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climbthemountain2020 · 5 months ago

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Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Epilogue

Ch.27/27 | Ao3

We've reached the end, my friends. Thank you for being here!

Early morning light cast bright, shimmering rays and deep shadows across the cobblestone of Velaris, the smell of jasmine and sea salt in the air. The shops were all opening for the day, bathing the streets in the sweet, spiced, and multilayered smells, the laughing and shouts of vendors filling Feyre’s ears. She had been here for nearly a month now, and once she and Rhys had been able to safely and appropriately leave the shelter of their townhouse, he had shown her the beautiful, sprawling city in more detail.

People had been overwhelmed with joy to see their beloved High Lord back among them, none of them ever having known him as anything but the person he truly was. Velaris was Rhys’s escape, his permission to be free and kind. Watching him light up in the warmth and comfort of the place he considered home had been a joy beyond measure.

Feyre had been immediately drawn to The Rainbow, the colorful artists’ quarter of the city. She’d spent most of her time there as Rhys reacquainted himself with the many aspects of rule that he hadn’t missed nearly as much in his time away. She was there now, moseying down the street that she knew would lead her to the bridge over the Sidra with the intricate stonework. She spent a lot of time here, too, looking into the river below and thinking. Luckily, they’d both slept through the night before. Some nights, the nightmares still woke her, sweating and screaming, convinced that she was covered in blood back on that shining marble floor. She dreamed of nails in her throat, in Rhys’s. She dreamed of being too late. And Rhys had the nightmares too, sometimes waking them both in a room draped with suffocating darkness. She’d kiss his brow gently, whispering reassurances to him as he came back to her.

You are safe.

We are safe.

She is dead.

We are together.

Neither of them expected that being free from Amarantha meant that they were completely okay. It would take time, perhaps years or even decades of it, but they did have that time. For that, they were thankful. And for every uninterrupted night that they were able to sleep soundly through in each other’s arms, they felt peace beyond measure.

Today, Rhys had looked well rested as he’d gotten out of bed before the first rays of dawn to get started on the endless piles of paperwork, pressing a kiss to her lips and promising her a delicious breakfast in return. She was meeting him here at the bridge this morning, and the sounds and smells of Velaris waking around her made her stomach rumble.

Feyre loved when Rhys was able to show her around the town he so loved, sharing bits and pieces of his home with her and bringing her further into all that he held dear. There had been no sense of awkwardness or otherness in the transition. The day they’d landed on the balcony of the house of wind, Morrigan, Cassian, and even Azriel had all embraced her as enthusiastically as they had him, later claiming that in 500 years they’d never seen Rhys bring a female home, so they’d known she was important. And they’d held fast to that companionship since, even when Rhys and Feyre all but boarded themselves away after Morrigan desperately tried and failed to help her make a single hand pie to feed Rhysand to claim the mating bond. They’d cackled as she handed the half-burnt, half-raw creation to Rhys, who still took an enthusiastic if grimacing bite while Mor winnowed away, her twinkling laugh following her into the ether.

Feyre had enjoyed that quick feeling of family more than she could put into words, her circle of loved ones expanding in ways that, a year ago, she never could have imagined. She loved it here, she fit here, but she also fit in Spring. She had been back only once since everything under the mountain, just earlier this week. Rhys had winnowed her down, encouraging her to go on her own this first time to see how things were, but reassuring her he would only be a call away by tapping her forehead and then kissing it before he smiled and winnowed off.

Lucien had greeted her at the massive front steps, the feeling of being back in a place she also considered home overwhelming to her. It looked as it had before the night they’d all been ripped away, all the disarray from that night resolved and lovely again. Lucien himself looked much more lively, his skin deep and golden again, his body filling back out and his face etched with happiness at seeing her. He greeted her with an enormous hug, then looked behind her.

“No Rhys?”

“He thought it would be best to see how things were on my own. He’ll come next time.” She was touched Lucien had asked after him, and his eyes showed he both appreciated and understood the sentiment. Getting Lucien and Rhys on the same page didn’t feel like it would be that large of a task for her.

“How is he?” she asked as Lucien walked her into the massive manor, all of it causing her heart to clench with homesickness as he led her to the back patio.

“As expected. Things have been…dark.” She expected it, but it still hurt to hear. “He’s managing, but he spends a lot of time in the woods, in his beast form. He’s working through it, and I am doing what I can. He’ll be glad to know you came.”

Feyre guessed that’s where he was now, out somewhere in these deep, wooded lands. She was sad to miss him, but glad that he was finding ways to cope.

“Send the word, Lucien. Any time that he needs someone else, you can call, and I will come. That goes for you, too.” Lucien’s eyes glittered as he looked at her and took her hand.

“You’ve been a good friend, Feyre. The best.” She squeezed his hand back. They’d bonded here, then again as they’d faced the worst the world had to offer them. They’d been broken into pieces and shattered across the floor, then rebuilt together, the fragments all mixing up and entwining until they were all melded irrevocably together.

“Come, I want to show you something while you’re here.” Lucien walked her past the chairs and firepits and stone steps she knew so well, down onto the lawn on the path to the training rings. She saw the great stone memorial at a distance, and was already weeping by the time she’d arrived.

The base was large, a few feet tall and wider than that. On top rested the form of a great wolf, twining between the crossing of two greatswords. She traced the name on the marble plaque at the base.

Andras .

“This is lovely, Lucien.”

“Without him, none of this would have been possible.” His words were hoarse, and she took her hand in his again.

“Many sacrifices were made for this, and we will do our best to honor each one.” She had sent, upon their return to Velaris, the location of Calla’s memorial in the woods, should they like to see it. They were now ghosts among the living, Calla and Andras, and it was the duty of those who carried on to remember their names and share their lives, their sacrifices.

She and Lucien had sat for an hour, sometimes talking, and sometimes sitting in silence. Tamlin didn’t return from the woods. By the time she was ready to call Rhys, though, something in her heart had felt settled. She hadn’t known how much she needed it until she had it.

He walked her back through the foyer to the front.

“Tell him I said hello, and remember about writing if you need.”

“I will. Thank you for coming. It was good to see you, Feyre. Oh, before you go–” He ducked back through the doors quickly, then reemerged holding something out to her. It was a small slip of folded paper.

“What is this?”

“The first thing Tamlin did was bring Vilja home. She wanted us to give this to you the next time we saw you.” Feyre whipped around.

“She’s here?”

