A/N: Hi guys! I'm so sorry, I didn't update for over a week (as my internet was down). Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows - keep them coming! Also, I really want to change the title, but I have no idea where this fic is going. It's practically writing itself.


Chapter 2

"I'm so sorry," Feyre mumbled. "I'll go now."

She backed towards the door and quickly slipped out. Rhysand sighed, tucked his wings in, and tried to sleep. What was she even apologizing for?

She came down for breakfast the next day and quietly sat down across him.

"How did you sleep?" Rhysand asked her.

Feyre kept her eyes downcast. "Very well, thanks."

They finished their meals in awkward silence, Feyre first, and went their opposite ways.

A couple hours later, Rhysand found her staring at the walls in her room.

"The ceiling is absolutely gorgeous," she whispered.

"You've said that already," he remarked. "Approximately five hundred times."

Feyre propped herself up on one elbow and turned to him.

"No, but you don't get it. I've really only seen a few things that are so - so - glorious. That mainly comprises of anything on Tamlin's estate...but this is so different. You've seen it, multiple times, no doubt. It's all sunny and pleasant over there. But it's the opposite over here."

That got his attention. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. The whole theme is dark. The night sky."

"It's called the Night Court for a reason. What did you expect?"

"I didn't expect it to be this shadowy. If only I had some paint…"

"Would you like some?"

Feyre was taken aback. "What?"

"Do you want paint?"

"Even if I attempted to paint this, I wouldn't be able to do it justice. It's just something that I can't capture on a canvas."

"You'll have nothing to do for a week -"

"Then why am I here?!" She threw a glare at him.

The corners of his mouth turned up. "To spite Tamlin."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Really! You were so concerned with 'spiting Tamlin' and not with the situation I was in two weeks ago! Was that all you cared about?"

"Of course not," he growled. "Did you think there was anything I could do? I was Amarantha's whore. What can whores do?"

He was suddenly aware of their proximity. Feyre, on the other hand, was oblivious; she was flushed and panting from anger.

The little voice inside Rhysand's head whispered, "Mate."

"I tried, Feyre. I tried to do something to help, to step away from the sidelines. Some things take time, you know."

Her scent flooded his nostrils and he suddenly felt light-headed. Giddy, almost.

He stood up. Not a good idea. His wings shot out to balance his body.

"Are you okay?"

Strangely enough, she looked worried. Why was she worried? She didn't care about him. She wasn't supposed to -

"I'm fine."

He strode out of the room, but he didn't see Feyre sitting on the bed with her hands covering her face, more dejected than angry.


Rhysand was about to head to the library when he felt something tugging on the bond.

The bond. He had never forgotten about that; how could he escape it? Every second of every day, he could feel what she felt. Her happiness, her fear, her sadness and isolation.

But this time, it was telling him something different.

This time, it was telling him danger.

He followed it, like an invisible string that could break at one mishandling. The bond was extremely fragile, but this was necessary.

Rhysand knew that Feyre could do well on her own. But her transition from human to High Fae...she was practically a fledgling. She wasn't accustomed to her new abilities yet. It took decades, even centuries, for a High Fae to master one aspect of his or her body.

He reached the end of the string when he approached a small clearing in the woods outside his estate.

A faerie in a hood was bending over Feyre, snarling and attempting to pin her down. The bond went taut, and Rhysand rushed over.

The faerie in the hood looked up, seeming to sense the sudden darkness that spread from above. Or perhaps he saw the black wings out of the corner of his eye. Either way, the attacker stopped, and Feyre took her chance. She shoved the faerie off of her and headed for the bow and arrow lying a few yards away. Before she had a chance to retaliate, however, the hooded figure disappeared.

She whirled around and glared at Rhysand.

"You scared him off. I had it under control!"

"Really?" He cocked a perfect eyebrow. "Why didn't you just punch him when he tried to get away?"

"I'm not good with hand-to-hand combat," Feyre mumbled. "He disarmed me. I was strolling around in the area and the guy was in the trees."

"Are you hurt?" He touched her arm.

Feyre looked down at where they touched. "No - no, I'm fine."

He let go of her.

"Did you see the face under the hood?" Rhysand asked her.

"I didn't see the face, but he had the Night Court tattoo on his hand. The swirly thing you gave me when you healed my arm."

"He was a part of my court?" Rhysand bit out. "He knows that you and I are allies. I've introduced you to basically everyone on the estate in the span of two days."

"So we have a traitor on our hands."

