Chapter Text
The air at the River House site was crisp with the faint tang of the Sidra, a calming backdrop to the hammering of stakes and the murmur of workers marking foundation lines. Diana stood at the edge of the clearing, arms wrapped around herself, watching the bustle of activity. The sprawling view of Velaris lay behind them, the city humming softly with life as if offering quiet reassurance.
One more day, she thought. Tomorrow, she’d leave this court—the one that was supposed to be the best of them all—and journey to the Summer Court. Her stomach twisted at the thought.
Feyre’s soft footsteps approached from behind. “You’ve been quiet today.”
Diana offered a small smile, not looking away from the workers as they placed stones to mark the River House’s future foundation. “Just thinking.”
Feyre held up a small sketchbook, its edges worn from frequent use. She flipped through the pages, revealing drawings of intricate archways, sprawling terraces, and wide, airy rooms. “The design is coming along. Rhys thinks we’ll be able to start building soon.”
“It’s beautiful,” Diana said sincerely, though there was a wistful note in her voice. “It feels...alive, even though it’s just lines and stakes right now.”
Feyre’s gaze softened. “That’s the goal. A place that feels alive. A home.”
A home. Diana flinched inwardly. The word had an ache to it, one she didn’t dare voice. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but there was a weight to standing here, seeing them build something permanent while she was shuttled from court to court, unable to plant roots of her own.
Rhysand appeared as if summoned by her thoughts, his shadows retreating like a tide as he joined them. “You’re thoughtful today, Diana.” His voice was smooth, but there was a gentleness to his tone, a care that both warmed and unnerved her.
“Just soaking it all in,” she replied, forcing a lightness to her words.
His violet eyes studied her, keen and sharp. “You’ll have to share your thoughts one day. Keeping them locked away only lets them fester.”
Diana tilted her head. “Are you suggesting I’m harboring secret turmoil?”
“Only suggesting that you’re too polite to admit when you’re irritated.”
Feyre let out a soft laugh, the tension between them dissipating slightly. “Ignore him. He likes to think he knows everything.”
Rhysand smirked. “I don’t think. I know.”
Diana couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped free. It was so easy with them, she realized. So effortless, and yet—there was still that part of her that held back, that hesitated to fully open the door to what they offered.
As the workers continued their tasks, Diana turned back to the clearing. “It must feel nice,” she said quietly. “To build something like this. To know you’re creating a future.”
Rhysand’s expression softened, his humor giving way to sincerity. “A home is more than just a structure. It’s a place to hold dreams, memories, and the people you love.”
Diana glanced at him, then at Feyre, who was watching her with that same gentle understanding. She wanted to believe those words. She wanted to believe that a home was something she could have again.
But tomorrow, she’d leave for the Summer Court, and that fragile sense of belonging would feel even further away.
Feyre’s hand rested lightly on her arm. “One day, Diana,” she said softly. “You’ll have something like this. I know you will. We’re going to figure this all out for you.”
The sincerity in her voice made Diana’s throat tighten. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
The three of them stayed for a while longer, watching the workers, until Rhysand declared it was time to leave. As they made their way back to Velaris, Feyre looped her arm through Diana’s, talking about the city’s upcoming spring festival. Diana let herself be pulled into the conversation, even as her thoughts lingered on the path ahead, and the uncertainty that awaited her in the Summer Court.
For now, she decided, she’d hold on to this. The warmth of Feyre at her side, the occasional brush of Rhysand’s wings as they walked together, and the brief, fleeting feeling of belonging. Even if it wasn’t hers to keep.
♥
The evening sun dipped below the horizon as Diana sat with the Inner Circle at the dining table in the House of Wind. The golden light gave way to the soft glow of the fae lights above them, bathing the room in a warm, inviting hue. Plates of roasted vegetables, spiced meats, and fresh bread adorned the table, the scent rich and heady, but Diana found herself picking at her food.
She glanced around, watching as Mor teased Cassian about his eating habits, her words quick and cutting in that playful way only she could pull off. Amren, seated next to Nesta, sipped her wine in silence, her sharp eyes glinting as they darted between the others. Azriel listened quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement as Cassian grumbled a half-hearted retort. Feyre and Rhysand sat across from Diana, their hands intertwined on the table, a subtle but constant reminder of the bond they shared.
It was a scene she had grown familiar with over the past weeks, one that had slowly become her new normal. Yet, as laughter echoed around the room, Diana found herself slipping into her thoughts, her fork resting idly against her plate.
The first night she arrived in the Night Court came to mind—when she'd woken to Feyre and Rhysand’s careful watchfulness, their warmth cutting through the bone-deep cold of her fear and confusion. She hadn’t trusted them then, not fully. How could she have? She was a stranger in a world that only existed in fiction for her, surrounded by powerful beings who claimed her as theirs.
