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bat-boys · 2 months

Text

domestic bliss

pairing: Azriel x fem reader

word count: 4.5k words

warning: suggestive language but no actual smut. just lots and lots of fluff!

summary: a series of scenes that give an insight into the domestic bliss you had built with your mate

a/n: oh my goshhh thank you so much for all the love and so sorry I've been a bit MIA. I'm in the middle of a couple of wips that I'm struggling to piece together so wanted to give you something quick whilst I get my act together. I hope you enjoy it loves 🫶🏻

Part 2

A soft breeze and warm sunlight trickled into the room through the open floor-to-ceiling doors leading out to your room's balcony. The sounds of the birds chirping outside and the busy city below created a peaceful atmosphere that soothed your soul as you lay stretched out on your bed, book in hand.

A noise akin to a purr escaped the lips of the fae male sprawled across your body, head resting gently on your stomach, as you combed your fingers through his luxurious midnight black curls. Your lips tilted up in an affectionate smile as you continued to soak up the words on your page. As you gently scraped your fingernails along his scalp, another deep groan elicited, leaving you giggling and your toes curling.

Sundays like this were your favourite. Slow, lazy and steady. Filled with quiet moments of simplicity. When Azriel wasn't busy off doing god knows what, god knows where, and you didn't have to attend any stuffy meetings or pour over lengthy negotiations and treaties as the emissary of the Night Court. When your mate could spend the day with you lounging in bed, just enjoying each other's presence.

"Why did you stop?" Az grumbled as you lifted your hand away from his head.

"I was turning the page, dummy." You chuckled at him.

"Well, hurry up."

"Big Illyrian baby," you cooed, a soft yelp leaving your lips when you felt Azriel gently bite down on the stretch of bare skin he was resting on. A satisfied sound left his lips—and caused your eyes to roll—when he felt your fingers back in his hair.

You, however, couldn't help the pulse of love and affection you sent down the bond when the next time you had to turn the page, one of his shadows appeared to do it for you.

Another chapter of your book was read before he spoke again, dispersing the soft, comfortable silence that had fallen between you. You had been convinced he had fallen asleep as you played with his hair.

"When do you go to the Court of Nightmares?" He mumbled against your skin, his lips pursing to kiss your hip quickly.

"Tomorrow." You sighed. It was your least favourite job as the official emissary, the one you dreaded doing every couple of weeks. Like Mor, you had been born under that particular mountain, crafted in its dark shadows, a dreamer bred to be a nightmare. It had taken years of wit and cunning to get to a position to meet the High Lord, years of barely surviving until you could petition him for a job—anything to get out of there.

"Do you want me to come with you?" He lifted his head slightly, his hazel eyes meeting yours. Silver nearly lined your eyes as you took in his soft, gentle expression. Azriel understood just how much going there took out of you. He knew that you would return home hollow and would require the rest of the night to be cooped up in bed with his arms around you.

He also recognised that you could absolutely do it alone. That you didn't need him beside you. You were strong enough to face your past head-on and would leave whatever meeting you were attending with Rhys and Feyre with the winning cards in your hand. But that didn't stop him from offering a comforting hand to hold throughout your time there.

"Please." You whispered. His lips stretched into a gentle smile as he lifted his body off you to scoot up the bed and press his lips to yours in a loving kiss.

"Of course, my love." And you knew that was that. No explanations, no words needed to be exchanged with Rhys. When it was time to travel to the Court of Nightmares, you would find your mate beside you, a reassuring hand in your own as he stood quietly beside you.

Azriel could see the tumultuous thoughts flitting across your brain, so he did the only thing he could. He bent down once again to press his lips to yours, pouring as much love and affection as he could down that beautiful, gleaming bond you shared.

Kissing Az never got boring, even after all these years together. He captured your bottom lip in his plush, slightly chapped lips, tugging slightly to elicit a soft groan from you, which he swallowed with his mouth. You lifted your arms to circle his neck, gently playing with the soft hairs there - your book long discarded and falling to the floor. He sighed against you as he wrapped his arms around your bare torso, pulling your chest flush against his as he deepened the kiss into something fiery that had a slow, dull ache beginning between your legs.

You could feel him against your inner thigh and smirked against his lips as you reached a finger towards his impressive wings and carefully dragged a fingernail along the underside of his right wing where they met his back, a spot you had discovered many years ago. A primal part of you stretched out in satisfaction as you felt Azriel shudder against you at the touch.

"So eager to go again, my love?" He teased, alluding to the several times he had already taken you that day as he gently nipped your skin before torturously slowly pressing open-mouthed, hot kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck.

"Distract me, Az." You breathed, tipping your head back to expose even more of your delicate neck to him, groaning when you felt his canines skimming along your skin.

"With pleasure, sweetheart."

…

The noise was almost deafening, the room packed to the brim with politicians, courtiers, nobility and High Lords and their entourages. It was enough to overwhelm anyone, but Azriel watched from the edge of the room as you dazzled person after person, drifting from one group of fae to the next, completely and totally in your element.

You enjoyed nights like these when you got to flex the skills you had built up as an emissary to the Night Court, speaking to old friends, charming acquittances, and building friendships with those you had yet to meet. The beautiful deep black gown you wore also helped.

Azriel watched as you stood amongst courtiers from the Winter Court, catching up with some of the gossip from one of your allies. A flute of champagne dangled from your fingers; half drank as you tipped your head back to laugh at something one of your friends had said. The dress you wore tonight was some torture explicitly designed for him. It was sleeveless, showing off the delicate curves of your shoulders and décolletage, the high swell of your breasts threatening to spill over the top of your dress every time you drew breath. The slit that every now and then gave Azriel the view of the smooth curve of your leg was maddening. But what was true torture was the choker around your neck, encrusted with gems the same colour as his siphons—a reminder of where his hands had been last night.

He had almost sent a mental note to Rhys that the pair of you wouldn't be attending the party tonight when you had emerged from your bathroom and asked him to zip you up—favouring the idea of ravishing you right there and then. It was only the thought of watching you so expertly work the room, charming everyone so thoroughly, but knowing that only he had the privilege to take you home, that had him attending tonight.

As if you could hear his thoughts, your eyes drifted from the fae before you to lock eyes with your mate across the room. Matching smirks danced on your lips as he nodded at you, and you nodded back - an inside joke between the two of you started on that first official party you had been forced to attend when the mating bond was still so new.

A fire built in your body, beginning in your stomach and dipped lower and lower as you watched him push off the wall he had been leaning on and stalk towards you. He never once dropped eye contact, his shadows twirling before him and telling him where to step, creating a direct path to you.

You tracked him across the room, your skin burning from his gaze. When he stopped just in front of you, his shadows dispersed to dance among your skirts and play with the hair that cascaded down your back.

"Emissary." He greeted, bending his body into a tight bow whilst that playful smirk danced on his lips.

"Shadowsinger." You purred.

"Rhys has asked to see you urgently." The desire swirling in his hazel eyes made the grin on your lips widen as your stomach dipped in anticipation.

"Excuse me." You politely bowed your head to the people you previously held court with, dropping your now empty glass on a nearby table as you followed Azriel out of the room.

Your heels clacked on the beautifully tiled floor as you closed the distance between you and Azriel. You were still walking behind him but close enough to brush your hand against his. He turned his head slightly to smirk at you, and you felt his hand beside you curl and unfurl as he resisted the urge to touch you in front of everyone.

After moments of strutting through the House of Wind, you reached a part of the house away from the centre of the party, with fewer and fewer people milling around. It was only then that, with lightning-fast speed, Azriel's hand whipped out to grab yours and pull you into a shadowy alcove.

With firm hands, he pushed you against the wall, his shadows swirling to hide you from prying eyes, as one of Azriel's hands dropped to your hips and the other reached up to grip your neck. You groaned in delight at the feeling of his hands on you, the messy, feverish kisses he was now peppering along the bare skin of your neck, shoulder and collarbones.

"Az." You moaned as you felt his canines drag along that sensitive junction where your neck met your shoulder, his tongue following to soothe the slight sting.

"Fuck Y/N." He groaned into your skin, relishing in the way you tasted - so sweet. Even after years of being together, he would never get tired of tasting you, of his lips and tongue on your flesh, on your lips and in between your thighs.

"What if we get caught?" You managed to say, your chest heaving as you breathed heavily, hands gripping Azriel's broad shoulders tightly.

"That's never stopped you before, love." He teased as he ran his lips across the swell of your breasts, his touch feather-light, causing a shiver to run down your body and your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

The hand that was holding your hips in his grasp moved to slip under the slit of your dress, skimming down the curve of your leg, tracing over your knee and down your calf before wrapping around your thigh to lift it and hook it over his hips.

"You were torturing me out there, Princess." His voice had become deep and husky, and he elicited a groan from your lips as he was able to press his hips into yours with the new angle. Your body was set alight as you felt his straining erection through the material of his pants as he pushed into you.

"Looking delicious in that dress for everyone to see." His words caused molten lava to pool in your stomach, the throbbing at the apex of your thighs to become incessant, and the wetness gathering there began to drip down your thigh.

Anticipation curled in your stomach as you felt Azriel's hand travel from your thigh to your hip, skimming so lightly it was pure torture down your bikini line before reaching your swollen and slick sex - freezing when he realised he had unrestricted access.

"You've got to be kidding me, no underwear? Fuck you're killing me love." He groaned against your neck, roughly nipping at your jaw and causing a moan of your own to slip past your lips.

"All for you, Az." You whispered, throwing your head back against the solid wall behind you as he traced your slit, gathering the wetness pooling there.

"There they are." Rhys's unbothered drawl broke through the hazy atmosphere you were creating in your shadowy alcove, shattering the moment and causing you both to freeze.

"I knew those lovebirds hadn't gone far." Cassain chuckled from beside Rhys. You knew Azriel's shadows were keeping you covered, that they couldn't see anything and could only recognise you both because they knew how his shadows felt and what they looked like to the untrained eye.

"Piss off, Cass." Azriel snarled as he slowly extracted himself from you, carefully dropping your leg and trying to straighten your dress.

"Someone's cranky," Cassain teased, and you rolled your eyes as you watched Azriel's face turn into a murderous expression. Azriel was usually so calm and collected, not easy to rattle at all, except when it came to you.

"You know not to interrupt a male and his mate." You sighed as you gripped the front of the dress and tried to rearrange it over your chest. You noted the still-hungry look in Azriel's eyes as he watched your every move. A promise in his gaze that told you this wasn't over.

"If you wanted to enjoy each other's company in the hallway, that's totally up to you; we get it - looking beautiful as ever Y/N -," Rhys added as Azriel dropped his shadows once you looked presentable, "but we're doing a debrief in my office, and then you're all done for the night so you can move this to your bedroom if you wish…"

"We'll be there in 5 minutes," Azriel managed to grind out, his eyes still on yours, desperately trying to calm down.

"Is that all he lasts?" Azriel's eyes flared, and you knew Cassain had overstepped. You gave them both an eye roll, territorial fae bullshit.

"Cass," you warned as you heard your best friend chuckle at the snarl that ripped out of Azriel's mouth as he sauntered back down the hallway.

…

Azriel padded through the quiet hallway of the home he shared with you. His feet were cool as they touched the dark wood floor, a nice contrast to the heat pushing up against the windows from the summer sun outside. His shadows flitted and danced around him as they coaxed him to follow them, to follow them to her. His lips curled up in amusement at their behaviour as he neared the kitchen, where he could hear you humming and the soft sounds of you bustling around the kitchen.

He rounded the corner to lean on the doorframe; strong arms crossed over his bare chest as he took in the scene before him. His heart almost stopped dead at the sight of you standing at the large island in the middle of the room, mixing bowl in front of you and wooden spoon in hand, your glorious hair pulled half up into a messy bun tied at the back of your head - tendrils falling around your face and gleaming in the sun -, wearing nothing but one of his shirts.

A deep and primal part of him purred at the sight of you in his clothes, knowing that it was unlikely you had anything under that soft cotton. The fit was incredibly baggy on you, the hemline falling to your mid-thigh, the collar threatening to slip down your shoulder, and the sleeves so long you had had to roll them up. He delighted in being taller than you, bigger than you. A small part of him always soared when he bundled you up in his arms, being able to protect you with just his body. He knew, more than anyone, that you could handle yourself. In a tight situation, you could take down as many enemies as he could. But there was something so delightful about your body being so much smaller than his.

A soft melody slipped past your lips, and Azriel joined in as he pushed off the doorframe. Unable to contain the need to touch you any longer, he approached you. You jolted slightly at the feeling of his large, warm hands on your hips, and a soft yelp left your lips when you felt Azriel bury his head in your hair and press a chaste kiss to the skin of your neck.

"Morning, love," Azriel mumbled into your hair, breathing in your intoxicating scent.

"More like afternoon, babe; we spent all morning in bed!" you joked as you turned back to the task at hand.

"And whose fault is that." Azriel teased as he pulled away from your neck to reach around and gently nip at your earlobe, which sent a lick of fire straight to the apex of your thighs.

"Yours." You shot back, angling your head slightly to look at your mate.

"Hmm, I'm not so sure about that," he smirked, his beautiful hazel eyes dancing with mischief and desire as he dipped his head to press your lips in a searing kiss. Kissing Azriel was like this: all or nothing. Either his kisses were chaste, quick things meant to convey a simple hi or, more often than not, a quick acknowledgement of you during conversations or as you passed each other in corridors or hallways. His other types of kisses were slow, leisurely and utterly torturous, and he poured every ounce of love he had for you into them. His lips moved lazily with yours, licking across the seam of your lips and begging for entrance before licking into your mouth - your knees almost buckling at the intoxicating sensation and the fire burning in your body. He knew what he was doing, as was evident when he pulled away with a smirk on his lips, "what are you making?"

He grinned when he watched your eyes drift back into focus, your body slamming down to reality after a kiss that was so heady but given so casually.

"A lemon drizzle cake." You replied somewhat breathlessly, which made him chuckle, and you felt his chest rumble on your back.

"My favourite." He said as he returned to his spot behind you and wrapped his arms around your torso, bringing your back flush to his chest as you continued baking.

"I know, love." You softly spoke as you began to stir the mixture before you. Judging by the smile in your voice, he knew you were thinking of that moment a handful of years ago when you had both accepted the mating bond with a lemon drizzle cake.

It had been your first time to the Court of Nightmares since you had escaped and been made part of the Night Court. You had been secretly dreading it, knowing that your usual skill set as emissary would all fall apart in that place when your eyes would land on your family and those familiar snarling faces. And it had. Everything had gone to shit the moment your family had spotted you beside Rhys' throne and had smelt that mating bond on you. It had started with shouting and had escalated to your family barging their way up to the throne and threatening to gut you for turning into a whore.

Rhys had pulled rank and ordered everyone to leave, and you had been quickly winnowed to the safety of the townhouse, where everyone had rallied around you and tried to distract you. Rhys and Azriel had gone back to calm the situation and assess the aftermath. You had been cooped up in the arms of Cassain for the evening, a loving and supportive brother figure you had never had before. But deep down, you had wanted only one pair of arms around you to soothe you and remind you that your family do not dictate who you are.

Everyone had eventually retreated to bed, but you had stayed, needing to see him, knowing he would return at some god-forsaken hour. He had found you then when he winnowed to appear in the living room of the townhouse, curled up on a sofa in front of the fire with a book in your hand. At his appearance, you slowly put the book down to look at him.

The bond was newly snapped in place, but he could feel your emotions faintly and was so overwhelmed by the fact that you had stayed up for him that all he could think to say was, "Good book?"

He had watched fascinated as your lips curled into a soft smile, the first since the incident so many hours ago. "Couldn't put it down."

He chuckled lowly but didn't move from his spot as you slipped a bookmark into the page and popped it beside you, swinging your legs off the sofa to sit facing him.

"Az, I think we need to talk." He watched as you outstretched your hand, gesturing for him to come and sit with him.

His heart had sunk as he had walked over to you, joining you on the sofa. He knew you needed to talk about the mating bond and how you moved forward—you had been friends for so long, and he had been yearning for you since the first day he met you. And now he was terrified that you were about to reject the bond, reject him, and he was going to lose the woman he loved and the friendship he cherished with you all in one go.

"Y/N, you need to do the right thing for you - please don't accept something because you feel bad for me. We can work it out. I can perhaps get Rhys to station me in the Illyrian mountains so you can stay here, and I-"

"Respectfully, what the hell are you talking about, Az?" You stared, baffled, at the male before you as he rambled on. He couldn't look at you, and his expression conveyed such sadness.

"The logistics of you rejecting the bond—that's what you want to talk about, isn't it?" A bark of laughter left your lips, shocking him and causing him to snap his head up to look at you in confusion.

"Oh Az, no honey, that's not what I wanted to talk about," you softly said as you held one of his beautiful, scarred hands in one of yours and brought the other to cup his cheek. You watched, fascinated, as he internally debated whether to lean into your touch, "Stay here a second; I'll be back."

He watched, confused, as you flashed him a warm, comforting smile before dashing off the sofa and disappearing into the hallway outside the living room. The wait may have been seconds, minutes at most, but it felt like hours to Azriel. His heart had stopped dead when you returned, a dish in your hand in which a delicately decorated cake sat atop it. He watched keenly as you walked back to him, smiling sheepishly and nervously, and sat back beside him on the sofa.

"This is for you. I want to accept the mating bond." Those words, spoken so softly in the dead of night, in a house that had seen so much joy and heartache before, were enough to set Azriel alight. He had no words to describe the feeling that was coursing through him as he looked between you and the cake you held out towards him.

His hands moved on their own accord as he took the dish from you, noticing the sugar icing that had been meticulously drizzled onto the soft sponge and the sweet little decorative flower you had piped into the centre. Just from looking at it, he could tell you had baked this cake and poured every ounce of feeling into it, and he felt himself getting choked up at the thought.

"Are you sure?" He whispered, and the vulnerable look on that face was enough to break your heart.

"Yes. I have loved you for years, Az and the snapping of the bond in place made it seem as if the Mother and the Cauldron had finally listened to all those prayers I sent them. I baked this earlier to give it to you after we had returned from a successful meeting at the Court of Nightmares," his lips quirked ever so slightly at the sarcasm that dripped from your voice, "it may not be the moment I intended; but it's still perfect anyway. It's a larger version of those lemon sponges you love from that bakery we found last year. The owner gave me the recipe. I want you, Azriel."

Azriel had given up on finding his mate, resigned to always wondering. When you had crash-landed into his life a handful of years ago, he had silently hoped it would be you, and when he had tripped and fallen head-first in love with you, he had begun to beg that the mating bond would snap one day. So many years of yearning for you, unaware that you felt the same, that you were begging for it to be him as well. So many wasted years. And when the mating bond had finally snapped, when you had returned from a month-long summit at the Day Court and taken one look at him, he had almost fallen to his knees then and there.

