𝐂 𝐎 𝐒 𝐌 𝐈 𝐂   𝐋 𝐎 𝐕 𝐄   !

𝙲 𝙷 𝙰 𝙿 𝚃 𝙴 𝚁   𝙵 𝙾 𝚄 𝚁 𝚃 𝙴 𝙴 𝙽   !

( 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔱 ! )

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

          𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘. She sat at the table which was set for brunch, downing a mug of coffee while rubbing her temples. Somehow, the table had shrunk in size, and Ana despised it. She hated being closer to Tamlin and Lucien, but she didn't complain as she continued to eat, starving after her well-needed nap. 

Lucien seemed to be in the same position as Ana. He ate, rubbing his temples while remaining unusually quiet. Ana couldn't remember seeing him at the party, but then again, she hadn't been looking for him.

"And where were you last night?" Feyre asked Lucien in a teasing tone.

Lucien glared at her. "I'll have you know that while you and Tamlin were dancing with the spirits and Ana was drinking her mind away with Aurelia, I was stuck on boarder control." Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, "With some company."

Ana perked a brow. "Who the hell would wanna be alone with you?"

The red-haired Fae mockingly laughed before turning his gaze back to Feyre and Tamlin. "Rumor has it you two didn't come back until after dawn."

Ana sipped her coffee to hide her smile. She'd heard from Alis that morning that Feyre and Tamlin had been out late into the morning. Whatever they were doing when they disappeared from the party, Ana didn't want to know. But Feyre seemed happier than ever, so something good must've occurred.

"You bit my neck on Fire Night," Feyre said to a rather stiff Tamlin. "If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing."

Ana spit her coffee out, spraying it all over Lucien. The red-haired Fae stared at her wide-eyed, his jaw slack as the blonde began laughing. She'd initially been surprised by Feyre and Tamlin kissing, but the look on Lucien's face blocked out the rest of their hushed conversation. Honestly, she wished she'd had a camera so she could've captured his face. It was dripping with coffee, completely startled and a bit annoyed.

Lucien shook his head and wiped down his face, turning to the couple in the corner. "We're trying to eat in peace," he said, snapping Tamlin and Feyre out of their daze. "But now that I have your attention, Tamlin," he snapped, though the High Lord was still looking at Feyre. It took him a bit, but he finally managed to turn his attention to Lucien. "Not to be the bearer of truly bad tidings⎯"

"When has anyone ever believed that?" Ana muttered, receiving a glare from Lucien and a giggle from Feyre.

"My contact with the Winter Court managed to get a letter to me." Lucien's tone took a serious edge, and Ana straightened. He had contacts with the other courts, meaning he was not only an emissary, but also a spymaster of sorts. The look in his russet eye had Ana holding her breath. "The blight," Lucien said tightly, softly. "It took out two dozen of their younglings. Two dozen. All gone." Ana felt sick, setting her mug down as she braced her hands on the table. "It just . . . burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything⎯no one could stop it once it turned its attention toward them. Their grief is . . . unfathomable. My contact says other courts are being hit hard⎯though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed. But the blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way⎯farther south with every attack."

Ana's body drained of warmth. It was as if the golden light in her skin vanished, leaving her cold. Her body shook as whispers of her past filled her ears. Children⎯innocent, loving children . . . gone. Twenty-four children just killed without thought, without care. Amarantha had killed twenty-four innocent children like it was nothing. Like it meant nothing to her.

Aurelia had told Ana about how hard children were to come by for faeries. And to think that twenty-four of them had been taken hurt Ana more than she could ever explain. She spent so many years protecting children, and to think . . . The Winter Court was not too far from the Spring Court. She could have done something to help them. Something! Anything! But instead, she was here. Safe in the Spring Court. Drinking wine and dancing and laughing as other courts fell apart at the hands of Amarantha. 

"The blight can . . . can truly kill people?" Feyre managed.

Tamlin's eyes were dark. "The blight is capable of hurting us in ways you⎯" He was suddenly on his feet, knocking the chair over with how quick his movements were. He unsheathed his claws and snarled at the open doorway, canines long and gleaming. 

