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myfictionaldreams · 11 months ago

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Light in the Darkness // Feyre/Rhysand x Fem!Reader

Summary: It wasn't just Rhys who had been caught in Amrantha's damnatation. For nearly 50 years, you'd suffered with him, in her bed. After years of enduring agony, it becomes almost impossible to resist seeking refuge in the platonic refuge of your High Lord and High Lady. However, after one night of drunken indulgence, you're left wondering if everything you've built to protect yourself is now shattered.

Requested by: ~ ☺ -- thank you so so much for all your support and the request! I absolutely loved writing more acotar/sjm!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, past rape/non-con elements, trauma, PTSD, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, flirting, kissing, drinking, threesome (f/f/m), sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, anxiety, happy ending

Words: 9.4k (lol oops)

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Some aspects of life can be predicted. Happiness, sadness, heartbreak, grief. Death. Every ounce of blessings that had graced your life had repercussions and hardships, something that was always centred around the balance of the world. With good comes the bad.

Years upon years had been filled with joy, laughter, and safety with your friends and family. Naturally, being drawn into the inner circle of the Night Court would bring its hardships, but it would be nothing that your friends or your family could get you out of. From outsiders, you were ranked low within the group, not even having a title to the job you provided; however, you often liked to refer to yourself as Rhysand's conscience.

Where Amren would help make significant decisions for the Night Court as the second in command, you'd be there to offer further guidance daily. Every meeting, every decision, every single day, you would be at Rhysand's side, making sure he didn't make brash decisions and, furthermore, protecting his sanity when, on some days, the weight of the world pressed down on him.

Not only did you save Rhys with your words, but as a high fae, you were blessed by the Cauldron with healing and body manipulation powers. The healing was self-explanatory as to why it could help; there were times you'd been able to bring a soul back, even from the point of death. However, such as life, with life comes pain. A power you used so infrequently due to the distress that you'd often forgotten that it was something you could do. Only on a handful of occasions have you needed to use it against an enemy they begged for death in seconds. It was a strain on your mental health to use this, and with Rhys having his own powers, along with his shadowsinger, there weren't many reasons for you to even be needed for this.

Rhysand would never expect or ask you to use this power, increasing your adoration for him tenfold. To say the two of you were close was a complete understatement. When you both live and breathe the same day-to-day life, the form of friendship is bound to shift into something more. Rhys made you feel safe; the scent of night and Jasmine that accompanied him always wrapped around you like a warm hug.

There was no one you trusted more than him, and when the two of you stumbled into bed years ago, it only helped you discover more of yourself, especially with your powers. Pleasure. You could bestow pleasure onto a person with a single thought. Have their knees wobbling, eyes glazing over and back arching as they orgasmed in a single second. It made your nights with the High Lord all the more entertaining.

Even with the closeness the two of you shared, there was still the label of friendship. You loved Rhysand, and he loved you, but the two of you were still keeping back, aware of the possibilities of mates, and until any bond arrived, the friendship would continue with the thrill of pleasure.

As your role to be by his side continued, this was the unfortunate or devastating mistake of how you were in attendance at the ball that Amarantha had created. All it took was a gathering of high lords and a drink of the magically spiked wine, and the world of Pyrthian would be forever changed. The magic within the High Lords was leashed, and no one was safe from the wrath of the Red-Haired Devil.

You could have driven yourself mad with hindsight, regretting not listening to your gut feeling of not trusting Amarantha. Only the knowledge of being able to keep the rest of your family and friends safe in Velaris was the only blessing, even if it meant a life of agony for 50 years.

Amarantha, in all of her cruel ways, personally picked the High Lord of the Night Court with her need for revenge for Rhys' father, killing her closest ally - Tamlin's father. Rhys had always had a formal villainous reputation amongst the other courts, but now, this is further shadowed by the different courts as Amarantha uses him. To hurt others, break them in a split second, and furthermore, keep him leashed to her bed. He was simply her whore and nothing more to the others throughout Pyrthian. This mighty High Lord, probably the most powerful High Lord there had ever been, had been degraded and dehumanised to nothing.

Nevertheless, where Rhysand stayed, you were by his side.

Rhysand had protected Velaris, the rest of his friends and family that remained at home, keeping them locked away from Amarantha using his Daemati skills, but could not save them.

The first few weeks of the new reign of the Red Devil, you'd been chained in a cell with only darkness and the drip of the waters running down the walls to keep you company. You'd even convinced yourself she had forgotten about you, willing to let you rot away. However, you were forced to kneel before her, and Rhys stood by her side.

There was never a second where you'd blame Rhys for what happened. In fact, over the 50 years, he had saved you in more ways than you could ever repay him for.

You were forced by Amarantha to admit why Rhys kept you so close by. The healing, the pain, the pleasure. Everything spilt from your lips with a single snap of her fingers. Rhysand was her whore, and you were downgraded to being her Harlot, except there was no exchange between sex and money, only sex and not being killed.

Rhy was forced to control minds and occasionally cause pain before death. You were just there to deal unimaginable pain until death, and then both crawl into Amaranthas bed and pleasure her until she promptly sleeps, wakes and starts the process again.

As the years trailed by, the only sight that would keep you going was the flickerings of stars that would light in the depths of Rhysand's eyes when the two of you were briefly alone for mere seconds.

Amarantha kept a tight leash on the two of you. When in her bedroom, you and Rhys were never allowed to touch, and most frequently, you were forced to kneel next to the bed and watch or tie to the bed with the Red Devil straddling your waist with Rhys pleasuring her from behind. You would watch and watch, and then her fingers would snap, and you were forced to make her orgasm, over and over, even with Rhys having spent hours pleasuring her.

These moments were where Rhys would provide support. Even though your eyes had to remain on Amarantha, Rhys would slip through your mental shiels and make you feel numb whilst remaining mentally close so that you didn't feel alone. Often, you would wake without any recollection of the previous night's antics, all thanks to your High Lord, and you wished and begged to the Cauldron that one day you could repay him for keeping you from slipping into the depressive pit that you would never be able to return from.

Then, at the risk of his life, Rhys admitted to having dreams. 47 years, the two of you had been trapped, and he'd been lost to the Red Devil, but hope came to him with glimpses of a woman's life. Hope. It had to be hope, and even though you could only see foggy images that Rhys would share of this person, the two of you would hope that this was a sign of someone who was bringing salvation.

Nearly 50 years had passed, and Rhysand finally admitted to meeting her whilst visiting the Spring Court, falling for the callings coming his way to draw him closer to her. Nothing came as easy as an overnight saviour, but at least you had a name. Feyre. Sweet Feyre. A human girl who had nearly stolen Tamlin's heart arrived under the mountain to declare her love for him and stand up to the Red Devil.

So young and yet defiant. Despite the pain, the torture and helplessness, she never back down. Something in your heart called to her. Maybe it wasn't right to put so much pressure on her to save Pyrthian, but even if it meant you had to take your last breath, you would try anything within your power to save this woman.

Superficial wounds you couldn't heal, but the pain you were quick to vanish as she was kept in her cell between the trials. Moreover, you were more than aware that Rhys was doing just as much to keep her from losing her sanity by having her close to his side, forgetting the world as she drank faerie wine.

The fateful day came, and so many events spiralled into utter chaos. After the final trial, Feyre figures out the riddle but still dies in Amaranthas's hand. Tamlin finally finds courage and slaughters the Red Devil and the High Lords, gathering to bring Feyre back to life as High Fae.

Freedom was unforgettable, and leaving the depths of Under the Mountain was something you'd only dreamed of, but there was now the weight of Rhys' mating bond snapping into place that had the next chapter in your lives beginning.

There was no time to be happy for your High Lord as the King of Hybern began his war whilst simultaneously trying to prove to Feyre that she was safe within the Night Court and away from Tamlin and that you were thanking Rhys and Mor for stealing her from the dreadful place.

Years continue to fly by. Wars, fights, numerous deaths, including Rhys for a moment and finally, FINALLY, the Night court could be at rest and for once indeed be happy with their High Lord and Lady protecting the lands with the inner circle close by.

Having been in turmoil for so long, adjusting to returning home, being surrounded by friends, and trying to remember what it was like to be genuinely safe was more difficult than anticipated.

It was almost like having to try and learn how to live again. What hobbies would truly distract you? What job could you do from day to day as it wasn't necessarily for you to be on Rhysands' side now with Feyre there to aid in the decision-making? There was also the destruction of having survivor guilt and horrific nightmares that had you afraid of the sun slipping behind the mountains every day and night, replacing the light. No amount of talking, counselling or breathing exercises could remind you that Amarantha was truly dead and that everything was fine.

This was how you began to depend on your High Lord and Lady. Both of whom were closer to you than it seemed to be anyone else. Most days would be spent around either of them, whether to help with court business or simply sitting next to them as they continued their lives.

You had realised long ago that you were mostly in love with Rhys and Feyre and depended on them more than others. They never made you feel guilty for this. Neither seemed to mind and often would seek you out if you were starting to feel guilty and keep them safe; they needed comfort and support just as much as you did.