He had finally found you, and you wanted him back. Words would come to him later, spoken against the soft sheets of your bed, in between feverish kisses and in the afterglow of what was to come, so for now, he held your gaze as he lifted the small slice you had cut for him and took a bite.

"Az, baby. I need to put the cake in the oven." Your words brought him out of the daydream he had been enjoying and back to the present moment. He chuckled and kissed your temple before unwinding from your body and taking a step back so you could move to put the cake tin in your hands and into the oven.

He leaned back against the counter as he watched you carefully manoeuvre it inside before triumphantly shutting the oven door and turning back to him with a satisfied smile.

"Come here." He held out his hand, a gesture so similar to the one you had given him all those years ago that a smile danced on both of your faces. You let him pull you against his chest, one of his hands falling to your hips and the other coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing some flour that had somehow made its way to your face.

"Happy 10-year anniversary, love." You whispered into the gentle silence, and the shadowsinger gave you a beautiful smile.

"Happy 10 year anniversary, sweetheart." He whispered back as he closed the distance and gently pressed his lips to yours in a loving kiss that held 10 years of the most beautiful memories.

Read Part 2 here!

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fanttasttica · 8 months

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Your love healed me

Rhysand x reader

You were friends with Rhysand and his Inner circle for nearly a hundred years. He trusted you with paperwork, he discussed ideas with you that he wasn't sure if they were good or bad.. You took your work very seriously and put it before everything else, even before your own safety. When Amartantha invites Rhysand and other High lords to her court, you manage to convince Rhysand to take you with him. That night, you end up being imprisoned for nearly fifty years and after you were freed.. The consequences of all this fell on you.

warnings: mentions of sexual abuse, depression

words: 2599

“We don't know what exactly, but Amarantha is planning something big. She invited all the High lords to her court for some celebration and Rhys is going in hope that he will find out something..” You still shook your head, this wasn't surprising at all. “This is ridiculous. It's very dangerous. What if something happened and he would end up all alone? What is he thinking?” You couldn't believe what you were hearing. She sighed and nodded, also not believing what her cousin was thinking.. “Yeah.. he will leave tomorrow morning and return later at night. Hopefully he will find something then..” She came closer and hugged you. “I will go now, had to speak with one of the Priestess about something. Take care..” You tried giving her a small smile, your thoughts already elsewhere, before she disappeared. If only you knew that this was the last time you would see her for almost fifty years.. You would probably never stop hugging her.

You didn't know how, but you were free. Free.. It was a strange word for you. You have been under the mountain for almost fifty years. After your last conversation with Morrigan, you went straight to Rhysands office and demanded that he take you with him. And after some persuading, he did. That celebration.. didn't go the way you and everyone else thought it would. Amarantha somehow took powers of all High lords and imprisoned them Under the mountain, together with their courts. And that's how your life in hell began. You and Rhys tried to come up with a plan on how to get out of this mess, but you came up with nothing. You learned that he locked your friends in Velaris, so at least they were safe. And because of that he let Amarantha use him as she pleased. She was sick and you couldn't be happier that she was dead now. These years were hard for Rhys, they were hard for you, for everyone. Many lost their loved ones, their friends.. And some lost themselves, that was also your case. You were broken. After a year or so, Amarantha found a job for you. You were forced to be entertainment for her most faithful guards. This was the reason why you began to close yourself before others, you tried to get away from all of it and pretending that this isn't your body and it's not happening to you, was the easiest way. Of course, there was Rhys, who was trying to help you as much as he could, but he was also scared that if someone noticed he was paying you this much attention, your situation would only get worse. He was blaming himself for bringing you with him, although you said to him many times, it wasn't his fault. In the end, you persuaded him. You felt terrible, when you knew he saw you like this.. broken. Most of the time, you were trying to avoid him as everyone else. You started talking less and less, not trying to communicate with anyone. You become allergic to the touches, which was understandable considering what you had to do. The day when you were freed by this human girl - Feyre, you were looking like a ghost and feeling empty. After Feyre woke up, after she survived her death, chaos broke out in the hall. Some fairies were cheering happily, some broke down crying in relief and you.. You were standing here, not moving the muscle until Rhysand found you. “Thanks to the Cauldron.. there you are, darling.” He seemed relieved that he was seeing you, his eyes were watching you with care and happiness. “We should come home. I will winnow us, okay?” He took your silence as yes, grabbed your hand gently and before you could protest, you were standing in the familiar room with four figures looking at you and Rhys in surprise.

The house hadn't changed, not a little bit. Your friends looked exactly like fifty years ago. It looked like you and Rhys were gone for maybe a few days, not half a century. The first person who came to senses was Morrigan, who ran to Rhys and hugged him tightly, as they both broke into tears. You used this as an opportunity to shake off Rhysand's hand which was still holding yours. But you didn't have much time to celebrate, because there was already another person touching and hugging, Cassian. You didn't return the hug, instead you tried to get out of the hug as fast as possible. He of course let you go, looking at you with worry and shock at the same time. Your heart was beating rapidly. “I.. I can't..” Saying the first words in this week, you shook your head. This was too much for you. This attention and touches were making you more uncomfortable than you already were. “Y/N?” Morrigan reached out to you and you stepped back. She gave Rhysand a look, asking for an explanation. Instead of answering her, he started walking towards you. “You don't have to worry anymore, Y/N. You are safe here.. Trust me again, please.” He was pleading with you. Pleading you to let him help you, but how could you let it happen? He had his own trauma he had to deal with, he shouldn't be concentrating on you. “I am okay.. I just have to.. get used to everything again.” And with that, you left the room in a hurry, going directly to your room.

The first day after you returned, you were crying your eyes out. The second day, you were sleeping almost all day and the next few days? You spent staring right in front of you, not having the power to cry, eat or talk. Your friends tried to visit you, they tried to talk with you and get you to eat, but you needed time to heal. Well, you were hoping time will heal you, maybe thanks to some miracle? The truth is, this wasn't helping you at all. You were behaving like you would still be Under the mountain and not in Velaris, with your family, who were very worried about you. This wasn't like every other before. You were dressed in black leggings and white sweater, your unwashed hair was in a messy bun and you were laying in your bed, looking like a zombie, when you heard a knock on your door. “Y/N? It's me..” Rhysand's voice was quiet and filled with sadness. “I am going inside.” He wasn't asking you, he simply told you and maybe it was better, because you would probably send him away. He opened the door and closed them behind him. He was looking better than before. His eyes were still tired, he was also not fully healed, but unlike you, he was stronger. Strong enough to talk about his trauma and to face it. He pulled the chair from your table to your bed and sat on it. “We need to talk.. This.. can't continue. I do not expect you to be happy and to act like nothing happened, but at least need to get me and others in. Slowly and one after the other.” You sighed softly and turned your head at him. How come you are so brave? So strong?” You shook your head. “I really admire you. For what you have done and for how you manage to.. continue after all this.” His expression was soft and he averted his eyes. “I would say we both went through the same thing.. So I know how hard it is. To believe it is really over. To wake up during the night sweaty and scared because you had a nightmare. To.. let each other touch you and start talking, trusting someone else again. But you have to push yourself. You can really try slowly, with me at first and then with Mor for example. She wants to help you, we all want to help you.” You felt the tears building in your eyes, trying to blink them away, but didn't succeed. You sat up with tears now rolling on your face. “I.. I.. am just scared. I am coward.” You whispered and he nodded in understatement. “You are not a coward. What happened to you was awful and many people would be in the same state as you. Just.. Let me help you and try not to push me away.” You looked him in the eye, thinking about it for a second, before nodding in agreement.

After you decided to give it a try, Rhysand came to your room everyday. Sometimes he brought himself work and some books he thought you would like for you and you would spend time in comfortable silence. When you were in a better mood you two were talking about ordinary things and after some time, when you were more comfortable around him, you started to talk about your trauma. Well, he started first, he wanted to show you that you shouldn't be scared or ashamed to talk about it. Sometimes you cried together and hugged each other. He was the first person you allowed to touch you since your returning home and he was well aware of that, so he always hugged you softly and gave you a chance to pull away anytime you would want. Sometimes, you wouldn't let him go for a few minutes and he was patient with you, gently stroking your back, like now “You really don't mind?” This was a question he heard for a third time today, so he laughed a little. “No, I really don't mind. You are very.. comforting for me too, you know.” You smiled a little and buried your face into his chest. He was so warm, he smelled good and you were welcoming that and also a feeling of safety he was bringing to you. You pulled away after a while and sat on your bed, next to him. “I think.. I think I will ask Mor to visit me tomorrow.” His expression changed, he was pleasantly surprised. “Are you sure? I don't want you to get overwhelmed.” You smile slightly at him. “I am sure. Morrigan can be very chatty, but I really miss her and I am feeling better, so I think I will manage.” Rhysand was scanning your face for any doubts, but could not find any. He took your hand in his. “I will be honest. I am really glad you are feeling better, but I will miss having you only for myself.” You chuckled at this. “And I thought you'd had enough of me at this point.” You pretended to disbelieve and put his hand on his chest, right where he has a heart. “Enough of you? I don't believe it's actually possible.” You raised your eyebrow and grinned at him. “I am going to take it as a challenge.”

“I am so glad you are feeling better! Maybe it's weird, but I was missing you maybe even more since you came home.” You two were sitting in your room, on your bed and drinking wine together after a dinner she brought you. “Yeah.. I think I understand you. And I am sorry I didn't let you in sooner.” She shook her head. “Don't you dare apologize for it. Never, you got it? What happened wasn't your fault and you managed to recover from it soon.” At this moment, you were happier than you were in the past fifty years. “It's thanks to Rhys.. He helped me a lot. I think more than he knows and when at the same time he has to get used to everything himself.. I don't know how I will ever repay him.” In the end, it wasn't a time that healed you. “You are repaying me just by smiling again.” Of course you knew whose voice it was and it unknowingly made you smile even brighter. Morrigan saw this and stood up. “I will leave you two be alone now. Y/N if you don't mind, I will come tomorrow to visit you again.” You nodded at her “And bring Cassian and Azriel too. I will never admit it in front of them, because Cassian would never stop teasing me, but I miss them both dearly.” Mor grinned at you as she walked past Rhysand and closed the door behind her. You patted on the bed, on the place, which was occupied by your blonde friend only a few seconds ago. Rhys understood what you were telling him and sat next to you. “I mean it, Y/N. I don't want anything from you as some sort of repayment. Actually.. You also helped me very much.” You narrowed your eyes in confusion. “Really? How so?” You weren't aware about anything special you did for him.”Since the day we started spending more time with each other again, I have been feeling better. It was nice, like in old times. I was also trying to get used to some touches and well with you.. It was more natural than with anyone else. It always felt so good to hold your hand, hug you..” He exhaled and looked you in the eyes. “Although I have to admit to you that I was feeling this way.. for a longer time. Actually I think there wasn't a time I wasn't feeling like this with you. At first I blamed it for a simple crush. And when I finally admitted to myself how I feel, the whole thing with Amarantha had happened. I didn't want to rush you and I am sorry for telling you this right now, because we are both still healing, but I love you. That's why I was so.. distant under the mountain. maybe more than it was necessary. But I couldn't risk Amarantha finding out about it.” Telling you were surprised wouldn't be enough. You were absolutely stunned, watching him with wide eyes and mouth open a little. “Rhys.. I don't know what to say.” You offered you a little smile “You don't have to say anything. I just.. couldn't hold it in me anymore.” You shook your head and took his hand into your. “No. I want to. It just surprised me a lot.” You always liked him, but under the Mountain you realized you love him too. Perhaps that's why you also started to avoid him, not wanting him to find out somehow, because it would only complicate some things and possibly destroy your friendship. Or you thought.. “I love you Rhys. And I am not saying this out of some obligation. I love you for your kindness, patience, for your sense of humor.. For everything.” A big grin appeared on his face and you laughed a little. He took your face into his hand, looking at your lips and then to your eyes, asking for permission you gladly gave him. His kiss was very soft, he was clearly scared a little, not wanting to hurt you in any way. After you pulled away from each other, you both were smiling like fools. “Thank you.” You whispered to him, while he was caressing your cheek. “What for, my darling?” You put your hand on his and kissed his palm. “For your love. Because.. Your love healed me.”

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #rhysand #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfic #cassian #azriel #morrigan #amarantha

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shadowqueenjude · 2 months

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SJM's zionism as seen in ACOTAR: Fae males were territorial, dominant, arrogant—but the ones in the Spring Court … something had festered in their training.

Haha, what? You were just fine with them before, they revered you and respected you, and now they're suddenly suspicious because they live under Tamlin? It's giving "Ohhhh look at Hamas see see see? All Muslims are terrorists!" And I'm almost certain this is the justification SJM uses for Feyre to genocide the shit out of them in ACOWAR. HyBeRn'S aCtIoNs ArE tHeIr OwN sounds remarkably like Israel using October 7th to justify killing babies, maiming children, and abusing the elderly. They use this same mentality towards CoN citizens too despite Mor coming from there. But notice how Mor is somehow white. “Most of your soldiers are dead.” Eris only blinked. “And the good news?” “Two of them survived.” Nesta studied every minute shift on Eris’s face: rage glimmering in his eyes, displeasure in his pursed lips, annoyance in the fluttering of a muscle in his jaw. As if countless questions were racing through his mind. Eris’s voice remained flat, though. “And who did this?” Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.” “And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain. “We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.” “Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.” Nesta saw red at the words, and Cassian sucked in a breath. “We did what we could. There were two dozen of them.” Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.” “Do you want me to apologize?” Cassian snarled. Nesta’s heart began to pound wildly at the anger darkening his voice, the pain brightening his eyes. He regretted it—he hadn’t liked killing those soldiers. “Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed. Cassian hesitated. Nesta could have sworn she saw the words land their blow. No, Cassian had not hesitated.

Cassian and Azriel are super duper mega warriors and they didn't even bother to try and save Eris's soldiers despite knowing they're innocent, yet we're expected to take Cassian's side over Eris's. It's giving "Israeli soldiers are traumatized over all the civilians they were 'forced' to kill" DAMN RIGHT YOU SHOULD BE TRAUMATIZED!!!

But Keir must have known, too. And said simply to Rhysand, “I want out. I want space. I want my people to be free of this mountain.” “You have every comfort,” I finally said. “And yet it is not enough?” Keir ignored me as well. As I’m sure he ignored most women in his life. It's giving, "I will colonize your land, I will trap your people in Gaza strip and systematically oppress you, but hey we didn't kill you! Why are you mad??" Also the white feminism in that last line I can't. THERE ARE WOMEN TRAPPED UNDERNEATH THAT MOUNTAIN GETTING ABUSED EVERY DAY!!!! It's the same reason no one cares that Palestinian women don't have clean menstrual supplies and no anesthesia for clean births. Because Palestinians are brown.

So Keir knew about Velaris. The Hewn City knew about Velaris. Before Rhys wiped their memory. This is a lot like Israel occupying Palestine and rewriting history to make it seem like they're the country and Palestine are the occupiers. But they can't delete all the evidence, and now the truth has come out.

#anti sjm #anti zionism #palestine #anti genocide #white feminism #anti acotar #anti sarah j maas

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writingsbychlo · 10 months

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immediately re-read how we survive when i saw u reblogged it. it's just as good as the first time i read it. i love love love it you are just such a talented writer 🩵

i have some questions for my own side fanfic of a fanfic that lives in my head

did reader x rhys ever kiss or do anything under the mountain? cause reader says she gave everything to him and vice versa,,, or did reader just mean that in an emotional way?

if they did ever kiss or do anything,,, could we see it 👀 or how az reacts to finding out more details of everything that went on utm?? 😵‍💫

again i just love all ur writing and every fic u put out lives rent free in my head xxxz

personally I always just planned it as friends! so, what I'm about to type below is not canon for that fic, just a little bit of fun! there will be no more to this, no continuations or full fics! just a little out of place drabble 🤍

"You have been freaked out all day, what's wrong?" Azriel asked, lowering his book where he sat on the couch, and placing a hand on your shaking knee. "I know you slept well, I was holding you, and you didn't stir all night, so what's up?"

"I have to tell you something." You finally whispered, hands shaking as you settled one over the top of Azriel's. His smile melted away, concern taking over his features. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Only one thing can hurt me, my love, and the strength of this bond between us is rather strong, so I don't think you're breaking up with me." As if to emphasise his point, he tugged that golden thread connecting you both, tears welling in your eyes to accompany a wet laugh as you rubbed your chest. It was still a marvel to you to have it back, all these years later. "Tell me, and it'll be okay."

"It's about me and Rhys." Across from you both, Feyre lowered her paintbrush, brows raising with worry for you, and Rhysand looked up from his documents. A talon scratched at your mental shields, and when you let him in, he stiffened, pen dropping from his hands. "I was at therapy this morning, and I remembered something, and I have to tell you."

Rhysand groaned, his head falling into his hands as his elbows braced on the table. "I forgot about that too."

Feyre turned on her stool, glancing between the two of you, and Azriel did the same. Taking your hand back, you rubbed sweaty palms down your jeans, shuffling on the couch.

"There was a night, Under The Mountain." Rhysand began, taking the pressure off of you and giving you a slight smile at the grateful look on your face. "A night when I was particularly low. It had been hard for a while, I felt so dirty and worthless, because of her. What she did to me, what she made me do. I didn't think I could ever be loved again, I didn't think I was worth being loved. By anyone, by any of you, and especially not by... you."

His eyes met yours, haunted, but only a fraction of the pain in them that you'd seen that night. "We hadn't been sharing a room, a bed, for long up to that point. It was still fairly new. Rhysand was somewhat drunk—"

"I was plastered, you can say it."

"Alright," You smiled a little, fiddling with your fingers as you stared at the carpet. "Rhysand was very drunk. And very upset. He was babbling about everything, and he came to bed. He didn't feel worthy of love, he wasn't sure he'd ever feel a loving touch again, just hers. It broke my heart, and I just wanted him to feel a loving touch again. He needed it."

Azriel's throat bobbed a little, Feyre's eyes were wide, and you forced yourself to look at both of them, before looking to Rhys. Tears were threatening to spill, from both of you, and Azriel set a steady hand on your knee once again. "I kissed her."

"I kissed him back. We... We got about as far as getting his shirt and mine off before neither of us could take it anymore." One of Rhys' tears finally fell, trickling down his cheek, and your throat stung. "It was love, but it wasn't the love we wanted. It wasn't right. it was forced, and we hated it, so instead, we cried together for hours, and never spoke of it again. That night disappeared into just another of the days we cried away down there."

Moving now, you knelt on the ground before Azriel, his face blank, taking his hands in your own and clutching them to your chest as those first tears finally came free.

"It was the one and only time I have been unfaithful to you, Az, and I am so, so sorry."

"Oh, my love, is that why you've been upset all day?" He finally murmured, hands coming out to cup your cheeks, smoothing along and wiping away all the tears that fell. "It's okay. I know your heart belongs to me, I know you don't want to hurt me, I know you love me as much as I love you."

"But I kissed him!" More tears spilled over, a broken sob escaped, and Azriel gave a soft chuckle.