Ana's body went stiff. Her hands were immediately on her kindjals, the new golden light surfacing and circling around her fists. She looked around, searching for a threat, but found none. Instead, she felt the familiar wash of calm that came with . . .

"Get Feyre to the window⎯by the curtains," Tamlin growled to Lucien, not taking his eyes off the open doors. Lucien listened, dragging Feyre out of her chair and toward the windows. "Anastasia, remain still. I can only glamour you if you remain still."

Ana didn't say anything, her mind racing as she thought about the feeling racing through her. Calm, cool, and soft⎯the caress of the night breeze against her skin. The tingling of twinkling stars kissing her cheeks. The feel of strong arms wrapping safely around her body. 

Rhysand.

He appeared in the dining hall, with steps that were too graceful, too feline, and absolutely beautiful. He looked exactly like Ana remembered from the last time she'd seen him in person⎯hair so dark it was navy, eyes so blue they seemed violet, and a smirk that set her nerves on fire even from her spot across the room from him. He was dressed in rich clothing cloaked in tendrils of night, reminding her much of the golden light that twirled around her own forearms and hands. 

"High Lord," Rhysand crooned, inclining his head slightly. His voice . . . oh, his voice. The accent and the mannerism that always filled Ana with a type of warmth she never wanted to lose. 

Tamlin had sat down at some point prior to Rhysand's entrance. "What do you want, Rhysand?"

Rhys smiled⎯heartbreaking in its beauty⎯and put a hand on his chest. "Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don't see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that." Ana felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew that Rhysand had his facade on, and it filled her with a strange chill that she both craved and feared. It was . . . amazing. 

Rhysand turned to Lucien, his eyes glinting dangerously. "A fox mask. Appropriate for you, Lucien."

"Go to Hell, Rhys," Lucien snapped.

So they have Hell here? Interesting . . .

"Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble," Rhysand said, and faced Tamlin again. "I hope I wasn't interrupting."

"We were in the middle of lunch," Tamlin said⎯his voice void of emotion other than anger.

"Stimulating," Rhysand purred, and Ana's heart flipped in her chest.

"What are you doing here, Rhys?" Tamlin demanded, still in his seat.

"I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present."

Ana steeled herself against his tone. She'd heard the heartache in his voice when she'd asked him about the head. He'd been devastated by his choice, but it'd had to be done for his court's survival. A punishment from Amarantha. He didn't mean what he was saying.

"Your present was unnecessary," Tamlin growled.

"But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn't it?" Rhysand clicked his tongue and surveyed the room. "Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don't know how you managed it. But," he said, facing Tamlin again, "you're such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I'm surprised, though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again."

The seven-times-seven bargain between Tamlin and Amarantha.

"There's nothing to be done," conceded Tamlin, his voice low.

Rhysand approached Tamlin, each movement smooth as silk. He stopped right behind Ana's chair, hand falling onto her chair so close to her shoulder, she could feel the warmth from his body. His voice dropped into a whisper⎯an erotic caress of sound that made Ana's body warm and buzz. "What a pity that you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin⎯and an even greater pity that you're so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago."

Lucien interrupted, "What do you know about anything? You're just Amarantha's whore."

Ana stiffened, and she noticed Rhysand's eyes grow a smidge darker. Amarantha's whore? Was he . . . ? The thought made her want to hurl, heart aching within her chest.

"Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons." Rhysand's voice was sharp. Ana's heart constricted even more. "At least I haven't bided my time among the hedges and flowers while the world has gone to Hell."

Lucien's sword rose slightly. "If you think that's all I've been doing, you'll soon learn otherwise."

"Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you."

Lucien pointed his sword at Rhysand and Ana had to resist the urge to laugh. Like that would do anything against the High Lord of the Night Court, who seemed stronger than Tamlin even when he was hyped up on magic ju-ju.

Rhysand laughed, low and soft and intimate. Like he had many times with Ana. "Is that any way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian?" His voice held power as he perked a challenging brow at Lucien before turning to Tamlin. "Come now, Tamlin. Shouldn't you reprimand your lackey for speaking to me like that?"

"I don't enforce rank in my court," Tamlin said.

