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June 15 - June 22, 2025
It was easier to not have to explain, anyway. To not have to tell him that though I’d freed him, saved his people and all of Prythian from Amarantha … I’d broken myself apart. And I didn’t think even eternity would be long enough to fix me.
My grip tightened on the leather as I tugged the horse to a stop, and the golden ring on my finger—along with the square-cut emerald glittering atop it—flashed in the sun. It had been two months since Tamlin had proposed—two months of enduring presentations about flowers and clothes and seating arrangements and food. I’d had a small reprieve a week ago, thanks to the Winter Solstice, though I’d traded contemplating lace and silk for selecting evergreen wreaths and garlands. But at least it had been a break.
“But Lucien’s mother—” “She’s Lady of the Autumn Court. Not High Lady. Just as you will be Lady of the Spring Court. They will address you as they address her. They will respect you as they respect her.”
“Twice a year, usually around the Summer and Winter Solstices, each member of the Spring Court, whether they’re High Fae or lesser faerie, must pay a Tithe, dependent on their income and status. It’s how we keep the estate running, how we pay for things like sentries and food and servants. In exchange, Tamlin protects them, rules them, helps them when he can.
“I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.” My heart tightened for him—for the pain that haunted him. “There was no magic spell, no miracle to bring her back. There were no gathered High Lords to resurrect her. I watched, and she died, and I will never forget that moment when I heard her heart stop beating.” My eyes burned. “Tamlin got what I didn’t,” Lucien said softly, his breathing ragged. “We all heard your neck break. But you got to come back. And I doubt that he will ever forget that sound, either. And he will do everything in his
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In a few hours, I’d be married. I’d have my happy ending, whether I deserved it or not. But this land, these people—they would have their happy ending, too. The first few steps toward healing. Toward peace. And then things would be fine. Then I’d be fine.
As if I were good—as if I hadn’t murdered two of their kind. I was a murderer and a liar. A cluster of red petals loomed ahead—just like that Fae youth’s blood had pooled at my feet. Ten steps from the dais, at the edge of that splatter of red, I slowed. Then stopped. Everyone was watching, exactly as they had when I’d nearly died, spectators to my torment.
I tried to get my traitorous lungs to draw air so I could voice the word. No—no. But I didn’t have to say it. Thunder cracked behind me, as if two boulders had been hurled against each other. People screamed, falling back, a few vanishing outright as darkness erupted. I whirled, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket. “Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.
Tamlin took a single step toward me, his golden face turning sallow, but remained focused on Rhys. “Name your price.”
I struggled to get down a single, deep breath. “What do you want from me?” “Want? I want you to say thank you, first of all. Then I want you to take off that hideous dress. You look … ” His mouth cut a cruel line. “You look exactly like the doe-eyed damsel he and that simpering priestess want you to be.” “You don’t know anything about me. Or us.” Rhys gave me a knowing smile. “Does Tamlin? Does he ever ask you why you hurl your guts up every night, or why you can’t go into certain rooms or see certain colors?”
I had to tell him. Had to explain that there couldn’t be a wedding, not for a while yet. Maybe I’d wait until the mating bond snapped into place, until I knew for sure it couldn’t be some mistake, that … that I was worthy of him.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re rather strong for a High Fae?” “Am I?” “I’ll take that as a no.” He popped a piece of melon into his mouth. “Have you tested yourself against anyone?” “Why would I?” I was enough of a wreck as it was. “Because
you were resurrected and reborn by the combined powers of the seven High Lords. If I were you, I’d be curious to see if anything else transferred to me during that process.”
“Your human family,” Rhys finished, “would be deeply impacted if the wall came down, wouldn’t they? So close to its border … If they’re lucky, they’ll flee across the ocean before it happens.” “Will it happen?” Rhysand didn’t break my stare. “Maybe.” “Why?” “Because war is coming, Feyre.”
“Prythian,” Rhys said, pointing to the map of our massive island on the table, “is all that stands between the King of Hybern and the continent. He wants to reclaim the human lands there—perhaps seize the faerie lands, too. If anyone is to intercept his conquering fleet before it reaches the continent, it would be us.”
A slow nod. “Cowards who would bow and join him, rather than fight his armies again.”
“I’m not a High Lord.” “No, but you were given life by all seven of us. Your very essence is tied to us, born of us. What if we gave you more than we expected?” Again, that gaze raked over me. “What if you could stand against us—hold your own, a High Lady?”
“You want to save the mortal realm?” he asked. “Then become someone Prythian listens to. Become vital. Become a weapon. Because there might be a day, Feyre, when only you stand between the King of Hybern and your human family. And you do not want to be unprepared.”
“Do you think I might have those abilities?” I said, willing myself to hold his gaze. “It’s possible,” Tamlin said with equal quiet. “And if it’s true … ” Lucien said at last, “It’s a power other High Lords might kill for.”
“He wants me to train.” I wasn’t stupid enough to mention the mental shield training—not right now. “Training would draw too much attention,” Tamlin said. “You don’t need to train. I can guard you from whatever comes our way.” For there had been a time when he could not. When he had been vulnerable, and when he had watched me be tortured to death. And could do nothing to stop Amarantha from— I would not allow another Amarantha. I would not allow the King of Hybern to bring his beasts and minions here to hurt more people. To hurt me and mine. And bring down that wall to hurt countless others
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He was the High Lord—my High Lord. He was the shield and defender of his people. Of me. And if keeping me safe meant that his people could continue to hope, to build a new life, that he could do the same … I could bow to him on this one thing. I could do it. You are no one’s subject. Maybe Rhysand had altered my mind, shields or no. The thought alone was enough for me to begin feeding Tamlin details once more.
