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climbthemountain2020 · 4 months ago

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Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 6

Ch. 6/? | Ao3

As always, thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @cauldronblssd without whom this story would not exist. Love you guys <3

“You look like shit, Tiny,” Andras said earnestly as he and Lucien walked past her on the way to the training fields.

Feyre propped herself up on her elbows to scowl at them as they smiled back. She hated the nickname he’d bestowed upon her almost immediately, and she hated even more that it had stuck. She fought back the urge to throw him a vulgar gesture as his towering frame blocked the sun.

“Thanks so much, Andras. Now, go be a good boy and find someone to play fetch with.” They cackled as she lobbed the insult back.

She’d been laying on a blanket stretched across the grass near the rings as she did every afternoon, lazing in the sun and reading her newest finds from the library. The two males took a seat on her blanket, causing Feyre to grumble as she made space for them. Andras bumped her with his hip, so casually friendly that she had no choice sometimes but to smile at him through her irritation. He was exactly what she'd imagine having a rather large younger brother might be like– annoying in a charming sort of way. He always made a point to ask her questions, seeming genuinely interested in her answers.

“Seriously, though. Is everything okay?” His eyes did turn serious then, despite the smile still pulling across his lips. She sighed. She hadn’t been sleeping.

Three weeks had passed in Spring in the blink of an eye, and Feyre’s dreams had changed.

She hadn’t seen Rhys a single time since the dream of them by the lake, and she was beginning to worry. Her dreams weren’t stories anymore, but dark flashes and images, more feelings and emotions than any real story or conversation. Occasionally, she could hear voices, but everything was blurry and fuzzy, almost as though she were listening from underwater.

She’d experienced dark, silken sheets and the smell of oranges, a deep sadness covering the two. Another was an endless well of hopelessness so deep and fathomless that it had threatened to swallow her whole, paired with a dark stone wall and the salty tang of tears. She felt worry and rage and sympathy all mixed into one as she looked at a handsome man with beautifully dark skin and equally dark hair kneeling before her. He held his shoulders back and his expression firm, despite the trembling of his body, and then his eyes rolled back and he fell.

“Gods, you’re nosy.” She paused momentarily. She’d caught herself using the colloquialisms of Prythian more often than not now. Gods, not God–her tongue had fallen into it as easily as if she’d spoken that way her whole life. “Just not sleeping super well. I’m alright.”

She rolled onto her stomach to look at them. “Where’s Tamlin?” Tamlin was always cordial and kind with her, but she hadn’t grown quite as close with him. He didn’t make her feel any lesser, even going so far as to encourage her to regularly sit on the back deck with them as night fell, but something about Tamlin kept her at arm’s length. It was all the same to her, she knew he had more pressing matters on his mind, and so did she.

“Patrolling again,” Lucien scoffed.

Lucien was still all sass and quirked eyebrows, but she’d begun to feel less like it was his personality and more a mask he wore. She could see, despite his endless banter, a pull to his brows, something worrying him always just at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t given her a reason to not trust him, and she genuinely enjoyed the banter they shared, feeling for the first time perhaps ever that she didn’t have to hide that sharpened, witty edge to her humor in proper society.

“He was out last night, too. What was he looking for?”

“There was another sighting in one of the villages. Naga this time.” Andras cringed and the blood froze in Feyre’s veins.

Nagas. Like the ones in Vincent’s books. Real, dangerous, and nearby.

They must have caught the look on her face. “Don’t worry, Feyre. You’re safe here.” Andras shoved lightly at her shoulder and she scrunched her nose at him, pushing him back as he feigned being wounded and toppled over.

Feyre had been surprised how easily she’d slotted into the males’ routine in Spring, and she’d been even more surprised at how much she’d enjoyed being around them. In truth, she’d never spent this much time with the opposite sex in her life, and though she wasn’t sure if it had more to do with gender or simply the fae world at large, she’d never felt so free. There weren’t the same expectations of being ladylike here for her. She could speak her mind around them and know that mostly she’d find amusement over agitation. In fact, they seemed to find her funny more than anything else. With the exception of Vincent and Rhys, she wasn’t used to anyone finding her particularly interesting, and it was a nice change.

