrifically shallow standards that they’re going to make my dad’s life a living hell because of it. Never mind that he already co-signed on their student loans and sends them money for the deposit on their apartment leases. Never mind that mom’s the one who left and took the bulk of the family’s income with her.”

“Elain’s in school too?”

“She’s in a PhD program like Nesta. Botany. You wouldn’t think it looking at all that polished lip gloss and mascara, but my sister’s quite the brainiac. They both are.” I sighed, blowing hot air through my lips as my gaze fell into a mess at my lap. “And college degrees are expensive.”

“Hey,” Rhys said, his fingers finding my chin and tilting my face until I was forced to look at him. “You want to get out of here? Just say the word, and we’re gone.”

And I could tell he meant it. All I would have to do was nod and he’d turn the keys and take off. His eyes pierced me with the intensity of his words. I was starting to wonder if I’d ever escape the violet depths of them.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at him, contemplating when the last time was anyone had asked what I wanted.

Voices shouted outside the car and my eyelids slammed shut. Rhys’ fingers dropped from my chin. “I have to go,” I said and bolted from the car before he could stop me.

“What do you mean there are only three bedrooms?” Nesta was hollering at my dad. I prayed the new neighbors weren’t around to hear it.

“Nesta, please,” my dad begged, begged at my sister, his voice suddenly low and raw, as if he were bleeding in front of her. “It’s all I could afford,” he whispered. Cassian and Azriel were already unloading the truck, pretending like they couldn’t hear but I knew they could. I wanted to rip my skin apart until the muscle underneath was exposed and then I would rip that apart too until I was bone and blood and dust. I’d never felt so mortified - and by my own family.

Our miseries were private, hidden away for no one to see. What would they say if they knew the reality?

My dad spotted me and his face crumpled, trying to look optimistic and failing miserably.

“Feyre!” he said before coming closer. “There’s only two rooms, but-”

“It’s okay,” I said, feeling my throat clench up. “Elain and I can share, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” Over my dad’s shoulder, I heard Elain yelp in surprise.

“That’s very considerate of you, Feyre, but there is another option if you want it. The attic…”

I took a deep breathe. Of course. Because Heaven forbid Nesta or Elain draw the short stick for once. Silently, I nodded my acceptance. My dad kissed my forehead with a whispered, “Thank you,” and went to help the boys on the truck. I turned around and smacked straight into Rhys’ chest. I hadn’t realized he was standing so close.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, just like he’d asked on the phone last night.

How can I help?

His arms found my shoulders, steadying me with his grip. And suddenly, I realized the gravity of the moment. The wrongness of it without Tamlin. He should have been the one standing there keeping me grounded while my family fell apart. Not this guy I barely knew, but who seemed willing to let the rest of the world burn if it meant he could make sure I was okay.

“Just help us unload, please,” I said, hating the way the words sounded on my tongue. I strode away as quickly as I could before the tears could start falling, grabbed a box at random, and rushed inside. I was lucky enough to grab one with my name on it, so I made straight for the attic.

Rhys appeared in the doorway a heartbeat behind me, setting a box of his own down. Thank goodness there was a stairway and not some rickety old drop down ladder I’d have to climb. He put his hands in his pockets and stared thoughtfully at me, giving me space to decide where this went from here.

“At least there’s a window,” I said, pointing above where a sizeable skylight was carved into the ceiling.

“Perfect for stargazing while you fall asleep,” Rhys said and brought himself to lay down directly underneath the opening. He put one arm behind his head for it to rest against and stared into crisp, blue sky above. He didn’t mention what had just happened and I was grateful. I found myself slipping down to lay next to him.

“Cassian realizes what he’s doing, right?” I asked. “About Nesta, I mean.”

Rhys chuckled. “Don’t worry,” he replied. “Cassian’s a shameless flirt with everyone.”

“Yeah, well, Nesta doesn’t do shameless flirting. She’ll eat him alive.”