The damage and trauma from Under the Mountain also fleeted from just your mind. You couldn't train with any of the others; even the slightest touch against your skin would trigger red nightmares. You were unsure if it was the saviour complex you'd built around Feyre or Rhys, but you'd only allow them through your hard outer shell.

"Come back to me. Come back to Velaris. You're safe; I'm here; take a deep breath with me" Feyre's soothing voice drifted through your tense consciousness as she blew out a long breath so you could hear the steadiness of her slow breaths. The sweetness of her scent, lilac and pear, then licked through the wind across the skin of your cheek as she knelt in front of you, grasping your hand firmly and helping to ground you.

Your eyelids fluttered first, testing the movements as your mind and body began to return from the horrors within. The rich blueness of Feyre's concerned eyes is what you forced on first, then the rise and fall of her chest as you attempted to copy the movements. It was the first draw of breath that you realised just how long you'd been holding your breath as your lungs burned and your head spun.

The air of Velaris tasted sweet, or maybe it was the lingering taste of Feyre in the air as the ache in the centre of your chest eased and you became more present. The trembling throughout your body continued, no matter how many times Fey's thumb brushed against the back of your hand.

"You're always safe here, with me. It's just us together. Look outside; the sun is still shining, and there's no darkness here". Feyre continued to gently soothe you with her elegant voice.

You'd always found it so ironic that a place called the Night Court, the power to bring forth shadows and darkness from its High Lady and Lord, was actually the brightest and most beautiful home. Free. Unlike how it was Under the Mountain.

Tension struck your spine as your thoughts drifted back to the nightmarish place. Feyre's grip on your hand loosened as she shifted closer to cup both hands around your face, forcing your eyes on her again.

"Don't go back there, stay with me. Talk to me, I want to hear your pretty voice, Honey". It was both the use of her nickname for you and the warmth of her fingers on your face that brought you back from the dizzying nightmares.

Opening your mouth to follow your instructions, you were unsure what to say at first, worried that all that would dribble out would be frightened whimpers, but then a little fleck of something at the corner of Feyre's eyelid caught your eye as your fingers hovered above the area.

"You have a freckle right here that I've never noticed before", you say in a whisper before clearing your voice and smiling at your High Lady.

Feyre matches your grin, showing her teeth whilst doing so and tilting her face so that you're not cupping her face just as she was yours. "Do I? I've never noticed before. Guess I'll have to add it to my portraits".

Your index finger stroked over the freckle as your thoughts spoke before you could probably think as you admitted, "It's beautiful". Usually, only her mate caused the pinkness to blush across her cheeks as she tried to duck and hide her face, the golden hair half drawn into a ponytail now curtaining her away.

Instinctively, you brushed the offending pieces behind her pointed ears, giving you a clearer view of the beauty of Feyre Archeron-Moonbeam. As her sky-stained eyes flicked back up to yours, she coyly softened her smile. And you're a big old flirt; she uses her daemati skills as her lips remain still so that only you can hear.

Only for you, my High Lady, you respond similarly. However, the flirtatious talk was then interrupted by a third, more silky, deep voice joined as the scent of Jasmine and the crispness of night wrapped around you in a warm hug.

I object. I, too, think you're a big old flirt to me, too. It could be my handsome good looks and effortless charm. The intense eye contact with Feyre snapped as you both turned toward the doorway where Rhys now casually leaned against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his black trousers and not a single hair out of place. The hypnotic violet eyes wandered over Feyre's form first before doing the same with you before the tension eased in his shoulders.

Scoffing as you and Feyre stood, releasing each other's faces and turning towards him entirely, you spoke the following words aloud. "Excuse me, Almighty High Lord. I think you'll find that you're older than me and a much bigger flirt".

Feyre laughs as she naturally falls into his side, their arms wrapping around each other's waists and his lips dipping to kiss her tenderly across the forehead before focusing his attention on you with a wicked grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Love. I only flirt with my darling Feyre". His mate gently slaps a hand against his chest. As you all know, that was one of the biggest lies to slip from his lips. Rhys simply grabs her tattoo-covered hand and kisses the knuckles before venturing further into the room, only stopping when toe-to-toe with you.

Your neck ached as you stared up at him, admiring the twinkle of stars in his eyes as he asked, Do you want to talk about it?

You knew he was referring to your momentary lapse in consciousness moments ago. Losing the courage to maintain eye contact, you look across Velaris, noticing how the sun reflected and sparkled against the water flowing in the Sidra.

Suddenly having no energy, your shoulder shrugs nonchalantly, even though you knew the man before you could read you better than any other. "Not really".

Warm, calloused fingers grip your chin, turning your face back towards Rhys as you find that Feyre is now by your side, her fingers interlocking with yours, both touching you, the only two to have done so since being Under the Mountain, even if they were innocent touches.

"You can always come to us, day or night. You know that, right? Just call out for us, and we will come", Rhys reassures carefully, his eyebrows drawn together with concern.

Glancing between the mated pair, you try to ignore the burning behind your eyes from the threatening tears as you squeeze the hand holding yours and smile up at Rhys. "What would I ever do without my favourite High Lady and Lord".

Rhys grins down at you, keeping his hold on your chin as he leans down to kiss your cheek, remaining there for a second longer than socially acceptable as you suck in a quick breath as Feyre copies the kiss on the opposite cheek. The two of them move away at the same time as you struggle to control your pounding heart and ignore the desperate throb that warmed your core from being between them both.

It was always like this with the three of you. The longing touches by both of them. The ones that would fuel the dreams would leave you feeling regret for thinking of your friends in such a way, even if it distracted you from your dark thoughts.

To everyone else, it seemed that you were all close. Still, when the three of you were alone, something constantly shifted, and as much as you tried to remember they were mates and nothing further would ever happen, the lasting effects of the increased pulse and arousal remained. Even though you would never act on these feelings, they made you feel alive and safe.

You noticed it then, the shadows that creep into their eyes as their nostrils flare, smelling your dampening arousal. Like always, you take a step back and try to regain control over your actions, masking your emotions with humour.

"You two are naughty. Do you often kiss your friends like that".

Feyre's giggle only adds to your body's reaction as she links her arm through yours and shrugs her shoulder, "I don't know what you're referring to. We were just being supportive", her tone was laced with sarcasm.

Rolling your eyes, your arm taps the arm holding yours, "Of course you were". Leaning into her side, the two of you glance up at Rhysand, who is silently watching the interactions. Eventually, his eyes flicked to Feyres, who tilted her head with a knowing smile. Looking between the two, you sigh dramatically, "I hate when you both talk like that. It's like you're showing off that you can speak mind to mind. Some would call it rude to talk like that without including your company".

Rhys finally smirks as you notice the sweet and seedy tang that now invaded your scents, mixing with the smell of your arousal quickly; you take a step back from them, assuming they're both flirting mind to mind as you can now smell how horny they both were.

"Alright, well, now I know what you're both thinking. I'm going to take that as my opportunity to leave, " you explain whilst walking towards the exit like you usually did when the mated pair became obsessed with the other in similar situations. However, a shadow wraps around your wrist and halts your movements, so you must turn back and watch as Rhys' arm secures Feyre's shoulder.

"How do you know what we are thinking about?" Rhys asks casually.

Once more, you roll your eyes in exasperation, "because I can smell it, and you are both anything but subtle".

"Hmm", he contemplates for a second. "And what exactly do you think we're dreaming about?"

Your tongue suddenly lay heavy in your mouth as you look confused between them both, noting that Feyre's cheeks are once more flushed with embarrassment, or was it arousal?

"Is this a fun game for you both? I'm not sure I'm interested in guessing what you two do behind closed doors". A lie, but they don't need to know this as those thoughts had been fueling your quiet nights between your sheets.

The High Lord and Lady's eyes both lower to watch as your thighs squeeze together to ease the worsening ache there, not realising how noticeable your movements had been as you cough to recapture their attention back to your face.

"Maybe I should have phrased my question differently", Rhys begins to say as he licks his lips. "Who exactly do you think we are dreaming about?"

Your frown deepens with the confusion that only seems to worsen with each word Rhys says. Feyre takes control of the conversation as she steps forward and out of Rhys' hold until she is in front of you, looking like the beautiful High Lady that she is. Her shoulders rolled back, her head held high, and the confidence only added to the pulsing and fire between your legs.

Carefully, you watch every single flicker of emotion and movement from Feyre. From the way her lips part to take in a deep breath, the subtle hardening of her nipples beneath the thin blue shirt she wore, to the way her pupils expand to match the sweet scent in the air. "I, for one, was not and am not thinking of Rhysand", she speaks in a lower undertone than usual, not flinching from your unending stare.

It was your turn to open your mouth, licking the dryness while attempting to think of some kind of response, but it seemed that your mind was void of all conventional thoughts. So much so that the arrival of Morrigan as she winnowed into the room had the three of you flinching and jumping to face the new arrival.

The tall blonde's nose wrinkled as she glanced between her cousin and his mate, "By the Cauldron, will you two leave the poor girl alone with your nasty thoughts? It smells like a Pleasure house in here", Mor claims as she flicks her luscious hair over her shoulder.