“Well, sort of. Tamlin built her a house in the woods a ways from here. A sort of retirement for her, if you will. He said she’s been through enough, demanded she let him care for her now in repayment for all she’d done.” Feyre’s eyes burned again.

“And she’s okay?”

“Right as rain, annoyed that Tamlin is bossy. Said she’d just accomplished her last task in the Human Lands, so she’d agree to come home.”

She laughed, then ran her fingers across the note in her hands. “Thank you, Lucien. Send her my best, will you?”

“Of course.” He waved at her off the porch, a nod of his head to Rhys, and they’d been gone. She’d nearly cried when she’d opened the paper to find a single sentence written on it.

I knew I was right to bet on you.

-V

+++

Now, on the bridge, she could feel Rhys’s presence before she heard or saw him. Something in the bond always let her know where she could find him, and she loved the constancy of it. It helped ease the ache she felt at needing him close, even when physically he was far. Eternally, he was a part of her now, and her to him, and for the most part, that was enough.

“Hello, Feyre darling.” The words sent a rush down her spine as she turned to face him, a dream in his night-dark tunic with sparkling threads of embroidered silver, lilac, and navy. He was truly the Lord of Night, and he belonged to her.

“Hello, Rhys.” She placed her hand in his, and he tugged her to him for a kiss. “How was your paperwork?”

“Delightful,” he deadpanned. “Are you hungry?”

She was. She loved the food here. Though everything she’d eaten since coming to Prythian had been delicious, something about the foods and spices of Velaris reminded her of her childhood, her father.

She was sure he’d heard her thoughts as he spoke, “Azriel’s spies reported in just a bit ago. Your father is still on the continent.”

Not surprising. All through her life he’d been gone, sometimes half-years at a time. “It would appear Elain is engaged.” This pulled Feyre up short.

“ Engaged ? To whom?”

“A young lord’s son by the name of Nolan. Do you know him?” She wracked her mind, coming up with nothing. Then, it clicked. The superstitious family that lived miles due east of where she’d grown up–another manor wreathed in stone walls, but behind it, bars of iron. They were notoriously unfriendly, shunning outsiders and wary of strangers. Rumors said that the mother had died at the hands of something in the woods years ago, and the lord hadn't been the same since. She wondered how the two had even met.

“But Lucien…”

“Has never met Elain, and likely never will.”

“And you think we did the right thing by not intervening?” They’d had many discussions about this over the last month.

“I think, in a group of bad options, it is the best.” He hadn’t changed his mind on that front. She supposed he was right. But she hated denying them the same chance that she herself had been granted.

“I wonder how she managed to finagle an engagement.”

“Apparently his father sent word to yours. He approved it from overseas and intends to return in time to pay for the wedding.”

“I mean how she managed it around Nesta. She was supposed to wait. In fact, that was one of the many issues facing them when I left…”

Feyre noticed then that Rhys had faltered a bit in his steps. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but she had. She paused just long enough for him to stall too, letting him stop a few paces ahead.

“Rhys.” He turned slowly and with a light wince at her tone. “Where is Nesta?”

“Now, don’t be mad, I am working on it. I fully intended to speak with you about it at breakfast.” He didn’t seem panicked, but something was definitely going on.

“Where is she?”

“Do you have a great aunt Ripleigh?”

Feyre wracked her memory. “I don’t think I have any great aunts at all, actually.” The look on his face and the brief semblance of a nod told him that she’d confirmed his suspicions.

“So, sometime between when I laid the wards and when we visited, Nesta took off. She left a note telling Elain that she was visiting your great aunt, and no one has heard from her since. Elain doesn’t seem worried, and neither do the staff, but something seemed strange to me.”

“So Nesta is just gone? She’s been gone for a month ?” Her panic started to rise, and Rhys stepped forward to hold her by the shoulders gently but firmly.

“Azriel already has the spy network searching for her, and I sent Cassian to the place where Elain believed your aunt’s house to be. We’ll find her, okay?” He didn’t seem worried, and Feyre let herself breathe. Nesta was fine, tough as nails and not someone Feyre liked to cross when she could help it.

She would be fine.

“Right. Okay. She’ll be fine.”

Fine, fine. If she said it to herself enough, she might believe it.

“She will.” He turned to walk again, pulling an arm over her shoulders as they walked down through the artists’ quarter to the roads filled with restaurants and cafes on the river side.

“What are you in the mood for?” she asked him as they walked, the sun feeling warm on their backs.

“You.” He didn’t miss a beat. She shoved at him.

“Incorrigible.” But she was happy, thrilled, to be here with him, laughing about something as trivial as breakfast. She hadn’t been sure they would see this day, and now that it was here, something so simple and mundane as a morning walk along to Sidra to get coffee and baked goods felt like the greatest gift that the universe had to offer.

“The coffee smells good. I’m going to follow my nose.” He pretended to take a dramatic few sniffs as they neared the shops.

It did smell good, the cinnamon and spices mixed with the morning-fresh bakery items making Feyre’s mouth water.

The smell reminded her so much of Vincent and his shop that it made something in her physically ache. Her very first friend had done so much for her. She hoped, with the curse broken, he was finding some peace. Somehow, she believed that he knew she’d done it for all those who had been lost, for his Melusine, and that he was able to move on, to find somewhere he loved.

And then, as if she’d summoned him from the ether itself, Vincent walked from the shop ahead, carrying a stack of chairs to put by the streetside tables at the cafe right in front of them.

She blinked once, twice. Her vision coming in and out of focus and blurring with tears. She worried she was hallucinating, worried that all her fears about this being some sort of cruel twist of fate, a dream she’d conjured, were coming to life. But then Vincent looked up at them, hand covering his eyes from the sun, and he lifted a hand in greeting and smiled.

She’d just opened her mouth to speak when Rhys beat her to it.

“Vincent! You came back!” And Feyre’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, well, you know what they say about birds always finding their way home.” They closed the gap between them and embraced. Feyre’s eyes were misty, and the shock had her gaping like a fish. The emotion choked in her throat, and she couldn’t find the words as he and Rhys embraced.

Her very first friend, here, embracing her mate that he enabled her to find. He'd known all along. Somehow, he’d known.

