#feyrhys

There had been many—countless, Nesta would argue—idiotic, brainless things that Feyre had done in her life. There was the time she’d left her passport locked in a hostel safe and had driven three hours on the motorway before she’d realized. There was the time when she’d snuck one of the bottles of vodka her father used to keep stored in the freezer and decided she’d get away with it by replenishing what was consumed with water, only for their father to discover a frozen bottle the following evening. Or, worst of all, there was the summer she’d given herself bangs.

They were all inconsequential in retrospect, now knowing how each of those little mistakes panned out. But at the time, they had felt world-ending.

And maybe there was a solace to find in how trivial those moments felt in reflection. Like one day in the future, Feyre would look back on herself now and laugh softly, saying, Remember how scared I was? I thought the world was coming down around me, but it was only just a new path forging.

That was a nice idea, except this new path was not solid stone, steady underfoot. Nor was it gravel, rough and uneven, easy to slip and unforgiving beneath a fall. No, this new path was quicksand. There was no standing still; there was no scraping together her bearings. This path decided that she was moving one way or another—either sinking to the bottom, suffocating in her own indecision, or scrambling forward in an attempt to keep her head above the surface.

And maybe there wasn’t a way forward at all. Maybe there was only going down, like she was trapped in a sand dial, feeling the ground shift and fall away, every ticking second measured. It certainly felt like there was glass sealed behind her—she knew there was no going back. There was no undoing the purple eyes and velvet laugh and stupid black dress.

Would she one day laugh about this? Who was to say. She wasn’t laughing now. She was fighting the bile creeping up her throat as she sat on the cool tile of her bathroom floor, glaring at the porcelain bowl because it was better than glaring at her phone. Feyre couldn’t say for certain if it was morning sickness that had triggered her nausea or the text that had woken her up.

Feeling better?

Feyre was running out of excuses. A stomach bug only lasts for so long. It was becoming a matter of time before someone busted down her door and demanded she go to the emergency room.

Yes, she texted back.

The response was immediate. I have the day off. Breakfast at 10?

Sure.

It was an effort to heft herself from the floor. It was more of an effort not to grimace when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She fixed her eyes on the faucet, on her shaking hands cupping the water, scooping it into her face, and then into her mouth to rinse out the bile.

She didn’t look that different, not really. There was no pregnancy bump yet. If anything, she’d lost weight. Nausea could do that, but so could guilt. Six weeks ago, she’d had sex with a stranger, with Rhysand, and now there was a life growing in her stomach.

Google said a baby was roughly the size of a pea at six weeks. If that was true, then the weight of keeping this secret made it the heaviest gods-damned pea in existence.

“Have you told him?” Alis said in greeting as Feyre ambled into the kitchen.

Steam curled from the mug in her hands, carrying the scent of freshly roasted coffee. Feyre resisted the urge to cover her nose.

“No,” she said, evading her roommate in a wide arc.

Alis arched a brow. “Will you tell him?”

The bitter smell was so affronting that Feyre could think of little else. A gag built in her throat, which she did a poor job of hiding by darting for the fridge. It was the empty stomach. She needed to eat something, or she was going to puke again.

Feyre settled for an apple and took a long time chewing before she turned back to Alis. She swallowed. “Eventually.”

“The longer you wait—”

“I know,” Feyre interrupted.

Of course she knew. It was all she’d been thinking about. But how? How did she look him in the eyes and say, I’m pregnant? She couldn’t even do it in the mirror—and she’d tried. There were a thousand versions of the script she was constantly writing and rewriting in her head, all those words swirling until they had become a living creature of mist and shadow. One that loomed over her shoulder at all times of the day. She’d somehow convinced herself it would only become real if she acknowledged it.

Alis said little else. She was the only one who knew, by virtue of being on the other side of the door when Feyre had taken her pregnancy test. Though, Alis wasn’t dense, and it wouldn’t have taken her long to peg the morning nausea, the aversion to certain foods. They didn’t say much about it. Not yet. Alis had only offered her unilateral support and given Feyre time and space to dissect her maelstrom of emotions.

And three days ago, when Feyre decided she was going to keep the baby, Alis had said simply, “Then you need to tell him.”

A firm, unwavering reminder she’d repeated each day since. Feyre clenched her teeth to keep from snapping. She knew that, in her own way, Alis was being kind. Time would only exacerbate the issue. But objectivity did little quell Feyre’s kindling irritation. Words bubbled behind her clenched teeth, building into a pressure that made her want to scream: no-fucking-duh.

She didn’t scream. She politely took her apple and her keys and murmured that she would be back soon. Maybe she could have shut the front door with less force, but at least now she could blame her Archeron temper on her hormones.

