Feyre's POV

The funeral may have been harder than Rhysand's actual death.

Her family had huddled together on a quiet knoll next to the Sidra where they were now saying their goodbyes. Azriel had gone first, saying how lucky he was to have ever known Rhys though he could be a prick at times. Cassian had spoken second, choking on his words as he retold one of their adventures. Then Mor had rose up and spoke with a voice of steel. Now it was her turn.

Feyre cleared her throat and looked at the people in front of her. Her family. Sitting their with love in their eyes. She began to speak, "I loved Rhys. With all my heart. And I always will. The letters he left me have helped me move on somehow, though I may never be whole again. I don't know where I'd be without Rhys. Probably still a bride of Spring. He freed me from that life and brought me here. To all of you. He may be gone, but he will forever remain in my heart and the heart of Velaris. The hearts of his citizens who he sacrificed so much for. He will remain in the hearts of his brothers and cousin. The hearts of his sisters-in-law. And the heart of his mate. Rhys is not gone. Not truly."

Feyre stepped down and took the hand Mor offered to her. They all crowded around the Sidra and Azriel opened the jar that contained the ashes. With a phantom breeze, Feyre carried them out and scattered them into the water. She could have sworn that there was a slight smell of jasmine and citrus as they all sat down.

And there they sat in silence until the sun went down and the stars came out. They could survive this. For Rhys—they would live on.