Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to the A Court of Thorns and Roses series, or any of SJM's books for that matter. I am merely borrowing the characters. All I own is my imagination and the laptop I wrote this on.
A/N: It's somewhat of a yearly tradition to reread the ACOTAR books. I just can't get enough of the world, the characters and the relationship between Feyre and Rhys. It is one of my all-time favorite book pairings. I'm fairly new to this particular fanfiction world, so hopefully, it'll be up to standards. Either way, I had to get this out of my head. Enjoy. :)
First String
I want to take you from this broken paradise…
After dinner Feyre retreated to her room as quickly as she figured was polite, slipping from the room on light and soundless feet though her heart was heavy enough. No one stopped her, and she chose to ignore the faint tug across the bond as well as the whisper of slight concern that she felt against the wall she had haphazardly managed to put up. She needed a reprieve from Tarquin's dazzling yet too expectant sea-green eyes and some physical distance between her and him, or maybe she was momentarily seeking refuge from the inquiring violet gaze of the High Lord with the silken strands of midnight. The two men were a contrast of one another in shades, but different elements drew her towards the two of them respectively.
Or maybe it was just because her heart was vulnerable in its recent openness to something, someone. Someone who could rub out whatever traces Tamlin's fingerprints had left on her and could make her feel what she once had before. Just to see if she could. If she wasn't permanently broken. For a night. Yet even as she murmured the last three words out loud, she knew that it was not what she ultimately wanted, no matter how tempting the possibility of it was.
Feyre bathed and dressed in turquoise underthings that she covered with a robe of a matching color. She was just tying the somewhat flimsy material tightly around herself when there was a knock on the door. Combing her hair with the fingers of one hand and toes curled into the soft fabric of the rug, she used her other hand to twist open the door. "At least you knocked this time," she muttered the words over her shoulder as she had already turned her back. "Guess you're not too old to learn new tricks, and before you—" she stopped midsentence as she spun around and spotted the white-haired High Lord of the Summer Court, index finger still up in an accusatory gesture.
Her face flushed with the instant discomfiture and both hands dropped down to where she had tied her robe, refusing to allow her eyes to do the same. "Tarquin," she said his name and saw the way his eyes brightened and the skin around his eyes crinkled up in amusement. "I didn't expect you. I thought it was Rhys, otherwise I would—"
Tarquin held up his hand to stop her, chuckling lightly. "Ah, I have to admit that your repartee with the High Lord of the Night Court is one I don't quite fully understand."
Feyre offered up a casual shrug, noting the delicate question he had managed to insert in his remark. "It's one of love-hate, although we mostly favor the latter, if I'm being honest," she finished with as much conviction as she could muster to make it believable, even adding a warm smile for his benefit.
Tarquin matched her smile with one of his own as he took a step into the room. "May I come in?"
Feyre nodded. "Of course. I apologize for my current state." She gestured at the robe she was wearing. "Walking around the city, seeing as much of it as I could has left me exhausted."
"I won't stay long," Tarquin politely replied. "I just wanted a little more of your time and company. And to bring you this." He held up what he had kept somewhat concealed behind his back ever since entering the room. It was a light-blue colored mug. "It's hot chocolate with cinnamon," he explained while handing it over to her. "I picked up the chocolate from a local store and had my cook melt it. We can go out on the balcony to talk while it cools enough to drink," he skillfully suggested.
Tarquin lead the way, leaving the door open as he stepped out into the pleasant night air. Feyre inhaled deeply as she followed the High Lord outside, the smell of salt and chocolate delightfully intertwining and making her toes curl and spine arch in simple contentment. The balcony was quaint but open enough that it didn't matter that the sky was obsidian and that there were only a few stars scattered throughout to light their way.
"You picked up the chocolate yourself?" she inquired, watching as Tarquin took up position with his back against the railing.
Feyre eyed the comfortable chairs and lowered herself into one, relieved that she wasn't left with her only option being that she would have to stand right next to the handsome High-Lord with the clean-cut lines and sparkling eyes. Not when she was in such a confusing state of mind, in this fragile state of healing and figuring out what she not only needed but also what she wanted. And she was grateful that she had something to do with her hands, a distraction from giving her full and undivided attention, an excuse to break eye-contact when it got too intense, too eager like there was something she could give him that went beyond the airy chitchat and teasing looks.
"I was inspired by you, actually. You made my Court seem so tantalizing that I was encouraged to go out today. Rediscover it so to speak. And I must say that it did me good to walk around, look at things with a fresh and untainted set of eyes."
