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Feyre awoke to the sun filtering through the heavy curtains in their room, birds twittering outside the window. She rolled over with a sigh, eyes still heavy as she breathed in the familiar scent of her mate. As she stretched, a sharp pain ripped through her abdomen, like knives stabbing through her. The feeling was so strong that she pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from waking Rhys, he'd been working himself thin dealing with the Illyrians, and she knew he hadn't been sleeping enough. Feyre admired him as he slept, the strong jaw, the golden skin, the sharp cheekbones, he really was beautiful. Another wave of pain rolled through her, unable to ignore it, she turned away from her mate, forcing herself upright. Something was wrong, this wasn't an ordinary sickness and she didn't know what to do. She hadn't really been sick since she came to Prythian, but she hadn't felt this bad when she was starving to death. Nausea rippled through her, doubling her discomfort.
She rose anyway, stumbling to the bathing room several feet away. Her body wouldn't stop shaking, the silky blue nightgown she wore was soaked through with sweat. Feyre gripped the marble countertop, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She was paler than usual, a sickly sheen gleaming on her brow, and her gray-blue eyes looked flat with pain and dizziness. She wanted to wake Rhysand more than anything, wanted his comfort and reassurance, but she couldn't be that selfish, had to stick it out on her own. Maybe I should just call Madja, she thought weakly, but that would've required more energy than she currently had. A wave of dizziness came over her, so strong that she slid to the ground beside the toilet, trying not to pass out. She needed water, or a healing tonic, or something, the pain in her stomach had intensified, and she could barely see straight. Feyre leaned her head against the cool ledge of the bathtub, close enough to the toilet that any vomiting would be contained while allowing her to rest her aching body.
Tears pricked at her eyelids, and shame coiled in her gut alongside the pain. Why was she so weak? You've trekked through Prythian with no powers, you've died and come back to life. A little pain is nothing. The truth of the words didn't erase her pain, though. Sweat pooled on the tiles beneath her, and she wanted to rip her nightgown off, every place the fabric touched was unbearable. Rhys, she mouthed, wishing for someone or something to help with the agony in her body. Passing out began to seem like a good option, and she was so dizzy she probably would have if the bathing room door hadn't burst open. Rhys was still in his underwear, hair mussed from sleep, but his violet eyes were clear.
"Shit," he hissed, dropping to the ground beside her. He pushed the sweaty hair off her neck, his other hand resting on her forehead. "Why didn't you wake me?"
"You need sleep," Feyre gritted out, curling over herself. Rhys swore again, scooping her into his arms. She closed her eyes resting her head against the hard muscle of his chest, he made to walk out but something stopped him. She was in too much pain to lift her head, but she heard him sniff before carrying her back to the bedroom.
"If you're in pain I want you to wake me, I can forgo a little sleep. I don't want you to be alone if you're hurting." He brushed a kiss to the top of her head.
"But I-" she began.
"Shh," he murmured soothingly. "No buts, I'm always here for you." She managed to lift her head, noticing he didn't put her down on the bed immediately.
"What's wrong with me?" Feyre groaned, pain tightening her body once more. Rhysand held her tighter, stroking her back softly.
"It's your cycle. They're definitely...worse for Fae than humans." She glanced at the bed after he spoke, noting the blood on the sheets. Feyre's cheeks heated, and she became hyperaware of the fact that she was on his lap and the dampness on her nightgown likely wasn't sweat.
"I'm sorry," She cringed as she looked down, seeing the blood on both of them. "I'm so sorry. I'll clean it-" Rhys pressed a kiss to her lips, effectively cutting her off. He waved his hand, the blood on the bed, on them, vanishing, though she could feel more rushing to replace it.
"Don't apologize, it's natural." Feyre bit her lip, tears of pain and humiliation forming.
"It's still disgusting."
"No part of you could ever disgust me, Feyre darling. I love you. It's just blood." She wanted to smile at his words, but another cramp shut her up. Definitely not just blood then. Her fingers dug into his arms and a few of the tears slipped free. Rhys laid her on the bed, vanishing for a moment before pressing something to her lips.
"Drink," He commanded, but she was too nauseous to put anything in her body. She shook her head.
"It will make you feel better, love. Please." The desperation in his voice melted her reservations and she opened her mouth, the taste of herbs stinging her tongue. Yet, after one horrible moment, the pain in her stomach eased, but her breasts still ached. She wrapped her arms around herself, and Rhys picked up on it. He massaged gentle circles into her skin, and she let out a soft breath, relaxing into the mattress before noticing another sensation.
