The house suddenly felt small—terrifyingly small—once they all stepped inside.
As if on cue, thunder cracked across the sky, followed by a sudden downpour that lashed against the windows. The coziness of the home was replaced with an almost claustrophobic awareness of the otherworldly power now seated within it.
Ruhi's eyes flicked toward the door, worry tugging at her. Isaac. He'd promised he'd come for dinner. She hoped he'd had the sense to stay wherever he was and not try to navigate the storm.
Just then, Feyre slipped through the door, shaking water from her cloak.
"Feyre, bring out the stools and chairs," Ruhi instructed gently. "Please, sit."
There was something in her voice—something that didn't go unnoticed.
It was subtle, but clear: Feyre was family. The others were guests.
The Inner Circle noticed it too—the warmth in her tone, the quiet authority, the way Feyre moved instantly to obey without question. They exchanged glances but said nothing.
"I'll bring something for you to drink," Ruhi added, already heading toward the kitchen.
Behind closed cabinets and worn wooden drawers, she let out a long breath. Her fingers lingered briefly on the edge of the countertop before she reached for a bottle tucked away—fae wine. A rare thing, and not easily found even in the fae lands. But Ruhi dealt with all kinds of clients, mortal and immortal alike. She'd learned to keep a few things hidden away for the right occasion.
She pulled out the only matching set of glasses she owned—ones Isaac had insisted she have. "For business," he'd said with a wink.
She poured the deep, shimmering liquid carefully, letting the scent fill the air—sweet, rich, and dangerously intoxicating.
Balancing the tray, she returned to the living room. They were seated now, talking softly amongst themselves, but all conversation halted the moment she entered.
"Here," she said, setting the tray down on the table between them. "Have some wine. Usually, I don't serve my guests wine, but—well—my guests aren't usually fae." She gave a small shrug. "This is the best I can offer you."
The male with the shadows lingering around him—quiet and unreadable—lifted a glass and studied it.
"Fae wine," he said softly. "Difficult to obtain."
Ruhi gave a small smile. "I'm a merchant."
He nodded once. "I see."
A sudden silence fell across the group. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy. Tense.
Ruhi ignored the violet gaze that had been following her every move and pulled a chair out for herself. She didn't look at him, even when she felt his stare burn into her skin.
She turned her attention to Feyre, her voice gentle but firm.
"Well? Tell me what happened."
Here's the revised version of your scene with polished grammar, smoother flow, enhanced descriptions, and emotional continuity. This continues beautifully from your last piece and deepens both the atmosphere and the subtle dynamics between Ruhi and the inner circle:
The house suddenly felt small—terrifyingly small—once they all stepped inside.
As if on cue, thunder cracked across the sky, followed by a sudden downpour that lashed against the windows. The coziness of the home was replaced with an almost claustrophobic awareness of the otherworldly power now seated within it.
Ruhi's eyes flicked toward the door, worry tugging at her. Isaac. He'd promised he'd come for dinner. She hoped he'd had the sense to stay wherever he was and not try to navigate the storm.
Just then, Feyre slipped through the door, shaking water from her cloak.
"Feyre, bring out the stools and chairs," Ruhi instructed gently. "Please, sit."
There was something in her voice—something that didn't go unnoticed.
It was subtle, but clear: Feyre was family. The others were guests.
The Inner Circle noticed it too—the warmth in her tone, the quiet authority, the way Feyre moved instantly to obey without question. They exchanged glances but said nothing.
"I'll bring something for you to drink," Ruhi added, already heading toward the kitchen.
Behind closed cabinets and worn wooden drawers, she let out a long breath. Her fingers lingered briefly on the edge of the countertop before she reached for a bottle tucked away—fae wine. A rare thing, and not easily found even in the fae lands. But Ruhi dealt with all kinds of clients, mortal and immortal alike. She'd learned to keep a few things hidden away for the right occasion.
She pulled out the only matching set of glasses she owned—ones Isaac had insisted she have. "For business," he'd said with a wink.
She poured the deep, shimmering liquid carefully, letting the scent fill the air—sweet, rich, and dangerously intoxicating.
Balancing the tray, she returned to the living room. They were seated now, talking softly amongst themselves, but all conversation halted the moment she entered.
