Would've, Could've, Should've - Chapter 6
Summary:
When Feyre’s protection from the dangers of Prythian came at the cost of her losing her freedom, her thoughts began to drift away from her husband and toward the one she was meant to fear—the most powerful High Lord in history.
And those thoughts about him are anything, but pure.
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Rhysand felt the ache building in his wings.
The moment he had come back with Amren, he had spread his wings wide and launched himself into the sky. His wings were powerful, built by years of Illyrian training, and it had been ages since they’d felt this strained. But now, after flying for over a day—with dawn’s light beginning to streak across the horizon and cast a golden hue on his brown skin—his muscles burned from the relentless pace. He’d only stopped a few times, forced to land when his ailment flared up again. He had doubled over, retching onto a random patch of grass, his hands digging into the earth as he fought to steady himself. Once the nausea passed and his breath evened out, he unfurled his wings and took off again.
He also stopped by a few Illyrian camps to check in on the training of the female warriors. During one of his visits, he crossed paths with his brother, Cassian. Cassian seemed to sense Rhysand’s bad mood but chose not to press the issue. Instead, he placed a hand on Rhysand's shoulder and quietly said, "If you need to talk...I am here."
Rhysand nodded, whispering a thank you, and went on his way.
He didn’t want to talk. Or think.
He wanted to erase from his memory what had been revealed to him, to tear it from his mind, it was too painful to remember her blue eyes, the way freckles adorned her skin. But the urge to forget clashed with another, deeper instinct – to protect and cherish the one the Cauldron has decided to bless him with. How could he even think about forgetting his mate? The thought alone made him want to strangle himself.
He was chosen to care for her, to defend her from anything that might harm her—yet he dared to think of putting his own feelings above that sacred duty. Just because it was painful for him to think about her didn’t mean he was allowed to pretend he didn’t have a mate. He needed to care for her, regardless of anything.
She already has someone to care for her, a twisted version of his own voice whispered, venom lacing the words.
He finally landed at his town house; a sanctuary for his family. Only he and, his cousin, Mor could winnow here - and now his mate too, if only she knew.
On the couch inside, Mor lay draped in a blanket, her eyes fluttering open lazily as the creak of the door disturbed her sleep.
“Took you a while,” she murmured, her voice huskier than usual, still tinged with sleep.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Rhysand replied, folding his wings neatly behind his back.
She propped herself up on her elbows, blinking away sleep. It was clear she hadn’t planned on dozing off—the remnants of yesterday’s makeup smudged across her face, dark red lipstick clinging stubbornly to her lips, and shadowy powder staining her eyelids. Her neck gleamed with layers of heavy gold necklaces, and her fingers were adorned with rings that glittered in the dim light.
“Amren said you needed time alone. Is everything okay? Did you talk to Helion?”
Rhysand rubbed his forehead, sinking into the chair opposite Mor. “I forgot.”
Mor blinked, her brows furrowing. “How could you forget that?”
“Mor, I—”
His violet eyes met hers, filled with unease. His usually well-groomed hair was disheveled, and his clothes were rumpled.
The world seemed to stand still as Mor awaited Rhysand’s response. Her gaze was fixed on him, every muscle in her body tense with anticipation. She watched intently as his lips parted, the silence stretching as he prepared to speak.
“I have a mate.”
Mor’s eyes widened in shock before a wide grin split across her face, her white canines flashing as she nearly bounced in place.
“I’m going to have a sister!” She clasped her hands to her head in sheer excitement.
Her reaction tugged at the corners of Rhysand’s lips, a ghost of a smirk briefly flickering before it vanished into thin air.
As if finally remembering in what state Rhysand is, Mor’s smile faltered and concern replaced almost every ounce of happiness. “You don’t seem happy.”
Rhysand closed his eyes, recalling the memory of a tan hand on the shoulder in green fabric. His tongue circled the inside of his lips as he tried to find the right words – if there was such a thing.
“She is Tamlin’s wife.”
Mor’s jaw fell as she discarded the blanket, revealing her burgundy dress.
Rhysand’s thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration and despair. Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court, had found his mate within his own territory. Rhysand’s father had found his mate within his realm. Yet here he was, faced with a cruel twist of fate: his mate was born in the Spring Court and married to its High Lords. There were only seven High Lords, and only two had wives. The probability of his mate being one of those rare individuals was minuscule. Why had the Cauldron chosen this path for him? Why had it condemned him to such a harsh fate?
“So?” At the sound of Mor’s voice, Rhysand peeked at her through his fingers.
“So what if she’s his wife?” Mor replied with a gentle smile.
“Mor—” Rhysand began, but Mor stood up and walked around the couch.
“Divorce is a thing, but with a mating bond in place, it trumps any marriage anyway,” she said, leaning her elbows on the backrest of the couch.
“She loves him, Mor,” Rhysand said.
“She’ll get over it. It’s Tamlin we’re talking about,” Mor said confidently.
She smiled broadly, her eyes closing as she did. “Once she sees how amazing you are, she’ll forget his name.”
Rhysand scoffed.
“I’m serious,” Mor said, her tone softening. “You are amazing, and she won’t be able to resist.” She winked at him. “Did you talk to her? What’s her name?”
“No, I didn’t get a chance to.”
“What do you mean you didn’t get a chance to? Did you even try?”
Rhysand let her into his mind and showed her how, just as he managed to get out ‘Lady of Spring,’ Tamlin had winnowed his mate away.
“How am I supposed to show her how amazing I am,” his tone mocked Mor’s words, “if he winnows her away any time I get close – I doubt he’ll even let her come to the meetings anymore.”
Mor thought for a moment. She took careful steps towards Rhysand.
“Then you’ll go to his house to see her.”
She crouched next to him so their eyes were at the same level.
“Am I supposed to fight him and his guards to get to her?”
“You could always glamour yourself,” Mor suggested, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s like that fairytale where a peasant disguises himself as a prince to win the princess. This would be the reverse, since you’re already a High Lord.” A broad smile spread across her face, her eyes twinkling with stars.
Rhysand managed a smile at her enthusiasm.
“Don’t just give up on your mate.”
“I wasn’t planning to – I just –“ What if he tries and she rejects him? The mating bond was already hard on him – how would rejection from his mate feel? Wouldn’t it be better to live in uncertainty?
Yet – despite those fears, he knew if he saw her again he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from following the thread that tied his heart to hers.
“Do you think she knows about the mating bond?” Mor asked.
“No, it didn’t seem like it.”
Mor placed her hand on his. “That just means you’ll get to surprise her.”
As Rhysand looked into his cousin’s eyes, seeing the hope and determination swirling within them, he felt those same emotions beginning to reflect in his own gaze.
