✔ Mrs Mandray

8. Midnight Talks

Rhysand often found himself up late at night. In his youth it was a fascination with the stars, a desire to stay up past bedtime and push his mother's buttons. It was a habit he never got out of. Staying up late to think and fly.

But it had been a long time since he would sneak out the House of Wind's windows. A longer time still since his mother would chase after him, only to end up flying the night away with him and later his sister.

Of course in his wild youth late nights were spent drinking with Cassian and Azriel, getting into brawls and bedding anything that walked. Mother it was such a simpler time. One he longed for desperately. To have his brothers by his side, no worries expect relationship drama and where the next party would be. It was the one time in his life where people actually expected him to shirk his duties.

It was a liberating experience. To have every noble roll their eyes fondly at his antics instead of sneering in disapproval. Indeed, even his mother's disapproving gaze had been swapped out for indulgent smiles. Not that they last of course. She was never one to let him grow too full of himself. No, Rhysand's mother had certainly put him in his place when needed.

He distinctly remembers one particular night of merriment that had left him and Cassian in the same bed with the same nymph girl only for Azriel to rat them out. And oh how his mother had been furious. He didn't understand at the time, wondering why she decided now of all times to suddenly disapprove of his relationships when she was perfectly fine with it earlier. It was only after the Morrigan situation that he realised she was protecting Cassian not him.

Because that Nymph was a certain diplomat's daughter. As a High Lord's son and heir he was a perfectly acceptable choice in partner or rather someone to have a dalliance with. If word had got out about her sleeping with a nameless Illyrian grunt with no lineage or fortune there would have been hell to pay.

Not that it matters anymore. Not with him being High Lord and Cassian General. They could be with whoever they wanted and not fear the consequences. Of course there would be judgement and social pressure, but no one would hunt his brother's down for sleeping with the wrong person. Sleeping with the wrong person and having their blood. No. No one would hunt his brother's down again.

Now that he was in power again things would be different, starting with this meeting.

So here he was, long after Feyre went to bed and his brother's slunk off to wherever Elain has them roosting, writing up another redraft of Feyre's letter. It was sweet that she wanted to write it, because it would be better coming from her but now he had to tweak the words a little. Rhys tried, he really did try to help Feyre write it. But this has the fate of their little mission resting on it and every detail, persuasive technique and word needs to be carefully thought out and planned.

She got the meat of it done, for that he's grateful. Now he's just nit picking and tweaking.

Which is a long and tedious process so, no. Since he became High Lord late nights were spent finishing paperwork and having full nights of sleep instead of gallivanting in the lower cities away from the high streets and upper class houses. There was no longer room in his life for pub crawls and cock fights. Especially considering he was playing a whole new game of dick measuring at every meeting.

It was all about power. Sometimes intelligence but they all craved power even when they didn't understand what that would entail.

Rhys sighs, placing down his second glass of whiskey. He wouldn't have anymore, even if his fae body would burn through the alcohol it wasn't a risk worth taking in the human realm. There was also something to be said about class and dignity but he was too... exhausted to care.