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rainstormsdarling · 2 years

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A Court Across Seas and Stars

Summary:

In present-day Edinburgh, Feyre Archeron is having a morning like any other – filled with research for her PhD in art history and endless cups of tea. Suddenly a mysterious and extraordinary man appears, and she is drawn to his side compelled by his dark allure. Searching for a way to get him home to Prythian, she follows a path that sweeps her not only into realising her true power and passion, but also into the arms of male that is not of her world. But Rhys and Feyre must confront their own histories that haunt them in different ways, and question where they truly belong. In what begins with a search for the truth, Feyre finds herself torn between two worlds and two irreconcilable choices; love or her life.

Chapter 1:

Edinburgh, Scotland - 21st December 2022 (Winter Solstice)

When Feyre thinks about all the work she has to complete by the end of the month, she feels paralysed. So mostly, she doesn't. Instead, she paints. Painting wasn’t just a productive form of procrastination in her opinion, but there was also something deeply therapeutic about mixing paints or creating something soulful with her hands. On this particular winter morning, a heady scent of earl grey tea, banana bread, and oil paints filled the air of her tiny Edinburgh flat and drifted over to the 2nd story window that was cracked a third of the way open - as far as it could go - where condensation was starting to drip down onto the weathered and flaking sill.

She lifted the canvas off of its mounts, haphazardly placing it on the kitchen benchtop between an assortment of reference books, thick stacks of paper, open laptop, and freshly baked banana bread littered on the hardwood countertop. Her colleagues at the art gallery would be happy with her new contribution and it was at least a productive form of procrastination, right? She rationalised as she grabbed another piece of banana bread before devouring it. She needed a break from the pressure of ever-drawing closer deadlines during the penultimate year of her doctoral research, and undertaking a PhD in art history made that 3rd piece of banana bread very much well deserved. Even if it was 9 AM on a Wednesday morning and she should be well on her way to the library right now.

After dropping off half of the banana bread to the art history building and stopping for a quick cup of tea and catch up with her fellow researchers, later that morning Feyre made her way across campus in the mid-winter mist, frost nipping at the tip of her nose and bitter gusts of wind blowing tendrils of her dark hair that had fallen free from her bun away from her face.

Outside the library she stomped her boots, flicking off little droplets of rain and wayward leaves, before pushing through the great doors. This early in the morning the library was clear and mostly empty, and she made her way up to the seventh floor, where she took her usual spot on a desk hidden amongst the rarely visited section on reference materials for the history and philosophy of renaissance art. Sitting down with a quiet sigh, she took out her laptop and supplies, glancing out the rain-streaked window before opening a spreadsheet and starting work for the day.

She worked through lunch and into the early evening, absentmindedly twirling her pen in knots through her dark hair. Thoroughly engrossed in the statistical minefield of the dataset she was working on; she almost didn’t notice when she felt rather than heard a heavy thud from behind her. Scrunching her eyebrows, she looked up just as another rumble sent dust falling from the wooden beams above her head. ‘Hello?’ She called, blinking rapidly and jumping to her feet. Creeping tentatively down the corridor, it felt like all the many particles in the air were vibrating around her.

Something about the dimly lit stacks at the end of the hallway called to Feyre; a sense that she was stepping towards something intended to be unseen, unnoticed. But a low thrum echoed in her blood and in her bones, urging her onwards. The air around her felt noticeably cooler now, almost freezing, as she reached the final row of shelves. As if all the windows in the library had been thrown open to the icy winter wind. Peering around the corner, her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. Crouched on the ground, surrounded by scattered books and loose pages in varying degrees of damage, was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Everything about the man in front of her seemed to exude danger, and yet she could not for the life of her stop staring at him. Dark hair fell across his forehead in a disarray of midnight blue-black strands offsetting his suntanned face. His white dress shirt was partially untucked from his black leather pants and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, displaying strong forearms that were covered in whorls of dark ink. The tattoos flowed under his shirt, over his chest where they peeked through the unbuttoned neckline, and up his neck. She had an inkling the strange markings continued down the rest of him, too, but as her eyes travelled downwards, she caught the hilt of a vicious looking dagger strapped to his side. Although dishevelled, there was no denying the dark allure that seemed to radiate from him. Uneasy, she stepped backwards, and directly into the bookshelf behind her. A gasp slipped past her parted lips as he sharply glanced up at her, his features as stinging as cut glass.