You take a step back, thankful that Mor only thought the thick smell was from Feyre and Rhys and not you as well.

"Morrigan, a pleasure as always, dear cousin", Rhys drawls as he casually picks off some invisible lint from his shoulder. This sight has you smiling, knowing he was covering his discomfort with the movement.

Mor flicked her gaze over Rhys before dressing each of you with enthusiasm, clasping her hands together, "So tonight I've convinced the others to come to Ritas, and I need you three to also join to have the complete team there".

"I'll be there, " you say quickly, deciding you need something more substantial to drink after this conversation.

"Us too", Feyre answered as she glanced over her shoulder towards you with a not-so-subtle wink.

Hours later, after the sun had set and your anxiety had risen for a moment, you were now encompassed in the inhibitions of the alcohol humming through your veins. Ritas was as busy as always, and being surrounded by friends, good music and even better drinks, you were very much in your element of happiness.

Despite your friends being gathered around the table you always resided at or in the centre of the dancefloor, you were happy in your little corner of heaven in Ritas, where you could sway on the spot without worrying about feeling strangers' bodies knocking into yours.

The conversation continued to play over in your mind as you felt the coolness of the sweat dripping down the middle of your spine. As much as you love Mor, you could have cursed her to prison for interrupting before discovering who Feyre and Rhys were referring to because even though your heart screamed that it was about you, your mind tried to convince you otherwise. There was no way that your mated friends were turned on by you.

You're drawn away from your thoughts as a slender arm slides around your neck, and the sweet smell of Feyre wraps around you, replacing the salty sweat from the room. Her grin matches yours as she tips her head back, swaying her hips in time with yours as your fingers clasp to the thin material of her peach dress around her waist, pulling her closer.

From the way she laughed, you knew she was just as drunk as you but nevertheless still as beautiful as ever, even with the way her golden hair stuck to her face with the sweat and the glassy sheen over her eyes. You were happy to see her letting go and fully relaxing; she deserved it more than most.

You weren't sure which of you tightened your hold of the other, but now your faces are pressed together, her lips hovering next to your ear so that you could hear her say, "We didn't finish the conversation earlier".

Your feet somehow become tangled with hers as you both lose your footing, but a steady hand from behind keeps you both upright as Rhys' chest presses against your back. One of his hands remains on your waist, his thumb brushing in a circle, and the other reaches around your side to grip Feyre, pulling her even closer against your chest until your breasts are squished against hers.

"Wh-What conversation?" you pretend to forget, the rest of Ritas drowning away in the background.

"Don't play coy with us; I can smell your arousal already", Rhys growls into your other ear. You forget to breathe momentarily, so Rhys's tone calms, "Easy, breathe for us, it's ok. This will always remain a safe space". You appreciated his comfort, but for a moment, all you could think about was the way his lips caressed the shell of your ear.

I think you're beautiful, Honey. Feyre speaks dreamily mind to mind as she pulls away to look deep into your mind mesmerisingly. Her delicate fingers stroke down your cheek as her eyes flick between yours and the lips you're biting. I want you. She states this with such confidence and not an ounce of alcohol slurring her words that your knees wobble.

"I want you too", you finally whisper to her, unsure if the alcohol was giving you courage or making silly decisions on your behalf.

"And you know that Rhys wants you too; nothing about that has changed", Feyre continues as you glance over your shoulder to look up at Rhys as he kisses the side of your head. You nod, understanding that she was referring to your past with him.

"I think we should find somewhere more private, don't you?" Feyre continues as you agree with her.

One second, you're in Ritas, and the next, you're in the comforting bedroom in the townhouse of Feyre and Rhys. The instant calmness of the loud music faded, and the delicate touch of the wind as it floated through the open archway to the balcony. Sighing at the coolness as it kissed against the exposed skin of your arms, you let it distract you from the chaos erupting in your heart and mind.

Rhys moved away first, and before you turned to see what he was doing, Feyre stepped back and grabbed your hand. The two of you laughed wholeheartedly while stumbling over to their gigantic bed.

You both collapse into the centre, laughing at nothing as the springs cause you both to bounce before settling and wrapping your arms around each other.

Rhys leans against the bedpost at the base of the bed, smiling down at the two of you, especially as Feyre lifts her feet and wiggles them in his direction. "Come on, High Lord. Look busy", she giggles as Rhys smirks, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and dragging her feet into his lap. Carefully, he unbuckled the straps of her heels, dropped the shoes onto the floor and carefully kissed the top of her knee as the dress she wore now pooled midthigh no that she was lying down, and then his sights were set on you.

With long strides, he's around the other side of the bed, now closest to you, and begins to remove your shoes as well, but then your feet remain over his thighs, and the reality of the situation finally dawns on you. Like he had with Feyre, his eyes never leave yours as you forget to breathe altogether, and he kisses your knee delicately.

Feyre raised to lean on her fist so that she could look down at you as your gaze turned from one to the other.

"You'll tell us if it's too much, I mean", she asks, appearing more sober as you, too, notice the liquid courage seems to have disappeared from your system as you nod in agreement at her. She smiles as Rhys' fingers caress from your ankle up to your calf. "I've never kissed a female before", she admits as the hand she isn't leaning on reaches across to run her fingers down the side of your face.

"I think you'd enjoy it", you say, sounding breathless, becoming lost in the desire that darkens her usually bright eyes. You're encouraged to continue as her fingers continue to explore your face and linger on your lips. "Kissing a man is nice and dominant, rough. But with females, they're soft, sweet, gentle but demanding if needed."

Feyre bites her lower lip as she glances at Rhys for a split second before turning her attention back down to you. "I want to kiss you", admits eternally.

"I don't think your mate would appreciate me touching what's he", you say, trying to remain as level-headed as possible, knowing that the mind between mates should not be interfered with.

Feyre's eyes gleam with mischief as she looks down at her mate, who has remained silent so far. "My mate wants to kiss you too", she confirms.

"More than you could know", Rhys then speaks, his tone taunt and deep, like he is trying to hold back, but it is all the confirmation you need.

Reaching up to your High lady, you cup her jaw and pull her close, meeting her halfway as your lips connect. The two of you forget to breathe momentarily, simply remaining in place and allowing each of your emotions to escalate before your movements finally catch up to your pounding heart.

Your lips press more firmly, moving against hers until they relax and open, giving you the perfect position to tease your tongue between her lips. You both moan, especially now that you can taste her, feel her loosening and falling more into the kiss, finding the courage to push your head back onto the bed and become more demanding.

Your fingers slip through her hair as you greedily try to taste the other. She was sweet, oh so fucking sweet you could have drowned in her and thanked the Cauldron for giving you the opportunity. Her full lips are cushioned against yours until you're both starving of oxygen and needing to pull back to breathe.

A second, this lasted before her face wasn't above yours anymore, and your High Lord was leaning over your body, his hand now cupping the entire side of your face as he kissed you with greed. The sensation of nostalgia hit, the taste that you'd grown fond of over the years of intimacy before Feyre crashed through your senses. Yet, there was something new and exciting with this kiss, even as you continued to stroke through his mate's hair and hold her to your side as Rhysand bruised your lips, his tongue entering your mouth for a brief second as you moaned.

Then he's pulling back, and you're welcomed to the beautiful sight of Feyre and Rhys desperately kissing. You'd seen them kiss more times than you could count, but being this close, having each of them still clutching onto your body in some way.

Feyre was the first to ease away, tilting her head slightly so that Rhysands lips could move to the slop of her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses until reaching the strap of her dress on her shoulder and easing it down. Coping his movement, you, too, moved the strap off of her other shoulder and the material pooled below her ribs, exposing her breasts to you. There wasn't a second wasted before you moved to lick one of her perked nipples as Rhys nibbled on the other.

The soft moan from Feyre lit a fire in your belly as you continued to taste the sweetness of her skin, but then your head was moved back as Feyre demanded your mouth with hers once more.

With your back pressed against the bed, Feyre attempts to move over you but then halts herself, "I don't know what I'm doing" Feyre giggles.

Grinning up at her innocence, you admire the way that her eyes are half-lidded and swollen lips are pulled between her teeth as Rhys continues to caress her nipples and breasts with his mouth and hands.

Tucking a stray curl of golden hair behind her ear, you explain, "Touch me like you'd touch yourself. Do you touch yourself?" you ask, clarifying. The apples of her cheeks had already risen from the alcohol and kissing, but now they deepened in the shade as she said yes. Rhys growls against her chest at the thought of her touching herself and then begins to remove her dress further down her body until she's naked. You see, seeing that she'd gone without underwear and reached to touch her now slightly sensitive nipples.

Once more, you admire how she hitches a breath at the touch. She still seems hesitant as her fingers draw your dress's edge against your collarbones. Rhys, also sensing her nerves, lies on the other side of you, resting his head on his fist as he wraps his large hand around Feyre's small one.

"Here, let ms show you, Darling", he explains lowly, and you notice that he's now topless, the muscles flexing with his movements and bat wings flared out behind him, hovering in the air.