"I don't know about untainted," Feyre said softly, pulling up her knees in the plush chair so she could balance her mug on them "But definitely fresh," she continued before Tarquin could say anything to fill the silence between them and dig for something that went beyond the surface. "Do you want to know what my favorite part of the Summer Court is, so far?" She waited with her answer to blow into her mug, aware of how Tarquin's eyes fixated on the small action, on the puckering of her lips and how she ran her tongue across her bottom lip after.
It was a game she had agreed to play, but here alone encompassed by nothing but the nightly breeze and her thin robe, in the spotlight of the High Lord's fervent gaze, she felt like she was on display. A pretty and new thing to look at, to captivate him but how long until he would need more than she was willing to give. There were certain pieces of herself she would never just hand over, not anymore, not to someone who wouldn't be there for her and with her until the very bitter end.
"I love the colors here the most," she finally gave him his answer. "They're vibrant and unblemished." She took a cautious sip of her hot chocolate, trying to think of what to say next.
Tarquin pushed off the railing, moving just a step or two closer to where she was seated. "You know, it's been a long while since I've met a female I—"
Behind them, someone cleared their throat at just the right moment and Feyre didn't have to look to know that it was Rhysand.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," were the words he spoke first, the Lord of the Night revealing himself and stepping out into it. He came to stand right behind her, hands placed on the back of her chair. "I just wanted to see if all was well with my Feyre darling. Since you left so soon," he directed at her while his gaze never wavered from the man across from them.
"That's why I came up as well." Tarquin gave Rhysand a polite nod, hands disappearing behind his back and eyes dulling to a cool blue as they settled on Feyre once more. "I don't want to be considered a bad host."
"That's the last thing you are, Tarquin," Feyre assured him, though she didn't meet his eyes for long, taking another sip from her mug instead.
"I appreciate your time, Feyre," Tarquin directed at her with a slight and informal bow. "Enjoy the drink. I'll leave you two to… catch up," he finished with his eyes now on Rhys.
Tarquin passed the both of them.
Feyre shot Rhysand a quick warning look, blowing out the breath she had been holding when she heard the door close. "You ruin everything."
Rhysand tut-tutted in her ear, eyes gleaming impishly as he followed the effect of his breath against her bare skin, content with how her spine straightened in pleasure and her teeth momentarily sunk down into her bottom lip. "His advances were mediocre at best," he told her as he came back up and moved from behind her chair. "I was saving you—"
"I don't need saving," Feyre sharply pointed out. "Not anymore." She locked her eyes with him, reminding him of how the greyish blue of them and softness of her mouth could so easily be his undoing.
Rhys gave a nod of acknowledgment before sitting down on the chair next to her.
"Besides, Tarquin is a good male. Handsome, kind, honest. I would be lucky to have someone like him court me, I think."
Rhysand cleared his throat, the only true indication of how her observations bothered him, down to his inner core if he would ever gather the courage to confess this to her. There weren't a lot of things that frightened him anymore and only about a handful that he would fiercely protect and gladly give his life for. Little did she know.
"Save your quip, Rhysand," she enunciated his name with a roll of her eyes. "If all I waned was a good fuck, as you so have so eloquently put it, don't you think I would've already been in his bed." She pressed her lips to the rim of her mug but didn't drink. "I've seen the way he looks at me," she admitted to the both of them out loud.
Rhys crossed one leg over the other. "So, what's the problem?"
Feyre shrugged whilst taking a sip of her chocolate. "I want more." Her nails tapped against the cool ceramic as she considered how much she would actually share and how genuine she would be. "I need to know that it would be worth it to open up my heart like that again. Because I don't think I could survive a second… love lost," she finally settled on her words. "I gave him everything, you know. All I had. And I think he didn't do the same or held back. Out of fear maybe, or perhaps I'm not what or how he expected me to be." She pulled up her shoulders in another shrug, not having to so much as glance at the dark-haired Lord beside her to know that she had his undivided attention. Somehow, she always had it, even when she thought she didn't deserve it. It was a hard place to climb back up from. "And now… I… I'm a lot of work." Her eyes glazed over at the memories and emotions as she allowed them to all rush back up to the surface for a moment, yet managed to blink away the tears as she gulped down her hot chocolate, now only slightly stinging as it went down.
"Everything that's inestimable and treasured is customarily a lot of effort," Rhys responded thoughtfully, always seeming to know just what was needed to take the edge off whatever moment she was working through. "Although you haven't really been any work. For me or my Inner Circle," he went on in the tender way he so rarely demonstrated, more often with her than with anybody else. "Mor loves having you around, Amren has warmed up to you, Cassian practically lives for training you and I've seen how you somehow manage to conjure a smile onto Az's face whenever you have your little secret conversations with him."
