✔ Mrs Mandray

53. Comfort

Rhysand

Morrigan had taken Cassian to the Human Realm leaving him to not only babysit Oliver but Feyre as well. She had taken to pacing the length of the corridor as he sat just inside the bedroom with the door wide open. Neither of them had wanted to leave Oliver on his own lest he wake up again but Feyre had needed to rant.

"I should have gone with them."

"And done what?" Rhys keeps his voice level, watching as she toys with her lip. "Cassian and Mor are more than capable."

"She's my sister."

"You've barely left the house–"

"I know!" She snaps, pausing in place as she furiously scrubs at her face. "My sister could be hurt, she sent her child on his own to the fae realm for the mother's sake, and I'm stuck in this house because of my useless mind– WHAT THE FUCK RHYS!"

He arched a brow at her, unapologetic for using his magic to splash water in her face. A familiar Archeron scowl aims his way and he tries not to let his amused smile drop from his face at the reminder of Isabella.

"I thought your art-therapist had taken to throwing rubbers at you whenever–"

"You're not my therapist!" She snaps, furious.

He shrugs, "I'm standing in."

It's a rather amusing sight– and Archeron with a furious scowl and water dripping down their face. Though Feyre breaks the moment by glancing behind him through Azriel's doorway and to the boy within.

"You think he'll be okay here?" She slumps down next to him, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway. "It's a big change coming here."

She would certainly know that best.

"Considering he has Feyre Cursebreaker and the feared High Lord of the Night Court sitting on his bedroom floor–"

She snorts, cutting him off. "Why are your floors so uncomfy anyways."

"Well I'm sorry that my palace carved from stone and quartz was designed to have a functioning floor."

She rolls her eyes and for a while they just sit in silence, content in each other's company. It's been a while since Rhys has done this and not for the first time today is he reminded of his little sister. He supposed Feyre had been filling in that role recently.

"Are you and Mor going to do anything for your birthday?" He's fishing but Rhys is desperate for any kind of distraction from the looming axe over his head. "It would be your first in the Night Court."

Feyre sighs such a great defeated sigh that he can't help but let out an 'uh-oh' in response. She shoots him glare but he only arches his brows in question. How different she is from her sister. Isabella would have already been having an open and twisted debate of ideology and opinions. Feyre on the other hand offers up no information unprompted, and even then its clear she has no true idea of her own opinions.

Oh the pains of conversing with the youth. They're either opinionated or confused, or some concoction of both.

"Mor forgot."

She did if Azriel's information was to be trusted. Rhys tries not to flinch at the reminder of the shadowsinger's words. Unfortunately for him Feyre picks up on the hesitation.

"But that matters little when I recognise that expression."

"It's nothing–"

"Bullshit!"

"Feyre!" He hisses as they both fervently glance at the sleeping boy. "Keep your voice down for mother sake!"

"Then tell me what's bothering you." She crosses her arms, no more than a stubborn child. Sometimes he forgets how young Feyre is when she's fighting Wyrms and slaying Queens. Sometimes he can't picture how she managed to survive being Under the Mountain with such naivety about life. "I thought this little friendship and free therapy went both ways."