Her fae & His fairy

Chapter 20

Euodia:

Feyre leads us into an extravagant sitting room, a haven of opulence that mirrors the grandeur of the Night Court itself. Plush carpets, soft underfoot, spread across the floor in a luxurious display of deep purple, a regal hue that adds a touch of sophistication to the space. The carpets create a warm foundation, inviting guests to sink into the sumptuous comfort they provide.

The room is adorned with deep purple couches, plush and inviting, arranged in a symmetrical layout that fosters both conversation and relaxation. The colour scheme, rich and velvety, echoes the essence of royalty and elegance. Each couch seems to cradle its occupants in a cocoon of luxury, inviting them to revel in the comfort of the Night Court's hospitality.

A grand fireplace commands attention, its roaring flames casting a dance of warmth and light across the room. The mantelpiece, meticulously adorned, displays a curated collection of trinkets and ornaments, each a testament to the discerning taste of the inhabitants. The fireplace becomes a focal point, inviting guests to gather around and share in the enchantment of its flickering flames.

On one wall, a painting captures the imagination-a depiction of twinkling star lights that transports the room into an otherworldly realm. The stars, carefully rendered, seem to sparkle with an ethereal glow, creating a sense of celestial wonder within the confines of the sitting room. It's a piece of art that elevates the atmosphere, adding a touch of magic to the already enchanting space.

Beautiful light fixtures, elegantly suspended from the ceiling, cast a gentle glow that bathes the room in a warm ambience. The play of light and shadow further accentuates the details of the decor, creating an inviting atmosphere where every corner holds a story waiting to unfold.

Rhysand paces the floor of the sitting room with a restless energy, his movements akin to a caged lion confined within the confines of its enclosure. Each step is measured and deliberate, and yet there's an underlying agitation that reverberates through the room. His eyes, pools of shadowed intensity, flicker with a simmering intensity as he moves back and forth, his thoughts seemingly a tempest within.

The repetitive sound of his footsteps becomes a rhythmic pattern that grates on the nerves. The steady thud, thud, thud echoes with a subtle annoyance, each step amplifying the sense of tension in the air. The grandeur of the room, with its plush carpets and regal furnishings, seems to shrink under the weight of Rhysand's pacing, as if the walls themselves are unable to contain his restless spirit.

His movements, though controlled, carry a hint of impatience, and the pacing becomes a silent manifestation of the turmoil within. It's as if the room itself protests, the opulent surroundings at odds with the pacing figure disrupting the equilibrium. The shadows that dance around him, an extension of his fae nature, seem to mimic the agitation that courses through him.

As a spectator, sitting opposite Feyre, the repetitive back-and-forth motion begins to wear on the nerves. The predictable pattern of his pacing becomes a bothersome distraction, an incessant reminder of the tension that permeates the room. The desire for him to stand still, if only for a moment, becomes a silent plea, as the pacing threatens to overshadow the nuances of the conversation at hand.

Azriel, leaning against the wall with shadows enveloping half of him, remains a stoic observer. The contrast between Rhysand's agitated pacing and Azriel's composed presence only intensifies the irritation, creating a palpable dissonance within the room. As the pacing continues, it becomes a testament to the struggle between composure and unrest-a struggle that leaves an indelible mark on the atmosphere, making the once luxurious sitting room feel like a cage where even the air seems to hold its breath in anticipation.

"So, how should we start?" Feyre inquires, her voice carrying a palpable undercurrent of nervousness. Her gaze shifts towards her husband, who continues to pace back and forth with an evident frustration that ripples through the room. The unease in Feyre's demeanour only grows more pronounced as Rhysand's restless energy seems to infect the very air around them.