"Here," she said, setting the tray down on the table between them. "Have some wine. Usually, I don't serve my guests wine, but—well—my guests aren't usually fae." She gave a small shrug. "This is the best I can offer you."
The male with the shadows lingering around him—quiet and unreadable—lifted a glass and studied it.
"Fae wine," he said softly. "Difficult to obtain."
Ruhi gave a small smile. "I'm a merchant."
He nodded once. "I see."
A sudden silence fell across the group. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy. Tense.
Ruhi ignored the violet gaze that had been following her every move and pulled a chair out for herself. She didn't look at him, even when she felt his stare burn into her skin. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not yet.
She turned her attention to Feyre, her voice gentle but firm.
"Well? Tell me what happened."
Feyre looked up, eyes shining, as the room braced for the story that would change everything.
Want me to help write out Feyre's explanation next? We can shape it with emotional beats, reactions from the others, and Ruhi's own insights as someone both outside and deeply inside Feyre's heart.
Here's the revised version of your scene with polished grammar, smoother flow, enhanced descriptions, and emotional continuity. This continues beautifully from your last piece and deepens both the atmosphere and the subtle dynamics between Ruhi and the inner circle:
The house suddenly felt small—terrifyingly small—once they all stepped inside.
As if on cue, thunder cracked across the sky, followed by a sudden downpour that lashed against the windows. The coziness of the home was replaced with an almost claustrophobic awareness of the otherworldly power now seated within it.
Ruhi's eyes flicked toward the door, worry tugging at her. Isaac. He'd promised he'd come for dinner. She hoped he'd had the sense to stay wherever he was and not try to navigate the storm.
Just then, Feyre slipped through the door, shaking water from her cloak.
"Feyre, bring out the stools and chairs," Ruhi instructed gently. "Please, sit."
There was something in her voice—something that didn't go unnoticed.
It was subtle, but clear: Feyre was family. The others were guests.
The Inner Circle noticed it too—the warmth in her tone, the quiet authority, the way Feyre moved instantly to obey without question. They exchanged glances but said nothing.
"I'll bring something for you to drink," Ruhi added, already heading toward the kitchen.
Behind closed cabinets and worn wooden drawers, she let out a long breath. Her fingers lingered briefly on the edge of the countertop before she reached for a bottle tucked away—fae wine. A rare thing, and not easily found even in the fae lands. But Ruhi dealt with all kinds of clients, mortal and immortal alike. She'd learned to keep a few things hidden away for the right occasion.
She pulled out the only matching set of glasses she owned—ones Isaac had insisted she have. "For business," he'd said with a wink.
She poured the deep, shimmering liquid carefully, letting the scent fill the air—sweet, rich, and dangerously intoxicating.
Balancing the tray, she returned to the living room. They were seated now, talking softly amongst themselves, but all conversation halted the moment she entered.
"Here," she said, setting the tray down on the table between them. "Have some wine. Usually, I don't serve my guests wine, but—well—my guests aren't usually fae." She gave a small shrug. "This is the best I can offer you."
The male with the shadows lingering around him—quiet and unreadable—lifted a glass and studied it.
"Fae wine," he said softly. "Difficult to obtain."
Ruhi gave a small smile. "I'm a merchant."
He nodded once. "I see."
A sudden silence fell across the group. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy. Tense.
Ruhi ignored the violet gaze that had been following her every move and pulled a chair out for herself. She didn't look at him, even when she felt his stare burn into her skin. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not yet.
She turned her attention to Feyre, her voice gentle but firm.
"Well? Tell me what happened."
Absolutely! Here's the revised continuation with those details added — Rhysand restoring the glass with a touch of flair, and Ruhi's subtle refusal to drink wine. I've integrated it naturally into the scene while preserving tone and pacing:
Feyre looked up, her eyes shimmering under the dim light as the room seemed to still, bracing for the story that would change everything.
"Well then," Morrigan said, breaking the silence with a graceful smile, "let us properly introduce ourselves."
She stood, regal and glowing, and offered a small bow. "I am Morrigan, third in command of the Night Court."
Next came the towering male with that charming smirk. "Cassian," he said with a dramatic hand over his heart. "General of the Night Court armies."
Then came the quietest of them all. "Azriel," he said simply, shadows curling around his fingers. "Spymaster of the Night Court."