You and Feyre watch as Rhys moves her hand over your chest, cupping your breast over your dress and squeezing firmly. You can't help but rub your thighs together as the low pleasure builds in your already aroused body, the air thick with seedy scents from all three of you.

Rhys then catches your eye, winking cheekily with a handsome smirk. Within a blink of an eye, all clothes that remained on his or your body disappeared, and now Feyre's hand was pressed directly against your skin.

Your back arches slightly into the touch, pushing your breast into her hand, and then it's your turn to gasp as Rhys moves her fingers to pinch your nipple fiery, tugging it away from your body and then pressing a thumb against the aching area.

It was a sight you adored watching as Feyre tentatively began to learn how to touch your body. There was so much you wanted to do to both of them, and as much as you wanted to give Feyre a chance to move lower, you didn't like the attention just on you. It was challenging to decide whether to touch him or her, but as it was Feyre's first time with a girl, you wanted to see if she enjoyed your face between her legs.

"Feyre, can I be on top of you?" you ask her with a surprisingly pitched voice.

She grins as her eyes glow ever brighter as she rolls onto her back, "You don't have to ask".

Returning her smile, you slip around Rhys and straddle Feyre's waist, leaning down to kiss her hungrily for a few seconds before moving backwards, lower down her body. "I want to taste you". Your words pressed against her skin as your mouth journeyed south, kissing the peaks of her breasts down her sternum and toned stomach. Her breaths were coming out in quick huffs as she squirmed on the bed, legs spreading as your body fit between them, your face pressing against the softness of her thighs.

Feyre's arousal was evidenced by the wetness that now caressed your cheek as you nuzzled yourself closer, resting your weight on your chest and arse perked in the air as you felt the High Lord move behind you. Blowing cool air over Feyre's beautiful cunt, you loved how responsive she already was as she shivered and gripped tightly to the sheet beneath her, looking down her body at you.

Whilst holding her eye contact, you finally lowered your mouth to her, tongue sweeping over her labia and tasting her salty but uniquely beautiful juices. The High Lady's gasp was like music to your ears, especially as you pressed more firmly, dipping beneath and stroking over her clit and feeling it throb against your tongue. "You taste so fucking good".

Rhys, who was licking his lips at the sight, began to hover over both of you, kissing down your spine, causing goosebumps to rush to the surface of your skin. He, too, began to use his tongue to pleasure as he knelt behind you, flicking his tongue into your cunt and pushing in. You groan, and in turn, Feyre does, too.

"I've missed this", Rhys admits from behind as he circles your hole with his fingers, carefully easing a single digit within. This was the first time you'd been penetrated by anything in over 50 years. Amarantha had often tortured you with your arousal, making sure you were never given anything to ease the ache, but then after her demise, even when you touched yourself, you were so sensitive it would only take clitoris to play for you to orgasm.

Your back arches, pressing your breasts further into the bed and arse harder into Rhys' face as he rocks his finger in and out before adding another and beginning to curl his fingers until your whimpering into his mate's cunt. Warmth flushed over your face as you realised just how quickly you were close to orgasm, so you moved with more enthusiasm as you sucked on her clit and then pressed your tongue firmly against it. Then, for the first time in 50 years, you used your powers because you wanted to, not because you were being forced to.

Rhys and Feyre both moan loudly enough that the bed trembles. You'd caused the sensation for him that his cock was now being wrapped tightly down someone's throat and Feyre to fill full internally, with someone caressing the sensitive nerves within her cunt, both nipples being sucked on by an invisible force.

"What was that?" she cries out as she closes her eyes, her hips now rotating on their own accord as she chases her high. You could have made her orgasm with your powers but didn't want to overwhelm her immediately, so you settled in softly as you continue to circle her clit.

Not stopping to answer her question, you match the sensations you're going through and then as Rhys' thumb pressed against your clit and the hurricane of an orgasm pulsed through your cunt and abdomen, you made sure that both mates also came at the same time.

Rhys grunted, one hand coming to rest on your hip and squeezing the flesh as he humped against the bed, staining the sheets with his seed, and Feyre coated your mouth with her arousal, her thighs almost crushing you in the process, but you would have died happy right there.

While still trying to catch her breath, Feyre suddenly announces loudly, "Sit on my face". You and Rhys' face snap up to look at her, laughing at the crudeness of her words that aren't usually that forward. She appears sheepish for once, asking, "What? Did I say it wrong?"

"Not at all", you begin whilst crawling up her body until you're face to face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

With Rhys' steady hands on your hips, you moved to kneel on either side of your High Lady's face, looking down your body at her excited expression. Still reluctant, it takes Feyre's tattoed fingers to wrap around your thighs and pull your body down before her mouth is on your intimate area. You weren't sure who moaned louder, you or Feyre, as she started by licking and tasting between your folds before building more enthusiasm and dipping the tip of her tongue into your pussy.

"You're doing so good", you praise whilst holding one hand on the headboard of the bed and the other slipping into Feyre's hair. Glancing over your shoulder, you admire Rhys, who was on his knees watching the two of you, his hand wrapped around his surprisingly already hard cock. He looked almost godly in this position, the tattoos of the mountains on his knees gleaming at you for more than one reason, his wings spread wide behind him. "Look busy, High Lord; I think our beautiful High Lady's cunt is looking lonely down there".

"It would be my honour, Love", Rhys agrees, moving closer and easing his mates legs over his thighs as he lowers the tip of his cock over her clit, teasing her for a second before entering her. You could feel the rush of air against your pussy as she gasps, rotating her hips as she rocks against Rhys.

You match the movements, rolling your hips against her face as her nose knocks against your bundle of nerves and her tongue moves ever deeper. Everything felt so good; your body was alive with emotions and buzzing nerves. You could have died happy right there, especially as your face is then tilted back and Rhys' mouth is on yours, kissing whilst fucking his mate.

Even with his tongue down your throat, you wish you could praise Feyre; she makes you feel so good, even though it is her first time doing this. And Rhys, he always knew how to leave you breathless and begging for more.

You weren't even prepared as your orgasm rocked you very well. Rhys had to half hold you up as your body trembled, cunt squeezing and pulling around Feyre's tongue until the sensations lessons at you collapsed next to the pair, trying to catch your breath.

Then you watched, with awe and amazement, as Rhys fucked Feyre, their fingers all over each other, grasping and holding as both of them eased closer to their peak. But even then, when both were breathless and arching their backs, you were still being grabbed and included with kisses and touches until all three were motionless in the middle of the bed.

To say you were exhausted was an understatement, having not had two orgasms in quick successions in so long, and the thrill of emotions was enough to have you falling asleep almost immediately. Not before you're checked in by both of them, Rhys wraps an arm around your waist, and Feyre's head rests against your chest.

"Are you ok? I mean - was that alright for you?" she whispers, sounding just as exhausted as you.

"It was perfect", you respond before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

Waking up was not the blissful peace you'd hoped it would be. The thrill of the alcohol had completely gone from your body, and all that remained was a heavy sickness of guilt in your stomach. Last night was beyond perfect. Everything you could have wanted and more, but reality was your worst enemy.

Feyre and Rhys were mates, not only this but your High Lord and Lady. A fun night of relieving tensions for them meant so much more for you; emotions that had attempted to lay dormant were now screaming in your mind that you'd made one of the worst mistakes yet. They wouldn't want you. They couldn't have you anyway. No matter how deep the feelings ran, there was no such thing as a mates pair having a third join.

When the pair would wake, you knew it would be full of awkwardness and 'let's never do this again'. So, with great difficulty, you began to untangle yourself from the duo, careful not to wake either of them as you climbed out of bed.

It wouldn't happen again, and the sooner you realised this and came to terms with it, the easier the pain in your heart could ease. Grabbing your dress that was folded on a nearby chair, you slipped it on and, with your shoes in hand, left without glancing back at the sleeping couple.

You had a room in their house, much like the rest of the inner circle, but there was no way you could remain in the same room as them for a day, at least so, after changing into more comfortable clothes and hiding under a coat, you left to go to your own home.

It was on the other side of Velaris, and on the walk there, with the sun slowly beginning to rise and wake up the other occupants of your home town, you had time to overthink every single touch and moan from last night. Eventually, you arrived at your abandoned apartment, having hardly slept here since your nightmares were so crippling that you needed to stay near Rhys and Feyre at all times.

You attempted to distract yourself by scrubbing your skin raw, trying to remove the scents of both of them away, but when that didn't work, you moved to deep cleaning your home, which now had a thick layer of dust and cobwebs across the surfaces. This was until you could collapse with exhaustion into your cold bed.

The nightmares were there, so violently, in fact, that you were startled awake because you couldn't breathe. Your mouth opened to scream for Rhys to save you but stopped, biting on your tongue until blood coated your mouth. Scrubbing a heavy hand down your face as you caught your breath and eased the ache in your chest, you glanced out of the window, seeing the sun high in the sky, meaning it hadn't been that long since you'd fallen asleep.

