"Hello, Feyre darling..."

If Rhysand was the night, then Feyre truly was the stars. The moment the mating bond snapped into place after her revival, turned human into High Fae; he had felt it, though it appeared his mate hadn’t realised, Rhys felt everything and more. It was the hardest pill to swallow as he watched her, observed her until she went back with Tamlin to the Spring Court; of all damned places, she wanted him and wanted to be there. She had sold her soul; painted it red with blood and tears, just to save the one she believed she loved - if that wasn’t hard enough, knowing she did not know that Rhys was her true mate, was the worse type of pain for the High Lord. 

Despite everything that had happened, Rhys only ever thought of her, even though he tried not too - their bond, unbeknownst to Feyre, was an open link; it was so easy to sit in Velaris and swipe through the mating bond and read everything in her mind, but he didn’t. He owed her some privacy in that sense, that was until he had been speaking with Morrigan when he heard her. Heard the pain, the echoes that vibrated and echoed against his mind.

Save me - please, save me. Get me out. End this...

The rage had been instant, what was only a lick of control had wavered and in that moment, everything around him became black as night, a dark fog that smothered the room without any gasp of air. "Rhys?"

Morrigan’s voice was barely audible against the thumping of his heart, the erratic movements, lost in his own connection with Feyre Archeron. He refused let her suffer an eternity like this, he could no longer remain in Velaris without stepping in somewhere, he had seen first hand the pain that Feyre had gone through; when her nightmares became too much, too real only for them to throw them down the bond without realising the extent of what he would feel in return. Rhys refused to allow this to simmer any longer, plus his mate needed him, whether she realised it or not. Within seconds of hearing her voice in the mental bond, despite how looming his mental walls were, he winnowed to the exact same spot that he had seen in the vision, of his Feyre standing on what was in his terms, a pedestal; primed and proper. The rage within him resembled close to a storm, as he appeared in a cloud of shadow and smoke in the middle of the Spring Court, at the beginning of the aisle. Wedding or not, the Cauldron be damned. 

Chaos erupted around him, but Rhysand spared no mind as his eyes darted around the scene, ignoring each and every member watching when his violet orbs found her. Standing mere feet away from him, and there instantly he saw it - everything he saw in her eyes, like windows to her soul. Seeing her standing there, in that dressed that drowned her out; made her blend in the vast display around her and Tamlin; never again would she blend in, his Feyre needed to be in the spotlight, dressed in the finest of materials and silk. For the first time in months, Rhys felt a flicker of happiness instead of the morose that had settled deep over him like a mask; that even his family knew it was just that - a façade.

As they soon realised who was present, the High Lord of the Night Court, the sentries moved at once; all of them braced in a step towards him with their hands poised and ready to reveal their swords on their hips but it was the look upon Tamlin and Lucien’s face that delighted Rhysand in more ways than he should be pleased with. They wanted to attack, so badly - he could smell it, so much male aggression and yet, it was lacking in comparison to the Illyrian towering over them and the many that remained at home. 

His attention focused on Tamlin, his magic was worse for wear - unlike the depths of darkness within him, the High Lord of the Spring Court felt like a delicate and dainty surge in a spring lake. "Such a pretty little wedding," The jest and mocking tone in his voice obvious to all. But it did not matter, he was only pushing buttons on the man who killed his family and took a set of wings held dearest to Rhysand; "Get the hell out." Tamlin growled, his claws changing to claws, revealing the beast within. In fifty years, it seemed Tamlin called forth violence as his answer, nothing had changed - even when challenged against the most powerful High Lord, he had never seen Rhysand in the same matter; unlike Tamlin, Rhys used carefully constructed words and more so concealed actions, he hadn’t even see the damage he could do with his daemati powers. A smirk pulled at his lips, feeling no fear from the opposite male’s stance, as his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth; "Oh, I don’t think so. Not when I’m here to call in my bargain with Feyre darling." 

There was no way, not even Under The Mountain, would he leave Feyre here, to suffer more than she ever would have. 

"You try to break the bargain, and you know what will happen." It seemed now, the guests were rushing to disappear, some of them winnowing on the spot, while others just scampered off, how easily they were scared by the lies of just who Rhys was. "I gave you three months of freedom, you could at least be happy to see me." Just for her, low and injected - just to see a spark of life in her dull gaze. "I’ll be taking her now."