His nerves were shot. Nyx's knee bounced under the table, his hand running over his jaw again and again. Every time his father spoke with Theia alone, something terrible happened. He could hardly breathe as he waited for the female he loved to walk out of his father's office. He was proud of the way she stood up for her beliefs tonight. He had never been so inspired to make the court right before- even if it meant tearing his father down.
The lip he had been gnawing on now tasted of blood and Nyx winced. His mother sighed and laid her hand on his shaking knee. Nyx turned his head to her, lips forming a frown.
"Everything was taken care of, Nyx. There's no need to be so worried," Feyre cooed. Nyx shook his head and turned his gaze back to the doorway.
"I feel like he is going to do something. They've been talking too long," he muttered. Feyre scoffed, patting his knee before pulling her hand back.
"Your father will not do something to her. You know that. Just be patient, you'll have her soon enough," she responded as she gathered the plates and glasses and left for the kitchen. Nyx groaned and dropped his head onto the table. He had never felt so much for one person, and knowing Theia was in that office with his father was enough to make him nauseous.
Nyx brows furrowed as he slowly lifted his head from the table. He heard voices, low and muttering. It was not his lover's raspy tone, but his mother and father's. Footsteps followed, and Nyx bolted from the seat. He rounded the table, ready to meet them at the doorway. Nyx stopped suddenly as Rhysand turned the corner, Feyre behind him with her fingers over her lips. His eyes darted between them, realizing Theia isn't behind them.
"Where is she?" Nyx asked, his voice so low he wasn't sure his father could hear him. He knew something would happen, and he knew it was his father's fault.
"Theia has decided to return to Windhaven immediately."
Nyx was sure his heart stopped beating in that moment. His eyes were unfocused as he stared at his father's stoic face. He lost balance, stumbling back and catching himself on the wall. Feyre let out a small sound that nearly sounded like a sob as she turned to face the corridor.
"What- What do you mean?" He whispered. Nyx couldn't meet his father's eyes. Not when the female he loved left after speaking with him. Left. She was gone.
"Theia will not be returning to Velaris. You will be focusing on your duties as heir. You will be taking lessons, traveling to the courts, and focusing on your responsibilities. Theia will
be overseeing the changes made to Windhaven. You will not be allowed in the village until you have an understanding of your future," Rhysand spoke emotionless. He stared at his son, and Nyx stared back.
His eyes focused on Rhysand's throat, noting the way it bobbed slightly. It wasn't that unrelenting sensation of loss within his bones anymore. As Nyx met his father's eyes, all he could feel was rage. His teeth pressed together hard enough that his jaw popped; Nyx's hands curled into fists at his side.
"What the fuck did you do to her?" He snarled, stepping forward. His face was inches from his father's towering over him with a height that came from neither parents. Rhysand didn't move.
"Theia made her decision on her own. I offered to take her to Windhaven tomorrow, but she chose to leave without your knowledge. The camp lords and warriors on patrol know that you are not allowed in the village. If you choose to go find her, I cannot guarantee you will make it a step on the street without ten warriors on you. Be smart about this, Nyx. A female is not enough to ruin your future."
"What fucking future? I have centuries until I'm High Lord. Until your head is underground, I will not take the throne. Are you telling me that unless the possibility of me being High Lord happens, I cannot go find the female I love?" Nyx spat, leaning over Rhysand.
"Take a step back and think about this, Nyx. She did not want you to know. Theia left you on her own choices. Do you want to find a female that will leave you as soon as she is guaranteed a stable life?"
Nyx couldn't think. The rage within him was blinding, and that's what commanded his limbs. Nyx took his father by the collar of his shirt. Rhysand was far more experienced, but Nyx's experience was fresher. He shoved his father back until his spine collided with the wall. He didn't care about the crumbing paint or the splintering wood; he didn't care about anything except avenging his love for Theia.
"She fucking loved me. She loved me and she trusted me!" Nyx shouted as he walked up to Rhysand. His father stood straighter, his tailored jacket now dusted. Nyx gritted his teeth, catching him by the collar again.
"Would she have left? Would she have happily gone back to that village? Think about it, Nyx," Rhysand growled, shoving Nyx shoulder back. He didn't loosen his grip, but dragged his father with him as he stumbled back.
"Stop it!" Feyre snapped, her eyes still heavy with tears. She grabbed Rhysand's shoulder and tore him from Nyx's grasp. Nyx felt like a feral beast. He had never loved someone, not like Theia, and he had hardly gotten to enjoy her love before she was torn from him.
