Well, guys. This is it. The moment we've been waiting for.

The finale.

It's been a journey, it's been a little less than a year since I started this story.

I never thought I would get so much enjoyment out of writing fan fiction, writing a story based off the story of someone else but... it made me feel good.

Thank you, everyone, for sticking with me this far.

Thank you for taking the opportunity to hear Rhys's story.

And stick around... I plan on finishing Rhysand and Feyre's story at least into ACOMAF, but likely not under this story title.

Much love,

TurtleSteed

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

He heard it over and over again in his head, the echo of her death shattering his eardrums.

Gone. She was gone.

Feyre.

Rhysand couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, the only thing he could do was stare down at Feyre's body, her head snapped to one side in an angle that should be possible. Her golden hair was a red streaked crown around her head, her blue-grey eyes staring off into nothingness.

He was gripping that bond in hand, that bond he had thought was created from that bargain he used to save her. It felt different now, so light like it was nothing at all. He realized now that the bargain had been nothing, cobwebs compared to that shining bond between them.

She had given it all for him, for them. She knew sacrifice as he knew it, she knew how broken and dark and twisted he was on the inside.

Desperate, he clutched that bond with every ounce of his daemati power, pulling on the string that no longer connected to her body. He tugged it into him, pulling until the bond was as solid in his mental claws as the marble was beneath his feet.

He clutched it, staring as Amarantha's face slackened while she looked down at the broken human girl in horror. They had all felt that power surge, they had all felt the change in the eddies of fate from the moment that word had left her lips.

Love.

He felt her then. He felt Feyre in his mind.

She was there. She was there. She was looking through his own eyes, and because he felt her in his mind, he clutched that bond even tighter. Just stay here. Just hold on. Please. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.

Something surged deep in Rhysand's chest stronger than any bond, any rage, any fear: Hope. If she could hold on, if he could hold her here, all seven High Lord's stood in the same room. They all stood to witness her sacrifice, they had all witnessed her torture, her unwinding.

They could bring her back.

Every broken inch of Rhysand, every ounce of power that sat in that now nearly empty well, held onto the that bond. Feyre flickered, watching. Different than she had once felt at the end of that binding, and yet that flame screamed of herness.

And if those stubborn bastards refused to give a droplet of power to save the human girl who had given the ultimate sacrifice for them, Rhysand would make them save her.

He didn't care if he had to claw into each mind of their minds and make them do it.

He stood, feeling Feyre in his mind as they watched the room pass into madness.

Lucien had approached the scene from the back of the crowd, looking down at Feyre's body with gleaming eyes.

Tamlin stared at Feyre's body, his face slack as well, pale and unbelieving.

Amarantha was backing away slowly as she looked down at Feyre's broken body.

Love. She had freed Tamlin with her last words. Her last gift to the world.

Lucien reached his hand up and removed the fox mask that had been glued to his face for nearly fifty years. His face was still handsome beneath the scars, his face sharp and angular.

Tamlin turned away from Feyre then, looking at Amarantha with feral rage, his face twisting into something wolfish. His fangs lengthened; his lips spread in snarl.

Satisfaction echoed deep down in Rhysand's chest as Amarantha stared at him with those pitiless dark eyes and whispered, "Please."

The room exploded in a flash of golden light.

Feyre echoed her own satisfaction down the bond from where she flickered.

Thrown into the air by the golden light, Amarantha was tossed like a rag doll, her back smashing into the wall.

Tamlin roared, a sound that rang throughout the entirety of the mountain. Then he launched himself at her, shifting into that beast that sat just below his skin, a blur of fur and flaws and fury.

He was on her before she had a moment to slide down the wall, gripping her by the neck.

Her blood slid down her neck from where his claws bit into her, her dark eyes panicked.

Tamlin shoved her head into the wall with enough force that the stones cracked. She thrashed against his hold, but she was useless against the power of a High Lord. She scratched, her clawed fingernails leaving trails of red in Tamlin's fur, but he just roared in her face.

Rhysand tried to lunge at the Attor as he saw a grey blur, trying to save his mistress, but Amarantha's bonds kept him tied. Thankfully, a few of Amarantha's own Hybern court and newly freed Spring Court members jumped in his path, tackling both him and guards down with them.