"Still?" Rhysand crossed his arms. "But it's so entertaining when they grovel. I suppose your father never bothered to show you."

Ana stiffened. It's all an act. It's all an act. It's all an act. She had to keep reminding herself⎯keep assuring herself that what Rhysand was doing now was not what he wanted to be doing. He was not like this . . . right?

"This isn't the Night Court," Lucien hissed. "And you have no power here⎯so clear out. Amarantha's bed is growing cold."

Ana's hands clenched tighter around her kindjals, the golden power within her burning brighter around her fists. It was almost bright enough to catch the attention of the others in the room as tendrils swirled about the air above her hands. She was close to stabbing Lucien in the other eye.

Rhysand snickered, but then he was upon Lucien, too fast for Ana to follow with her eyes, growling in his face. Lucien pressed the hidden figure of Feyre back into the wall even further.

"I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you were even born," Rhysand snarled. Then, as quickly as he'd come, he withdrew, casual and careless. "Besides," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "who do you think taught your beloved Tamlin the finer aspects of swords and females? You can't truly believe he learned everything in his father's little war-camps."

If Rhysand had taught Tamlin how to flirt with the ladies, then Tamlin must've been a horrid student. Because he was horrible at anything involving flirtation or ladies. Unless, of course, Rhysand used to suck at flirtation as well . . .

Tamlin rubbed his temples. "Save it for another time, Rhys. You'll see me soon enough."

Rhysand meandered toward the door. "She's already preparing for you. Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you've already been broken and will reconsider her offer." Lucien's breath hitched as Rhysand passed the table again. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a finger along the back of Ana's chair⎯a casual gesture. "I'm looking forward to seeing your face when you⎯"

Rhysand finally studied the table. He studied the four plates of food, most half-eaten, and the stain of coffee from when Ana had spit her drink across the table and onto Lucien's face. 

"Where are your guests?" Rhysand asked, but Ana had a feeling he knew. He knew she was there, and he knew Feyre was as well. Still, he lifted Ana's goblet and sniffed it, smirking.

"I sent them off when I sensed your arrival," Tamlin lied. Ana rolled her eyes at how loose of a lie it was. Easy to see through.

Rhysand now faced the High Lord, and his perfect face was void of emotion before his brows rose. A flicker of excitement⎯perhaps even disbelief⎯flashed across his features, but he whipped his head to Tamlin and Lucien. Magic stung through the air, and Ana watched as Rhysand's face contorted with rage.

Ana was suddenly pressed against the wall, Rhysand's one hand wrapped loosely around her neck as his violet eyes shone against her cerulean ones. He was breathing heavily as he towered over her, caging her between his body and the wall. If they were in any other room and Rhysand didn't have his mask of cruel High Lord on, Ana would've allowed herself to melt. To give into the voice in her head begging her to kiss him.

His darkness mixed with the golden light around her hands, dancing and tangling together beautifully. Hello, Ana darling.

Ana hid her smile behind a mask of stoic indifference. Hello, Rhys, my love.

Rhysand turned his fiery gaze toward Tamlin and Lucien, who were both on edge. "You dare glamour me?" he growled at them.

Tamlin's claws gleamed as he stood, his and Lucien's glamour falling from Feyre and Ana. Feyre looked beyond terrified, but Ana kept herself calm. She had nothing to worry about when it came to Rhys. She could feel the warmth of his presence deep within her, making it hard to pretend as though she wasn't bothered by the position in which he had her. 

Rhys returned his gaze to Ana, eyes scouring her face. "I remember you," he purred. "Hmm, still so stoic yet oh, so beautiful." Ana had to push down her blush. "What would a female such as yourself be doing in the presence of such a mediocre High Lord and his impotent lackey?"

Ana bit her lip to keep from laughing. Stealing my words now, are you?

I'm only speaking your truth, darling.

Rhys didn't let Ana reply⎯he knew she wouldn't, anyways⎯and let her go (although begrudgingly. Rhys truly did love the sight of Ana pressed against the wall his his hand holding her there. The way her eyes had peered up at him through her lashes . . .) He turned to Feyre, who was white as a sheet, before facing the Fae. "Who, pray tell, are your guests?"