Finally, the one with the violet eyes rose to his full, imposing height. His gaze locked with Ruhi's, and when he spoke, it was as if the room itself bent to listen.
"I am Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. It's a pleasure to meet you, love."
Ruhi inclined her head with a calm, businesslike grace, though her cheeks flushed slightly. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet Feyre's friends. I'm Ruhi Rathore. A merchant… on this side of the wall."
Azriel opened his mouth, as if to ask something, but stopped himself and gave a small shake of his head.
"Well—what happened was…" Feyre began, her voice soft but steady.
And then, she told them. Everything. What had happened Under the Mountain. Amarantha. Her death. The deal with Rhysand. Her time with Tamlin. The suffocation. The despair. And finally… how she ended up in the Night Court.
Ruhi leaned back in her chair, arms folded. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice held a sharp edge.
"Well. To put it in simpler terms—your so-called lover locked you up, and now you're friends with his enemy."
Her gaze flicked to Rhysand, whose eyes lit up the moment they met hers.
She quickly looked away, heat crawling up her neck. Rhysand smirked behind the rim of his glass.
Mor, watching her cousin carefully, arched a brow and tilted her head. There was recognition in her eyes—like something just clicked.
Before Feyre could continue, everyone in the room suddenly stilled.
An unfamiliar presence approached. Quiet footsteps over wet ground. Slow. Human.
"Well, this is timely," Cassian muttered, crossing his arms. "Who's stupid enough to come out here during this storm?"
Rhysand leaned back, swirling the remnants of his wine, his expression shifting from amusement to quiet intensity.
"A human male. At this hour?" His eyes slid to Ruhi. "A lover, perhaps?"
There was something more in his voice—tension tightly coiled under polite curiosity. Barely restrained.
Ruhi stood, brushing off the invisible weight of the question. "That must be Isaac." She walked toward the door.
Feyre straightened suddenly, eyes wide. "Isaac? As in Isaac Hale?"
Ruhi didn't look back. "Yes. Isaac Hale. He works for me now. And no, he's not married. That's enough questions for tonight."
Just as Isaac raised his hand to knock, Ruhi pulled the door open.
He grinned, about to say something, but the sight of the room froze him in place.
"Boss," he said slowly, "you didn't mention there'd be guests."
"Don't track water everywhere," she said, ushering him inside. "And these guests were unexpected. Go get freshened up. I made you dinner."
Isaac's face lit up. "You made the curry?"
"Yes. Now go."
At that moment, the wine glass in Rhysand's hand shattered.
A crack. A pause. A swirl of violet power pulsed in the air.
"Apologies," he said smoothly, flicking his fingers. A shimmer of magic danced in the air, and in the next blink, the shattered glass reappeared on the table—restored, whole, filled with fresh wine as though it had never broken.
"See?" Rhysand said, giving Ruhi a wink. "Good as new."
Cassian snorted under his breath, and Azriel actually cracked a small, real smile.
"Well this is interesting," Cassian whispered to Azriel.
Azriel smirked but said nothing, watching Rhysand carefully.
"Thank you. These are my favorite," Isaac said as he stepped toward the back room of the cottage. He glanced at Feyre on his way and added with a soft chuckle,
"It's nice seeing you again, Feyre. You've become even more beautiful, kitten."
Feyre's face flushed a deep red. She opened her mouth to respond—
"Isaac," Ruhi warned, not even turning around.
"Y-yes, boss. Going."
"That's my room!" Feyre whined as he disappeared down the hall.
Mor leaned in toward Feyre, whispering behind her hand, "So… that's the Isaac. I get it now. Too handsome for a human."
"You know him?" Rhysand asked, his voice suddenly sharper than before.
Mor nodded. "I do."
"Well?" he asked, trying and failing to sound casual.
She smiled mischievously. "Isaac Hale. Feyre's… darling little lover. Back in the day."
Feyre groaned and pulled her knees to her chest under the chair, face burning under the weight of every gaze.
"Ma?!" she hissed at Ruhi.
Ruhi just sipped her water calmly. "Of course I know. He started working for me long before you two began your little… whatever that was."
Feyre buried her face in her hands.
The rain battered the roof as the strange new tension—sweet, awkward, and quietly electric—settled into the room like a fog.