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“Mmm…” Rhys grumbled, rubbing his jaw as Madja took a step back.
“High Lord…” She blinked at him incredulously a few times before continuing, “I told you to have this taken care of half a century ago.”
“And I had every intention of doing so-” He paused with a wince, hand going to the side of his face, “If you recall however, I got distracted with other…obligations.”
Other obligations. That was one way to refer to what he’d had to do Under the Mountain, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it any other way.
Madja’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I understand that, but you have been back for a year. You should have had this done sooner.” He merely quirked a brow at her, and she huffed in frustration, “Yes, I am also aware there was a war, but I do believe you could have found the short time you needed to recover from this procedure.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Shaking her head, Madja began placing her things back into her bag. “Regardless, because this has gone untreated for so long, it can no longer be completed with magic alone.”
Nervousness washed over him, “What’s the other option?”
“Manual extraction.” When the confusion didn’t leave his features, she clarified, “Surgery.”
Rhysand blanched at the word. Surgery. It was ridiculous. He could handle swords, daggers, scythes, and any other manner of weapon one could dream of. A scalpel though. The mere thought had him wanting to flinch away from the healer he trusted above any other.
As an Illyrian, he was familiar with wielding blades, but it was also drilled into him to try and avoid their sharp edges. The idea of allowing someone to purposely slice him open with one sent shivers down his spine.
Madja seemed to recognize his hesitation, her voice taking on a gentler tone, the one she always took with frightened patients. “It is a common procedure. You will be sedated and put under, and you will remember nothing of the procedure itself.”
Taking a deep breath, Rhys did his best to force away his concerns. “I’m sure you’re right Madja. I trust you.” He cleared his throat to keep his voice from cracking, “When will the surgery be?”
“The sooner the better. Would you be free on Monday at eleven in the morning?”
That was in two days. He nodded, “Yes. Any meetings I have scheduled for that day can be postponed.”
Madja dipped her head to him, shouldering her bag before taking a few vials from within. “Until then, take a teaspoon of this every eight hours as needed to keep the pain at bay. If anything changes for the worse, contact me immediately, but otherwise, I will see you on Monday.”
“Thank you Madja.”
—
Feyre was stepping out of her painting studio when she noticed Madja stepping out the front door. Why had Madja been here?
Without thinking, she tugged on the bond to make sure Rhys was okay. His presence was strong as ever on the other end, though something did seem to be troubling him if the wariness he was feeling was anything to go by. Following that thread between them, she made her way to the sitting room.
“Rhys?” He looked up as she stepped into the room, “I just saw Madja leave…are you okay?”
The way her mate sighed had her immediately at his side. Sitting down next to him, she could feel his nervousness down the bond. In response her blood thrummed with a single command. Fix it. Fix it. Fix it.
Curling up around him in a way she knew he loved, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down so he could rest his head against her chest. Immediately he nuzzled into her, some of his wariness fading away as affection took hold. “Talk to me Rhys…what’s wrong?”
He took a few deep breaths before speaking, his voice nowhere near his usual confident swagger. “You know how I’ve been complaining about my head and jaw hurting?” Feyre nodded, remaining silent as she waited for him to continue. “Well, I’ve known all along what it was. Madja told me about it before-” He shook his head, “Anyway, I had planned to get it taken care of as soon as I got back…but it turns out I wasn’t just there for one night…I was there for fifty years.”
Feyre hugged him a little closer, knowing how much he struggled to talk about that point in his life. Thinking over the rest of his statement however, a fresh wave of concern washed over her, what was he so concerned about that he had ignored for fifty years? “A-Are you okay?”
Rhys pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, “Yes darling. It’s nothing serious. My wisdom teeth are just impacted and it’s not exactly comfortable.”
Wisdom teeth. Feyre vaguely remembered more than one individual in her village suffering from their pain. The last four teeth to come in near adulthood. They often caused severe discomfort or pain. She shuddered as she remembered the few people who had been desperate enough to try and have them removed. In their little village, there hadn’t been a healer or doctor.