Feyre rapped her knuckles over the steering wheel. She was parked outside the cafe, and through the large glass pane at the front, she could spot him sitting inside. His posture seemed relaxed enough, his handsome face angled down towards his phone. A second later, hers pinged from its mount on the dashboard.

I’m here. Are you close?

She met her own eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue, like an overcast sea, their mother had always said, reasoning it was why her eldest and youngest were such forces of nature. There was a swelling storm that Feyre could never escape, because it lived inside her. And now she could feel the tide in her chest retreating from the shore, pulling further and further back, and she knew it would crash if she went inside, that it would swallow them both whole.

Be a big girl, she told herself. Go in there and tell him the truth.

She took a deep inhale. Held it, hoping it could hold back the tide, too.

Then, it was only a matter of unlocking her door. Walking the few steps towards the front entrance. Listening to the pealing bell as she pulled open the door.

“Feyre?”

Blonde hair swam into view. The greeting was so unexpected, so startling, that Feyre released the breath she’d been holding.

Then it all crashed down.

Brows pinched together. “Feyre, are you okay?”

Mor had the sense to keep her voice at a whisper. From the way she glanced over her shoulder towards the man hunched over in the booth, it was clear she had put together who Feyre was here to see.

Tears sprung into Feyre’s vision—not because she was crying, but because she couldn’t breathe. The tide was surging around her, clogging her throat, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t—

Mor grabbed Feyre by the shoulders and pushed them out of the cafe.

The early Autumn was as indecisive as Feyre. Yesterday, she’d been sweating through her t-shirt. Today, the air stung her cheeks. Maybe the weather had seen a kindred spirit, a storm that could never quite find stillness, and decided to take pity. The cold calmed her, embraced her, reminded her where she was. Outside. With Mor. Where there was plenty of open space and fresh air. The blockage in her throat loosened. She took a gasping breath, then another.

“You’re okay,” Mor soothed.

“I’m okay,” Feryre repeated. To assure Mor or herself, she wasn’t certain.

Mor took in Feyre’s strained voice, her flushed cheeks, the nails digging into her palms and gestured towards one of the outdoor tables. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Maybe… maybe a trial run could be a good thing.

Her eyes drifted over Mor’s shoulder to where Tamlin sat waiting at a table inside. If she glanced at her phone, she probably had another text waiting from him. Growing impatient.

“He can wait,” Mor said, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” Feyre rasped. “Talking would be… nice.”

It was a little too cold for the iron chairs, which seared through Feyre’s leggings. But the cold calmed her, and she appreciated the privacy. The lack of sounds and smells.

Mor was ever-patient, waiting for Feyre to speak.

When it was clear that she wouldn’t, Mor said, “How have you been? That was some night out, huh?”

Right. That was the last time she’d seen or spoken to Mor. Feyre had been meaning to respond to her text—Heyy! Fun night? 😏

And the follow-up one a day later. My cousin is asking for your phone number. Is it okay if I share it?

They’d both seem innocent enough and at first, Feyre hadn’t answered because she’d felt a twinge of guilt for not staying long enough to meet Mor’s cousin. Then, because Tamlin had showed up at her door with a bouquet of apologies and she hadn’t known how to explain to her friend that she’d taken him back. Nor how to explain to Tamlin that she’d had a one night stand during their breakup.

Then she’d found out she was pregnant, and she hadn’t said much of anything to anyone.

“Yeah,” Feyre said, numbness growing where her legs pressed to the chair.

“And now you’re back with Tamlin,” Mor said slowly, waiting for Feyre to fill in the gaps.

The iron latticework of the outdoor table was much more interesting.

Mor sounded disappointed as she probed, “You said it was the last time you guys were breaking up.”

Feyre mustered all the cheer she could force into her voice. “It was the last time. We’re not going to break up again.”

She’d felt much more confident about that line when she’d said it three weeks ago to a disapproving Alis. Already, Feyre could feel that creature slither over her shoulder, hissing into her ear. If she turned, its pupils would be slitted into two digital lines that begged her acknowledgment.

“Right,” Mor said. “And yet, you came into this cafe looking like you were about to burst into tears because…?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” Feyre blurted.

And there it was. That creature turned real. She felt it reach through her chest and tug. Suddenly, all of that sea water she’d swallowed a moment ago came rising to the surface, and her body regurgitated the words that had been drowning her.

“It’s not Tamlin’s. It’s… remember the guy I met at the club? The one with the purple eyes? It was supposed to be this stupid, drunken one night stand, only first names—I don’t even have his number, Mor. I have some nameless, mysterious baby daddy, and I haven’t told Tamlin because I know he’s going to be…” she blinked back the sting in her eyes. “He’s going to be so furious with me.”

