chapter 2

Cassian leaned forward, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "So, I hear you're an excellent fighter—and a skilled hunter. Who taught you all that?"

Feyre shrugged, her gaze distant. "Hunting? I picked it up by watching other hunters, learning as I went."

Mor raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really? They didn't actually teach you anything?"

Feyre laughed softly. "Well, they showed me how to set traps and all, but no one wanted to teach me to hunt. Food was scarce, and they didn't want the competition."

Azriel spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "Aren't you the youngest?"

"Yes," Feyre replied, her expression a mixture of pride and lingering hurt. "My sisters… they were used to comfort. Our father was wealthy once, but he took a risk and sent a ship to Bharat. It never came back. The loss left us with nothing but debt. I can barely remember the life we had before, but my sisters… they remembered."

Mor's face softened. "And your parents?"

Feyre's gaze darkened. "My mother died shortly after we moved to the village. Then… the debt collectors came. They broke my father's legs. After that, he couldn't do much to provide for us."

Cassian's voice softened. "But what about fighting? Who taught you that?"

Mor shot him an exasperated look. "Cassian, let her breathe."

A faint smile touched Feyre's lips. "Her name was Ruhi."

Cassian's brow furrowed. "Who?"

Across the room, Rhysand's gaze sharpened, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. Unbeknownst to Feyre, she had begun to project memories as she spoke, allowing Rhys glimpses of the woman. He felt something stir, a feeling he couldn't quite name.

"Ruhi Singh Rathore," Feyre said, her voice steady. "She's the one who taught me how to fight."

Feyre's eyes grew distant as she continued, her tone reflective. "I was sixteen when I met her…"

In her memory, Feyre stood shivering in the biting cold, clutching a bow with trembling hands, eyes locked on a wild boar in the distance. She hadn't noticed the black snake slithering toward her through the snow until she felt it brush against her leg. Her gaze dropped, her heart thudding as she saw the snake coiled beside her, its mouth opening, venomous fangs ready to strike.

Fear rooted her in place. Her mind raced, and—despite how prayer had faded from the human world—she began whispering, desperate, barely remembering what it meant to pray or who might hear.

But just as the snake prepared to strike, a slender hand reached out, seizing the snake with effortless grace. Feyre looked up, wide-eyed.

The woman standing beside her was beautiful in a way both fierce and otherworldly. Her kohl-lined eyes, one pitch black and the other a striking grey, held a glint of dark amusement, and her smooth golden skin gleamed faintly in the fading light. She held the snake with the ease of a creature who belonged to the wild herself, her aura both alluring and subtly predatory, like a snake waiting to strike. Around her neck hung a necklace with a forked charm and a seed?!. A small golden nose pin sparkled on one side of her nose, and Feyre noticed a thick silver ornament on her ankles that glinted whenever Ruhi shifted.

Ruhi's smile was teasing. "Well? Were you planning to just stand there and let it kill you?"

"I-I… that snake—" Feyre stammered, her voice shaking.

Ruhi chuckled, reaching out to pat Feyre's cheek with unexpected warmth. "Relax, darling. It's just a little snake." Her accent was unfamiliar, her words carrying an almost musical lilt.

"Mahadev, you're freezing," Ruhi muttered, her brows furrowing as she took in Feyre's shivering form.

Feyre stared, transfixed. Everything about Ruhi seemed foreign and yet enchanting—the fierce gaze, the unusual attire, the effortless confidence, and the quiet danger that radiated from her as if she were a queen of the wild. Dressed in loose, dark clothing made for movement, she looked like someone who belonged to a different world altogether, far beyond these cold, desolate woods.

Ruhi tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "So, what...? Want to come with me and warm up? Or would you rather haul your prey home? It's getting late."

Feyre blinked, surprised to see the boar lying in the snow. She'd actually hit it. Enough meat to feed her family for days. "Can… can I come with you?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

Cassian's voice broke in, full of disbelief. "Wait, wait. So you just went off with a stranger? Some woman wandering alone in the woods, at sunset, with a strange look and accent? That doesn't strike you as odd?"

Azriel nodded, his expression unreadable. "Suspicious," he murmured.

"So?" Rhysand raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He'd seen flashes of the woman as Feyre spoke, and something about her stirred an unnameable feeling within him.

