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The air was getting warmer, the days longer. The city was positively bustling with revelers and celebration. Starfall was finally one night away.
Rhys couldn’t really call it his and Feyre’s first official Starfall together— even if they hadn’t accepted the mating bond or confessed their feelings to one another at this time last year, Rhys still held the memory in his heart as one of the most intimate between he and his mate. It was the first time he’d let himself hope for a future with Feyre. It was the first time Feyre realized she loved him. And it was still so much more than both of those things.
Tonight, Feyre radiated a pregnancy glow that seemed to cause her skin to shimmer like the stars soon to shoot across the sky. Rhys wasn’t in the least bit ashamed of the smug grin lining his face while she held his arm and they meandered through the crowd. This goddess had chosen him. He thought, unabashedly, that he probably looked like a lovesick schoolboy. He didn’t care in the least.
Things were still so tenuous—with the Autumn Court, with the mortal queens, between Nesta and everyone else . . . there were so many headaches and worries waiting for them back at the River house. But, tonight was different. Tonight, there was a lull of peace. According to Cassian, even Nesta and Amren were coming—Nesta who hated the lot of them, and Amren who found something disturbing about the event and almost never graced it with her presence—both females were coming. It was all a bit surreal to him. He couldn't help but feel a little lighthearted after receiving that brief update mind-to-mind with Cassian. From what he’d gleaned, Nesta and Cassian had come to a tentative peace of sorts. At least, for tonight they had. Cassian certainly seemed to be in a better mood, which Rhys generally took to mean that Nesta was in a halfway decent mood.
But tonight had a different atmosphere all together. It reminded Rhys a lot of holidays spent as a child; the important ones everyone celebrated as a family. When the burden of this crown was borne on someone else’s sturdier shoulders.
In a wave of nostalgia, Rhys remembered. Those lone holiday nights scattered across his childhood where everything was magical and everyone was happy—like his father wasn’t corrupt, and his mother wasn’t miserable, and his sister wasn’t always scared out of her mind. For that one night they all truly laughed, and they all truly spent time together—and actually enjoyed it—, and they all were truly family. On those nights, he’d feel infinite. Tomorrow he would be the high lord’s heir. But not until the final light in the house blinked out and time reset in the morning.
For tonight, spending Starfall with Feyre and his chosen family— it was the same feeling as when he was a child. One that Rhys wished he could capture in his hands and keep, as if it were a scene captured in a snow globe.
Tomorrow there would be Koschei. And the dread trove. Tomorrow, he would once again wake up thrashing from the nightmares plaguing his mind day and night, the ones where Feyre and the babe . . . .
Not tonight. 'Tonight there will be just us and the stars,' he thought.
-
Feyre and Rhys made their way around the celebration, through well-wishers and beloved shopkeepers, through what seemed to be all the folk of Velaris dancing to the music on the wind. Feyre was so swept up in the joy of the night that she barely noticed when Rhys had gently led her away from the crowd.
He brought her to that same balcony above the crowd that he had last year. They walked hand-in-hand towards the railing at the other end. Just as they approached, Rhys lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. She looked at him sweetly, but he gave her a feline grin that didn’t match the gesture. In one fluid movement, he had raised her arm above her head, still clutching her fingers, and twirled her once until her back was to the railing and his arms were on either side of her, braced on the iron.
Feyre just laughed as Rhys' lips danced a trail of kisses playfully down her throat. He stopped abruptly, however, at the little noise she made in protest when she glimpsed the first star falling from the sky. He pivoted, body still facing her, but braced a forearm on the railing as he turned his face upward. Together, they watched those great green and white streaks race across the sky. Feyre thought at once that if the colors were just a little different, the stars could look like tiny divers, diving down through a glass of champagne.
“I want to paint that,” she sighed, sounding breathless. There was wonder in her eyes as she looked up at the stars. Her eyes were so bright, so luminescent, that Rhys could see the reflection of the stars in them.
Rhys didn’t take his eyes off of her as he said, softly, “Indeed. There’s nothing like it in the world.”
Feyre tried to hide her smile. She turned to him, looking up as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“That you know of, at least.“ she teased.
“Oh no, I’m positive,” he said, running his hands up and down her back, her sides, feeling every curve of her, of his child in her belly.
“Then I’ll give that painting to you as a solstice gift," she smiled. "That solves my problem of what to get you.”
He brought his hands up on either side of her face to brush tendrils of hair behind her ears. He cupped her cheeks as he stroked his thumbs softly back and forth. He wanted her to lose focus for just a second, just while he asked. . . .
“You look rather wonderful tonight. I wish I had a picture of this—of you—instead.” Feyre rolled her eyes and gently pushed off of him, smirking.
“Nice lead in, but the answer is still no.” She shook her head in mock disapproval at him as she said it. "Resorting to your pretty words and smooth talk," she tisked, clicking her tongue. "You must be all out of ideas on how to win me over."