Before she could blink, the stranger had drawn a sword into his right hand from where it was sheathed against his spine. It sang as he swept it through the air, holding it at her neck. She glanced down at the sword, and angled her chin higher, swallowing deftly. The blade's length was inscribed with runic letters which emitted a faint yellow light, casting shadows from where he pointed it at her. Her heart pounded like a drum, but she kept her focus on his eyes as she asked faintly, ‘Do you need any help? I - heard a loud noise...’

Pale blue-violet eyes narrowed as they scrutinised her, piercing in their intensity against his golden skin. So intensely deep that she felt like she could fall into a thousand skies full of stars if she stared into them long enough.

‘Who are you?’ He said finally. The cadence of his voice, deep and even, but rough around the edges sent shivers along her skin and spread goosebumps in their wake. It was a rich, cultured voice, accented in a way she had never heard of. It wasn’t exactly said as a question either, but more of an order, and Feyre bristled at the command in his tone.

‘Who are you ?’ she challenged, raising an eyebrow. Realising as soon as she said it that it probably wasn't the smartest to question a stranger alone, and who was holding what looked like a very real and very sharp looking sword to her neck. She nervously glanced down at the sword once more, then back to him. Although, she certainly hadn’t noticed him in the library before, and she would have, without a doubt. Feyre’s mouth dried out. Great, she was literally being held at - sword point - and she was thinking about his looks? She supposed some people must find him irresistibly attractive, in a basely sexual sort of way, if they could get past the unsettling aura of carnal danger and depravity that emanated from him.

The man languidly stepped out of his crotch, lifting the sword with him so the blade maintained its perfect balance at her throat. Feyre pressed her back closer against the bookshelf behind her as he rose to his full height with sensual grace. He would have to be at least a whole foot taller than her, six foot five or more, and her breath caught in her throat as he prowled closer. His eyes seemed to twinkle in dark amusement as they beheld her in front of him, a half-smile playing on his lips, like he could smell the emotions coursing through her. As if he could hear her traitorous heart beating furiously in her chest.

His smile curled upwards as she willed her heartbeat and breathing to calm, this man was clearly an actor or performer. The billowy shirt, tight leathers, the long sword, merely costume for a peculiar period-drama the university’s theatre department currently had in season.

Carefully he stepped around the books strewn across the floor, only stopping once he faced her, not more than a metre away, studying her with a predator’s gaze. Her shoulders stiffened with his close proximity.

‘I’ll ask you again, who are you and where have you brought me?’

‘What do you mean where have I brought you? All I heard was you thumping around back here and I came over to check if you were alright.’ She swallowed thickly, and with narrowed eyes she surveyed him once more, taking in the fine leather boots that appeared to be half-heartedly concealing more blades. He made an impatient sound and she dragged her eyes up to meet his again, only to find that he seemed to have leaned in even closer. Her whole body felt on edge from the intensity of her vulnerability. His warm breath fanned over her cheeks as he demanded ‘Where. Are. We.’

She lifted her chin, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears, ‘We're in the faculty of fine arts library. Now, would you mind stepping away from me please?’

The air shifted and he went preternaturally still as he tracked her movements with wide eyes. Shock and confusion flashed across his features, so quick she could scarcely believe she saw it as his expression moulded back into something that resembled cool indifference once more.

‘Forgive me’ he murmured, bowing his head slightly. But his eyes remained locked on hers as he took a careful step back. ‘I seem to have ah… lost my place.’

‘Right…’ Deeming that he wasn’t going to elaborate any further, she shifted uncomfortably on each foot. Her eyes slid to the long double-edged sword, where the gleaming yellow light leaked from its tip right up to its dark hilt. Noticing her stare, he sheathed it smoothly on his back behind him.