Your stomach gave a hungry growl as you sighed, collapsing back onto your pillow, staring aimlessly towards your ceiling.

I was going to give you one more hour of rest before coming to find you, but it seems you've beaten me to it. Rhys' voice echoed in your mind in a deep drawl that had a fluttering of pain seep into your chest as you remembered last night. Deciding to do something you've never done before, you tried to ignore him, turning over and pulling your bed sheet over your head and shutting down your mental shields, but he simply pushed them aside with his talons.

Why are you there and not at home?

Without thinking, you snapped back sassily, This is my home.

He didn't comment on your tone as he continued to ask. Why did you leave?

I needed to shower. You answered simply, knowing it was a useless excuse.

We could have showered together. Rhys purred back, and even his tone was your core warming. Unsure of what to reply with, you decide remaining silent was your best option, so he filled the silence with more questions. I don't want to intrude on your personal space but don't block us out. Last night was-.

I know. You cut off his sentence, not wanting to hear his rejections. It's fine. I'll just speak to you later, Rhysand.

Rhysand? When do you ever call me that? He sounded more urgent with his questions, so you try even harder with your mental shields until a thick wall separates the two of you, and his words are finally silenced. Your emotions finally snap as you sob until you can't breathe.

You remained in this position for the rest of the day. Your hunger is now dormant with the sickness in your chest. The tears would dry and then start again as you feel the ghost of their lips against your skin with the memories that continued to spiral through your mind over and over again. Eventually, the sunset, and you were left with the shadows from the fae lights to keep you company.

Deciding the bedroom only made you feel worse; you move into the living room, sit on the couch, and stare at the wall.

At one point, you could feel the stroke of gentle fingers against your mental shields, but you kept them in place, deciding it was best to ignore Feyre as well. However, a firm knock came on your door late into the night. You wanted nothing more than to ignore it, to leave whoever was there to think you were asleep, but as the knock came again, you decided to just get it over and done with, already knowing who was there.

Opening the door, you're greeted by Feyre and Rhys, holding a plate of your favourite food and both smiling gently towards you, their eyes searching over your body to check you're well but noticing how red and bloodshot the whites of your eyes were.

"A peace offering": Feyre offers the place towards you, but you don't take it; you step out of the way and allow them to enter your home. Moving further into the room, you returned to the corner of the couch, avoiding their eye contact as you tucked your knees beneath you and hugged a pillow to your chest.

Feyre places the plate on the small table before you and sits to your right, while Rhys sits opposite in the armchair.

"I've never actually been here before. It's cute." Feyre continues trying to cheer you up somehow, but you ignore her.

"I'm sorry", you finally painfully say, wanting to get it over and done with.

"Sorry?" Rhys asks in confusion, leaning forward until he rests his elbows on his knees. "For what?"

You couldn't help but flinch, turning your shoulders in to appear smaller. "For last night. For overstepping in your relationship. I shouldn't have let my emotions dictate my actions. I've- I've just been so lonely, and I trust you both more than anyone, but you're mates, and I know what's happened is unforgivable and-".

A delicate hand covers your mouth, stopping your flow of words as Feyre leans forward with fire lighting her eyes, eyebrows set furrowed. "Would you stop trying to say how me and Rhys feel, please? Because I think you'll find you're incredibly wrong with every single thing that you say". Her hand begins to lower, and you open your mouth to battle what she has said, so she quickly keeps her hand over your mouth. "Nope! No talking, just listen. We don't regret anything about last night".

Without using your mouth, you roll your eyes, but that only earns you a squeeze against your cheeks. Rhys then begins to talk, "She's not lying. There isn't an ounce of regret in my body" his eyes remain steady as he stares at you.

"Yes, Rhys and I are mates, and the thought of someone touching what's mine fills me with murderous rage, but when I watched the two of you touch and kiss, I felt anything but negativity. You've not just been anyone to me; you're special to both of us. More than you could ever know."

"You saved my life under the mountain. Without you, I wouldn't have survived her", Rhys admitted, referring to the one person you hated more than the King of Hybern. At seeing your relaxed state, Feyre finally loses her hand from your face as you stare at the deep, raw emotions on Rhys' face, the sharpness as his jaw tensed.

"You saved me too", Feyre continues as you look towards her now. "In those dark dungeons when you would visit to keep me company or healy my body and mind, there's no way I would have survived it all".

She takes your hand, squeezing your fingers as she talks. "You haven't just been a friend to us. Even now that I and Rhy are mates, I feel this longing to be near you. I often thought maybe we are meant to have more than one mate because the way I feel for you isn't just lust".

Your breath was out heavily, not realising you'd been holding your breath as they both spoke, a lightness filling your heart and mind. "I thought you both would come to regret what we did. That my emotions were just one way because you saved me more times than I could ever begin to list. You're my closest friends; save me from the dark each night, but after what we did, I thought I'd overstepped the boundary, and you wouldn't want to see me again".

"Well then, you don't know me then, do you? Because I don't back down from what I want, and I meant what I said when I said I wanted you," Feyre responds passionately as your gaze flicks from her eyes to her lips before Rhys inches forward until kneeling beside you both, his hand resting over yours and Feyres joined hands.

"This may be difficult to understand. Yes, we are mates, but you have always meant something close to me, and I've known for a long time that Feyre feels similarly. I want you, Love, like I want Feyre. The thought of not being able to have you or someone else's hands on you makes me want to strike everyone down" he pauses to take a deep, steadying breath as he rolls his neck to ease the tension and anger that burst from him as his jealous emotions overtake him. "If you don't want to be with us, we'd understand and return to how we have always been. But we can't lose you, even as a friend".

You scoff, unable to hold back your reaction, as you sit up with a burst of energy, looking between them. "Of course, I want you both! I thought it was obvious. There's no way I'm letting either of you go" Your fingers tighten in their hold as you finally smile. Rhys and Feyre sigh in relief. "I don't understand how this is going to work, though, between the three of us. How do we even explain this to the others?"

Rhys shrugs his shoulders, "It's not for them to get. This will be understood with time, but let's concentrate on each other, being together and learning this new dynamic. It's not anything to rush, just that we each understand that we have each other".

Life came with its highs and lows. Even at its lowest, the smudging of hope could draw you out and lead you on a whole new path. All those years ago, never would you have thought you could be with two of the most remarkable people of all of Pyrthian, but by the Cauldron, you were going to hold onto them so tight and never let them go.

#feyre archeron #feyre x reader #feyre x rhysand #feysand #feysand x reader #feyre archerson smut #feysand smut #feysand one shot #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand smut #acotar #acotar smut #acotar one shot #rhysand one shot #mine*

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isa-beenme · 30 days ago

Text

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Btw another thing I DESPISE in the original is how sjm made this fuck ass old people discuss like teenagers in high school topics that 1: was super heavy and 2: WASN'T THE MOMENT they were talking abt war and suddenly everyone had beef with each other and they had to throw it in their faces

Anyway, won't talk too much abt or I'll take 2000 words just here, enjoy 😝✌️

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, 2% book following the original book is a Frankenstein now, mentions of PTSD, death, more trauma, Tamlin??? idk he is mentioned that's horrible enough, fighting, blood, mentions of war, Rhysand 🙏🏻

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 11: As The World Caves In

You fought like a storm. The darkness slithered around your fingers, curling and snapping like a living thing as you winnowed between enemy soldiers, cutting them down before they even knew where you’d gone. Hybern thought they were prepared for the Night Court’s tricks. They had fought Rhysand’s forces before. They had strategies, countermeasures. But they hadn’t expected you. Between you participating in the planning and strategies or fighting alongside Rhysand, Hybern couldn't have prevented you.

Because as much as you fought with Illyrian precision and speed, your power was something else entirely. Shadows swallowed your form, stretching and shifting with every movement. When a Hybern general tried to cut you down, you became the darkness, slipping behind him before plunging your blade between his ribs. You moved like a wraith, your power flowing through your limbs like a second skin, an extension of your very being. And you weren’t alone in this battle.

From above, the Illyrians rained hell upon Hybern’s army, their wings slicing through the smoke-filled sky as they dove, blades flashing like streaks of silver lightning. Cassian led them with brutal efficiency, his siphons glowing a fierce, deadly red as he tore through their forces. Every time his sword struck, another enemy fell, their screams swallowed by the chaos of battle. Azriel was a shadow among shadows, a phantom slipping in and out of the fray. You watched as his dagger found the throat of a Hybern commander, quick and precise, before he disappeared again, unseen and unheard, a silent executioner.

But it wasn’t only the Illyrians proving their might. The Darkbringers of Hewn City fought like creatures of nightmares, their darkness not just a weapon but an entity of its own. They struck in coordinated movements, vanishing into the blackness before reappearing behind enemy lines, slitting throats and dragging bodies into the abyss of their power. One of them, a tall male with onyx-black eyes, cast a tendril of pure shadow that wrapped around a Hybern soldier’s neck, tightening, tightening—until the male collapsed lifelessly to the blood-soaked ground. One of the reasons why the Darkbringers were so useful was because of the little thought they put into killing people. They enjoyed it.

