Chapter Text
The bright light of a summer sun peeped through the gaps in the curtains, painting warm ribbons across the bedroom and Feyre’s eyelids. She turned her face away from the window and buried herself deeper in the pillows. It had been months, or maybe years, since she’d been able to sleep so late, and she would not question the Mother this morning, only silently thank her for the gift and beg for a few more minutes.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the salty, lemon-verbena scent of summer. She’d come to appreciate the way the air changed with the seasons in Velaris. Today would be warm, and the citrusy fragrance was sweet and heavy. Cool relief blew in from the sea, its brininess hinting at sand and sun. She’d take Nyx to the beach this week, if the weather held.
She blindly stretched her hand across the bed, stopping only when she touched smooth, warm skin. Rhys’s back—or maybe his shoulder? Not that it mattered. She just liked the comfortable, soothing reminder of his presence. He nearly always woke before her, and she half-expected him to respond to her touch by pulling her across the mattress with his easy strength. But this morning, she was met only by his deep, even breathing, each inhale punctuated by the faintest vocalization. She giggled. Rhys insisted that he did not snore. Maybe she would share this memory the next time his ego got a bit too big.
Finally, she opened her eyes. Rhys was indeed still asleep, curled on his side, facing her. His face was adorably smushed against his bicep, his hair mussed and falling over his forehead. Her hand had landed somewhere near his ribs, and his heart beat steadily against her palm. She snuggled closer to him, nestling her head in the crook of his arm and enjoying the rare chance to simply exist with him, undisturbed and at peace.
He stirred, then, his free arm snaking around her. His fingertips danced over the fabric of her nightgown, down the curve of her waist.
“You’re awake,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”
“Early enough that Nyx hasn’t come to beg for breakfast,” she said, tracing lazy circles on his chest.
He gave a low hum of approval. The corners of his lips turned upwards, even as his eyelashes remained long against his cheeks. “A rare and precious hour, then. How should we celebrate it, darling?”
“We could get up and finish the revisions on next year’s tax code,” she teased, letting her fingers drag lower, playing near the waistband of his sleep pants.
“Hmmm.” He shifted slightly to give her better access, and his hand found the bare skin at the back of her thigh. “Any other ideas?”
“We could both get in a really good workout.” She pressed light kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his lips. “Azriel has been complaining that we’re getting soft. This is a good opportunity to go up to the training ring.”
“An excellent point.” He slid his hand up under her nightgown and pulled her closer. “But there are other ways to get in a workout. Maybe we should lock the door and—"
They were too late. The door in question creaked open and a knee-high figure tumbled in, his midnight hair tousled from sleep. He was still clad in fleece pajamas, and he clutched a worn, plush Pegasus in one tiny fist—a solstice gift from Helion.
Rhys groaned. “Our peace,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair. “Gone so soon.”
Feyre muffled a laugh. “Shh, he can hear you.”
“Mama! Dada!” Nyx’s voice was still drowsy, but it already held a hint of childish excitement. Without waiting for an invitation, he scrambled onto the bed, pulling himself up with chubby arms and legs, his wings flapping valiantly. He burrowed between his parents with practiced ease, the Pegasus squished between his body and Feyre’s. His small, warm weight fit perfectly between the curves of their bodies.
“Good morning, sweet boy,” she murmured, extracting the Pegasus from where its hoofs were trampling her stomach. “How did you sleep?”
“I didn’t sleep,” he replied solemnly. “I had to fight dragons all night.”
Feyre’s heart squeezed at his earnestness. “A nightmare?” she asked. “You know you can always wake us.”
Nyx shook his head sleepily, and Rhys propped himself up on one elbow. “Dragons! Were you scared?”
Nyx turned indignantly, shaking off the remnants of sleep. “No! I had a sword like Uncle Cass, and the dragon tried to eat me, but I attacked like this.” He held a clenched fist straight up into the air and narrowed his eyes intensely, forcing a sustained whoosh of air past his lips. “Like he showed me.”
“You defeated the dragon with siphons? Like Uncle Cassian!” Rhys clutched his chest, feigning offense. “You didn’t use your power like Mama and Dada?”
Nyx tilted his head, considering, then shook it quickly. “No. Only Uncle Cass could fight a dragon.”
Rhys made a show of glancing to Feyre, wide-eyed. “Darling, I think we’re raising our very own Illyrian hero.”
Feyre groaned, burying her face in the pillow. “Not another one! I’m already outnumbered.”
Their toddler sat up, fully awake now, and looked toward the window. “I think there’s more dragons outside,” he whispered loudly. “Gonna get us.”
“Oh no!” Feyre leaned down, retrieving the Pegasus from behind her back. “I’m scared. Will you fight them off for me?”
“I can save you,” he said, sitting up on his knees and stretching out his arms, buzzing his lips in what Feyre assumed was a representation of powering up his imaginary siphons. Rhys shook with silent laughter.
“What if they… get you first!” Feyre exclaimed, swooping the toy into his chest and knocking him gently back into Rhys’s waiting arms.
Nyx squealed in delight and launched himself atop Feyre, all small elbows and giggles. “No! I’m a ‘llyrian hero! Take that!” He chopped at the stuffed animal with open palms, momentarily absorbed in his show of violence. Then he collapsed breathless between Feyre and Rhys, still grinning.
Feyre rolled her eyes, but her heart was full. The room felt full of light, brighter than the morning sun.
“Can we have waffles?” Nyx asked suddenly. “I’m hungry.”
Rhys stretched and threw back the blankets, scooping his son up and onto his shoulders. “There it is. I knew you were here for some reason other than to save us from dragons.”
“Dragon slayers work very hard,” Feyre said, stroking the bottom of Nyx’s foot so that he kicked and shrieked. “They need a big breakfast. Good thing Dada can make a lot of waffles.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Moms need waffles, too. With plenty of syrup.”
“Uncle Cassian would argue that dragon slayers and moms need eggs and fruit more than waffles,” Rhys grumbled good-naturedly, pressing a swift kiss to her temple.
“And sausage!” Nyx yelled, squirming until Rhys released him from his shoulders. The boy catapulted himself from the bed and out of the room.
“Only if you help stir the batter!” Rhys called after him. Feyre winced at the sound of their son tumbling down the stairs toward the kitchen, but Rhys only chuckled and pushed her gently back into the mattress.
He kissed her again, lingering in bed for one last moment. “We don’t have so much to do today,” he murmured. “Maybe when Nyx goes down for his nap we could—”
“Did you forget about Nesta’s birthday party?” she whispered. “We’re due at the House at two.”
Rhys drew away, the disappointed look in his eyes suggesting that he had, in fact, forgotten. Then, with a smirk, he dragged his hand up the outside of her leg, back under her nightgown. “Well, then maybe we should take a minute right now—"
It was Rhys’s turn to wince as the sound of clattering dishes made its way from the kitchen. Nyx, impatient, had decided to get started on waffles without them.
“Don’t you dare start the stove without me!” he yelled down the stairs. “I’ll be there in a minute!”
He pressed one final kiss to her lips before they rose from the tangled sheets, ready to face the morning.