Hey! Thanks for all your speedy reviews! So, here is another chapter…sort of hurt me in the darkest recesses of my soul to imagine this scenario… Lol. Enjoy! It's a bit short, and boring, and I apologizeeeeeeee. I'm also sorry for any typos and errors! I can rush a bit when I write!

So there is a song that I feel is sort of like Rhysand and Feyre, I don't know. But it's really good. There are especially a few particular lyrics that ARE EXACTLY ABOUT FEYRE AMD RHYSAND. YOU MUST WATCH, AND COMMENT WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THE SONG!

watch?v=MtyBBoOUgho&index=20&list=LLS_BhCUaK-9Hyq46CVWx1Gg

-TheLastBookBender

Based on the works of Sarah. J .Maas. Thank the Lord almighty that this woman exists.

Rhysand's POV:

I bolted out of the room at the sound of that wrenching scream, Mor and Amren on my tail. Halfway up the stairs, I winnowed directly to Cassian's sickbed. He had been confined to that bed for weeks, his wings desperately trying to heal themselves, fighting off infection.

The scene unfolded around me in seconds. Azriel, hands clamped around Cassian's shoulders, pressing him down into the mattress, his legs held immobile by the spymaster's knees. Cassian was visibly struggling, and Azriel already sported a bloody nose and a swelling eye, where Cassian had slipped free and gotten a few punches past Azriel's defenses.

And the healer, sharp looking instruments held in her hands. Her face was pale, serious, but not frightened. I wondered what other things she must have seen for this not to faze her.

"Rhysand!" Cassian shrieked. "Please! My wings! Please!" It hit me, and I could see on the faces of Amren and Mor that they had arrived to the same conclusion. They were going to amputate his wings. Cassian screamed again as the healer approached warily. I couldn't blame her; Cassian looked murderous, and it was never an easy thing to have that gaze directed towards you.

Azriel seemed passive, but by the emptiness of his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, I knew what it cost him to hold his brother-in-arms down to cut his wings off.

I stepped forward, the words to stop them about to fall from my lips, when the healer snapped at me, "My lord, I must. He will most likely not survive unless we amputate his wings. At least then, he will live."

I had a clear choice; save his wings or save his life. But what life would it be without his wings?

Cassian roared. "I will slaughter you for this! Rhysand! Please!" A muscle clenched in Azriel's jaw, and I wondered how hard it was for him to continue pinning Cassian. Tears were streaming down Cassian's face; and in that moment something in my soul broke. Cassian never begged, never cried, not even in the face of walking nightmares and torture. But before I could say a word, Amren marched forward, and snarled one of the most terrifying sounds I have ever heard. The healer blanched, clutching her tools as if to use them against her, and even Cassian quieted for a moment. Mor was still in a shocked trance.

"This is his choice, not yours. Let him go, Azriel." The power and authority in that voice alone seemed to shuttle through the room, leashing Azriel and pulling him back. No one moved. The tension was thick enough to drown in.

I noticed the battering at my involuntary mental shields, Feyre demanding answers. I filled her in through flashing memories, a river of thoughts flowing from one mind to another.

Be safe, my love.

I was not sure who had spoken those words. Or maybe both of us had, for it was a single, melded thought from our entwined minds, blessedly together.

Feyre's POV:

I ached to comfort Cassian, to tend to him and soothe his panic. I missed my friends, and the lack of their presence crashed down upon me, an iron weight clamped around my heart, wrenching me into a sea of sorrow.

I wallowed for a few minutes. I had been stuck in this room for hours; what did Tamlin expect me to do? Anger clenched at my heart, anger at the fact that I was being treated like a trained, pregnant bitch in her kennel, bearing royal hounds for the master.

I wouldn't stay here any longer. I quietly rolled over in my bed, then winnowed to the doorway, so to prevent any creak of the floorboards. I could feel the presence of two unknown guards posted outside my doorway. I grasped their foreign minds in my mental hands, clenching my physical fist and sending them unconscious. I quickly winnowed in an instant to where they stood on the other side of the think oaken door to silence their fall.

I could not simply winnow anywhere I wished without taking out the guards first, They were in the habit of checking up on me every hour or so. I had to plan for the possibility of being missing for more than an hour.

I huffed as I yanked the guards into my room and locked the door behind them from one of the keys on their belts. I would wipe their memories when I returned. Wiping my hands on the skirt of my dress, I glamoured myself invisible.

Tamlin had left the manor some hours ago, and had now returned, with another High Fae. This was my chance for information regarding his plans.

I could smell his sweet, rotting stench from here, I simply followed my nose to his location. The carpets were soft, plush beneath my velveted feet. I passed through a hallway lined with portraits, another containing row upon row of pedestals topped with trophies of every kind. Antlers, carvings, locked iron boxes.

I was nearing Tamlin and his guest now, I could both smell and hear them.

"-Out of the question!"

"-No other way. You have made a deal." A growl, and I could imagine those claws becoming visible and punctuating wood, and-

"This was not part of the bargain." Tamlin was speaking now, heavy words that dropped from his mouth and landed upon my ears like weights.

I could practically hear the unknown man smirk as I stood casually, a foot away from the door, still glamoured, still silent.

"Oh, I believe it was. You promised passage through your lands, and any help from your subjects." Tamlin was breathing heavily, enormous gulps of outraged air, like he was running an endless race. And perhaps he was, a race from his past oaths and careless words.

"The King requires the subject of the Lady of the Spring Court." I almost gasped, but swallowed it. Tamlin roared, and something crashed into the wall. A chair, perhaps.

"I have already told you. Never- Going-To-Happen." He accentuated every word with a bang of his fist on the table. The other man shuffled around for a moment, before shoving back his chair with a screech, and standing, I assumed.

"I await meeting your Lady," the man rasped. "Because I will use her. You do not dare cross the King." Tamlin hissed, and another crash resounded, when suddenly-

A figure materialised beside me, and I almost shrieked in surprise, terror cracking through my heart. Fortunately, I had enough sense to keep up my glamour, hoping it was enough to hide me.

I cursed myself for my utter, utter stupidity and uselessness. I should have recognised his voice. I should have recognised his stench.

The man before me was Jurian.

"Come out, come out, little girl," he sang eerily. "Come out where I can find you."

His eyes gleamed.