Isabella

The manor was silent when she and Rhys arrived in the drawing room. A low fire in the white stone fireplace gently light up the green tones and furnishing of the barely used room. It felt like a life time since she had been here.

Had it truly only been a day?

Barely a day and yet she felt so different, so resolute in her plan.

It was real now. Isabella had a place to go to, a house– cottage– with a modest garden and worn furnishing. There was no grandeur that she now saw before her. No gold trimmed cushioned or brass candle holders mounted on the walls but it was what she was used to. Similar to what she had been calling home for years yet different.

Isabella found herself pacing around the edge of the room, brushing her finger tips over every surface and object beside her.

Oliver would have his own room, a good one that they could paint any colour he liked. She would have her own room too, she would have her own house.

Her stomach churned at the thought.

Isabella had been raised to manage a house and under Tomas' guide she had been running two of the Mandray homes but–

"What are you thinking?"

"I can't own a house." She blurts out, frowning to herself.

"Of course you can," There's a confused lilt to the High Lord's tone. "It will be in your name."

"I've never lived on my own." She whispers the words to herself, pausing at a vase of flowers. "Will it be hard?"

He snorts and she half turns to face him.

"If you believe for a single second that you're going to be left entirely on your own then you have severely misunderstood the type of people my family are." There's such an understanding and warmth in his eyes that she finds her shoulders sagging in relief. "Not to mention Cassian will likely be visiting as close to daily as he can get."

A soft blush blooms on her cheeks. Oh she hates how her stomach flutters at any mention of the male. Isabella drags her embarrassed gaze from the floor, meeting Rhys' guarded gaze.

"Unless you decided against... that." He settles into one of the armchairs, bracing his elbows on his knees as he leans forward. "Either way we'll all still be here for you and Olliver."

That?

Oh... the conversation. The one where Cassian was struggling to tell her something. It would be a lie to say her curiosity wasn't immediately piqued by the knowledge that Rhys apparently knew what the illyrian was trying to tell her.

Even if it was slightly upsetting to find out she would be the last to know whatever this mysterious knowledge is.

Rhys seemed to have straightened up at her silence, concern clear in his eyes. Isabella finds herself trying to ask a question but she doesn't know what.

"It's okay." He murmurs, voice low and quiet as if reassuring a skittish animal. "You can ask me anything."

"Cassian wasn't exactly very clear." How could she word this without alluding to the fact she has no idea what's going on. Well she does have an idea but her list to confer with Nesta would have to wait. "We... well it was a time crunch, wasn't it?"

He nods, gently acknowledging her words.

"To be honest I was in a bit of a daze." She whispers, playing on the meek little female she had been masquerading as her whole life. It was horrifically easy to curl her shoulders in slightly, to have her gaze fluttering to the ground as she gnaws on her lip.

For a moment she thinks the 'Tomas pleaser' stance has failed but there's clear footsteps from a male who knows how to be a quiet and a soft sigh.

It's only when Rhys stands beside her that she allows her eyes to meet his. Only for a split second, before resting on the detailing of his jacket.

Never meet their gaze, not for long at least. Her mother's voice echoed in her head. Just long enough to catch their attention, to keep them wanting more.

It felt cruel to try and trick Rhys, especially after all that he had done for her but– but this was her life now and she was tired of playing nice. She wanted to leave and she wanted to do that now.

So she had to know.

"Take a seat," He murmured, gesturing to the armchairs bracketing the warm fire. "I'm sure it must be overwhelming, especially for a human, to discover they have a mate bond with a fae."

What the fuck did he just say?

Her surprise must show because the High Lord freezes, eyes narrowing before understanding flashing across his rapidly paling face.

"You didn't know."

She shakes her head.

He reels back, looking at her in a new light. "But you intentionally tricked me into telling you."

Isabella watches him with wary eyes. Following the way he sharply exhales, running his hands through his hair as he begins to pace. For now she did her best to ignore the news, especially until she has her twin by her side and certainly until she deals with Rhys' reaction.