Of all people, the town farrier, the one who worked on horses' hooves, had been the best equipped to take out the wisdom teeth. From what she knew, the procedure included getting the patient completely plastered with the strongest alcohol they could get their hands on, taking out the teeth, and then mushing up their food for the next week so they could eat while treating the wounds with whiskey to ward off infection. Not a pleasant process by any stretch of the imagination.
Feyre was certain that the fae had a more sophisticated method, but it still worried her. However, Rhys seemed so concerned that she dared not ask about it. Instead she chose another question, “I thought wisdom teeth came in early in adulthood…”
“In humans they do. In fae, they tend to come in around four-hundred years of age. Mine started acting up when I was about four-hundred and fifty, but only in the last few months have they started really hurting.” He sighed, “According to Madja, mine aren’t aligned correctly, which has kept them from coming in, but it also means that now that they’ve started moving, they hurt more, because they’re pressing into my other teeth.”
Lifting a hand, he gently rubbed at the right side of his jaw. Feyre pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “Did Madja give you anything for the pain?”
Rhys held up a vial full of a bluish liquid. “She said to take a spoonful every eight hours as needed until she comes back Monday to take out my wisdom teeth.”
Reaching out, Feyre took the vial from him. As soon as it was in hand, she gently removed his head from her shoulder and leaned him back on the couch. “You rest. I’ll put a spoonful of this in some tea for you.” He opened his mouth to protest, but winced, lifting his hand back to his jaw. “No protests. You took care of me when I was recovering from my time in the Spring Court. Let me take care of you now.” When his brow furrowed, she let her gaze soften, “Please…”
Rhys gave her a small smile, clearly trying to mask his pain before she made her way to the kitchen. Putting on the kettle, she dosed out the tincture Madja had left, placing it in a teacup. When the water was boiling, she poured it in as well, placing in a tea bag and mixing in the milk Rhys preferred.
When it was all prepared, she took it back to the sitting room. Rhys gave her a half smile as she handed him the tea. Taking a small sip he hummed softly, “I can’t even taste the medicine.”
Feyre placed a kiss on his head, “Good.” Sitting back down beside him, she waited until he had drained the last of the tea, placing the cup and saucer on the end table to speak again. “So…are you going to tell me why this of all things has you so nervous?”
He gave a half-hearted chuckle, “That obvious, is it?”
“I can feel your emotions, love. Talk to me.”
“Well…normally the teeth can be taken out with magic. It’s a painless procedure.” He sighed, “But apparently mine have gotten worse over the last fifty years, and now surgery is the only option.” Rhys sighed, “I trust Madja completely. I’ve seen her do far more complex operations without breaking a sweat, but…”
“But it’s different when it’s you?”
Nodding, Rhys leaned back into her, and Feyre quickly wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he continued. “I’ve dealt with much worse. Cauldron, I’ve come back from the dead…I shouldn’t be this worried.”
“You’re allowed to be nervous.” Feyre rested her head on his, breathing in the citrus and salt scent of him, “I trust Madja too, but I would still be nervous if it was me.”
“Well, hopefully you won’t have to worry about this for another three-hundred years or so.” Rhys chuckled softly, “And when you do, I’ll make sure you don’t put it off as long as I did so you can have the painless magical procedure.”
—
The weekend had been hell. Rhysand had done his best not to complain, but try as he might, Feyre could feel his pain and discomfort through their bond. As soon as he’d returned from meetings or necessary outings he had flopped down on the sofa or bed and quickly downed a dose of the potion Madja had given him before curling in on himself. When he thought she wasn’t looking, he had massaged his jaw in an attempt to provide any relief. Not knowing what else to do, Feyre had made sure he had a constant supply of cold compresses and soft foods in an attempt to ease his pain.
Each time she brought them to him, he would pretend he didn’t need them while also quickly accepting them. After that he would hold out his arms to her, and she would curl into his side, feeling from his end of the bond that her mere presence helped to calm him as he tried not to think of the upcoming surgery.
