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featherymalignancy · 5 years

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Like a Lonely House, Part VI

Alas, if only all updates were this swift! I am really excited to share this next installment with you, Part V was a good set-up, but I think this chapter is hopefully the pay-off. Also your support is what keeps me writing, so thank you so much. PLEASE ENJOY!

Like a Lonely House: A Nessian Story Of Betrayal and Redemption

“so I wait for you like a lonely house

till you will see me again and live in me.

Till then my windows ache.”

-Pablo Neruda

Warning: NSFW for language, mild violence and smut. This story is not ACOFAS complaint, but it will borrow elements from the story. oh, also tons of angst. Synopsis: Fifty years after the Hybernian War, Prythian is finally at peace. For Cassian and Nesta, animosity has turned to something more amorous, and they stand on a precipice of something that scares and excites them both. However, it only takes one night of weakness on Cassian’s part to change everything, and with a young Illyrian prince gaining power in the North, Nesta agrees to an marriage alliance, both to protect her family and get her as far away from Cassian as possible. As things unravel between them, Cassian begins to suspect there is something more deliberate seeking to keep them apart, and he struggles to uncover the truth and win Nesta back before it’s too late.

If you’re new to the story, please click HERE for the masterlist.

Part VI

Time—it seemed—had a wicked sense of humor.

It had dragged in the weeks after things had fallen apart with Cassian, even as had Nesta been desperate to see the incident washed out to distant memory. Now, as she waited with dreaded anticipation for the betrothal ceremony, time flew as if the flames of all seven hells were scorching its heels.

She didn’t allow herself to consider how Cassian’s absence this past month had affected things. She hadn’t seen him since the first day she’d arrived back from Illyria, and though her pride insisted it had been a relief to be rid of him, something deeper down despaired at it.

Not that it mattered; she still hadn’t forgiven him for what he’d done, and she was still intent on marrying the prince. Nothing had changed. Still, something about his absence set her on edge, as if something were...amiss somehow.

He’d still not arrived back on the evening the High Lords were due to arrive, a realization she forced herself not to dwell on as she sat getting ready.

She let her gaze settle into the middle distance as the twins attended to her, fastening a cuff of black diamonds around her wrist and twisting her hair into a voluminous knot at the crown of her head. She didn’t object when they tucked the јатаган into her hair as well, knowing despite everything that she’d feel better this evening if she were wearing it. Much harder to bear were the garnet earrings they offered her, their color so much like that of asgyir blood that Nesta found them hard to look at.

Nesta was just finishing slipping on her jeweled slippers when Feyre arrived, looking like a newborn star herself.

“Are you ready?” She asked, gaze cautious as she studied Nesta. “We need to be leaving for the palace soon.”

Nesta snorted, not wanting to have to lie and say she was.

“Are you?”

Feyre took a deep enough breath that crystals on her gown twinkled.

“It’s never—pleasant seeing him, I’ll admit. But I suppose we all have to make sacrifices now and again. Still...”

Her gaze was full of meaning when she turned it on Nesta again, and seeing where she was going, Nesta rose, holding up a hand.

“Don’t start with that, Feyre. Please, not tonight.”

Seeing her sister meant to ignore her, Nesta whipped the skirts of her velvet gown out from underfoot, starting down the grand staircase of the villa as Feyre trailed after her.

“Am I not allowed to ask how you are?”

“I’m fine,” Nesta said. “And would be better if you would stop pestering me.”

Feyre, it seemed, wasn’t to be deterred.

“It’s going to be a long evening. I just thought you might want to...talk.”

Nesta whirled, the tail of her velvet gown twining around her legs.

“Talk about what, exactly? Tonight is a stupid formality that doesn’t affect me one way or another.”

“And tomorrow?”

Nesta stiffened slightly.

“Tomorrow I will do what needs to be done for this family and this court.”

She picked up her skirt again, heading down the stairs in a effort to escape the conversation. However, when she was halfway down Feyre spoke again, so softly that even Nesta’s fae hearing could barely detect it.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Nesta grit her teeth.

“For what?”

“For all of it. For asking you to marry him, for letting you accept his proposal. You deserve better, Nes. I’m sorry.”

Nesta swallowed, beating back the forgotten dream of what she’d once imagined her life would be. However, when she turned to see Feyre, she caught a flashed of the half-starved child Nesta had let her become before she crossed the wall and she felt her resolve hardening.

“Perhaps this is exactly what I deserve.”

Before Feyre could protest, she glided down the rest of the stairs to where the rest of their court waited.

She ignored both Rhysand and the Shadowsinger as she passed them, coming to Elain’s side instead and squeezing her hand. She didn’t let herself wonder at where Cassian still was, or if he’d be here at all.

“Are we ready, then?” Rhysand asked, adjusting the cuffs of the great coat he wore, long enough that it nearly brushed the tips of his well-polished boots.