Mor was gaping. Whatever she’d expected… it clearly hadn’t been that.

Waiting for her friend’s reaction felt like treading water in a deep, bottomless ocean. But at least she wasn’t drowning anymore. At least the creature had receded back into the shadows, and her breathing was shallow but still filling her lungs.

Then Mor’s eyes flickered over Feyre’s shoulder. Her expression morphed into such panic that Feyre whirled, only to be met face to face with those shocking purple eyes so wide that she could only assume he’d heard the whole damn thing.

“Feyre,” Mor croaked from behind.

But Feyre couldn’t tear her eyes away from Rhys. In the time since their one night stand, Feyre convinced herself she’d exaggerated his appearance. Three shots of tequila could make anyone beautiful. But here she was, stone-cold sober, fighting her jaw not to drop at the sight of him.

The same short black hair she tugged beneath her fingers was now slightly wind-swept, some of it falling to his face in endearing curls that she concluded were purposefully arranged. He was wearing a navy sweater with a white collared shirt beneath—infuriatingly put together, where she was still sniffing back tears, dressed in her same paint-stained clothes from yesterday.

She’d prepared scripts for him, too, though she always imagined he was someone she would take years to track down. That she’d have time to prepare what to say to him, how to move forward knowing their lives were irrevocably entwined.

“Feyre,” Mor said again after awkwardly clearing her throat. “Meet my cousin, Rhysand.”

Cousin. The one who wanted her number.

“Oh,” Feyre whispered, so many horrible details clicking into place.

Rhysand mustered enough composure to manage a strained: “It’s great to see you again, Feyre.”

Feyre dropped her head into her hands. “Oh my god.”

A chair scraped against the pavement.

Mor said, “I’ll give you two a moment alone.”

She peaked between her fingers, just enough to watch Mor retreat towards the cafe. Likely playing guard dog to ensure Tamlin didn’t stumble upon them. She heard Rhys walk around the table, his footsteps light, as if he were approaching an animal he didn’t want to startle. Then, a pair of broad hands swam into vision as he gripped the back of Mor’s deserted chair, his brown knuckles paling.

He didn’t sit. She could feel his gaze like a leaden weight, so heavy that she couldn’t gather the strength to raise her head.

“When did you find out?” He asked eventually.

Feyre searched for any accusation in his voice, but it was gentle. She lifted her head, finding that some of his shock had thawed, though his expression was unreadable.

“A week ago,” she said.

“Have you…” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Do you know what you want to do?”

This is where she braced herself. She knew her voice was creeping towards defensive as she said levelly, “I’m keeping the baby.”

Rhysand swallowed thickly. Nodded. “Okay.”

Okay. That knocked her a bit off guard. The lack of questions, of demand for her justification. She’d been preparing for a fight with Tamlin and felt stranded in the face of such simple, ready acceptance. It had to be a trap.

“It was my decision,” Feyre said, plowing ahead. “So I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t need to be… involved. I have no delusion that we’d ever be some perfect nuclear family. If you want to just walk away, this is your chance.”

“And,” Rhysand broached with such caution that Feyre’s spine straightened, “if I want to be involved… would that be okay with you?”

“We’d need to work something out,” she said, ignoring how her voice cracked. Mor’s family came from money. She could already imagine the legal proceedings, the paperwork, the negotiations over days of the week and alternating Christmases. At least Nesta was a lawyer. “I don’t want to get the courts involved. But if it goes that direction—“

“It won’t need to,” he said. “We can play it by ear, do whatever feels right. I just… I’d like to be involved. Starting now.”

The excruciating weight of that small little pea plummeted in her chest. “Starting now?”

Rhys nodded. “If you need someone to drive you to the appointments, or if you need me to pitch in for baby supplies. I’m… I want to help.”

“I’ll think about it.”

His face fell a little.

If she shut him out completely, a lawyer was guaranteed to come knocking at her door. Feyre added, “It’d be nice to get to know you before anything else.”

“Would you like to grab a coffee together?”

“As friends,” Feyre hedged. “I know we—” An image flashed in her mind of those fingers in her mouth, between her thighs. She tried not to flush. “—you know. But I have a boyfriend now. And I’m not looking for you to be my…”

She searched for a word but found none that quite articulated what, exactly, Rhys would be to her.

Baby daddy?

“I just want us to be friends,” she clarified.

His perfect lips, which had once expertly kissed and licked and teased her, edged into a smile. “Then would you like to grab a coffee together as friends?”