“Speaking of beating Andras into the ground, is today the day you finally fight us, Feyre?” She rolled her eyes again, turning back to her back and raising her arm to block the sun from her eyes. She’d been coming out to sit while they trained nearly every afternoon, paying close attention to their maneuvers despite never answering their taunts about joining in.

“I’m not sure your fragile ego could handle it, Lucien.”

His responding smile was dangerous. “We’ll see, Feyre. One day, you’ll cave, and we’ll see.”

The two got up and marched on to the training rings, and Feyre couldn’t help but watch as they began to spar. The visual was terrifying and impressive in its own right, their bodies moving so quickly that they blurred in front of her very eyes. While objectively she could find the males here attractive, more often than not, watching them just made her thoughts wander to Rhys.

She thought about him so frequently here that he might as well have been in Spring with them. When they sparred, she imagined what that hard chest she’d remembered feeling beneath his clothes might look like glistening with sweat beneath the hot sun. She thought about how it might affect her to see him slam another male to the ground beneath his hand as she watched Lucien do it. She laid in bed at night, her hand twitching to move between her legs and thinking a little longer and more specifically about what it might be like for such strong arms to hold her, touch her, push her up against the wall and lift her up from beneath her thighs.

She closed her eyes against the sun, willing the shade from the nearby tree to shift her way soon so she wouldn’t need to get up and move. She opened the book she’d held in her lap and draped it across her face, sighing at the relief from the heat. The sounds of the nearby training were still audible, but the calm around her and the exhaustion from not sleeping kept her still, enjoying the gentle breeze that skirted over her skin. It would be starting to get hot as it approached summer in the Human Lands, and she found herself very thankful for seasonal courts.

“Relaxing, Feyre darling?” She startled at the voice, so close to her ear that his breath tickled the hairs on the nape of her neck.

“Rhys!” Her voice was embarrassingly hoarse, the breathlessness echoing beneath the arch of the book she’d draped over her face.

She moved to sit up and remove it, but a strong, gentle hand rested on her sternum, pressing her to the ground. That voice rang out again in her ear.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he all but purred.

“I was worried. I hadn’t seen you.” She could still hear the males sparring in the fields nearby. How had they not spotted him here?

He didn’t answer her, instead letting those warm, wandering fingers dance across her collarbones. Every graze felt like sparkling magic across her skin, and she was so responsive to his touch she arched at every pass they made.

“Did you miss me, Feyre?” The voice rumbled straight from his lips down her spine as the low timbre of it surrounded her ear, his soft breath puffing against her as he let his lips brush against it.

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate, the word more an exhale than anything else. His fingers made a lazy loop back, traveling beneath the untied top of her tunic and trailing between her breasts.

Beautiful, she heard him say. She didn’t feel the words in her ear this time, but in her mind, rolling around her head like beautiful music.

“What if they see?”

Who will see, Feyre? No one is here but you and me. Do you like it when I touch you?

She was wild with the need to respond in the affirmative, her frantic nodding shaking the book still covering her eyes. His responding chuckle was dark and low.

His fingers withdrew from her shirt and she let go of an embarrassing noise from her throat, glad for the cover of her book as she blushed a variety of scarlet.

Do you want me to touch you again, love?

“Please.” She could feel the barest ghost of his fingers over her shirt, grazing along the seams of her breast band. She gasped and arched, but he pulled away again.

Ah, ah. I want to hear you say you want it.

“I want it. Please, I want it.” She couldn't believe how brazen she was being, but she couldn’t care–couldn’t see anything past her need to have his hands on her again.

She nearly combusted as she felt the featherlight touch of his hands across her chest, unfastening the band and sneaking his hand below the now loose fabric. She bit back a near-animal noise as she felt the calloused pads of his fingers brush across her nipples.

You’re exquisite, Feyre.