A female Illyrian fought nearby, her twin curved daggers dripping with red as she weaved between enemies with terrifying grace. She met your eyes for the briefest moment — a flicker of recognition, of mutual respect — before she melted back into the fray, her blades seeking more blood.

And Rhys watched you, his violet eyes gleaming with something dark and proud. He knew you were powerful. But this? This was the High Lord's power. His power. Even if yours burned a little dimmer, unclaimed by the Court's blessing, it still called to him in a way that made his blood sing. His mate. His equal.

With the intelligence gathered from the captured Spring and Hybern soldiers, you had already predicted their formations, their numbers, their weaknesses. Could easily find their generals. And one by one, you and Rhys tore through them, breaking their ranks, cutting down any hope they had left. A Hybern warlord, clad in thick steel armor, raised his blade and roared, trying to rally his men. You could see the desperation in his eyes, the flicker of doubt. Too late. You darted toward him before he could even register your movement, winnowing to his side. His sword swung down — an attempt to cleave you in two — but you dropped to the ground, sliding beneath the strike with inhuman speed.

Your own blade found the weak point beneath his ribs, slipping through the gaps in his armor. His breath hitched. His eyes widened. You twisted the dagger once before pulling it free, stepping back as he collapsed to his knees.

“Your mistake,” you murmured, voice quiet, “was thinking you stood a chance.”

The final wave of Hybern’s forces was already faltering, their formations breaking, soldiers hesitating. Some tried to run. Others dropped their weapons, trembling as they fell to their knees. Begging. Rhys landed beside you, his wings still spread wide, his hands coated in blood that was not his own. You met his gaze, breath steady, power still thrumming in your veins.

“No survivors,” you reminded him, voice cold.

Rhys’s lips curled. “Together, then?”

The darkness around him flared. Yours answered. And in one swift, unrelenting moment, you both unleashed your power. The remaining Hybern soldiers didn’t even have time to scream. One second they were there, and the next, mist. Blood, bone, flesh, reduced to nothing but a red mist staining the battlefield.

The silence that followed was deafening. You exhaled slowly, your magic settling back into you, the thrill of battle fading as the weight of what you’d done settled in.

Rhys reached for you, his bloodstained fingers brushing against yours. “You did well,” he murmured, voice low and reverent.

You turned your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “So did you.”

Behind you, the Illyrian forces cheered, the Darkbringers grinned in quiet satisfaction, and Tarquin watched — silent, calculating. The battle for Adriata was over.

And Hybern had just learned why they, and no one, should go to war with the Prythian and expect to survive.

Tarquin’s turquoise eyes flicked between you and Rhys, his expression carefully neutral, though the way he subtly narrowed his gaze at you didn’t go unnoticed.

Rhys, ever the picture of relaxed arrogance, only smirked. “We can speak after we’ve had a chance to clean up, Tarquin” he said smoothly.

Tarquin’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer before he gave a short nod. But you could feel the questions swirling in his mind.

You ignored them, turning instead to Cassian and Azriel. “Bring healers,” you told them. “Just in case. Once the wounded are stable, come back with Amren and Mor for a meeting with the High Lord.”

Cassian, still bloody and grinning from the fight, gave you an approving nod. Azriel merely inclined his head, shadows curling around him like a whisper of acknowledgment.

But Tarquin�� Tarquin hesitated. His brows pinched, his lips parting as if he wanted to ask something but wasn’t sure if he should. But Rhys listened to it. His smirk widened, and he stepped closer to you, his arm sliding around your waist with deliberate ease. The blood still staining his fingers left faint marks on your armor.

“She gives commands,” Rhysand murmured, his violet eyes twinkling with amusement, “because she has every right to.”

Tarquin’s expression didn’t change, but you saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Rhys chuckled under his breath, reading whatever thought had just crossed Tarquin’s mind, before tilting his head. “Two or three hours, then?”

Tarquin exhaled slowly, as if forcing himself to relax. “Fine.”

Rhys dipped his chin in a lazy nod before steering you away, his hand still firm on your waist. You didn’t look back, but you felt Tarquin’s gaze on you long after you were gone.

☆

Rhysand barely shut the door behind you before his hands were on your body, and you were on him. The battle had left its mark, not just in the blood on your skin but in the tension thrumming between you, in the raw need to ground yourselves in something solid, something real. The shower was quick, intense, and necessary. Water sluiced away the grime and sweat, but nothing could wash away the fire burning between you. And neither of you wanted it to.

By the time you stepped out, your breathing had steadied, but Rhys still looked at you like he wanted to drag you right back in.

Instead, you reached into his pocket realm, pulling out the garments you’d prepared. A dress, soft, flowing, a shade of blue so luminous it seemed to capture the very essence of the sea at Summer itself. The fabric shimmered like sunlight reflecting off the ocean, and the gold jewelry you set beside it was pale, almost white, delicate but undeniably regal. For Rhys, a suit. Still unmistakably Night Court in cut and style, but the usual black was softened by accents of deep blue and crisp white, as if the sea breeze had woven itself into the fabric.

Rhys arched a brow as you laid everything out, his violet eyes full of amusement. “You’re dressing me like a peacock,” he murmured, his voice warm with laughter.

You only smirked, slipping the dress over your shoulders. “We need to match the scenario, no? We are in Summer. Don’t expect me to dress like death itself under this wonderful sun, not when the sea is glowing behind us.”

Rhys let out a soft, knowing chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled the suit on without another word. No argument. No teasing remark. Just quiet obedience, as if he would have done anything you asked.

But before you could adjust the final piece of jewelry, he reached into his pocket realm and withdrew something small, something delicate. A tiara. Not an overwhelming crown, not something meant to dominate the room, but a piece designed for elegance. Slender white-gold filigree, woven with tiny, glimmering blue stones, like captured bits of the Summer sky at night.

“For the look,” Rhys murmured, stepping behind you to place it gently on your head.

You met his gaze in the mirror. Something unreadable passed through his expression, something softer than amusement, something deeper than admiration.

But he said nothing else.

And neither did you.

☆

The meeting was tense at first, the weight of battle still pressing on the room, but it shifted the moment Morrigan laid out the numbers.

“The exact count is difficult,” she admitted, fingers trailing over the paper before her. “Since Rhys and our dear friend here—” she nodded toward you, “—misted a considerable portion of Hybern’s forces. But our estimates are as follows.”

She listed the numbers with precision: the dead from Hybern, the fallen soldiers from Summer and Night, the wounded, the civilians affected. Every word was measured, calculated, the gravity of the loss clear.

Then, she pulled out another sheet and slid it across the table to Tarquin. “This is the sum we are prepared to contribute to the rebuilding efforts.”

Tarquin barely glanced at it before looking up, utterly stunned. His counselors exchanged incredulous glances, their own shock mirrored in his expression.

“Wait—wait,” he said, leaning forward as if to make sure he had heard correctly. “You’re offering to help with the aftermath? Are you offering any help at all?”

You inclined your head. “We’ve been preparing for Hybern’s attacks for a while now,” you admitted. “I wish it hadn’t been Adriata first, but our intention was always to stand against them. And, more than that—” you met his gaze evenly, “—it is our intention to be friends.”

Silence filled the room. Tarquin and his counselors sat speechless, processing what you had said. What you had done.

“…Why?” Tarquin finally asked, voice laced with genuine confusion.

Rhysand, seated beside you, leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His violet eyes were calm, open in a way they rarely were in these kinds of meetings. “Because we would have helped any court in this situation.” His gaze flicked to Tarquin’s. “But especially you.” Tarquin frowned slightly, but Rhys went on. “You were the only High Lord who never looked down on me for what happened Under the Mountain.” His voice was quiet but firm. “The only one who never saw me as just Amarantha’s whore. And for that alone, you would have had our help.”

Tarquin’s expression shifted, the tension in his shoulders loosening ever so slightly.

Rhys sighed, running a hand through his dark suit. You took the opening, “The Night Court has spent too much time alone in Prythian,” you admitted. “We are done with that. We want allies. We want friends.”

Tarquin studied Rhysand for a long moment, then turned his gaze to you. You held it, unwavering. And, slowly, his lips parted, just slightly. Just enough for the first flicker of something new to appear in his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, it was hope.

The room was still heavy with silence when Amren, ever impatient, cut through it with her sharp voice.

“There is an alliance between Spring and Hybern.” She tapped a clawed finger against the table. “We need to consider the possibility that Tamlin knew about Adriata’s weak points in advance.”

Tarquin stiffened, his ocean-blue eyes darkening. “He could have,” he admitted after a moment. “Spring Court has had diplomatic dealings with Summer in the past. It wouldn’t have been difficult for Tamlin to retain information about our city’s defenses.”

Amren nodded once, sharp and decisive. “Then we have our answer.”

A cold weight settled in your stomach. Rhysand exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. He had suspected Tamlin’s involvement, but a possible confirmation still made his jaw tighten slightly.

Tarquin drummed his fingers against the table, deep in thought. Then he lifted his gaze, determination solidifying in his features.