She fiddled with her necklace nervously, running the amulet between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Are you a theatre student?’ She asked abruptly.

‘No, I’m not a theatre student.’ Was all he said, but his eyes narrowed.

She looked around at the shelves, and the discarded books on the floor again. Not really knowing what else to say, she said ‘We should really tidy this stuff up before the librarian comes up.’

Not waiting for an answer, Feyre stepped around him and began picking up books. Some seemed to be close to falling out of their bindings, errant pages coming loose. ‘How on earth did you manage this?’ she asked.

‘I fell’ he said, looking up from the books he was beginning to stack in a neat pile. ‘What is earth?’ Only curiosity laced the question.

‘What –‘ she started to say, but as she did the heavy book in her hands started to glow, light shining outwards from the spine. The air was thick with the combined aromas of book-like mustiness and something metallic, a tang of mineral bitterness that seared her nose. A low rumble shook the air, echoing off the walls and sending more books tumbling in its wake. She let go of the tome and stumbled back, only to find it shockingly still hovering in the air before her. Magic - that scent that effused the air and gave it a strange charged quality - it was magic making the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

‘What the– can you see this?’ Looking up at the stranger with wide eyes.

‘Yes, I – you need to tell me where we are -‘ he started, but then the pages froze in the air, mid turn. Like someone had gotten out a remote control and hit pause. Everything went still as the whole world around them paused in time, even the wind outside seemed to halt its course through the trees for a moment as the heavy tome dropped to the floor with a resounding thud. That strange glow dissipated until only the waning December sunlight at dusk shone from the window of the dimly lit, dark wood library once more.

Feyre sucked in a breath, her heart pounding. The late nights working, studying, and never getting enough sleep had finally caught up with her. She was actually seeing things, and having hallucinations. The sense of panic that rolled through her then was staggering, but the tome, old and heavy, leather-bound and covered with dark inscriptions was still not a mere half a metre before her. Like the mysterious stranger who studied her now with narrowed eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to take a slow breath, steadying herself against the bookshelf behind her. This couldn’t be real, he couldn’t be real, she thought. Obviously, he was nothing more than a hallucination, a very vivid one at that, but not real nonetheless. It was frightening that she had lost her grasp on her senses so fully, but she could only stand there, frozen, as panic rushed through her veins like acid.

Her attempts to breathe and calm herself were failing, and she felt a familiar anxiety rising up within her chest, her lungs stuttering in small, rapid inhalations. ‘Darling’ said a low, even voice from above her, and suddenly she felt a firm but barely there pressure applied to her shoulder. The stranger’s hand, warm and broad, gripped her shoulder, his thumb rubbing up and down gently.

‘Take slow, deep breaths’ he said softly. ‘Can you hear me?’

She took a breath, and then another.

‘Yes.’ Unfortunately, she didn’t add. She didn’t want to admit that everything she had just seen and heard from him right now was most probably a sure sign of insanity. Wringing her hands at increasing speed, ‘I’m fine – well, no, I’m not. But I will be. I’m just stressed out, another overworked grad student, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack and now I’ve started seeing things – no, conversing with figments of my imagination, and –‘

‘You’re not seeing things.’ The stranger interrupted, ‘Well, you are, but not figments of your imagination. I’m really here and you are really talking to me’. He paused. ‘Why don’t you tell me your name?’

She peeked open her eyes. He stood directly in front of her, absurdly intimidating with his dark eyes, staring down at her from his height – which now that he was so close it must be well over the six foot something she originally thought. And his hand, large and pleasantly warm, was still wrapped around her shoulder. She let her hands fall to her sides and sighed resignedly.

‘It’s Feyre’

‘Fey-ruh’ he repeated, drawing out her name in that low voice of his like he was sounding it out.

She eyed him warily, ‘Yes, Feyre. And what’s yours then?’

‘Rhysand’ he said shortly, with a scowl. A strange, odd name. A name that didn't sound of this time or place.

‘What is happening to me?’ She asked breathlessly.