Mor huffed.

“As ready as I ever am to see Eris, that little prick.”

“Would you rather have spent the evening with Beron?” Rhysand asked.

“May he burn in the hells,” Feyre muttered under her breath.

“They’re both awful,” Elain said, wincing a little as she pressed a hand to her belly in an attempt to soothe the baby’s kicking. “I still wish Lucien had taken the crown.”

“I know he’s your mate, love, but just how many courts would you like him to rule?” Mor said, laughing a little. “He’s already Prince Consort to Vassa, and unless Flaviana and Helion have another child, he’s their only heir as well.”

“I know it wouldn’t actually have worked,” Elain said, blushing a little. “I just...Eris is so—”

“I don’t disagree,” Rhysand said with a sardonic smile. “But it’s not a problem we can solve this evening. Shall we?”

“Yes. The others will be vexed if they arrive before we do.”

Nesta found her anxiety mounting as Rhysand nodded, his expression mirthful but his eyes somewhat solemn. Nesta looked away from him before he could catch her eye. If there was one person she didn’t want pity from, it was him.

“Meet you at the palace, then,” he said, kissing Feyre softly before simply vanishing.

Mor disappeared as well, and Elain paused to give Nesta a reassuring smile before letting Azriel wrap them both in shadows. When they were gone, Feyre turned to Nesta.

“Shall we?”

Nesta nodded without comment, but as she reached to take Feyre’s hand, she found the words she’d sworn she wouldn’t say tumbling out of her mouth.

“Will he be there tonight?”

Feyre didn’t seem to need clarification on who she meant.

“Do you want him to be?” She asked quietly.

Nesta fought to master herself, pursing her lips.

“Why would I?”

“Then why ask?”

Nesta tongue felt tacky in her mouth as she tried to bite out a retort.

“Let’s go,” she said finally, and though Feyre looked poised to argue again, she merely nodded, pulling Nesta to her as they both disappeared.

They arrived several minutes later in the grand hall of the moonstone palace, servants bustling all around them as they waited for the six remaining High Lords of Prythian to arrive.

Nesta had only been there a handful of times before, and she marveled at the grandeur of it even as her nerves began to fray. There was something so formal in the lavishness of this palace, and being here suddenly made the kilhamine feel so much more real than it had in her own room in Velaris. She remembered the look Adan had been giving her the last time she’d seen him, she felt her stomach tying in sickening knots.

The first of their guests to arrive was Lucien, who dismissed the page rattling off his formal title of Prince Consort of Farrolien and Day Court Heir-apparent as he swept Elain off the floor into a merry hug.

“Gods, look at you!” He said, russet eye glittering as he held Elain at arms length. “Child-bearing suits you greatly, Enaid.”

Azriel gave an almost imperceptible snort as Elain blushed.

“You’re a liar, but a good one, so I won’t fight you. Where is Vassa? It feels its been ages.”

“She was attending a summit with the new queen in Faragast, but she should be here shortly.”

Before Elain could reply the doors boomed open again to admit a swaggering Eris Vanserra. The crown of rubies and canary diamonds he wore denoted his newly elevated station, as did the smug expression on his odiously handsome face. He came with a small retinue, none of whom Nesta recognized, though their rather sour expression told her they were less than pleased to be there.

Eris’s eyes glittered when they fell on Lucien and Elain, mouth curling into a sinuous smile.

“Hello, little brother. Good to see you and your mate reunited at last. Shame she’s now another male’s wife.”

Azriel snarled before a new voice called, “And where is your wife, brother?”

Eris turned to see Vassa striding through the gilt doors flanked by her cadre of guards, his expression souring as she flashed a cool smile.

“Ah that’s right,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You still haven’t got one.”

“Vassa,” Eris grit out by way of greeting.

However, Vassa ignored him in favor her husband, who she greeted with a soft kiss before turning to Elain.

“I should have known that you would wear pregnancy better than the rest of us,” Vassa said, beaming as she took Elain in. “I looked a whale with Sabina; you look like the Mother herself.”

“I think you’re looking lovely,” Rhysand said with a courtly bow. “Good to see you, Vassa.”

“Good to be seen, as always,” she said. “Is it just to be us, then?”

Eris flashed a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“Am I not enough for you, sister?”

Vassa’s gaze was sharp as she turned to smirk at him.

“No, I can’t say you are, darling.”

Eris’s lip curled, but before things could go any farther, the door opened again to admit Helion and his entourage. He was dressed in a customary white chiton, gold sparkling in his ears and at his bicep, where he wore the same serpentine cuff Nesta remembered from the first meeting of the High Lords all those years ago.

Beside him, Flaviana— Lucien’s mother—dazzled in a draped gown typical of the Day Court, the diadem in her auburn hair matching the delicate gold of her wedding band.

