Requisite Legalese: I own nothing. All recognizable names, places, and characters are the intellectual property of Sarah J. Maas.
The battle was over. We had won, but barely.
I was in the midst of assisting the wounded when I felt Rhysand's power ripple and fade. The ground shuddered, and I headed towards the hill. I arrived just in time to see a shifting spark of violet light fall from Feyre's palm and sink into his chest. The other High Lords had already gathered, and I noted that a few still had their hands outstretched. Feyre seemed to realize what was missing the moment I stopped next to her.
She was crying, and her voice was hoarse, like she had been screaming. "Please." She whispered, "Please, Tamlin. I will give you anything. Anything."
It was achingly familiar. I had wept like that for her. Something seemed to shift and click in my mind, and I realized she would never weep like that for me. When she died, the sound of her neck breaking had shaken through my bones, reverberating in my soul. And Rhysand had given her back. He must have known that they were mates even then, and he had given her back to me. He was willing to let her go, if it made her happy.
And so I held out my hand and summoned my strength, pulling that fleck of power into the world. As I tipped my hand and let it fall, I looked the love I was losing in the eyes.
"Be happy, Feyre."