Whereas Feyre was hyping herself up for the encounter, Andras was caught among a mix of excitement and apprehension. This place was so far outside of his comfort zone and anything he ever knew or understood that he had no idea how to handle this. He had thought he was about to die. His blink before arrival had been before the arrow that would surely take his life.
Yet here he stood, tall and dressed in his sturdy attire. Beautiful, handsome, a slim mask lining his eyes of black and gold, alive.
Her story did not make sense and he had plenty of questions--they could wait. She had told him enough that he could get by. Fire filled his veins knowing Rhysand was here, however. He likely wouldn't believe her story until shown proof; perhaps seeing her own High Fae magic bestowed by the Lords may sway his opinion. For now, he turned at the call of his name and strode quickly toward her.
"Feyre?" Andras asked when they stood at opposing ends of a short hall. The shock on his face at seeing her turned to a gentle, relieved smile. She was stunning and nothing as he had remembered.