Feyre smiled, a big, heartfelt smile that he felt down in his abdomen. She set the mug down on the stone floor before pulling her legs closer and wrapping her arms around her knees. She rested her chin on them and turned her eyes to him in a coy way that he wondered if she was aware of or not. "And what about you?"
He scraped his teeth across his bottom lip, considering his answer. "I've had less bad days and you've made the worse ones bearable."
"Good," she replied. She took a minute more of silence before stretching out her legs and getting up in one fluid movement. It was an effort for Rhys not to merely gape at the strong yet feminine lines of her legs and the glimpses of bare skin that showed through where she had forgotten to thoroughly pull the robe closed. Now she was the one who stood over him, eyes almost affectionate as they trailed from his blue-black locks to his violet eyes. For someone shaded in shadows there were plenty of colors to take in and admire.
The desire was practically a tangible thing she could touch, but she instructed her body to stay put, for her hands to not stray to roam across planes and over lines she found herself more often wondering and dreaming about. "Thank you," she expressed to him.
"I do aim to please, especially you."
Their eyes locked and something inside her fluttered upwards so suddenly that it was an effort to put distance between them. She counted the few steps it took to get to the railing, bracing both of her hands on it. "It's beautiful here." She inhaled the salty air once more. "Still, I prefer home, your home," Feyre quickly tried to cover up her mistake.
She felt Rhys come up behind her, hands in his pockets as he leaned his back against the balustrade beside her. "You can refer to my home as yours, you know. The world won't end."
His arm brushed hers and his eyes looked into hers with a fervor that made her blurt out, "Play the music you sent to me Under the Mountain. Please?" she added in a whisper.
Rhys tilted his head upwards whilst simultaneously turning his body more towards her and then, suddenly, the music began to trickle towards them. She allowed it to envelop her until it thrummed through her entire being, reminding her of all that she had endured and all that she had gained as well. The happy moments she had managed to collect. She felt Rhys, physically right next to her but also stroking comfortingly against her mind. Her eyes fell closed out of their own accord and the fingers of one hand grazed her throat.
It was only when the music faded from her ears that she opened her eyes, her back now pressed against the railing and Rhys standing before her. "When we get back… home, I want to go and get supplies. I want to paint," she shared, and it took most of his control to keep his body from pouncing on her and his limbs from caging her in. He wanted her all to himself all the time, with stars above her and in her eyes and she would look even better with paint smudging the tips of her fingers in all of the animated colors she now basked in.
Instead, he took a careful step towards her. "What are you going to start with?"
Feyre dropped her hand from her throat, hand dropping down so it was caught in between her body and his. She shrugged up one shoulder. "Maybe this view." She threw a glance over her shoulder for emphasis. "Or Mor's strength and resilience, Azriel's hands, "she continued ticking off, eyes burning with zest and frenzy as she looked at the man in front of her once more. "Maybe see if I can get the color right of your hair, your eyes perhaps," she teased as her eyes began to glitter like his. She playfully tugged at a strand of his hair, feeling light and daring in the moment. She was practically aglow, no aflame amidst the sudden joy and he didn't dare and do anything to ruin it.
"Would you ever let me paint your wings?" She bit her lip almost nervously.
Rhys let out the breath he had been holding. "For you, Feyre, I'd kneel in front of you with my wings sprawled out if you'd desired that of me."
She nodded, understanding the sentiment because she thought she recognized the fervent emotion within herself. Bravely, she leaned into him quickly, open palm and fingers against his lower abdomen as she brushed her lips against his cheek. "You don't have to worry about Tarquin," she pledged to him, whispering against his skin as she now trailed her lips down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. She placed a featherlight kiss there before using both of her hands to push herself off the railing. "Even though that shade of green would make for a lovely painting," she said to him before slipping past him.
Rhysand released a howl of surprised laughter while Feyre made her way back inside her room.
He watched her from beneath heavy lashes and an aroused smile as she undid her robe and climbed into the large bed, sparking images within the both of them.
He turned off the lights with a snap of his fingers as he stepped over the threshold and into the room as well. "Sweet dreams, Feyre," he wished her. The seduction practically palpable enough that it had its own scent, his scent.
She inhaled it deeply before closing her eyes.
Rhysand forced himself to keep walking until he had left the room, making sure to leave her with a few stray notes of the song she had asked for earlier. Just enough to ensure that her dreams would not be nightmares.
And that they would be of him.
Please review? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this piece? :) As well as any suggestions for stories that I have to read. My favorite kind are the ones where Feyre doesn't know that Rhysand is her mate yet and/or where the other males act protectively towards her. Thank you for reading.