Amarantha screeched, kicking Tamlin, fighting him with every inch of strength she contained. Her white light tried to knock him down, searing against him but Tamlin's golden shield held strong.

Lucien lunged, gripping a sword from a sheath at a fallen red-skin guards' side.

"Tam!" Lucien cried as he tossed the sword in Tamlin's direction.

Tamlin didn't even turn as he reached out a clawed paw, gripping the sword and turning towards the Red Queen.

Amarantha let out a singular scream which stopped short as Tamlin drove the sword through her skull, pinning it to the stone beneath.

Then, with a growl, he shut his jaws around her throat and ripped, her blood spilling from her neck in a shower.

A beat passed.

It was over.

It was over.

She was dead.

He felt a rush as his power pushed back into his well all at once, so strong and true that it knocked the breath from him.

It was over.

Rhysand gripped the mountain of power that was finally back in his claws, wrapping every inch of his power over minds, over the night, over darkness, over love around that flickering soul that rested in his head.

Tamlin turned, ignoring every person who had their eyes trained on him. His eyes only looked at the corpse of the human girl before them all.

Another flash of light, and Tamlin had shoved the beast deep down, and devastation had replaced the fury. Amarantha's blood was gone from his hands, his face and Tamlin slammed to his knees before the human girl they had all failed to save.

Rhysand froze as Tamlin scooped up her limp body, cradling her to his chest. He held the flickering soul in his mind even tighter. Tamlin was sobbing, tears sliding past the green mask he hadn't bothered to remove, his shuddering sobs echoing around the silent room as he rocked her limp body, stroking her golden hair like she was the most precious treasure in the world.

Rhysand fell to his knees, not even feeling the pain as they were cut against the broken marble. He was strong and yet so weak. Then, he started.

Beron. Kallias. Tarquin. Helion. Thesan.

He connected his mind with Beron first, starting with who he thought would be hardest to convince. He avoided his claws, just pressing his mind against the against the thin wall surrounding Beron's mind.

His thoughts were simple, to the point. He shot an image of Feyre, alive and well at Tamlin's side. He showed Beron an image of each of them pressing their glittering sparks of life to her pale chest. Feeling Beron recoil, he thought softly 'For what she gave.'

Beron didn't answer, but he felt the acceptance across the barrier.

Lucien stepped forward to stand at Tamlin's side. "No," he whispered, reaching a hand out to touch Feyre's hair as well. Tamlin's tears were falling onto her face, smearing the blood from her lips.

When Beron slowly began to approach the couple, Rhysand moved on to the next.

Kallias, his mind cold and surrounded by ice. For what she gave.

Tarquin, his mind swelling like the ocean waves. For what she gave.

Helion, his friend, the only one who might understand him. For what she gave.

Thesan, his walls burning against Rhysand as he showed the same images he had shown the others. For what she gave.

One by one, they stepped forward. Lucien had stiffened as his father approached Feyre, but when Tamlin glanced up to look at the oldest of them, Lucien's eyes had softened. Beron extended a hand, a glittering spark of light shining in his fingers.

Beron looked Tamlin in the eye as he tipped his hand over, and the spark flared as it brushed against Feyre's chest.

With that spark, Rhysand felt Feyre's soul flare, burning brighter than before. He could not hear her thoughts, but he could feel her emotions as more than just a ghost of a feeling.

Next came Tarquin, his face once again sun-kissed and ocean eyes glowing. Kallias stood at his side. He had already recreated his crown of ice, and it glimmered against his pale hair. They stood before Tamlin, donating their embers of life from each of their hands. Tarquin's was a glowing blue, and Kallias's ember of life fell like a snowflake to her chest.

Tamlin managed to bow his head in gratitude this time.

Next came Thesan, glowing brightly as he let his power shine through. Then Helion, his dark skin gleaming like the sun itself. Thesan's glowing ruby ember joined the other three, and as Helion's fell to Feyre's lifeless form, he smiled down at Tamlin in a heartbreaking way.