She wouldn't have just left him, would she? She loved him, she couldn't sleep a night without him. Theia wouldn't have just walked away from his life before they could actually enjoy it. He wanted to slaughter his father. The father that had sang to him, flew with him, made his childhood so enjoyable he hated that he had grown. Nyx hated going to the war camps, because it meant that Rhysand could no longer cradle him, dance with him, show him the stars from beyond the mountains.
He loved his father more than life, yet he had never wanted to slit his throat more than he did in that moment. Though, he'd have to kill Feyre to get the throne and have Theia back- Nyx would never allow himself to think harmful thoughts of his mother. She adored Theia, she cared for her nearly as much as Nyx.
His chest felt hollow as he let out a shaking breath. The rage simmered as he imagined all the ways he could have her back. Grief, sorrow, every suffocating and pitiful emotion flooded him. He didn't let them show besides the tear burning its way down his cheek.
"You will be sent to the Hewn City tomorrow morning. I expect you to spend a month there minimum to act in Kier's place. He will not like it, but it is your duty, Nyx. After that, you will spend a month at each court to gain respects from the High Lords and we will talk from there," Rhysand spat before ripping his shoulder from Feyre's grasp and leaving the corridor.
Nyx hardly heard him. His eyes lifted to his mother, though he couldn't see her through the blur of sorrow. He was a child again. That's how it felt as Feyre hurried to him and pulled him into her arms. He couldn't stand anymore. The weight of Theia leaving brought his knees to the ground, and his mother with him.
He knew his father loved him, though his actions had been harsh as of late. Nyx understood that he had only been trained when it came to battle, not responsibility. He didn't know what being High Lord entailed, because his father was never that when he was around. Rhysand was simply his father; one who loved him more than the stars above. Yet, now Nyx saw him as the bastard High Lord that everyone feared.
"I'm so sorry," Feyre whispered into his hair. He hadn't even realized that his knees weren't beneath him at all. He was on the ground, his head cradled in his mother's lap as he sobbed. Her delicate hand cupped his cheek, holding his head to her chest as his body wracked with the pain of losing his first love.
The only effort he could put forward was pulling his wings down so Feyre could avoid them as she consoled him. The more he thought of Theia's face, the more pain crawled through his veins. He didn't know heartbreak was a physical reaction, though his stomach and chest felt empty and his head was far too heavy.
Nyx clutched the skirt of his mother's dress in a shaking fist, his sobs turning to shouts and screams as he tried to empty the heaviness within his mind. Feyre stayed with him for hours, until the night turned to the earliest of morning. A child, indeed, when he heard the heavy steps of his father beside him. His mother laid over his body, her arms still clutching his wet and swollen face.
Rhysand murmured something to Feyre, and the weight of her comfort was gone. The next thing he felt was his father lifting him. It was a struggle from the sounds of his staggered breathing, yet Rhysand did not winnow them. He carried his son up the stairs to his bedroom, laid him on the bed, and brushed the strands of hair from his tear-slick skin.
"I know how much you love each other, I do. You will find her again when you finish your training," Rhysand murmured before his lips pressed to Nyx's head.
Nyx waited until the door closed, and long after that. When he was sure his father no longer roamed the halls, he slid from the bed. He had never felt as heavy as he did in those moments. As he trudged down the stairs, his head felt like it would burst if he let his emotions take him over again.
He hated how weak he felt. That he had to be consoled by his mother as if he was a child that lost his favorite toy. Theia had that effect on him- she made him feel weak and strong at the same time. He pushed open the door to her bedroom, leaning against the frame as he wiped the remainder of his tears away.
Everything she had been gifted by his family was gone. The clothes, books, chalk and parchment. The room was void of her existence, save for the wrinkled sheets and blankets that had yet to be changed. He felt like crawling to the bed, though he carried himself those last few steps. He dropped onto the bed, pulling the pillow to his face. It smelled of her. The soaps she loved so much in the bathing chamber was imprinted on these sheets.
Nyx sighed and tried to relax his body. He pulled the blanket over himself, brought the pillow to his chest and held it. It was pathetic, he knew it. A trained warrior for battle crying as he held a damned pillow to his chest. He hated himself. He would hate himself and his father tonight, and tomorrow it would be a different story.
Nyx shuddered, drawing in another breath of her scent. He would allow himself one night to smother himself in her absence. He would grieve over the child-like love her had for her. When the sun came up the next day, Nyx told himself that she was nothing but a project. He took it upon himself to help her with her aspirations. The love he felt was just the joy of watching her grow strong and confident. Now, for the remainder of his days, he'd hate her for leaving him.