“Rhys, please, don’t go,” I plead.
“Feyre darling, it’s only for a couple of months. I just need to sort a few things out with the different courts now that the war is finally over.”
“Then at least take me with you! I’m your High Lady, I–”
“Exactly. You’re my High Lady,” he says, interrupting my pleas. He takes my hands gently in his and looks into my eyes with love. “You’re needed here, to sort out matters in our own Court.”
“You’re just coming up with excuses to keep me here,” I say, ripping my hands out of his. Rage is coursing through my veins like fire. “If you trap me here without you, you’re just like him.” That’s when I know I’ve stepped too far. Rhys takes a step back, in both anger and shock. I can feel the walls between our minds start to build.
“I am nothing like him, and you know it,” he snarls, his wings folding behind his back as if he can protect them from my words. “I told you a long time ago to stop making that comparison. Even if part of the reason I want you to stay here is for your own protection, I am not locking you up. I am not keeping you in this house. You are free to come and go as you wish. Visit the House of Wind. Visit Mor. Visit Amren.” He runs his hands through his hair and begins to pace in front of me. “The other High Lords are still wary of your powers, I don’t want anything happening to you–”
“I can take care of myself! I thought the war would’ve proved at least that,” I protest. My hands are beginning to tremble with nerves, and I clasp them behind my back to hide my distress from Rhys. This argument is bringing back unpleasant memories from my times at the Spring Court...my times with Tamlin. Rationally, I know that Rhys is not Tamlin. He would never be Tamlin. But today is not a rational day. Panic swells in my chest and my heart begins to race.
“I know darling, of course I know you can take care of yourself. But this is the first diplomatic trip since the end of the war, and I just want to feel things out first, there will be plenty of other trips for you to go on.”
“Rhys, please. I don’t care what the other High Lords think of my powers, they must know if they try to hurt me–”
“NO, Feyre.” Rhys stops pacing and growls at me with frustration. I flinch back. My blood is racing through my veins. I can hear my panicked heartbeat in my ears.
Da-dum.
Da-dum.
Da-dum.
Da-dum.
Rhys has the good sense to look guilty at his outburst, and softens his tone, “I’m sorry Feyre, just not this time. I just want to keep you safe.”
I just want to keep you safe…
My mind replays those words over and over and over again in my head, replacing Rhys’s smooth and rich voice with Tamlin’s rough and commanding one. Stay here Feyre. No Feyre. I just want you to be safe Feyre.
I can’t breathe, I can’t think, and I retaliate. I hit him back with words I know will cut deep.
“Like you kept your mother and sister safe?”
Rhys freezes, not even breathing. Then his wings disappear into his back. His his relaxed tunic disappears for his dark velvet suit, perfect for the High Lord of the Night Court. His mask goes on.
Self-defense.
But this time, it’s not for those who dwell in the Court of Nightmares. It’s for me. The panic that was building in my breast melts away.
“Rhys…” I murmur uncertainly, not sure how to approach him, how to break down his mask and apologize. I went too far. Much too far.
Rhys straightens the lapels of his suit jacket. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be going now. Can’t be late to my first meeting in the Dawn Court.” His voice is cold and emotionless, and it cuts me like a knife. He won’t meet my eyes.
“Rhys, wait,” I say, reaching out to him and stepping forward to clutch onto his sleeve. Before I can touch him, he winnows away.
I bang against his mental walls, but they’re locked tighter than they’ve ever been. There’s no opening, no sliver in those walls of steel. Rhys. Rhys! I shout down the bond. The only response I get is silence. As the gravity of what I’ve done hits me, my knees give and I crumple to the floor with an agonized cry.
He left me. I said horrible things to him, wretched things, words that I knew would hurt him. And he left. He was gone, already away on his diplomatic mission. This was my fault.
He had said he would only be gone a few months, but now that I’ve done this...how long will he drag this trip out? When is my mate coming home? Is he coming home? Again, I can feel the panic start to rise. He can’t, he can’t leave now. My breaths get faster and faster and tears sting my eyes as I try to control my breathing. I didn’t even get to tell him…
I look down, pressing my hands to my lower belly.
I didn’t even get to tell him that he’s going to be a father.