When he turned to walk away from Tamlin, he caught his golden eyes with Rhysand's own. Rhysand let his devastation shine through for a moment as he received a sad smile of his own from his old friend.

The silence settled, and Rhysand struggled to his feet. He knew it was his turn, they had already donated, and his heart pounded with a desperation.

He walked forward, slowly, each step aching and heavy. He felt Feyre flickering brightly now on the other end of the mating bond.

Tamlin turned his green eyes to stare at him, and Rhysand struggled to contain his tears.

He held his hand in front of him, pushing an ember of his own life into his hand. His ember glowed bright silver, like starlight.

He reached his hand over Feyre, wanted to press it to her chest himself. "For what she gave," he spoke, his voice shaking, "we'll bestow what our predecessors have granted to few before."

Before he let his ember of life fall to her chest, he met Tamlin's eyes with his own. "This makes us even," he added to his speech, dark humor shining through as he realized this was it.

He had done it. She was going to live.

He let his ember fall to her chest to join the others.

Tamlin nodded at him, and Rhysand wondered if he saw the dried tears on his face, mixed with the blood.

Then he turned away from Rhys, looking down at Feyre in his arms. He brushed her hair away from her face, letting an ember of light pool in the center of his other hand.

Then, he leaned down, just inches from her face.

"I love you," he whispered, and kissed Feyre just as he pressed his hand against her heart.

Rhysand had never felt so thankful that another man was kissing his mate. He suspected he probably never would again.

Rhysand stumbled back as a flash of blinding light shown from where Tamlin's hand connected with her chest, and he reeled in panic as he felt the unraveling of that bond in his mind, he felt as she was pulled back into her body by magic older than time itself.

She was pulled and pulled, and then it was like she was pulling him from his own body, but then-

The bond snapped tight, holding them together in something that could never be broken by magic such as this-

Feyre gasped.

Rhysand stumbled back again.

She was alive.

He heard her heart thumping her chest, he saw the glow of her skin, he felt her awe on the other end of the bond.

Then she opened her eyes.

Gasps were exploding throughout the room around them.

Rhysand almost jumped out of his skin as a hand pressed into his shoulder. He shifted his gaze away from her for a moment, to meet eyes with Helion.

He felt oddly steadied.

Feyre groaned, sitting up from where Tamlin held her against his chest. As she sat up, she moved away from the masked man who held her, and Rhysand could see her properly.

She was glowing. Every inch of skin glowed with immortal light, any tiny imperfection gone. Her scars had been wiped away with the power. Feyre looked at her hands with a mixture of horror and awe, and as she lifted them in front of her face, Rhysand noticed her fingers were longer. Fae.

She pushed to her feet, somewhat clumsily, and Rhysand could see her face.

Her face gleamed with immortal beauty, her golden-brown hair shining like it had been polished, it was again clean and fell in soft curls down her back. And when her eyes turned to Tamlin, Rhysand was struck with lightning.

God, they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, something he had thought the first time he saw her but now… now, Feyre was radiant.

She was a goddess.

She was High Fae.

As Tamlin looked down at her, his green eyes sparkled with tears. She looked up at him, and he watched as Feyre froze under the pressure of his gaze.

His stomach turned.

His instincts screamed.

He turned suddenly, the panic overflowing. The walls were closing in on him, and the whispers of the faeries around him sounded more like screams.

Helion gripped his shoulder tightly, and spoke quietly, "You should leave… there will be a reckoning any moment."

Rhysand nodded numbly, trying to take a deep breath but it wouldn't come, "I can't-… I have to…"

He shot off like a bullet for the exit, and as sprinted down the halls of the mountain. His power pushed him faster than he had run in fifty years.

And when he reached the end of the hallway, he winnowed to the grasslands on the side of the mountain.

Amarantha was dead.

The Red Queen, the bitch, the Lady of the Mountain… his captor, his lover, his bane.

Dead. She was dead.

He was free.

His court was free.

He fell to his knees in the green grass of a meadow, feeling the sun against his back for the first time since he had fetched Tamlin for his sentence under the mountain.

He gripped the grass beneath him, unleashing the wings behind his back and let them fan out behind him. He felt the wind brushing against the delicate membrane, felt the pull of his muscles as they tried to hold him up.