"My betrothed," Lucien answered, nodding to Feyre, "and her sister."

"Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your commoner lover after all these centuries," Rhysand said, stalking toward Feyre. The lie had been just as horrible as Tamlin's, and Ana knew Rhys was trying not to laugh.

Lucien spat at Rhysand's feet and shoved his sword between the High Lord and Feyre.

Rhysand's venom-coated smile grew. "You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you'll learn just how quickly Amarantha's whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially it's darling Lady."

Ana held her breath as Lucien's face paled. It's all an act. It's all an act. He wouldn't hurt Autumn . . . right?

Tamlin spoke. "Put your sword down, Lucien."

Rhysand ran an eye over Feyre, seemingly uninterested. "I know you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you'd actually dabble with mortal trash." All an act. All an act. All an act. "The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I'd keep your new pet well away from your father."

ALL AN ACT.

"Leave, Rhys," Tamlin commanded, standing a few feet behind the High Lord of the Night Court. He didn't move to attack, despite the claws, despite Rhysand still approaching Feyre. Ana watched carefully, swallowing thickly as she fell deeper and deeper into her thoughts. 

It's all an act, Ana. Rhysand isn't this cruel. It's all an act.

Rhysand brushed Lucien aside as if he were a curtain. 

There was nothing between him and Feyre. Tamlin remained where he was, and Lucien didn't so much as blink. Ana pushed herself off the wall and slowly neared the group, her steps soft and gentle on the tiled floor. Rhysand pried the knife from Feyre's hands and sent it scattering across the room.

"That won't do you any good, anyway," he said to her. "If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. Both of you." He shot Ana a glance. "It's a wonder that you're still both here." Feyre's confusion made him laugh loudly, and Ana's heart raced at the sound. "Oh, she doesn't know, does she?"

"You have seconds, Rhys," Tamlin warned, his hands trembling. "Seconds to get out."

"If I were you, I wouldn't speak to me like that."

Feyre's body suddenly went stiff. The air was filled with magic as power controlled Feyre's body. Power coming from Rhys.

What are you doing? Ana panicked. She didn't like the idea of someone being able to control others. It terrified her to her very core.

I'm not going to hurt her. I promise, Ana darling, I'm not going to hurt Feyre. Ana's shoulders relaxed at the truthfulness in his words. He wasn't going to hurt her. 

"Let her go," Tamlin said, bristling, but he did nothing against Rhys. His eyes were panicked, glued to Feyre. "Enough."

"I'd forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells," Rhysand said, and ran a finger across the base of Feyre's throat. "Look how delightful she is⎯look how she's trying not to cry out in terror. It would be quick, I promise."

Ana clenched her fists tighter around her kindjals. He promised he won't hurt her. He promised he won't hurt her.

"She has the most delicious thoughts about you, Tamlin," he said. "She's wondered about the feeling of your fingers on her thighs⎯between them, too." He chuckled, and Ana had to swallow back the bile crawling up her throat. He won't hurt her. He won't hurt her. He promised. "I'm curious: Why did she wonder if it would feel good to have you bite her breast the way you bit her neck?"

"Let. Her. Go." Tamlin's face was twisted with such feral rage that it made Ana question whether she should stab him to calm him down.

"If it's any consolation," Rhysand confided to him, "she would have been the one for you⎯and you might have gotten away with it. A bit late, though. She's more stubborn than you are."

The bargain. Feyre needed to admit to loving Tamlin in order to break his curse. But Ana knew how conflicted and stubborn Feyre was. She would not admit it to him until she knew for sure that he felt the same for her. That she wouldn't be embarrassing herself by admitting to loving this High Fae High Lord that had basically kidnapped her.

Damn, she had a case of Stockholm Syndrome.

Feyre suddenly sunk to the floor, curling over her knees as she reeled in everything that she was, trying to keep her best from sobbing or screaming or emptying her stomach. Ana ran to her side, pulling her into a tight hug where Feyre hid her face in Ana's shoulder. Ana met Rhysand's cold eyes, spotting the sorrow hiding deep within them.