"S'okay. I've kissed him before too. Actually, Rhysand was my first kiss, back when I was a rowdy youth in those camps."

"That was before we were together, it wasn't the same!" Your blubbering hardly made sense to you, but he still seemed to understand it, stroking his thumbs over your cheeks lightly.

"Would it make you feel better if I got even?" You paused, trying to process his words, and he stood before you. He paced across the room, Rhysand's eyes widening as Azriel stalked towards the desk, and you shot to your feet at the same time Rhysand all but fell from his chair.

"Az, woah, hold on—" Rhys held up his hands, and Azriel lifted a hand. Grabbing him by the neck, Azriel hauled him in, barely giving Rhysand a chance to move before— before his lips were slamming down onto his friends.

Azriel kissed him fiercely, lips moving against Rhys' who squeaked, before slowly lowering hands raised in defence to sit on Azriel's shoulders. Your mate slipped his hand into Rhys' hair, scratching lightly at the back of his scalp, and when he pulled back, Rhysand let out a breathy sound.

Licking over slick lips, Azriel wiped his thumb over Rhys', smirking as he pulled away, patting the High Lord's cheek.

"There, does everyone feel a little better now?" He waved a finger between himself and Rhys. "You kissed Rhys, so did I. Now we're even, and you don't have to worry at all, my love."

"Fucking hell, Az. I thought you were gonna' hit me." Rhys mumbled, slumping back down into his seat, and Az grinned, ruffling his hair.

Before you could speak again, Feyre was bouncing across the room, gripping your damp cheeks and planting a smacking peck on your lips, beaming as she pulled back. "There, now everyone's even!"

"Fey—" Az started, and Rhysand waved a hand.

"Shhh, Az, let the magic happen."

"Oh Gods, Rhys, shut up!"

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starsreminisce · 5 months

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ACOMAF reread thoughts

Quite a few things changed with this experience. Obviously, I’m reading with the awareness that it’s the mating bond. Even when Feyre didn’t have the awareness that it’s the mating bond, she was still aware that something connected them. Notably, Feyre didn’t have access to Rhys until after the snap. When she asked about it, Rhys explained the mating bond to her, taking advantage of her lack of knowledge, though it's understandable given his upbringing with ill-matched mated parents. I still think he should have told her sooner, especially when she started to feel guilt. However, SJM had established how mating bonds work in their world, and it seemed like a significant thing to fight against.

Miryam and Drakon still found their way back together after three years, and there will always be this understanding that one mate has for the other half, bringing up Lucien. I maintain that Lucien was forced between two loyalties - Feyre and Tamlin. In almost every scene with Lucien, his facial expressions showed disagreement with Tamlin, but Tamlin was a High Lord back to full power. This wasn’t the book 1 Tamlin with limited power that Lucien could easily defy. Even in book 2, Lucien had promised and delivered to see what he could do for Feyre. He brought her to the village, witnessed her powers, fought to get her to learn her powers, and even left her alone when he saw she was unwilling to go back.

There are many antis who say that Lucien should have done more, but what else could he have done? I doubt he was aware of the art room explosion because he was shocked when Tamlin did it again in ACOWAR. Lucien knows how important a High Lord's protection is, having suffered from the lack of one. The High Lord of summer told Feyre that he was required to tell Tamlin she was there. Rhys had a moment where he knew Tamlin was more loved by the courts than he was. So where could they go? How could Lucien sneak her to help when Tamlin was monitoring her every movement and dismissing Lucien’s counsel? Feyre felt the High Lord command when Rhys told her to put the shield up, not realizing that Lucien was on the receiving end of Tamlin’s. The High Lords are power. The only time Lucien fought against that was for his mate.

It still makes me mad that Feyre went full Batman on him rather than talk to him, but Feyre was angry, and I don’t blame her for that. Even if Lucien were to find a court that could harbor them, he wouldn’t know how to bring Feyre back to the despair she felt. Feyre recognized that Lucien had come to patch her up Under the Mountain, but it was only Rhys who knew how to keep her mind intact, which is the whole point of the book. Only Rhys could have helped her in the way she needed to be helped - not Lucien.

As for Feyre’s comment about Elain and Azriel, sorry, but Feyre sees how Cassian, Mor, and Amren all interact with each other. She assumed Elain wouldn’t be able to keep up with them. The contrast between Elain and Azriel and Elain and Lucien was so obvious to me. Elain saw Az for the first time and stiffened at the sight, and Feyre expected her to faint, trembling when she sat down. Elain stared at Lucien, ignoring Nesta. Just like how Feyre did when she first met Rhys and how Nesta did when she met Cassian.

Az and Mor's dynamics were subtler than I remembered. It's intriguing that the passages highlighted Mor's desire to act, countered by Az's protective refusal. This parallels Tamlin's protective approach to Feyre versus Rhys's trust in her abilities. This dynamic lends itself to a Gwynriel endgame, as Az trusts Gwyn's survival based on his training.

In essence, there's protection through distance and protection through empowerment.

A mate empowers.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #gwynriel #pro gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel #acomaf reread #pro lucien #lucien vanserra

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starlightbooklove · 6 months

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Ok, today I was watching a video of a guy reviewing acotar (yes, I know I was impressed too) Something to note is that the videos are good, and without misogyny btw lol. Right now he is going for Acowar and a point that many made in the comments caught my attention was the 'death' of Rhys where they said how bad it seemed to them that SJM gave us collective heart attack with that part and then relived it in the next chapter Don't get me wrong, it's not keeping Rhys dead, but killing him in the first place that was causing the conversation and then I started thinking about it.

Something completely obvious is that people die in wars in books, often being main characters, because that's how it is in reality, close people die, so Having a main character die is something realistic, especially if he is going to be in charge or putting his life in danger, that's why I didn't see it as bad or strange when I read it - apart from having a breakdown crying - , (i did saw Amren's one very forced, It kind of took away a little bit of the greatness of her sacrifice yk) the first time, until I saw that, and then I thought about ACOSF and that something that makes the fandom a little agree is putting the main characters of the saga at risk was direct abuse to our hearts to make a convenient excuse for Nesta's arc, for nothing more.

You'll see, in cinema and literature, the use of death or torture to the characters that are loved by the audience is something Quite used, and i think that they're two ways You can use this: The practical And consistent and the stupid and desperate one.

In the first we can use Feyre's death in Acotar, it made sense, she was a human in a fae world, it went with the story, it advanced the plot, since she answered the riddle right before Amarantha killed her, What triggers Prythiam's release.

It is practical, it is something that in the context, with those characters, would happen, it is consistent because it fits into the environment, into the world that was built and it doesn't come from nowhere, since Feyre decides to go under the mountain, we know that she is in danger, so IT MAKES SENSE.

In the second one i'll use something different, there's a movie that didn't get much success in My country, and that is Enchanted 2, (i don't remember the name xd) where they take the protagonist, Giselle someone we sympathize with, and pretty much kill Her for a few seconds before Magic yk save her, all of this with the intention That the rebel daughter realized that her mother loved her, the movie was not really good really, it was very Made on the fly, it didn't have a specific direction, so this twist came out of nowhere, and not in the way that one manages to sympathize well, it shows that they used it to get a reaction from the audience so we can pay attentionv And to advance the plot, IT MADE NO SENSE, they used a death to grab attention because the movie wasn't surviving very well. So they turned to the fans' emotions In the same way that the nun resorts to jumpscares to have some terror, because it causes a completely instinctive empathetic reaction, not something genuinely felt.

Feyre's risky pregnancy made sense in the book, since from the beginning they specified that it had complications, the problem comes with the ending, where (which I see is not mentioned much) Not only Feyre died for a few seconds, but also Nyx, it is not the fact itself that is wrong but why it is clearly included in the story And it is clear that she is only there to be able to give a complete arc in the middle of this terribly done redemption arc, to Nesta.

It was not necessary, outside the redemptive context.

I think it was there for tel reasons (And one was completely lost in the other), to give some realism to all that about the Illyrian birth, and Nesta, and both could have been done in a very different way. They could have written Nesta more growth, And at childbirth it could have been a long labor or a cesarean section where it would take a long time if what they wanted was to make the the clear point, not directly 💀

It did not have a reason, and hey, yes, death is like that, confusing many times, but when you have a story, where you have absolute control of what happens (who lives, who dies) you must understand and be responsible for what the death of one character will do to the others And the story, it must have an impact that you are going to use in some way beyond just having an emotional reaction to readers to like Nesta.

Because number 1, this achieves the opposite effect because it greatly limits the growth that the character is supposed to have and makes Nesta less likeable.

And number 2 plays with the audience as if they were children, and the author is an adult who has her favorite toy next to fire, underestimating The mental process and maturity as if we could not see the senselessness of their death

If you don't believe it, think about it this way: aside from what Nesta did at the end, what other redeeming acts did she get? That she had anything to do with Feyre...None And who is the character with whom Nesta was the most bitchy in the entire book? Feyre What is the most necessary arc?The one about the sisters, the one with which we have nothing in almost the entire book, Nesta needed something that could cover almost a thousand pages of zero growth, a definitive act instead of writing a complete arc, and this is confirmed In the same book , because they were revived (Nyx and Feyre), And who was the only one with the power to do something? Well, our protagonist.

In essence, sjm killed the characters (characters that feel real to a certain degree for us fans and readers) so that Nesta could revive them, the only reason

What convenience does

If your character can only have one arc in your opinion, saving the people who saved her in the first place, then something is a little off in the story.

And if you can't keep a character dead, because you know what it does to your fans, then don't kill him in the first place. Once is coincidence, twice is causality, three is already a pattern and is crossing the line.

Abusing the integrity of a character in the story just because, without reason, without development, without background, is playing in the worst way with the emotions and affection towards the work of fans.

This is why this part is SO Bad Not only because oh, they die, but because of the reason behind it, when many talk about this, they don't do it from a place of a sad fan, but from a fan who is upset because they use our favorite characters as puppets.

#acosf #nyx archeron #feyre acheron #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar #sjmaas #sjm critical #nesta archeron

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shallyne · 1 year

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For the rant ask:

What the hell was Tamlin up to UTM? Like what was this man doing while Feyre was basically just dying? Hello??

Hello Hello

The following sentence night sound like I'm defending Tamlin but I am not, please be aware of that.

Okay, so, I get why Tamlin couldn't do much while UTM because he was literally shackled to Amaranthas side most of the time. He sat on a throne, or a chair, beside hers.

BUT Tamlin could have used his silence to his advantage. He could have started to be aware of his surroundings, making up patterns of the parties and the guards and whatever is going on under the mountain. He could have used his silence to observe and make it his advantage for that point when he gets Feyre alone.

What is that stupid piece of shit doing? HE'S TRYING TO FUCK HER WHEN AMARANTHA KEEPS AN EYE IN THEM BOTH. WHEN RHYSAND HAS PAINT ON HER THAT HE'S GONNA SMEAR. HE'S SO FUCKING STUPID FOR A 500 YEAR OLD MALE ITS RIDICULOUS

It's not like it was Feyres first night dancing for Rhys, Tamlin SAW how the paint smeared during other nights and he still tries to fuck her. He didn't help her, HE GOT HER INTO MORE DANGER THAN SHE WAS ALREADY IN

Even if he saw Feyre just as a key to get his freedom he should have been smart enough to leave her be. He should have known. Every death that Feyre would have experienced during her trials would have been a blessing in comparison to what Amarantha would have done to her of she would have caught them

Nothing, NOTHING, justifies what he did in that moment, the danger he put her in.

Feyre was the key for everyone's survival under the mountain and he almost got her killed for a goddamn quickie

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feyre archeron #feyre #feyre cursebreaker #high lady of the night court #high lady feyre #shallyne asks #shallyne ask #feyre darling #asks #anti tamlin #under the mountain

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julemmaes · 2 years

Text

Real Life

Nessian week 2022, day one: after acosf

A/N: have no idea how many prompts I'll manage to write cause uni started today and I'm surprised I even managed to finish this, but yep. Huge thanks to @starksravings for beta reading this for me, I love you, and also to @thewayshedreamed for giving half the dialogue ideas for this baby.

This could have been WAAAAAY more angstier than what it is so don't even complain.

@nessianweek

Word count: 5,043 of angst

The food appeared before them with the mere snap of Rhysand's fingers, but something was different that night. Not in the buffet of dishes overflowing with delicacies from all over the country. Not in the rough touch of her mate's hand, stroking her thigh under the table, hidden from the gazes of their family. Not even in the way they had taken their seats.

Rhys at the head of the table, Feyre on his right side with Nyx sitting on a highchair in between them. Nesta was in her usual spot to Rhys’ left side and then Cassian, Azriel, and Amren. On the other side, Elain and Mor were discussing a book the House had given them, and she would have joined in if it had been any other night.

Everything was identical to the dozens of dinners they had had together since she and Cassian finally had their mating ceremony. Still Nesta simply couldn't keep the images of what they had seen over the past few days from her mind.

She did not notice the food Azriel and his sister were serving, too lost in thought to realise what was going on around her, and made no move to start eating.

She remembered the ice cold biting at her skin while they flew over the mountains. And the way the snowflakes pierced her cheeks for those few seconds before Cassian shielded them with his power. It had been so sudden that she had gotten whiplash.

But that was not what was making her mind run wild with concern.

The loud bark of Cassian’s laugh made her flinch imperceptibly, and when Rhys glanced her way she breathed in so deeply her collar bones sprouted out. Nesta looked at her plate and her body started moving with mere muscle memory, really not wanting the males surrounding her to feel something was wrong with her.

The noisy room went quiet in her head as she brought food to her mouth, tasted no flavour, felt no texture, heard no swallow.

The things they had seen just a few hours before… she tilted her head in Azriel’s direction, wondering if he was as deeply troubled by the things they witnessed, but her friend was speaking softly to their Second, completely unbothered by the reality of their world.

It hadn’t been the males luring behind the trees, ogling her as if she were a simple piece of meat, that had put her in such discomfort. Instead, it had been the younglings.

So many of them, scattered like leaves on the frozen ground, covered in blood and mud and their own feces.

Nesta remembered life in the human land during the endless winters when their father had not moved a single finger to have them survive. She remembered the cold biting her skin, Elain’s delicate cheeks bleeding when the fire had gone out and she’d scratched them to warm herself up, and they had had to wait hours for Feyre to come back from hunting before lighting it up again. She remembered what it felt like even standing at sea level, sheltered by those thin walls, and still feeling like they were walking through a glacier.

Her childhood poverty could never compare to this. Nesta hadn't known true misfortune, not like these younglings currently faced, but she understood now. And she knew everyone sitting around the table knew as well.

When Cassian had harshly landed in a muddy puddle of what Nesta feared was blood, she hadn’t immediately recognized the bundle of clothes laid on a rock. She’d blinked a few times at the moving thing before it dawned on her she had been starring as a living, breathing Illyrian.

She had rushed to the child, asking him what he was doing on his own, and he had had just enough strength to look up and show fear in his features before passing out from sheer exhaustion.

Cassian had said nothing while he kneeled next to her and took the young Illyrian in his arms. He’d walked to a tent, told her to wait outside, then left her in shock in the snowstorm as he brought the kid inside.

He hadn’t commented on it afterwards; not a single word on that upsetting event.

She had kept silent for the whole stay there, only curtly nodding when necessary and glancing around outside of the Commanders’ residency’s windows, looking for other children that might need saving. And there had been so many—too many.

Nesta was so deeply into her head that she hadn’t noticed her hands gripping the table. Nor Feyre getting up and taking Nyx out of the living room.

She only came to her senses when she felt long, sharp claws gently brushing against the shields of her mind. Air rushed into her lungs and her eyes snapped to Rhysand, her voice utter icy fire as she tried to conceal the anger in her veins.

“Get the fuck out of my head.” She seethed.

Rhys laid back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers as he wore that annoying smirk he put up when facing enemies. He nodded with his chin, pointing to her hands, “You stop burning my tablecloth and I’ll let you go.”

Nesta’s grip loosened on the fuming fabric, and a calloused hand closed around her fingers. Her mate’s concerned look captured her attention. Cassian’s shoulders were tight, tensed like they always were right before battle, and there was a moment—a tiny, short second—in which Nesta felt remorse so intense she almost apologised. She glanced outside the big floor-to-ceiling window and avoided everyone’s stares.

She reluctantly took her hand out of Cassian’s and placed her palms on the table, pushing her chair back and standing up.

“Nesta.”

She promptly ignored him, even if it hurt her. Even if something in her chest painfully fractured at the way his voice sounded so unsure, worried. But she was feeling too much, too fast, to speak without potentially wounding them all.

“You’ll have to excuse me.”

Nesta didn’t spare them a single glance, as she left the room with the grace of a ghost, almost floating, as if pushed by some magic. The lights turned on just for her, flickering off as soon as she’d passed them.

She heard the others ask Cassian what had happened, his negative response, then heavy, familiar steps following behind.

“Cass, maybe you should-” Rhys began.

A deep growl reverberated through the House. “You should sit the fuck down and let me handle my personal shit. Do not come near us until I find out what happened.”

Nesta subtly shook her head to the darkness in front of her, and the only lit candle above her head blew out. She went up the stairs faster, her breath shortening by the second, and all she wanted was to find a place where everything would just quiet down for a moment.

She managed to reach their room and went to close the door behind her, but Cassian was already there, towering over her and entering the bedroom with Nesta.

They looked each other over briefly, looking for signs of distress in the other’s posture.

Nesta wasn’t sure she had enough fingers to count how many she could find in her mate, but right now Nesta could hardly stand glancing his way.

Cassian stepped forward and—to her shook—her body reacted by going backwards. That made him stop in his tracks.

He breathed in, his nostrils flaring and the skin around his eyes tightening. “What’s going on?”

Nesta’s throat clogged. She closed her eyes and shook her head as if that could make the mess in her head somewhat better.

His voice went impossibly soft at her pained expression, “Sweetheart, you’ve been acting weird and skittish since yesterday and I…” He trailed back, insecurity lacing his words, and she opened her eyes, forcing herself to look his way. His eyes were already getting red, and Nesta knew that whatever he was about to ask her, he was hoping he was wrong.

He slowly inhaled, as he did before shooting an arrow, “I left you alone for an hour, and when I came back to you, something was different.” Cassian raised a hand in her direction and then fisted the air as if remembering she had just moved away from him. “I need to know if someone did something to you.”

Nesta didn’t really react to that, because how could she tell him nothing had gone down when everything in her life was finally coming together? The truth of what the Night Court was doing on its territory such a hard reality to swallow that it’d moved Nesta’s life’s very assis.

She had no idea where to start, so she did the only thing she knew.

“You’re the General and Commander of the Night Court’s armies.”

Nesta could see the anger and fear running wild in Cassian’s head, but he also knew how she handled things. He knew she needed to gather her thoughts in a very meticulous way. She had to state facts before expressing her doubts, filling the sentences with logic and sentiment.