“Vincent, this is my wife, my mate, Feyre. She’s the one who set us free. Feyre, Vincent was Inara’s and my tutor for decades…” But Feyre’s feet were made of stone, her knuckles curled to her lip as she bit back the tears. Vincent’s eyes landed on her, the soft smile on his face widening with pride as he took her in. Rhys halted, seeming to notice something else was happening here as the sob broke free from Feyre’s chest. Then they were both moving, coming together in the middle to embrace.

“You did it, my girl. I knew you could.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was something for you to figure out on your own. And you did.”

Rhys chimed in. “I fear I’ve missed something here.” And Vincent chuckled.

“A theme since the early days of your lessons, I fear.” Rhys pretended to be offended as Feyre laughed wetly and Vincent chuckled. Come in, we’ll catch you up.” And Feyre saw the familiar, wrinkled hand on Rhysand’s shoulder, Rhys’s comfort and recognition of the motion. She watched her two worlds collide together, finding harmony in a way that seemed so good that it must be impossible.

But it was real, and it was here, and it was more than anything she’d ever dared to hope for.

Vincent held the door for her after Rhys ducked inside.

His grin spanned ear to ear as he looked at her. “Come in for a hot drink and a book, High Lady.”

So, with a smile, Feyre did.

[THE ARCHERON SISTERS WILL RETURN]

This work is officially gifted to @popjunkie42 and @witch-and-her-witcher. They are not only the best beta readers in the world, but are also two of my very best friends. I am so, so thankful every day that I met you both. Thank you for all you did to help me bring this story to life. Love you guys.

Taglist:

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @yeonalie

#feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand #acotar #acotar fics #feyre and rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met #acotar au #fated mates #acotar retelling #under the mountain feysand #feysand teambuilding exercises

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climbthemountain2020 · 6 months ago

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Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 23

Ch. 23 | Ao3

Thank you, as always, to the best friends and betas ever, @popjunkie42 and @witch-and-her-witcher

NSFW today :)

Early the next morning, Feyre woke to the gentle brushing of Rhys’s knuckles against her cheek. She had been dreaming of early mornings in her old manor, waking up to the sharp but comforting smells of new spices. It always meant her father had returned from a trip, bringing new things for the kitchen staff, who were always enthusiastic about getting started.

“Darling, wake up.”

“What? What’s happened?” Her heart was in her throat as consciousness surged inside her, whipping her back into existence, the memories of the previous night raining back down over her. She could still smell the spices in her nose, as though the dream hadn’t entirely faded away. But she was torn fully into the present, panic guiding her back.

“Nothing, Feyre. It’s okay, shhh.” His hands firmly pressed her back into the mattress, grounding her and settling her until she could breathe again. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He turned his face into her hair, laying back down beside her and pulling her body close. She relaxed as much as her mind would allow.

“What time is it?”

“Before dawn. I wanted to wake you and see if you wished to go to Calla’s cell. It may be the only chance we have to do it.” She nodded, pressing her eyes tightly closed, the tears already burning there again. He was right. If she wanted to see it, collect any of what Calla had left in the world, it had to be now.

She nodded grimly, gripping harder to Rhys’s arm where it wrapped across her chest. He was dressed, as though he’d already been awake and out.

“I love you, Feyre. I will be with you every step of the way.”

“I love you, too.” The words flowed freely between them now, settling warmly as they always did around her heart and fluttering across her ribcage. It had changed nothing, despite her bargain with Vilja, the inky stars still pressed into her shoulder.

It didn’t stop her from wanting to hear it as often as she could.

She rose from the bed, feet hitting the cold stone floor as she went to the wardrobe to find clothes. She paused as she passed the table, her bloodied, leather wristband still lying on it. The blade had been drawn back in, but the blood would stain, just like the guilt on Feyre’s soul.

“I can get rid of it, if you’d like. I just didn’t want to assume since it was a gift.” He was behind her, arms wrapping around her middle as he rested his chin on her shoulder. She eased back into him, letting some of the unsteadiness in her be settled by his body holding hers.

She closed her eyes, breathing through the cataclysmic ache in her chest. “No, don’t throw it out. I just–I don’t know yet.” He pressed a kiss to her temple then went to wash up, leaving her to turn away from the table and find her clothes. This would be her new reality, and she had to find a way to cope with it. She would start by making amends, salvaging anything that she could find in Calla’s cell and give her the send off that she deserved once they left this place.

If they left.

When Rhys winnowed to the dungeons, it was pitch black, the candles no longer lit in Calla’s absence. They’d landed in Calla’s cell instead of Feyre’s this time, the door on it still open. Feyre tossed a small flame into the single candle near the top of the wrought iron doors, the light hitting the room around them and casting it in low light and deep shadows. The walls of dirt and stone were jagged with crags, throwing shapes that deepened the darkness. The pallet was just as rucked as it had been the last time she’d been down here. It was like Calla was still alive, as though she hadn’t left only to never return. Feyre could almost pretend that Calla was just doing chores somewhere down the hall.

Feyre felt Rhys’s shock before she registered what she was looking at, the wall in front of her swimming in and out of clarity as her eyes focused. As her vision adjusted, she recoiled, stumbling back a step and taking in the wall with the hole that she and Calla had spoken through. It was covered in scrapes–in markings. From ceiling to floor, no part of the stone had been left untouched. She couldn’t see it before when they spoke, the other walls free from any changes, but this wall…there were tally marks to count the days, framed by strange markings and pictures. Spirals reached from top to bottom, raining down and trapping figures below, crushing them beneath the heavy gashes in the stone.

There were stars at the top, framed by what appeared to be the tops of trees, as though one was looking up at the night sky from the forest floor. Feyre traced her fingers over a crude image of the Spring manor burning, flying creatures like the attor flying around it in the air. Farther left there were creatures with pointed ears crouching over the bodies of what looked like humans, their stomachs ripped open. The fae were covered in blood and holding what looked like human hearts.

Feyre stepped closer to the wall, taking it all in as she ran her fingers over the carvings. If these tally marks were correct, she’d at least been doing them since the day they’d arrived. She took tentative steps along the walls as she brushed her hands across the shallow cuts in the stone, her chest twisting with the realization of how long this might have been going on.

Gods, when did she even have the time to do this?

She didn’t look like she’d been sleeping.

He was right–she hadn’t. Had she slept at all since they’d come here? Had she–

She paused when she heard a crunch beneath her feet. Stepping back, her shoe lifting from the floor ahead of her, she bent to examine the ground. The light wasn’t enough to work out what she’d been looking at, so she called the flame into her hands, holding it down low. There were sharp rocks, scattered as though tossed down haphazardly for use. They were covered in what looked like rust– perhaps Calla had dug them from the dripping wall.