“Yes.” She smiled back and found that the pea in her stomach didn’t feel quite so heavy. “Not today, though. I’m, uh… meeting my boyfriend.”

“And I’m meeting my cousin.”

“Right.” Feyre reached stiffly into her pocket, retrieving her phone. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text you?”

The iron chair practically sighed in relief as Rhysand released it from his death grip. His motions were stiff, too, she noted, as he punched in his number and handed it back to her a tad too mechanically.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted it back, and she felt for the second time that day like she couldn’t breathe. Their eyes met, held. “You say the word, Feyre darling. Any time, any place, and I’m yours.”

She thought she might have said something back or just stared dumbly at his obscenely beautiful face. She couldn’t remember, and he didn’t say anything else before he nodded his goodbye and chased after Mor.

At last, I cracked open my bleary eyes, letting the sounds of the city filter in. Through the open window, I could hear children playing in the streets and the faint sound of a street performer warbling a familiar melody.

By all accounts, a perfect morning. The kind I prayed for every day – the kind I never stopped being thankful for, glad that peace was in Prythian once more. Though years had passed since the War, I had never forgotten the cries of Velaris’s people as they took in the bloody, brutal world forced upon them.

Never again, I had promised myself. I would never let blood flow through these streets again. And mercifully, the city had remained safe in all the years since.

Rising from the bed and twisting to loosen my stiff muscles, I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and change into a loose-fitting silken top and stretchy pants. The top was cropped, revealing a sliver of my stomach. A sliver that was now gently curving with life.

Rhys and I had rejoiced when we found out. After so many years of trying, the Mother had granted us the gift of life at last. I was five months along now, and if my vision of the Bone Carver was to be believed, I was carrying a baby boy.

Fixing my hair into a loose braid that fell straight down my back, I took a quick look in the mirror, assessing.

For what, I wasn’t quite sure.

If I was ready to face the thing I had promised myself I would do?

Ready or not, there could be no more putting it off. It would be today.

I had tried to broach the subject half a dozen times with Rhys already, only to lose my nerve each time. Not because I was afraid of what he would say, but - because of my own selfishness. He was certainly growing suspicious that something was bothering me, though he hadn't pushed.

The door closed with a slight creak as I stepped from the bedroom into the cerulean-blue hallway. Between my hearing and the bond, I could sense that Rhys was down in our study, undoubtedly chipping away at the never-ending paperwork. It was clear that against insistence that he rouse me if I slept in, my mate had taken on the extra work himself.

I supposed I should consider it a blessing I was capable of sleeping late in the first place. It certainly hadn’t always been the case. In the years after the war, nightmares of being torn from my family, of Rhys being torn from me, had haunted me. The worst of them had made sleeping nearly impossible the rest of the night – both Rhys and I held each other through the worst of our panic plenty of times.

Nevertheless, it was actually ideal that Rhys was in the study - it meant I could catch him alone. The heavy weight I was carrying rested itself on my shoulders, at odds with the joy in my womb.

Making my way down the steps and into the study, I cracked the door open to the familiar sight of Rhys hunched over a lengthy document.

“Good morning,” I said softly, watching as he looked up from his position at the desk, surrounded by stacks of files.

My mate smiled – full of that gentle warmth I loved so well. “Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” I said, sitting down on the armchair in the corner. “You could have woken me up, you know. With Mor on the continent, I know there’s more deskwork for us than usual.”

“And deprive you of your beauty sleep? You deserved some rest.”

I shook my head, knowing this was a discussion I wouldn’t win.

“Are you busy?” I asked instead, cutting to the chase.

“I can always make time for you,” he responded, closing the file he had been poring over with a bit of gusto. “And I’ll take any excuse to get out of reading this damn report. Some of our courtiers never learned how to summarize, it would seem.”

I motioned for him to come to sit beside me. “I know this morning might seem odd timing, but I want to talk to you about something.”

Worry lined his face as he stood up quickly, crossing the room to perch on the arm of the chair. Realizing immediately how awkward this positioning was, I stood again, letting him slide into the seat and fold me in his arms.

It was a similar position to the very night we needed to talk about, only instead of the townhouse roof, we were in the study.

“What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”

I shook my head. “No – nothing like that. Or, rather, I suppose this does have to do with the baby, in a way, but nothing is wrong. Our baby is perfectly healthy.”

He loosed a breath and waited for me to continue. I made myself look into his eyes rather than staring at my twin-tattooed hands.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the future lately. Our future, and the future of our family. And the Court. This life – our life is dangerous. We’ve always known that, and I wouldn’t give up this life with you for anything – but we both know that there is always some threat.”