“If what you all are saying is true, we need to call a High Lords meeting,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

Morrigan crossed her arms. “You think they’ll come?”

Tarquin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If they don’t, they’ll regret it.”

Rhysand hummed in quiet agreement, tapping a finger against the polished wood of the table. The conversation was going exactly as planned. What you said before was true, none of you hoped Summer would be Hybern’s first attack, if you and Rhys were being truthful, both of you bet - and hoped - it would be Auremere, Autumn's capital. But you knew in advance one Court would be attacked, and none would've been warned. The fact you all got there so fast would be credited in Spring's information.

You needed real proof Hybern was a force to be feared. You needed proof Night Court had enough power to deal with the attack. And needed another High Lord to call in the meeting, if Rhysand did none of them would listen. But a young High Lord who just started to deal with his Court and is already fighting a war, while his only help is the terrifying Night Court who never helped before? All of the others would listen. To let the attack happen was a small sacrifice for a bigger picture.

“Then we send out the summons,” Tarquin said, his voice smooth but laced with steel. “And we prepare for a meeting, wherever that may be.”

Tarquin’s counselors still looked wary. Their gazes flickered between Rhys, you, and the offer of aid Morrigan had placed before them.

“You’re asking us to trust you,” one of them, a stern-faced male with silver streaks in his dark hair, finally said. “To trust that the Night Court, which has spent centuries hidden away from the rest of Prythian, now suddenly wants to play the part of an ally.”

Rhysand chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “No,” he corrected. “I’m asking you to see the reason. Hybern doesn’t care if you’re Summer, or Night, or Day. They only care about conquest. And unless we stand together, unless we truly ally against them, they will burn their way through this continent, city by city.”

You leaned forward slightly, your eyes catching the light like a predator’s. “You saw what happened today. You saw what they were willing to do to your home. That was just the beginning. But we can stop this.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Tarquin’s fingers curled into fists atop the table. His counselors exchanged glances, their expressions uncertain.

And then Tarquin exhaled slowly and met Rhysand’s gaze. “You speak of alliances,” he said carefully. “But alliances are built on trust. And trust must be earned.”

Rhys inclined his head. “Then let us earn it.”

Tarquin studied him for a long moment, then turned his attention to you.

“And you?” he asked. “You were human, fought against Amarantha as if it was nothing more than a game. You disappeared from Spring with your cousin and suddenly showed up acting as a High Lord for Night. Was this all a plan? What power do you have inside the Court?”

You met his gaze evenly. “I have been fighting a war long before Hybern set foot on your shores,” you said. “I've experienced grief, and fear, and sadness after leaving my home for so long. When Tamlin started acting weird because of whatever promises Hybern made to him I ran back to the place where I belong. Rhysand had kept his promise and helped me and Feyre. We have spent months preparing for this, gathering intelligence, strengthening our forces, identifying Hybern’s weaknesses.”

Rhysand’s lips curved slightly as he glanced at you. “She has been by my side through all of it,” he murmured. “Strategizing. Now fighting. And winning.” His violet eyes gleamed with something proud and dangerous. “And when this war is over, and Night Court celebrates the victory, it will be because of her as much as it will be because of me.”

The weight of his words settled in the room. Tarquin’s turquoise gaze flickered between you and Rhys, something thoughtful, perhaps even calculating, shifting behind his expression.

After a long moment, he nodded once. “Very well,” he said. “We will consider your offer.”

It was not a confirmation, not yet. But it was a start. And in this war, a start was enough.

☆

It took a few weeks for a place and day to be decided. In the end, every High Lord invited, which didn't include Tamlin, who was starting to distance himself and his Court from Prythian, agreed on Vivereos, a city in the Dawn Court, which contained an ancient palace by a lake, surrounded by pillars of sunstone. The location was chosen because it is considered sacred ground, making it an appropriate place for the gathering of all seven High Lords to discuss the war.

The golden halls of the Dawn Court glowed with the light of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors. The meeting had yet to begin, but already, tension buzzed in the air like a storm on the horizon.

Rhysand stood at your side, exuding his usual aura of casual arrogance, though you knew him well enough to see the careful calculation in his violet eyes. Across the grand chamber, Helion Spell-Cleaver lounged in his chair, the sheer opulence of his golden robes an intentional contrast to the severe war discussions ahead.

"You look well-rested," Rhys drawled as he approached the High Lord of Day, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Helion arched a brow, swirling the goblet of wine in his hand. "I am well-rested. Unlike you, it seems." His amber eyes flicked over Rhys, then to you, something knowing in his gaze. "You and your Second-in-Command have been busy, haven't you?"

You tilted your head slightly. "Planning for war tends to have that effect. But I'm not the second in command, contrary to popular belief and… gossip."

Helion laughed, rich and smooth as honey. "Of course, apologies for my mistake. And yet, somehow, you both still manage to look impossibly beautiful together. It's infuriating, really."

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "You're just upset we beat you here, Helion."

Helion sighed dramatically, taking a sip of his wine. "Yes, well, some of us prefer to enjoy our time rather than winnow from one end of Prythian to the other without so much as a moment to breathe." He lifted his goblet slightly. "But tell me, Rhysand, do you think the others will listen to you? Or will they let their centuries-old grudges outweigh their survival?"

Rhys’s smirk faded slightly, his eyes turning sharp. "That remains to be seen."

Before Helion could respond, a flash of white and blue caught your attention near the entrance.

Vivianne of the Winter Court entered, her silver-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes scanning the room before they landed on a familiar figure. Morrigan. In an instant, Mor was moving, crossing the chamber with easy grace before pulling Vivianne into a tight embrace.

"It’s been too long," Mor murmured, squeezing her friend.

Vivianne laughed softly, pulling back just enough to look at her. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

Mor scoffed. "Forget about you? Never."

You watched as the two of them fell into an easy conversation, the warmth between them a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere of the gathering.

Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, approached with a measured pace, his expression cool as frost. His piercing blue eyes landed on Rhys, and though he inclined his head in polite acknowledgment, the tension between them was unmistakable.

"Rhysand," Kallias greeted, his voice smooth but distant.

Rhys inclined his head in return. "Kallias. I appreciate you coming."

Kallias's gaze flickered to you briefly before returning to Rhys. "War demands unity. And as much as I might enjoy the cold silence of the North, even I cannot ignore what is coming."

Rhys's lips twitched. "Pragmatic as ever."

Kallias didn’t respond, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. Mor and Vivianne rejoined the conversation then, their laughter softening the edges of the tension.

Vivianne glanced between you and Rhys, curiosity and something akin to admiration in her expression. "You two certainly made an impression at Adriata. From what I heard."

Rhys let out a soft chuckle, his arm brushing yours in a silent gesture of acknowledgment. "That was the idea."

Before Vivianne could respond, a chime echoed through the chamber, signaling the start of the meeting.

The time for alliances, for war, for Prythian’s future, had arrived.

The last rays of sunlight streamed through the towering windows of the Dawn Court’s grand meeting hall, casting golden light across the shining lake that centered the place. It was massive, filled on top of shimmering quartz, its surface smooth enough to reflect the faces of the High Lords who now took their seats.

You stood beside Rhysand as he pulled out your chair, his violet eyes flicking to yours in silent reassurance. You had prepared for this. Every argument, every possible resistance, you were ready. But still, as the room filled with the most powerful Fae in existence, a weight settled in your chest.

Helion lounged in his chair, golden robes draped over one shoulder, his amber eyes glittering with amusement as he observed the others. Tarquin sat stiffly, his ocean-blue gaze wary yet resolute. Kallias was composed as ever, his cool expression betraying none of his thoughts, though Vivianne sat beside him, her presence a quiet comfort.

And then there was Beron. The High Lord of Autumn leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features twisted in distaste. Beside him, his sons were absent, Eris the only member of his court granted a seat at this gathering. His amber eyes burned with unreadable emotion as they flicked between Rhysand and Helion.

Thesan, the High Lord of Dawn, presided over the meeting, his elegant hands folded before him. “We all know why we are here.” His gaze swept over the room. “Hybern has silently but sure, declared war, and none of us can ignore it any longer.”

No one spoke. You forced yourself to breathe steadily, to hold your ground.

Rhys was the one to break the silence. “We’re not here to settle old grievances,” he said smoothly, his voice calm, unwavering. “We’re here because Hybern does not discriminate. We know how the king plays his ward and he will not care which Court you rule. He will not care who your ancestors warred against centuries ago. He will only care that you are in his way.”

A muscle ticked in Beron’s jaw. “Bold words, coming from you.”

Rhys only smiled. “I’ve always been bold.”

Helion let out a low chuckle, but Tarquin cut in, voice firm. “If we are to stand a chance against Hybern, for the same to not happen to your courts as it happened in mine, we need to share our resources. Information. Soldiers. Otherwise, we will all fall.”

Kallias’s cold blue eyes flickered. “And what, exactly, are you proposing?”

You met his gaze. “An alliance.” The word hung heavy in the air. “A real one. Not just a ceasefire, not just words on parchment. A true alliance.”

