Set after Rhys came out from under the mountain, except you are the love interest…

Forty nine years. Forty nine, long, and lonely years. Spent silently lying in bed, dried tears stretching your cheeks as you lay in bed, numb. Cassian and Azriel suffered too, you all did, and you all relied on one another.

You missed Rhys. You missed your love, more than anything else in the world. You missed his soft kisses, the languid ones on a lazy morning, and the sleepy ones in the middle of the night, and the occasional aggressive ones when you were both overrun with desire.

His arm or hand on your waist, hips, or lower back. His nose in your hair. His face in your neck. His hands twirling your hair around his fingers. Your fingers playing with his hair.

Years without him. Without the male who held the key to your heart. No one else could have your heart, because you’d given it to him and locked it. And he was the locksmith.

Amarantha was dead. Rhys was free. It was an early evening when you were stood on the large cool obsidian balcony that stretched as wide as a large living room, in the House of Wind, when you heard the familiar sound of winnowing and the tickle of the shadows.

And then you felt him. Rhys.

You spun, the black chiffon of your dress fluttering in the wind as you laid eyes on him. Your love. Your locksmith. A thousand feelings overcome you at once, love and desire and pain and loss all come billowing and bounding into your chest.

“Rhys,” his name left your lips in a stolen whisper.

“My love. My darling.” He was instantly holding you, cradling your head, murmuring more words of affection and endearments.