Work Text:
“So I won my wedding ring without even being asked if I wanted to marry you.”
“Perhaps.”
Feyre cocked her head. “Do--do you want me to wear it?”
“Only if you want to.”
“When we go to Hybern… Let’s say things go badly. Will anyone be able to tell that we’re mated? Could they use that against you?”
Rage flickered in his eyes. “If they see us together and can scent us both, they’ll know.”
“And I show up alone, wearing a Night Court wedding ring--”
He snarled softly.
Feyre closed the box, leaving the ring inside. “After we nullify the Cauldron, I want to do it all. Get the bond declared, get married, throw a stupid party and invite everyone in Velaris--all of it.”
Rhys took the box from Feyre’s hands and set it down on the nightstand before herding her toward the bed. “And what if I wanted to go one step beyond that?”
“I’m listening,” she purred as he laid her on the sheets.
And Rhys slowly explained his plan to Feyre as he unwound her in his arms. A whisper of words across the valley of her chest, his tongue and lips emphasizing each promise of devotion. He summarized the vows with his head buried between her legs, and explained the ceremony as their body joined. It was certainly a thorough demonstration. Once Feyre had thoroughly become undone in his embrace, he kissed her lips, her neck, her stomach, her legs, and helped her dress.
Still lost to the stupor of their love-making, they snuck out of the town house with a twin pair of elated grins. Rhys looked about as dazed and in love as Feyre felt. She took the moment to savour the feeling, understanding that it was fleeting. That tomorrow, they’d wake up and go to war. But right now, she was walking through Velaris with her mate at her side and the stars above and everything was as it should be. This taste of bliss, it would be worth whatever tomorrow brings.
When they arrived at the temple, the two of them were nearly giddy, drunk on the love and joy throbbing through the golden thread that tied them together. Their sacred bond. The High Priestess was already waiting at the entrance, having been mentally notified of their arrival by Rhysand. She offered them a pleasant smile beneath the hood of her blue robe and bowed her head respectfully before she led them through the temple.
They were escorted into a room with large moonstone arches in place of windows, the space completely open to the soft, saltwater breeze blowing in from the Sidra. The ceiling above was carved with markings reminiscent of Night Court and at its apex, it opened to the night sky. Feyre stared up in awe, marvelling at the waxing moon that shone through, bright and bold among the star-swept sky. It was the perfect place to offer her heart to her mate and his court.
Feyre turned to face Rhys. He was staring at her, adoration plain on his face, and her face heated to realize that he’d been marvelling her in mirror to her gaping at the temple.
Of the glorious sights in the world, Feyre, your beauty surpasses all.
She raised her brows, stepping closer to her mate to play at adjusting the lapels of his jacket. The sight before me certainly challenges such a statement. She made a point of sweeping her gaze over him, stopping at those heartbreaking eyes that were staring at her with such a soft love. Feyre swallowed thickly, feeling all at once enveloped in warmth, like she’d been bundled in a pool of silk.
Rhys swept his arms around her, encircling her in his embrace as he pulled her closer. Then what a view the pair of us must be, he mused.
The High Priestess had been scurrying about, gathering items for the ceremony, but now she appeared at their side. Any mortal notions about modesty didn’t seem to exist in fae ceremonies, for the priestess seemed almost encouraged by the way Feyre and Rhys were clutching onto each other. She made no move to separate them as she began the proceedings, and Feyre was grateful for being able to stay in Rhysand’s arms, safe and warm and complete.
“Feyre Cursebreaker,” she began, her voice loud and clear. It echoed in the open space of the room, carried through the gentle wind, “do you swear to protect and serve the Night Court; to uphold its laws and stand against its enemies; to lead and govern its people; to be a just ruler; and to bow to no and nothing but your crown?”
Feyre pulled away from Rhysand’s embrace, but kept his hand grasped firmly in her own as she faced the High Priestess. “I swear on my life,” she answered resolutely. “I will protect and serve the Night Court and its people. I will lead and govern as a just ruler, and I will uphold the Night Courts laws and stand against its enemies. I will bow to no and nothing but my crown.”
“Kneel now, Cursebreaker, to your crown and country.” The High Priestess gestured to the symbols carved into the moonstone floor and Feyre realized they were standing on the inside circle of the Night Court emblem, the High Priestess just outside the carving.
Feyre nodded, bowing to her knees before the three stars of Ramiel engraved on the floor. The Priestess retrieved a shallow bowl she’d placed on the ground and raised it before Feyre.
“Drink now, from the water that flows through the streams of Ramiel, and let the Mother bless and protect you as the High Lady of the Night Court.”
Feyre raised her chin and drank from the bowl, letting the cool water stay on her tongue as she sent a silent thank you to the Mother and her Cauldron, for having been blessed with such a place to call home, and such a mate to stand beside. And as she drank, she felt her right hand tingle as a twin to her bargain tattoo etched itself into her skin like a lace glove, marking her as High Lady.
When the High Priestess removed the bowl, Rhys was instantly there, fingers placed under her chin. He used that contact point to raise her back to her feet until their lips met. He kissed her so tenderly it scorched her soul, branded her there irrevocably. No one’s touch would ever feel so harmonious, so magnetic.
Then, Rhys pulled away. For a brief second their eyes met, and the burning reverence she saw in those starkissed eyes was staggering. Her whole body felt ablaze as he dropped to his own knees before her, drawing the back of her hand to his lips. “My Lady,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I will protect and serve. Always. Your word, your command, your will, they are as good as my own, and I will uphold them all. Every breath I take, it will be in your service. Everything that I have, it is yours. Will you take me, as your mate and husband and High Lord?”
“I will,” Feyre said, her voice cracking on the word as she fought against the emotion that clogged her throat, that stung the back of her eyes. Were High Ladies allowed to become blubbering, happy messes in the sacred temples?
Your High Lord has already become one, so I don’t see why High Ladies should be excluded, Rhys murmured. Feyre met his glittering eyes, where tears fell freely down his cheeks. With a sob, Feyre joined him on the floor, both of them kneeling together on the Night Court emblem.
“Will you take me, Rhysand?” Feyre managed to choke out through her tears. “As your mate and wife and High Lady?”
“I already have,” he whispered. “From the moment I met you, and long before that. I have loved you and accepted you as anything you would offer to me. And I always will. My wife, my mate, my High Lady. I love you with everything I am.”
“I love you too, Rhys,” she answered, throwing her arms around his neck to crash her lips to his.
She could taste the salt of their tears, but beyond that she could taste him. Her mate, the soul for her soul, the very person she’d been searching for all her life. And as they burned together on the temple floor, as bright and enduring as the stars themselves, Feyre thought that she was finding more than her other half. She was finding herself, her family, her home, everything that had always felt unattainable and farfetched. For so long she’d never known what it was to be loved, but now, in her husband’s arms, crowned as his equal in every way, she felt so much more than that.
For the first time since turning High Fae, she truly felt immortal. Powerful, everlasting, eternal. High on love and life as she kissed her mate endlessly under the blanket of moonlight. She’d never dreamed she could feel this way, so liberated, so unabatedly happy.
To the people who look up at the stars and wish, Rhys.
To the stars who listen, mate. And the dreams, like this one, that are answered.