He roared, a sound full of the anger and sadness and joy that fought inside of him. And when he could no longer roar, he fell forward, his face on his hands, the scent of soil and life in his nose.

He wept.

He wept for all he had done. He wept for all he had lost. He wept for what he had found, and what he had become.

He wept because he had found his mate.

But most of all, he wept at the impossibility of eternity stretching out in front of him.

Rhysand lay in that grassy field for much longer than he cared to admit. Eventually, the tears ran dry, the swelling on his face started to disappear and the sky started turning dark as the day turned into afternoon and afternoon to evening.

The sun felt so good, and his skin felt raw in a wonderful way. He wondered if his few hours laying in the grass had already started to erase the mark the mountain had left on him.

But, as the first stars began to appear in the sky, he sighed, pulling himself to his feet.

Home. He wanted to go home.

The pang of longing, of loneliness struck a chord in his chest, but not yet.

Feyre was alive. He couldn't believe it, couldn't stop thinking about the bright glow of her blue-grey eyes in that cursed throne room.

He couldn't stop thinking of the way she had looked at Tamlin after she had freed them all. In a way that he had hoped she would look at him.

Rhysand looked up into the growing twilight, stretching his wings out behind him. Really, he didn't give too shits about revealing them to the world right now.

This was the first time he felt anything like himself in decades.

He glanced from the open sky, back to the barren wasteland that had once been sacred to them all.

Perhaps he could just fly for a few minutes. Then he could deal with the rest of the world.

Then he could find out if Feyre was okay. He could make sure that the world was starting to realign itself back into order.

And then he could go home.

He stretched out his great wings behind him, his muscles straining much more than he liked to admit. Cassian was going to wreck him when he returned.

A smile crossed his lips as he jumped, shooting himself into the air with a powerful flap. Cassian. Azriel. Mor. Amren. He would be seeing them soon.

He flew most of the night. Rhysand wanted to cry as he tasted the night sky for the first time in years, his wings above him, his back screaming, the stars his friends above him.

The wind smelled like freedom. The breeze whispered sweet nothings into his ears.

He landed on a balcony, one he had not noticed before, near the top of the mountain, on the opposite side of Amarantha's court. The sun was already starting to rise, chasing his night sky away.

His stomach growling so he kissed his night sky farewell and then headed into the mountain in search of food.

Rhysand made himself invisible as he headed down the halls, unsure what would be waiting him. The halls were mostly empty, the only bustling coming from servants who were emptying rooms, and a few shady figures who looked like they were pilfering whatever they could.

He had just reached familiar territory when he felt the brush of familiar minds again his own, dark and enticing.

Rhysand smiled to himself, aware no one could see his smile in his shadows.

Wraiths.

A moment walked by.

High Lord. Two minds, thinking against his antechamber as one.

Rhysand sniffed, finally smelling some source of food and quickly headed in that direction.

Can you tell Mor to meet me at the Moonstone Palace? I want to talk to her before I talk to the others. I won't be there for a few hours yet. I'll meet her in the main greeting room.

Nuala sounded her wordless acknowledgment.

We have already sent your clothing back to the townhouse. We left the rest.

Rhysand felt his heart squeeze. He would never have to return to that dreaded room, he would never have to sleep under this mountain again.

Thank you. For everything. Your High Lord will never forget your service to your Court.

They hummed in his mind, pleased with his response and brushed out of the antechamber of his mind.

Rhysand stuffed some eggs in his mouth from a plate he stole from the back of the kitchen, looking around the room at the faeries who were animated, happier than he had seen in years.

He had forgotten what it was like to be around people who weren't drowning in their misery.

After he had eaten his fill on the best tasting breakfast in his entire existence, he tried ignoring the guilt that threatened to ruin his good mood. These people hadn't destroyed themselves to escape. They hadn't killed countless of people under the command of the bitch. They deserved to be happy.

His happiness faded into something sickening, and he suddenly wished he hadn't eaten quite so much.