Cassian had often said that peculiar characteristic was one of his favorites of hers.

He didn’t seem to remember that as he looked at her as if he wanted the short, simple answer to his direct question.

Still, he just gave her a curt nod and crossed his arms over his chest. Waiting.

“We are, as a whole, as a family, filthy rich.” She kept on going.

His brow furrowed, confused, but he nodded again.

“We have enough houses to host an entire country and enough land to build new ones when those are full.”

Her hands had started shaking at some point and Cassian’s gaze fell to the slight tremor, wanting to do something about it. Nesta could feel his anguish through the bond, and it was driving her insane.

“Rhysand makes food appear out of fucking nowhere every day. We have all that food, Cassian. We eat so much, and they,” she swallowed the emotion rising in her throat, her eyes stinging with tears of frustration. “They have nothing.”

She kept on going, her body quivering with pent up grievance.

“I just have to think about what I want right now, and this House will make it appear for me. It's as easy as that.” Nesta pointed a finger at the bedside table, and a bowl overflowing with fruits of every kind popped into existence. A cherry fell to the floor and rolled to the window, and Nesta almost laughed at the irony. So much food not even the plates can contain it.

Cassian brought a hand to his face, rubbing his upper lip. “I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

A humorless laugh rushed out of her, “I know you don’t. That’s the problem.”

“Help me understand, then.”

Nesta felt drained already, “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Do you wanna take a seat?”

“I don’t need to take a fucking seat,” she snapped.

Cassian straightened his back, biting the inside of his cheek, “Alright.”

Nesta shook her head in disbelief and she finally gave voice to that horrible, relentless thought.

“How can you be so indifferent to what we saw?”

Recognition shone in his eyes and he leaned back against the wall as if needing physical support to go through this conversation with her. “You mean the camps.”

“I mean the fae we both saw freezing in the woods. The younglings left to their own devices, beaten to a pulp in the snow. The females having to walk in groups in order to feel safe.”

She’d heard the stories from Emerie, what she and her friends in the camp had to do in order to reach their houses—when they had one—unharmed. Nesta had talked to a few of the healers there during their short stay in Windhaven. She had cried herself to sleep the first night, not even waiting for Cassian to be home.

Now, in the safety and warmth of their room, Nesta felt like doing it all over again. But she couldn’t. Those fae needed someone’s help, and she’d be damned if she left this Court to wait half a century more before things changed.

She could see Cassian was struggling with words, could feel his nerves in having to explain whatever he knew and she didn’t. But Nesta couldn’t believe that that disgusting reality had any reason for existing. Whatever he’d end telling her, it wouldn’t matter.

“Nes, I understand that it’s hard for you to see why we treat our soldiers like we do, but it’s important to toughen them up. We can’t coddle them or treat them as if they’re breakable. We have to show them what they have to expect from war.” He shook his head, looking down at the floor, his forehead crinkling. “We treat them like kids and they’ll feel like we’re betraying them once we send them to die in battle. If we get them to see that nothing can break them, they’ll believe they’re invincible. That’s what I need from my soldiers.”

It scared her, the way he seemed to believe those words. It was a terrifying realization that downed her, that Cassian truly believed what he was saying made any fucking sense.

“You became General.” She repeated, as if that would make him understand.

His jaw clenched, “Yeah, you already said that. I can’t really do anything about the camps right now. We’re trying to change things, but it’s a slow process. We can’t-”

“You were one of those dying kids, Cassian.” Nesta stepped towards him, slowly, looking him straight in the eye. She didn’t need to hear a single word from him anymore. He was so blinded by his own indoctrination, and she needed to pull him out of it. “They would have let you die in the snow, freeze to death, let you starve, because all you needed to do when you were not even ten years old, was to make tough skin.”

Cassian detached from the wall, towering over her. Nesta knew it wasn’t to make her feel smaller, knew he’d only been pulled to her by the fact she was finally nearing him, letting him within touching distance.

He sounded so sure when he said, “And that’s what it did to me. It toughened me up and made me what I am today.” He opened his mouth again to keep going, but Nesta beat him to it.

“You know what made you climb ranks to where you’re now?” She asked, stepping so close that his chest brushed against her as he breathed in her scent. “It wasn’t them not giving you food. It wasn’t the cold weather, it wasn’t the other young soldiers fighting you for clothes. It wasn’t your fucking Lords and Generals and whatnot.” Nesta put a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Rhysand’s mother took you in. You were cared for and loved and you had someone waiting for you at home that kept you safe and gave you exactly what you needed during a moment where you didn’t even know what the word love meant.

“That’s what made you different from the others. It’s not only in the power you have, whether it’s stronger than anyone else’s in the camp, in the whole Court. It’s in the fact that you have something to fight for. You have a house to come back to once the battle is over. Even now, you have someone waiting for you when everything is too much, and you need a moment of peace.

“Those kids, they don’t have anything. And once they grow up, they’ll know nothing but hatred and evil. And there will be no turning back for them.”

Nesta’s eyes welled up, and she refused to hold the tears back, the younglings deserved them all. So she let them fall. Cassian’s gaze followed their path down her cheeks. He stood still, his heart beating like crazy under her palm, listening carefully to everything she said.

“It’s not just about the young ones; the entire system needs to change. The females, the weak ones. You and your friends can pretend that you have it under control, that there are rules being respected there, but it’s anarchy. And you have no power whatsoever over what happens there.

“And you know why?” her voice broke and Cassian was staring at her with such wide, watery eyes, that she thought of stopping, consoling him for the wrongs he’d done so far, letting him know they had time to fix things. But she thought he needed to hear this more than anything else. “Because you stay here, up in the clouds, pampered and cared for. Snapping fingers when we need food. Going to bed when we’re tired. Not being scared of dying if we sleep. Being able to light a fire if we’re cold. And you refuse to acknowledge that things are bad. Things are insanely messed up.”

They kept silent for a moment, the only sound being their labored breaths as they tried to catch up with their own thoughts.

Hers were running wild with excitement now that she’d started, and Nesta couldn’t stop the words when she said, “I’m gonna ask you one question now, and I need you to answer truthfully Cassian. I need to know why you stand watching, not doing anything about it when you do have the power to change things for the better. Why does Rhysand not do something about the camps?”

She hadn’t even finished pronouncing the sentence that Cassian started shaking his head, stepping to the side, sliding away from her and her touch. As if her proximity was fucking with his head.

“I can’t ask him that.” He was uncharacteristically pale and he was pulling at his tunic, almost like it was getting hard to breathe for him. Nesta understood that feeling too well, but she needed to make him see.

“You need to confront him.” She pushed, anger seeping into her words the longer they talked. “People are dying, being abused and exploited, and you can’t even ask your own fucking brother a single question?”

Cassian’s head snapped her way and his eyes lit with fury, “It’s not that simple.”

“Of all people, you know what it’s like to be hungry, just like my sisters and me. How are you not angrier about this?” Nesta almost shouted.

“I can’t talk about this with him, I cannot confront him.”

It was so clear he was fighting with himself. Nesta knew he was about to reach the breaking point, so she went for the jugular, hoping, praying, that this one thing might pull him out from under the water.

She didn’t even hear herself when she whispered, “I thought you were different. I thought I’d married someone else. Someone who cared more.” She could feel her heart beating in her throat. “You could actually be the change these people need right now. You could do something meaningful.”

Cassian passed his hands through his hair, shaking his head as if that would make the mess in his mind disappear. She’d done the same just mere minutes before.

“I can’t ask Rhysand that. I owe him my life. I owe him everything. I can’t put this on him. He already has enough shit on his own. He doesn’t need this too.”

Nesta couldn’t believe her ears. In the deadliest voice she could muster, without emotion taking her breath away, she said, “This isn’t how it should be. This isn’t how families work. You shouldn’t owe him anything.

“It’s not about a debt. You should be able to check him when his focus is out of place, what in god’s name makes you think that you haven’t paid his debt ten fold in the years that you’ve served under him? You’re more than even at this fucking point.”

The room went cold and it was a moment, the beat of silence before the thunder.

When Cassian spoke, Nesta struggled to reconcile the memory of her mate, her husband, with the male standing in front of her.

His face contorted with rage, “And what would you know about how family works? Cause you’re so good with your sisters, right?” She could see the regret shaping his features the second he said it, and she balked when he tried to take her hand, “Nes-”

She stepped back, letting him see the deep disappointment she was feeling at that moment, “Fuck you.”

He swallowed, turning his head to the side as if she’d physically slapped him. He deserved it.

Nesta’s head was pounding with the weight of the things she still needed to discuss, but she wouldn’t let this go.

She lightly snorted, cracking the fingers in her left hand, “ I suppose now you’ll give me one of Rhysand’s lectures about how I failed them.”

Cassian sighed and covered his face with both hands. “This isn’t fair.”

“Oh sure, because you telling me off because of how I treated my sisters the first time we met was so fair, wasn’t it.”

They stared at each other, feeling the treads of their bonds tight as they’d never been. Feeling like they’re trying to pull them together, push them to sort this out. The pain was almost physical.

“How is any of this fair, Cassian?”

She couldn’t understand what he was referring to when he finally murmured, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just-”

“But you did.”

The groan he made echoed through the room, “Why do we always do this?”

“We?”

“You know what I meant.”

“What I got from this conversation is that you're blaming me for you acting like a dickhead and then having to face the consequences.”

Cassian took a deep breath at that, clenching and unclenching his fists. He walked to the bed, sitting at the bottom, bending forward and putting his elbows on his knees. He rested his head in his hands, and his voice came out muffled when he spoke. “What’s going on, Nesta? It can’t only be the Illyrians.”

She couldn’t believe this male… “But it is! How can you be so indifferent?!”

“I’m not!” He shouted, “I’m trying to understand why you’re taking it out on me like this. Why couldn’t we just stay in the happy place? Why do… we have to ruin everything like this?”

There had been a moment in Windhaven where Nesta had felt like she’d been dreaming all this time. And then reality had hit so hard that she just couldn’t go back to where they were before. She had to fix things for those fae. And if Cassian wasn’t willing to help, she’d go to Rhysand directly.

Nesta closed the distance between them and raised her hands to his face, halting just a few inches from his skin, feeling his heat beneath her palms. Her throat felt raw again, and her eyes pinched like someone had poured salt into them. It was a moment and then everything blurred and Cassian gently took her hands in his and led them to cradle his face.

She bent down just enough to be eye level with him and as she silently cried, Cassian swept his thumb over her knuckles, whispering soothing words until she found the strength to keep talking.

“This isn’t real life.” She breathed out.

She felt Cassian shudder under her touch and his arms went around her waist, pulling her to him.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

“We’ve had only… monumental days in the last year. And they mean something to us. They were heavy with emotion and we had to walk through mud to get out of them. But for most of the world it was just another day.

“We’ve been in this surreal state with everything happening from the Blood Rite, then the Crown and,” she swallowed a lump that formed in her chest and closed her eyes. “I had to lose you. I thought you were dead. But even if it wasn’t real, even if you didn’t sacrifice yourself for me, I lived through those things. They were real at that moment.

“It’s fucked up that we have to do this, my love, but you told me that life goes on. You taught me that there’s always a way out. And I know you feel like we’re in a happy place right now, but we’re just lying to ourselves.

“We can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when clearly it’s not. Even with- even with us.”

Nesta felt Cassian tense around her, and he moved his head a bit to look her in the eye, “We’re not okay?” His voice was so soft, tender. And yet full of fear. Nesta’s heart clenched in her chest. “We just had our mating ceremony, I thought…”

She didn’t even let him finish before she bent down some more, pushing her lips softly against his, breathing in his scent, sending everything she was feeling down the bond. Her hands slid from his cheeks, one behind his head, in his hair, the other down to his neck, his shoulder. She pulled him impossibly closer and then rested her forehead against his.

“You and I are fine, it’s not us,” she whispered. Still feeling like he didn’t believe her, Nesta softened her features, “I promise, you’re the only certainty I have right now. It’s not us.”

The way he was looking at her, she’d never had someone caring that deeply for her.

Cassian sighed, exhausted. He leaned his head against her breasts and left a kiss there, just right above the bodice. When he looked up again, he was on the verge of tears. “Are you okay?”

Nesta smiled sadly, caressing right under his ear with her thumb. She shook her head slightly. “You know I’m not. But people out there are doing way worse than me.”

She must have said something wrong because his face scrunched up, but he made no move to let go of her. “So what? We just take care of everyone else and we let your shit pass? You gonna neglect yourself cause you don’t think you deserve the same attention and care you’re giving them?”

Nesta felt like laughing at that, a very weak, so little felt laugh, but still a laugh. She just smiled again, more truthfully this time. “That’s not what I’m saying. Don’t twist my words.”

Cassian huffed as if he was putting the world’s weight on his shoulders.

He was staring at her with such intensity.

Nesta was about to tell him she loved him, but he interrupted her.

“I’m going to talk to Azriel about it.” He whispered. “I might need some kind of backup for what I have to do.”

What he had to do.

She started nodding slowly, her hands roaming his body of their own accord.

“You’re not alone. You don’t have to do this on your own.” She reminded him. “I’m here. I have a voice, too. Rhys will listen to me.”

Cassian nodded, staring into the void right next to her head, knowing how true that was since Nesta had saved the three of them. Rhys, Feyre and Nyx.

Then he grimaced in that special way of his, which was kind of comical. Nesta smirked, waiting for what was about to come, giving him time to find the right words.

He lifted a hand from her hip and scooted back on the mattress, making her sign to straddle him. She didn’t wait a second before gently and calmly kneeling on the bed, hovering over his legs, just over his thighs.

Cassian frowned and pushed her down on him, smiling lightly when she melted. His hands were resting just above the curve of her ass now, and even though it’d been a few months since their mating ceremony, the frenzy felt ever present.

He breathed in from his nose and then bit his lips, focusing extremely hard on her eyes.

“I’m sorry about what I said. About your family.” He whispered.

They always did this thing, almost never talking loudly around each other. Nesta wondered if they did it because they didn’t care about anyone else but the other to hear what they had to say.

She moved her hand, letting him know she needed more than that before she could forgive him.

He chuckled, smirking. “My family is pretty fucked up, too.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, “That, you guys are.”

Cassian laughed lightly, shaking his head. He turned serious all of a sudden, and he closed his eyes, “I’m really sorry. I know we’re working on the impulsivity thing and to refrain from speaking whatever passes on our mind right away, I was just… you just caught me off guard with this entire Illyrian thing.”

There was admiration on his face.

Nesta caressed his brow, circling his scars, making her way down to his lips. Her eyes followed her every movement as he stared at her lips.

“I know I’ve had a rocky path with my sisters,” she didn’t need to mention her mother or father. “I just really don’t like you throwing it in my face like that when it’s clearly done with the intention of hurting me.”

He flinched, “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you somehow. I’ll make sure to keep my tongue at bay.”

Nesta nodded, pressing her mouth to his for a very short kiss, “I’ll try to do the same.”

Cassian smiled, his eyes twinkling.

She sighed, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he said back, kissing her again.

“You’ll talk to him tomorrow.” She said as soon as they parted, still close to his face.

“Mother tits, Nesta. Give me at least a week.”

“Five days.”

“Six.”

“Four.”

Cassian grinned, “That’s not how it works.”

Nesta shrugged, letting a finger glide over his covered chest, to the top of his pants. She glanced at him, “I make my own rules.”

He laughed at that and took her hand that had wandered to dangerous places in his, bringing it back to his mouth and kissing her palm, “You’ll be the death of me.”

Nesta smiled fondly at him, “I really hope not.”

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

All He Thinks About Is Me

I don't regret it one bit

Summary: Feyre has been sent to clean the lentils from a High Fae's fireplace. She's been warned she'll be skinned alive should she fail.

Rhysand has a different sort of punishment in mind

Note: A gift, as always, for @the-lonelybarricade

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Don’t let her see you cry.

Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Don’t look at Tamlin.

Keep your chin high.

Feyre pressed her temple against the cool stone of her cell. Knees drawn to her chest, she replayed Rhysand’s words in her head over and over. She’d done everything he said, had survived only because he willed it. Sobbing with hatred—for herself, for the mountain she was trapped in, and for Tamlin, who just…watched without a word as both she and Lucien nearly died.

For Tamlin, who had brought her to Prythian, who had made her love this place, these people—him. And Tamlin, who sat silently while the rest of them suffered. All for him. Everything she did, that Lucien and his court and his people did, was for him. Everything had been for him.

She’d thought he’d claim her, too. No matter what Lucien said—that this was all a game and he was trying to keep her safe—Feyre felt abandoned. She thought of his face after that night with Rhysand, how his eyes had raked over her.

How she’d said his name but he hadn’t said hers. And though she’d seen him watching her each night after, Feyre couldn’t stand to look too long at him. Not when she knew what Rhysand meant to do after—how the show would become private and his carefully placed hands stopped being so careful after all.

Feyre sobbed into her shoulder, dreading when Rhysand would come down to taunt her, to have her bathed and painted. When he’d remind her that he knew she couldn’t read—just another of her many, many shortcomings. They’d been more careful with the words they spoke. She didn’t dare call him mine out loud.

And Rhysand seemed content to take whatever he could get, so long as he could rub it in Tamlin’s face as he got it.

Feyre felt Rhysand’s swirling, dark presence before she saw him. He ignored the door entirely, filtering through the cracks like an ebony fog. His weight settled beside her, legs stretched in his immaculate pants. For a moment, he didn’t speak at all. He merely sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder while Feyre tried desperately to get a hold on her overwrought emotions. She failed, as she failed everything—

“You did not fail,” he snarled softly, yanking her into his lap. Feyre took a breath, looking into his bright, starry eyes.

“I’m never getting out of this place.”

Darkness stole over the pair of them, all but choking her. Feyre gasped for air, forgetting she was crying as she fought the oppressive blanket wrapped around her neck.

“Rhys—”

All at once it fell away, and Feyre found herself laying atop his immaculate bed. Rhys ripped the blanket from one corner, gesturing for her to get under.

“A reprieve from your escort duties,” he said, his voice impossibly soft, despite the hardness of his face. “You’ll resume tomorrow.”

“And you?”

He laughed, though there was no mirth on his face. “There is no reprieve for me, Feyre.”

She started to tell him she didn’t want to spend the night alone in his bed. That she’d rather face that throne room together, even if it made her miserable. The hard set of Rhys’s face told her that this night, for whatever reason, he would be leaving her untouched in his bed. The masculine scent of the sea mingled with citrus invading her nose, urging her to burrow into his pillow, urging her to take this small measure of kindness in a place where so little already existed.

“You’ll be back in the morning?”

“For you?” he murmured, watching her vanish beneath his dark, silken sheets. “The gods themselves couldn’t stop me.”

And then he was gone. Feyre was beginning to suspect he’d taken her heart with him.

One night was all Feyre was given. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept like that. Rhysand’s hands woke her, taking her back to her cell in a ribbon of shadow just before a tray for breakfast dropped through the slot in her door. She hadn’t had a chance to see him, though she thought she’d smelled the lingering scent of a floral perfume clinging to his skin.

