VELARIS
"How did Kallias take it?" Mor asked as she picked up her fork and speared a roasted sprig of asparagus.
Rhysand had arrived from the Winter Court a few hours before and invited everyone to dinner at Rita's to discuss upcoming events. Having a plan in place was nice, but it felt like they were crawling across thin ice. Any sudden movement and their world was liable to crack.
"As well as anyone could, I suppose. A cut to the ego is never pleasant, but he agrees it's the best alternative."
"The Northernmost camp is being cleared now. If they need a quick escape, I'd rather them situated furthest anyway," Cassian said over a sip of his glass, "It has the smallest barracks, but I can't imagine they'd need too much space for now. Do you have an estimated number?"
Rhys nodded. "Viviane gave a list of fifty or sixty names. Hollis, Bran, and Caspian are bringing them all together to the palace to make transport easier," he said, swallowing a sip of his wine. "Some will be able to use the carriages and travel on foot. Others will need to be flown or winnowed."
"How is Hollis doing with all this?" Feyre skimmed her spoon against the surface of her stew. The last she'd seen him was a few years ago when Viviane mentioned he was having a rough time. The look in her eyes had worried Feyre, but she didn't want to push for more information.
When Rhys didn't respond immediately, Feyre glanced at him and frowned. "Vivane seemed worried the last we spoke." She tilted her head, studying him.
"Hm," Rhys swirled the wine in his glass and sighed softly, "I'm not sure, but I'd like to keep an eye on him."
That morning, speaking to Hollis in the riding arena, Rhys saw the red rim of his eyes. He could smell the alcohol emanating from him. He didn't want to assume anything about Hollis, not in his father's presence, but Viviane was right to be concerned.
They ate in casual silence; the weight of change hung in the air, but they didn't know if it would lead them toward prosperity or destruction.
Feyre took another bite of her chicken and glanced at Rhys, observing his heavy brow. It had been a long decade, and it showed. She couldn't remember the last time she picked up a paintbrush, and she often found Rhys sitting silently in the window seat in Nova's room.
Feyre reached for his hand and squeezed. "Dance with me?"
Looking up from his half-eaten meal, he smiled. "It would be my honor." Rhys reciprocated the gesture and stood, pulling Feyre to her feet to lead her to the patio where soft music played. As Rhysand placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close, swaying to the rhythm of the music, Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck and gazed up at him, allowing herself to be lost in the violet stars in his eyes.
"I've missed this…us…"
Rhys nodded, stroking his thumb lightly along the crest of her cheekbone. "I've been inattentive lately," he furrowed his brow before settling his forehead against hers, "I'm sorry, Feyre, darling…I never meant to become so distracted."
Reaching up, Feyre grazed her fingers up and into his hair, lightly stroking his scalp. "We both have, but it won't last," she smiled softly, "There will be a day we can all breathe easier. I have faith."
Rhysand carefully took her hand in his and pressed a tender kiss against her palm. "Well," he flashed a feline grin down at her, "No one will be coming over tonight. We aren't expected to be anywhere else."
A soft laugh caught in her chest as Feyre's face and chest flushed pleasantly. It had felt wrong over the years to give into pleasure, to let herself feel happiness. Her daughter was hundreds of miles away, and the fall of the Courts crouched like a vulture in the near future. What right did she have to smile and laugh?
"I look forward to it." She pressed her lips against his, smiling against his mouth as the others joined them on the dance floor. Mor and Cas, Az and Amren. They all danced and smiled—let themselves laugh.
In times of uncertainty, one thing they could all lean on… was each other.
Feyre slammed Rhys against the wall the moment they were inside the townhouse. Hands firmly against his chest, she devoured his mouth as his hands gripped her ass, hauling her up to sit on the knee he extended between her legs.
Chuckling against her mouth, he breathed her in as his eyes rolled back in his head. "A bit ravenous are you, Feyre, darling?" He grinned, squeezing her hips.
"How could you tell?" She asked, gasping as he yanked her dress down, exposing her breasts. Then, in a blur, he flipped them and pinned her against the wall before taking her left nipple into his mouth. He sucked harshly while his tongue swirled the pebbled surface.
"Rhys!" Feyre slammed her head back against the wall and gripped his shoulders tightly, nails biting as he switched to treat her other breast. A flood of arousal dripped down her inner thigh, and Rhysand moaned as the scent of her filled his senses.
An envelope fluttered and landed on the dining table with a soft thud.
Feyre and Rhys froze, panting as they slowly turned their heads and stared at the table. Pushing off the wall, it took a moment for Rhys to walk toward the letter- as if his legs were suddenly filled with rocks. Feyre pulled her dress into place with trembling fingers but couldn't move from where she stood.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Rhysand tore the envelope open and removed the letter.
"It's from Thesan," he said in a strained voice and closed his eyes, "We're all to meet in the Dawn Court."
Silence engulfed them, though Feyre could hear ringing in her ears.
"When?" Feyre's voice cracked.
"The first of the month. Eight days."
Feyre lowered herself down the wall and sat on the floor, staring ahead as Rhys took the spot next to her. Together, they held hands and sat in silence. It was officially happening.
Their daughter's future had been set, and they could do nothing to stop it.