Rhys nodded slowly, and I could see the unspoken question in his eyes. Where is this going?

“Our baby will be here in four months, and things are going to change. A lot of our personal decisions won’t just be about us anymore – they’ll be about him.” I let my right hand rest on my belly as Rhys took the left in his own.

“I’ve been thinking,” I repeated, “about that night on the rooftop, after the war ended.” Our first night at home, safe. The first night I truly let myself believe we would all have a future.

I couldn’t quite meet his eyes, though I sensed there was no anger or disappointment in them. Instead, I focused on the bridge of his nose, and the tilt of his chin, and kept barreling forward.

“If something were to happen to us in these next years…I don’t want our child to grow up alone. I don’t want them facing the vultures of Prythian alone, or ruling so young – or for the throne to go to Keir. But most of all, I don’t want them to grow up orphaned.” I paused, and Rhys’s breath hitched. He had been grown when they died, but I knew he was seeing the heads of his mother and sister, the limp body of his father. Killed because of their places in the world. Because of the political power that lay in taking their lives.

“Rhys, I have no idea what kind of parent or leader I would be without you. But the bargain we made that night, binding our lives together – it was selfish. Of both of us. It was a promise made between two people who were so desperate for stability. We had so many open wounds then, and we needed that promise to keep going. And it wasn't a bad thing, but I think..." I took a deep breath, even though I could tell Rhys already had a good idea of what I was going to say.

“I think it’s time we release each other from that promise to go together. We’ve already had some close calls over the years – they can’t keep happening, not when we have a child.”

Rhys went very, very still. I dared look into his eyes again -his gaze was somewhere far away.

“Rhys?” I said softly. When he didn’t respond, I whispered his name down the bond. His shields were up - I couldn't sense any emotion getting through.

 “Rhys.” A question, a request, a plea. “Are you alright? Talk to me, please. Don’t misunderstand me, I love you more than anything, and that will never change.” I let my shields down as I only did with him, letting a wave of undeniable love wash down the bond. 

A long moment passed before I heard his voice in my mind, accompanied by a growing feeling of distress.  

“I understand. Feyre. I understand why you want to do this. I don’t want our child growing up alone either. But this – I don’t know if I can.”

At last, I tilted my eyes to his. They were filled with conflicting emotions, and pain I wasn’t sure how to handle.

“I still hear your neck snap,” he said into my mind, those six words conveying everything he needed to say.

“And I still see you on the ground, before the Cauldron,” I responded, not unkindly, but – with force behind the words. I would never forget the sight of him splayed out on the ground with nothing but roaring emptiness on the other side of the bond. It sent a chill over me even now, a century later. “We both have wounds, Rhys. We have both cheated death.”

“I don’t know if I could ever…” he said out loud, letting out a shuddering breath, as a few tears rolled down his face. I raised my hand to his cheek, brushing them away.

Long moments passed in silence, and I let him sort through his thoughts. I felt it when his shields finally came down and he let me in.

"I'm sorry for keeping you out. I just needed a minute." I felt all of his love and sorrow, his anguish through the bridge between us.

"It's alright, love," I soothed. "This isn't easy for me either, to say the least."

“You’re right,” he said bluntly. “I wish you weren’t, but I can’t deny that you are. As usual. I would never be right without you again, Feyre. Losing you – I can’t let myself imagine it. But…I understand what you’re saying. Our child is just as important. If this is what’s best for him, you know I will do it.”

Gently, I tugged my hand out of his grasp, reaching for the sleeve of his left arm. I rolled the cuff back to the elbow, revealing the entirety of the swirling black cuff covering his forearm. The twin to both of mine, though his didn’t extend to his hand.

I raised his arm towards me, pressing my lips to the inside of his wrist, just where clear skin gave away to swirling ink. Where I could feel the steady beat of his pulse. Alive and strong, my mate. I didn’t want to think of life without him either, and the tears I had been keeping back welled up at last.

Rhys took a shuddering breath, pulling me closer and inhaling my scent. It had changed over the last few months, now intertwined with the baby’s.

In turn, he took both of my hands in his, palms up, where eyes were inked in the center.

“I’ll still have this one,” I said, wiggling the fingers of my right arm. “I’m not going anywhere, Rhys. I’m still here.”

“I know,” he said into my mind, still sounding as shaky as I felt. “No sense in delaying it, then. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I said, even though it was a lie.

There was a time I had hated the tattoo marking our very first bargain. I had hoped for it to be broken, scowling at the eye marked in the center. Now, I could hardly imagine myself without it. Not after all these years.  

My right hand dropped as he held the left, his eyes not leaving mine.