His wraiths were back that night to bathe and paint her…and wrap a dark, black collar firmly around the column of her throat.

She stared when he appeared in the doorway, eyes roaming her body with appreciation like he always did. Wrapped in his broad hands was a delicate, glimmering chain.

“You’re joking,” she whispered.

Rhys grinned. “I never joke about you, darling. Come here.”

She didn’t move an inch. “You’re not parading me through that place on a leash, Rhysand.”

Darkness flickered through his bright eyes. “Why not? Did you not think of how you’d like to sit like my pretty little pet? Do you not serve your High Lord in all ways?”

It was Rhysand who prowled forward, clipping the end of his chain to her collar. Feyre held his gaze, well aware nothing she said would stop him. He smiled, rewrapping the end of his lead around his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, blinking away this new humiliation. “I thought…”

“I know what you think, Feyre,” he replied smoothly. “Do you trust or not?”

“I think you’re too worried about making Tamlin mad,” she whispered, daring to step closer. Rhysand watched, eyes never leaving her face. “I think you want him to know that I belong to you.”

“You do belong to me,” he snarled softly. “You can have the collar, or I can take the ward off of you and let him scent my come in your cunt. Your choice, darling.”

Feyre lifted her chin in the air, unsure which was worse. Did she care if Tamlin knew she was sleeping with him? Would Tamlin even believe she was a willing participant?

Rhys chuckled. “If only he knew how willing you were. Come, now. We’re going to be late.”

He tugged on the leash and Feyre stumbled forward, feet bare on the cool floor.

“What’s your plan?”

“Can’t I just show off my pretty pet? Must I have a plan?” he crooned, ever the liar. Feyre sighed with exasperation.

“Will it always be like this?” she mused, more to herself than to him. He halted just before the door, rounding on her so fast Feyre nearly fell to the floor.

“Who we are in here is who we need to be,” he whispered, grabbing her by the back of the neck and pulling her closer. “Who we’ll be when we leave is another matter entirely.”

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

Did she, or didn’t she? He’d let her sleep in his bed…and then put a collar around her neck. He made her dance before his court, but ensured she was fed every day. He made her nervous, and she wanted him, Rhysand, her walking contradiction.

He was helping—he was the only person who spoke to her every single day. Feyre settled her nervous heart and nodded, even as her humiliation over the leash burned in her gut. Rhys kept it wrapped tight around his man, offering very little slack.

He led her through familiar halls, his pretty, painted whore. That was hardly new and when she stepped in, she earned a few cruel chuckles and nothing more. She couldn’t help her curiosity, eyes sliding across the room to look at Tamlin.

He was watching, too. Burning eyes, his face utter stone.

Just like his heart.

Rhysand chuckled softly, pulling her towards his chair. “Sit, Feyre.”

He meant at his feet. Feyre didn’t dare look at him. Eyes on the dark, cool floor, Feyre dropped to the ground, cognizant that if she didn’t sit exactly right, she’d show everyone every inch of her naked body. Rhys sat on his throne, one leg crossed over the other.

“Hold me, darling,” he purred as his usual crowd of admirers shuffled forward. “Or I’ll think you no longer find me pleasing.”

She curled one arm around his shin, head resting against his knee. It didn’t stop any of the other females from climbing into his lap…or Rhys from letting them. He seemed to be having a great time, if his lifting hips were any indication.

Feyre was jealous. Jealous of every finger that touched his face, of the hands that rubbed over his muscular chest and the mouths gracing his lovely skin. She burned with it, forced to sit like his little pet, a leash around her neck. The floor never warmed and the marble made her ass ache. If she tried to pull away, to even sit up on her knees, Rhys would jerk the chain, forcing her back down.

The first time he did it, Feyre yelped without meaning to…and Tamlin leaned forward, his lip twitching. Their eyes met and Feyre thought she understood what game Rhys might be playing. Heart hammering, she kept her gaze on his face. Even after everything, Feyre was desperate to see Tamlin do something.

Anything.

The next pull yielded less than before. Tamlin was better prepared for it, and by the third, the fourth, the fifth, he seemed utterly unaffected. She sighed, clutching Rhys’s shin a little tighter, her face pressed to the cloth until she could smell nothing but the masculine slant of him.

The leash tugged her upwards, back to her feet. Feyre was forced to watch him shoo a female off his lap before dragging her up. His fingers curled over her thighs, parting them not so she could sit on his cock, but so he could rub her inner leg with long, careful fingers.

“You’re pouting, darling,” he said, tugging sharply. Feyre reclined against his steady, warm chest until she could feel his heart beating. “Have I been neglecting you?”

She didn’t respond. He was speaking loud enough for Tamlin to hear, his hands pushing further and further towards her nearly exposed cunt with each pass. There was no need—Tamlin was never going to be the hero of her story, and who did that leave?

“Just me,” Rhys whispered into her ear. “Lift your leg, darling.”

Feyre did as she was told, letting the panel of her dress flutter over her pussy. Rhys smiled, running his whole hand up and down her wholly exposed leg.

“Pretty, perfect Feyre,” he murmured, his words softer—even if Tamlin overheard, these were for her. “You serve your High Lord well.”

Tamlin twitched again, fingers drumming angrily over the arm of his throne. Rhysand’s words shot to kill. She licked her lips nervously.

“I do?”

Her heart pounded the moment that question left her lips. She knew she did—she’d held his cock between her lips, and had tasted his pleasure on more than one occasion. Feyre had served Rhys well and often. She would that night, too.

Rhys reached for her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Exceptionally, my pet.”

Prick.

He chuckled. “I admit, I am rather fond of the sight of you on your knees. How well do you worship, Feyre? Will you show me how obedient you are?”

More taunting games. More of driving that knife into Tamlin’s gut, urging him to do something. She didn’t even care at that moment, so long as he kept his attention on her. Rhys slackened his grip on the shimmering, silver leash chain and nodded his head.

“Between my legs, darling.”

She did as he told her to, body responding with a rush of heat she knew he could scent. Rhys’s lashes fluttered for a moment when she kneeled between his muscled thighs, hands in her lap. Feyre tilted her head, his ever obedient servant. She could see the way his pants creased, how he was trying so hard to conceal his own arousal. Rhysand was not unaffected by her.

Good.

“Touch me,” he commanded.

She slid her hands up his body without having to be forced. Rhys watched, eyes wholly focused on her. They’d come a long way from the first night when he’d held her still, his mouth licking between her legs. Now Feyre would have pulled his cock from his pants if he’d told her to. Would have lowered her mouth, would have—

“That’s enough,” he whispered, voice more groan than anything. “Save that for later.”

Feyre looked up at him, fingers far too close to the bulge in his pants.

Put your bedroom eyes away, Feyre.

She didn’t know how.

Put me to bed, Rhys.

He smiled, fingers curling under her chin. “Look at the High Lord’s faithful pet. You’re such a good girl for me, Feyre, waiting on your knees. I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

His eyes flicked up over her head, but Feyre didn’t care what Tamlin was thinking, or even that this was still a game. She nodded because she was.

“Crawl to me, sweet thing.”

Feyre smothered her smile, her back still turned to Tamlin. She crawled into his lap, legs spread so the hard length of him was nestled just perfectly between her thighs.

“I can feel the heat of that pretty pussy,” he told her, his voice loud enough to be overheard by anyone listening. “Is that for me?”

It should have been enough. Any of it—the dancing, the paint, the sitting in his lap—should have been enough to send Tamlin spiraling into a furious, blind rage. She waited for the sound of snarling, for Tamlin to break just as she had threatened to do the night before in the dungeon.

Only the sound of the revel filled the chamber. Rhys tugged at the leash, eyes searching her face.

“Is it wet for me, too?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Rhys slid his hands to her hips, grinding her against him.

“Very wet,” he chuckled, though the cruel, cold sound didn’t meet the heat in his eyes. Time was up and she knew it. Feyre ran her hands over his jacket, fingering the silver buttons.

“Is it time to take care of my little pet? Should I put you at the end of my bed tonight?”

She hoped he’d put her in his bed. Rhys softened only slightly, wrapping the leash around his hand.

“Up,” he ordered. Feyre scrambled, tits bouncing as she clambered to her feet. Rhys watched as if he’d never seen breasts before, lips parting ever so slightly. As he stood, Feyre was half fascinated, half horrified, when he touched the damp stain of his pants. Still awed, or so she thought. The sharpness of his features made it hard to tell.

“Messy,” he crooned, rubbing his fingers over her lips so she could taste her own arousal. “Maybe I’ll give you a bath.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

I wish you would.

Rhys paraded her out right past Tamlin, taunting for all the good it did. Tamlin could surely see the way her paint was smeared between her legs, just as he could see the damp stain on Rhys’s thigh. He didn’t care—not about her rotting in that cell and certainly not about what Rhys did with her when no one was looking. Why should she care if his feelings were hurt?

Where had he been when she’d been sobbing in the dungeon? Where had Tamlin been when she’d lain dying of fever? Where had he been when it was Lucien kneeling before Amarantha about to die or when her friend had shouted to save her?

Tamlin stayed silent, refusing to give Amarantha an ounce of satisfaction.

And she wouldn’t give him any, either.

Rhys listened to the angry slant of her thoughts, his body relaxing with each new furious revelation.

“You give me immense satisfaction, for what it’s worth—”

“Shut up, Rhys.”

His lips curled into a smile. He was grinning by the time they got back to his room, looking so utterly un-High Lord like that Feyre could have wept. It was a glimpse of who he was—who he might be—if they managed to get out.

“See something you like?” he asked, locking the door behind them. Feyre didn’t move, letting Rhys come to her. He tilted her face in his broad hand, waiting to see if she’d tell him what, exactly, she liked.

As if he didn’t know.

“You should smile more. You look nice.”

“I’m not nice, darling,” he replied, running that finger over her bottom lip. “I thought you knew that.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“I like your fire.”

A warning clanged through her, bright and hot as it tugged against that strange, aching muscle in her chest. They were crossing a line irreversibly. Feyre didn’t care. For all his promises, she wasn’t convinced she’d survive. What if these were her last weeks? Why shouldn’t she just indulge a little?

“I like you,” she admitted, just in time for Rhys to push his thumb into her mouth.

“Yeah? I gathered that when you were ready to suck my cock in front of Tamlin,” Rhys replied. “But it’s nice to hear a little kindness from your lips, Feyre.”

“I wouldn’t have…”

“You would too,” he replied. “And fuck me, Feyre, I was moments from letting you and damning us both.”

She put her hands on his chest and gently pushed him towards the chair. Rhys let her, dropping into the wide leather seat when the backs of his knees touched the furniture. He was still holding that leash, a dazed look on his face.

“You wouldn’t have,” she quietly dared.

Play with me.

She wanted to imagine what it would have been like. Feyre wanted to pretend that she could touch him in front of all of Prythian and it wasn’t some elaborate, stupid game for Tamlin’s benefit.

Rhys tugged at the chain. “Get on your knees,” he ordered.

Feyre did as she was told, sliding between his thighs just like before.

“You want to service your High Lord in front of all seven courts?” he murmured, dragging his fingers through her thick hair. His fingers curled, pulling at the strands until her throat was exposed. “Beg, Feyre.”

Their gazes locked and held. He couldn’t be serious.

Feyre licked her lips. “Beg you?”

“Beg me,” he agreed softly, reclining into the chair. And despite the obvious outline of his cock straining to be freed, when Feyre decided she’d just ignore him and touch, he caught her wrists with a shake of his head.

She was his supplicant and he was her god.

“Please, High Lord,” she breathed, eyes moving back to his cock. “Let me taste you.”

“Am I your High Lord, Feyre?” he groaned, fingertips all but bruising her wrist.

“Yes.”

“Swear your fealty to me and me alone.”

“I swear it.”

“Swear to serve me and only me.”

“I swear to serve only you,” she murmured with appreciation. Rhys was breaking, his hips jerking with his unmet need. Feyre dared to look up at him, her stomach twisting when she saw how he was looking back.

Gone was his cruelty, his bored amusement. Rhys burned like the stars, was surely made of them, too. All heat, all passion.

“Serve me, Feyre,” he said, the knot in his throat bobbing roughly. “Show me how you appreciate your High Lord.”

He released his grip on her wrists, allowing her to unclasp his pants. She was too delighted when he lifted his hips, his needy cock springing free to beg for her attention. She almost smiled at the sight, smothering the urge in favor of wrapping her cool hands around his warm flesh.

Rhys hissed at the contact.

“I would have died tonight,” he whispered, watching her with open hunger as she licked the long, thick length of him. “Had you been perched at another males feet, I would have died.”

“What would you have done?” she replied, too afraid to look up at him.

Why did the promise of his violence arouse her? What did that say about her?

“I would have ripped him apart.” The words were a groan, brought on by Feyre taking the head of him into her mouth. “I still might. If you asked me to, I would.”

She merely hummed her agreement. He couldn’t do anything–neither of them could. Feyre had come to learn that Rhys was just as powerless as she was down there. Another prisoner, trapped in a hell of someone else's design. Perhaps that was why he wanted her. He saw in her his own circumstances.

She didn’t care. Not as she began sliding her tongue down the shaft of his cock and certainly not when she felt those shadowy fingers exploring between her parted thighs. The thought of Rhys punishing Tamlin was enough. Even if they never got to, just knowing he would was enough.

Hearing his anger on her behalf was enough. No one had ever cared about her like that.

Rhys was too lost in the wet drag of her mouth to pay attention to the slant of her thoughts.

“You suck me so well, Feyre,” he gasped, gathering up her hair once again. Feyre’s eyes fluttered closed so she could imagine them somewhere else. Somewhere he could be soft when he touched her—where her heart didn’t pound in fear every time she heard a shuffling sound through the door.

The caressing fingers plunged into her body, drawing her eyes back to the male reclined before her.

“Don’t take your eyes off me,” he ordered, his voice edged with that all too familiar whine. Feyre started to pull back to argue but Rhys’s knotted hands kept her on him, gagging her against his length until the air was a symphony of her swallows. He lifted his hips, fucking her mouth while guiding her over him just the way he needed. She couldn’t begrudge him this taking of pleasure.

Not when those hands felt so good stroking against her dripping wet pussy and certainly not at the rapturous look on his face. Rhys was close and Feyre was prepared to swallow all of him. Rhys wasn’t having it. Everything had to be his way or not at all. The hands between her legs pulled away mere moments before Feyre threatened to shatter. He snarled softly, pulling her off him and into his lap.

“Do you know how hard it is not to fuck you in front of everyone?” he demanded, spearing her with his cock. Feyre yelped, the pleasure mingled with the sharp pain of the intrusion.

“How badly I want to claim you so they know who you belong to?”

Feyre moaned when shadows were replaced by his actual fingers rubbing against her.

“You’ll come on my cock or you won’t come at all,” Rhys panted, his flushed face betraying him. She’d done most of the work with her mouth. He was going to come and oh, how she loved watching that mask slip in the moments afterwards.

“Greedy,” she whispered. He rubbed quick circles over her, drawing her up as his hips rolled into her, hitting her from every angle until she was a breathless, sobbing mess.

“When it comes to you? I want it all.” His teeth grazed over her neck and Feyre came undone. Gripping his jacket, it was all she could do to hold on as she rode him. Pleasure washed over her like a wave, threatening to drown her in it. Rhys couldn’t hold on the way she knew he wanted to. He grunted, holding her close as he poured himself into her. It was a familiar end to a familiar night. He was beautiful, impossibly lovely in his pleasure. Violet, star flecked eyes watched her with an open vulnerability that threatened to haunt her. His every emotion was right there for her to read if she cared to.

Rhys tangled his hand into her hair as they settled, their wild hearts pounding the same rhythm. “I like the taste of my cock in your mouth,” he whispered before stealing a claiming kiss. It was the sort that filled her with heat, that made her want to have him again and again. That was more of his magic, she supposed. It was never enough. Maybe it never would be.

“I won’t let you die, Feyre. Do you hear me,” he whispered, pressing his temple to her cheek. “No matter what happens, I will get you out of here.”

She could hear his desperation, though. That aching promise he made more to himself than to her. As if Rhys could somehow will it into existence if he continued to speak it out loud.

She kissed him gently.

“I know you will.”

But Feyre understood one thing with absolute clarity.

She was going to die beneath that mountain. There would be absolutely no escape for her.

And if she was given nothing else before she went, Feyre was glad to have had him.

She was glad for Rhysand.

#feysand #feyre x rhysand #this was supposed to be one part #now its four #i want to see it through #in a better world this would have been 20 chapters #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

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La Vie En Rose - Chapter 10

Chapter Title: Wait For Me, I'm Coming

I know I said I would update this tomorrow (which it technically is for me), but I didn't want to disappoint y'all with another late LVER upload. So if there's any typos, please forgive them <33

Fic Summary: After everyone is freed from Under the Mountain, Elain is given the opportunity to stay in the Spring Court as a human so she can get to know her soulmate. Set in the timeline from A Court of Faded Dreams.

Read on A03 ❀ Masterlist

The personal home of the High Lord of Autumn was entirely different than the High Lord of Spring’s. Where Tamlin’s manor was lovely white baluster, marble floors, and open windows that always carried in a spring breeze, Beron’s home was ancient, dark wood with not a window in sight.

And why would there be, when Elain was certain she’d been walked down as many as ten flights of stairs. Certain, because she’d counted, on the off chance that she would be able to flee. Though where she’d flee to, that was more difficult to say.

Not that it mattered, because the room she’d been deposited in was spelled by some form of magic. The door itself opened perfectly fine. It was when she tried to throw herself through the open space that she was repelled by an invisible force, as solid as a wall.

She supposed she should be grateful that she was given a room at all, when she had been expecting a dungeon. And that Lucien’s brothers had only sneered before leaving her alone, with nothing but her thoughts and fears. She was certain it was preferable to their company, but the apprehension lay in not knowing how long it would last. Would they leave her here, to starve to death? Or perhaps they were waiting for Lucien to come save her, so they could execute her in front of him like they had Jesminda.

Most of her fears aligned with Lucien’s wellbeing. She knew him well enough that he would ignore her warning, but surely the bargain would prevent him from attempting any rescue if it were too dangerous? There was the chance that he would come save her, and succeed. Feyre and Rhys would help, if he asked. But if she was killed in the meantime, if something went wrong when they tried to rescue her, could Lucien endure that kind of loss?

More of me died that day than you could possibly imagine, Elain.

Those words had pierced her chest the day he’d spoken them, but now she felt his pain more acutely. Now that she had seen him close to death, convinced she would lose him forever. Elain had only felt a taste of that agony, and she could not imagine surviving it twice.

“You’re as beautiful as the rumors say.”

Elain jumped at the voice, eyes wide as she looked toward the open door frame and met a pair of russet brown eyes—what she imagined Lucien’s would look like, if he had never been scarred.