Now it was early Monday morning, and Feyre didn’t miss the way Rhysand tapped his foot and bit his lip. His normal calm and collected persona was nowhere to be found. She did her best to keep him calm, but his worries weren’t helped by Cassian’s constant teasing. He’d been called in to help Feyre take care of Rhys when he came out of the sedation, but he apparently found Rhys’s nervousness amusing.
The High Lord had snarled at him more than once in an attempt to shut him up, but it always came across as half-hearted. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, Feyre had pulled Cass into the hall by his ear and chewed him out for making her mate more nervous.
“How would you feel if you knew you had to have your mouth sliced open in a few hours and there was nothing you could do about it?!” Cassian’s eyes had widened at her harsh whisper, “Exactly! He’s nervous enough as it is. Cut him some slack.”
Cass had nodded, “I didn’t realize he was actually nervous…he sometimes acts more nervous than he is like this so we’ll mock him to put us at ease. I’ll lay off.”
“Thank you.” Feyre sighed, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped, but the bond-”
“Don’t apologize. Do you really think I wouldn’t have said the same thing to you if you had been teasing Nesta like that?”
No more words were needed as they walked back into the sitting room.
Feyre didn’t miss the way Cass slung an arm around Rhys’s shoulders, “You handled the Blood Rite. You can do this. Madja will make it seem like nothing ever even happened.” When Rhys started to shake his head, Cass had chuckled. “Look, you can either trust her, or I can deck you hard enough to knock you out, but given the reason for all this, I think you should trust Madja.” Rhys had merely rolled his eyes in response, but his foot wasn’t tapping quite as fast anymore.
Everyone’s heads snapped in the direction of the door as a knock resounded through the house. Rhys sighed, taking a step towards the noise, “Let’s get this over with.”
—
Cassian watched Feyre pace the length of the sitting room while Madja worked on Rhys in the other room. The pair of them were certainly made for one another. She was as nervous as her mate had been not twenty minutes prior.
“If you keep that up, you’ll wear a furrow in the carpet.” Feyre blinked over to him, “Rhys will be fine. There’s no one more qualified to help him than Madja.”
His High Lady nodded slowly, “I know…I know.” She cast another glance over to him, “Has he ever had to go under anesthesia before?”
Cassian shook his head, “Not that I know of. I’m usually the one getting hurt to the point of needing that kind of procedure.” He chuckled to himself as a memory resurfaced. “Once about two hundred years ago I had to be put under so Madja could patch me up. When I came back around no one could shut me up, so Rhys and Az started asking me questions just to see what I would say. Now I don’t remember this, but apparently they asked me how many cats I thought there were in Prythian. I looked them dead in the eye and said ‘It’s gotta be at least eleven.’ ”
The story had the desired effect when his friend’s nervousness melted away slightly as her shoulders began shaking with laughter, “W-Well technically you weren’t wrong per say. I would guess that there are at least eleven cats in Prythian.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” He shook his head, “Apparently Az and Rhys don’t see it that way, because they’ve never let me live it down.”
“Let you live what down?” As if the story had summoned him, Azriel stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the room. “There’s a lot of things we won’t let you live down.”
“The eleven cats thing.”
Az snorted, “You were so confident about it too.” He took on a knowing smile, “We should ask Rhys how many cats he thinks there are in Prythian when he wakes up.”
Cassian barked out a laugh, “Hell yes! Let’s turn the tables back on him!” He noted that the conversation was helping, because Feyre had finally stopped pacing, though she was still wringing her hands. He could take a little more teasing if it eased her worry, “Also in that same conversation I apparently wouldn’t stop hitting on Az.”
The shadowsinger rolled his eyes, “No you wouldn’t.”
Feyre snickered, “What did he say?”
“I believe one of his exact statements was ‘The hot mysterious bastard. ”
Cassian recalled the centuries of jokes made at his expense, “No. What I said was something along the lines of ‘If I was into males, I’d want the hot mysterious bastard.’ While gesturing in your direction.”
Az shrugged, “A compliment is a compliment.”
