#Tamlin puts up signs that say NO NIGHT COURT PRINCES ALLOWED

[praetorqueenreyna]

What if instead of sleeping I stayed up and meticulously planned a nyxlin fic

[aelin-and-feyre]

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 11)

Feysand - Cinderella au

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Only one more part after this!

Rhys is pacing again—he seems to be doing this a lot lately—dragging his hands through his hair over and over, practically pulling chunks out.

“If you keep doing that you’re going to go bald.” Cassian warns, not even looking at his Prince to know what he’s doing. “We tried everything Rhys, and now Az will find her. Don’t worry.”

But Rhys has to worry. Cassian hadn’t seen—really seen what had happened tonight. He witnessed the carriage going through the gate but his Captain hadn’t seen the rest.

“You don’t understand, Cassian,” Rhys exclaims, exasperated. “Her dress was practically disappearing from around her body, she slipped through a solid door, she went through a wrought iron gate for Cauldron’s sake!”

“Okay, so she’s magical, there are tons of people and things out there with magic,” Cassian reasons carefully. “Why is it such a bad thing?”

“Because it means she could be anywhere by now! She could’ve flown away, morphed into a dog, transported to another dimension for all we know and I will never be able to find her!” The Prince stresses. Cassian lets out a huge sigh of relief.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes, “I thought you were freaking out because you fell in love with a magical being, I was ready to slap you upside the head, and Amren would’ve too.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “Of course I still love her, I couldn’t care less about any powers she might have. She’s amazing, and smart, and sensitive, and beautiful, and-“

“Okay, Romeo,” Cassian puts his hand on his Prince’s back and guides him to the door. “I think it’s time for you to get some sleep.”

Just then, the door to the library bursts open, revealing Azriel, breathing heavily. Rhys and Cassian rush over to him and quickly sit him down in one of the chairs to catch his breath.

“Did you find her?” Rhys asks impatiently.

Azriel shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “No, I’m sorry, Your Highness. The carriage vanished.”

“The whole carriage? The horses, driver, footmen, everything?” Rhys questions and Azriel looks hesitant, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “What is it?”

“No, that wouldn’t be possible,” the spy mutters to himself.

Rhys scoffs. “Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of things tonight that should be impossible. Tell me what happened.”

Az takes another deep breath. “We were right behind her, going through the north roads, and the carriage took a sharp right. We were surprised and galloped right past the path. Galloping back, I let the others go ahead because I needed to talk to the girl.”

“The girl? What girl?” Rhys and Cassian ask simultaneously.

“A girl was sitting to the side of the path—dirty clothes, tangled hair, white apron. Do you know many horses were leading her carriage?” Azriel asks suddenly.

“Four,” Rhys answers almost immediately, he memorized everything he already knew about her earlier that day to set up this plan. A plan that failed miserably.

Azriel nods. “And two footmen….” He shakes his head again. “Anyway, I dismounted and talked her her. Very high voice, name’s Sevenda, works in the village, common citizen. But I don’t know, there was something about her…” He trails off and Cassian and Rhys exchange a look. “Anyway, I left her and when I caught up with the others, they were at a dead end. The path just stops and there was no sign of a carriage trampling through the brush. Then, when we went back, the girl was long gone.”

Rhys lets his head drop. That girl very well could’ve been Clare, and now he has no idea where she could be.

“Your Highness, this girl couldn’t have been Clare, she would have to be-“

“Magic,” Rhys answers for him, raising his head to look at his friend. “I’m guessing that she has some sort of ability that allows her to move through objects and change her appearance.”

Azriel shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t say that. Part of my job is to tell when people have magic—Clare does not possess any herself.”

“Okay, so she’s not magical,” the Prince ponders, “but then how did she pass through the door and the gate, and how did she change so quickly?”

“I didn’t say she doesn’t have magic with her,” Azriel continues, pulling an object from his hunting bag. “She might not be magic, but this surely is.”

Pulling the cloth away, the glass slipper Clare lost the night before is revealed. He hands it to Rhys. “You mean it’s enchanted?” Cassian questions.

“No, more like it’s made of magic. This shoe did not exist until a faerie or other flicked their wand, creating a perfect fit for whoever it was meant for,” Az explains.

“I thought you said that Clare isn’t magical,” Rhys accuses.

“Oh, she’s not, but she must know someone who is because this leaves a clear magical residue. I’m guessing some sort of fairy godmother.”

Everything is starting to click for Rhys. “You said this is a perfect fit for Clare?” He questions, still examining the relatively small shoe.

His friend nods. “I’d be surprised if anyone else’s foot ever fits in that, and it is only because it got stuck in the tar that Clare’s foot slipped out in the first place.”