She was struck, then, with how similar Lucien looked to his mother. When she smiled, Elain could recognise the warmth in it, same as her mate’s. Though… there was a vacancy to the Lady that Lucien did not possess. As young and beautiful as any faerie Elain had seen, and yet… looking as though whatever centuries she’d faced had drained the light right out of her.

Though the Lady’s face was kind, though Elain could recognise Lucien in it, she did not know how to respond. Did not know if the Lady of Autumn came as friend or foe.

“It’s alright,” the Lady said gently. “There’s no need to be afraid, though I can understand why you would be. I begged the boys to be gentle with you. It seems they were not as careful as they could have been.”

There was a note of displeasure in her voice, much like any exasperated mother, that put Elain at ease. Enough to ask, “Why am I here?”

But not enough to prevent her voice from shaking.

“My husband wishes to make a deal with Feyre Cursebreaker,” the Lady answered, lips twitching into a frown. “So long as your sister complies, no harm will come to you.”

Elain swallowed thickly. “It’s hardly a deal when you use someone’s family as ransom.”

Her russet eyes darkened, perhaps with remorse, though Elain couldn't fully tell. She was as skilled at shielding her expressions as her sons. “You’re young,” she said in a gentle voice, “still ignorant of our Courts and how they operate. Feyre has a weakness that she left vulnerable, and the Autumn Court is leveraging it. Such are the ways of Prythian.”

Elain was struggling to reconcile the mother that Lucien spoke fondly of, who he so clearly missed, with the Lady of Autumn who stood before her, justifying her abduction. “If not for Feyre, your entire court would still be Under the Mountain,” she said, with enough venom that the Lady’s brows rose in interest. Elain thought only of the scars across her mate’s face as she practically spat, “You would still be bowing to the will of a sadistic tyrant.”

“Feyre was acting to save her mate—freeing our court was merely a consequence.” Lucien’s mother said smoothly. “It hardly means we’re in her debt, especially when the Night Court stands between us and a powerful alliance.”

Elain took a step back, eyes wide. “You can’t mean—you’ve allied with Hybern? You’re choosing to stand against your own people?”

Lucien’s mother pressed her lips into a thin line. “The way my husband sees it, we are choosing to ally with one tyrant over another. We’ve not been oblivious to the way the Night Court is gaining power. With the Cursebreaker as his mate and now the other seasonal courts as his allies, Rhysand will be in a very powerful position by the end of this war. The other courts may have fallen for his change in demeanor, but we have not forgotten the last 50 years Under the Mountain—we will not let ourselves be put under his thumb again. If Hybern wins the war, its King will not wish to rule over Prythian, merely extend his territory into the human lands. We do not suspect the same from Rhysand.”

Clearly, Elain was missing context. The Lady spoke of Rhys as though he were a monster. Though clearly very powerful, he’d seemed kind and considerate in the sparse time Elain had spent with him. Certainly not like someone capable of enslaving an entire land of people.

“You said that’s the way your husband sees it,” Elain said, eyes narrowed. She could recognise when someone was choosing their words carefully, had done it enough time herself for it to become second nature. “How do you see it?”

The Lady of Autumn glanced around, put a finger to her lips to signal for Elain to be quiet. Then she leaned forward and took both Elain’s hands into her own. They were soft, like a lady’s should be, and Elain briefly wondered if her own calluses would be viewed unfavorably.

“Tell me one thing,” the Lady said, so quietly Elain needed to strain her ears to make her words out properly. “My son. Is he happy?”

Elain took a moment to answer, thinking of Lucien’s bright eyed smile as well as the pain and grief it often smothered. Was Lucien happy?

“I think he misses you a great deal,” she said honestly, attempting to match her volume. “And I also think that he is slowly healing, and some days are better than others.”

Silver brimmed the Lady’s eyes. She raised a delicate hand and pressed it to Elain’s cheek with an affection that seemed out of place, given the circumstances.

Tears stung the back of her own eyes, and Elain found herself admitting, “I love him very much.”

“You are a sweet girl, Elain,” she said, patting her cheek. “I am sure he cherished you.”

Then, with a sad smile, Lucien’s mother disappeared just as suddenly as she’d come. Elain looked down to see the folded piece of parchment the Lady had pressed into her hand.

When I give you my signal, the wards will be down for one minute.

Get Lucien and have him winnow you out.

Tell him that his mother loves him.

❀❀❀

Her next visitors were not nearly so pleasant. As a prisoner, she really shouldn’t have expected any less. But when the same pair of brothers that had initially cornered her back in the spring court stormed into the room, Elain searched desperately for some way to escape.

“Don’t even think about it!” the taller one hissed, yanking her by the hair. She supposed it was payback for the way she’d broken a painting over his head.

Still, she hissed and stomped and kicked the whole way, refusing to cooperate. If they were dragging her to her death, then she owed it to Lucien to at least put up a fight. Even if it encouraged a tug so vicious that Elain’s vision blurred. She was certain when he finally released her, he would come away with clumps of her curls.

They stumbled into a large throne room, and her heart stopped to see Lucien and Feyre standing before a handsome brown haired man—presumably Beron, from the wooden throne he was sprawled over.

But all Elain could see was Lucien, standing taught in his soot stained and blood-splattered armor. There was ash streaked across his face, and any hair that had fallen out of his braid had clung to the side of his face, dried with the battle grime. Whatever fight they had come from in the Winter Court must have been horrific.

Feyre, beside him, looked to be in a far worse state. Equally battle-worn and covered in filth, but what was most alarming was the garish arrow that stuck out of her thigh. Her face was ashen, and from the way her shoulders slumped she looked as though she were a moment from collapsing.

Why—why were they here? Why would they come, in this state?

Any relief at seeing them both alive was lost at seeing how grave their situation was, even without any context. This did not seem like a daring rescue. This seemed like a surrender, and the hollow look in Lucien’s russet eye confirmed it.

Those eyes snapped towards her the second she entered the room, and Lucien snarled when he saw the way his brothers were holding Elain. It was a sound of primal, male rage, like nothing she��d ever heard from him. “I’ll rip your fucking throats out.”

Beron clucked his tongue in displeasure. It must have been a signal of some kind, for the way one of the brothers drew a knife to poise at Elain’s throat. She would not give any of them the satisfaction of her fear, even if they could all smell it. Instead she twisted her face into the best rendition of that lethal snarl, channeling her own primal, female rage to direct towards Beron. Let him see that if she survived, if any of them survived, he was marked for death.

The tip of the knife pressed hard enough to draw blood, a sting whet her rage. In the corner of her eye, she saw Lucien flinch. She wondered who would be the first to kill Beron on the other’s behalf. Lucien, of course, deserved the kill—perhaps more than anyone.

“Know your manners in my court, boy,” Beron warned, before fixing his eyes on Feyre. “As you can see—she’s alive and well. Do we have a deal, Cursebreaker?”

Feyre’s attention flicked considerately from Lucien to Elain, before it settled like stone on Elain. She held her sister’s gaze, wishing she understood what Feyre was weighing behind the remorse in her eyes. Her face was blanched, though from the difficult decision or her physical condition, it was difficult to tell.

“It’s a deal,” she said at last, an air of finality in the tone. “The Cauldron’s feet are in the Hewn City, deep in the treasure trove.”

There was something haughty in the way she said it, as though challenging him to take on the Hewn City to go find the legs he was after.

Beron only smirked, gestured to the males that held Elain and said, “Go.”

They threw Elain forward and promptly vanished. Right away, Lucien was there to catch her. She knew he had been waiting for the opportunity to reach her, and once he pulled her protectively into his chest it felt like she could finally breathe.

Elain ducked her face against him, feeling the way his chest rumbled as he growled to his father, “We gave you what you wanted, raise your fucking wards.”

The wards. Elain raised her head to glance around the room, looking for the Lady of Autumn.

“Well, I can’t very well let you go until we’ve ensured the Cauldron’s legs are where you claim them to be,” Beron answered smugly.

Lucien frowned, glancing at Feyre, who’s face had gone ashen. “Let me heal her.”

Elain eyes tugged back towards her sister, who was looking closer to collapsing by the second.

“Faesbane is nasty stuff. As I’m told you recently discovered for yourself.” Of course. Beron had sent Belladonna with faesbane, and yet it hadn’t occurred to her to put those pieces together. Where would Beron have gotten faesbane, if not from his new, powerful ally? “Can’t be healed, I’m afraid, she just has to wait until it’s out of her system.”

She needed to find the Lady of Autumn, needing to look for her signal, and—there. Standing near the entrance of the room, Lucien’s mother was staring absently at her clasped hands. Her lips were moving, ever so slightly, as though she were muttering under her breath.

“Lucien,” Feyre whispered, moving closer so that she could speak without Beron overhearing. “You can break the wards.”

Her mate’s face twisted in confusion. “What?”

“You can break the wards.”

Elain pressed her lips together in concern. Feyre wasn’t making sense, and her words were becoming increasingly difficult to decipher. She was worried what would happen if they didn’t get the poisoned arrow out of her soon.

Lucien looked stunned, but he was searching Feyre’s face earnestly. “How?”

“I didn’t want to tell you like this,” she whispered, the words barely perceptible to Elain. “You’re a Spell-Cleaver.”

That clearly meant something to Lucien, by the way he froze. He looked to the Lady of Autumn, then swore softly under his breath.

“I can’t take all three of you.”

Feyre frowned. “Three of us?”

“If I reveal that I’m a Spell-Cleaver, I can’t leave my mother here.”

The conversation was happenly too quickly, too cryptically, for Elain to keep up. She didn’t know what a Spell-Cleaver was, or why it was relevant now. But they were clearly hatching a plan that involved the wards.

“Lucien,” Elain said quietly, “your mother told me she’d give me a signal that would mean the wards were lowered for one minute, you don’t necessarily need to reveal anything.”

“What are the three of you whispering about?” Beron snapped, eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t bode well.”

Just then, there was a screech on the other side of the room, and a male had seized Lucien’s mother by her hair—a common habit of the Autumn males, Elain was finding.

Except this male didn’t look to be from the Autumn Court at all, and Feyre froze when she saw him, her eyes going wide with recognition.

“This nasty thing was about to cast a ward cleaving spell,” the male sneered, yanking free a small book that had been hidden in the Lady’s hands. “Where did you find magic like that?”

Lucien and Feyre seemed to exchange a knowing look, and Elain pressed her lips together, sensing their escape plan had just been thoroughly ruined.

Another of Lucien’s brother’s strode in at the sound of his mother’s screech, this one Elain hadn’t seen yet.

“Eris,” Beron snapped at seeing him. “Where have you been?”

“Monitoring the battle in the Winter Court,” he answered, voice as polished and nonchalant as Lucien’s. “Reluctant to report the Night Court alliance has battled back Hybern’s forces.”

“Not to worry,” the male crooned from where he still strung up their mother—Eris’s eyes narrowed at the sight of it. “Dagdan and Brannagh have just informed me we’ve won the true battle—they say hello from the Hewn city.”

The Hewn City… that had been the place Feyre had mentioned. Where the Cauldron’s feet were stored. Elain sensed her sister had given up something very important today, and the weight seemed to weigh heavily on her sister by the way her blue eyes darkened.

Beron sighed, waving at the male who held his wife. “Let her go—I’ll deal with her impertinence later. She has too great a blind spot when it comes to our sons. Even the less favourable of them. Eris—take her away.”

It all happened too fast for Elain to register. One moment, Eris was reaching to take his mother. The next, Lucien was crying out and everything went bright. When her eyes finally readjusted, they were standing in knee-deep snow, in the wake of what looked to have been a horrid battle.

Two pairs of hands were touching her, searching her for injury, and Elain had to snap at both Lucien and Feyre that she was fine. The least injured of the three of them, in fact.

There was a keening noise somewhere within the chaos. Elain swiveled her head towards the source, finding Rhysand racing toward them until he dropped before Feyre, grasping her face. “You’re alive,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe it. “The bond went quiet and I thought—“ he couldn’t finish the sentence as he drew Feyre close on a half sob. “It doesn’t matter. You’re alive. You’re alive.”

“Rhys, the cauldron’s legs. I had to—“

“It’s okay,” he said. “Az told me the Hewn City was infiltrated, I’ve already sent him to deal with it.”

Lucien pulled Elain’s face away from their touching reunion, expression not too dissimilar from what Rhysand’s had been when he’d fallen to his knees to join Feyre on the snow.

He cupped her cheeks, face hard and drawn as he asked, “Did they hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered, clasping her hands over his. “I’m alright, Lucien.”

He took a heavy breath. “I was so fucking worried—“

Two sets of legs appeared beside them, out of thin air, and Elain looked up to see Eris and his mother.

“Oh dear,” he said, “it seems Mother winnowed away the second I turned my back.”

Lucien’s lip quirked. “I thought you might have it in you.”

“Oh shut up,” Eris snapped. “She’s in this position because of you, so you better look after her.”

Just as quickly as he’d come, Eris winnowed away, and the Lady of Autumn looked uncertain as she hovered before her son and his mate.

“I’m a Spell-Cleaver,” Lucien said to her, lips a sharp frown. He almost looked angry. Elain gathered this was alarming news, whatever it meant.

“Yes,” his mother said, though it hadn’t been a question.

“You understand why Eris took you,” he prompted, though it also didn’t sound like a question. “Why you can’t go back.”

“Yes,” she repeated, eyes full of remorse.

Elain wondered what had changed. It could not only be because she tried to use that magical book—Lucien had talked about needing to take her before that had been revealed.

“We’ll offer sanctuary in the Night Court,” Feyre chimed in, evidently listening in to the family drama that was unfolding.

Elain was still, unfortunately, lost.

“Thank you, Lady,” Lucien’s mother said, bowing her head graciously.

“Perhaps you should see if you can get sanctuary in the Day Court,” Lucien said offhandedly, though his voice was sharp and humorless.

“It’s available—if she wishes it,” another voice chimed, this one warm, belonging to a dark skinned male who seemed effervescent as he stepped towards them, so at odds with the winter landscape behind him.

Lucien went stiff beside her, and Elain squeezed his hand, wishing she understood the source of his discomfort as he turned to the male and demanded, “Did you know, too, Helion?”

He paused. “Did I know what?”

“That I’m a Spell-Cleaver.”

Helion went stiff, glancing between Lucien and his mother in near disbelief. “You’re—you’re what?” There was a beat of heavy silence, and he swore under his breath. “It certainly looks like the three of us have a lot to talk about.”

Lucien stood, taking Elain with him. “Grant my mother asylum in the Day Court, but spare me from the family meeting. We’re going back to Spring.”

It seemed so callous, after years of being separated from his mother. Elain could not wrap her head around why Lucien was acting like this.

“Actually, Lucien,” Feyre interrupted nervously, “I think it’s better if Elain came back to the Night Court. It’s not the first time Tamlin’s had trouble with his wards. And after what happened today, maybe Elain shouldn’t be that close to Autumn.”

“If Elain goes, I’m going too,” he said immediately, voice sharper than she’d ever heard him speak to Feyre.

Helion and Lucien’s mother were watching him closely, Elain noticed. And Lucien was doing everything in his power to pretend he didn’t notice, too.

Feyre and Rhys looked at each other, as though having a silent conversation.

Rhysand sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Fine, you can come too, foxboy.”

“Lucien—“ his mother whispered, reaching towards him as he passed. Her eyes were filled with tears, and Elain suddenly wished desperately that Lucien would turn around and give his mother a hug. Instead it was Elain he gather into his arms, heaving her up as though her own two legs no longer worked.

She could see the pain that crumpled his expression as he pleaded to his bereft mother, “Just give me time to process this Hell-sent day.”

Helion put his hand on Lady Autumn’s shoulder, and Elain thought she might be starting to put together what had happened. Especially as she looked between their faces, and realized that standing side by side… they both looked an awfully lot like Lucien.

“Right,” Rhys drawled, Feyre now bundled carefully in his arms. “I need to take my mate to a healer, so we all really must be going. Helion, Lady, do reach out if you need anything.”

Lucien stared blankly ahead, ignoring even Elain’s searching stare as he let Rhys grab both him by the shoulder and they all folded into darkness.

❀❀❀

Velaris was exactly what Feyre described it to be—beautiful beyond all comprehension, entirely different from the Spring Court and its consistent weather. Out the window of the town house, Elain could see that it was Autumn, the leaves on the trees turning just the same as they had in the Mortal Land.

She almost felt relieved by it. Changing seasons were familiar, and she craved some familiarity after the way the rug had seemingly been swept from her feet today. Both their feet, she thought, looking to Lucien as he took stared out the window, mouth agape.

“I hear… music,” he whispered, awed. “Music in the streets. And children laughing.”

At seeing Elain’s confusion, Feyre elaborated, “the rumors about the Night don’t exactly paint it in the most flattering light. And we don’t bother to correct them.”

And though Elain was interested in learning more about Feyre’s court, for she could find so little about it in the Spring Court’s library, she could feel the way Lucien was shifting beside her. She knew he needed the time and space away from Rhys and Feyre, perhaps even Elain, to grapple with all that had taken place today. Likewise, Rhys and Feyre still needed to deal with the wound in her thigh.

So Elain smiled in that polite and polished way she’d perfected. “Do you think you could point us towards our room? I think a place to rest and unwind would be helpful.”

“Yes, of course,” Rhys answered, sliding his eyes between them curiously. “You’ll need just one room?”

Before Elain could even glance to him for reassurance, Lucien was answering, “just one,” as he stepped forward to clasp Elain’s hand.

Even Feyre smiled from where she was collapsed in Rhysand’s arms. He pointed them to their room before giving them their space, telling them they could let Nuala and Cerridwen know if they needed anything at all.

As soon as they were alone, Lucien pulled Elain into his arms and just held her. Standing as they were, in the center of the room, with their brows pressed together.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I promised as your mate that I would keep you safe, and I failed you today.”

“I am safe Lucien,” she consoled, tenderly placing her fingers against his marred cheek. “You and Feyre kept me safe—and from what I gathered you gave away something very important to do so.”

“If I hadn’t left you behind—“

“There’s a war going on, Lucien. You left me where everyone thought I’d be safest, and something unexpected happened. It’s not your fault, it’s no one’s fault.”

His hands wound through her hair, rubbing gently against the sore parts of her scalp. “They were pulling you by the hair and I could hear you screaming from down the hall. I didn’t know…” he trailed off from the train of thought, lifting his head to press a kiss to her crown as though to reassure himself that she was fine. “They’re dead the next time I see them.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care about revenge, not if it puts you in danger.”

Lucien huffed, pulling out the scrap of leather she’d dropped for him. “I was worried I was going to lose you today, Elain. I thought I’d have to watch my father murder someone I love again. And all I could think about was that I’d give anything to stop it from happening—even my own life.”

Her mouth felt dry. “I wouldn’t want that,” she whispered. “Lucien, if something happened to me, I’d want you to live. To be happy. That’s why we made that bargain.”