She moved farther towards the back of the chamber, wrapping back around until she neared the pallet where Calla had slept. It was messed up still, the straw rumpled on top of the small platform as though they’d torn her from the bed when they came to get her. Feyre leaned down to pull some of the straw that had fallen back to the top. As she did, something caught her eye. There, on the side of the platform not visible from the doors of the cell, the straw had been pushed up as though to hide something. No one would have seen it when they came to get her, but Feyre had noticed it coming from the other side.

There’s something here.

She felt Rhys’s hand on her shoulder.

What is it?

She brushed the remaining straw back to display a massive hole in the wall, only a body’s width across, but it stretched the entirety of the way behind her bed. Just enough room for a person and nothing else. There were gouges, both deep and shallow, covered in that same strange rust as the rocks at the bottom of the carvings. The heavily packed dirt of the mountain side had been chipped away by hand…or by stone.

A vision of Calla’s bloodied, dirtied hands flashed across her mind, and she understood.

As Feyre’s comprehension caught up to her, her breath caught in her throat. The rocks hadn’t been covered in rust. They’d been covered in blood. Calla had injured herself digging into the wall, recording the last of her thoughts in this world and frantically making what appeared to be the beginnings of a hopeless tunnel. Or a place to hide. She had slowly and methodically cracked that massive rock open, painstakingly pulling the jagged edges out one by one, and used them to start digging.

Rhys backed up.

It’s not very deep.

Deep enough to hide.

She held her fire up to the wall; it only went about seven inches in. But Calla was thin. With the hay there, she could have hidden, could have bought herself time, maybe. Had that been her goal? Or had she simply lost touch with reality entirely?

Feyre had stood in the other cell and spoken to her, had looked her in the eyes and thought that they would make it out of here. All the while, Calla had been over on her side carving and losing her mind. She may as well have been a world away. All those times that they’d been down here to look for her and found her cell empty…had she been gone, or had she been here, hiding in the walls? Feyre shuddered as she remembered the few times she’d had to wait to see Calla pop into view. Had she been steadily carving, hiding from Feyre just out of sight? Feyre felt sick. She had had no idea what she’d been going through, what she’d been doing– she’d known it was bad, but she hadn’t seen how bad.

She hadn’t wanted to see.

Feyre hadn’t been enough. She was only human, too. Call had needed more, a whole unit of support behind her. And she hadn’t gotten it.

The sob broke through her right as Rhys felt it coming and held his hand over her mouth to quiet the strangled wail emerging from her. She’d thought that she had cried all the tears she had the night before, but looking at these walls, at this desperate attempt at an escape–the actions of a frantic animal as it threw its last efforts out to save its own life. Calla’s last thoughts in this world existed now only on these walls, and Feyre felt like her soul was twisting its way out of her body.

Rhys held her, his arms banding around her and his fingers firmly across her mouth as her chest heaved. He seemed to understand, and let go just as she turned and vomited into the straw on the floor. Her body retched, refusing to hold the horror of everything she’d discovered, everything she’d seen and endured here.

The guilt and the trauma and the desperation all culminated here, in Calla’s last days and death. How long had she been falling apart? What had finally broken her? Or had she been broken long before they came here? Long before she’d even come to Spring?

They had brought her here. They had sacrificed her.

Rhys patiently cradled her as she cried, the well of tears withering once again as shame and regret took their place. It would be a long road to recovery, if a recovery over something like this was even possible.

Would it make you feel better to know that you held out much longer than I would have in your shoes?

She sniffed in his arms. What do you mean?

I mean that you are a much better person than I am, and with a much better heart.

Feyre scoffed, rubbing her sleeve along her nose.

I watched you in there with her. You did everything you could to stop this. You begged her. You easily could have killed her at any time, and still you let her bring you to the edge of death before you acted, Feyre.

She had. She had given everything, waited as long as she could. She’d almost died waiting. It hadn’t changed the outcome.

You will carry this forever, love. But you will also find ways to cope. And if it helps to hear it, I would have done the same for you.

It did help to hear it. The guilt would weigh her down, perhaps forever, but she knew the truth beneath it all. It hadn’t just been her life on the line as she and Calla fought. She had to push forward, had to remember what she was still here fighting for.

If they succeeded here, she would have millennia to make herself suffer for what she’d sacrificed. But if she wanted that time, she needed to earn it– to focus on what she’d come here to do. She was the only thing left standing in Amarantha’s way, and she would not break. She would let the bright light in the promise of their future together help her keep it together, keep her strong.

Calla had no personal effects, no items that were worth taking with them. Feyre wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. She took one of the stained rocks in hand and found an empty portion of the wall. On it, she carved simply the name Calla . She didn’t want to say any words, didn’t want to drag this out. There would be time to grieve and time to mourn if she succeeded. Instead, she bowed her head, placing her hand on the name on the wall, covering all that was left of her once-friend except memories.

“I’m sorry.”

She allowed a final tear to fall, then let Rhys take her hand as they left the cells behind.

+++

As Feyre and Rhys landed back in their room, they froze in time with each other. An envelope had been shoved under their door in their absence, and the terror Feyre felt was echoed in Rhys’s tightening grip on her hand. He tensed beside her as they stepped forward to greet whatever was waiting for them inside it.

Feyre noticed first that the envelope was different–not the thick folded parchment with scarlet wax and lettering of Amarantha. This letter had been sent in an envelope, and off-white, almost yellow coloring to it. It seemed to glow in the dour darkness of the entryway, and the only identifying item on it was a simple wax seal with the shape of a sun pressed into it.

“It’s from Helion.” Rhys’s tone was still tense, but more suspicious than worried. Helion was the High Lord that watched Feyre as she moved through court, those amber eyes tracking her movements from the first night she’d come here. The one who was familiar, and yet a stranger.

Rhys cracked the seal and began to read. “He requests a meeting with me, and says it’s urgent.”

“Do you think this is a trap?” Feyre wondered if that knee jerk instinct would ever leave now, or if she would be destined for a life of looking over her shoulder at every step.

“Stay here.” He crossed back to her in two steps, pressing a kiss into her temple. “I’ll be back soon.” She nodded, leaning it and savoring it, then leaning back again to let him go. She could find things to do here, could work some of the tension out of her body while he was away by moving. She continued to ignore the band on the table, tossing a shirt over it so that she didn’t have to see it anymore.