………………………………………………………………
The next morning…
Knock knock knock
“Feyre? You up?” Mor’s muffled voice from the other side of my bedroom door pierces my dreamless, restless sleep. After the reality of Rhys’s absence had sunk in last night, I hadn’t been able to fight a sudden sense of rising nausea. After rushing to the bathroom and vomiting up my dinner and most likely part of my lunch, I had simply crawled into our bed, cried, and gone to sleep.
“C’mon Feyre, it’s almost noon.” Just as I force my eyes open and push myself up to sit against the headboard the bed, the door swings open and Mor sweeps through the doorway.
I open my mouth to kindly ask her to leave me alone, but before I can, Mor speaks.
“I know, I know, I don’t care how much you moan that you miss your mate, you’re going shopping with me today.” My mouth shuts. When I remain silent, not moaning about her intrusion or protesting the idea of shopping, she turns to look down at me. Her eyes widen as she finally takes in my disheveled appearance, the tips of my hair sticky with vomit and my eyes bloodshot and swollen.
“Fey…” She says, obviously unsure of what she missed.
I tuck myself back down under the covers and close my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
After a few silent moments, I feel the side of the bed sink down as she sits beside me. “This is more than just you missing him, isn’t it. Something’s wrong,” she stated. I fight to keep my eyes closed and my face expressionless, but I can’t stop my lip from trembling and a tear from sliding down my cheek. “Oh, Feyre…”
A broken sob slips past my lips before I can stop it. “He left me,” I whisper.
“He’ll be back in month or so, Feyre. You know that,” Mor says softly, “You’ve been separated before, and this is no different. Better, even, because it’s by choice this time.”
All I can do is shake my head. He won’t just be away for a month. Not after I said those things to him. Not after he left with that look on his face. “He, Rhys, he won’t–” my voice breaks and I try again, “He won’t be away for a month.”
“Why is that a problem? Doesn’t that mean you’ll just see him sooner?”
“Not...not after what I said,” another choked sob passes my lips.
“Okay, now I’m following. So you two had a fight before he left? Feyre, you’re his mate. A simple argument isn’t going to keep him away from you.”
“No, Mor, I-I said horrible things to him. I just panicked and I didn’t know what to do to keep him here, I needed him to stay and just listen to me, but he wouldn’t listen, and I just blurted it out, I brought up his mom and sister, and Mor, the look on his face…” Everything rushes out of me in a single breath and my vision blurs as my eyes fill up with tears.
“Feyre, even if what you said hurt him and he needs his space, he won’t stay away for too long. If he tries, I’ll kill him for you.”
Something between a sob and a laugh escapes me. “I’m scared, Mor. I can’t do this alone.” My voice is breaking again.
“What are you talking about? What else am I missing?”
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper.
“Oh! Oh, Cauldron! Feyre, that’s amazing!” Mor lets out a disbelieving laugh wraps her arms around me in glee. “Wait...does that mean that Rhys doesn’t know?”
“I tried, I tried to tell him, to keep him here or let me go with him, but he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t listen, and then I said those things and he just left, and–”
Mor holds my shoulders. “Breathe, Feyre. Breathe. It’ll be okay. We’re all here for you. Cassian is here, Az is here, and both Nesta and Amren. Elain and Lucien are just a winnow away in the Spring Court. And there’s no way Rhys will stay away until the end of the pregnancy. He’ll be back soon. He has to.”
……………………………………………………….
One week later…
Rhys.
I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like that. I never want to hurt you. I said those words in a flurry of panic, of anger, and of fear. I wanted you to stay, Rhys. I had to tell you something, but you wouldn’t stop and listen and I felt so trapped and I just panicked…
I’m sorry.
Rhys.
You’re going to be a father. I can’t do this alone, I can’t be a mother alone.
Rhys.
I’m scared.
No matter how many words I fling down the bond and threw at his shields, I hear and feel nothing but silence and impenetrable steel.
……………………………………………………….
One month later…
Rhys.
Come home.
……………………………………………………….
Two months later...
Despite being pregnant, I’m losing weight. I spend less time outside, and more time in bed. My pregnancy sickness keeps me close to the bathroom for most of the day.