The words ignited a fire within her. “Touch me. Please, touch me.” She felt his lips press to her neck, and the chirping of the birds and smell of Spring fell away, leaving nothing but that lovely, consuming scent of him as his teeth ran along her throat.

To her surprise, he let out a low and feral groan as his tongue trailed across her pulse point, causing a rush of goosebumps to erupt across her skin as she arched her back, forcing her chest more firmly into his hands.

I wish you could know what you do to me. Where else would you like me to touch you, darling?

“Everywhere…” The word left her unbidden, no sense left to hold her back now. She’d let him ravage her entirely right here on this blanket in Spring in clear sight of others.

He hummed in approval, hands moving lower down her torso, his thumbs lightly caressing her ribs as she sighed.

I’ll never tire of touching you, Feyre.

Feyre.

“Feyre!”

She shot up, the book falling to her lap with a thunk and her hands coming up by instinct to cover her chest, only to find her breast band tightly wound around her. Her head whipped to the sides, seeking him, grasping on to the threads of him blindly. She thought she could still smell the faintest whiffs of him on the wind, but she was there on the blanket alone.

Rhys.

She had called it out in her mind, she realized with a jolt. Still she tried again.

Rhys.

Rhys!

“Feyre!” Lucien called from the rings, leaning against the wall and drinking water. “You didn’t fall asleep did you?”

A dream. Another bloody dream.

She could almost taste the disappointment on her tongue. It had felt so real, so lucid.

“If I had, Lucien, you yelling wouldn’t exactly help me along, now would it?” He smiled again. The breeze kicked up, cooling the sweat that had spread along her back and, along with it, the sharp smell of something different in the air. She had smelled this only a few times before, usually on nights when she left the windows to her room open. It smelled light and airy like jasmine, but with an earthen scent accompanying it. She turned, sniffing the air to see if she could find the source, and as she did it dawned on her that she was the source.

Feyre hadn’t realized how strong fae magic made your sense of smell, and she was mortified to find out that she, along with everyone else, could smell so well that they could detect emotions. Surely, if smelling her annoyance or fear had embarrassed her, this would send her spiraling until she managed to bury herself in the earth. She gathered her book and blanket as quickly as possible to return to the manor before, gods forbid, Lucien or Andras smelled anything.

“I’m going in! I’ll see you both at dinner!” She cursed herself for how frantic her words had sounded and refused to look back at them as she jogged back into the house, wrapping the blanket around her waist and sprinting up the stairs to her room, all but slamming her door closed behind her.

Just a dream. It had only been a dream.

She slumped to the floor, chest still heaving as her heart thrummed near painfully against her ribs.

Only a dream.

This time, the thought made her want to cry.

Feyre had roused herself for dinner, leaving the confines of her pillow-soft bed and moping to join the three males conversing and waiting for her as she came through the doors. Her heart still felt sunken low, but she knew there was no use sulking over dreams.

“Feyre, we were beginning to worry you’d grown tired of us.” She intentionally bumped into Andras as she sat, making him slosh his wine.

“Oh, me? Never.” The grin she gave was mocking, but the laugh genuine. She looked at Tamlin sitting at the head of the table. He seemed grim, but felt her eyes on him and tried a small smile, raising his glass.

“Let’s eat, then.”

Feyre wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to adjust to the food in Prythian, but she’d never tire of trying. Every bit of it was like magic on her tongue, and part of her ached to find a way for her sisters to try it, too. Elain, especially, who loved to help with recipes and planning of meals for parties, would tip head over heels for the foods here. She missed them–mostly at night when everything got quiet–more than she’d imagined she would.

After dinner, as they did most nights, the four made their way out to the porch, their chairs positioned just so around the great fire pit, a member of the staff bringing out a rather large bucket with bottles of a bubbling mead. Feyre didn’t love the feeling that too many drinks gave her, not unlike the sparkling flutes of champagne back at home that had tickled her nose until she felt dizzy. She usually kept to one bottle, but she enjoyed being out there with them. For the first time in her entire life, she felt like she had true friends. Not sisters, not guards, not mentors, but real, true friends who enjoyed her exactly the way she was.