Feyre had hardly begun picking up around the room when she heard the whooshing of Rhys returning.

“Well, that certainly didn’t take–” Her voice cut off as she turned, the male on the other side of the room not Rhys at all. “How did you get in here?”

Feyre was aware of the wards and enchantments Rhys had woven around this room. He’d gone over them with her to reassure her that no one could get in except for the two of them. They were made with their blood, keyed to only them. And yet, here stood Helion, his dark skin and bright eyes glowing in the shadows by the door.

“I have my ways, Feyre Archeron.” She should have been terrified, alarms firing and telling her to run or call for help. But something about Helion calmed her, an ease to his words and posture that made him think that he was not a threat. That made him seem more of a comfort here under the mountain than a danger.

“You sent him away so you could come here.” It wasn’t a question, and yet, he raised his brows.

“One might think that a prisoner would relish a break. And yet, you don’t seem happy.” He circled the outskirts of the room, picking up a cup on the table, sniffing it and putting it back down. Eventually, he pulled the chair out and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and surveying Feyre in that way of his that made her want to draw back, to hide. She felt as though he could see every bit of her, even the bits she fought to keep hidden. Something in his gaze told her that there were no secrets in Helion’s eyes.

They held each other’s gaze, and she itched to fill the silence, to lie. She could tell him any number of things, but he’d heard her speak so casually when she’d thought he was Rhys. She had a feeling he wouldn’t have believed her even if she’d lied.

“What do you want from me?”

The smile on his face was charming and broad, spreading slowly as white teeth flanked by the sharp canines went on display. It seemed a genuine show of mirth, as though there truly were no ill intent behind it. It was a smile that she distantly felt she should know, the appearance of it like finding an old friend in a crowd.

“I heard you like bargains, Feyre.” She was instantly on edge. The calm of his presence might all be some cruel trick, a gift of a High Lord like the powers of Rhys’s mind. She wasn’t privy to all the secrets– there could easily be magic he possessed that she knew nothing about.

“What could I possibly give you that you do not possess? I am already fighting for your freedom– ”

“I would like to offer you a chance to run.”

Feyre pulled up short. “What?”

“I have it on good authority that a window of opportunity for you to escape will open for a short period of time tonight. I want you to take it.” Her heart was in her throat.

A way out.

Her tongue dried in her mouth, the feeling causing her to clear her throat. But what was his catch? What were his terms? She’d been in Prythian long enough to know that everything came with a hefty price, and that sometimes bargains were tricky things. “What could you possibly gain from me leaving here?”

“There is someone I would like you to take with you.”

“While I appreciate your vote of confidence in me, I can’t leave, High Lord, I–”

“Helion. Please call me Helion.”

“Helion, fine. I can’t accept.”

“Is it because of Rhysand? Take him, too. There is room for you all to flee.” The words swam in her mind. They could run.

“You know?”

He smiled again, that grin stretching wide. “I can see through glamours, dear. I’ve known since you arrived. Plus, Rhysand is a friend.”

A friend.

If they could run, if they could leave…But then Tamlin and Lucien and everyone else would remain. Her bargain would go unfulfilled.

“The bargain.”

“I can break it.” Her jaw dropped.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. How do you think I broke your lover’s wards to get in here?” She remembered. She’d practiced with that very magic over and over in Spring, winding and unwinding wards. She just hadn’t imagined how far his powers might extend.

“She’ll track us forever. We’ll never know peace.”

“There is a place he could take you, a legend of old. An island that people believe to be myth where you might never be found.”

And Rhys would never see his family again. His home. That vision of yearning, of Velaris, his family, flashed before her eyes. All of that would be gone to him forever. And the people beneath the mountain, both those she knew and those she didn’t, would never have the chance for peace or home again.

She couldn’t even consider it. The moment she let the doubt creep in, admitted to herself that it was more likely than not she wouldn’t be leaving here, she knew it was going to consume her wholly. She had to hold on to the hope, needed to keep the dream alive. She demanded that beautiful possibility of a future in her mind, and it would keep her going. There could be no room for uncertainty.

“I appreciate your offer. More than you could possibly know. But I cannot go.” Helion seemed surprised, not bothering to hide his shock.

“Why would you stay?”

There was the briefest flash in her mind at the satisfaction she would feel at ripping Amarantha’s eyes out with her bare hands for the atrocities she’d committed. She chose to voice the more noble reasons, instead.

“I made a promise that I would try. I took on the bargain for more reasons than one. If I leave now, you will all be bound here forever. I would be an oath breaker, and all of you would be the ones to pay that price.” The softening around Helion’s eyes was evident, the words striking some chord within him. “I won’t leave Lucien or Tamlin or anyone else here to deal with this. Not after I promised.”

“You care deeply for those you love.”

“They are my family.”

He closed his eyes and turned his head, as though he were living momentarily in another place, remembering another time. When he turned back to her, his expression had changed.

“I have seen everything you’ve done under this mountain, Feyre. I will never forget any of it. No one will.”

She nodded, and he rose to go, the glow illuminating his skin in the shadows.

“I cannot thank you enough for your offer. I am sorry I could not take it.” He paused, but then turned to take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. His lips were soft and warm, and he smiled wickedly again. It did not meet his eyes.

“Who were you trying to save?”

But the second she asked, the air was whirring around them, filling with a swirling and potent darkness as Rhys winnowed back into the room with a clap of thunder so loud Feyre almost covered her ears on instinct.

He appeared, the very image of night incarnate in front of her, back tense and eyes filled with rage as the shadows banked around him in fury. This was the High Lord of Night, the King of Nightmares that the books detailed.

“Helion?” His shoulders relaxed a bit as he took in what was happening. Helion hadn’t even flinched at the display, just continued to smile.

“Hello, Rhysand.”

“You sent me the letter to get me out.” Helion smiled as Rhys echoed the same deadpan statement as Feyre had only moments before. He sent Rhys a quick, nearly mocking, bow.

“Protect her at all costs, my friend.” And with a whirl of light, he was gone.

Rhys was still breathing heavily, despite clearly not being all too concerned Helion had broken into his private rooms. He crossed the room silently and quickly, pulling Feyre tightly to his chest. “When I got there and he was gone, I worried it had been a trap. I worried–” He couldn’t finish the sentence, and Feyre fisted her hands in his shirt. She understood.