Nightmares frequent my restless sleep. Hybern with a golden-haired, violet-eyed, bat-winged little girl clutched in his cruel hands. Amarantha’s wicked laugh and bright red hair. The blood of so many, from Under the Mountain and from the War, spilling over my hands.
Every time I wake up gasping, and I reach to the other side of the bed for Rhys. But he isn’t there. Bile rises in my throat and I leap from the sheets and rush to the bathroom.
Some nights Mor or Nesta hear me, and come to hold my hair, or rub my back. Some nights they don’t hear.
My cheeks are sunken, my eyes hollow. My skin is pale and cold. I do what I can, to ensure the safety of the child that grows within me. I eat every meal, and rest more than I move. But some things can’t be helped. My chest aches with the emptiness of a silent bond.
………………………………………
Four months later....
I stopped sending messages down the bond to Rhys weeks ago. It is long past time for him to come home.
My stomach seems to grow more everyday. Some mornings while I sit on the sofa in the townhouse reading, I rest my hand on top of the bump and feel our child kick. It feels like the slightest flutter beneath my fingertips.
I wonder if he or she will be born with wings.
My pregnancy sickness hasn’t faded.
I woke with a fever this morning. I feel clammy, and cold and hot all at once. My bones ache. I don’t rise from bed once today, besides to relieve myself.
…………………………………….
Four months and two weeks later…
My fever has lasted two weeks so far. I don’t leave my room anymore. In between feverish dreams, Nesta, Amren, and Mor take turns bringing me warm soup and tea, or wiping my forehead with a soft, damp cloth.
I’m scared of what this might mean for my child. I want to get better, but I don’t know how.
…………………………………….
Five months later…
“Feyre.” A hand brushes against my flushed, clammy cheek. A familiar hand. As my eyes flutter open, my mate’s muscular form takes shape in front of me. I shut them again. This is another product of my feverish dreams and hallucinations. But he speaks again.
“Feyre, please.” My eyes open again. They stay open, blearily assessing the man in front of me. His eyes are filled with anguish and wavering with unspilled tears.
“Feyre, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault.” I blink at him. What? “I didn’t realize...I had no idea. I didn’t mean to stay away so long, the meetings took much longer than I had predicted. Feyre, please, please know that I never would have left you if I had known.” His hand caresses my cheek softly, his thumb brushing just underneath my eye, whisking away a tear that I didn’t even realize I had shed.
That’s when I feel the bond between us. It’s not silent anymore, it’s loud, pulsing, and clamoring, and full of anguish and guilt and shame and love.
“Why,” I pause and clear my throat, as it’s rough from disuse, “Why did you stay away? Why didn’t you respond to me? Why couldn’t I talk to you?”
“Shit, Feyre,” his voice wavers as he chokes back tears, and I can feel the tight pain in his chest pulse down the bond to me. “I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I had reacted that way to you, and left you there like that. All I could see in the months I was away was your terrified face looking back at me as I winnowed away. I thought, if I could avoid facing the guilt I was feeling, I could get through the meetings and just come home. So, I locked you out.” Both of his hands frame my face now, and he presses his forehead to mine. “I am so, so sorry Feyre.”
The tears he’s been holding back finally slip out, and one falls from his cheek to mine.
“Lay down.”
“What?” Rhys pulls away, looking confused.
“Please, Rhys, I just want to lay with you.” The bond is trembling, urging me closer, closer, closer, pushing me to want to feel his whole body against mine.
He lets out a broken and relieved sigh, and slides under the blankets next to me.
“Hold me.”
He slowly and gently wraps his arms around me, gathering me to his chest but being mindful of my ever-growing bump. I can’t help but press my nose into his shirt and inhale.
His scent surrounds me, filling every pore and every empty crevice that was opened when he left 5 months ago. And I start to cry. I let loose loud, shaking, ugly sobs, and Rhys holds me, wrapping his wings around us and stroking my hair. I don’t need to explain why I’m crying.
He knows. But he also knows that it means I forgive him. So he cries too.
The next morning I wake up, still tucked in his arms and beneath his wings. My fever has finally broken.
4 and a half months later, Laya Archeron is born. She is healthy, with a full set of loud and fully functioning lungs, and a tiny pair of black wings nestled in the middle of her back.