She smiled at seeing her sons, letting go of her husband to open her arms to them. Lucien broke from Vassa’s side to meet her embrace at once, though Eris remained where he was.

“Mother,” he said simply, expression wary as he studied her attire. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

“Not an unpleasant surprise I hope,” she said in a mild voice, smiling at Vassa in silent greeting before letting her russet gaze wander back to her eldest son.

“Father’s not even ten years in his grave, and already you’ve out of mourning blacks and parading here in Day Court finery.”

The ten or so soldiers Helion had brought with them seemed to bristle at the insult, even as their High Lord gave a cool laugh.

“Bold words from the male who put him in the ground in the first place,” Helion observed dispassionately. “Show some respect, boy, or you’ll find yourself lying beside him.”

“Let’s not fight,” Flaviana said, and Helion relented, turning to greet Rhysand instead.

“Good to see you, old friend. You should have weddings more often.”

Rhysand chuckled as they embraced, and Nesta stiffened as the Lord of Day’s dark eyes fell on her.

“Congratulations, my lady,” he said. “Or are we meant to call your princess now?”

“What do you care?” She said sharply, ignoring Feyre’s pointed look. “Surely the affairs of Illyria are beneath your notice.”

Helion gave a cat-like smile.

“Evidentially they aren’t, or I would not be here. It’s good to see that time hasn’t dulled your high spirits, though. Where you’re going, I feel you’ll need them.”

Nesta only gave a soft snarl, and Feyre seemed ready to intercede when Kallias and Viviane, newly crowned as the High Lady of Winter, were announced.

Though Kallias eyed her as customary greetings were traded and Mor and Viviane cooed over one another, Nesta was relieved when he made no move to specifically address her.

The two females were still discussing the arrangements for Mor’s mating ceremony to Viviane’s sister Allaria—currently in preciding over Winter while Kallias was away—when Thesan and his retinue arrived, his consort at his side and a host of Peregryn warriors filing in behind him.

“You always were a bit dramatic,” Helion chuckled as he watched the thirty or so Peregyn fighters fall into sentry formation a respectable distance away. Only Thesan’s husband remained at the High Lord’s side.

Thesan rolled his eyes.

“It’s so rare an honor to be invited to the Night Court,” he said primly, even as he bowed his head to Rhysand. “It seemed a treat that ought to be shared.”

“You know they’d be no match for the Illyrians in a fight,” Eris added with a smirk. “If you don’t believe me, ask—“

He broke off as his eyes scanned the growing assembly before his gaze found Nesta’s.

“Where’s your Lord Commander, princess?”

She refused to let the comment’s effect show on her face, so she merely pursed her lips instead. Eris grinned, teeth gleaming bone-white.

“I would have thought he would be at your feet all evening, loyal dog that he is. Or is it too much for him to watch you mar—“

“Enough, brother,” Lucien drawled. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

There was perhaps more that could have been said, but just then Tarquin appeared, flanked by Cresseida and a handful of others. Varian, Tarquin explained, had already winnowed to Velaris to be with Amren, who was currently guarding the city.

Nesta fought off the twinge this news produced. For all their differences, Varian and Amren had always made it seem so...easy. Why Nesta had never been able to manage the same—even given how alike she and Amren were—had always gnawed at her.

Not that it mattered now, she supposed. Not with Adan arriving tomorrow, and Cassian nowhere in sight.

Tarquin nodded his greeting to Feyre and Rhysand before turning to Nesta and giving a bow.

She fought not to stiffen when he said with considerably less mirth than Helion, “Congratulations, my lady. I hope your marriage is a happy one.”

Nesta couldn’t bring herself to smile or to thank him and so merely nodded instead.

“Shall we, then?” Rhysand said, snapping his fingers as servants appeared bearing trays of sparkling wine. “The kitchens have been waiting all month to impress you.”

“Are we not still one High Lord short?” Thesan said, eyes grazing over Feyre as if by mere accident. “It would seem poor manners not to wait.”

Helion laughed.

“Always the politician, Thesan. Have things grown so desperate in your lands that you feel the need to court Tamlin’s favor?”

“I agree with Thesan,” Tarquin said. “We may have all had our—differences in the past, but he is still High Lord. We owe him our respect.”

“You can’t honestly be so naive that you think he’d show his face here, of all places,” Eris scoffed. “I sometimes forget how young you still are, Tarquin.”

“I may be young,” Tarquin said, voice colder now. “But still I’ve been a High Lord far longer than you.”

“Well this is going well,” Mor murmured from beside Nesta.

Nesta, for her part, felt her composure fraying as the back-biting continued. If there was this little diplomacy amongst the High Fae, what would it be like when the Illyrians arrived? The idea made her slightly queasy.