“And you?”

“Pft!” I scoffed. “Trust me, I have no desire to eat anything out of Cassian.”

The snort that rippled out of Rhys was infectious, his entire body radiated with it. “I meant about the flirting,” he clarified and I could feel his head roll towards me. I found those near-violet eyes staring endlessly at me again and before I knew what I was doing, my eyes were looking him up and down, drinking the sight of him in. I pinched a spot on his stomach through his shirt and was met with hard muscle.

“Mmm, skinny,” I evaluated. “But I think I could find something to munch on.”

There was a certain daring to my tone that I wasn’t familiar with. The corners of Rhysand’s lips pulled up in surprise and my face flushed. Had he not expected me to answer?

And then it hit me all over again, the wrongness of the moment. Not even a full minute and I’d already forgotten how I’d felt smacking into him outside wishing it was someone else. What the hell was I doing?

And why did it feel like the only right thing going on in my life?

I sat bolt upright removing my hand quickly from his stomach and blurted, “I have a boyfriend,” cringing on the awkwardness of revealing a truth he was already well aware of.

“So?” he asked simply.

“So? So? So… this can’t be a thing.”

Rhys sat up beside me. “This? Feyre, what exactly do you think I’m doing here?”

“I don’t know, I just…” My shoulders fell and I collapsed inward on myself, finding it hard to think. “You show up here to help me move as if you’d known my family all your life making it very plain you’re aware of the fact that Tamlin’s not here when he should be-”

“In my defense, that was Cassian who pointed that out.”

“Still. And Cassian’s not the only one who can be a shameless flirt. You’re pretty good at it too.” I nudged him with my shoulder and he raised his brows in conceit. “So why come?”

He hesitated for half a second before plunging in. “Because when I saw you at Lucien’s party, you looked sad. More than sad, even. And when I told you about the dance, there was a spark in your eyes that I wanted to see again. But then I called you on the wrong day at the wrong time and you said Tamlin was ditching you when you needed him most even though you tried to make it sound like that’s not what he’s doing, but we both knew it was a lie. And I just didn’t want you to be alone today.”

He shrugged, as if he hadn’t just dropped a grenade onto my lap and pulled the pin.

“Is that so terrible?”

And when I thought about it, I realized it wasn’t. It was actually… kind of nice.

“So then… you’re not trying to put the moves on me?”

“I never said I wouldn’t like to, Feyre, darling,” he teased, but it was nothing more than that. Teasing. “But no, I’m not here to put ‘the moves’ on you. I just thought you could use an ally. It didn’t seem you had one.”

“Is it that obvious?” I said, my voice terribly low.

He nudged me back taking care to ensure the contact was broken completely when the motion had finished. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling alone sometimes, Feyre. The trick is learning how to understand when you’re not and making those moments last. And I do apologize - sincerely - if I’ve, ahem, overstepped.”

When I looked up, his eyes were watching me again full of that same soft expression that had gotten me through the morning thus far. An ally. I could get used to that, I thought. Slowly, with deliberate intention, I nodded and Rhys seemed to understand. And then he jumped up with the grace of a cat and pulled me to my feet.

“So where do we start with this place?” he asked.

“Just bring the boxes up for now. I want to paint it first before I do anything else.”

“You paint?”

“As if you didn’t know.” He snickered.

“What are you going to paint it?”

I shrugged, looking around and taking in the bare wooden walls that slanted at the sides to form my new home. The word still felt foreign in my mind in conjunction with this place, never mind saying it out loud. Maybe the paint would help. I’d never touched my old room with my liquid weapons. Not once.

But it was different here. I could feel it. This was my own little hovel - it deserved to be noticed.

“I don’t know. You got any ideas, Mr. Fine Ass?”

Rhys smirked, leaning against the door frame. “The night sky,” he said instantly. “That way you don’t have to wait to fall asleep to watch the stars shine for you and wish upon them.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. Not at all.

