Chapter 3

They resumed Feyre's reading lessons in the library. She had reluctantly admitted that it would be helpful, and Rhysand was relieved. After all, what Feyre had gone through during Amarantha's trials...he was sure that she didn't want to make the same mistake again.

At dusk, he brought her to the library and drew up a chair.

"Don't leave."

Feyre slowly turned around. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "If you want to learn how to read, you better not leave."

Rhysand could already sense the dangerous glint forming in her eye. He had come to learn that she had a large amount of pride. It was only natural, of course. It was only a question of whether it would be a vice or a virtue.

"I'm not going to leave."

"You should be thanking me," Rhysand said, stepping closer to her. The darkness that surrounded him grew even darker, if that was even possible.

Feyre lifted her chin and refused to answer.

"If I hadn't...helped you that day, you would have been ruined. Everything would have been ruined."

"We're talking about different things here." She somehow managed to keep her calm even though Rhysand was a few inches away from her.

"Really?" he said, moving even closer, forcing her to look up.

"Yes."

Silence.

"Sit." Rhysand stepped away, and Feyre let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding in.
She had won that argument. Was it an argument? She couldn't even remember anymore.

Feyre sat down in the chair he had pulled out. "What's for today?"

He glided to the chair across from hers. "The alphabet."

"I...know the alphabet."

He quirked an eyebrow. Why did he always do that?

"Alright, then."

She could tell that it was going to be a long day.

Feyre flopped down onto her bed and gazed up at the ceiling.

Rhysand was right, she grudgingly thought. If it hadn't been for him...well, she didn't know what would have happened.

Their first official reading lesson had gone surprisingly well. She had managed to communicate with Rhysand without angrily launching herself at his gorgeous face - no, not gorgeous. He was one of the most condescending, arrogant fae she had ever known. Feyre was in love with Tamlin. Tamlin. She couldn't possibly be thinking about Rhysand now, unless -

Unless -

She suddenly remembered the time when he disappeared before her very eyes. It all came rushing back to her - flashback style. He had melded into the shadows, almost, after he had looked at her in shock. Why was he so surprised? Had he sensed something about her that was off? It was a very curious moment, and a wave of burning urgency overcame Feyre. She had to know what was going on.

But she didn't want to ruin their friendship with one single question.

Friendship. She didn't want to call it that, but they certainly weren't enemies, and they certainly weren't acquaintances. Rhys had done so much more for her than she had ever realized, or shown gratefulness for.

Feyre was guilty, and she had to make that right.

She slipped off the bed and padded over to door, still moving with a hunter's grace. She was going to find Rhysand and thank him, and then, maybe, if she had the chance, ask him about that one moment.

Except she didn't get that far.

A hooded figure slammed into her immediately after she stepped out of the room, knocking her sideways and onto the floor. In a heartbeat, the assailant's hands were around Feyre's throat, squeezing the air out of her.

What the -?

It had literally been only one day, and she was being attacked again.

She inwardly groaned. This could even have been funny, were it not for the fact that she was currently going to be killed.

"Who - are - you?" she choked out, struggling to rip the hands off her throat. Unfortunately, they held. She was losing air, fast.

The fae did not answer. So Feyre did the only thing she could think of.

She slammed her head upwards with the remaining strength she had, and took the fae by complete surprise. She threw a fist at her attacker's face, remembering the moves that Rhysand had recently taught her. Thank you for those three hours.

She bent down to avoid the Fae's swing at her head and to grab his legs, swinging him over and onto the ground.

She now had the upper hand. Let's give you a taste of your own medicine, shall we? She straddled the figure and placed one hand on his throat.

Feyre grabbed the fae's hood, pulled it down, and stopped.

It was a beautiful girl. Beautiful was not the word to describe her, actually. She was regal, but had a darkness surrounding her, just like Rhysand. Night Court. Of course. This girl was obviously a High Fae, with delicate but beautiful features: honey-blonde hair and green eyes.

Why did she ever think that her attacker would be, well, male?

The girl smirked at her. She brought her head close to Feyre's, lowering her voice to a whisper, as if she wasn't being choked at all. "Who am I? My name is Kynyssaria."

"Why are you here?"

"I was under orders to attack you," Kynyssaria replied. "I just had to find a suitable time. Now."

She lunged upwards, wriggling out of Feyre's grasp, and whipped out a knife, pushing her against the wall and holding the knife against her throat.

"Tell Rhysand that I was here," Kynyssaria whispered into her ear. "He's going to explain everything." She delicately traced the knife point over Feyre's cheek, suddenly digging it into the flesh and allowing a thin trickle of blood to flow out. "I'll be back."

