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I shrugged, leaning my head back against the cushions. “Guilty. She directed all of it at Nesta, but I deserve it, too.”

Elain and I had grown closer since the war with Hybern had ended. True, I might never go out drinking with her the way I did with Mor, and sometimes Amren, but . . . well, with a baby coming, I couldn’t drink, anyway. And while I might never run to Elain first with problems or for advice, we had a peaceful, amicable understanding. I found her to be a pleasant companion.

I wondered if she’d resent that judgment. I certainly would.

Rhys asked, “Have you ever seen Elain act like that before?”

“No.” I chewed on my bottom lip. Rhys’s gaze tracked the movement. “I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.”

“Maybe she was never given the chance to be that way.”

I whipped my head toward him. “You think I stifle her?”

Rhys held up his hands. “Not you alone.” He surveyed the study as he thought. “But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” He sighed toward the ceiling. “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.”

“That sounds dangerously close to what Nesta said about Elain finally becoming interesting.”

“Sometimes, Nesta isn’t wrong.”

I glowered at Rhys. “You think Elain’s boring?”

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.”

“And torn up by thorns,” I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free.

I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.

I sighed, absently rubbing my still-flat stomach. “Let’s focus on helping one sister before we start on the other.”

“Agreed,” Rhys drawled.

I pinned him with a look. “Did you really need to give Nesta that death glare earlier?”

He sat up, the soul of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Feyre darling.” He leaned in, and the air shimmered briefly as the shield around me dropped away. His lips brushed over my cheek. “I’d never do such a thing. You must be thinking of your other mate.”

“Yes, the cruel, overprotective, half-insane one.” I smiled as he kissed my jaw, then my neck. My toes curled.

“Cruel?” Rhys purred the word against my skin. “You wound me.”

I let him lay me down on the cushions, savoring the weight of him as he braced himself on his elbows. “You look happy,” he said, his smile soft and tender in a way so few in the world beyond Velaris ever saw.

“I am happy,” I said. “I’m happy that our family can share in our joy.” Regardless of how difficult my relationship had become with Nesta, it had lightened something in my chest when she congratulated us.

“If you think I’m overprotective,” Rhys said, his dark hair sliding over his face, “then just wait until Mor comes home from Vallahan. You’ll never leave the house without an escort.”

“I thought Azriel and Cassian would be the ones to worry about.”

“Oh, they’ll be bad. But Mor will probably add a second shield to you and check in six times a day to make sure you’re eating and sleeping enough.”

I groaned. “Mother spare me.”

“Hmmm,” Rhys said, his eyes near-dazzling as he fiddled with the end of my braid.

For a long minute, we smiled at each other. I drank in every elegant plane of his face, every ember of warmth and happiness that radiated from him. “Cassian said you’ve been moody. Why?”

I believed Cassian, but Rhys hadn’t been moody around me at all. Whenever my mate had looked at me lately, only pure love had gleamed in his eyes.

I’d never forget the moment we’d learned I was carrying our child, that beautiful boy that the Bone Carver had once shown me. I’d been sitting at an easel in the gallery late at night, painting a nightmare I’d had the day before.