He looks increasingly frustrated. Rubbing his hands across his face, cracking his neck, all the while stalking the meagre length of the drawing room. To say he looked manic would be an understatement.

Isabella nervously swallowed, feeling her anxieties rising as the image of her husband flickered in the place of Rhys.

No. That wasn't fair to her friend.

Because he wasn't Tomas. He wasn't upset for an imagined reason, or some stupid slight. Rhys was allowed to be upset, she had tricked him into revealing something that was sacred amongst his people.

Didn't stop her nerves though.

"It was not my place to tell you." He mutters and she decides it's time to intervene.

"Cassian intended to tell me but I wasted the time discussing Oliver's father."

He waves her off, "Don't try to distract me with changing subjects."

Well it had worked with Cassian and Azriel so how was she to know it wouldn't work with the High Lord– with Rhys.

"And please don't try and talk yourself down so I have to comfort you." The bitterness in his voice leaves a sour taste in her mouth. He's right but in her defence that mannerism hadn't been intentional.

Some part of her appreciated his brutal honesty, his refusal to let her wallow where Cassian would argue and Azriel would have comforted. Cassian, who is her mate.

Which she is not going to think about until Rhys calms down.

"Why did– ugghh." His noise of frustration was rather amusing but Isabella did her best not to laugh, fearful that it might actually be hysteria on her part. "Oh how could I be so stupid."

"Maybe I was just so smart." She grumbled, unable to stop the words. She and Rhys had playful arguments before but never one that– that was real. "I was going to find out at somepoint."

"Not like this." He snapped, turning to her long enough that she could see the guilt and rage burning in his eyes. "This was supposed to be Cassian's job."

Well the bat was taking too long.

"He had months to tell me, he never did." She counters, settling into the armchair that Rhys had previously vacated.

"He was trying to do it the human way."

"How gracious of him." She purred, confidence building in response to Rhysand's ire.

"Yes it was." He snapped, whipping around fast enough that she flinched. He paused for a second, that fire dying down.

For a moment she remains frozen, feeling her heart beating out of her chest in fear. She had thought it was Tomas standing before her. Tomas who would– No. Just no. This was not Tomas, this is Rhys. And she would not be cowering before her friend.

"It's done now." She states, folding her hands as they rest on her lap. "Best not to dwell on it."

"Don't make it little," he snaps, stepping forward but leaving a safe distance between them. "This is serious."

"I would love to say I understand," She bitterly drawls, "But I have no clue what's going on."

"I gave you those books didn't I?" He exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air before raking them through his hair again. "They were pretty damn clear."

"You were hinting at it!" She accuses, voice raising with glee. "You can't argue that I was wrong to trick you into telling me when you had been hinting at it for months!"

"Well you could have gone and worked it out!" He yelled, hands on hips. "It would have saved a lot of trouble."

"Oh, how arrogant do you think I am." She snaps, rising to her feet. "Oh– oh, look at me. I've never heard of these fae customs before but one of the handsome ones is flirting with me– whoop, whoop, lucky me – I must be his mate because the statistical chances of an immortal life span coinciding with a mortal one have miraculously aligned!"

"He was head over heels for you!"

"Forgive me for thinking that was just because of my personality!"

"Don't get pious!"

"Well how should I react!"

"How should I know! You're the one who has a mate!"

"Well you're the one who knows what that means!"

"I can't tell you what to feel."

"Oh you most certainly cannot!"

"Fine."

"Fine."

They glared at each other, chest shaking with heavy breaths. There was barely any space between them and Isabella found herself hesitating. Her gaze flickered across his face, catching on the sharp cheekbones and supple lips before he swallowed heavily and stepped back.

"Ah, fuck." He whispers, turning away from her and hunching over the fire.

She sniffed delicately, a move her mother would have made, "Language."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, the look in his eyes both disbelieving and fond before he once more gestured to the armchairs flanking the fireplace. This time they both sat down and a glass of whiskey appeared by Rhysand's side at the wave of a hand.