Feeling a pang of sadness shoot down the bond that still connected him and Feyre, he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning on the back wall of the room. He pressed his fingers to the tattoo that marked their bargain to discover the melodic sounds of her sleeping thoughts. Even now, she dreamed of Amarantha strangling her. She dreamed of the faces of the faeries she murdered during her last trial.

The nightmares had started already.

Rhysand swallowed hard, pushing back out of her mind and went back to watching the room.

It seemed that Amarantha's cronies had disappeared the moment she died, the Attor and his ilk included. Even those of Amarantha's Hybern court had disappeared after their betrayal of her at the end, back to Hybern or just to run, Rhysand didn't know.

The faerie that remained were members of various courts, trying to gather their things and be on their way.

He didn't saw a single High Lord yet, but he knew that at least some would have remained Under the Mountain to make sure this place was destroyed and that there would be no civil war.

He enjoyed the fact that he hadn't noticed a single thought about him in any mind. They hadn't wondered where he ran off too, they hadn't assumed that he ran to join Hybern. They just had forgotten about him.

It was nice in a way. To be forgettable for once.

Rhysand waited as long as he could. He really did.

But Velaris was calling him, and Mor was waiting on him and that beast in his chest demanded that he see her before he went home.

He had to see if she was all right. It was stupid really, of course she wasn't alright but… he had to see her.

He couldn't explain it away more than that. Maybe he wanted to see if the mating bond was something from his imagination, maybe he just wanted to see her eyes look at him.

Part of him denied it, but he knew he had to let her out of that bargain with him.

She deserved to be happy, more than anyone, and their bargain stood in the way of her happiness.

It was the early afternoon, and Mor was probably more than irritated at him for waking her up early and then not arriving until the afternoon. Feyre was still sleeping, if her scattered thoughts down the bond were any indication, so when he could wait no longer he pulled on that bond. Calling, they called it. Daemati could do it to about anyone, a tug on someone's consciousness that could not be ignored. But it existed between mates as well. He wondered which part he was using at that moment.

He felt as she roused to his calling and exited her mind just as quickly as he had entered it. He hadn't drawn out fast enough to avoid seeing Tamlin laying facedown in the bed, covered in nothing but a blanket over his ass.

He swallowed his jealousy, turning to look out over the stone railing while he waited.

She didn't leave him waiting long, and he turned to face the doorway connecting the stairs and the balcony when he heard her approach. Feyre walked slowly, clumsily like a newborn calf, unsure of her new body and muscles.

Her hair was still mused from sleep and mother knows what else, but she had on a black tunic that suited her well. She was still too pale, and too thin even with the new muscles and glowing skin. Her eyes squinted and she hissed, covering her eyes as the sunlight blinded her.

Rhysand laughed quietly, her beauty taking every word he intended on telling her out of his mouth.

"I forgot that it's been a while for you." Perhaps he could have picked a better location, but it pleased him in some small way that he was the one who was with her when the sky got to meet the Cauldron's newest creation.

Feyre blinked slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the light, though she wiped a few tears away as her eyes burned. She didn't answer him, but when she could hold her eyes open without them filling with tears, she left the doorway to stand next to him. She looked out over the land of snowcapped mountains; a mockery compared the Night Court.

Rhysand just watched her, for once a man without words.

She looked at him finally, her starlight eyes brighter than ever before. Feyre examined the wings out behind him in the open now, glancing subtly at his hands to check for talons. She still didn't realize that the wings were from more than that beast that settled inside of him, deep under lock.

"What do you want?" Her voice came out forced, like she meant for it to be snippy, but it just came out as sad. The bite was lost from her words, like Amarantha had taken that from her too.

As she stared at him, he saw the images of him screaming, blood dripping down his nose as he tried to get to her while Amarantha tortured her, reflecting down the bond.

"Just to say good-bye," his voice came out soft. Feyre's eyes caught as his darkness spread in the soft breeze around him, his eyes catching on her golden-brown curls as they flew around her head. "Before your beloved whisks you away forever."

"Not forever," she said, her voice cold now. She wiggled her tattooed fingers in front of his face. "Don't you get a week every month?"

Rhys gave her a small smile as the fire he had grown to cherish flared back up in those eyes. He should let her go now. Let her be free of that bargain, let her go off with the male she loved without worrying about the most hated High Lord's bargain. Let her be happy.

