Females were very rare in the night court's ruling family as it was, all either die young or end up forgotten in the abyss of history.
Rhysand ever thought he'd have to father one of these, in fact, he did't believe he even deserve to be a father, u...
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CHAPTER EIGHT
anywhere I want just not home
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All what remained was an insignificant, broken crown. He stared down at it, the silver hues of the sign of his now stolen throne, a reminder of the life he left outside of that Gods-damned mountain, a family, a home.
There was no stars left for him to wish upon, and all his dreams were left unanswered. Rhysand didn't have many wishes for himself, he had lived long enough to not regret dying, if it were not for the fact that he had left a family back at home, back in Velaris...
He had left a daughter back in Velaris. A daughter who begged him to stay with her that night, a daughter who had implored him to come back to her.
For the past years, he couldn't decide which was worse, not getting to be with her, or being the cause behind him not being with her.
Sometimes, on the nights he'd... serve amarantha till his conscience would give up on him, he was haunted by glimpses of a pair of eyes he knew too well, so blue they appear to be violet, with moonlight.
Elayla, he had recognized. But not his Elayla. His Layla was the small girl who climbed his back out of cheer amusement, the child who couldn't stay in a room he wasn't in for longer than half an hour.
This Elayla was like a withering flower, so dim ang gloomy and dark. The thought made him feel dizzy. The sun of his life, the light of his life, reduced into dying embers of grief, confusion and anger.
He should've been there for her, teaching her how to live and fight, tending to her wounds and scolding her for sneaking out and making she was happy and safe just like Elira asked him to do.
But there he was, reduced from the most powerful High Lord in Prythian to a mere toy in Amarantha's bed, to fulfill her sick desires and twisted vengeance for her old friend's death.
He was so tired of it, so sick of it. What would Layla think if she heard that her father was now in people's eyes just Amarantha's whore? Would she be disgusted? Ashamed? Would she see him as a stain on her family? A failure for a father and a leader? Did she ever think of him at all, or had she reached the age where she didn't even care anymore?
He often let his mind flow back to her, when even moving from his bed was too painful and seeing imprisoned children would make him nauseous.
He saw her face in the face of every confused little girl under that damned mountain, he heard her in every cry for help.
She was everywhere, inside his head, in every corner of the court that bloody bitch built on them. She was in his dreams, memories and nightmares.
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"Make a wish, Nightingale." He kissed her temple as she leaned and blew at the candles of her fifth birthday. The cake was bat themed, another sign of her obsession with that adorable stuffed animal of hers.
Elayla closed her eyes with a small giggle. "I wish we would always have pretty birthdays like this one."
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"Happy birthday to you, Nightingale..." He whispered in the darkness of his chambers, his elbow resting on his knee as he sat down on the ground, his head hanging low, a dark fallen prince, reminiscing for a single other moment home.
A home he'll probably never see again.
"Happy birthday to you, Nightingale..." His breath came out as the celebration melody he was supposed to sing to her, like every other birthday he spent with her, he hoped he could say it to her face to face once again.
Just once before he died. Only once again. Just a wrinkle in time to tell her how proud he was of, how guilty he felt, how much he loved her.
A minute to make sure his family are taking good care of her, that she was loved, clothed, fed, protected.
"Happy birthday to you, my darling girl..." He said at the end, his throat restricting so tightly that he wondered how he still managed to breathe.
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