When we stumbled back outside to collect more of my boxes, I found my eldest sister shouting - again. But after talking to Rhys, I didn’t feel quite so upset this time. And I was almost intrigued to watch Cassian stand there on the receiving end of Nesta’s wrath, wondering if he could actually pass the test.

A pile of books - Nesta’s books, her pride and joy above all else - sat in a heap on the grass. Cassian held a box that was far too flimsy to hold the weight of the books and had promptly split in two, dumping them on the ground. Nesta looked furious as she bent down to gather her children.

“You bastard!” she shouted, looking up at Cassian as her hands found a Russian language copy of War and Peace with a fresh tear down the front cover. Cassian looked smug, as if he’d been the one to tear the book and was proud of it.

“It’s not my fault you don’t take care of your things,” he said apathetically.

“Like you’d understand,” Nesta spat. “You wouldn’t understand finer things - art, literature,” and she shook the book at him, getting up from the ground, “if it jumped up and bit you on that hideous crooked nose of yours. This is culture!” Her tone shifted, grown suddenly solemn, the bite gone. “And you just dumped it in the grass like manure. Do you even realize…”

She stared down at her stack of books that she had poured the last ten years of her life into at school, genuinely hurt by what had happened, her own stupid fault for packing in a rush last minute. But it was so much emotion for such scraps at her feet - all she had left to tear her away from a life at home that disappointed her.

Who were Nesta’s friends? Did she have them or did she burn too passionately that the only ones who could take her in and understand were the ones at her feet without a voice to argue back against the fire devouring her?

And then, Cassian spoke, his voice taking on a soothing caress that was soft and caring, as if he did in fact realize what Nesta was saying. As if - he understood.

But that wasn’t what shocked me most. No, what shocked me was the fact that he was speaking to her in perfect, fluent Russian.

Nesta’s head snapped up as Cassian spoke, drawing herself level with him. Hesitantly, enough that I could tell she was tripping over her words despite the fact that I knew she spoke Russian just as well as Cassian apparently could, she replied. A brief exchange ensued and it was the calmest I had seen Nesta, maybe ever.

I looked at Rhys and saw a silent, knowing exchange pass between him and Azriel. So that was what the scoff in the car had been about. Heavens, I wanted to laugh.

Nesta snickered. Cassian repeated whatever he’d said.

Her eyes narrowed. His invited.

She muttered the lone Russian word I knew amid a handful - Yes - and stormed off into the house, a stack of books piled high in her arms.

Cassian went straight to Azriel, his hand outstretched. “You owe me twenty bucks, son.”

“No!” I gasped.

“Oh yeah,” Cassian whooped.

“You got her number?” Azriel asked.

“Better than that. I got a date.”

“No…” I breathed, my mind refusing to accept what he was saying. Rhys was laughing his ass off. “What did you say to her?”

“I didn’t have to say anything.” Cassian stretched his arms wide like a peacock ready to show off. “She’s warm for my form, what can I say? The accent probably helped too.”

“You’re disgusting,” I said, but my tone was more amused.

“Cassian’s dad was Russian ops,” Rhys explained next to me. “He’s been to Russia more times that he can count.”

Explained the muscles, I thought.

“So cough up,” Cassian said, again reaching his hand out to Azriel, who simply shook his head.

“You got a date,” Azriel said. “But the bet was that you’d get her number.”

“Oh come on!”

It was Azriel’s turn to hold out his hand. “Twenty big ones, if you please.”

Cassian dug his wallet out and handed over the cash. “Fucking Azriel,” he said under his breathe as he passed me and returned to the moving truck.

“Technically the bet was good until the end of the day,” I said, addressing Azriel directly for the first time. “Are you going to remind him?”

Azriel looked at me and then slowly, one delicate muscle at a time arched his lips into a faint smile. “Not a chance.”

“Come on, Feyre, darling,” Rhys said clapping Az on the shoulder. “Let’s go unpack ourselves a house.”