But he didn't, he couldn't, so he just rustled his wings and murmured, "How could I forget?" Shame, shame on him.

What did it matter if he was the cruel bastard they expected him to be?

Feyre was quiet for a moment, her eyes settling on his wings. She seemed fascinated by them, but then her eyes settled on his face. She stripped him bare, just as she had done the first time they had met on Fire Night. She settled on his nose, and the image of his bleeding nose trembled down the bond. The image of him screaming, the image of him running at Amarantha with taloned claws.

"Why?" she finally asked, her voice a whisper.

He knew what she was asking.

He wanted to tell her then, that she was his mate and that he was made for her and to protect her and to love her… but that would be cruel, to thrust that knowledge on her now, and she wouldn't believe him if he told her about everything he sacrificed. If he told her about his court, about his friends, about all the terrible things he had done.

But again, he said none of those things. He shrugged and spoke hoarsely, "Because when the legends get written, I didn't want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines. I want my future offspring to know that I was there, and that I fought against her at the end, even if I couldn't do anything useful."

Feyre blinked, and he swore he felt a glimmer of the misery and loneliness that mirrored his own down that bond.

They would never be the same, never be whole.

He caught her eye, and said, "Because I didn't want you to fight alone. Or die alone."

The image of that same blue-skinned faerie from before shot down the bond. Rhysand wondered, not the first time, who he was exactly.

"Thank you," Feyre spoke simply, her voice strained.

Rhysand gave her a quick grin wanting to tease her, to drawl out that burning girl again, "I doubt you'll be saying that when I take you to the Night Court."

Feyre just turned her gaze away from him, no flicker of annoyance down that bond. No flicker of anything really. She just looked out over the mountains, a strange expression on her face. Longing maybe.

Rhysand wondered if subconsciously she wanted to fly, if she felt that same calling that he did.

After a moment, she finally spoke, the wind whipping her hair around her, "Are you going to fly home?"

Rhysand cocked his head wondering if she heard his thoughts, but opted for a soft laugh, "Unfortunately, it would take longer than I can afford. Another day, I'll taste the skies again." He didn't think his back could take a flight that long as well, not after he spent the entirety of the night flying the skies around them. His back burned, even now, but he was trying to build back his strength.

Feyre turned back at him, again, examining his wings and the longing was unmistakable on her face now. His heart pounded, but he knew the longing was not for him. "You never told me you loved the wings – or the flying." Her voice was hoarse, accusatory.

Rhysand shrugged, her eyes making it impossible to look away from her. "Everything I love has always has a tendency to be taken from me. I tell very few about the wings. Or the flying." All Amarantha had ever had to do to make him a willing subject was take his wings. He may resent them at times, a symbol of his lesserness, of his impure blood, but they were his. They allowed him to answer the call of the wind and were a permanent marker of his mother.

Feyre was tracing his face with her own eyes, and Rhysand wondered what she saw. He did not intrude, but a thought thundered down the bond.

A High lord who loved to fly – trapped under a mountain.

Rhys felt a sharp sting and examined her own face in as she looked at his. Her facial structure was much the same, she still had that perky nose, pink lips and high cheekbones. Her hair was perhaps a bit thicker, shinier, and as the wind blew her hair, it revealed the slightly pointed tips of her ears. High Fae.

Her ears were even more tipped than his own, she was now a better breed of faerie than him.

"How does it feel to be a High Fae?" he spoke quietly, afraid if he spoke too loudly she would run away.

Feyre turned away from him then, the spell broken. After consideration, she spoke, "I'm an immortal – who has been mortal. This body …" she looked down at her clean hands, and Rhysand saw the flash of blood on her hands just he saw the blood on his own. "This body is different but this," she gestured to her chest where Rhysand had watched his ember of life settle just yesterday, "this is still human. Maybe it always will be. But it would have been easier to live with it …" her voice broke and she paused for a minute before continuing. "Easier to live with what I did if my heart had changed, too. Maybe I wouldn't care so much; maybe I could convince myself their deaths weren't in vain. Maybe immortality will take that away. I can't tell whether I want it to."