“How long do you expect us to wait, Rhysand?” Kallias cut in, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind. “I’m starving.”

Helion snorted.

“I wouldn’t hold my breat—“

The door blew open much more violently than before, the harried page trailing behind and stammering titles as Tamlin strode in with a cadre of fully-armed guards and a delicate young female at his side.

“What an honor,” he drawled, eyes deliberately avoiding Feyre as he met Rhysand’s gaze. “To see your fabled territory at last, Rhysand.”

“And what an honor for you to grace us with your presence at last,” Rhysand shot back, lips curling into wicked smirk. “I feared you might be too busy to join our merry gathering.”

At this the female spoke, giving a little bow as she did. Her tone much more pleasant as she said, “The honor is ours, My Lord, truly. Please, forgive us for our tardiness.”

Everyone’s gaze slid to her at once, marking the fine lavender gown and the canary diamond sparkling at her finger. She seemed uncomfortable under the scrunity, only settling when Tamlin pressed a soft hand to her back.

“My wife, Céres,” he offered finally, and Nesta observed a collective effort among the assembled not to gawk.

Rhysand recovered first, the cruel edge sliding out of his smile as he turned his remarkable gaze on Céres.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You are very welcome here, my lady.”

Céres bowed her head in deference as a tense silence overtook the crowd, broken only by Vassa’s merry interjection.

“So it really is just you now then, brother,” she said to Eris, flashing him a bronzed smile. “How interesting.”

“This is happy news,” Helion said. “When did this come about? And shall I assume my invitation was lost in the post? It’s bad manners to keep secrets, Tamlin.”

“I don’t recall receiving an invitation to your nuptials either,” Tamlin snapped, jerking his head towards where Flaviana stood.

“Three months ago,” Céres offered, laying a hand on her husband’s arm. “And it was very small affair. I’m afraid I’m simple country girl, and not much for pomp and ceremony.”

A commoner, then. Nesta couldn’t say quite why, but knowing that Tamlin had made a love match made her stomach ache.

“Unfortunately sometimes pomp is necessary, my lady,” Nesta replied.

Céres blushed, folding slightly into Tamlin as he fixed Nesta with a withering stare that had her feeling even more agitated.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend you,” Céres said.

Tamlin gave a dismissive wave.

“Don’t trouble yourself with apologizes, my love. Nesta Archeron’s always been a barbarous creature.”

“Watch your mouth,” Feyre warned. “You may be High Lord, but you are still a guest in this house.”

At this Tamlin’s eyes flicked to Feyre, something dark and complex sparkling in them even as his lip curled.

“As the High Lady commands,” he said.

“Tam,” Céres said quietly. “Please.”

He seemed to settle somewhat at that, and it made Nesta want to scream. He loved her, and she clearly loved him. Even Tamlin, for all his sins, had been allowed to find his happiness. What did it say about her own sins that the Mother hadn’t seen fit to grant Nesta the same?

“Shall we dine, then?” Rhysand said, taking Feyre’s hand as they traded a long look. “I don’t want Kallias’s death on my hands.”

A ripple of laughs echoed as Rhysand led the group to a large hall that overlooked the mountains beyond, beautiful almost beyond imagining.

At first the conversation remained light as appetizers were circulated on trays and dancers performed to hypnotic music. However, when the hall had quieted, the High Lords and their consorts seated around a large round table with their vassals scattered at long tables farther down the hall, talk grew more serious.

“So,” Thesan began, accepting more wine from a passing servant as his dark eyes found Nesta and the others across the table. “Tell us about this prince of yours, Rhysand.”

Rhysand, never one to cede ground, only flashed a wicked, sleepy smile.

“What is it you want to know? I would tell you how young and handsome he is, but I’m afraid your husband may grow jealous.”

The male in question only pursed his lips as Thesan’s expression grew more serious.

“I admit it was—a surprise,” Helion added, eying Nesta more openly than Thesan had.

Nesta felt the fork bending in her hand as she fought not to unravel at the unspoken question dazzling in his eyes.

“I don’t know why,” Feyre cut in mildly. “We’ve long sought a closer relationship with Illyria, given Rhys’s heritage. Why shouldn’t my sister marry an Illyrian?”

Eris laughed, clearly unmoved by the deflection.

“I don’t think that was ever in question,” he said.

Nesta turned to sneer at him, a gesture he met with a lascivious smile. “Rumor often had it, my lady, that your affections lay...slightly lower in the Illyrian social order.”

“Eris,” Flaviana chided, but he ignored her.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Nesta said tightly, wondering how long she could last under this type of scrutiny.

“And yet Rhysand’s general remains absent this evening,” Tamlin pointed out, eyes the poisonous green of a snake’s skin. “Do you expect us to just ignore that? Considering the conquering army you’ve invited into our midst tomorrow, I would expect him to be here keeping order.”