I didn’t quite know what to expect. When the King of Hybern had cleaved our bargain, there had been nothing but blinding, paralyzing pain and a prayer for it to be over. But that had been done out of hatred, and this was done out of love.

“I release you from your bargain, Feyre,” Rhys said. All I felt was a slight tingling as the tattoo slowly disappeared, erasing first at my elbow and working down to the tips of my fingers. My arm seemed stark and bare now, especially compared to the ornate designs remaining on my other. It was as if it had never been there in the first place.

I cradled his forearm in my hands and repeated his words. “I release you from your bargain, Rhysand.” Magic flowed through me as I willed the words into being, and the cuff around his arm disappeared the same way mine had.

In the absence of our bargain, all we had was silence. We stayed nestled into each other for a long time, my head on his shoulder, savoring his unfailing strength. Silent tears flowed down both of our cheeks until our eyes were red and puffy.

Finally, I broke the silence, not moving from my position.

“This doesn’t mean I love you any less, Rhys. Every piece of my heart still belongs to you, it always will. Nothing, not death or life or hardship, will change that."

My mate gave me a gentle kiss. “I know, Feyre. I understand, and I agree with this choice. It’s what's right. But I still want to spend an eternity with you. And if I am the first to go, I’ll wait for you on the other side, for as long as it takes.”

The tears were still flowing – neither of us could seem to stop them. Because we knew that no matter how much time passed together, it would never be enough. I wanted all that the future had to offer now as much as I had a century ago. I wanted it with him.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I said, reassuring myself as much as him. “Can you see the future? I may not have Elain’s gifts, but I think I can. I see you, and me, and our child and our family. I see peace in Prythian.”

It was idealistic, but we both needed it, and Rhys didn't say anything to contradict me. He only nodded.

“I see it.”

Perhaps one day – after we had seen and done all we needed to, all we wanted – perhaps then we could fade into the blessed darkness together. But not now. Not for many, many years.

We held each other for a bit longer, before Rhys quirked a small smile. “That’s twice now you’ve lost that tattoo, darling. We’ll have to think of something else to bargain for, so I can match you again.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something. Don’t we always?” I smiled back at him and saw the unconditional love shining in his eyes, unchanged.

We would do this. For our court, for our child, for our futures.

We would be alright.

----

AN: Thank you for reading! The updated version can also be found under the old listing on Ao3. If you really want to read the old version for whatever reason, it can be found in the depths of my blog!

The wind whistled past her ear, her soft golden hair caressed her cheek. Birds chirped from where she peaked behind the rough and patchy brown bark of the willow tree. The hanging branches swayed and rustled with the wind, creating a melody only known the forest. The sweet musky perfume of the heart wafted to her nose, along with another scent, sea and citrus. A scent that was unknown to her.

Her eyes caught sight of an unusual creature, one that was not known to travel this deep. Humans, her kind named them. Creatures that were told to have no kindness in their hearts and destroyed the very forest they worshipped.

This male human stood in the river, holding a long stick-like shape. A sword. Why the human held one, she couldn’t comprehend. As quick as light, he slashed his sword through the water. The water rippled as droplets fell from the metal…and the fish speared on the end.

She gasped as she realised what he had done. Just as quickly his head whipped in her direction and she dashed behind the willow. Her heart thundered in her ears, her palms became damp and her wings fluttered with nerves. She focused on quietening her heart as she desperately tried to listen for the crunching of leaves.

When she felt enough time had passed, she glanced from behind the large tree. The male was still there but he was now closer, much closer. She hadn’t heard him move which sent her heart soaring. Feyre turned back and launched herself off the ground, her storm-blue wings glinted in the sun as they fluttered rapidly behind her.

She didn’t dare look back and flew as fast as she could, until she was long gone from the heart of the forest. Until she passed through the shimmering wall and into the fairy grove. Her home.

*****

After days, she worked up the courage to visit her favourite place. She found herself sitting on a rock, feet dangling into the cool water as she spoke to the fish in the river. Their scales sparkled iridescently as they surfaced, words pouring from their gaping mouths. She found that these river fish had lots to say.

“Green fins said yellow nose had ugly gills!”

“Do you like my new scales?”

“I want a new river!”

“Do you think fish can fly?”

She listened so intently, finding herself smiling and often laughing. Fish were theatrical creatures.

“Have you seen the latest river rocks collection?”

“A crab moved into the river. I don’t like crabs.”

“Did you hear blue gills lost his fins!”

“—a human boy near the river”

A human boy? Was it the same male she saw not a few days ago. Her curiosity got the best of her as she leapt into the air, her wings held her afloat as water droplets fell from her feet.