Rhysand stared at her, her pain and sadness and guilt reflecting from his own soul into her own. She had given it all for them, given her life but in the process had taken two others. Rhysand knew how she felt, he knew she felt like she would never be happy again. She felt like even if she did become happy again that she wouldn't deserve it.

She wasn't sure she even deserved the quiet peace of death, or if her suffering was punishment for what she had done.

Rhysand ached. After a moment he spoke, "Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don't feel anything at all."

Like Rhysand, who hadn't felt a thing in decades until Feyre had shattered into his world. Until Feyre had given him something to fight for.

Feyre just nodded at him, but they both felt the gapping holes in their soul, bare to the world. Her face was tight.

He gave her one last long glance, willing himself to find the strength to leave her here with Tamlin.

"Well, good-bye for now," he said, rolling his neck from side to side as he tried to shake her sadness from him. He tried to shake the naked feeling he always had when she was around him.

Rhysand bowed at the waist, bowing to his queen and pushed his wings into the in between. His greeting room in his father's palace hadn't been built for those wings.

He started to fade between the worlds, pulling the shadows with him when suddenly the wind changed.

It blew her scent directly into his face, and as her blue-grey eyes stared into his he felt the deep pull of their bond. The mating bond snapped, snapping into place in a permanent and undeniable way. She smelled so good, like pear and lilac and night and female. She smelled like home, like everything he had ever enjoyed. The beat of her heart in her chest was a melody, a quiet thumping that answered every question he had ever had about fate.

She was the answering to everything, the beginning and ending and everything in between.

She was his mate, she was made to be his just as he was made to be hers.

She was his.

It was like the bond had pushed him off an edge and he was falling.

He felt himself go rigid, his nostrils flaring as that delectable scent intertwined with his own. When he took another shaking breath, he could smell his own mist and night and jasmine scent mixing with her own.

The confused look on her face commanded him, commanded him to take her away from here, away from Tamlin.

Every particle in his body screamed for her. It demanded that he damn the consequences and bring her with him. Rhysand felt panic rising as he tried to resist.

He stumbled back away from her.

"What is-" Feyre began, her face concerned and confused.

He wrapped the world around him, winnowing directly into the greeting room of his father's palace, shock and panic whirling around him.

He felt his feet hit the floor beneath him, the hard, pale stone of the entry way glowing in the sunlight that streamed from open air windows. He had left her, he had done it, and he was in the night court.

Why couldn't he breathe?

"Rhys!" a female voice called from the doorway.

He turned. Mor. His cousin.

His only living family. She was just as beautiful as she had been the day he left, a vision of golden curls and plump lips but her hazel eyes were strained.

She wore fighting leathers, a sword as her hip. Her eyes were wide in fear, in worry.

Rare for her. She must not have known what to expect.

Mor ran forward, grabbing his hand in her own and was about to wrap him in a hug but then, he spoke, staring at her with wide eyes.

"She's my mate." The words stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Mor stopped in her tracks, staring at him with her mouth open.

The wind blew in from the open window, pushing the sheer curtains and brushing across his face. It was warm, the spells his ancestors had used to charm out the cold holding strong.

Mor dropped his hand, and raised a finger, poking it into his chest with a golden nail, "I swear, boy, if you tell me after fifty years of this shit that that fucking cunt Amarantha is your mate-" she started.

"No. Feyre." Rhysand gasped out, his chest still impossibly tight. He could feel her, even now, hundreds of miles away. His hands were loose at his side as his mind reeled from the shock of the bond, from the powerful surge as it snapped into place permanently.

"Her name is Feyre."

ACOSAP has been finished ya'll.

If you haven't already, please leave a comment. I wait every time I post a new chapter anxiously to hear what you guys think.

And again, stick around, I plan on writing into ACOMAF! I'll update this story when the first chapter is posted.

Thank you, again, so very much for loving me and loving Rhys.

And lastly, thank you Sarah for this amazing story you gave us, the characters that have been keeping me up for more than two years now. I thought I would never find anything that made me feel like I did after I read Harry Potter, but I found something that made me feel even better.

Love,

Amanda (TurtleSteed)