𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

*About 250 Years in the Future*

Feyre explored the contents of her mate's room. He watched her, lounging on the bed with his arms stretched overhead. She smiled at him over her shoulder, running her fingers along the vanity then down the carving of his dresser's door. She remembered how she painted her, and each of her sisters' draws to their shared dresser. What would she paint on his, given the chance? Starfall, she decided. A rain of spirits—their colours magnificent. It would be a challenge to perfect it, to replicate that night's beauty. She would have to practice it first on a canvas, to see what colours and brushes would do it to most justice.

"What secrets are hidden in here?" she asked, running her finger over the metal barred handle.

"You cannot tell anybody," Rhys whispered, "But I own white shirts."

Feyre burst into laughter and imagined what he would look like in anything but his dark shirts with pristine folds. Moving on, she wandered to a set of drawers away from the wardrobe. Resting on top were a collection of odd pieces, ranging from a short ceremonial looking dagger to a few rings and scrap pieces of paper that she recognised her own scribbled writing upon. Feyre looked back over her shoulder with a raised brow and he only challenged it with his own.

Her hand drifted down to the first draw, pulling it open. More odd pieces. A set of his fighting leathers were neatly folded. The next draw had a few books as well as a heavy amulet hanging from a golden chain. Feyre looked back at Rhys to ask who it belonged to since she had never seen him wear such a thing, but she found his grin had been wiped. His eyes stared at the drawer below.

She slowly pushed the one she had open back in, then hooked her fingers in the metal handle of the next, dragging it open. Wooden planks scraped against each other like it hadn't been opened in some time and the grooves were filled with dust.

Inside, the first thing she saw was a small vial on a chain perched on a cushion of red velvet. The vial was the size of her thumb in both length and width. Its stopper was a polished silver lid with an intricately cut panelling on the side. But the vial was obsolete to the contents inside. It was the essence of the spirits from Starfall. A brilliant blue-green iridescent.

Next to it, a drawing framed in a simple, but elegant and dark wooden frame. It was of Velaris, from the perspective of someone flying over it. It was signed at the bottom but the writing was too curled and whimsical to make out the name.

There were more objects—a ring and earrings set, two bracelets made of a woven fabric—but the next one across was another frame turned upside down so the contents behind the glass were hidden. Feyre reached into the draw.

Rhysand snatched her hand. It was a tight grip of warning. She withdrew immediately. These were not his belongings, at least, they did not belong to him at first. "Rhys, who—"

"Not today." His head shook, voice cracking in a way that she had not heard in a long time. Not since his confession to her in the cabin. He closed the drawer with his other hand, not even looking down inside of it. "I'm sorry, Feyre but I can't. I can't talk about those things."

She looked back down at the closed drawer. "Are they gone?"

The muscle rippled under the hinges of his jaw. His grip on her hand tightened, then let go altogether. "Yes," he whispered. "She's gone." He felt himself chipping, breaking and flaking away like crusted paint. "I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder for his abrasiveness then left his bedroom with the wind under his heels.

Feyre watched him leave, half tempted to open the drawer again, the other half of her wanting to follow him. She decided that neither would be her best choice. Guilt piled in her, realising that she had brought up memories that he did not wish to explore. Rather than staying inside his room—her room, of sorts—she wandered down to the lower levels of the Town House. Just as she made the last step, the sound of the door closing sharply ricocheted throughout the building. She wasn't left alone, however, as Cassian sat in the entertainment room. They had been waiting on Mor and Azriel to arrive. He too had heard the unusual power behind the wooden door and stared in its direction for a beat before sighing and shaking his head.