‘Concentrate, Feyre. Take another breath. What you saw just now – with the book –‘

‘Glowing and flipping through the air, you mean?’

‘Yes that –‘

‘Wasn’t real, right? and neither is this conversation, so now I’m going to walk back to my desk, pack away my stuff, go home and pretend this never happened.’

He stared at her for a moment, then dropped his arm and nodded. ‘If you want to forget it, fine. But at least tell me how to activate the portal in this-’ he looked around darkly ‘library… before you go. I would like to get back to my world before dinner if possible.’

He lifted one eyebrow, staring expectantly. For a minute she just blinks up at him, confused.

‘Look, whatever is going on here I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I really have to go now.’ Taking a deep breath, she turns around hurriedly and starts down the corridor. Only to come face to face with none other than the austere senior librarian, Ms. Argyll. Feyre was almost certain the stern older lady was capable of moving silently through the dark wood halls, appearing from between the shelves at the slightest noise. Never mind the wrath you might face if you fail to return a book on time or in less than perfect condition.

‘Miss Archeron, do I need to remind you that this floor is of silent study?’ She said in her icy Scottish burr, which altogether made her more frightening. Feyre froze. If Ms. Argyll stepped any closer, she was going to see the destroyed books hidden behind the stacks she now stood in front of.

‘Ah.. no. I mean, no, I know. Sorry, Ms. Argyll.’ Stepping forward nervously, Feyre angled her body hopefully to shield the fallen books behind her.

Ms. Argyll stared grimly down at Feyre from her red-framed glasses. ‘And who, may I ask, were you talking to?’

‘Well, I was just practicing –‘ Feyre started to say when she felt movement to her left.

‘That would be me, my lady, please let me apologise for any disturbance we might have inadvertently caused. Feyre here was graciously helping me locate a book,’ Rhysand said smoothly from her left.

Ms. Argyll narrowed her eyes ‘You know young man, that’s what the computers are here for’

‘I am not a young- computer?’ He looked at her with a mildly confused expression.

Feyre jumped in, ‘Please rest assured next time I will absolutely make sure to send him down to the front desk if he has any trouble finding something. We are really sorry about the disturbance, and we’ll be leaving now’ She turned to Rhysand expectantly.

‘Yes’ he confirmed, nodding at her.

‘The library closes in twenty minutes even so.’ Ms. Argyll seemed unconvinced but sniffed haughtily regardless. ‘See to it that you two return any books to their rightful places'. With a final severe glance of disapproval, she turned on her heel and stalked – indeed silently – down the hallway.

Feyre exhaled, before turning abruptly to face Rhysand. ‘She can see you’

‘Yes.’ He drawled, ‘and so can you.’ Again, with that raised eyebrow.

‘Ughh’ She rolled her eyes, ‘Are you going to tidy up those books?’

‘Already done, sweetheart’

‘That’s not possible, and don’t call me –‘ She stepped around him, but the books were indeed placed back in their spots on the shelves. Not one yellowed page to be found scattered on the floor.

She whirled back to him. ‘Alright, what is going on here? There had to have been at least fifty books, not to mention the mess caused–‘

‘You two, out. This instant!’ Came Ms. Argyll’s raised voice down the corridor.

She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him over to her desk where she started packing up her things hurriedly. ‘This is unbelievable. She’s going to be on my back for weeks, and I needed that twenty minutes - I have at least five more books I need to reference.’ She whisper-shouted up at him.

Rhysand only looked back at her, his mouth quaking in faint bemusement as she hastily shoved her supplies back into her bag. He was leaning casually against the desk, as if a suddenly glowing book was an ordinary occurrence for him. To her disbelief, tucked under his arm, although no longer glowing, was the very book from before.

‘What on earth are you doing with that? You can't seriously be thinking about taking that out of the library?’

‘Darling, I can and I will.’ He crooned. ‘and again if you’d care to enlighten me. What is this earth?’ He cocked his head to the side as he studied her, and she could have sworn there was true curiosity in his eyes.