Feyre listened to the sound for the sound of the forest, she used her instincts and connection to the meadow as her guide.

She caught sight of raven locks and as the male turned, she was captured by the intensity of his sparkling violet eyes. It was the same male that hunted from the heart. She hid in the tree forage as she watched him from a distance, never allowing herself to be revealed.

Feyre followed him, the forest changing with every step. The trees slowly dwindled, and the grass gradually lost the vibrance of life. Plants became few and far between, and flowers rapidly diminished. Her beautiful sacred forest was becoming lifeless. Her forest was dying.

Eventually, the air she breathed became clouded and dense, the dirt beneath her feet turned to gravel as they reach the outskirts of a village. The male stopped at the house furthest from the village. Why any human would live in such a house was unknown to her. It didn’t even look liveable.

As the human walked inside the house, she darted up to the side and glanced over the thresh of the windowsill, into the house. She saw the male walk in and place a new fish on the tabletop. She heard him call a name and then suddenly little feet tapped along the wood of the floor. A little girl with dark hair and violet eyes just like his own, ran up to him as he knelt and embraced her.

Suddenly, she realised why he was in the forest. Why this human had ventured so deep. He was providing for the little girl, his sister, and it seemed, he was the only one able to. Something inside her cracked open. Stories and chronicles depicted humans with no kindness in their hearts. That they were vicious and selfish beasts that would take and take and take until nothing was left. This human seemed to be the complete opposite, he had far too much selflessness and kindness.

She understood now and as she left, her heart felt lighter with the knowledge that there were creatures with love in their hearts.

*****

As time passed, Feyre found she enjoyed watching the human work. He was wonderful, she believed it in more ways than one. It may have been days, may have been weeks but all the time in the world couldn’t stop her from study him, his unique eyes. She did not know of any fairy that possessed such and it made her awfully curious. She would watch him hunt, no longer fearful of the act, and follow him home.

She started bringing her sketchbook, admiring his features and putting them on paper. He was beautiful, even by fairy standards.

On one warm afternoon, she was doing just as she did the day before. She walked the path she knew by memory. Feyre felt the soft dirt and silky grass as she trudged along the hidden path. She felt the cool press of metal, then heard a click and a snap, and suddenly she was in the air. She dangled upside down, her foot was tied. Her wings fluttered desperately, and her hands grappled at the rope. Her panic set in and she didn’t notice the approaching footsteps.

She did hear the snap of a stick and her head whipped in the direction of the sound. A gasp tore from her throat as the male she had been watching, the human male, was standing before her, looking at her as if she was the strange one. His eyes were wide and his mouth was parted in shock. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, there was a ringing in her ears, and her heart beat like it never had before. This was it. Humans truly were terrible creatures, she should have listened to the stories. They had no kindness, no love, and hunted until they destroyed. The daydream she’d created as an escape, was a lie.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” his words did little to calm her as her heart raced and she gasped for air.

She barely focused on the human's movements, her inner turmoil the spectacle. When she was suddenly falling, her wings squashed beneath her, she finally focused on the male crouched before her.

Feyre shot up, only for the rope to pull her back down. The pale skin of her ankle began to turn red with her rapid movements. She dropped to the ground, arms reaching, attempting to remove the rope from her searing skin.

“Let me help you,” Feyre flinched, unaware of how close he had gotten. He tentatively grabbed her foot as her body trembled. The male gently placed one hand under her heel, the other drifting to the rope. He twisted and untied, untangling the ropes like it was a puzzle. She still feared him but was fascinated with how his hands moved around the rope.

“How did this happen,” he muttered under his breath. Feyre chose not to answer. He looked at her, his violet eyes piercing her own. “Have you been following me?” Feyre felt heat rise to her cheeks, the male chuckled.

“What’s your name, darling?” Her entire face flamed at the pet name. His question was met with silence and guarded eyes. “I’m Rhysand but call me Rhys,” he continued. She still didn’t reply and he sighed, his hand continued untying the knot surrounding her ankle.

Minutes drifted by in silence, the hissing of rope the only sound to be heard. Feyre studied Rhys as he worked on her foot. He was truly beautiful, magically so. Her hand reached out, fingertips gently traced the highlines of his cheeks. His skin was smooth to the touch, soft and silky.

Her fingers led their own path, creating patterns only known to her. They slowly drifted towards his ears, very different from her own, round opposed to her pointed ones. Feyre traced the shell of his ear, awed by his human features.

It wasn’t until he placed her foot on the ground she realised she had been staring… and that he stared back. Their eyes locked, his seemed to hold the very nights sky she worshipped.