Beron scoffed. “And who, precisely, would lead such an alliance? You, Rhysand?”

Rhys didn’t flinch. “We’re not here to discuss who has the biggest boner, Beron.”

A few of the High Lords stifled their amusement, but Beron only sneered.

You leaned forward, holding Beron’s gaze. “We’re here because our people are going to die. Because this war has already started, and if we don’t fight together, there won’t be courts left to rule.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, Thesan nodded. “Let us speak plainly, then.” His golden eyes darkened. “How do we win this war?”

Helion was the one to break the silence, drumming his fingers against the quartz table. “Let’s start with what we know,” he said, tilting his head toward you and Rhysand. “You’ve been preparing for this war for a while now, haven’t you?”

Rhys inclined his head. “Yes.”

Beron sneered. “How fortunate for you. And yet, this all started in Spring. Right before the half-breed got there, and now that she is with Night suddenly they have the upper hand. How bizarre.”

All eyes turned to you. You met Beron’s gaze without flinching. “No.” The single word echoed in the vast chamber. Beron’s lips curled, but you went on before he could interrupt. “I won't let you sit there and make assumptions like that of me. I lost every single piece of family I had because of the lengths Hybern can get into manipulating people and making them believe to have a power they don't. I almost lost my cousin because of what Tamlin would do to make her a puppet and make all of you believe his claim is right as he has the Cursebreaker on his side.”

“And why, pray tell, the Queenslayer is here but the Cursebreaker is not? When both of you reside in Rhysand's Court?” Beron's smile was weak, but was there. Bastard.

“My Court too, may I tell you. And she's not here because she is not a pawn, but I am a player. The fact that I flee from that suffocating place is not a conversation we should focus on now. But the fact that we ran away and because of that, and only that, we were able to realize what was happening there is the reason why we have the upper hand” you breathe calmly, settling back at your chair. “If the Lady of Spring was granted the possibility of thinking before, Tamlin’s plan wouldn’t have worked. And maybe we wouldn't be having this conversation because we would be kneeling to Tamlin's reign on Prythian.”

A ripple of understanding passed through the room. Even those least inclined to side with Night Court fell silent. Vivianne let out a quiet breath, shaking her head. Tarquin muttered something under his breath, while Helion simply looked at you with something akin to admiration. Even Kallias’s icy expression softened slightly. Beron said nothing.

Helion, ever the one to latch onto the heart of a conversation, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “And where, then, is this Cursebreaker?”

You leaned back in your chair, unfazed. “Training.” Helion lifted a brow. You smirked slightly. “We’re seeing if she has any power as a High Fae and if she does, how to train it. But for now, she’s focused on reading and writing.”

Thesan gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. “A worthy pursuit.”

Beron scoffed. “So she’s useless.”

You didn’t so much as blink. “She is learning. Sometimes you should try it.”

Rhysand smiled faintly, but there was steel beneath it. “And just that is more than Tamlin ever allowed her.” The weight of those words settled over the room.

Kallias sighed, his voice quiet but firm. “Enough of Spring. Let’s return to what matters. How do we win this war?”

And just like that, the conversation shifted, but the understanding remained. The High Lords had seen the truth of Spring Court. Of Tamlin’s choices. And not a single one of them had defended him.

Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on the smaller chair he was granted, his hazel eyes sharp with intensity. “We strike first.”

The room went utterly still.

Azriel, shadows curling around his shoulders like living things, spoke next. “The soldiers who invaded our territory provided valuable intelligence before they were dealt with.” His voice was quiet, calm, but every High Lord felt the weight of it. “Hybern’s army is moving. Not just toward us, but toward Spring. They have Tamlin on their side. They expect to march straight through his lands unchallenged to later deal with each Court, building their way up to the north.”

Cassian’s wings twitched as he continued. “If we wait for them to set up camp, to dig in and entrench their position, this war will drag on for months, maybe years, just like the first one. But if we meet them before they reach Spring's landmark, while they’re still moving…” He smiled, slow and deadly. “We can cut them down before they even have a chance to fortify.”

Silence.

Kallias, his fingers still pressed together in careful thought, finally asked, “And you’re certain of this intelligence?”

Azriel merely nodded. That was enough to answer.

Helion exhaled, running a hand through his golden curls. “You’ve had spies in Hybern’s forces this whole time?”

Rhysand’s smile was almost lazy. “You didn’t?”

Beron scowled. “And what of the Cauldron? What of their magic? We were asked if the temple that contained our part of the Cauldron was robbed and it was. How do we deal with that?”

You answered before Cassian could. “Amren is working on that.”

A flicker of something like unease passed through the room. Even Tarquin, who had warmed slightly to your court, stiffened at the name.

Morrigan, ever the perfect mediator, offered a smooth smile. “With the information we’ve gathered, and the fact we protected our piece, even if Hybern is able to use the power partially, we believe we can disable the Cauldron long enough to give us an advantage.”

Beron scoffed. “And if you can’t?”

Cassian’s wings flared slightly. “Then we fight the way Night Court always have.”

The war general’s words rang in the silence, brutal in their simplicity.

Rhysand's voice was quiet, but no less firm. “Night Court is ready for this war. Our armies are trained, our plans are set. We know where Hybern’s forces will be, and we know when to strike.” His cold, calculating gaze swept over the room. “Do you?”

Not a single High Lord answered.

You let the silence stretch for a long moment before leaning back in your chair. “Does anyone have a plan to add to ours?”

More silence. But this time, it was tinged with something else. Understanding. Because for all their power, for all their titles, only Night Court had been paying attention. Only you had truly prepared for this war. And not a single one of them had anything to say about it.

☆

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped outside, Rhysand at your side. The meeting had been long and tense, but ultimately, it had gone as well as it could have. Now, all that was left was returning home.

Before Rhys could winnow you both away, Kallias called out. "Rhysand."

Rhys stopped, glancing over his shoulder as the High Lord of Winter approached. Vivianne was right behind him, her sharp eyes flicking between the two of you.

Kallias stopped a few feet away, his face unreadable. Then, quietly, he asked, "Back Under the Mountain… the children who were killed in Winter." His voice was steady, but something beneath it wavered. "A Daemati was responsible." His gaze locked onto Rhys. "For a long time, I was told it was you."

The words hung in the night, heavy and cold as a snowfall. Rhysand’s entire body went rigid beside you. You felt it instantly, the way something dark and painful curled at the edges of his mind, the way his hand twitched at his side. He didn��t even need to say it.

Before he could react, you reached for him, lacing your fingers through his. A silent message: ‘I’m here. I see you.’

Rhys blinked once, as if grounding himself. Then, slowly, he exhaled.

"It wasn’t me," he said, voice quiet but firm. "That was a lie spread by Tamlin."

Kallias stiffened. Even Vivianne’s expression darkened.

Rhysand continued, his tone controlled but edged with something raw. "There was another Daemati under Amarantha’s rule. She ordered them to do it, and I was locked in my room while it happened. I had no say. I had no control over many things. All I could do during that time was…" His throat bobbed, and his grip on your hand tightened. "I did what I could. I erased memories from her spies when I could get away with it. I hid people when I had the chance. But I couldn’t stop all of it. All of that was a game but after a while, I started to realize how far I was going and I couldn't go back anymore." The Inner Circle lowered their heads as they heard what their High Lord — and family — was telling, pieces of story not even they heard “After some time, it was just easier to pretend I was what everyone said about me. And I thought one day she might grant me the freedom to see my family again. All of you had at least someone from your Court with you. I had no one.”

Silence. Kallias’s face was unreadable.

Then, after a long moment, he exhaled. "I believed that lie for too long," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His ocean-blue eyes met Rhysand’s, something like regret flickering there. "I should have doubted it before now. Should have looked deeper. Should have known. I lost myself in anger and couldn't question it."

Rhys shook his head, though the tension in his jaw hadn’t fully eased. "It wasn’t safe to question it. And you didn't had a reason to."

Kallias hesitated. Then he said, "I’m sorry—for what happened to you there."

The words settled between them, raw and unguarded.

You stepped in then, your voice even but pointed. "If every High Lord had the courage to step up the way you did during those times, maybe Feyre and I wouldn’t have needed to sacrifice ourselves at all."

Kallias flinched slightly.

Vivianne, however, let out a small huff of amusement. "But then we wouldn’t have you here, having this conversation with us." She stepped closer, slipping her arm through Kallias’s in a way that grounded him. Then she met your gaze, then Rhysand’s. "You two will run the Night Court better than any High Lord before you," she said, eyes twinkling with something warmer now. "Better than any in history."

And with that, she turned, leading Kallias away, leaving you and Rhys alone beneath the stars. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Rhys turned to you fully, his thumb brushing lightly over your fingers. "You always know exactly what to say," he murmured.

You huffed a soft laugh. "That’s because I know you."

Rhysand tilted his head, violet eyes warm despite the exhaustion. "And yet, every time I think I can’t possibly love you more, you prove me wrong."

Your breath caught for half a second, and before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing the lightest, most reverent kiss to your forehead.

"Let’s go home," he whispered.

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