A giggling Feyre opened her mouth to say something, but paused at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. A few moments later Mor popped her head into the room. “Madja said you guys can come in now. Rhys should be waking up soon.”
While Feyre quickly followed her, Cass and Az shared a knowing glance, the prior piping up, “It’s show time.”
—
After speaking with Madja, Feyre felt much more at ease. The surgery had gone exactly to plan, and Rhys was currently resting.
“I left the tonics he’ll need to take and their instructions on the bedside table. If anything changes, please call for me any time of day or night.”
Feyre dipped her head to the healer, “Thank you Madja, for everything.”
With a few final farewells, Feyre began making her way to their room where Rhys would soon be waking from his anesthesia. Cassian and Azriel were already in the room with him, but Feyre wanted to be present when he woke as well.
Stepping inside, she barely noticed Cass and Az sitting in the chairs on the other side of the room having a quiet conversation as her attention was drawn to Rhys. For the most part he appeared to just be asleep, though she could see the gauze stuffed between his teeth.
Walking over, she took a seat at his bedside, pressing a kiss to his temple and rested a hand on his shoulder. He’d been so worried about all of this beforehand that she wanted him to know he was safe and surrounded by loved ones as soon as he woke.
It wasn’t long before his violet eyes flickered open gently, but he seemed unable to focus at first. Before she could say anything, his gaze trailed over to her and the hand gently rubbing his shoulder.
Rhysand furrowed his brow, a look of distant uncertainty in his gaze. Finally he spoke, his voice which was already slurred by sleep and the persistence of the medications was further muffled by the gauze, “M-My mate will be upset if she sees you touching my shoulder like that…”
Feyre noted as she tried not to laugh that Cass and Az had fallen quiet, watching the exchange with growing interest. Regardless of her attempts, as Rhys glared up at her, a small giggle still escaped, “Darling, I am your mate.”
He stared uncomprehendingly at her for a moment. In return, Feyre smiled at her very doped up mate, who was still looking at her in disbelief, though he now wore a cheesy grin, so she addressed him once more, “What are you smiling about, Rhys?”
He sounded like a young boy talking to his childhood crush, “You’re pretty…”
It was absolutely stupid, Feyre knew it was the medication talking, but regardless, she couldn’t stop the way her cheeks heated. Alas, it didn’t go unnoticed by her friends who smirked over at her. She snapped in their direction as they both gave her knowing glances, “Oh hush! Both of you!”
Cassian barked out a laugh, which drew Rhysand’s attention. The High Lord glared at his brother, “W-What?! S-She’s pretty!”
Feyre turned away to try and hide her growing blush, but returned to the conversation when Az strode over. “We know Rhys, but you’ve got to stay laying down.”
It was only then that she noticed he had tried to get up, huffing with irritation as Az helped him lay back again. “I’m fine!” Before any of them could object to the statement, Rhys’s eyes widened with fear as his hand went to his free shoulder. “Wha-” He patted it and his neck a few times, trying to look behind him.
Feyre squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to calm him from whatever was upsetting him, but it seemed to have little to no effect. “Darling? What’s wrong?”
She was ready to go chase Madja down when Rhys, still patting his shoulder yelped, “M-My wings! Th-They took my wings!”
Both Cassian and Azriel were practically doubled over laughing while Feyre repressed a smile, “Calm down Rhys, they didn’t take your wings.”
He looked at her incredulously, “But they’re gone!”
“You can vanish them, remember? You put them away before Madja took out your wisdom teeth.”
Rhys’s hand went to his mouth, “They took my teeth too?!”
Cassian was howling, hanging on to Azriel in an attempt to remain upright, but Az was leaning on him almost as much. Feyre allowed herself a small giggle. “Only the ones that were hurting you. You still have the rest of them.” Rhys started to mess with the gauze, so she pulled his hand away, locking her fingers in his, “Leave them alone, love.”
His free hand went back to his shoulder, “But my wings…”
“You still have your wings.”