Everything seemed so fragile and precious, as though they were dangling right off the edge of a precipice, and only the slightest movement could tip them right over the edge.

“I’m here.”

“What did he want?” Rhys didn’t draw back from her as he asked.

“To offer us an escape, provided we smuggle someone out with us for him.”

Rhys hummed. “And you said no, because you made a promise to save everyone at great personal cost. Am I close?”

“Hush.” The topic was miserable, but it was hard to not feel her heart seize at how effortlessly he knew her. The vulnerability of being known so thoroughly by him would never cease to fill that space in her chest with burning, aching love.

They held each other for a few moments, their bodies naturally beginning to sway with the need for comfort.

“You must remember, I am an excellent dancer.” She smiled up at him as she said it.

He pulled back, looking down at her with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “Feyre, Feyre. Cracking jokes at a time like this?” She pretended to be offended, slapping at his chest, but he grabbed her wrist gently, plucking it from the air and pressing the lightest kiss to her palm. He entwined their fingers and held both their hands between them.

“When we return home, you can buy me fancy dancing lessons with your High Lord riches. Then I won’t have to step on your toes all night.” He kissed each of her cheeks, eyes searching her face as though looking for some sort of answer or plan or strategy he might have missed there before.

“When we return home, Feyre. I will make you High Lady, and you can use our riches on whatever your heart desires.” His fingers strayed to the ring on her finger, out of sight with her glamours covering it. She dropped the magic from her hand, the ring on her finger shining and catching the light. He twisted it so the stars faced upwards, the brilliant shine of it somehow even more magnificent.

And when he leaned in to kiss her again, their lips meeting softly, he paused between each touch.

“Feyre. My friend through many dangers. My lover who healed my broken and weary soul. My wife. My eternity.”

She sighed with the admission, letting the words wash over her. Husband and wife felt like such small terms for what she felt they had, not coming close to the depth of emotions and love she held for him or him for her. If they were to make it out of here, return to Velaris, and marry, would it feel like it came closer to touching that deep well of passion and intimacy, that vulnerability and possession she felt?

He was hers. And she was his. She had never felt so possessive, so territorial, about anything in her life. Perhaps the titles did not matter so much.

“You’re mine, Rhysand. Forever.”

“And you’re sure that you want me? My titles, my past, and everything that comes with it?” The vulnerability shone within his eyes. She knew how he felt– knew that he was certain being with him would put a target on her back forever. “My actions here have damned me. They see me as a monster, and they’ll see it even more now with how I’ve had to treat you.”

“They watched me put a knife through my friend’s throat.”

“And they’ve watched me do worse for five decades.”

She placed two fingers on his lips, quieting him and his worry. She could hear the words floating in his mind, the self deprecation.

Emotionless. Barbaric. Cruel. Selfish.

“Rhys, I love you. It doesn’t matter to me what anyone thinks of you. I know your heart.” His breathing was deep, the catch of it telling her of the emotion he was holding in. “I would endure it all for you. If you go on holding that mask up for them to see, then I will be whatever and whoever you need me to be. So long as you never wear that mask with me, none of it matters.”

“I would never.”

“I know. And if we never leave Velaris again after we finish this, then so be it.”

His arms tightened around her, the tension in his shoulders melting a bit with her admissions, her love.

“I love you, Feyre Archeron.” She wasn’t checking her ears or her tattoo anymore, the warmth of his words the balm to her soul that she desperately needed, craved with both mind and body like nothing she’d ever felt before. They wrapped her heart in gold and let it shine like the summer sun on her skin, lighting her up from within.

She was still human, and maybe even if she won the trials, that would remain the case. But Rhys was hers in every way for as long as they might have. Whether it was days from now, or years, or millenia, her soul was his. It had been his since the moment their eyes had met across that room.

For now, there was no mountain, no Amarantha, no mortality. There was just them, and it was more than enough.

+++

Court felt more tense than normal as they walked in that night. Feyre and Rhysand had decided that the best possible course of action was to pretend he’d taken Amarantha’s words to heart. The glamour he’d cast over her was horrifying to the naked eye, her arms covered in gruesome bruises in various states of healing. As he’d added to it, she’d kept insisting on more, the visual they presented tonight able to make or break this last ditch effort to make it to the finish line. If Amarantha believed that Feyre was starting to crack as Calla had, she had no reason to interfere before whatever horrible task she was planning came to light.

Sporting a black eye, split brow, and an unhealed cut at the edge of her hairline, Feyre put on her best show of limping behind Rhysand into the court, the whorls of dark paint strategically placed to display the bruised flesh of her body. There were no more diamond collars or posturing. She simply followed him, her expression sullen and angry, but submissive for fear of the consequences.

Amarantha offered them a wicked smile as they passed, Feyre fighting her sigh of relief as they passed the test. She continued to limp up their own small dais, falling exhausted at Rhys’s feet to survey the crowd. The fae were all busy, focused on themselves, but unlike typical nights, their eyes kept coming back to her. Every so often, she would catch one out of her periphery, but as soon as she felt their eyes on her, they were already looking away.

Was it because of the last task? Was it because of the task to come? Or was it her oath? That she was willing to die for their freedom might surely draw interest. Or perhaps they hated her for refusing to lay down and die, taking something that could have already been theirs from them before they could even properly enjoy it.

She chose to ignore it, her eyes instead sweeping over the crowd to find those she always kept track of. Tamlin, strangely, was nowhere to be found, the seat beside Amarantha empty again. Feyre tried not to wonder what kept him on the nights that he wasn’t in court. She hated to think of the things he’d endured here, surely not so different from Rhys. She wondered what would happen if they made it out. Would Tamlin and Rhys ever be able to reconcile, or would her relationships with each need to be kept as separate as water and oil. Could they ever reach an impasse where the pain and trauma they’d suffered might bond them in some way? Or would the past always be there to keep the two of them apart?

On the outskirts of the crowd, Feyre saw Lucien, his hair impossible to miss as he leaned against the wall of the room and spoke to another high fae. His face was set, serious, and she hated the way it looked on him. Lucien was meant to be smiling and cracking jokes, typically at her expense. He was lively and charming and fun, not this angry shell of a male that he was here. She hated the mask he wore, the masks they all wore here. She much preferred his smile, even if it was in mocking her, as it stretched from ear to ear–

She jolted.

Of course.

Feyre?

Rhys had felt her jump, or otherwise felt her emotions across that bridge between them.

I think I just figured something out.

