ʰᵘⁿᵗʳᵉˢˢ / ʰᶦᵍʰ ˡᵃᵈʸ

a small smile quirked the edge of her mouth as feyre stayed on her knees in the grass; in her periphery she could see morpheus eyeing rhysand as he always did, forever the proud stallion that didn’t balk in fear from the high fae—never seeing them as predator. although out of eyesight, it was the tug in her stomach that feyre’s well of power wrapped around to gauge rhysand’s position, caressing the unfathomable bond that connected them beyond the limits of mind and body. delight sparks in her bright blue hues as their gazes connect and she drawls, a light tone to her remark, “you do have a reputation, after all.” if the pulse of magic under her knees wasn’t so urgent, so demanding, feyre would happily draw out the moment with taunts, but he redirects attention effectively. she beckons him, but he’s already beside her, their thoughts in tandem like he knew where she needed him to be.  

Before he can say anything more (or get to pointing out another trinket she might like), the piercing artist calls Feyre's name from the back of the shop. He can feel the way she stiffens ever so slightly when her name is called, so he follows her towards the doorway. Rhys raises his brow in a silent question when she stops him with a hand on his forearm, but he acquiesces nonetheless. Of course. I'll just wait out here and try not to buy the whole store. He grins after her with teasing twinkle in his eyes as she steps away, his voice a silken smooth stroke down the walls of her mind. You'll do great, darling. I can't wait to see the finished result.

Rhys waits until she has disappeared behind the door before he returns to the counter where the shopkeeper has helpfully packaged up the second, sapphire studded nose ring for him. After Rhys has paid the total owed for both, she gives him a tiny bow and explains: "I'll just run this to the back room for my lady. She wanted to wear it home."

you better not is the chastise and final remark feyre sends down the bond before she disappears into a more private room. 

although clinical in a way that heightens her senses in alert, there’s something warm about the room. comfortable. intimate, even. she can smell the variety of balms and medicinal herbs that work with the small amounts of magic that stir in the air; it’s a wonder how they’ve managed to create this kind of artistic body modification and feyre will never stop being impressed by the ingenuity of the fae. once creatures she held such fear and disdain of, they were now her charges; her people, her culture. her heart would always be human, but this is where she belonged now.  

following directions and adjusting without complaint, feyre yielded control of the situation easily. the door had opened briefly with another attendant slipping in, a decorated box in her hand. it prompts a brief smile, but feyre learns the happiness and excitement is easily shadowed by the pain of this type of self-expression. uncharacteristically quiet, she watches the set up with curiosity, assuming the haste is due to her position and the buzz of nerves she could sense in the professional. “if it’s alright with you, i do have an additional request—something i wanted to keep a surprise, so i didn’t say it out there...” 

she can only pray to the mother that her soft squeak of “fuck!” didn’t reach rhysand’s ears. 

left alone for a moment by the blushing attendees, feyre follows their advisement to spray mist on her face, laced with a healing magic that lessens the red in her skin – and her eyes, embarrassingly so. just because they say she had no control of tears did not mean the high lady wasn’t mortified they had fallen. still, she was alone now, and it provided her with an opportunity to admire her new jewelry in front of the mirror, committing these images to memory. 

SHE HUGS HER TIL THEY BREAK FOR BREATH, and her own features remained alight with that same relieved smile that conveys how truly excited she is to see her, how excited she is to show her friend her home and kingdom, all earth and forest to contrast with the nightlight and stars of the Court she hails from. Still, releasing her now with an almost apologetic flash to her smile (and a slight windsweep to golden curls from the impromptu spin the smaller female has somehow managed to swerve her within ), Ashryver hues light with mischief now as gaze is swept over her own clothing. Almost as if reading that expression, a gentle laugh spills now, and warning follows.

“You can change after I’ve dragged you around the palace.”

Murmuring quietly, her frame fits into her friend’s side in turn now, an arm comfortably finding her slender waist to face the entourage of the Inner Court. Fae, but so very different to those who dwell within her own home ; almost as if prompted now, her own make their way within the courtyard as formality demands, and her smile deepens at the sight of her own territorial fae bastards, and their obvious envy of the impressive wings on each of the warriors before them now. As each are introduced, Queen of Terrasen nods in recognition, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit she were all too impatient to begin her tour of her home, after months of writing to the other.

“Welcome to Orynth – and to Terrasen. Formalities aren’t necessary – any friend of Feyre is a friend of mine, and can call be Aelin.”

A hand waved now, towards the fae who accompany her – introducing each ( her husband, her cousin, her bloodsworn ). An apology on behalf of Lysandra, whom she knows the girl beside her had been eager to meet, and a promise that she’ll be here to visit in several days. At her question now, her smile deepens with a nod, and Aelin volunteers her own mate ( admittedly not a Lucien-equivalent, given he’s the Consort to the crown but one she knows will do as she asks anyway ) to give the political tour, before flashing an utterly effervescent smile to HIGH LORD before her.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be stealing your wife for the foreseeable future.”

Arm linked within her now, she doesn’t hesitate to make good on that claim, squeezing her hand lightly as she turns to glance her direction.

the laughter that aelin pulls from her is almost melodic, brunette waves tossed back as her head tilts from the challenging look that aelin and rhysand share between each other. her mate holds the stare for a beat longer and feyre knows it’s because of how he enjoys her laugh; when she sobers, his starlight hues flicker to hers and the mirth is mirrored, all before he curtly nods and follows rowan’s lead. cassian does his best to remain stoic, but he does lean down as he sweeps by, whispering to the queen and high lady: “bring back some chocolate cake for me.”  

she would shake her head if she didn’t entirely understand. “i’m sorry,” tumbles from her lips as their company departs. “actually... no, i’m not going to apologise for him. this isn’t the summer court.” the made fae waves a dismissive hand as she straightens, standing without using aelin’s body as a leaning post. a noise of thought resonates in the base of her throat as she begins to wander backwards, clasping hands in front of her body; at first, she had intended to play it off jovially, but pensive thought creeps its way in after feyre had made it a few paces away. her feet slow to a stop and she turns to her friend, brows furrowed.