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The argument hadn’t even been that loud.
That was the worst part.
No shouting. No slammed doors. No explosive clash of power that shook the House of Wind. Just sharp words, wounded pride, and the quiet, simmering kind of anger that sat heavy in Feyre’s chest long after the conversation ended.
Rhys had tried to reason.
That had somehow made it worse.
So she’d walked out.
And now she was curled on the couch in the sitting room, wrapped in a blanket she absolutely did not need, staring at the dying embers in the hearth.
She wasn’t even sure why she was still so angry.
Something about a decision he’d made without telling her first. Something about him shouldering everything again, like he had to protect her from the weight of ruling when she was his equal.
His High Lady.
His partner.
Not someone to be managed.
Feyre scrubbed a hand over her face and huffed out a breath.
The couch was uncomfortable.
Good.
She deserved to be uncomfortable if she was going to be this stubborn.
Upstairs, the bedroom remained silent.
She could feel him through the bond—restless. Awake. Turning over and over, sheets rustling, his mind circling the argument just like hers.
Normally, they didn’t go to sleep angry.
Normally, one of them caved.
Tonight, neither had.
Feyre shifted, pulling the blanket tighter, trying to ignore the way her chest ached at the distance between them. It felt wrong not to be beside him. The bed felt wrong without her, she knew it did.
Good, a petty voice whispered. Let him suffer.
She glared at the fire like it had personally offended her.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
The house creaked softly in the quiet.
And still… no Rhys.
Her anger softened, just a little, melting into something tired and sad.
She missed him.
Which was ridiculous, considering he was one floor above her.
The bond flickered—hesitation, frustration, longing, all tangled together.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Reluctant.
Coming down the stairs.
Feyre stiffened but didn’t turn around.
The steps stopped at the doorway.
Silence stretched between them, thick and familiar.
“…You’re really going to sleep on the couch?” Rhys asked, voice rough from disuse.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“It’s not comfortable.”
“I noticed.”
Another pause.
She could practically feel him running a hand through his hair.
“Feyre—”
“I’m still mad at you.”
“I gathered.”
She heard him shift his weight, as if debating whether to come closer.
“…Come back to bed,” he said quietly. “Please.”
Her jaw tightened. “Not tonight.”
Silence.
Long enough that she thought maybe he’d leave.
Instead, she heard a soft thud.
Feyre blinked and turned her head.
Rhys had… flopped onto the floor.
Right beside the couch.
He lay flat on his back, wings tucked awkwardly, staring up at the ceiling like this was perfectly reasonable.
She stared at him. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping.”
“On the floor?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a perfectly good bed upstairs.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then go use it.”
“No.”
Feyre pushed herself up onto an elbow, incredulous. “Rhys.”
He turned his head to look at her, violet eyes tired and stubborn and a little sheepish.
“I’m not sleeping without you,” he said simply. “So if you’re down here, I’m down here.”
Her irritation wavered.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You started it.”
“I did not—”
“You banished yourself to the couch.”
“I chose the couch.”
“Same difference.”
She opened her mouth to argue again, then stopped.
Because he looked exhausted.
Not just physically.
Emotionally.
Like the distance between them was wearing on him just as much as it was on her.
His hand shifted on the floor, fingers brushing the edge of the couch, like he wanted to reach for her but wasn’t sure he was allowed.
“…I hate fighting with you,” he admitted quietly.
The words took the wind out of her anger.
Feyre stared at him, at the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes now.
“Then don’t make decisions without me,” she said, softer this time. “You don’t have to carry everything alone. Not anymore.”
“I know.” His voice was low. Honest. “I’m still learning how not to.”
Her chest tightened.
He glanced up at her then, vulnerability laid bare. “You’re my partner. I should have talked to you first. I’m sorry.”
That… she hadn’t expected.
Rhys didn’t apologize lightly.
The fight drained out of her all at once, leaving only the ache of missing him.
She shifted, sitting up fully, blanket falling into her lap.
“I wasn’t just mad,” she admitted. “I felt… pushed aside. Like you didn’t trust me to stand beside you.”
His expression twisted with regret. “Feyre, I trust you with my life. With this court. With everything I am. Sometimes I just…” He exhaled slowly. “Fall back into old habits. Thinking I have to shield everyone.”
“You don’t have to shield me.”
“I know.” His gaze softened. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Silence settled between them again.
But this time it wasn’t sharp.
It was warm. Familiar.
Careful.
Feyre slid off the couch and knelt beside him on the rug. He watched her, cautious, like he was afraid of misstepping again.
She brushed her fingers against his cheek.
“You look ridiculous on the floor.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “I was going for tragic devotion.”
“You achieved stubborn idiot.”
“I’ll take it.”
Her lips twitched.
The last of her anger dissolved as she looked at him—really looked. At the way he’d come down here instead of letting the distance grow. At the way he’d chosen the floor just to be near her.
“I missed you,” she admitted quietly.
He didn’t hesitate. “I missed you too.”
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his.
The bond hummed softly, relief and affection flowing freely again.
“…Come back to bed,” he murmured.
She pretended to consider it, then sighed dramatically. “Fine. But only because the couch is terrible.”
“Of course.”
He pushed himself up, offering her a hand. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet.
Their fingers didn’t let go.
Not all the way upstairs.
Not as they slipped back beneath the covers.
Not even when they settled together, her head tucked beneath his chin, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.
Rhys exhaled, long and content, pressing a kiss into her hair.
“Much better,” he murmured.
Feyre hummed in agreement, already drifting.
And this time, when sleep came, it came easily.
Because they were exactly where they belonged. Together.