ACOTAR One~Shots

My Mate, My Wife, My High Lady

(Feyre's POV)(In the spring court at the beginning of ACOWAR)(Feyre-Rhysand) 

Stirring in her core draws her from her sleep, provoking her to yawn and gaze out her window. Feyre shifts and struggles to close her eyes again, despite her brutal ex-fiancee just down the hall slumbering, oblivious to her intentions and deception.

 A smirk grows on Feyre's face upon lifting her glamour, exposing her High Lady of the Night Court tattoo. She works her fingers down the swirls, craving her mate and husband so fiercely it trembles her with a little sob. She grips her hand on her heart and rubs at it in a soft manner, echoing his name in her mind. 

A moment later something tugs at her, drawing her to sit up. Feyre, sitting with her knees to her chest, rubs at her eyes in confusion. She slips from her silky sheets and obtains her seat on the window sill, dipping her shoulder against the cold glass. A cold breeze flings a shudder down her spine, something urges her to open the window. 

She does, inhaling the soft sweet-scented night air. Feyre can't help but remember Velaris, her friends and family, her wonderful mate, home. Her sisters who she hasn't seen or checked up on. Her eyes tear up, unshed tears gathering at her rims. Feyre pulls at the bond, nothing occurs back to her. 

What troubles you, Feyre Darling? Feyre startles, the voice penetrating her mind and traveling through the bond. Feyre lets out a cry of pleasure so intense it might've drifted through the wind. She hasn't communicated with her mate much, even though the bond due to suspicion and lack of time, Feyre is always busy plotting these days. 

Plus, she wishes to keep Lucien's doubtful ideas as muffled as possible. She can't have him estimating her plan, although she wouldn't be astounded if he does know. He's smarter than he lets on. Her sister's mate.

Nothing, I was only thinking of home. Feyre shoots back, her heart thrumming for a reply.
Say the words, love, and I'll have you back rapidly. He purrs, his voice desperate and seeking her out. Not yet, I still have work here at the Spring Court. Soon though. Very soon.

As you say, Feyre darling. I miss you. 

Feyre grins, letting her head rest against the sill, breathing in the air that satisfies her lungs. She feels Rhys lingering on the other side, waiting for a response impatiently. I miss you too. I lo-

Her message halts, a knock rattles her door, worried and hasty. Feyre slips from her seat and pads over swiftly, her feet sliding against the carpet. She remains, hearing on the other side to ensure it isn't Tamlin. "Feyre?" Cauldron, her heart soothes and her breathing stills. "What is it, Lucien?" She opens the door with a click, his crimson red hair pooling around his face and covering his golden eye. 

"I heard a cry. Are you alright? Why is your window open?" Feyre tenses up, her eyes going far.
"I only required some fresh air, I had a nightmare." He entices his brows at her, peeking his eyes. "What about the cry?" Feyre fabricates a story immediately in her mind, the excuse all she can manage. "I knocked over a vase from my nightstand, I was just surprised for a moment," Feyre says adamantly. 

"I don't see any cracked glass and I didn't hear a clatter." Disturbance puddles in Feyre's core. Her fingers tangle together and her legs begin to quiver. "It was a small vase and I already swept up the glass, it was truly nothing Lucien." He peeks his head in her room, examining the floor and finding there is no vase on her nightstand as there was a few days ago. 

Feyre had flung it against the wall last night and crumbled it into shards, out of rage and sorrow. Wasn't her proudest moment for sure. 

"Alright, sleep well." She waves promptly as he departs. Feyre truly does care for Lucien, she believes he is a valid guy and her friend but he mustn't know about anything she's plotting. Not yet anyway. 

Feyre tries to touch out to Rhysand again, tugging and pulling but all she gets is blank space, fluttering darkness. He must have drifted to sleep at her absence. Feyre sighs mournfully, gliding into her sheets and yanking the covers over herself. Her body shivers relentlessly, her eyes flapping at the open window. Cauldron she'd left it ajar. She lifts to go and slam it lock but black darkness descends in and whisks her away. 

Feyre gasps, hands enclose around her waist and extract her away from the window. Feyre goes to shriek but a hand closes over her mouth, flushed and calloused. 

"Shh, Feyre darling." A strangled sob discharges from her throat, his scent overwhelms her entirely, causing her to drop on her bed. He doesn't move towards her, she lunges at him and wraps her legs around his waist, silently gasping in his neck. He kisses her head and neck, grumbles tearing through his throat. "Feyre," he groans.

"Rhys," she responds, clutching him so tightly he might've wheezed. "How- why are you?-" he drives his lips to hers hastily, sliding his palms down her thighs. Before she can become enveloped in his lips on hers after so long, he's leaning away and stroking her hair. "You didn't respond, I felt your worry. I thought something had happened," he rustles, careful not to arouse anyone. She might be crying or it might be him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay." Feyre tries to tug him onto her bed but he tears back, pushing his head on the base of her neck and inhaling her scent. "I shouldn't touch anything else, I can't have my scent lingering here. They'll find out." Feyre drops her head on his shoulder, panting and pressing kisses there, on his tanned collar. "Right. Someone might smell you or sense you."

"I'm sorry, I was so concerned something had occurred. I need to go, someone is going to sense my presence and you'll be in trouble." He takes his hands away from her hip, pressing the last kiss to her arm, right where her High Lady tattoo sits. Untangling himself from her, tears blurring her vision. "I'll see you again, my mate, my wife, my High Lady." He drifts away, Feyre feels the bond stretching with each inch he propels away. 

Feyre remains by the window, watching his shadow ghost away in the breeze. Feyre gapes out the window for hours after that just laying her head, smelling his lingering scent until it flows away and she shifts in bed, dreaming about him and home. Soon, she tells herself.