ACOMAF (Rhys's POV)

Not a Game (Chapter 35- 37)

Feyre wore quite the number to dinner two days after our little heart-to-heart. And I wasn't sorry she did.

I only saw her in the evenings. When I'd come visit her room with Amren to debrief the day's meetings and check-in on where we stood with the Book of Breathings. Feyre had found nothing thus far and Varian's commentary on armada fleets was still dry as toast.

But the meetings kept Feyre free of Tarquin - and Cresseida, who watched her like a hawk. We seemed to have come to some sort of mutual understanding since I'd snapped in her bedroom and Feyre didn't seem to mind so much how much time I kept with Cresseida just as I didn't mind so much when Tarquin's gaze consumed her over dinner.

It was simply work now. Even the delicate, smokey grey dress hugging Feyre tightly as the gift from Tarquin she'd shown me wrapped a pretty little bow around her neck on full display. All of it work.

I'd been taking meetings with Tarquin and his family when a soft knock tapped on my shields, a knock that carried the pine and sunshine of Feyre with it. I offered her a sliver to curl her fingers into and received a brief vision of an old, tired building out on a tiny island of sand half buried by the tide. That was all she handed over before she slipped outside again and I knew.

She'd found where the Book of Breathings was hidden - or at least, where she thought it was.

And Nuala had certainly done her job well helping Feyre to confirm it. Tarquin had looked smug every time he admired the jewels glittering around her throat over cocktails and appetizers infused by the sea.

But I had a feeling Feyre wouldn't have needed the necklace, nor the dress. She was a marvel all through dinner on her own, dancing past Cresseida's frosty exterior until it had melted into a cool regard, as well as Varian's feeble attempts at biting back commentary in all the wrong places. And the stories she wove about her day in the city were smooth and well inflected enough that Tarquin was charmed before he'd finished his first glass of wine.

I was charmed just watching her orchestrate it all. She was so focused now that she'd scented blood in the water.

"You ate it right there," Tarquin said, complete surprise when Feyre revealed she'd eaten fish straight from the docks that day. Her face was all aglow. Tarquin may have wanted to marry her right then.

I suppressed a sigh.

Soon we'd get the book. Soon we'd betray these kind, welcoming people and repay their hospitality with lies and grievances. I hoped very much - for their sake - that Feyre didn't fail getting in and out of that house out to sea undetected.

I leaned forward instead, chin on my fist as I rejected dinner altogether to listen. Feyre was much more delicious anyway. "They fried it with the other fishermen's lunches," Feyre said proudly. "Didn't charge me extra for it." Tarquin roared with laughter.

"I can't say I've ever done that - sailor or no."

"You should. It was delicious."

"Well, maybe I'll go tomorrow. If you'll join me."

This time, I didn't mind so much when Feyre smiled at him, her grin stretching ear to ear. She'd told me this was difficult on her. It was difficult for me too. And the smiles... maybe I had been too caught up in them to realize she felt the weights of this mission as keenly as I did.

And even if it was for another male or for work or just for the hell of it, what did it matter? Feyre was radiant. And I hadn't given her enough credit in this. That should have been enough.

Feyre was also acutely nervous. I returned to my plate, eyeing a particularly fat prawn with more interest than was strictly necessary.

"I'd like that," Feyre told Tarquin. She meant the words a great deal. And yet - "Perhaps we could go for a walk in the morning down the causeway when the tide is out. There's that little building along the way - it looks fascinating."