At the Mercy of the Stars

How the Fragile Fall

Feyre

Rhys and Feyre returned home to a scathing letter that originated in the Spring Court. Rhys sighed, shoulders slumping. "This isn't a formal missive. It's signed by Tamlin, not his father. I thought..." He shook his head. "It was an arrangement barely cemented. For him to react this way barely knowing you, aware you're mated..."

"Even those we think we know best wear a mask, Rhys. I'm just sorry your friendship is caught in the middle of all this. There's always a chance these words are just something in the heat of the moment. The engagement holds no standing. Any sort of retaliation would be without allies. With time, this could be mended."

"I'm sure you're right," he agreed, though each word was more hollow than the one before it. He rubbed his brow before moving to the armoire. "I'm expected in Windhaven by tomorrow afternoon. I need to pack my things."

"Your father sends you away because he fears your power." Feyre's nose scrunched with her frown. "It isn't right that you miss so much in Velaris."

"Ah, but the Night Court is a vast territory, full of many people and creatures I will one day be High Lord to." Feyre crossed her arms, raising a brow to tell him she saw right through that practiced line. "No," he admitted with another sigh, absently beginning to fold what he intended to take to the camp the following day. "It isn't fair. He has convinced himself my potential is the first step to his downfall."

And despite his dream of a better court, Rhys had no inclination to accept such a title yet, let alone commit patricide for it. "But I've said all this before. We don't need to go through it all again." A soft smile pulled at his lips and he reached to brush his knuckles down the curve of her jaw. "I'm going to miss you while I'm in Windhaven."

Feyre drew back, confused. "But I thought... You don't want me to come with you."

"On the contrary, I want you with me always. But I can't say I trust myself not to kill anyone who says something to insult you or treats you less than you are."

"And what am I, Rhys?" There was no agitation to her tone. One might even say it sounded teasing, like she was merely searching for flattery, if she wasn't truly curious how an heir's mate was viewed in this court. In the eyes of these warriors and their lords.

"What are you?" Sitting on the bed he pulled her up to straddle his muscled thighs. "To me, you're a great many things. Mate, lover, friend, confidant." The raw adoration in his voice reflected clearly in his eyes, the crushing violet of them too enchanting to turn from. Feyre wondered if the years passing would somehow dull the magnetism of the bond between them. She hoped time had no power in that.

His next words were designed to shatter that pull. "To them you are like any other female, meant to fulfill whatever role would prove most convenient to them at the time."

"A little elbow grease never hurt anyone. And your sister—"

"My sister stayed tucked away in the house our mother keeps there, being provided an education of Illyrian customs before promptly returning to Velaris. They fear my father too much to treat Avy poorly and as a female she could not be thrown in a training program designed to weed out the weak. She was ostracized instead. As you will be, so long as the males there believe me too unstable for them to risk approaching you. Eventually that won't be enough."

"So I'm just meant to stay here, planning some extravagant ceremony and awaiting your return?"

He chuckled at her pout. "My sweet mate, how put upon you sound." He sobered, kissing her forehead. "It is not my intention to create a life for us that holds nothing more than party planning and child rearing for you, Feyre. But in this case, your attendance won't do anything to help the situation. It will only make my father more satisfied with all of his posturing in this."