“B-But I-” Rhys stopped when he raised his hand to gesture over his shoulders, being temporarily distracted by his own powers. Wisps of night and stars were weaving around his fingers like thick, glittering smoke. Without much coordination, he untangled his other hand from hers and slowly poked one of the stars, smiling softly as it spun away at the push. “Oh yeah, I can do that.”
Feyre smiled at his awed expression, “Yes, you have night powers.”
Cassian, with a knowing smirk on his face, approached the other side of the bed, “Not only do you have night powers, but you’re High Lord of the Night Court, brother!”
Rhys looked at him, his mouth slightly agape, but if it was from the gauze or shock, she couldn’t be sure, “But High Lords are so rare…”
Azriel nodded, joining Cassian, “Yes, but you’re one of them.”
“I’m a High Lord?” Before any of them could answer the question Rhys smirked, head falling back against the pillow. “Wow!”
For a few moments he continued toying with the stars he had summoned before Cassian chuckled, “So what do you think that makes Feyre?”
Rhys turned to look at her with wide, awe-filled eyes. Feyre couldn’t help but smile at the sheer amount of starlight in his gaze. “You’re my High Lady?”
Somehow her smile widened even further, “Yes Rhys. You refused to make me your consort or even Lady of the Night Court. You made sure that as your mate I would always be your equal as High Lady.”
Rhys nodded, leaning back against the headboard as if satisfied by her answer, his slurred tone very matter-of-fact, “Good. You deserve respect.”
“Aww, she’s blushing!” Feyre snarled at Cassian’s observation. He merely shrugged before turning back to Rhysand. “Brother, I have a question for you! How many cats do you think there are in Prythian?”
For a few moments Rhys appeared thoughtful, pondering the query set before him. “One per Court.”
Feyre watched as Cass and Az bit the inside of their cheeks to keep from laughing, but it was the latter who spoke, his voice surprisingly steady, “So you would say there are seven cats in Prythian?”
Rhys nodded emphatically, dislodging the gauze from his mouth, which Feyre swiftly disposed of and replaced before her mate could respond. “Yes! Like little cat emissaries!”
There was no stopping the laughter now. Azriel sat down in one of the chairs across the room, while Cassian just fell to the floor, cackling from his place on the carpet. Rhysand apparently didn’t realize they were laughing at him as he merely smiled at their mirth.
Azriel took a deep breath, trying and failing to keep the laughter from his tone, “What about the human lands?”
“No. No cats there.”
At Rhys’s matter-of-fact statement, Azriel lost it too, while Cassian seemed to be struggling to breathe.
Feyre merely giggled, planting a kiss atop her mate’s head, her voice soft. “I love you, Rhys.”
He turned his dopey grin to her, his voice muffled by the cotton in his mouth, but his words were beautiful as ever, “I love you too, mate.”
—
After Rhys had taken his pain tonic and fallen asleep, the others had returned to the sitting room to discuss as their friend and mate rested. It was about two hours before Feyre felt a light tug on the bond.
Taking her cup from the table beside her, she rose to her feet, “I’m gonna go make myself some more tea.”
No one questioned her, if they knew it was a lie, they didn’t acknowledge it. Placing her tea cup in the sink, she swiftly made her way up to their room. Rhys was barely awake, but still more aware than he had been when she’d seen him earlier.
“Rhys?”
He blinked at her a few times as if trying to focus on her before responding, “Feyre? H-How did the surgery go?”
Smiling, Feyre made her way across the room to sit next to her mate on the bed, running her fingers gently through his hair. “Madja said there were no complications. She left you some pain tonics and said to rest and eat soft foods for a few days.” She felt a wave of relief wash down the bond, apparently the anesthetics had weakened his shields. “Do you need me to get you anything?”
Rhys shivered slightly, before glancing up at her, “Another blanket would be nice…”
Feyre didn’t hesitate to pull one from the chair across the room and drape it over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders, “Better?”
He nodded, his eyelids drooping as sleep threatened to take him again. “Mmhmm…”
Pressing a soft kiss to his temple, Feyre curled up at his side, pulling him in so he could rest his head on her chest. “Get some rest, Rhys. I’ll be here when you wake. I promise.”
*****