Oh? Do share.

I don’t think that Lucien is Beron’s son.

Go on. His voice was far too calm.

You knew??

I had my suspicions.

The glamours, the glowing, his smile. That’s Helion’s smile.

His jaw, too.

Does he know?

He’s never said a word to me about it.

Her eyes tracked over to Autumn, the angry face of Beron staring out over the crowd. Next to him, his sweet looking, glamoured wife. She shot the image to Rhys.

That’s who he wanted us to save.

Suddenly, she felt bad about turning him down. Not just an affair then. He loves her.

There were plenty of rumors, but I didn’t start putting pieces together until you woke up from the whippings glowing. Lucien has no idea.

No, he does not.

It hurt to imagine that there was another world, another possibility, where Lucien had grown up loved and cared for. He hadn’t been run out of his home, his father hadn’t killed the love of his life. Even the few brief moments she’d spent with Helion had told her enough about him as a person.

Oh, Lucien.

Feyre felt a soft brushing of Rhys’s mind against hers, the comfort he could not provide with physical touch.

You have a kind heart, Feyre.

Unfortunately, a kind heart only gets you so far.

Still, I hope you never lose it.

The night wore on, but it was all very standard. Near midnight, Feyre excused herself to go to the bathroom. She wasn’t drinking the wine, but they’d worked up a thirst earlier in the day, and she’d drunk enough water to drown a fish. Since she still couldn’t winnow, it meant a walk back to their rooms, but it was a nice break for Feyre to breathe, dropping the show if only for a moment.

As she made her way back down the quiet halls, she tried to prevent her mind from wandering. If she lost, she might be living her last hours here. She hated this train of thought, shoved it violently away every time it reared its ugly head.

Her thoughts were stopped in their tracks as a hand sprung out from the stone wall and yanked her inside, the yelp in her throat stifled by the hand over her mouth. She fought and screamed against it, thrashing in the arms that held her until she heard the voice at her ear.

“Feyre, it’s me. It’s only me.”

Tamlin.

She turned in his arms, the tears already spilling from her eyes. Every single emotion she’d been holding back when she refused to look at him at the third task springing immediately to the surface.

“Feyre.”

She flung herself into his arms before she’d thought twice about it.

“I’m so sorry. I killed her. I’m so sorry.” The words rushed out of her as he held her, awkward at first, but his arms eventually folded around her back.

“Shh, Feyre. Don’t.”

“But I did it. I took the gift you gave me and I killed her. I didn’t–she was going to tell Amarantha everything, and I killed her before she could.” Her tears soaked his shirt, but he stood still, understanding that she’d needed this.

He wasn’t one for affection, had never been tender or loving outwardly in the time she’d known him, but still, he held her as the tears dried. Feyre understood now what Calla must have seen when she looked at them all. They were a family, a true family, and despite her efforts, Calla had remained outside of that.

“That gift was for you to protect yourself, and that’s what you did,” he said the words quietly, but firmly, as though he wanted no room for arguments

“I killed her,” she whispered again, the enormity of it too loud for the small alcove hidden by a tapestry that they were in.

“I would never blame you for what happened.” Finally she pulled back, sniffling, her arms crossing as she took him in. He looked beaten down, smaller somehow than she’d ever seen him. This mountain, this hell, was tearing them all apart.

“How can I save everyone? How can I possibly make this all not for nothing?”

“You can, Feyre. That's why I came to find you.”

“You know what the next task is, don’t you?” He nodded, but his lips thinned into a pressed line. “She cursed you. You can’t tell me.” The tiny flare of hope in her chest fizzled to nothing. Feyre opened her mind in case Rhys came looking.

“I just needed to see you. I needed you to hear me say that you must do what she asks. At all costs, you must.”

She didn’t like the way it sounded, and she liked even less the desperation in his eyes. “Is that all you can tell me?” A curt nod was the only response she got. “She’s going to make it painful, isn’t she?” He could barely eke out a nod.

Feyre’s chest felt hollow, the hopelessness of it all clanging around her. They stood here, two entirely different people from the ones who bantered and drank in the twilight of Spring.

“I’m sorry, Feyre…about Calla. I should have done more.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Me too. But she’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Nothing we can do but win, Feyre.” She met his eyes then, pleading and open and desperate. “Do what you have to do to save us. Remember what I told you in Spring when you and Lucien asked me about love, and do what she asks.”

She nodded. “We can talk about the rest when we get out of here.” His eyes shuttered, something in them telling her how badly he wanted that and how improbable he felt it was.

She opened her mouth to answer, but the tapestry guarding the alcove was pushed aside, Rhys’s silhouette calming Feyre’s defenses immediately.

Tamlin met his eyes and immediately moved to leave. “Don’t forget what I said, Feyre, a long time ago in Spring.” As he passed Rhys, the two locked eyes, an uneasy nod of peace between them, and then Tamlin was gone.

It felt like goodbye.

“I was worried when you didn’t come back.”

“I left my mind open for you.”

“I know, I could feel it.”

“Did you hear everything?”

“I did, but I can’t make any more sense of it than you will.”

“I’m scared, Rhys. It sounds bad.”

“All we can do is greet it when it comes, and use the time we’re given.” She sighed, her forehead pressed against his.

“Thank you, for everything you’ve done here.”

“I would do it all again for you, Feyre. I would move this mountain, and all the rest.” Their breath mingled between them, the words stoking to life that magic of hers that loved him so, her chest alight with it. Every word they said to each other was a vow, a promise.

Perhaps she had mistaken the bargain all along, her quest for his love being the true prize. She’d won it, whether she’d fulfilled the bargain or not. The pulling on her heart told her that he was hers, and she was his, utterly and irrevocably for whatever time they had been gifted.

When their lips touched, Feyre swore sparks flew, the flames flitting around her fingers but not catching as she ran them through his soft hair. He pressed his hips into hers, her back arching against the wall as he leaned down to kiss her more hungrily.

“What about court?” she got out between kisses.

“Fuck the court.” And they were falling into their bed, the winnow barely registering as Rhys moved his mouth to her neck. The sigh fell out of her without reservations, her head leaning back to give him more access as he groaned his appreciation and licked a broad stroke up the side of her throat, ending with a kiss pressed behind her ear. Her whole body shuddered, responding beneath him. She was lost to the feel of it, the feel of him. She ached for more.