He just turned his feline grin skyward before returning his forearms to the railing. “I’ll get you to paint one yet—through trickery or bribery—”
“Or sheer dumb luck,” she finished, then smirked. “You and I both know I’m much too clever to be tricked into painting you a self portrait. You’d be better off with bribery. You know I have a soft spot for you, so I’m sure it’ll take you asking in just the right way, and offering me something really nice,” she teased. He shot her a sidelong glance and gave her an answering smirk. They returned to their comfortable silence as they each gazed up at the night sky.
Feyre wasn’t sure how much time had passed—they were standing still in comfortable silence, Rhys' fingers tracing swirls along her spine as they both gazed up at the stars. Below them, the dancing began. Feyre knew very well she couldn’t dance—even before pregnancy, she was clumsy on her feet. But she could encourage Rhys to go dance with his friends. She was about to do just that when he spoke.
“I would like that, you know,” he said quietly, still looking up at the stars.
“What?” Feyre asked, hesitant.
“A painting from you. Of Starfall. My second favorite night of the year.” Feyre didn’t need to ask what his favorite night was. Or, more precisely, it was two of his favorite special occasions on one night . . . .
She grinned, readying to play with him, but he went on. “And my favorite memory of you,” he finished. He must have seen the confusion in her eyes, because he crooned, “The night you smiled at me for the first time.” Stars danced in his eyes as he recalled the memory.
Feyre felt a slow smile bloom across her face. “That’s your favorite memory?” She asked him, a little awestruck. She thought for fraction of a moment that he might be joking around with her again, but her senses snapped back into place and she realized that he was being genuine. She stared up at him, unwavering, unable to keep the joy from her voice or the light off her face. Her throat felt tight.
“Oh no, I mean that’s my favorite memory of you, not my favorite memory overall.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then moved his lips softly to each eyelid. He looked down at her then, giving her a mischievous look and playfully biting at her full, ruby lips. She smiled, shaking him off, then laughed at his teasing.
“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s your favorite memory, then?” she pushed him off gently and returned to leaning against the railing.
“The night we found out you were pregnant,” he said softly, again tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “And everything we did after that. . . .” he trailed off, smirking in purely male satisfaction as he dropped his hands down and slid them gracefully into his pockets.
Feyre rolled her eyes and bumped him with a hip as she turned back to face Velaris. “You’re a pig,” she said, but couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. Rhys simply laughed and turned around to brace both forearms on the railing. He looked out at the night sky, deep and dark as it blended into the city below; the edge of night less clear now with everyone’s lights dimmed for Starfall.
“I’d been laughing my ass off at you for getting hit by that star. So, I probably deserved to get smacked silly by my own star, and when I did, you laughed and laughed. And I deserved it. But hearing it was like hearing windchimes for the first time. Like I knew there was music in the world, beautiful music in all different types, but this was something else—a different, bright kind of noise that I’d never heard before.” He paused, and smiled out at the skyline. “But seeing it . . . seeing it was like hearing music for the first time ever. And I thought my heart might have stopped beating right then.” He looked at her then, stripping her down to her soul with those eyes.
Feyre was unable to hide the blush as it ran up her cheeks, but she gripped the railing and turned to him, forcing her face into neutrality.
“You’re being particularly sweet tonight. Are you buttering me up to tell me something bad?” She was only half joking, but he laughed—full and happy.
“No, I’m living in the moment,” he said, swinging an arm around her shoulder so he could pull her closer. He cupped one of his capable, strong hands behind her neck as he looked down again. Eyes of steel blue met eyes of violet, and for a moment, Feyre thought of the beautiful, deep color they’d make if they were mixed together in a paint cup. ‘Maybe the color of our son’s eyes,’ she thought.
“Will you paint that for me?” He asked her, not breaking his gaze. Feyre’s eyes had started to glaze, Rhys noticed. It was like she was somewhere else entirely. She blinked rapidly a few times as if to wake herself from a daze, then cursed herself for falling again into that deep set of bedroom eyes.
“Our first Starfall?” she asked.
“Yes. My favorite memory of you. The moment you smiled at me for the first time.” He kissed her lightly then pulled back a bit. His eyes landed on her lips.
“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, in a sea of falling stars. I’ll never forget it,” he said. “I want that with me always. In our new home. I want you always laughing at me when I deserve it. Will you paint that for me?”
Touched—she was so touched. And maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, but her eyes started to sting and her throat welled up. She didn’t think she had any of the right words to say to him—to tell him just how beautiful she thought he was, too. Or how, for the longest time, she’d lost hope that she’d ever smile or laugh again. And that he’d been the one to get both out of her.
He smiled down at her, exultant and radiant as the stars that floated down around them. “I’ll hang it in my study. A self-portrait of my darling Feyre.”
She realized then what, through the bliss of the moment, he’d been able to sneak past her using sweet words and kisses. Of course it was a self-portrait. The image he wanted wasn’t of Starfall itself, but of her smiling up at him. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at his resolve. “I guess you win,” she said, pulling him into a kiss.