When Nesta only clenched her jaw in response, Tamlin added, “Or is that a secret you’re hoping to keep from your Illyrian prince?”

Nesta felt her control snap like a split log, and she whirled on Tamlin, teeth bared.

“If we came to spill secrets, perhaps your new bride would like to hear some of yours.”

Céres paled at her mention, and gorged on the younger female’s timid reaction, Nesta pressed on.

“How you were so jealous and controlling a lover that you saw fit to lock my sister in your manor, your possessiveness driving her to the breaking point.”

“Nesta—“ Feyre interceded quietly, but Nesta wasn’t done.

“Or how you betrayed us to Hybern just so you could have her back under your insidious control.”

Tamlin snarled, and Nesta snarled right back.

“Tell her, Tamlin. Tell your sweet, provincial wife how you sought to destroy Feyre’s character when you realized she’d mated Rhysand. How you tried to ruin her reputation by humiliating her in from of this very assembly.”

Tamlin spit out a filthy curse, claws unsheathed as his lip skinned back to reveal razor sharp canines, long enough to tear out throats.

“You—“

“Before you finish that threat,” Nesta snapped, chest heaving now as she warred with all the unresolved aches Cassian’s absence these long weeks has caused. “I will remind you that when I am the Şezhana of Macar, I will have both the power of this court and twelve Illyrian legions at my back. Consider that next time you pry into my personal affairs.”

The table was silent when she’d finished, Céres pale and trembling as she reached to touch her husband’s hand, the claws retracting as she did so.

Nesta watched the silent exchange, so sick with envy and rage that she feared she would burst apart.

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” she said, still glaring at Tamlin. “Least of all you.”

When Eris snorted into his goblet, she fixed her gaze on him, glad for another target to dull the anger and pain before she had no choice but to turn it inward.

“And you,” she said, lip curling in disgust. “You may wear your father’s gawdy crown, but we all know that were your brother a fraction more ambitious, that title would be his, Vanserra blood or no.”

Lucien shifted in his seat, making eye contact with his mother across the table before looking down into his wine goblet.

Eris, for his part, only gave a slow grin. If he’d been insulted by the barb, he didn’t show it, eyes raking Nesta’s form as he drawled, “Such claws for so beautiful a female. It’s no wonder the General’s run off.”

Nesta hadn’t expected the comment to hurt, but somehow it struck at something tender she didn’t know how to protect, and she hated herself for the tears in her eyes.

“That’s enough,” Rhys said in a lethal purr, his power unfurling in an obsidian wave that rolled across the marble floor. “Eris, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth or I’ll have no choice but to rip it out.”

Eris gave an insolent shrug. “I’m merely stating what everyone else has already observed.”

“To the hells with all of you,” Nesta snarled softly, throwing down her napkin and rising to her feet.

She gave her skirts a hard tug as she stormed off, Feyre’s next threat to Eris bouncing off the moonstone walls as Elain leapt up to follow her.

Nesta was nearly to the rooms she’d been appointed when Elain caught up, grabbing Nesta’s arm.

“Nesta,” Elain pleaded quietly, reaching to wipe away the few tears Nesta hadn’t managed to hold back. “Please, talk to me.”

“No,” Nesta said, pushing her sister’s hand from her face. “Just leave me be, Elain.”

“I can’t. Not when I see you like this.”

“I’m fine,” she grit out. “It’s—fine.”

Elain bit her lip, gently brushing some hair from Nedra’s face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—didn’t see...Nes, there is something you should know about Cassian. He—“

“Don’t,” Nesta snarled quietly. “I mean it.”

Elain ignored her.

“I’d hoped to have more to tell you by now, but seeing you tonight—you cannot make any vows tomorrow until you hear what I have to say.”

“I don’t care,” Nesta said. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But—“

“Why does what I want never matter!” Nesta burst out. “I said no; let that be the end of it.”

“Nes,” Elain pleaded, tears in her eyes now, too.

“It doesn’t matter, don’t you see? I’m marrying Adan; that’s final.”

When Elain reached for her again, Nesta didn’t think; she simply vanished. If this truly was to be her last night for freedom, she would not spend it like this.

When she appeared in the clearing Cassian had once shown her she collapsed to the ground, uncaring at her ruined gown as she began to sob.

Dinner was over by the time Cassian arrived back from Illyria, but he found Rhys and Azriel in the war room, drinking liquor and speaking in low tones.

“Anything?” Azriel said in greeting as Cassian went to pour himself a glass.

Cassian shook his head.

“I’ve been to every High Fae outpost in Illyria; wherever she is, it’s not there.”

Cassian tried not to despair at all the time he’d wasted, at the gamble that hadn’t paid off. His instincts had begged him to stay in Velaris after Nesta returned, to be near in case she changed her mind.