Of course, she still remembered in the back of her mind that they wanted her here for a purpose. She also remembered that she was still keeping things from them and that sharp guilt coiled in her gut like a writhing creature. She shoved it out of her head as they all sat, Tamlin nearly throwing himself back into the chair.

So dramatic.

It was a lovely night, the air warm and heavy and filled with the sounds of the wild around them. Some nights, she’d crack open her window to sleep, letting the cicadas sing her to sleep while she watched the lightning bugs zip past. It was truly the most beautiful place she’d ever been.

She was ripped from her thoughts by a flash of flame blasting past her face as she scowled.

“Foul play, Lucien,” she snarled at him playfully, holding her hand up and lobbing a ball of fire back at him that he barely dodged.

“Tiny, you’re getting faster!” Andras exclaimed from nearby as he relaxed into his chair with his drink. He and Tamlin liked to watch Lucien and Feyre practice as though it were a sporting event, and they’d made a habit of doing it most evenings now.

“You’d never know she was new to it,” Tamlin said. “That fire is powerful.”

It was true. In the time she’d been in Spring, her fire had become nearly second nature to her. She could call it to her hands with nearly no thought or effort, though she struggled to contain it when her emotions were heightened.

“Do I need to taunt you again so you can use it, or do you think you can make shapes on your own this time?” He’d been trying to get her to coax the flames into shapes a few days ago, getting a flare in his face when he’d told her that her rabbit looked like a potato.

She growled again. “What shape tonight?”

Lucien just laughed while Andras yelled, “Try writing something. Perhaps an F for Feyre.”

She started on the F, willing the flames into a specific shape.

“Perhaps F for failing at flame work.” Lucien’s laughter turned into a yelp when her fire turned a bright blue and shot at his face. She hadn’t made it blue before, and she marveled at the sight as he ran a few feet away.

“You almost got my hair!”

“Good, I was aiming for that,” she deadpanned.

“Maybe that’s enough for tonight, children.” Tamlin’s voice was powerful but filled with amusement. Feyre dusted her hands on her pants, walking over to her normal seat and easing into it with a deep sigh, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. Lucien sat beside her warily.

“You are getting better. You sure you don’t know who your father is?”

“Why, Lucien? Do you think it’s you? Do you make a habit of entering the Human Lands and seducing the women there?”

“Why? Should I? Would they be interested in that?”

She scoffed at him. “Unbelievable.” She turned to Tamlin instead. “So, the naga?”

He shook his head. “No luck. I found traces, but they had long since moved on.”

“They keep turning up,” said Lucien. “She is getting bolder.” Tamlin nodded, and Andras looked at him. They all knew the she to which he referred.

“Only a few months left now.” They all quieted after the admission, the crickets’ and cicadas’ songs the only noise in the temperate night.

A question occurred to Feyre, and before she could think better of it, she spoke it quietly. “Tamlin, do you even want to fall in love?”

He seemed startled at the question, emerald eyes growing wide as he gaped.

Had no one ever asked him before? Everyone knew of the curse, but had anyone ever checked how he felt about his part in it?

His voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it when he answered, and he sounded centuries younger than he was. “Of course I do. Who doesn't want that? But not like this.”

Lucien raised his bottle to him. “Love is pain, my dear friend.”

Tamlin forced a chuckle. “Yes, yes, Lucien. My heart of stone and I are well versed in your feelings on love.”

Andras, already on his third bottle and not showing signs of slowing down, chimed in, “I rather think I would like to be in love.” Tamlin and Lucien both scoffed and Feyre looked between them.

“The only ones you love are the ones in your bedroll for the night. You’re a dog.” Lucien shoved him from his chair, nearly knocking him backwards as he stood, tipping his head back to the moon and howling.

Feyre tried to shove past him to grab a drink, and he gripped her with a single sweep in his massive arm, ruffling her hair as she struggled against him.

“Tiny is in love. I can tell.”

“Mmph–Get off!” She shoved him, hair now a tangled mess in her face as she scowled. “Who says I’m in love anyway?”

