ACOWAR (Rhysand's POV)

Chapter 14

(Rhysand's POV)

We still felt the echo of that door slam as Feyre and I walked along the Sidra. Dinner had concluded in an awkward silence, the air tense as more wine bottles were passed around the table. Before we left, I'd seen Mor snatch up the last of it, disappearing into her room, Azriel frowning after her.

And still, Feyre wouldn't meet my eyes. As the others dispersed from the dining room, I'd asked down the bond if she would walk with me. She'd agreed and we'd walked for over an hour now, mostly quiet. The only sounds between us were the scuff of our boots on stone and the gentle lapping of the river. 

Feyre's face was solemn, contemplative. After everything that had unfolded tonight—everything that had been said—I felt the same weight settling over me.

"I'd say Nesta rivals Amren for sheer bloodthirstiness. The only difference is that Amren actually drinks it." Stupid. Absolutely stupid. Of all the things to say, that's what I chose to break the silence?

Thankfully, Feyre only snorted at my remark, shaking her head as we turned onto another street. She didn't say anything—just kept her eyes down, watching her feet move one step at a time. Neither of us slowed until we reached the restaurant where we'd all dined together one of her first nights here. As she gazed across at the Rainbow, her face softened, some of that tightness easing as she took in the buildings left untouched.

"Who knows," My mate murmured. "Perhaps Nesta will take up the blood-drinking habit, too. I certainly believe her threat to rip out my throat. Maybe she'll enjoy the taste." She leaned back against the rail, watching the restaurant workers amble about. 

I laughed, mostly from relief, as I settled beside her on the rail, folding my wings in tightly. Her scent drifted around me, soft and heady on the night air. I grazed my lips along her neck and Feyre leaned into it, a soft sound escaping her. Maybe now would be a better time to say it, while Feyre was distracted. "Will you hate me if I say that Nesta is. . . difficult?" 

Her answering laugh settled my nerves. "I'd say this went fairly well, all things considered. She agreed to one thing, at least. I shouldn't have asked her in public. I made a mistake." She paused a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. "With the others, how do you find that balance - between High Lord and family?"

"It isn't easy." I said. "I've made plenty of bad calls over the centuries. So I hate to tell you that tonight might only be the start of it." 

In those first few years, when my father's power had shifted to me, I had made some very, very bad calls. I struggled, over and over, between wanting Cass, Az, and Mor as friends and needing them as my inner circle. Not that they wouldn't follow orders, but those hard conversations - the sacrifices that hurt them. . . those choices stayed with me. Authority or not, the guilt lingered, sharper than I'd ever let on. 

Feyre loosed a sigh. "I should have considered that telling strangers what happened to her in Hybern might. . . might not be something she was comfortable with. My sister has been a private person her entire life, even amongst us."

I traced my nose along the line of her jaw, pressing another kiss to the smooth skin of her neck. "Earlier today—at the loft," I murmured, pulling back to look her in the eyes. No hiding, no cowardice. "I didn't mean to insult her."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you." 

She. . . what? "Why in hell would you be? I insulted your sister; you defended her. You had every right to kick my ass for it." 

"I didn't mean to. . . undermine you." 

"Ah." I turned toward the Sidra, gazing into the deep waters below. "So that's why things felt... strange between us this afternoon." After everything, she still felt as if she didn't have a voice here. As if she had to play this role—quiet, reserved, letting the male lead. It was sickening, the way she'd been treated. And how it still weighed on her, pressing down, holding her back from breaking free. I'd spent the entire day worrying she was upset with me, but she'd been... embarrassed. Ashamed. She'd felt ashamed.