Re-reading the series again, this quote cracked me up. The story sprung from there.
"Believe me," I said to her, "the day you want to marry someone worthy, I'll march up to his house and hand you over."
It's Nesta stomping around the town house that's the final straw on Feyre's proverbial camel. The final crack in the dam that sends a flood.
They, the Inner Circle which now included Feyre's sisters and a reluctant Lucian, had gone out earlier that night for yet another post war cerebration. The High Lord and High Lady ducked out first. The second trimester of pregnancy is harder on the High Lady than she cares to admit to the general populace. And herself really. So it's pretty common for the two to retire early. Feyre enjoys the rest. And Rhys, well the High Lord will take any time that he can, to dote on his mate, and the future heir to the Night Court, away from the prying eyes of their Inner Circle. When, not if, but when, his doting turns to smothering Feyre's quick to sic Cassian and Azriel on his sorry ass for bouts of late night training.
Tonight isn't one of those nights though. Tonight she just wants him, and a bed, and a mountain of pillows to cocoon her as she gets some much needed sleep. She hasn't been getting much of it lately, between bouts of random insomnia and late night meetings revolving around the post-war clean up that's still in progress.
So when Nesta storms into the townhouse sometime that's between way too early and much too late, Feyre is more than a little irritated.
Usually Rhys would handle it, or at the very least, rouse Elain to try and get Nesta under control, but since Elain and Lucian accepted the bond, they're usually off Mother knows where doing who knows what depraved activity at any given time of the night. Cauldron knows walking in on them once was enough to leave a permanent mental scar.
So it's up to him take care of whatever's vexing his wife and High Lady, but in this case, Rhys isn't sure what to do. He's seen her angry before. Seen her decimate opponents on the battlefield as though they're chaffs of wheat to be tossed into the wind. But this... Pregnant and enraged to the point of literal steam coming from Feyre as her control over water and fire slips and its directed at a family member, specifically Nesta, well he'd rather take on Jurian all over again.
It's obvious to anyone with any sense the source of Nesta's ire, even if they couldn't hear her slightly inebriated tirade as she crashes around the townhouse.
Cassian
It's been months, months, since the end of the war and the two of them are still dancing around one another. Only the dancing is more like an angry matachin with carefully choreographed blows of words and the occasional fist. Well more than the occasional fist, but the fault lies with Cassian for volunteering to train the hellcat.
They're mates. He knows it. His mate knows it. The entire Inner Circle knows it. Hell even the regulars at Rita's know it, but have either of them done anything about it? No. Even Az and Mor didn't make it through the war without admitting their feelings for one another.
There are bets amongst the Inner Circle. Bets as to how long they skirt the issue without ever addressing it. Bets as to when someone will actually give in. Bets as to who breaks first. Bets as to how the other will react. Bets as to how long the two of them will spend holed up in the cabin once they decide to seal the bond.
There are bets upon bets and even Azriel will be shocked that it's their High Lady who finally snaps.
"You," Feyre stabs a finger at Rhys, "Stay here."
She quickly dresses, donning practical pants and what used to be a loose fitting sweater to combat the cold. It's snug across the bump that's just started to show in the last few weeks. Boots barely laced, she throws open the door and storms down the stairs, leaving a startled Cerridwen and Nuala in her wake. Rhys can only follow, stopping to join the twins standing horror struck at the top of the stairs.
"Nesta!"
Feyre at least waits until her sister turns around before grabbing her wrist and winnowing from the townhouse. A heartbeat passes and Rhys winnows after her into the darkness to land on the steps of the House of Wind. It's the highest point to which it's possible to winnow and there are several hundred stairs left to climb. For a moment Rhys wonders what the hell his mate is thinking; if he should intervene. But he doesn't risk drawing her wrath his way this high up. Not with the safety of his mate, child, and sister-in-law possibly at risk. Not to mention the perverse curiosity that creeps through him. It's a cat kneading its claws into him, and he wants to see what comes of Feyre's plan. So he folds himself into darkness to hide from Nesta and other prying eyes, knowing that Feyre knows he's there, can feel him through the mating bond. Rhys feels a tapping on his shields and when he opens them a sliver for her, the scathing blast he receives tells him not to meddle further.
'If I can escape the Weaver, and handle the Bone Carver, half starved and emaciated from my time in the Spring Court, I can certainly handle a set of stairs, pregnant or not,' she blasts down their bond, and then adds for good measure, 'Prick.' before closing her mental shields again.
Still clutching Nesta's wrist, Feyre begins the trek up the steps. It's a steep climb, but Feyre's right, both women are more than physically capable of making it.
"What are you doing?" Nesta demands, attempting to wrench her hand free.
But Feyre will have none of that. Steadfast she continues the hike until the two are at the front entrance of the House of Wind, the one that those not gifted with a set of wings use to enter the house. It's only then that Feyre remembers that she does have wings, could have used them to circumvent this whole escapade. She can feel Rhys' dark chuckle down the bond and restrains herself from making a crude gesture in his direction, but just barely.
"Do you remember," she asks between huffs, finally speaking for the first time since they arrived. Yes she is more than capable of climbing the stairs, but that doesn't mean she won't be winded by it. "Do you remember what I told you, when you told me you wanted to marry Tomas Mandray?"
The question is accented by the throwing open of the behemoth doors in front of them. Nesta doesn't remember. It was so long ago. Literal years and what feels like lifetimes ago. Back when the three Archeron sisters were different people. Back when they were barely scraping by and dependent on Feyre's hunting skills to live. Back when Prythian and it's fairy stories were just myths. Back before they were remade and given Fae bodies, immortality, and powers beyond what any of them thought possible.
Nesta shakes her head, no she doesn't remember, but Feyre misses the gesture completely as she continues, marching forth with renewed purpose. She surges forward, destination fixed in her mind, though she's never been there before. Past the formal dinning hall and ballroom where they danced until dawn celebrating the end of the war. Up a flight of stairs she's yet to use before. Twists and turns through the living quarters, until they stop in front of a unassuming door.
"I told you," she growls, grabbing for the handle. "I told you 'the day you want to marry someone worthy, I'll march up to his house and hand you over.'"
At the final word from her mouth and the door swings open revealing a completely disheveled Cassian. Shirtless and clad only in a pair of sleep pants, Nesta can only gape at him as he runs a hand through sleep mussed hair. There's no way that his keen Fae hearing will have missed Feyre's comment, and Nesta -and Rhys- wonders if she planned it that way.
"Can I do something for you ladies?" he drawls, voice full of smooth arrogance. Arrogance that's only heightened by his sleep roughed tone. He braces himself against the door with one hand above his head and if Nesta didn't know better she'd swear that the bastard is posing for the two of them, or maybe just her. He is, and he'll tell her that, one day, but for now he waits for his High Lady to answer his question.
"You," Feyre points at him, finally releasing Nesta's wrist. "She's your mate. You deal with this problem."
And with that she storms off, leaving the two of them gaping at her, at each other, in her wake.