She’d barely had time to think the word before she felt his hot skin against hers, sizzling like a brand on her very soul. Their clothes were gone, a halfhearted thought from him all it had taken, and her body seemed to sigh in relief to feel his with nothing left to separate them.

Rhys returned his mouth to the front of Feyre’s throat, the feel of his plush lips against her skin rendering her breathless as he descended down, down, over her collarbones and past her sternum. She came alive with the touch, his breath sending goosebumps scattering across her freckled skin as he moved his mouth to the side, taking her breast into his mouth and moving his fingers to caress the other. The strokes were gentle and teasing, and as Feyre arched into the sensations, he laughed darkly against her.

“So responsive, my girl.” The words sent her mind spinning. He’d hardly touched her yet and she could already feel her climax roaring inside of her, coiling tightly around her spine and pulling there, coming fully to life as he pressed kisses along her skin. She could lose herself entirely in him, these feelings, these sensations. She could do this forever.

She felt the bed move, felt his weight shift, felt his warm breath against her inner thigh. Her body jerked at the reaction, tightening with anticipation, and Rhys wrapped his broad hands around her thighs and pulled.

“Don’t hide from me, Feyre. Never from me.” He didn’t give her time to reply before his mouth was on her, his teasing tongue swiping over her, spreading her wide until the pleasure of it overcame all else, and she let her legs fall to the sides, relaxing in his hands.

She knew him. She was safe with him.

And gods , but he made her feel.

She let herself relax into the bed, one hand wrapping in the sheets that smelled so like him, the other with fingers twining through his soft, messy hair. She could get lost in the sensation, forget all meaning of time and presence, just to keep feeling his touch, his warmth, his heartbeat in time with hers.

When she came, her voice was strangled. A cry that sounded part prayer, part his name while the universe exploded behind her eyelids, back bowing entirely off the bed in response. He continued softly through it, easing her through each wave of her orgasm as she slowly spiraled back down, melting into a boneless heap upon the bed. She was in a haze, the calming feel of joy and satisfaction running lazily through her veins. Here, it felt impossible they could ever be parted, even by the wrath of Amarantha’s intentions. Here, none of it mattered except the eternity laid out for the taking in front of them. Here, she had everything. But still, that fire raged within her, that searing heat demanding more, more, more .

And Rhys could feel it too. His eyes were focused only on her as he climbed the bed, an animal cornering their prey. But Feyre didn’t want to run– had never run from Rhys, not in any of his many forms– and she never would. Even if she did, Rhys would find her. She knew it to be true. And she’d always want to be caught by him.

“I need you, Rhysand. Please.” His cocky smile faltered at the declaration, the overwhelm of lust and need sweeping him away in the same rushing torrent of obsession that Feyre found herself in as he settled his weight above her. His forearms fell to each side of her head as his hips rested between hers and he let his mouth fall back to her neck. He breathed her in before he latched on, his mouth finding her pulse point where her neck met her shoulder and sucking it into his mouth. Feyre’s whole body was tingling, the vibrations etched into her skin from her scalp to her toes.

Feyre , he whispered, and she couldn’t tell if it was in her mind or aloud, the lines all blurring with his mouth hot against her skin. She reached down to touch, to play, her fingertips sliding over his skin and down to the trail of dark hair while he sighed longingly. Then his mouth was on hers, nothing slow about it. His lips moved skillfully, demanding, dominating, needing as she took him in her hands. She could feel his control slipping, the wanting overwhelming all else, and when she pulled away to ask him “Do you want me, Rhys?” His response was immediate.

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words lit her up as she placed him against her, and he closed his eyes as he pushed inside. His hand wound beneath her, grabbing her ass with enough pressure to make her gasp against his lips as he began to rock into her.

“You feel incredible, Feyre. You feel like…everything.” The breathless words sent her higher, her hands in his hair, scraping at his scalp, the nape of his neck. He was in her, around her, consuming her, and she wanted no part in making it stop. She pulled him as close as she could until there was nothing left between them, and finding that urge to bury herself beneath his skin still wanting, she pulled herself into his mind.

The adamant walls fell around her with the tiniest brush against them, welcoming her in with a sharp inhale of his breath. They accepted her, he accepted her, and nestled within his own mind, she was home. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion circled around her, and she was the object of them all. He thought about how lovely she smelled– lilac and pears–the same way that she yearned and ached for his spiced citrus scent. He thought about how it felt like heaven to be inside her, sharing body and mind as one. He thought about how much he loved her, every single fiber of his being singing a song meant for his love, his life, his –

Feyre crashed back into her own mind, the orgasm overtaking her brutally this time as her legs shook around his waist.

“Oh, gods. Don’t stop. Please don’t–” His mouth was on hers, the kiss near violent in its passion, and she lived for every second. Despite the tender love and gentle things his heart felt for her, this was a claiming, and she wanted him engraved on every part of her as deeply as he could go.

She had barely caught her breath as he flipped her, hardly pulling out as he put her on her knees. He yanked her hips up and sank back into her, not missing pace as she cried out. Her body buzzed with a feeling of warmth, and it spread until every inch of her was humming with it. She could feel it spread as he sped up, the pace becoming enough that she saw spots in her vision, the pleasure owning every piece of her. She felt him lean over, the heat of his stomach draping across her back. She heard a thought– his thought– as it flitted through his head. He wanted this claiming as much as she did, his lips dancing across her shoulder while he moved inside her.

Do it.

Please.

She sent the thought in a flurry of begging, her voice sounding like a plea even in her mind. He didn’t hesitate, his sharp teeth pressing against the skin of her shoulder as she felt her body tighten, the next wave unrelenting as it crested and crashed upon the last. She cried out as his pace faltered, her body squeezing around his the final push he needed before he gasped out her name, the grip on her hips tightening. She hoped it bruised, his marks on her body delighting her as she collapsed to the mattress below, letting Rhys catch himself on his arm as he fell behind.

Their sweat-slicked bodies still sought out the other, hands grasping blindly and breath sinking as they came down together. The lights dimmed, and Feyre felt the sheet slide over them, cool and crisp against their flushed skin.

“You are everything to me, Feyre. Absolutely everything.” The words felt deeper than love, deeper than a promise.

She twined her fingers in his, pulling his hand up to her chest and pressing her lips to his knuckles. “Mine. Always.” And she meant it.

Long after she had left this world, she’d still mean it. Her heart belonged entirely to him, and as she felt it beat in time with his, she knew that he belonged to her, too.

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