Feyre shrugged. "She seemed innocent enough."

Mor rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"

"Well… she was beautiful," Feyre admitted, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Like a goddess, really. I was in a trance. I mean, now I'm mostly resistant to her allure… mostly."

Amren, who'd been silent, finally spoke in her usual dry tone. "You're Fae now. Surely you wouldn't still be dazzled by her, would you?"

Feyre shook her head, smiling faintly. "Nope. She's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Mor sighed, exasperated. "Come on."

Feyre's eyes twinkled. "I'll show her to you one day. You'll see."

Mor raised an eyebrow, but before she could respond, Rhysand muttered softly, almost to himself, "She's right."

His words went unnoticed by most, but Azriel, always keenly observant, glanced at Rhysand with a knowing look. His shadows danced along his wings as he studied the faint, distant smile playing on his High Lord's face.

"Okay, but seriously," Mor interrupted with a smirk, "You don't just go wandering off with someone just because they call you something sweet."

"'Munna,'" Feyre echoed, her eyes distant, recalling the memory.

"Means something like 'little one' or 'baby' where I'm from," Ruhi's voice replied in her memory. A glint of amusement danced in her eyes. "And from the looks of you, you seemed about fifteen at most."

Feyre frowned, looking up at Ruhi in confusion. "Where are you from?"

"Bharat," Ruhi replied with a shrug, smoothly removing her own thick coat and draping it over Feyre's shoulders. "You look like you need this more than I do. Anyway, I was out on business—trade, you know. But my ship wrecked." Her tone was casual, as if this were an everyday inconvenience.

As they prepared to carry the wild boar, tying it up with the rope Feyre had brought, Ruhi took the lead, hefting most of the weight herself with surprising strength. Feyre followed, trying to keep up as Ruhi spoke, her tone breezy yet tinged with humor.

"I ended up in this village—poor little place—so I found an abandoned cottage nearby and made it mine for a few days. I began bartering with the villagers, trading forest goods, and now, well, I, Ruhanika Singh Rathore, own a trade network that spans a good part of this queendom," she said, the pride in her voice unmistakable. "But apparently, not even I can convince people to make the trip back to Bharat. They're afraid, for good reason, I suppose…"

They finally reached the cottage nestled near a stream, surrounded by dense trees and the subtle hum of nature. The air smelled fresh, untouched, a hint of wild herbs and damp earth. Feyre's eyes widened in excitement as she looked around.

"Oh, I love this place!" she exclaimed, bouncing a little on her toes. Outside, near the cottage, she noticed a small shrine-like structure, with a single, worn stone inside it, peaceful and mysterious.

Ruhi lowered the wild boar near a large tree, where a majestic black horse stood, watching the scene with evident disdain.

Ruhi rolled her eyes at the horse and muttered something in her language. "क्या, क्या समस्या?" ("What's your problem?") Her tone was dry, clearly chiding, as if she and the horse shared some unspoken argument. The horse snorted, flicking its tail and casting a haughty look as if offended by the presence of the boar.

Sighing, Ruhi motioned the horse toward the stable with a wave of her hand before turning to Feyre. "Alright, come inside. But shoes off," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

They stepped inside the cottage, and Feyre found herself entranced by the cozy interior. Ruhi's touch was everywhere—rich fabrics in deep colors, a few silver trinkets, and a well-used iron pot hanging above the small hearth. The scent of herbs and something spicy lingered in the air, warming the space despite the chill outside.

Ruhi busied herself setting out a bowl and filling it with hot water. She handed Feyre a warm cloth. "Here. Clean up. Can't have you smelling like a wild boar if you're going to sit in my cottage." She winked, her tone teasing but caring. Feyre laughed, feeling the tension from the hunt and the cold slowly easing away.

As Feyre cleaned up, Ruhi set about making a simple but aromatic soup, her movements efficient and graceful. She chatted as she worked, effortlessly keeping the conversation lively, her sassy charm turning even mundane topics into something Feyre found herself wanting to listen to for hours. They spoke about the forest, her family, and life in the village, Ruhi adding her own sharp, humorous commentary to Feyre's stories.

By the time Feyre held the steaming bowl of soup in her hands, she felt more at home than she had in a long time.