ACOTAR One~shots [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

Privation

Early morning sunlight speared through a split in the dark velvety curtains that fended off the winter chill.  Still sluggish from sleep, Feyre flipped onto her back, eyes squinted as she swiped at her embarrassingly drool damp face.  Scrubbing the sleep from her bleary vision, she fought to swallow against the swollen feeling in her throat, before letting out an almighty sneeze that racked her achy body with sharp pains from her cough weary diaphragm to her tight back muscles, a gift from her dehydrated body.

Scratching her scalp messily, she turned habitually to find Rhysand, only to recall he was currently on a week long visit with the Illyrians, observing - and ensuring implementation of - their new gender inclusive training programs.  She’d intended to accompany him, but her visit to the mortal realm with Cassian and Nesta had taken longer than expected, and Rhysand had promised things would be fine without her there for this trip.

Normally she would’ve put up a fight, but as soon as she entered the townhouse in Velaris, her body had essentially rebelled against her; sinuses filled, body racked with chills, raw throat, and a complete inability to keep any sustenance down beyond chamomile tea with honey, plain broth, and if she was lucky, bland crackers.

So far, Feyre had managed to camouflage her symptoms over the bond, hoping to avoid alerting Rhysand’s territorial fae male instincts, which would inevitably lead to a frantic, and needless, winnow home.  Not that the selfish part of her didn’t want him here with her, but her reasonable High Lady of the Night Court knew how important it was for him to stay.  Plus Cassian had taken it upon himself to nurse her back to health.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the General breezed into her and Rhysand’s room, heavily laden tray in hand, “Welcome to the land of the living High Lady.”

“If I had any strength left in my muscles I’d smack that smirk off your face,” Feyre groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead, in the vain hope of staving off her growing migraine.

Cassian’s laugh rumbled in his chest as he took three long strides toward the empty table carelessly dragged to her bedside after realizing her already book covered nightstand would not suffice for her health care remedies, and slid a steaming cup of what smelled like black tea onto the smooth surface, along with various vials filled with questionable looking potions.

“How’s my patient today?”

Feyre narrowed her eyes, “I told you I can take care of myself.”

Handing her the first of the five vials, Cassian frowned, “Says the female who just told me she was too weak to smack a smirk from my face.”

Grumbling she downed the purplish liquid with a grimace. 

“Although it is a pretty strong smirk,” Cassian mused exchanging the empty one for the shimmering blue rounded bottle.

Tipping her head back and letting the thick sludge slide down her worn throat, already feeling the numbness settle in, Feyre adjusted her pillows, sitting up against the headboard, “My throat feels - felt -  like I swallowed gravel and I can’t breathe through my nose.”

“And you don’t look too smashing either,” Cassian drawled, hazel eyes dancing with mischief.

“I’m not going to be sick forever, and I’m still a Daemati,” Feyre shot back, reaching for the other potions and swallowing them as quickly as possible, pungent flavors mixing unpleasantly on her tongue.

Anticipating the bad taste, Cassian is waiting to hand her the tea he prepared, now cooled to the perfect temperature.  As the warm liquid slips down her swollen throat, Feyre lets out a satisfied moan, “Oh.  That’s good.”