“I felt it—the bargain.” He reached for her wrist, fingers gentle as they tied the frayed leather back around her wrist. “It’s such a vague promise, I didn’t know how the magic would enforce it. But the second I realized it was a losing battle, and that I was going to fight it anyway, I felt it tugging on me. The bargain, and something more.”

The lump in his throat bobbed. “When they killed Jesminda, I wanted to die. The only reason I didn’t was because I felt I owed it to her not to. It was duty that kept me from letting my brothers kill me, like they wanted. But if I lost you too, Elain… If I lost you in that way… I wouldn’t be able to survive it. Not again. I lost too much of myself the first time.”

She thought carefully over his words, eyes wide as she pulled away to look at his face, pinned by the rapt attention of russet and mechanical eye alike. “You said you didn’t want to lose someone you love again. Does that mean…” she bit her lip, knowing it was a ridiculous thing to focus on, but wanting to know just the same. “Does that mean you love me?”

Lucien studied her, brows bunching in consideration. Then he laughed, a soft, startled sound. She didn’t think he’d be capable of it in his current condition, but a smile tempted his lips as he shook his head in exasperation. “I can’t believe out of everything that happened today, this is what you’re choosing to focus on.”

Elain frowned, because it wasn’t an answer. But then Lucien swept her up by the hips, lifting her until her face rose above his own, and he had to crane his neck to look at her. With a fiendish smile, he walked them further into the room until they were standing over the bed.

He searched her eyes. “Do you really not know?”

She hesitated, not sure how to answer without sounding full of herself. At her silence, Lucien smirked and dropped her onto the bed, and she gave a surprised squeal as she landed softly on her back.

“I suppose I need to remind you, then,” he murmured, placing a knee on the bed, between her own. Starting at her ankles, he slid his hands up her legs, his large body following until he’d situated himself fully between her thighs. “Something you should know, Elain,” he said, voice low as he began trailing his mouth along her inner thigh. “Is that there’s a difference between fucking and making love. And though I plan on doing both to you, thus far what we’ve been doing is making love.”

He nuzzled his nose at the junction between her hip and thigh. “The distinction is that making love is sweet,” he pressed a kiss against her hip bone, “tender,” another kiss along the slant of her midsection, “passionate.”

Lucien lifted his head, eyes burning as they met hers. “And here’s something you should know about me—I have fucked people I don’t love, but I have never made love to someone I didn’t. I think you’re clever enough to put together what that means.”

Elain swallowed, holding his gaze as she whispered, “I want to hear you say it.”

In response, he ducked his face back between her thighs, nipping at the delicate skin he found there. “You want to hear me say it, do you? And yet, you’ve said nothing of that effect to me. You’re not trying to be greedy now, are you, little dove?”

Her face burned, but she’d been steadily falling in love with him since the moment they’d met, and she refused to be ashamed for it now. Especially not after he’d made his own feelings so clear. So she’d tangled her hands into his auburn hair she so adored, and used her grip to tilt his face until their eyes met. “I love you, Lucien.”

His smile was so brilliant it made every horrible thing that day fade to oblivion. Lucien moved his body forward until his face was hovering over Elain’s, and he claimed her lips in a searing kiss.

“I love you, too,” he said softly, reverently. “Thank you—for somehow making today redeemable.”

“Lucien,” she began uncertainly. “We should probably talk about what happened.”

“How about instead, you let me bury my head between your thighs and listen to your

pretty moans until I forget myself and everything else?”

She laughed. “That doesn’t sound like a healthy coping mechanism.”

“No,” he conceded. “But it’s certainly an enjoyable one.”

Elain sighed as she stroked her fingers through his hair. “Aren’t you going to at least let

your mother explain?”

Lucien sighed and rolled over, so that he laid across from her on his side.

“What’s there to explain? I’m Helion’s bastard son and she needed to hide the truth of it lest Beron murder us both. He treated her badly enough, I don’t blame her for having an affair. But it would have been nice to know. At least then I could have understood why Beron treated me the way he has. He probably suspected, but had no way of proving it, until today. I just—I can’t help but feel that every terrible thing that’s ever happened to me can all be traced back to this one secret.”

Elain didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was anything to say. So instead she held his hand and listened. She wished she could do more to soothe the anguish of his heart, but understood well enough that sometimes when things couldn’t be fixed, it helped just having someone to hold onto.

“I’m the Day Court heir,” he said, in utter disbelief. “All this time, I’d thought I was a High Lord’s seventh son. I never thought I’d inherit any kind of power. And now that it’s been revealed, if Beron survives the war he’ll likely make it his life’s mission to hunt down me and my mother—Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he challenges Helion to a blood duel.”

“Would you say there’s silver lining in the fact that it’s been revealed now?” Elain asked gently. “Your mother can seek asylum in the Day Court without worrying that Beron will go to war over it. And because Autumn is in opposition to the rest of Prythian, he’s unlikely to receive their backing in this conflict.”

Lucien smirked. “We’ll make a politician out of you yet, Elain. You’re right, I think it has happened at a fortunate time, at least. And if something tragic befalls Autumn’s High Lord in the midst of battle… well, no one will think a war monger of whoever dealt the killing blow.”

Her eyes widened. “Y-you’re thinking of killing him?”

“Since the moment he’d killed Jesminda,” he said unflinchingly. “But I’d be doing it mostly for my mother. So she can live unafraid, with the male she truly loves.”

Elain swallowed, for a moment feeling so foolish for ever complaining to him about her own family dramas. Here he was, a bastard son, considering patricide as if were the natural course of events.

“What of your brothers?” She asked, even as she feared for his answer.

“The High Lord’s power will shift to Eris,” Lucien said with a shrug. “He’ll keep the other three in check, hopefully. But most importantly, he’ll keep our mother safe.”

“So… Eris is an ally?”

“A tentative one,” he cautioned, perhaps worried at her interest. “Eris’s agenda is always self-serving. But at the moment our interests align in that we both want our mother safe and our father dead. Well, his father, I suppose.”

And that led them to the most tentative subject. Elain bit her lip, trying to venture carefully. “Would you want to get to know him? Helion, I mean.”

He frowned in thought. “I’m well past the age of needing a father’s coddling—not that I was ever the recipient of it in the first place—but I suppose it would be beneficial to get to know him, if I’m to be his heir. And admittedly… It's a relief to think there might be a reason I’ve always felt so out of place. I never truly belonged in Autumn, nor in Spring.”

Elain was struck thinking that, for much of her life she’d often felt the same. Staring out the cottage window, wishing for a different life. For something grander, more meaningful. Something like the last few months she’d spent with Lucien.

“And you think the Day Court might be that place?” Elain asked.

Lucien sat up, looking down at her with a soft smile as he thumbed at a lock of her hair where it splayed onto the pillows. “I think I belong wherever you are. I’m an exile, a mosaic of so many courts that I’ll never belong to just one. But you—every piece of me fully belongs to you. I am yours, and where you are is home.”

“And if I decide I’d very much like to see the flowers of the Day Court?” Elain asked through a sheepish smile, moved by his words yet unable to help herself.

Lucien laughed. “Then I’d go with you, meddlesome little minx.”

“I’d also like to get to know your mother,” she added thoughtfully, thinking of that glimpse of the true Lady of Autumn, asking after her son’s happiness, “outside of being held captive.”

“I’m sure you have that time-honored phrase in the mortal lands as well. Something like: it’s best to meet your future in-laws under duress?”

“Oh, yes, we do have that phrase,” Elain said with a laugh. “You’d be surprised how many abductions occur during the social season because of it.”

Lucien practically hummed in delight. “Elain Archeron being sarcastic,” he cooed, nuzzling into her neck. “Whatever will your sisters think?”

“That you’re a bad influence,” she said immediately, batting playfully at his head.

“Oh, no,” he said into her skin, teasingly nipping her neck, “this had nothing to do with me. I merely coaxed out what was already in that cunning little brain of yours.”

Elain batted her eyelashes sweetly. “And who are they going to believe? The innocent little fawn or the cunning fox?”

“Funny how you use that innocent disposition as a shield,” Lucien said, lips brushing against her skin. “I’d say it makes you far craftier than I am. If only people understood the power they give you in expecting so little.”

“Are you complaining?” she teased.

“Only that people underestimate you. But I don’t mind being outmaneuvered—so long as it’s by you.”

Elain hummed her concession, fingers weaving through his hair from where he was nuzzling against her throat. She heard him inhale deeply, and then his hand was at her hip, pulling her closer.

“Now that we’ve seemingly finished discussing my identity crisis, am I allowed to distract myself by pleasuring the woman I love into madness?”

She hesistated. “Lucien—“

“That’s exactly what I need to hear you say,” he said, voice turning desperate. “I need to hear my name on your tongue—just my name. Not Lucien Vanserra, not Lucien Spell-Cleaver. Just Lucien, your mate. Hell, I’ll marry you and be Lucien Archeron if you let me. But I just—I want to hear you say my name in rapture, and know that no one can take that away from me. Whoever I am, whatever I become, I will always be yours.”

“You want to marry me?” she whispered. It was something they’d joked about several times over by now. But there was none of the same lightness. He didn’t sound like he was joking.

“We’ve been courting for months now, Elain. Isn’t that typically how these things go?”

“If we were being traditional, you would need my father’s blessing,” she said, searching his face. “He’s long since journeyed to the continent with the ambition of recovering an armada.”

“If it would make you happy, I’d follow after him to secure his blessing. I’d go to the mortal lands and bring that armada back myself, if I have to. But the person who’s blessing I care most about is your own.”

He looked impossibly serious. Elain laughed, because she couldn’t help it. The twist and turns of the day were starting to make her dizzy. “Are you proposing to me?”

“I guess I am,” he answered, grinning. Then he sat up, brushed a piece of hair out of her face, tucked it behind her ear.

“Elain Archeron,” he said softly. “Will you marry me?”

She smiled. “No ring, no blessing from my father—this proposal is a shambles, Lucien. I expected much better from a courtier.”

“Just answer the damned question, you fiend,” he said, affection plain on his face, seeping into his voice. “I promise I’ll gather everything else after.”

“Yes,” she said. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Good.” He ducked his head for a kiss. “Nothing else matters. Today isn’t the day you got kidnapped, it’s not the day I found out I’m an illegitimate heir. It’s the day I asked the woman I love to marry me, and she said yes.”

“You must love her very much for your engagement to be able to eclipse so many horrible things,” she said, pressing her hands to his cheeks to draw him close.

When their lips met again, Lucien smiled. “I do. I love her enough to make ridiculous declarations—like that I’d trade the sun to keep her happy. I believe I can offer things like that, now that I’m heir to a celestial court.”

She laughed. “Keep the sun, keep all the celestial bodies. Just give me you, Lucien.”

He kissed her again, this time more fiercely. But when they pulled back, he was still smiling.

“Always,” he said. “Always.”

Taglist: @arrowmusings @daydreamer-anst @darling-archeron @bridgertononmymind

#La Vie En Rose #elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain x lucien #lucien x elain

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azsazz · 2 years

Text

Aftermath

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You come back from Under the Mountain and you’ve changed but everything else stayed the same.

Warnings: Trauma, PTSD.

Word Count: 1,324

_________________________________________

Everything was exactly the same as when you had been trapped.

Fifty whole years had passed and not a single thing had changed in Velaris. The people were still happy; children running through the streets, restaurants filled with ladies lunching and giggling to themselves over trivial things. Even Rita’s ever-tacky floor was the same, millennia of spilled spirits stuck to the floor.

The training ring on top of the House of Wind was nearly identical to when you had last been. The rack of sparring swords still in the same spot. The iron loungers facing the ring as the females of the Inner Circle liked to do when the males were training. The red sand perfectly raked late during the night, welcoming the first warriors who entered.

You couldn’t stand it.

The things you had gone through Under the Mountain were unspeakable, even more so for your High Lord, who had been the only one you could count on down there. You had both been each other's shoulders to lean on, cry on, defend. You dreamed of getting out, returning to the family you had been taken from, the mate you had left behind.

It was torture, watching how Amarantha would treat Rhys. How he’d been forced to go along with it, to save the place he loved with all of his heart. And there was a point where you thought you’d be trapped forever, watching her horror show night after night after night, with no expectation of escaping.

But Feyre brought hope. Rhysand had come to see you immediately after his visit to the Spring Court, talking in such a rush that you were unsure of what you were even hearing. His entire demeanor had been switched on like a faelight at the sight of her, no longer was he struggling to survive the day by any means possible, no, he actually looked something like how he did before…happy and hopeful.

Like you were going to get out.

They were perfect for each other, even if she didn’t know it yet. You had been the first to meet Feyre. Rhysand had begged you to help her when he couldn’t, while he distracted Amarantha from the girl that would save you all. You quite liked her, and saw exactly how perfectly her and Rhysand would work together.

You hadn’t quite felt a feeling like the one when she had ended the seemingly never-ending reign trapping you beneath the godforsaken mountain.

Rage burned deep within you. For the things you had seen, the things you had done, for the years you had lost Under the Mountain. However small the time had seemed in comparison to your lifespan, it was still utterly traumatizing.

And coming back home to your family and your mate had been everything that you had forced yourself to stop wishing for while you were imprisoned. The bond was unreachable for so long it felt like half of you was missing.

They had all changed, much like you. The scar of missing their friends was great, but they did their duties as they were supposed to: keeping Velaris safe.

Azriel, a well-trained spymaster, a mate, and a friend, could tell that you were less than okay.

He noticed the smile that no longer reached your eyes, the way you’d zone out during conversations, the simplest things transporting you back into that place. You’d had nightmares ever since, barely even went to sleep in your bed that was way too comfortable, laid there beside your mate, watching him, a hand caressing his cheek, making sure that he was real.

But you hadn’t opened up yet, to any one of your friends, not even your mate. Rhysand was the only one who truly knew what had happened down there, and he wouldn’t share your story if you didn’t want him to. Azriel didn’t ask. He was willing to wait until you were completely ready to talk about your experience, even if that time never came.

You had wished so many times that everything would go back to normal, that you’d wake up from this seemingly never-ending nightmare in the warm embrace of your mate, eager to spend another day together.

You didn’t know how jarring returning to that normal state would be.

It made you so incredibly angry to see everything unchanged. Citizens living their normal lives as if people weren’t trapped and dying and tortured every single day in that hell hole for fifty years. No one cared, they knew they were untouchable, hidden in the invisible city, and it bothered you more than you let on.

You couldn’t even go into the heart of the Velaris. It made your skin crawl and your fingers curl into fists, the hot flames dancing beneath your skin could rival those of the Autumn Court.

Walking out over the reddened sand, cool with the kiss of night, you felt a sense of peace. A safehaven of sorts, this training ring was for so many. A place filled with the memories of playful sparring, training with such concentration, fighting with rage fuelled fists against worthy opponents – your family – that understood what you were going through, as they all had their own demons to fight.

But no one quite understood this.

You didn’t think that such a place could feel so loving, so good. Settling down into the soft sand, you laid on your back, palms facing upwards to the stars dancing across the clear sky. You spent as much time as you could outside, that constant reminder that you weren’t trapped anymore, you were free. Keeping the drapes open at night, sitting out in the garden during the day, pulling your seat from the table in front of the large windows.

This was something that hadn’t changed either: your love for the stars speckled across the sky.

You don’t hear him approach, but you know Azriel was there. You’d felt it when he woke, the tinge of fear that shot through the bond like lightning, a spike of pain in your heart. You honestly didn’t know you could feel pain anymore, had been numb to everything for such a long time that you didn’t know how to feel anymore.

He lies down with you, head next to yours but body facing away. Neither of you speak. Azriel was so good, such a perfect mate to you. He’d stay up with you if you woke from a nightmare or couldn’t fall asleep, holding you in his arms as you clutched to him tightly, sobbing into his chest for the things you couldn’t say. He would hold you as long as you needed, whenever.

The shadowsinger would stick near you as often as he could, with a shadow twirled around your wrist or ankle when he was more than an arm's length away, knowing that his presence alone was helping you more than he knew. He hadn’t even been away on an assignment since you’d been returned to him.

And maybe it helped him too. You couldn’t even begin to understand how he must have felt throughout the fifty years you’d been separated. The pair of you had been inseparable before, and he knew that you shouldn’t have gone with Rhysand, and he blamed himself when he could no longer feel the bond, going crazy with worry and fear.

You move your arm above your head, burying your fingers into his dark hair, mused from sleep, scratching lightly as his scalp. His shadows curl up and around your arm with delight. Az tries to let out a soft sigh at the reassuring feeling of your hand pressed to his hair, but in the silent night it’s nearly a shout.

He needed to know that you were just as real as you needed to know that he was.

And you were going to tell him what had happened to you Under the Mountain, but not tonight.

Tonight was just for living.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #rhysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acomar #azs_azz

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ymaohoh · 3 years

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Of Daggers and Moonlight - Part I - Ficlet.

Elriel prompt - Azriel teaches Elain how to use a dagger.

I've actually made a part II to this here.

Words: 2,342

No rating

“Here. Make sure you grip it firmly.”

Elain surveyed the silver dagger before her. She supposed it was beautiful in its own way. The handle and crossguards had also been wrought from silver and fashioned into elegant points. She looked closely at the shining blade and could see that delicate vines had been etched carefully across it. Even she, who had no knowledge of weaponry, could appreciate the craftsmanship, the skill, the hard work that had been used to forge it. It came with a brown leather sheaf that she knew could be tied to her thigh.

She didn’t want to learn how to fight.

She had said as much when Rhys first offered lessons with Cassian. She knew Cassian would be patient with her and she would find no finer teacher in all of Prythian. She also knew that war was on the horizon and that being stronger and having those skills would be useful. She wanted be valuable to her family, wanted to help them survive. The Night Court was beginning to feel like home now and the rag-tag members of the inner court her family.

She knew too how necessary it had been for Feyre and Nesta to learn and to build up their bodies. They had thrown themselves into training in order to take back control of their lives after the trauma of under the mountain and the Cauldron. It moved her to see them so strong and capable.

Yet she found herself shying away from it. All of her life she had been taught to be a lady, to be above such things. She found the idea of fighting – of hurting somebody else – abhorrent. She, who took such pains to plant and grow new life. She knew that even with all the lessons in the world, when the time came to it, she would not be able to go through with it. Was that weakness? She knew that’s what the others thought. She had seen it in Rhys’s eyes when she finished speaking.

But then Azriel had stepped forwards and offered an alternative. She didn’t have to learn how to fight, but she could learn how to defend herself.

He became her teacher of sorts. Every other evening he would speak to her about breathing patterns, about forms, about how to keep the panic from taking over. She listened and found herself practicing at odd moments around the house. She wasn’t sure how much stronger she was getting – but she certainly felt more grounded. She was able to finally conquer her nightmares and sleep through the night, at least.

He usually came to the townhouse and they would settle before the fireplace in the library in order to have some privacy. They were not really alone – Nuala and Cerridwen were there too and would listen in occasionally. They were, after all, former students of Azriel and still in his employment. One time, when she found herself practicing her stance in the kitchen, Nuala caught sight of her and she swore she saw a flash of pride on her face.

