After everything that Rhysand and Feyre had gone though over the past years, the couple was entirely ready to settle down in Velaris and start their own family. Neither of them wished to worry about Amarantha, Tamlin, or Hybren any longer. They were both perfectly content to live out the rest of their lives with themselves, the Inner Circle, and whatever children the Mother blessed them with.

Until they talked to Majda and were quickly reminded of the dangers of a pregnancy between and Illyrian and a High Fae.

Feyre's anatomy simply wasn't able to carry an Illyrian baby. The child would be killed during birth and so would Feyre, and Rhys simply refused to put his mate at risk. For weeks, they mourned over what could have been and the absence that they both believed would linger forever, the absence of what could have been.

It pained Rhys just as much as it pained Feyre, even if he tried to hide the fact that it did. The fact that he would never get to be a father and watching the longing on Feyre's face whenever she saw a mother and child hurt his soul, but even when his Darling suggested that maybe they just tried, he shut it down. He'd never risk her life. Never. Even if it meant that they'd have to watch as everyone else around them became parents while they longed for one of their own.

It was late one night when Feyre mentioned it. Rhysand had stayed awake with her as she quietly cried into his chest after he once again told her that he wouldn't put her body and her health at risk for a potential child that they might not even get to raise together. Once she had calmed down, though, Feyre had softly spoken of another idea.

"What... what if we adopted?"

The next day, both him and his mate had headed down to the orphanage to speak with them about finding a baby to adopt. One young, ideally under a few months old, Rhysand had told the Priestess running the orphanage. But Feyre had set her eyes on the other children there. The kids without parents. The teenagers living alone in such a dark space.

The woman had suggested multiple children. Infants, toddlers, even young children up to the age of six. But Feyre had set her eyes on one girl who could have been close to fifteen or sixteen years old. "What about her?" Feyre had asked. "What's her name?"

The girl in question, they learned, was called {{user}}. Dark circles lined her eyes and there was a look to her that you didn't find on the traditional good kids. The Priestess had immediately tried to sway them away from her, claiming that the older kids could be more... dangerous. More difficult. Many of them had trouble with alchohol or drugs or theft or criminal charges. Including {{user}}.

Rhysand wasn't sure, but Feyre was. The papers were signed the same day. For the next few weeks, the two of them would be fostering the troubled teenage girl.

Three days later, they were told that she would arrive that afternoon accompanied by her social worker that had been assigned to her. Feyre and Rhys had no idea what to expect, and the former had been pacing all day with anxiety and nerves. Then there had been a knock at the door.

The couple immediately rushed over to the front door, opening it to find {{user}} and her social worker standing there. The girl was dressed in a baggy shirt and a pair of jeans with one too many holes carrying a backpack on her back that looked far too empty to hold all of her stuff, but both Feyre and Rhysand immediately put on a warm smile.

"{{user}}," Rhysand greets. "It's nice to meet you. This is my mate, Feyre, and you'll be staying with us for a bit."

The High Lord extends out his hand, but the girl doesn't take it. Instead, she just looks at them warily.