“You live with three of the most handsome males in Prythian and yet you haven’t tried to warm any of our beds. Clearly, there’s someone special.”

“Gods, you’re all egomaniacs. You know that?”

Lucien passed her the bottle she’d been trying to grab and narrowed his eyes at her appraisingly as he leaned forward. “Maybe, but my money’s on him being right. I think you’ve got a lover, perhaps someone you gave your heart to and never got back.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re all actually hideous, no one has the courage to tell you, and your personalities are even worse.”

The males’ laughter cracked across the night sky, filling the space with a mirth that Feyre wondered if she’d ever really been a part of before. They enjoyed teasing her, but she felt a sense of belonging that warmed her heart more than she’d ever thought possible. Not for the first time, she was glad she’d started in Spring. If she needed to bide her time somewhere, she felt lucky that it was in a place she could easily learn to love.

Feyre slept horribly once again, despite the alcohol she’d unwisely chosen to partake in numbing her senses. She’d desperately hoped to pick up where she’d left off earlier by the fields now that she was alone, but instead she’d been plagued with horrific nightmares all night long. It was nothing but darkness and pain and fear, culminating in being held down by a horrid winged creature with breath that smelled of death. For all her struggling, she couldn’t break free of its grasp, and her magic hadn’t worked no matter how she’d tried. She’d woken covered in a cold sweat, trembling and panting in fear. It had felt so real, and she had been absolutely helpless beneath the monster.

After taking a long bath to rinse off the sweat and shake the horrors of the creatures gnarled and rough hands on her arms, dawn was breaking over the horizon. She went ahead and got dressed and decided to start off in the library early. Eventually, one of the staff would find her there and bring her some tea and breakfast, but she was in no hurry. Often, if she awoke early or if sleep evaded her, she’d spend time there before the rest of the manor was pulsing to life for the day.

She loved the library, set apart from the rest of the house, the lighting low and lovely and a massive fireplace overlooking a sitting area she could lounge in if she wanted a break to simply read. The walls were covered in paintings and tapestries, Feyre’s eyes immediately drawn to the colors and skill. Above the enormous fireplace and mantle was a map of Prythian that Feyre had spent what felt like countless hours looking at, memorizing the layout in case she ever needed it. She’d tried to track her eyes to where her home had been, but the human lands were marked insignificantly, so she'd only had a vague guess. Spring, Autumn, Summer, Winter, Dawn, Day, and Night–all beautifully depicted on the brightly illuminated wall.

Tamlin truly had the most lovely collection of books, however dusty and unorganized they’d been. Once the actual cleaning and dusting and moving of furniture had been completed, Feyre had truly enjoyed sorting the books by category and shelving them alphabetically. Of course, she’d made a frequent habit of borrowing any that struck her interest, setting them to the side as she went and ferrying them dutifully along with her after finished for the day.

She’d never had access to this many books in her life, the pitiful library in her home not even coming close. These books were all like the lovely works Vincent had always been hard at work finding for her, and so far she’d enjoyed each thoroughly. While her preference was always the tales of adventures and dragons and romance, she was finding she enjoyed learning more about the history of Prythian too without the confines of human sway changing the facts.

She spent the first few hours continuing to sort on the large tables in the room, placing books in their assigned piles before cataloging each and placing them in their newly assigned and labeled shelves. The work was a bit tedious, but she enjoyed the routine of it. Eventually, as the sun was peeking broadly over the distant rolling hills and illuminating the bright windows, a servant brought her a tea tray while she worked. Certainly, this was not the lifestyle she’d been expecting when Vilja had told her she’d be staying in Spring, but the predictability of it soothed a rough corner for Feyre, and she genuinely did enjoy it.

In her sorting, she’d found a well-maintained but dusty collection on the written histories of each court, apparently kept up-to-date by magic as each cover had the most recent date of change on them, and some dates were as recently as the past year. She was certain Tamlin hadn’t bothered to do it. She’d set the stack of seven books to the side and decided to make her way through them one by one so that she could familiarize herself with not only the territories and customs, but also the magic of the High Lords that she had running through her veins. Perhaps, with more recognition, she might be more easily able to control them.