But things had shifted in the days and weeks that followed. Rhysand’s sly humor had chipped away at her wariness, and Feyre’s quiet compassion had steadied her when the weight of this new reality felt too much. Mor had been the first to coax a laugh out of her, while Cassian’s boundless energy and good-natured teasing reminded her of the siblings she had left behind in the mortal world. Even Azriel, with his brooding presence, had offered small moments of comfort—a shared glance here, a subtle kindness there.
The turning point had been her first time exploring Velaris. Seeing the City of Starlight for the first time up close had filled her with awe, the beauty of it almost overwhelming. She remembered how Feyre had described the city as a haven, a place of peace in a world often steeped in chaos. And though Diana hadn’t voiced it, she had felt that peace, too.
Her gaze flickered to Nesta. She thought of their quiet exchanges in the library, the books passed between them like unspoken agreements. Nesta had been a surprise—someone who seemed as closed off as Diana felt at times, yet somehow saw through her defenses. Diana hadn’t realized how much those small interactions meant until now.
Then there was Rhysand and Feyre. Diana’s chest tightened as her thoughts drifted to them. They had done so much to make her feel welcome, to show her a life that could be hers if she accepted the bond. But there was still that sliver of hesitation, that lingering doubt she couldn’t entirely banish. Was it the bond pulling her closer, or something else entirely?
Diana’s thoughts raced through the memories: Starfall, the shared dances, the quiet mornings when she’d woken between them and felt a fleeting sense of safety. The laughter, the compromises, the fleeting moments when she’d felt like she belonged.
And yet, the bitter taste remained. The shadow of control, of knowing her choices weren’t entirely her own, loomed in the back of her mind. The Night Court had shown her beauty, kindness, and something close to freedom—but it wasn’t entirely free, was it?
“Diana?”
She blinked, realizing Rhysand was watching her, his violet eyes soft with concern. The conversation at the table had lulled, the others looking at her now with curiosity.
“You’ve been quiet,” Feyre added gently.
“Sorry,” Diana said quickly, forcing a small smile. “Just...thinking.”
Mor grinned. “Careful with that. Too much thinking can be dangerous.”
Cassian chuckled, raising his glass. “Especially at this table.”
The mood lightened again as the conversation resumed, but Diana’s thoughts lingered. Tomorrow, she would leave this court for another. She’d step into the unknown once more, and though she felt more prepared than she had before, there was still a part of her that felt adrift.
As laughter rang out around her, Diana let herself savor the moment. The warmth, the camaraderie, the feeling of being surrounded by people who—despite everything—wanted her here. She didn’t know what awaited her in the Summer Court.
As the dinner carried on, Diana leaned back in her chair, letting the conversation swirl around her like a distant tide. The clinking of glasses, the easy banter, and the occasional burst of laughter felt warm, almost comforting. But beneath that warmth, her resolve began to harden like steel tempered in fire.
The memories of her time in the Night Court played over and over in her mind, shifting from moments of kindness and joy to the undercurrent of control that still lingered in her interactions with Rhysand and Feyre. The compromises, though gentle and well-intentioned, left her with an unshakable bitterness.
They had tried to make her feel welcome, tried to accommodate her in ways that made her heart stir with gratitude and affection. But the edges of those affections were jagged. Each kindness came with a reminder that her choices weren’t entirely her own, that her life here was still shaped by forces she hadn’t asked for.
She thought of Tarquin—the High Lord she would soon meet. She had admired him in the books, a ruler with a vision for his court, a leader who sought to make things better for his people. But now, in this reality, she couldn’t trust the page. Tarquin was a stranger to her, and for all she knew, he could be even more controlling or possessive than Rhysand and Feyre.
Her fingers tightened around her fork as she made a silent vow to herself.
No more.
Diana didn’t know what awaited her in the Summer Court, but she promised herself that she wouldn’t be molded by anyone else’s expectations. Not by Tarquin, not by Feyre or Rhysand, not by anyone. She would be polite, respectful even, but she would not allow herself to be controlled—not again.
Whatever this world had in store for her, she would face it on her terms. She couldn’t deny the feelings stirring in her chest for Rhysand and Feyre—couldn’t ignore the small moments when she thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something real between them beyond the mating bond. But those feelings, no matter how genuine they might be, wouldn’t define her.
If she stayed in this world, it would be as someone who could carve her own path, not as a piece on someone else’s board.
As she lifted her glass of wine and took a sip, she cast a glance at Feyre and Rhysand. They were laughing softly at something Cassian said, their hands still intertwined. Diana swallowed the ache in her chest and the flicker of guilt that came with it. She was falling for them, yes—but she wouldn’t lose herself in the process.
The others didn’t notice the turmoil behind her steady gaze. But as the night wore on and the conversation turned to lighter topics, Diana felt her resolve solidify further. Tomorrow, she would leave for the Summer Court.
And she would leave determined to make her own way in this new, chaotic world, no matter what anyone else wanted for her.