ofrhysand [ . . . ] rhysand.
𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 whenever she went back to the Spring Court. Fear for how thin she was, how pale her skin became until it was almost translucent to his Fae eyes. Rhys has never forgiven Tamlin for his BETRAYAL but watching how Feyre withered away in the DARKNESS that he insisted on keeping her—He wanted to actually KILL the bastard. And then she stayed with them and Rhys had done all he could to keep her from breaking further. Helped her pick up the pieces, hold on to herself, as he’d done during their imprisonment Under the Mountain. Maybe in a way he knows what she needs because it’s what HE needs, too. They were both shattered there, in different ways perhaps, but somehow—Helping her heal also allowed for himself to do the same.
The sound of her voice suddenly becoming small, meek as Ianthe probably instructed her to be, almost has the High Lord cringe. That INSECURITY in her, eclipsing the strength that the male has been witness to, was infuriating. But Rhysand’s features remained ever taunting, the curve on his lips teasing even if it was softened by the WARMTH reflected in the tone of his voice.
❝ It’s all right to be vulnerable. You’re safe here. ❞ The Lord of Night utters, catching the self-depreciating thought in her mind as she probably unknowingly pushed it down the bond. He remembers the day she’d been training with Cass, how FINALLY all that pain and anger she’d been repressing surfaced in heart wrenching tears. Soon after, it was with a glorious display of those powers gifted that she RELEASED more of those festering sentiments. It’s what he wants her to do, because Rhys is well aware that swallowing it all will only BREAK her more.
❝ Sometimes being brave isn’t about feeling like it—Bravery can only happen when we’re scared, but we still go on. ❞ Rhys regrets moving his hand away, feeling his palm tingle with a need to meet her skin, so he sets distance again; swinging the sword in his other hand. ❝ Then powerful you’ll be, Feyre. You just have to want it more—Want it harder, stronger—than the fear. ❞ He’d kept his wings hidden but at those words, he summons them in a burst of night and power, fully unfurled in all their MAJESTY. He took a stance but it was lazy and by now after all the training, she should know it was—He was provoking her, DARING her. ❝ Prove it to me. Prove how much you really want that. ❞
when she first came to the night court, swept away from her own wedding. saved, rescued. she found a break, someone who didn’t coddle her. she hadn’t accepted company most days, had refused his cousin completely. but they came to save her. mor’s arms had wrapped around her and carried her out of the house, out of the darkness that imploded from her. back to rhys, back to the nightcourt. where she had decided to stay. slowly she had begun to heal, eating again. working out. and now training her powers.
her cheek burns where his hand had been before. longed for his touch, had she been more brave, more aware, she would’ve taken his hand and held it, perhaps brought it back to her cheek. just to lean in. maybe to tell him that she appreciates him. everything he has done for her. he had no reason to do this, there was no bargain that kept him to keeping her alive and thriving.
“ but - ” she doesn’t know what she’s about to say, because when she wants to speak, she sees his wings. those beautiful wings he had told her about. her mouth gape open, eyes widen and her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. “ rhys - ” her voice is a whisper, but it isn’t the whisper of a hurt and scared kitten this time. it’s a voice, a whisper, of admiration. “ can i ? ” fingers reach out, wanting to touch. just to get a feel. feeling powerful could wait. she wanted this. he was beautiful, and she wanted to watch him for some time. even if just a couple of seconds more.
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