After she’d done her sorting for the day, pushing the final group of books up onto the shelf she’d designated, she slouched down on the plush couch, tossing her hand towards the fire and igniting it brightly. She tucked her toes beneath the blanket strewn across the cushions, grabbing the top tome from the stack of books. She’d decided to read her way up the map, skimming Spring since she could just discuss any questions with Tamlin in real time, and moving all the way up until she ended with the Night Court.

She was currently on the Summer Court, flipping through pages until she reached the section on the High Lord. It had been updated fairly recently, a large picture of a very handsome male named Tarquin on the page. She spent the next few hours learning about the High Lord’s powers and the court’s customs, military, and history.

When she could no longer ignore the growling in her stomach, she tucked a slip of ribbon she’d plucked from the drawers of her room into the book, marking her place, and set it carefully back in the stack. As she eased into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her, Lucien’s voice behind her nearly had her jumping out of her skin.

“Hello, Feyre.”

“Gods, but must you always sneak up on people?” she spit out. Her hand found her chest as her heart threatened to beat out of it. Lucien simply laughed.

“It’s not my fault you aren’t observant. Going to take a nap while we train again?” Feyre was tempted to shoot another retort back, but memories of her dream stopped her. Lucien frowned at the contemplative look on her face.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could take you up on your offer?”

“Our offer to train you?””

Feyre flushed. “Just some self defense.” She hated how his eyes softened at the words. “I just want to be able to fight for myself, should I ever have to.”

“Sure, Feyre.” She didn’t want his pity, so she shot him a look. Lucien, ever the observer, picked up on it and changed his expression to a grin. “If you’re sure you can keep up with us.” She smiled, letting loose a puff of breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.

“I’m going to grab some lunch, then I can change and meet you both out there?” He sketched a mocking bow to her while she rolled her eyes, then he sauntered off back down the hallway towards the rooms.

At least, perhaps, she could work out some of her frustration in the rings. Perhaps she’d even be exhausted enough to sleep tonight.

Feyre was not especially skilled in self-defense, a truth that was especially apparent to her as she laid flat out on the ground for what felt like the hundredth time since she joined them in the rings. Andras reached a hand down to pull her back up.

“You almost had it that time. Make sure you plant that back foot so it’s harder to lose your balance.” She nodded, wiping her hands on her trousers and sinking down into the stance they’d shown her. “You are very small, Tiny. You will need to use your wit and wiles in fighting more than just brute strength.” She was sweating, panting, and exhausted after only an hour of this, but for the first time in maybe her entire life, Feyre really felt that she could be powerful. She would need so much more practice, but she could see herself holding her own.

Andras struck out again, his hand barely grazing her as she pulled back just in time. His smirk widened into a smile, but before she could even feel pride at her success, he was dropping down to swipe her feet. She jumped out of the way with yet another second to spare, nearly losing her balance again, but holding her back foot in place this time.

“Good, now try to hit me.”

“Andras, I said I only wanted to learn defensive–”

“And sometimes, to defend yourself, you need to move on the offensive. Now hit me.” She sighed loudly, blowing the sweaty hair from her eyes. She circled him as she planned her attack, him moving as her mirror image.

“Your eyes are giving you away, Tiny!” Lucien called from where he was lounging on the wall, and she growled at him.

She shook her head, trying to clear the doubt and remember all they’d taught her so far. She remembered what he’d said about using wisdom over strength. Andras always favored his right side when he went to strike, perhaps she could use it to her advantage. She moved in.

He’d be expecting her to use her hands, would be expecting her to go for the face. She could see with great clarity that he’d explicitly lowered his arms to tempt her into it. She fought the instinct to smile before she lunged. She pulled her right arm back in a dramatic show, pretending to aim for his face, Andras grinning. The second his arm shot out to block, she ducked and threw the entirety of her body weight at his now unprotected center. She caught the moment his eyes widened right as she tackled him, catching him off balance and taking them both to the ground. They hit hard and inelegantly, the air whooshing from his lungs and turning into a wheeze as she looked up. He had his hands out at his sides, flat on the ground, and his chest was shaking with laughter as he cackled wildly.