“Feyre, my name is Feyre,” she whispered. His answering smile was enough to send her heart racing.

She stood abruptly, confused by her feelings. Feyre offered her gratitude and began slowly walking backwards. She was grateful for his kindness but she wasn’t ready to trust him yet, to offer up a part of herself willing, not after growing up on bedtime stories that instilled fear.

Rhys took a step forward, then stopped. He seemed to debate whether to follow her. “Will you come back?” he asked, eyes shining with the hope to see her again.

She began to lift from the ground, her wings sparkled in the light and her feet were inches from the ground. She gave him the most honest answer from her heart. “Maybe,” she replied, a grin formed at his expression as she fluttered away from the fascinating human male.

*****

Feyre was in utter bliss. That’s what it felt like when he smiled at her, when his hands touched her skin, when his lips caressed her own. Rhysand was her everything.

“Feyre—,“ he didn’t get to finish his sentence as she silenced him with a kiss. He didn't seem to mind when his soft lips caressed her own.

“Feyre...I need...to...” he said between kisses. “I…have…to… Feyre,” he moaned as she ran her fingers through his hair, gently tugging his mouth back to hers.

He eventually pulled away, resting his forehead on hers as she breathed in his salt and citrus scent. It was magnetic, she leaned back in to feel the soft press of his lips. He leaned back but only to smile down at her.

“I have to go back,” he whispered as Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Come back with me,” she whispered. Rhys stilled and his eyes glazed over. She thought she may have done something wrong. Was he scared to come back with her? She thought if you loved someone enough anything could be possible. “I can’t Feyre, my sister—”

Oh. In her newfound happiness she momentarily forgot about his family. The dark feelings inside her grew. She was desperate to not be separated from her love. “She can come with us and then we can be together,” she said, her heart rapidly beating. He gave her a look and she had been around him, studied him for so long, she knew what it meant. “I can make you like me. You can have wings. Rhysand please, don’t leave me,” she whispered brokenly.

Rhys pulled Feyre into his arms. “Darling, I will never leave you. You are my love. But your people—“

“Don’t worry about them. You know what I am,” she muttered, referring to the hidden marks that glittered silver when she was in fairy grove. The ancient runes of intricate swirls flowed around her body. They were the markings of her people, the markings of her family, passed down generations, bestowed upon the chosen heir.

“A princess.”

“The princess. I can make all your magical dreams come true,” she grinned up at her prince. “Fairy grove can provide for you and we can be together.”

“Does that mean we can be together together?”

“Of course,” she said, a slight frown edged into her features. She didn’t understand until Rhys knelt on one knee, hands reaching into his back pocket to pull out a ring.

The ring was beautiful. Twisted strands of gold and silver, flecked with pearl and set with a stone of deepest blue. She was completely overwhelmed, tears blurred her vision. “Feyre, my love, my darling, the last year has been the happiest of my life all because you were in it. When I first saw you in the forest, I thought you were the most beautiful creature I had seen. I was wrong. You are the most beautiful creature, inside and out. Every day I look forward to hearing your laugh or seeing your smile but what I look forward to the most is just being with you. Being able to talk to you, being able to love you, to just being your friend. You are the shining light in my world of darkness. Feyre Archeron, will you make me the happiest person by becoming my wife?”

Feyre’s knees gave out as she launched at Rhys, almost knocking him to the ground. She took his face between her hands, her eyes staring into his. “Yes, yes I will marry you,” she sobbed and Rhysand kissed her. The kiss was tender and full of so much love. When they broke apart, he placed the ring on her finger. They both admired how the ring fit her perfectly.

Rhys covered her hand with his own, entwining their fingers. Together they walked hand in hand as Feyre led Rhys to fairy grove, her home. Many kisses were shared on the way and by the time they reached the border, the sun had fallen. The sky shimmered as Feyre guided Rhys through the border.

Feyre smiled at her prince as she showed him her home. At the centre of the meadow was a grassland surrounded by a circle of stones. The ancient grounds were the one place uncovered by the trees forage, allowing the stars to twinkle down upon fairies. The area was sacred and often used in many celebrations.

Tonight the stars were witnesses as Rhys and Feyre declared their eternal and undying love for each other. When they finally completed the rite with a kiss and they were married in the eyes of the stars, did Rhys begin to change. His ears elongated, eyes brightened but most noticeably he grew wings, very similar to her own. Beautiful black translucent wings bloomed from his back, sparkling purple iridescent when light shined upon them.

Feyre had given him wings just as she promised. They could live thousands of lifetimes together as husband and wife, lovers, friends and fairies.

To never feeling alone again.