He knew Nesta too well for that, though. All the begging in the world wouldn’t have been enough to convince her. So he’d gone to Illyria instead, searching every tavern, trading post, and boarding house for a High Fae female matching the description of the one who’d drugged him.

It had all been in vain.

The Illyrians had by and large learned to respect him after the war in Hybern, grateful for the sacrifices he’d made to keep those under his command safe even where the fighting was the thickest. Still, obliging and forthcoming weren’t the same thing, and though he was met with less hostility than he might have encountered fifty years ago, no one had been overly eager to answer his questions, either.

Cassian took a large swallow of his drink and sank down on the couch, head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Rhys said for the window. “I know you were hoping for answers by now.”

Cassian opened his mouth to ask what he was going to do, but unsure if he could handle hearing the answer, he promptly shut it again.

“How was dinner?” He finally managed.

He didn’t miss the look Rhys and Az traded over his head.

“What?” He demanded.

Azriel sighed.

“Nesta didn’t make it past the third course.”

Cassian fury roared to the surface at this, and he bared his teeth.

“What happened?”

It was Rhys who replied.

“Eris, mostly, though Tamlin certainly wasn’t helping, either.”

Cassian felt his mouth going dry.

“What did they say?”

Rhys winced.

“Jabs about you and her, mostly. I will say, there is a sort of grim pleasure to be had in watching Nesta use that sharp tongue on someone other than myself. She cut Tamlin to pieces in front of his new wife, and if Eris had any shame, she would have laid him low, too.”

“Tamlin is married?”

Rhys gave a sardonic smile.

“I know. Just giving the bloody title away these days.”

Cassian didn’t return the gesture. That Tamlin—sniveling, cruel Tamlin—had managed to find a wife was a whet stone to his rage. And when Cassian thought of the High Lord seeking to humiliate Nesta the same he’d once done to Feyre, Cassian wanted to shatter something.

She was his to protect, to defend, and he’d once again failed her. He never should have left, never should have forced her to endure it all alone.

“How is she?” He asked finally.

“Hurting, I think. She misses you, Cass, even if she’s too proud to admit it.”

Cassian blew out a breath, sinking back farther in his chair.

“What am I going to do? The Macarans arrive tomorrow. I’ve lost her.”

“A kihlamine is not a marriage ceremony. The bond could still be broken if the proper proof were presented.”

“And where am I going to find this proof? I’ve been everywhere. The female’s a phantom.”

“You haven’t been to Macar,” Az said quietly. “With Adan and his cadre here, I’ll be able to double the amount of spies in the North. Triple them, even. My gut tells me we’ll find her there.”

“And if we do?”

Azriel’s gaze went cold.

“I rip the skin from her bones until she tells us the truth.”

“What if she isn’t in Macar? What is she really was some traveler, and I really—“

“We will find her,” Rhys interrupted. “I promise. Until then, play your part. The Macarans are more likely to make a mistake if they think they’ve won.”

Cassian ground his teeth with such force he was surprised one of his molars didn’t crack.

“You expect me to participate tomorrow?”

Rhys’s eyes softened even as his expression remained firm.

“It’s the only way, brother.”

“No,” Cassian said. “Never.”

“Now isn’t the time to strike,” Azriel said. “We have to wait for the advantage.”

“In the meantime, we need to behave as if nothing is amiss,” Rhys added. “Besides, how will it look to the Macaran and Bakkarati legions if their Lord Commander is not there? This isn’t just about settling scores with the prince; it’s a battle for Illyria’s soul. I know it’s a lot, but please Cass, just stay the course.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Cassian said, running a hand through is hair.

“Yes,” Rhys said quietly after a moment. “I do.”

Cassian thought again of Amarantha, and of all the pain his friend had been forced to bear these many years in silence.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, and Rhys’s shoulders stiffened.

“For what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“For her.” Cassian couldn’t bear to say the name aloud. “For what she did to you. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. I’m sorry, Rhys.”

Rhys loosed a breath, eyes glittering.

“So am I. I should have had more faith in you. I’m sorry I believed—“

“It’s not your fault,” Cassian said, bowing his head.

“We’ll set it right,” Azriel said.

“And Macar?” Cassian asked. “We might be heading for the very war we’ve been avoiding. There are rumors, you know. I heard them while I was in Illyria: that Adan is the Babasiz Prens; the one meant to unite all the tribes under a single banner.”

“The Prince of Bastards,” Azriel snorted with disgust. “It’s an Illyrian superstition. There will never be a united Illyria; not in a hundred lifetimes.”

Cassian wasn’t nearly so convinced. He’d heard the way Illyrians were whispering Adan’s name from Marmaris to the far north shores. Besides, if the last several months were any indication, the Mother had a very cruel sense of humor.