The wheels in Rhys’ head are turning, thinking of a new plan. “Okay, Az, this is what I need you to do.”

...

“What?” Feyre exclaims, close to tears. Her stepmother surely can’t mean what she is saying, it’s preposterous.

Amarantha sighs. “You are over the usual age Cinderella, it’s time you are married off. Tamlin is a nice man, I met him just last night at the ball and he fell in love with the idea of you,” she assures and Feyre feels like she’s choking—all the air is forced from her lungs.

“B-but, I can’t get married to someone I don’t know, to someone I don’t love!” She manages to say and Amarantha scoffs.

“Please be serious Cinderella—do you really think any man will ever give you the time of day long enough for you to fall in love? You’ll be an old maid before the chance of that can happen.” Feyre wants to protest, wants to say that she has fallen in love, that she has someone who wants her. But she can’t—can’t tell Amarantha about Rhys. Not ever. “So, go pack up. Tamlin is coming tomorrow to collect you.” Amarantha dismisses Feyre with a flick of her hand and she slowly turns away just as the door opens.

“Mother!” Nesta’s voice is shrill as both girls sprint into the living room, not giving a second glance the tears of Feyre’s cheeks. “You will not believe what we just heard in the village.”

Amarantha visibly perks up. “What happened?”

“There was a royal decree!” Elain squeals and Nesta puts her hand up to silence her.

“Princess Clare left her shoe at the ball last night,” the older sister begins, Feyre now listening intently—the other slipper stayed as well, then. “The Prince still doesn’t know who she is so he’s having the High Lord’s Hand travel the Court and every maiden in the land is to try on the slipper. Then, whoever the shoe fits, that girl will be the prince’s bride!”

Amarantha stands up suddenly, rushing over to the girls and gathering them in a large hug. “Oh my little devils, we still have a chance!” She exclaims, then releases them quickly with a gasp. “We must get ready!” Her stepmother turns and seems to remember that Feyre is there. Scowling, she says, “Well what are you waiting for? You are no longer needed in this household, go upstairs and pack.”

“But I am an eligible maiden,” Feyre insists, her hope restored. Rhys is searching through every eligible maiden, that means the servants and shopkeepers too, that means he might accept her if he finds out—when he finds out.

However, as always, Amarantha crushes that hope. “Not anymore you’re not, you’re engaged,” she reminds and the sisters gape as Amarantha ushers Feyre to her staircase with no further argument. “Now go.”

Silent tears slip down Feyre’s face as she climbs the steps, opening her small attic bedroom slowly and falling onto the old mattress. She begins to sob, clutching her beautiful glass slipper.

...

Rhys takes a deep breath, raises his fist, and knocks on his father’s door. “Come in,” a voice from inside beckons. Rhys pushes the door open to see his father and Nuala standing by the window.

“You called for me father?” The Prince asks.

“Yes, Nuala has just brought something to my attention.” Rhys turns his attention to the cook, one of his closest friend who has helped him a lot since his mother died.

“Prince Rhys,” she begins, “before Clare fled last night, she told me something, knowing that I would know whether this information should be passed onto you.”

Suddenly, the Prince is incredibly desperate. “You know something about her? Please Nuala, tell me. I need to know who she is,” Rhys begs, not caring that his father is seeing this weakness.

The High Lord places a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “Sit down, son,” he requests, sitting down himself. “Clare’s not a princess is she?” Rhysand averts his eyes, shaking his head as his only response. “That’s what I thought—but you love her? Even though she is not royalty?”

“I love her more than anything, father—she is my mate,” Rhys whispers, feeling in his whole being how much he loves this girl.

The High Lord’s eyes widen and then he gives his son a rare smile. “Then I think I know who she is,” Rhys looks up in shock, his eyes searching his father’s for any form of treachery. “I recognized her last night but thought it impossible because she was a princess. She looks so much like her mother I should have known right away.”

The Prince is on the edge of his seat. “You recognized her too.”

The High Lord nods again. “Especially with that song you two sang together, so much like her mother—like your mother.” Nuala nudges him to let him know that he should just tell Rhys before he explodes. “She lives in the north, in the Hybern household, as it is now called. I don’t know her first name but you will find her there.”

Rhys is standing again, hugging Nuala shortly and then bowing to his father, ready to bolt for the door. One hand on the handle, the High Lord calls him back. “Rhys.” The Prince looks into his father’s weary, sick features that are just managing a grin. “Her mother was your mother’s very best friend. I approve of this girl with all my heart, so you better not mess this up. I’m happy for you.”

He feels his heart pinch, tears coming to his eyes, and he smiles softly. “Thank you, father.” And then Rhysand exits the office and takes off to go find his mate.

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