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Sometimes I do worry that this is all a dream, I said to him, the only person I could ever really talk to like this. Right now, I’m standing here, with our son in my arms, and I just . . . Part of me wonders if I’m still on that bed, bleeding out—

You’re not, he cut in. You’re here. He’s here. We’re all here.

My throat closed up again, and Rhys cupped my cheek with a broad hand. This is a joy I never thought I’d be honored to experience. You should savor every second of today. I know I will.

He kissed me softly, once, twice. Yes, yesterday would be dealt with—for better or worse—but not today. Today was for us. For Nyx. For our family.

A throat cleared somewhere in the temple, and—right. The priestess. The ritual.

I smiled up at my mate, who kissed me a third time. Rhys then whispered to our son, “Start screeching when it gets too boring. We’ll owe you a drink when you’re older.”

I laughed, kissing the top of Nyx’s downy hair. Rhys laid a gentle, guiding hand on my lower back. And together, as a family, we walked beneath the woven flowers of Prythian to officially welcome our son to the world.

CHAPTER

14

Feyre

The usual assortment of prayers began the naming ceremony. I’d thought we’d walk up there, get blessed with a wave of the priestess’s hands, and then be on our way to our luncheon, but no—we had to stand at the foot of the dais, Nyx squirming in my arms, for the entirety of a normal service.

I will kill you for this, I said to Rhys as I shifted Nyx’s weight from one hip to the other. Your son is going stir-crazy.

I told her to keep it short, he said innocently, staring straight ahead at the High Priestess intoning her prayers atop the dais.

Even our mating ceremony wasn’t this long.

Oh, it was. You were too preoccupied with thinking about getting me to the bedroom afterward to care.

I struggled to keep from smiling. Maybe.

At last, the priestess requested, “The binding thread, if you will.”

Rhys nodded gracefully, pulling the velvet-wrapped bundle from a pocket in his black jacket. His wings were out today, resplendent and shining—and I knew he’d polished the tips to honor his son and their heritage.

I glanced to where my sisters sat in the pews.

Elain was pale, any trace of joy gone, her arms crossed and back so stiff she might as well have been sitting on a bed of nails.

Fantastic.

Cassian sat near Elain. Across the temple, Nesta was somber, but calm, at least. Emerie beamed beside her, likely the main contributor to Nesta’s tranquility. While Emerie wore a plainer gown than most of us, she’d pulled her hair back to reveal the lovely angles of her face—an intriguing combination of softness and edges. Emerie kept peeking over at Mor, a blush on her cheeks.

But Mor, seated beside Az and Amren in the row across from Nesta’s, was wholly focused on the ceremony, on us. Unshed tears of joy danced in her rich brown eyes. She knew how long my mate had waited for and dreamed of such a day. I’d wished for this for years; Rhys had yearned for centuries.

The High Priestess gasped softly as Rhys unfolded the black cloth to reveal Clotho’s remarkable silver ribbon. “Exquisite,” she breathed. But she mastered herself, gently taking the bundle and lifting it with both hands above her head.

Three blessings ensued. A pew creaked as Amren shifted in her seat, her favorite ruby necklace sparkling with the movement. I noted that Az, beside her, seemed to be watching her fidget with dark amusement, his shadows swirling at his shoulders, his wings.

Az caught my stare and flicked his eyes toward the priestess. Pay attention, High Lady, the shadowsinger seemed to say. I blushed and concentrated on the priestess again.

The ceremony was boring. Beautiful, but boring, despite the mandatory Equinox weighing with the silver scales atop the altar, each element endlessly explained and honored by the High Priestess before she placed it into one of the dishes. A gift of balance from the Mother for the year ahead.

At least we had the luncheon to look forward to. Even if the priestess had been invited, which would likely dampen any merriment and keep our revelry to a more respectful level.

“Bring the child forward, and place his hand between yours,” the priestess finally ordered.

We obeyed, and I didn’t fail to notice how Rhys’s hand shook slightly as he placed it beneath Nyx’s. I met his gaze, finding it lined with silver, stars twinkling within. Pure joy, boring ceremony or no.