“If they’re right about him, removing him will be next to impossible,” he said, running a hand through his hair again.

“And if we’re right about him, we will be saving Illyria from the rule of a tyrant,” Rhys pointed out. “We will find a way to set it all right, I promise. Get some rest, Cass. We all have a big day ahead of us.”

Cassian nodded, draining his glass before rising to his feet. He bid his brothers good night and headed to his usual chambers, intent on drinking until he could forget. Still, he felt himself being called down an unfamiliar staircase. He knew where it must lead, and he warred with himself on whether he dared go there while he was feeling so wretched. However, his feet kept moving, and when he saw the door—felt her scent twining around him—he couldn’t resist.

Placing a scarred palm against the wood, he whispered, “Nesta. Are you awake?”

There was no answer, and though he hadn’t actually expected one, his heart ached. Resting his forehead on the oak panel, he forced himself on, knowing he had to say the words even if it killed him.

“I know you’re still angry with me, and I don’t blame you.”

More silence. Cassian grit his teeth, trying to swallow the lump in his throat as he pressed on.

“And I know you won’t believe me, but I didn’t betray you, Nes. At least, not willingly. I had hoped to have proof by now, to show you, but—“

He broke off, swallowing thickly.

“I don’t,” he admitted, fingers pressing into the wood of the door to keep himself from reaching for the handle. “The only thing I have is this: that I love you, Nesta Archeron. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I will love you until I am dust and ashes. If you believe nothing else, please Nesta, believe that.”

Again there was no answer, but a soft rustling told him she was at least awake. He rested his forehead against the door, taking a shuddering breath.

He swore he could scent her just other side of it, listening to every word. Tentatively, he reached though bond and felt her there, the bridge no longer so cold and dark. She was still too far to touch, but somehow he knew she was there, watching him.

He withdrew with a shuddering breath. It was enough.

For now, he had to let it be enough.

“Te cакам,” he murmured, giving the door a final stroke before pushing away from it. It was an effort of will to move away from the door, but he forced himself to do it. Forced himself not to listen for her as he retreated down the hall and out of sight.

Nesta didn’t speak a word as the twins dressed her the next day, replaying Cassian’s words in her mind as she stared down her reflection in the mirror.

I love you. If you believe nothing else, believe that.

It didn’t matter, she tried to tell herself as the Nuala dusted gold powder on her cheeks and Cerridwen lined her eyes with kohl. Whatever she and Cassian had once shared, it was in a different lifetime. Nesta was sworn to Adan now, and she would see that vow through even if it killed her.

For Elain, she told herself as the twins tightened her corset, enough she could barely breathe. For Feyre, she intoned as they gave her heavy earrings and an even heavier tiara. For the baby, and for the peace her father had died to give them. For them, anything. For them, everything.

She was drawn from her reverie by Cerridwen’s cool hand on her shoulder.

“Your gown, my lady,” she said, gesturing to where it had been laid out on the bed.

Nesta nodded, accepting Nuala’s help to stand as they began easing her into it. It was black, fitted through the sleeves and jeweled bodice before billowing out at the hips into a sea of silk nearly double the width of Nesta’s slim waist. The gown trailed a good six feet behind her as well, and weighed enough that Nesta wasn’t sure how she’d manage to walk in it. Still, the effect was undeniable. When she looked into the glass when the twins had finished, she hardly recognized the woman staring back.

No, not a woman, she realized, or even a female.

A şezhana.

There was a knock at the door as Nesta eased into the heeled slippers, and she gestured for Nuala to open it.

She was surprised to find the Shadowsinger there, his face expressionless as he drank her in.

“You too?” She snapped in greeting. She wasn’t sure she could stomach another plaintive speech reminding her she didn’t have to go through with it. “My sisters have grown desperate indeed if they’re sending you here to beg their case.”

“I’m not here to beg,” Azriel said. “Or to ask you if you’re sure. I know the measure your resolve.”

Nesta looked away, hating how much of Adan she could see in his strong Macaran features.

“Why have you come, then?”

The Darkbringer horns outside began to sound, heralding the late hour. Azriel didn’t move at hearing them, just stared at Nesta with unyielding focus.

“I came to tell you that you are not alone.”

Nesta spine stiffened, but he continued, tone cold and smooth as marble. Still, there was something in his eyes...

“During your kihlamine, and after, wherever that may be. One of my people will be with you. Always.”

His gaze met hers, and she saw a flash of the male her sister so loved, the one buried beneath all the ice.

“And if you should ever need me, I will come. You have my word.”

“Why?” Nesta found herself saying, throat dry.

He cocked his head slightly, as if considering. Finally, he spoke.

“Because there is a light inside you, Nesta Archeron, much as you like to hide it. I will not see the Macarans extinguish it.”