"Amarantha will enjoy breaking her," Rhysand observed to Tamlin. "Almost as much as she'll enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit."

Tamlin was frozen, his arms⎯his claws⎯hanging limply at his side. "Please." 

"Please what?" Rhysand said⎯gently, coaxingly. Like a lover.

"Don't tell Amarantha about her," Tamlin said, his voice strained.

"And why not? As her whore," he said with a glance tossed in Lucien's direction, "I should tell her everything."

"Please," Tamlin managed, as if it were difficult to breathe.

Ana wanted to know one thing⎯was he begging Rhysand not to tell Amarantha because he truly loved Feyre, or because he didn't want his chance at freedom ripped away from him?

Rhysand pointed to the ground, and his smile became vicious. "Beg, and I'll consider not telling Amarantha."

Tamlin dropped to his knees and bowed his head. 

"Lower."

Tamlin pressed his forehead to the floor, his hands sliding along the floor to Rhysand's boots. Ana felt a cruel delight curl within her, to see Tamlin practically reduced to nothing as he begged Rhysand not to tell. Karma was a hell of a bitch, and Ana was enjoying watching him break. 

"Are you doing this for your sake, or for hers?" Rhys pondered as Ana had. Then he shrugged, as if he wasn't forcing someone to grovel before him. "You're far too desperate, Tamlin. It's off-putting. Becoming High Lord made you so boring."

"Are you going to tell Amarantha?" Tamlin said, keeping his face on the floor.

Rhysand smirked. "Perhaps I'll tell her, perhaps I won't."

In a flash of motion too fast for Ana to detect, Tamlin was on his feet, fangs dangerously close to Rhysand's face.

I thought he was only into biting Feyre. Unless, of course, Tamlin has something for biting men, too.

Rhysand's lips quirked at Ana's thought, and the blonde saw a flash of the male she knew. 

"None of that," Rhysand said, clicking his tongue and lightly shoving Tamlin away with a single hand. "Not with ladies present." His eyes shifted to Feyre's face. "What's your name, love?"

He knew her name. Ana had spoken about Feyre to Rhys many times in their dream-visits to one another. But no one other than themselves, Ana's friends back home, and the Suriel knew of this. 

"Clare Beddor," Feyre said, her voice nothing more than a gasp.

Rhysand turned his attention to Ana. "And your name, darling?"

Ana could've sighed at the way he said it. "Ana."

Rhysand hummed and looked at Tamlin, unfazed by the High Lord's proximity. "Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I've had in ages, actually. I'm looking forward to seeing you four Under the Mountain. I'll give Amarantha your regards."

Then he vanished into nothing⎯as if he'd stepped through a rip in the world⎯leaving them alone in silence.

Meet me by the stables, Ana darling.

Ana stood and pulled Feyre up with her. "I'm going to go for a walk to clear my head. Feyre, you should get some sleep. You've had a taxing day."

She didn't let anyone argue with her as she turned on her heel and left the room. The walk to the stables was not far, and when Ana spotted Rhys waiting for her in the shadows, she broke off into a sprint, nearly sending him to the ground as she tackled him into a hug. His arms wrapped around her waist so tightly, the breath was knocked from her lungs. But she held him in a vice grip as well, her heart hammering in her chest.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Ana," he whispered into her hair, fingers running along her spine. "I'm so sorry."

Ana breathed him in⎯citrus and the sea. "It's okay. I understand. It was just the mask of the High Lord of the Court of Nightmares. You warned me about it before, and while seeing it was absolutely terrifying, I knew that the you that you show around me was hidden beneath that mask the whole time."

Rhys sighed and pulled back to look in Ana's eyes. "You are truly amazing, Ana darling."

"I try." He chuckled, resting his head atop hers once more. "But what happened with Feyre? What did you do and why?"

"I was scaring Tamlin so he'd send Feyre home to keep her safe from Amarantha," Rhys admitted, his hold on her growing tighter at the mention of the curse on Prythian. "You care for her like a sister, and no innocent mortal should have to go through the torture that she will put them through. So, I slipped into Feyre's mind to scare Tamlin and Lucien."

