Aeyre

Feyre POV part II

The woman spun around, hand on her her sword's hilt. Her face contorted in surprise. It was nearly comical: her blue eye's bulged, mouth hung open slightly, and she held herself so still Feyre wondered if she was breathing. But the expression disappeared seconds later as the woman schooled her features into neutrality. Her face, once the expression was cold as snow, was something Feyre would've liked to try and capture on canvas. Her eyes...

Rhys stood casually, as if the woman was no concern. He stood mere inches in front of her, and Feyre knew his own blue eyes were looking at her the way a cat looks at a mouse. Feyre knew that expression well. Yet despite his smirk—feyre knew that was there too—he subtly pulled Feyre behind him with a small jerk of his hand.

"You know, it's rude to ignore your host's questions. Especially when that host is me," he continued, taking a step towards the woman. She held her ground.

"You must forgive my silence," the woman said. Her voice didn't waver; her tone was confident. The apology sounded about as sincere as most of Lucien's. "Who I am depends who is asking, you see."

Rhys let out a low chuckle. "And if the person asking is Lord Rhysand of the Night Court?"

"Then I would tell him I've never heard of the 'Night Court,' and he has likewise never heard of mine, Terrasen."

Feyre stepped forward. "So does your court bestow names on its subjects?"

The stranger turned a mad grin to Feyre. "Oh yes. It also bestows names on its rulers. I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius."

Feyre had never heard of Terrasen, and by the looks of it, neither had Rhys.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius sighed. "So does the Night Court have any food? Because I've been walking for who knows how long, and I'd love something to eat."

She asked the two of them for food as if she... she... as if she wasn't in the private library of the Lord of the Night Court.

Feyre felt a good deal of respect for her. And fear, depending on Rhys's mood.

What do you think? she thought at him.

I've never heard of Terrasen, he replied. But there's something unusual about her. She smells neither mortal nor fae, not entirely. Almost like High Fae, but she's not, I'm certain.

Is it safe to let her stay?

Perhaps, came the reply. Then again, perhaps not.

Feyre would've asked more, but Rhys turned back to Aelin and replied in his most benevolent tone that of course they did, after all they'd been having dinner, and wouldn't she please follow them?

Quickly, Rhys grabbed Feyre's hand and pulled her through the wall. He stood a few feet back with her, and then watched.

A second later it was in flame, and then a moment after that it went out. The woman, Aelin, stood behind it with a rather pleased look on her face, and then she stepped through.

All she said was "It's not like I can walk through walls, unlike some people here. And I'd really like some food... chocolate cake, maybe?"

Rhysand seemed to recover a bit faster than Feyre. He was clearly more surprised than angry, but he hid both with his words. "Be that as it may, you can't simply set my home on fire."

The girl just gazed calmly at him, as if it was hardly her fault his home was flammable. "Follow me," he continued with a pause. "You should be able to do so without ruining the centuries-old framework this time."

Rhys then waved his hand, and I felt the magic tug and pull with reality. A split second later, where the wall to their right had been was a reasonable sized opening.

Feyre squinted at Rhys. If you can do that, why do I always have to be touching you to walk around here?

Feyre heard a very, very amused chuckle in her head. Because I want to hold your hand.

Feyre jerked her hand away, but Rhys smoothly captured it and tugged her with him through the opening. Aelin followed them, unaware of their conversation.

Feyre would've sworn they were taking a path different from the one they'd taken to reach the library—shouldn't they have taken a second left?—but with the Night Court, who could tell? The girl didn't stay silent long enough for Feyre to contemplate it.

"So what is your name?" Aelin asked.

She felt Rhys tense beside her. Don't answer—names have pow—

"Feyre," she replied. It was only fair, she supposed, given that Aelin had said her own name. It had nothing to do with spiteing Rhys like a child.

"And are you the Lady of the Night Court, Feyre?" Aelin continued.

Feyre tensed ever so slightly. She couldn't possibly know what a loaded question that was.

Rhys just laughed.

"I am not," Feyre said.

After a few more turns (Feyre gave up hope of figuring out how they got there) the three of them wound up back in the dining hall. The remnants of their old meal had disappeared, and Rhys filled the empty table with sweets with another hand wave.

Since she had joined the ranks of the High Fae, Feyre had grown... attuned to when Tamlin or Rhys used their magic. Tamlin's magic felt like nature stirring, a warm breeze on her arm, rain in her hair. But while Tamlin's was wind caressing her, Rhys's felt almost like a touch. When he conjured the snacks, it was like someone placing their hand on her back. Normally, it would fade after a second.

But Rhys was not done with his magic.

All he said was a very smooth "Sit" to their guest, but to Feyre, it felt like a push. Not so powerful she couldn't resist, but Feyre was High Fae in her own right and it wasn't targeted at her specifically. Though Rhys wasn't using his full power—hardly a fraction, if she had experienced a sliver in those months before—the so-called ruler of Terrasen shouldn't be able to resist.

But she did, and Rhys's magic didn't like that.

Be polite, Feyre chastised. There was no sense burning bridges before they reached the water.

She does not belong here was the only reply.

Still, he showed no sign outward sign of annoyance. Unless Aelin was similarly attuned, she shouldn't notice.

"Please, sit," Rhys said without any magic imbued in the words.

Aelin sat. Feyre and Rhys followed suit.

For the record, Feyre was ready to ask questions. Simple question and answer, if she seemed truthful, maybe they could work something out. Obviously the whole "being in Rhys's private library" issue would need to be sorted out, but first they should at least talk to her. The girl hadn't proved completely insufferable.

But Rhys's power grew. Now it was a hand twisting her hair and tickling her ear. There was more power behind his next strike, but it was more refined and delicate.

Suddenly it grew uncomfortably warm in the room, and Rhys, Lord of the Night Court, jerked back as if struck.

Before Feyre's very eyes, the woman's canine's grew into long demonic points, and she made a sound that nearly shook Feyre to the core. It was a bestial sound, and it did not belong in Pyrithian. A split second later, Aelin jumped over the table and lunged.