With that, the girl and the knife were gone.

Feyre snapped back to reality and touched her cheek in a daze. Her fingers came back wet with blood.

So it wasn't a dream.

Hell yes, she was going to tell Rhysand. She was going to put off that thank you and demand some answers.

At supper, Feyre blurted out, "Who's Kynyssaria?"

Rhysand froze. "What did you say?"

Feyre could see his pale skin turning milk-white, face frozen in fear.

"Kynyssaria," she repeated. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He said nothing.

"We all have secrets, Feyre," Rhysand slowly said. "You don't want to hear this one."

She studied him. Rhysand's face was perfect, as usual, but there were several faint lines on his smooth forehead that she had never noticed before. When did they first appear? His movements still had a fluid grace that she could never hope to capture herself.

He was tired. Even though he was handsome as ever, the centuries were beginning to take their toll on him.

"Believe me, I do." Feyre turned her face to him to slip a spoon of fragrant rice into her mouth. It was a mistake.

"Who did that to you?"

"Did what?" She quickly turned her face away, then dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Through the bond, she could feel his concern.

"That cut looks fresh," he said, getting up from his chair and approaching Feyre. Rhysand gently turned her cheek to the light and examined the wound. "Definitely fresh."

"How did you know?" Her voice was flat.

"I've had my fair share of injuries, Feyre. High Fae heal fast, but there is a limit. Let it heal by itself, and –"

"She did this," Feyre whispered. "Tell me the truth, Rhys."

She could feel the flutter in her stomach when she said his nickname. "You can trust me."

Rhysand gave a bitter laugh. "Can I?"

He stood up and left the room.

Something led Feyre to the small clearing on the estate where she was first attacked. A tugging inside her mind…a string that she had to follow.

She sat down on the grass and waited.

"Ah, Feyre," a female voice seemed to whisper in her ear, although no one was there. "He didn't tell you, did he?"

Feyre was silent, still waiting.

"Well, let me tell you something. I was his lover for a decade before the whole Amarantha business," the voice hissed.

That jolted Feyre. Lover? Rhysand had a lover? Kynyssaria was –?

Oh, God.

"I was only sleeping with him to gain information for my true allegiance: Amarantha, my queen. Oh, how stupid my dear Rhys was."

The voice surrounded Feyre on all sides. A shudder ran through her, anger slowly bubbling beneath the surface.

Dear Rhys? What a bi-

"I reported back to her for a while, until you arrived. You. The weak little human girl who called herself a huntress." Feyre heard a scoff.

"You came back to save your beloved, Tamlin, who was, by the way, a complete brat. But Amarantha was not stupid. She could see the way Rhysand looked at you. He was helping you, and for what in return? Nothing."

Feyre felt as if she had to reply, and she did. "Rhysand didn't look at me in any way."

"Absolutely disgusting," the voice sighed. "Your mortal stupidity, combined with your regular ignorance, made you blind."

"What are you, a poet?"

"No. Just an assassin," the voice snarled, becoming lower in pitch.

Feyre stood up. "Well, call yourself lucky. You've met your match."

Lie. And both of them knew it. She wasn't even formally trained.

Feyre found herself thanking no one for remembering to bring her bow and arrows.

She ducked just in time to avoid the swing of the blade as it materialized right above her. Throwing a punch wasn't going to help this time. She notched an arrow and aimed it towards – well, nothing. She didn't even know where Kynyssaria was, let alone shoot her.

A morningstar whistled by, managing to knock the bow out of her hands. Another one nailed her sleeve to a tree trunk.

Shit.

Feyre ripped the weapon out of the fabric, dropped to the ground, and rolled. This time, an arrow grazed her arm.

She had never hunted targets that were a match for her; usually it was rabbits, fowl, occasionally deer. She was fighting a losing battle. She was going to die.

That was until she heard the rustle of wings. Very wide, very large, very dark wings. These wings were attached to Rhysand, who had his talons extended, aiming for the treetops above her.

A moment later, Kynyssaria dropped to the ground, Rhysand following a second later. The only difference was that she was unconscious and Rhysand was breathing.

He held her body in his arms, his wings still unfolded.
Feyre was definitely intruding on a tender moment.

"She said you were lovers. She betrayed you."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't," he admitted, finally standing up, tearing his gaze from Kynyssaria to Feyre. "Get to the mansion. I had to…knock her out. I'm bringing her to the infirmary. I promise you, Feyre, I will tell you everything. So will she."

A/N: Guys, I am a piece of trash. I didn't update in two weeks, and I am so, so, so sorry. Thank you for all of your support, though. Please leave a review, if you can (and accept my apologies)!