She blinked in surprise, forgetting he had that power. He catches her watching and settles back in his chair with a deep sigh before waving his hand and a bulbous glass appears by her side.

Gin, she thinks, sniffing at it before taking a hesitant sip. It was surprisingly nice. Tomas never let her drink so she savoured every drop as she mimicked the High Lord's posture and sprawled out on the armchair.

"Cassian's going to be pissed." He eventually murmured, downing the last of the drink.

She sighs, copying his action. "He'll get over it."

They glanced at each other then, both of their mouths twitching into an amused smile.

"Mummy!"

Isabella whipped around, sitting up straight in her chair and quickly setting down the empty glass as a small body slammed into her legs.

"Ollie." She cooed, smiling gratefully at Rhys when the alcohol disappeared. How he knew that she liked to make a point to keep him away from alcohol was beyond her. He knew they drank at parties and meals but she never wanted him to get the impression that the Mandrays' day-drinking was the norm. "How have you been!"

Her son clambers up into her arms, nestling in against her neck. All of which would have been fine if he wasn't gripping her so tightly, if he wasn't so silent. Even Rhys' seemed to glance between Oliver and Nesta in concern.

Isabella turned to her twin expectantly. Nesta looked aged and the thought surprised her. There was a weariness in her sister's eyes, a pallor of the skin and a stiffness to her shoulders.

"We've... had a long day." A forced smile at the little boy who was rapidly falling asleep now that he was in the safety of his mother's arms. Nesta hesitantly glances at Rhys. "Perhaps the High Lord could take him upstairs while we talk."

Fear and wrath merged into one emotion. A feeling of pure dread that had her wanting to bundle her baby up and keep him safe from harm. Isabella couldn't even bring herself to frown at the fact Nesta was asking Rhys to take Oliver. To take him despite being a High Lord, a fae and someone Nesta dislikes.

It brought a sick feeling to her chest.

Rhys was by her side when she next glanced up. His brow was furrowed in concern, his lips pursed as he stared down at the small boy.

"I can take him." He waited for Isabella's permission and she swallowed nervously. Could she let him go after Nesta's words? "I'll look after him."

Rhys had forced a smile for a brief second, barely hiding the way he glanced at Nesta in concern. Perhaps he knew something, scented something on her or even peered into her head.

Carefully handing her son to Rhys Isabella found her resolve harding as she watched the way the male cradled Oliver in his arms. She barely had a chance to fuss over anything with the way Rhys had thought of everything.

With one last parting glance Rhys turned away but–

"The maid will be up in a few minutes, so you won't need to stay." Nesta called after him and he paused, head tilting so that half of his face was visible. "And Elain will no doubt be waiting in Oliver's room."

Isabella narrowed her eyes at Nesta. Her twin was in no mood to play. The second Rhys was gone from the room the sisters met halfway, each walking towards the other but when Isabella reached for Nesta's hands her twin pulled back.

She swallows down the lump in her throat. "What's happened?"

Nesta refuses to meet her gaze, hands tightly clasped before her with a look that Isabella recognises as one of the many masks she wore on the behest of their mother.

"You need to leave, and you need to leave soon." Her voice is firm and Isabella blinks in surprise. "You and Oliver can stay here for the time being while your stuff is packed away and Feyre notified."

"Then why did you tell–"

"Because we have private matters to discuss that I don't want him to overhear or influence."

Her brave sister, ever the politician. Nesta gestured to the armchair that Isabella was quickly learning to loath. She could never get a break in this drawing room.

Nesta sat opposite her, sat so rigid she didn't resemble the twin she had come to know.

"I–" Nesta swallows nervously and the pure agony in her eyes has Isabella faltering. "It's about Mr Mandray... Tomas' father and– and the grandfather, I think they did something to Oliver."

A/N: For @Emsdreamstories who conveniently asked me to post the next chapter right when I finished this one. 

Rhys and Oliver coming up in the next chapter, any requests?