“Tiny, you tackled me.” Meanwhile, Lucien was about to fall off the wall from laughing so hard, gripping his sides as he howled. Feyre couldn’t help but laugh at herself, the adrenaline wearing off and the exhaustion seeping into her bones. “We’ll make a warrior out of you yet.”

“Maybe you can join us on patrol. If I was a naga, I wouldn’t want to cross paths with you.”

“Oh, shut up.” And the laughter began anew as she rolled off Andras to lay on the ground.

“Truly, Feyre, it was good. If you keep practicing, between that and your magic, you’re much stronger than I think people would give you credit for. You could use that to your advantage.”

Her breath evened out and she took in the words. Lucien’s shadow blocked the sun as he held out a hand to her.

“Thank you both. Will Tamlin be cross with you for showing me?” He hadn’t seemed happy with the idea when she’d come to find the three out in the rings earlier, asking more than once if she was absolutely certain that she wanted to learn something like fighting.

Lucien scoffed. “Tamlin will be fine. He’ll come around. His family was traditional in every sense of the word–overtly proper. It’s hard for him to step into the way things are now sometimes, but he won’t hold it against you that you want to be able to protect yourself in a new place.”

“Even if he did, it’s a worthy endeavor to learn,” Andras added.

“It’s worth it to watch Andras fall on his big ass.” Lucien grunted as Andras shoved him to the ground, and Feyre couldn’t help but laugh along with them. She was losing count of the moments where she realized how happy she actually was, finding this sense of friendship. It was foreign and she often felt it hard to let her guard down entirely, the feeling itself of belonging here was so welcome. She hoped, even after they found out that she’d lied, that they would forgive her. It was getting harder and harder to imagine giving these friendships up.

They grabbed their water skins and gear and began the trek back to the manor.

“I’ve got to go clean and drop off my weapons in the barracks. See you both at dinner?” Lucien asked casually before splitting off.

“Sorry, patrol tonight. Soon though?” Andras was up for his rotation in the Human Lands. It was just as well, Feyre wanted to practice her other magic this evening and for that, she’d need privacy.

“Tomorrow, then.” Lucien tossed over his shoulder as he walked towards the barracks.

“Truly, Feyre, you did well today. You’ve improved so much in your magic since you came, and the stronger you get, the more your confidence will grow.” He smiled down at her as they walked.

“Why bother training me? Especially if it makes Tamlin uncomfortable.”

“You remind me a lot of my older sister. She passed a long, long time ago, but she had the same spirit you do– the same determination behind her eyes. If someone had taken the time to show her how to fight, she might still be here now.” They’d reached the manor, but Feyre hated to part on such a dour note.

“I am sorry about your sister. Women are not taught where I’m from either. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you and Lucien have been so accommodating.” Andras smiled, clamping a great hand on her shoulder.

“It’s been a nice change of pace. I like having you around. Stay awhile, hmm?” He squeezed and turned to go.

The guilt bit at her as she moved to climb the stairs, but a voice ringing out through the foyer pulled her from her thoughts. “Maybe just beat Lucien’s ass next time, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, Andras. I’ll be gentle with your pride!” She chuckled as she made her way to her room.

Alis had already had a bath running for Feyre by the time she returned, the lovely fae seemingly always knew when she would need one.

“I’ve rung for your dinner, so it should be up in just a few moments. Everyone seems to have plans tonight, so I imagined that would be simpler.”

“That’s perfect. I got a bit filthy today, so I’ll be looking forward to eating in my nightclothes.” She smiled conspiratorially at Alis, who only shook her head amusedly in response.

