Take us back all those years ago, when you fooled around in balls, not even being over 100 years old. You and Rhys were the same age, if a few years separation. It didn’t matter, you were in love. Happily, naively, and rushing into heaven-ly. So at one of these so called, balls, where you were dressed in a luscious gown that made you look all the part of the future High Lords’ lover, you were returning from the powder room and scanning your eyes over the crowd of gaudy and sumptuous figures.

You find Rhys, happy sigh. With.. some absolute rat with her claws on him. Draped in a pale yellow you pulled a face. First she dared touch who was yours, and she dared even more so to do it in that hideous colour? Nu uh.

Rhys leaves her an instant later, walking with your mutual friend Cassian leaving you kindly to deal with the little.. issue. You walk in front of her. “I’m sorry if you, seemed to be confused. He belongs to me.” I point at Rhys and she pulls a face.

“That boy is mine.”

She scoffs, and tries a weak attempt to look you up and down. “Who do you think you are?” She asks snootily. You feel familiar arms around your waist and relax a little. “She’s mine. My love.” He says ‘love’ and not ‘lover’. Somehow, that feels a little bit better. Like remembering the ‘I’ in ‘I love you.

She strops off, and you smile as he drops a kiss on your jaw. “Hello my darling.”