Ana let out a breath. He was doing it to protect Feyre. To send her home despite needing her to set Tamlin free, and by proxy, all of Prythian. 

But the mention of Amarantha had Ana stiffening. "They called you . . ." The words died on her tongue, and she pulled away to meet Rhys's bright violet eyes. Those eyes that twinkled like a million stars. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Rhys sighed heavily, and his shoulders slumped as though a thousand pounds had been placed on them. "I didn't want you to know. Didn't want you to think so . . . poorly of me."

Ana's heart ached, eyes stinging as she looked at the male before her. The one who gave up so much to protect his court and his family. The one who had saved her in more ways that she knew. The one who made her feel comfortable for the first time in her life, who made her feel safe and loved and protected. 

"You . . . you give yourself away to protect your family, and you thought I would be disgusted in you?" A single tear fell from her eye, shining golden in the light. "Rhys, you should never worry about how I'll think of you. Even without this weird connection between us, I would never think so lowly of you. Especially after learning so much about you." She reached up and cupped her hands on his cheeks, rubbing her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Rhys, you are the most selfless and caring male I've ever met. You were probably the first male I ever truly felt comfortable around after everything I've gone through. You saved me from Tamlin when he was going to . . . and you thought that I would judge you for allowing yourself to be used that way just to keep your court safe? To keep yourself safe?"

Rhysand swallowed thickly, his eyes shining. 

Ana shook her head. "Never. Never feel like that when doing what you need to to survive and help others survive. I'm not disgusted by you, Rhys. I'm constantly amazed."

Rhysand looked at Ana⎯really looked at her⎯and found himself undoubtedly enraptured by her. A warrior at heart and a defender by birth, but so broke and so loving and so understanding. She was so beautifully perfect in his eyes, and he wished he could tell her the truth. Wished he could tell her about their connection. Wished he could just grab her and kiss her and press her up against the wall and make her forget every trouble she'd ever faced. 

But he couldn't. Prythian was dangerous, and he had to wait. He had to wait for Amarantha to be de-throned to finally admit to her. To finally tell her everything he ever wanted to. So, until then, he'd settle for mental conversations, visits through dreams, and gentle touches that spoke more than words ever could. 

Rhys brushed away her tear and cupped her cheeks as she did to him. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, so soft and caring it made Ana close her eyes. He rested his forehead against her own, their breaths mingling as well as his darkness and her light. "You are stunning. Everything about you is absolutely astonishing, my darling."

Ana breathed in with a smile. "I try."

He chuckled softly and pressed another kiss to her forehead. "I must go. Be careful these next few days, Ana. Amarantha is coming for the Spring Court, and there is very little I can do to protect you once she's here."

"I can protect myself, Rhys," Ana assured, moving her hands to his and squeezing them tightly. "But I will be careful. As long as you promise to do the same."

Rhys nodded. "I will see you soon, Ana darling."

"See you soon, my love."

And with that, Rhysand vanished, leaving Ana standing in the shadows of the stables, her mind rushing with thoughts of her feelings toward Rhysand. He was making her fall for him with each passing second, and she didn't want to fight it.

For the first time ever, Ana wanted to fall without hesitation.

She wanted to fall right into his arms and never leave.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

𝐀 𝐔 𝐓 𝐇 𝐎 𝐑 𝐒   𝐍 𝐎 𝐓 𝐄   !

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Okay, another chapter in. This one . . . this one was hard to write. I almost cried at the end. Ana cares so much for Feyre and Rhys, and with everything coming up and all her internal turmoil, she's gonna be going through it. She's finally admitting to having some type of feelings toward Rhys, which is a little hard for her given her past. As we enter Under the Mountain, we're sadly going to see a bit more of that and I'm nervous to write it. I'm nervous to put my baby Ana through any of it, but it's happening. I'm sorry.

Okay, the next couple of chapters will contain triggering events like torture, sa, blood/gore, and other things. So read with caution my friends. I will put a trigger warning above the chapter and a marker of where the triggering stuff begins and ends for you! And an explanation at the bottom for anyone who skips the triggering parts, I promise.

Please comment and vote!

I love you all!

~ a.h.