( there's no force alive that could keep rhysand from enveloping her, his hand immediately tangling in with her wavy hair and cupping the back of her skull, every piece of him cupping every piece of her. feyre's eyes are glistening like starlight, beautiful and endless, and he gets lost in an eternity just looking at her — taking her in. she is beautiful, but she's so much more than that. she's just everything. all of velaris, all of the inner circle, gathered there on one crumpled face.

the truth is that they've lost a lot. feyre's lost more than any one person could really understand — but they're here, now. they're together, and they have each other. that's why it's easy to smile down at her broken face, cupping every shattered part of her carefully, delicately. because he loves her even when she's devastated, even when her life has been turned upside down and inside out. he loves her at her darkest hours, and in the light of day. always, that's what he promised her. always and forever. )

I can't begin to even imagine what you have to apologize for. ( careful amusement decorates his expression — the stars of his eyes twinkling, winking at her. ) Unless it's for not kissing me, when you saw me. In which case.

( he bends that small bit of space left over, slotting his nose against hers. endlessly affectionate. )

You are forgiven, Cursebreaker, as long as you see to it. At your leisure, of course.