“It's been a week,' I said by way of greeting. 'Take me home.'

Rhys took a long sip of whatever was in his cup. It didn't look like tea. 'Good morning, Feyre.'

'Take me home.'

He studied my teal and gold clothes, a variation of my daily attire. If I had to admit, I didn't mind them. 'That colour suits you.'

'Do you want me to say please? Is that it?'

'I want you to talk to me like a person. Start with 'good morning' and let's see where it gets us.'

'Good morning.

A faint smile. Bastard. 'Are you ready to face the consequences of your departure?'

I straightened. I hadn't thought about the wedding. All week, yes, but today... today I'd only thought of Tamlin, of wanting to see him, hold him, ask him about everything Rhys had claimed.
...
'It's none of your business.'

'Right. You'll probably ignore it, anyway. Sweep it under the rug, like everything else.'

'No one asked for your opinion, Rhysand.'

'Rhysand?' He chuckled, low and soft. 'I give you a week of luxury and you call me Rhysand?'

'I didn't ask to be here, or be given that week.'

'And yet look at you. Your face has some colour- and those marks under your eyes are almost gone. Your mental shield is stellar, by the way.'

'Please take me home.”