His head. I had been inside his head, had slid through his mental walls—
“Feyre,” he rasped. He stepped again—and that line held. “Feyre, please,” he breathed. And I realized that the line, that bubble of protection … It was from me. A shield. Not just a mental one—but a physical one, too.
That girl who had needed to be protected, who had craved stability and comfort … she had died Under the Mountain. I had died,
Until Rhysand said, “Then we’re done here.” Wind tore at me, along with ancient darkness. But a sweeter, softer shade of night caressed me, stroking my nerves, my lungs, until I could at last get air inside, until it seduced me into sleep.
“He locked me in that house,” I managed to say. A shadow of mighty wings spread behind Rhys’s chair. But his face was calm as he said, “I know. I felt you. Even with your shields up— for once.” I made myself meet his stare. “I have nowhere else to go.” It was both a question and a plea. He waved a hand, the wings fading. “Stay here for however long you want. Stay here forever, if you feel like it.”
Decided that, perhaps, the Spring Court might not be my home. I was drowning in that old heaviness, clawing my way up to a surface that might not ever exist.
But these mountains behind me … They were sleeping giants. Somehow alive, awake.
I waited for the fear to hit; waited for my body to shriek to find a way to get out of this dinner, but … nothing. Maybe it’d be a mercy to be ended— A broad hand gripped my face—gently enough not to hurt, but hard enough to make me look at him. “Don’t you ever think that,” Rhysand hissed, his eyes livid. “Not for one damned moment.”
But he tightened his arm. Bracing me for takeoff. Mother save me. “You say the word tonight, and we come back here, no questions asked. And if you can’t stomach working with me, with them, then no questions asked on that, either. We can find some other way for you to live here, be fulfilled, regardless of what I need. It’s your choice, Feyre.”
Rhys interlaced his fingers and rested them on the table, and I realized there was another point to this dinner beyond my decision as he announced to all of us, “Because the King of Hybern is indeed about to launch a war, and he wants to resurrect Jurian to do it.” Jurian—the ancient warrior whose soul Amarantha had imprisoned within that hideous ring as punishment for killing her sister. The ring that contained his eye …
Bow, he’d once ordered Tamlin. And now here he was, on his knees before me. His eyes glinted as if he remembered it, too.
“So I’m your huntress and thief?” His hands slid down to cup the backs of my knees as he said with a roguish grin, “You are my salvation, Feyre.”
It’d just been a relief to think that for a moment, he might have been as lonely as me.
But I met his stare as I clinked my glass against his, the crystal ringing clear and bright over the crashing sea far below, and said, “To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.” He picked up his glass, his gaze so piercing that I wondered why I had bothered blushing at all for Tarquin. Rhys clinked his glass against mine. “To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.”
A secret, I realized, that perhaps had remained hidden for five centuries. A secret that had fueled the dreams of Rhysand, of his court. A land where two dreamers had found peace between their peoples.
“You are my friend,” I said, and my voice broke on the word. I hated the tears that slipped down my face. I didn’t even know why I was crying. Perhaps for the fact that it had felt real on that throne with him, even for a moment, and … and it likely hadn’t been. Not for him.
So maybe it was time to tell Rhys that. To explain that I didn’t want to pretend. I didn’t want to write it off as a joke, or a plan, or a distraction. And it’d be hard, and I was scared and might be difficult to deal with, but … I was willing to try—with him. To try to … be something. Together.
“When Rhys came back, after Amarantha, he was a ghost. He pretended he wasn’t, but he was. You made him come alive again.”
“He thinks he’ll be remembered as the villain in the story.” She snorted. “But I forgot to tell him,” I said quietly, opening the door, “that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key.” “Oh?” I shrugged. “He was the one who let me out.”
Brb crying
The power did not belong to the High Lords. Not any longer. It belonged to me—as I belonged only to me, as my future was mine to decide, to forge. Once I discovered and mastered what the others had given me, I could weave them together—into something new, something of every court and none of them.
“When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back.”
I sipped from my wine. “And if he had grabbed me?” There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. “Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.”
“You did not know, then.” “Say it,” I gritted out. “The High Lord of the Night Court is your mate.” I wasn’t entirely sure I was breathing. “Interesting,” the Suriel said. Mate. Mate. Mate. Rhysand was my mate.
Tears were sliding down my own cheeks. “And this beautiful, wonderful thing that had come into my life, this gift from the Cauldron … It was gone.
He watched every step I took to the table, the steaming bowl in my hands. I stopped before him, staring down. And I said, “You love me?” Rhys nodded. And I wondered if love was too weak a word for what he felt, what he’d done for me. For what I felt for him. I set the bowl down before him. “Then eat.”
“I want you to know,” I whispered, “that I am broken and healing, but every piece of my heart belongs to you. And I am honored—honored to be your mate.”
“Welcome to the family, Feyre.”
They had done this. Those queens had … had given this city of art and music and food over to these … monsters. The king must have used the Cauldron to break its wards.
“So I won my wedding ring without even being asked if I wanted to marry you.” “Perhaps.”