Feyre’s chest was tight with anxiety merely considering the question like she’d found herself on the precipice of the unknown and had no choice but to leap. Her head was growing light, and entertaining the idea was pure nonsense. Instead, she shook her head and strode for the direction of the stairs, not caring if he was following or not.

She took the stairs two at a time, only stopping to exhale once she was out of the library and the great doors were sliding shut behind her. It had snowed while she had been inside. The courtyard outside was blanketed in it, and the visual relief alone from all the darkness and unease she felt inside the library was soothing. She squared her shoulders, slowly descending the outside steps.

‘Wait –‘ a deep voice said behind her. She whirled mid-stride, boots slipping on the slick steps. Losing her balance - her eyes closed, bracing for impact – but then suddenly there was a large, warm weight steadying her. A firm pressure on her upper back and waist, as Rhysand caught her.

Feyre opened her eyes and looked up with a wince.

‘Are you okay?’ He said it in a low, intimate tone. She swallowed thickly, but her answer caught in her throat, his face was so close and her heart was beating too fast. Although only concern was written over his features, an incredibly confusing blend of desire and irritation swirled in the pit of her stomach. Did she actually just fall for a guy? And a ridiculous one at that. Can this day get any worse? Rhysand lifted her to her feet but kept his hands on her waist.

‘You alright, lass?’ the gruff voice of the campus security guard, as he trudged over. ‘Is this man bothering you?’ twitching his head towards Rhysand as he dropped his hands and stepped back.

‘Um no, everything’s fine. I just tripped that’s all.’ She looked between them.

The security guard surveyed them with narrowed eyes, his eyes halting over Rhysand’s clothes, before glancing back up at her. ‘Very well. You two best be off then. Channel four is saying there’s a storm on the radar tonight you know.’

Feyre looked up at the grey sky then and noticed the cooling temperature. Grimacing, she said, ‘Alright, have a good evening then,’

The security guard merely shrugged, making an indecipherable noise in reply, and ambled off.

She stared blankly into the distance as he made his way through the snow, her breath clouding in front of her.

‘Feyre’

‘Yes?’ She turned to face Rhysand. His brow was furrowed again, glaring fiercely off at the security guard, before fixing on her once more. He started opening his mouth, but then closed it again.

‘Thanks for catching me’ she said softly.

‘Of course,’ inclining his head slightly, ‘Forgive me, darling, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He purred, and his eyes seemed to darken imperceptibly. Great, she was staring again.

‘That’s alright. I um, really should be going now though…’ She looked towards the snowy courtyard and streets that lay beyond the campus buildings.

He was frowning at her ‘Where will you go?’

‘Home. To my flat’ She turned to go, she really didn’t feel like explaining her actions to this strange man who looked like he’d walked out of a bizarre period drama.

‘What is a flat - never mind. You will go without anyone to accompany you on your travels?’

Throwing her hands in despair, Feyre turned back and faced him. ‘Yes of course I will. Do you need something?’

‘You act uncommonly strangely for a female of your age’

Feyre grit her teeth and raised a brow. ‘A female my age?’ He couldn’t be serious, she seethed. ‘What, pray tell, do you mean by that?’

Rhysand merely gestured to her, his face expressionless like what he was pointing out was the most obvious thing in the world.

They stared at each other for a moment in stilted silence.

‘Your behaviour, your odd manner of dress. You are a human woman are you not?’

She stared at him perplexed. ‘What's wrong with what I’m wearing?’ She looked down at her cream-coloured blouse, dark denim jeans, heeled boots, and coat. She looked good, better than good even. Considering most days, she couldn’t be bothered to change out of her grad student uniform of a fluffy sweater and black yoga pants. As if he could talk with that ruffled neckline. She rolled her eyes skyward, this man was infuriating.

She blew out an aggravated breath. ‘Look Rhysand – if that is even your real name – I don’t care if this is a new method of acting practice, or some kind of sick joke, or whatever. I really don’t have time for this and I want no part in it. Alright? Goodbye, and I wish you all the best for your performance.’ With that, she turned sharply and walked towards the lane leading out of the campus grounds.

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