Azriel never demanded anything of her. He spoke easily, confidentially. She had to remind herself that even though he looked young and handsome, he was the feared and brutal spymaster to the Night Court. He was centuries older than her and had seen many battles. If anyone knew about the dangers they were about to face then he did. Perhaps that’s why she felt herself trusting him? Even after the misunderstanding at Solstice.

And so it was that two weeks later he offered her the blade.

She gripped hold and found that it was a perfect fit for her hand. “Like this?”

He reached out and expertly traced his hand over hers to examine her hold. She felt her skin burn beneath his touch but tried to ignore it. He had made his feelings towards that sort of thing very clear and she didn’t want to be seen as some swooning maid. She looked at her grip and tried to memorise it in case he tested her later.

“Perfect. Tonight we’re going to be trying something new. I want to show you how and where to use this knife the most effectively. Understand, this should be used as a last resort only. Only if you find yourself alone…without any of us to help.”

She felt herself tense. “You want to teach me… how to stab someone?”

He regarded her steadily. “If an attacker gets close to you, they are going to use their advantages. They will be stronger and much bigger in size. They will use that against you. In that case you won’t have much time to act, which is why a well-aimed strike with this may save you…or at least buy you some time.”

“Time to run away,” she finished.

She felt a weight in her stomach – Nesta would never run away. She would snarl and fight to the end. Azriel seemed to pick up on what she was feeling because he offered her a tight smile.

“There is no weakness in running away from a fight you have no chance in winning. Only a fool would take on those odds. Nobody will thank you for risking your life for nothing.”

She pictured it then. Some faceless man approaching her, huge and terrifying. He was holding a sword like the one Cassian trained with. He would overpower her just as easily as if she were a newborn fawn. He could kill her or hurt her and she wouldn’t be able to do anything but run...and if she could slow them down? Azriel was right.

“Will you let me show you?”

“I’ll try.”

Something hard crossed his face and he frowned. “No. I want you to do better than try. You will learn how to use this dagger, you will memorise the vulnerable spots, and if you have to you will use them. You will do your best to hold them off so you can run,” he added. “Or until help arrives.”

“If help arrives.”

“If I’m still standing,” he seemed to promise. “I will come to help you. Now, will you agree to learn these things?”

She swallowed, “I swear.”

“Fetch your cloak then. We need to go to the training yard for this and it’ll be cold.”

She swung her blue cloak around her shoulders as he asked and he took her hand again to winnow them. She watched as his dark shadows gathered around them, realising that they no longer worried her. She had become used to them, used to their constant presence. They curled around them and Azriel smoothly led them into it.

The training yard stretched out before her. During the daytime she knew that it was usually busy but in the moonlight it looked empty and dreary. She had never been here before. Azriel had been right; there was a chill in the air and it was windy because of being high in the air. Elain huddled into her cloak as she stepped forwards.

Azriel began to set up something – at first she thought it was a real body but when she looked closer she could see it was made from straw. She realised then, what he was trying to do. What he expected of her. She could see that some spots had already been clearly marked. It had obviously been well used during the Valkyrie training.

“The Illyrian armies use real bodies to practice on so that the fighters can get to know what it feels like. This will feel different to the real thing but it’s better than nothing…and tonight we will be focusing on you actually hitting it.”

A wave of nausea hit her but she tried to master it. She couldn’t help it; she thought about a real body and the metallic smell of its blood.

You can do this.

She breathed out, concentrating on the speed like he’d shown her.

Azriel finished setting it up and came to stand beside her. In the moonlight she struggled to see his expression. His cobalt siphons, however, swirled like normal.

He pointed at the painted circles on the target.

“Some of these you won’t have a shot of finding on a moving target and I doubt you’ll be able to stab hard enough anyway…so we’ll focus on the easier ones,” he caught her look and added. “Stabbing a person is difficult. Grown men who have trained for years can struggle to do it. It needs force and practice. Let me see you try now…”

She stepped up to the target uneasily, feeling very idiotic. The dagger didn’t feel right in her hand. She tried to imagine that it was a huge man running towards her, tried to imagine it raising its sword to cleave her in two.

She brought the dagger down quickly, nervously, and it is barely scraped the surface.

Flushing, she looked back at Azriel who was watching silently.

“Find your footing. Breathe. Focus on your target. Again.”

She did as he asked and tried again, this time aiming at a higher spot by the neck. This was an even worse idea because the angle meant she couldn’t use her (admittedly weak) strength to help.

“I feel foolish.”

“You aren’t taking it seriously,” he said coolly.

She spun around, surprised at his suddenly chilly tone. He’d never once used that tone with her – even when he refused her that Solstice night. She swallowed, feeling displeasure radiate off him in waves. His disproval seemed to cut at her as though she were the straw target.

He approached her and gripped her shoulders. He didn’t hurt her yet she felt herself suddenly on the brink of tears. Was she really this feeble? Did she really care so much for his good opinion?

“You stabbed the king of Hybern through the neck.”

She did. She used to dream about it, about the way she’d thrust Truth-Teller through his neck with every ounce of her strength. She could still remember how it sounded. Could remember how her hands shook as it went in. In that moment she hadn’t thought about anything except for Nesta.

Azriel had loaned her Truth-Teller, as though he knew somehow she would need it. He’d said it was enchanted and would always find its mark. It certainly had. Her hands had still been shaking when she’d returned it after.

“To protect my sister.”

“Can you not find the same courage to protect yourself? Do you not think you are worthy of protecting?”

He was right. His honesty twisted something inside her and she nodded.

She turned to face the target once more but before she could try again, he moved to stand behind her. He was a lot taller than her own small frame and her head barely reached his collarbones. She knew that if he wanted to, he could wrap his arms around her and cloak her in his shadows. She could feel the press of his brutal Illyrian armor even through her simple gown and cloak.

His hand traced down her arm until it came to her grip. “Firmly. Hold it like it’s an extension of your arm.”

She swallowed and tried to follow his instructions. His hand gripped hers, forcing her to hold onto the dagger’s handle tightly.

“Find your footing.” She could feel his warm breath against the shell of her ear as he gently stepped away. “Again.”

She thought about Nesta, about Feyre. She would protect them without even thinking about it. Could she not summon the same strength for herself? She thought about her life; her friendships with Nuala and Cerridwen, her gardens, little Nyx, the warm and funny family that she had been gifted through Feyre.

And she thought about all the rest of it; the life she may one day have. A future. She wanted to have her own adventures and own story. She wanted to see all of the different courts. She wanted a love that would spark a fire in her so fiercely, children that she would love passionately. She wanted to live for that. She wanted to survive.

She swung the knife up with more strength than she realised she owned. It punctured the side of the target and hit its mark.

She didn’t stop there.

Instantly, she stabbed again. And again. And again. Until little holes pierced its side and the straw stuffing began to fall out.

She was panting when she finished.

Her wrist ached and the silver dagger clattered to the ground.

“Better. Much better.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. The clouds had disappeared and in the moonlight she could now see his face properly. He was watching her very intently and his wings were rustling behind his back.

“I won’t go looking for a fight,” Elain said firmly. “But I will live. I want to live for a long time yet. I may not be as strong as Mor or Nesta but I promise I will do my best to stay alive.”

Pure pride blazed across his handsome face.

“There are different types of strength,” he said quietly. “I see yours, Elain. I always have.”

She wished that he would always look at her like this.

For a moment they simply stared at one another. The wind around them howled and clawed at her cloak, her hair. She should have been cold but instead she felt a scorching warmth. She wanted to ask him, then, about Solstice. About why he pulled away from her. Why he thought she was worth training, equipping. Why he wanted her to survive.

But Azriel shook his head as though clearing it and gestured for her to sit. He reached into his shadows to bring out a flask of water. He passed it over and then sat down beside her as she drank, careful to leave a minute gap in between their tense bodies. He stretched out his wings and used one to curl behind her to shield her from the wind.

“Rest your arm and then try again.”

AN: I really enjoyed writing this tbh. Any more prompts?

#elriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elain archeron #elain acotar #azriel and elain #pro elriel #acotar #pro elain #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #elain is going to smash it #i want Az to strap it to her thigh

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bloodycassian · 3 years

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Cauldron Damned.

Reader x Cassian + Feyre BFF

Prompt - bestie bestie bestie a cassian x reader fic where reader helps feyre with the cauldron - not rhys and she ya know like rhys did and cassian basically breaks down and it’s super angsty but rhys lives so the reader gets to aswell ig tag @ bellefleurs and @ eerievixen

Her hair was a mess and painted to her neck with sweat but you still held her. Still gave and gave, until you were out of breath. Until you could feel yourself slipping. "Keep going.... You're doing so good." You panted out, trying to put a smile in your tone. She was the Mother herself, forging that cursed Cauldron back together. Rhys was breathing heavily behind you after being knocked out by Lucien. You had given the Autumn court son a look and he had known what you needed him to do. Rhys would be snarling mad when he woke, but you knew what you had to do. To save your home, to save the entire world. Feyre was ready to risk it all, fearless and full of hope. You had to save that hope for your Court. Better you than her, better the high lady and lord survive than just an officer. You smiled at the thought of what you'd told Cassian before this final battle. Before you knew it would turn into saving the entire world from the Cauldron's vengeance. "You better make damn sure my memorial statue looks fantastic. No priestess, though. Make sure it makes my wings stand out." You joked on the flight to the base camp. Cassian danced around death like he was it's balancing point. Like he was in tune with each and every death or life dealt. He laughed at your abruptness on the subject. After months of skittering around each other, of trying not to stare too long or acknowledge that pull you felt towards him... It was nice to finally be alone. To let that tension ease out with a few jokes. It was too easy to be with him, like you'd known him much longer in the year of preparation for this battle. "And you better make sure my wings are bigger than yours on that sculpture." He banked around a large cliffside and you followed, like a magnet. Like you could read his mind, you turned when he did. He rose with you, compensating for the cool mountain wind. You rolled your eyes dramatically, flapping a bit higher than him for emphasis as you drawled out "Poor War General, his wing size matters so much to him." He shrugged, circling lower and lower with you until you were on the ground together amid a clearing. The grass was soft, covered in early morning dew. "Some say wing size dosen't matter, you know." You said with a wink, making him double over with laughter. It made you begin laughing too when he started running out of breath. Once you had both collected yourselves, You began building a fire together. Rather, a massive bonfire that was to act as the signal to the army for where to move. His face was grim when he threw the last of the logs together. You understood why. "The Kings army will be here before us." You said, voice low. He only nodded. You kneeled in the wet grass, one knee down the other one supporting your wrist bracer. He followed you silently. You spoke in unison, the ancient words from all the Illyrian warriors before you: "Name me God of Death today. Let us bring that name to those who do us wrong." + Feyre muttered something you couldn't hear. The darkness crept further in on you. You could see some light between your blurred vision. You could see how her hands lit up the cracks in the ancient stonework. You could feel her practically vibrating with the strain. Your tears dribbled on to her shoulder, knowing these would be your final moments with her. Your final moments in this world. There was no better way you'd spend it than saving her. Spending those last few minutes being able to tell her how amazing she was. You felt her smile when you leaned your head against hers. Your heart ached. You whispered what you hoped were encouraging words in her ear. A rupture of sound- a crack fully mended -and your chest filled with blooming pride at your friend. There was something crackling, ripping. You weren't sure if it was inside you or if it was the magic Feyre was performing. There was a gasp behind you and rustling, but you dared not take your concentration away from her. Away from how she leaned back into you. Dared not speak a word to distract her other than giving her those little jabs of confidence when she started to shake. "You got it, Feyre. You can do this." You managed, before that caving feeling in your chest seemed to give in. You were breaking, you knew that much. But she wasn't done yet. Your breath leaked out from you, like you were being squeezed. "Make it all worth it, Feyre." You managed to whisper out before you could no longer hold yourself up anymore. You laid back, your legs wrapped around her, mirroring her own. You hooked a foot on top of hers and gave her what you could from where you crumpled. Death was easy, slow. Like a soft lullaby taking you away. You knew what lay before your body, and only hoped you were enough to get Feyre to where she could mend the rest on her own. You gave her all of your soul, all your being. She had to make it. You let the wave of that soft lullaby take you under. + Cassian didnt think before shoving his way through the crowd into the tent. Didnt consider what he might find there, and how his heart may be ripped from him at the sight of it. The death that crept at that tent was a feeling he wouldnt forget in a thousand lifetimes. His best friends lying unconscious on the floor before the cauldron. He went numb, still like a cold glacier. Lucien frantically shook Rhys, attempting to wake him. Cassian's head roared and he was falling to his knees at your side. He took your head in his lap, gently. As if he could still hurt you. He didn't notice he was crying until he saw the fat teardrops on your cheek. He wiped them away, leaving dirt smeared there. Another yell of anguish, and Rhys was coming to. From the sound of the yelling or from Lucien shaking him. Azriel entered the tent then, solemn. Then his eyes widened. Those shadows darted around the room, taking each member of the court into account. The shadowmaster rushed to Feyre, checking her pulse and sighing. He noted the way your leg tangled around hers. His heart gave a painful squeeze. He saw both his brothers in agony. And he swore on his life there would be no place for the cauldron to be found again. Cassian cradled his mate's head in his lap, rocking gently. Rhys' dark power cracked the sky outside the tent once he was conscious. Rhys rushed to Feyre, scooping her in his arms. He brushed her hair back from her face. Azriel could practically hear the mental screaming coming from both of them. The shadowmaster laid a hand on top of yours, closing his eyes and letting his tendrils of power, of those whispering shadows reach out. They circled your head, slowly like a snake. He felt that song then, singing back with his own. The essence of your soul, dancing around your aura. His eyes flashed open in surprise, then a manic laugh rumbled from his chest. "Rhys-" He breathed, pulling his attention away from a waking Feyre. Cassian looked up in a flash at his brothers, watching them exchange looks. "Bring my mate back now." Cassian growled at Rhys. The tone was utterly deadly. Promises of death from the Lord of Bloodshed if his command was not answered. Azriel's eyes darted between his brothers. As if he was expecting Cassian to attack. The high lord would have been gaping at him if he hadn't experienced the same pain of almost losing a mate. He nodded, pulling himself together long enough to enter your vacant mind. Then the cauldron was humming, as he dipped a mental hand into it as well. + Rhys' commanding voice rang out over your land of lavender and sunshine. "She will miss you." His voice was soft, but the attention it drew was still there. The meadow you laid in was softer than any silk in Velaris. More luxurious than any chair made to accompany your wings. You sighed, taking in the sweet scent before he spoke again. "Too much, I believe. Especially when she hears about what you did to save her." He appeared at the edge of the soft meadow, the grass around him waving like the sea. You sat up, dazzled at the sight of him here. In such a bright, lovely place. His tanned face seemed to glow with the smile he held for you. "I'm tired." You said, voice groggy. You wanted to lay back down. You closed your eyes, for just a second and when you opened again he was in front of you, crouched. He held a tattooed hand out, giving you a nod. "Just come with me and you can nap all you want." His eyes sparkled. Not with that starlit power, but with tears ready to spill over. You took that hand and closed your eyes. + Feyre's warm hand in yours was the first thing you felt when you woke. Rhys held her in the corner atop a pelt rug beside you. The brothers leaned against each other. Rhys played with Feyre's hair as she rested. The sight of them together, him protecting her so well made your heart sing in approval. you knew she always deserved someone as good as Rhys. The fire where the Cauldron once was made the tent cozy. There were no sounds other than the soft breathing and the occasional pop of wood on the fire. Azriel sat at the door, sword on his lap. Ready to kill if anyone dared enter. Then, you looked to the softness that cradled you. Cassian's face was covered in dirt, blood and more. He looked exhausted. Like he had been beaten, lost and beaten again. You tried a weak smile at him. Clean rivers ran down from his eyes, revealing the dark skin underneath. "I couldn't let you get a statue without me." He said, voice trembling. You smiled the best you could and reached a hand to stroke his cheek. "How-" You began, but he shushed you. "Just..rest for now. We can talk in the morning." He brushed a thumb over a silent tear that trickled from your eye. You nodded, and let him pull the blanket more firmly around you. Lulling you to sleep with soft humming.

#cassian x reader #cassian #acotar #the cauldron #acotar fic #bellefleurs #eerievixen

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hlizr50 · 3 years

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Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)

I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?

Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:

" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."

"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."

I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)

What I gained from this exercise was a few observations

Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment

Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?

The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)

See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court

A Court of Thrones and Roses:

Tamlin tells Lucien's Story

"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”

---

“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”

“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”

Under the Mountain

When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

---

Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

---

“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

---

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.

---

A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.

When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:

Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.

---

We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along

During the second trial:

In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them

---

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.

The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.

---

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.

When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:

“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.

After Feyre breaks the curse:

The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Mist and Fury:

Lucien telling Feyre about Jesminda:

“Even if I what?”

His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

Rhys tells Mor's story:

His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”

Nailed—nailed to her.

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Wings and Ruin:

Lucien tells his story:

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”

Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”

“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.

I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”

“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.

---

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

---

Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

Cassian snarled his warning.

I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

Lucien advises the Inner Circle:

Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”

A snarl from Rhys.

“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”

Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.

Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”

Eris in the Hewn City:

If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.

The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

---

“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”

“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.

“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.

“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”

And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”

Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.

“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”

Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.

“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.

“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.

“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”

Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.

“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”

“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.

High Lord's Meeting

(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)

Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”

I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.

Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?

---

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.

---

Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.

---

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.

“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.

---

Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

---

Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolled his eyes.

But Eris said, “Father.”

Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work.

Eris said, “I will take it.”

It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.

Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.

Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.

Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

---

Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.

---

This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.

But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

I didn’t deign responding.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

---

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.

“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.

---

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”

A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.

Expected.

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

The War:

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.

Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

---

But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.

---

Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”

“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.

The Final Meeting:

Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.

Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.

We did not bother to nod back. None of us.

Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Frost and Starlight:

Mor's Flashback (TW: physical abuse, violence)

But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.

Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”

That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.

Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help—

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

“Don’t touch her.”

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words.

“But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

...

She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.

“Move out.”

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.

Eris in the Hewn City:

“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”

Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.

Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Silver Flames:

Mor meets with Cassian:

“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.

Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.

Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:

Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

---

Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.

---

Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”

Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.

“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.

“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”

Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.

But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”

---

Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”

“Why? And no.”

“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”

“To overthrow your father.”

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

---

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:

And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.

Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.

Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:

“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.

“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.

To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.

Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”

“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.

Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”

Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:

“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”

“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.

“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”

Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”

“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”

“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.

Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”

---

Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”

“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.

“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

---

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.

---

Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”

Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”

“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”

Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”

Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”

Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”

Eris and Nesta dance:

"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”

“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”

---

Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

---

Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)

Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”

---

“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”

Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”

“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”

---

Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”

“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”

Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.

---

Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”

---

Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”

“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”

Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.

Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”

She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”

Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”

Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:

Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”

---

I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

Eris might be a good male?

Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

“Give me a damn answer.”

Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

----

Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

---

“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

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