“Speaking of clothes, I was in town today and grabbed you a few more things, dear. I put some of those muslin trousers you like so much in your wardrobe.” Feyre’s heart lit up. She’d had lady’s maids and governesses throughout her life, but never a single one she felt had genuinely cared for her or thought of anything but their expectations from her parents. Alis truly seemed to care for Feyre, despite her repeated protestations that while she loved her company, she didn’t really need the help.

“You’re so kind, Alis, thank you. They certainly make it easier to get around.” Alis had only laughed, shaking her head as she folded the towels on the sink and left Feyre to bathe. Feyre stripped in front of the mirror, chuffing lowly at her sweaty and disheveled appearance. She loved to embrace the wildness within her here in Prythian–she liked that, mostly, it was celebrated. She let the glamour she held over her shoulder drop, running her fingers over those three lovely stars that she had hidden during the waking hours. She couldn’t help but associate the stars with Rhys now, even though they symbolized her bargain with Vilja. The ring that she never took off the chain around her neck only reinforced the thought.

She sighed, removing everything but the necklace and listening closely at the door. Once she was sure she was alone, she locked the bathroom door, scampered back towards the steaming tub, and sank deeply into it, closing her eyes.

She’d read about the powers of the High Lord of Summer earlier in the day, but this was her first attempt at practicing. Remembering the way she’d summoned her fire that first time in the woods, she tried to call the water around her in the bath. She focused on it, thinking of it forming into a small ball she might hold in her hands. When she opened her eyes, there was a ball of water. Feyre would have smiled had it not been enormous, half the bathwater now hovering above her.

“Uhhh, not quite that much.” She tried to coax it down with her hands, but like popping a bubble, it burst all over her, soaking her and sloshing over the sides of the tub wildly as she laughed and shoved the soaked hair from her eyes.

“Perhaps that will require a bit more practice.” But she grinned at the attempt. It had worked, technically. She spent the rest of the bath trying to communicate with the magic, feeling how it moved within her and beckoning it to move in smaller increments. By the time she got out, pruned and waterlogged, she could send out small ripples in the water and make small bubbles of water dance along her hands with great control. They were baby steps, but progress was progress.

She pulled the towel around herself, anxious to crawl into bed. Though the magic was still only able to perform small feats, she had to work it like a muscle. It exhausted her to use even the smallest amounts of it still, and she resolved to practice every single day here going forward.

She wrung out her hair, braiding it back for the night and slipping into her robe before she sat down to eat at the small table in front of the windows as the twilight grew darker and the stars emerged.

Would Rhys have magic, too?

She wasn't entirely sure how magic doled itself out amongst the high fae here. Tamlin of course had all the powers of a High Lord, Lucien had the fire power of Autumn, and Andras seemed to favor the shifting of Spring.

If Rhys was of Night, what gifts might he possess, if any at all? Would he be impressed with the magic she had?

She finished eating and changed into her nightclothes, tucking herself snugly under the soft covers. She hoped tonight Rhys might find her in her dreams. She ached to touch him, to talk to him, and she wanted to finish what they’d started yesterday, her thighs clenching at the mere thought of it.

Feyre hadn’t been asleep long when something woke her, the stars sparkling in the deep, black sky.

What had woken her?

She listened carefully and nearly jumped when she heard the slamming of a door and a great clatter from outside the doors. Without thinking twice, she jumped from the bed, grabbing her robe from the chair by the door and throwing it on. She could hear yelling as she skidded into the hall, running for the stairs with the deep, gnawing feeling that something was truly wrong.

When she rounded the corner, taking the stairs two at a time, she found the front doors slung wide open, the staff gathered in the open doors to the kitchens in their nightclothes watching the scene in the foyer unfold.

Tamlin was on all fours, half-shifted from a great beast, panting and heaving while Lucien bent over him with a hand on his back.

“What’s happened, Tamlin? Tell us what’s happened.” Lucien’s voice was a frantic pitch that Feyre hadn’t heard before, and the moment seemed to freeze her very soul to the spot she stood while Tamlin raised his face. She could see the tracks of dirt down his cheeks where he’d clearly shed tears, his eyes wild and panicked.

No, this was not good.

“Andras.” He gasped. “A human killed Andras.”

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