He studied her for a moment. Dark brown hair bundled into a thick braid was swung over one shoulder. Her gaze was hardened and her eyes were cold. She was only nineteen in human years, and barely one in faerie years, but she had already seen too much. Feyre's decision to save Tamlin had almost cost her her life. She had seen the cruelty of Amarantha, the corruption that she had almost successfully spread over the whole realm.

So there was a traitor in their midst. What was a traitor to someone who had already seen worse?

"Walk with me," Rhysand hissed. He grabbed her arm and started walking towards the house.

"Don't go after this faerie," he said. "He's obviously dangerous and it's not worth your life."

"Since when did you care so much about my life?"

"Tamlin -"

"Tamlin." Feyre grasped his arm. "If you tell him, I'll - I'll skin you alive." She seemed to just remember about her beloved.

Rhysand snorted. "Don't waste your breath. I won't tell him."

"I wonder why it was me, though," Feyre said out loud. She rubbed her arm absently, running her fingers over the already half-formed scab.

"Whoever he is, he's dangerous," Rhysand repeated. "You're not that used to your body yet."

"Well, I can't just stand there and wait for someone to rescue me, can I?!"

"No." Rhysand smiled. "Which is why I'm going to teach you to fight."


"I don't know whether I should be thanking you or smacking you in the face for this," Feyre huffed as they ran towards the training grounds

"Why would this be bad?" Rhysand's voice was still sleek as usual, carrying with it the deep caress that lay underneath. No sign of fatigue was visible.

"It's not. It's just that I'm worried whether or not you're being a condescending little -"
"I'm training you. How am I being condescending?"

"For one thing, you're showing off."

He had taken off his shirt and was basking in his half-naked glory. Feyre had to admit, though, he was built like a god.

"Tamlin's not going to be happy if he ever heard I saw you like this," Feyre said, eyes still glued to his body.

"Feyre." He smirked.

"What?" She finally looked up at him.

"Don't worry about what Tamlin thinks."

"But -"

"Does he trust you?"

"She blinked. "Uh, well, yes. Obviously. I risked my life to go and save his ass. I could have died."

"Exactly. So don't destroy that trust," he said simply, and resumed jogging.

He could tell that Feyre was a fighter - not that he'd ever doubted it, of course. He had seen what she was capable of.

Her thing wasn't hunting, nonetheless killing. It wasn't her knack for archery of the amount of power she could pack into a punch.

It was survival.

That was how she had lived for her first nineteen years as a human. She had such a strong will to live that she beat death itself. When Feyre was starving in that little hovel she called a home, she went out and hunted. She didn't sit there and be pitiful like her two sisters and father, at least from what Rhysand had heard around. She didn't sit around and wallow in a puddle of misery. She took action when it was necessary. And Rhysand admired her for that.

When Feyre was in that cell under the Mountain, how lonely and desperate did she feel at times? She was pushed to the limit, but she didn't give up. She held her head high and walked through it like she owed the world nothing.


She could still improve with her bow, even though she was already quite proficient. He didn't have to touch her hand to know that there were old callouses that formed on her fingers as a result of over ten years of archery.

He wasn't thinking about touching her hand.

After making sure that his student was able to shoot a tennis ball in midair at a range of thirty yards, Rhysand decided to teach Feyre better hand-to-hand combat skills.

"Hit me," he told her, offering his vulnerability.

"Uh, no."

"Hit me," he repeated, softer this time.

Feyre cocked her head to one side and reconsidered.

Suddenly, her fist shot out and and would almost have landed squarely on Rhysand's stomach, had he not caught it just in time.

Feyre glared at him. "You're not playing fair."

"You thought life was fair? Hit me again."

She didn't hit him this time. She grabbed his arms and butted their heads together, then tackled him full-on.

They landed on the ground together, Feyre on top, straddling him. Their eyes locked.

Rhysand's heartbeat sped up. Just a fraction of a second, and -

Feyre stood up awkwardly.

She wiped the dust from her hands and gave him an awkward grin.
Rhysand rose and smirked. "Round two."

"Come on. We're not done? I'm exhausted."

She had worked herself up into a sweat. Rhysand, on the other hand, was barely panting.

"No."

"Are you kidding me? We've been training for three hours -"

"Two and a half."

"Whatever. Don't you think that you might be, you know, overworking me?"

"Feyre. The whole point of this is to teach you how to use your faerie body."

"That kind of thing takes time."

"Don't you want it to speed up, then" And learn how to defend yourself?

"That would be a bonus."

Rhysand sighed. "Indeed, it would be."

He carefully slid the sword back into the scabbard and placed it on the rack full of weapons.

"We're doing more tomorrow."

Feyre rolled her eyes. "Sure. Wish me luck."