"Rhys?" She could feel the blush returning to her cheeks.
"Yes, love?" He replied patiently, gently stroking her cheek.
"Um, I need to change. I-um-the blood," Feyre gestured vaguely, praying he'd understand. Rhysand just nodded moving to pull off her undergarments, before she wrapped a hand around his wrist.
"Feyre, it's fine. Let me help you." He looked so open and caring, and she felt so gross. But the pain was still there and sitting up sounded like hell, so she laid backward, closing her eyes till he was done. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, smoothing her hair lovingly.
"Do you think you could drink some tea?" He asked, violet eyes fixed on her. That made her feel worse, like some useless invalid, which she supposed she was at the moment. Biting down on her shame, she nodded, and he rushed off to grant her request immediately. For some reason, his absence felt like the worst thing in the world. Rationally, she knew he would be back in just a few minutes, but without him, she felt so desperately weak and lonely that she started to cry. Burying her face in her hands, Feyre stifled the sobs that kept escaping. What the hell was wrong with her?
It felt like hours before Rhysand returned, the cadence of his footsteps signaling his arrival. She tried so hard to stop crying, but she simply couldn't stop. The thought only made her cry harder. She heard the clank of a saucer as Rhys rushed toward her.
"Hey, what's wrong? Is the tonic not working? I can get more." He was so worried and gentle that she sobbed again, not wanting to open her eyes and see all that and more on his face.
"Feyre, talk to me. Please. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong." She felt him gently tug at her wrists, forcing her to open her teary eyes. He brushed his thumb over her damp cheeks, pressing his other hand over her heart. The feeling was strangely comforting, and her sobs slowly stopped.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," Feyre whimpered, voice still thick with tears. He waited, patiently letting her speak. "You were gone for two minutes and I break down. It just-it...felt so horrible to be without you-like I was dying." When she finished, he crawled onto the bed beside her, letting her sink into his chest. She savored the warmth and strength of him, the feel of his arms around her body.
"It's okay, I'll never leave you. I promise. I've got you." He rocked her gently, letting any lingering tears escape. She might've fallen asleep, but a sharp knocking at the door made her flinch. Rhys didn't get up, just kept holding her, but the knock sounded again. Louder this time. Rhysand looked down at her, and Feyre admired his face again, she could've spent eternity drowning in his gaze.
"Is it alright if I get the door?" He whispered, and she nodded, not wanting to seem so pathetic that she couldn't be left alone. Besides, she felt alright as long as she could see him. Her mate stalked across the room, flinging the door open with a harsh,
"What,"
"I just wanted to see if you two were okay. You haven't left this room all day, you know." Cassian's taunting voice rang in her ears, and she resisted the urge to groan. She loved Cassian but she didn't really want him to see her laying in a pool of her own sweat and blood. Rhysand's snarl echoed through the room.
"Get out, Cassian." Her mate said flatly, and she sighed into the pillow.
"You alright Feyre? Little Rhysie holding you hostage in here?"
"Please go. " She called, pain creeping back into her abdomen. There was a beat of silence, and she knew he smelled the blood and put the pieces together. Some of the nausea had returned as well, leaving her to wonder how long she'd laid there with Rhysand. Feyre tried pressing her hands over her nose, trying to keep the scent of blood mixing with all the other smells in the room, from entering her body. If she lay there for another second she might vomit.
"If you need anything...don't hesitate to ask," Cassian said, voice a shade quieter. To her surprise, Rhys snarled at him again, this level of overprotectiveness was rare, even for him. If she'd had the capacity, she would've gone to his side, but the nausea was so bad she could barely breathe. Surging from bed, she rushed to the bathing room, slamming the door so hard it nearly shattered. Retching, she clutched the sides of the toilet bowl, tears stung at her eyes again. Cauldron, she was so tired of crying. There was definitely blood on her legs. She vomited again before she could try to clean herself.
The door creaked open behind her, Rhys's scent cutting through the fog of sick. Warm hands lifted her hair as he crouched behind her, wrapping an arm over her stomach., the pressure surprisingly settling. Feyre waited a long minute before carefully leaning towards Rhys, her mate carefully wiping her chin.
"What do you need?" He asked, eyes soft.
"Just hold me please."
"Always."