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June 7 - June 7, 2023
“Happy birthday, Feyre darling.”
“The Band of Exiles.”
Just because Lucien was her mate didn’t mean he had a claim on her time. Her affection. She was her own person, capable of making her own choices. Assessing her own needs.
“They’re having a snowball fight.”
On the top: flowers. In the middle: flames. And on the bottom, widest layer … stars.
Nesta.
I gave him me—as no one but him would ever see me. No one but him would ever understand.
“Oh, that’s from me.”
“It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”
“Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”
Beautiful. Even with the weight loss, she was as beautiful standing in the snow as she’d been the first time he’d laid eyes on her in her father’s house.
He could count on one hand the number of times she’d used his name. Called him anything other than you or that one.
He was grateful the streets were empty when he hurled that box into the Sidra.
BUT WHAT WAS THE PRESENT
She could barely stand to hear the crack and pop of the wood. Had barely been able to endure it in Feyre’s town house. Snap; crunch.
“My mother made them.”
“I—I had no idea.” His eyes were star-bright. “Long ago, when I was still a boy, she made them—all your gowns. A trousseau for my future bride.” His throat bobbed. “Every piece … Every piece I have ever given you to wear, she made them. For you.”
“You’re sure?”
“Would it be … Would it indeed be a gift for you?”
“Beyond measure.”
“We can wait,”
“I don’t want to,”
“It could take years,” he murmured. “I can be patient.”
I lifted my eyes to his again and found stars and darkness waiting. Found home waiting.
“Build a house with a nursery, Feyre.”
Any lingering scrap of my soul that hadn’t already belonged to her had unconditionally surrendered last night.
Her estate. Athelwood.
A patch of darkness.
Familiar and yet foreign.
Something different. Something that stared back, watching her in turn.
Feyre Archeron, a request. Leave this world a better place than how you found it.
To never part, not until the end. And even after that.
To the stars who listen, Feyre.
To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.