Nesta’s eyes burned. She wasn’t often at a loss for words, but this promise—so simple and frank—assuaged a fear she hadn’t fully acknowledged she’d been harboring.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

The Shadowsinger only nodded, offering his arm.

“Are you ready? It’s time.”

She nodded, accepting the gesture if for no other reason than she didn’t have a choice; the gown was unwieldy, and she was having trouble keeping the skirt from underfoot.

Azriel said nothing of her struggle as they exited the suite, waiting patiently for her to master the satin beast before leading her to a dais overlooking a grand courtyard.

All seven High Lords were already assembled, each decked in the full splendor of their courts.

Kallias, the farthest from her, wore an artic blue doublet, a crown of diamonds fashioned to resemble shards of ice sitting on his brow. Thesan stood behind him in a tunic the color of red dawn, his peregryn guard behind. Helion wore the same white robes he’d wore the first time Nesta had met him, the upright serpent twisted around his arm and the corona of golden rays atop his head. Tarquin’s surcoat was a shade not unlike Kallias’s, though were the former’s was icy, the latter’s was rich, like the azure waters of his territory.

Tamlin and Eris she both ignored, not watching to give them indication their comments the previous evening had found their marks.

Rhysand and the rest of their court were gathered as well, and Nesta forced herself to smile at both her sisters and squeeze their hands as they all fell into position, Azriel melting from her side to stand to Rhysand’s left.

Nesta didn’t have the courage to look at Cassian even though she sensed his presence. She was feeling brittle enough as it was, and when she remembered his declaration the night before—

She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

“Are you alright?” Feyre said from her side.

“This gown is very tight,” Nesta managed, forcing her pulse to slow with a caress of her deadly power.

“We can loosen—“

“It’s fine Feyre,” Nesta said. “Please, don’t fuss.”

Feyre nodded, and they returned to their vigil, waiting for the Illyrians to arrive.

“I see your vassals have adopted their master’s insolence,” Helion said to Rhys, shifting on his feet as they all waited. “Your princeling is late.”

Rhys smirked.

“Did you have somewhere else you’d rather be? I thought you loved my Illyrian males.”

Helion chuckled, even as the others seem to bristle.

No one else spoke as the minutes stretched on, the only sound the snapping the Nightbringers’ banners and the shifting of Peregryn wings. Still, Nesta could feel the tension on the dais rising.

From her right, she saw a flash of silver-tipped ivory as Tamlin’s claws slid from his knuckles before retracting and sliding back out. Beside him, Eris’s hand had strayed to the pommel of his saber, his caramel eyes flicking skyward every several seconds.

To her left, however, Rhysand and the Illyrians stood still as statues. Rhysand was dressed in Night Court finery, as beautiful and ornate as anything the other High Lords wore. However, Cassian and Azriel were both in full Illyrian battle regalia, each bearing a curved sword at either hip. They even wore silver hoops in their ears, a symbol of high Illyrian military rank Nesta had never seen either of them indulge in before.

She tried to look away from the formidable tableau the three of them made, the High Lord and his Illyrians, but she found her gaze snagging on Cassian’s profile as he stared straight ahead. His hair had been drawn back into three plaits along the top and sides of his head, and it bared his face in a way that made him even more handsome and fierce. He looked exactly as she’d remembered him on the battlefield in Hybern, and it made her heart thunder in her chest.

I have no regrets in my life, save this.

I love you. If you believe nothing else, believe that.

As if sensing her gaze, he turned to look at her. His brows knotted as he studied her expression, and she quickly turned away, the heavy diamond and onyx earrings she wore jangling as she did. Given the pledge she was just about to make, she couldn’t afford to give him any indication she was less sure than she seemed. The die was cast, and no matter the cost—

A distant rumble sounded, and everyone looked skyward, tensing slightly.

“Is it going to rain?” Céres asked, her fingers digging into Tamlin’s jacket at the hip. “There are no clouds.”

Tamlin wrapped an arm behind him to pull her closer as the others tensed.

“That’s not thunder,” Kallias said, trading a glance with Viviane. Thesan’s Peregryn shifted into a more defensive stance as the sound grew louder.

“What—“ Céres began.

A gutteral war horn reverberated through the air, following by the tell-tale boom of Illyrian bone drums. It was a sound that Nesta still heard in her nightmares, and she felt a trail of cold sweating slithering down her spine.

“Whatever you do,” Rhys said quietly from beside her. “Try not to show any fear. Adan will consider it an insult.”

Before she could snap a retort, the Illyrians themselves appeared, falling from the sky like an obsidian rain. They landed in succession, lining the walkway below the dais and banging their spears against their shields in thunderous rhythm.

A moment later, the chanting began.

Nesta could feel the great drums beating in her very bones, and she straightened, determined not to lose her nerve.

“What are they saying?” She asked quietly, eyes still cast out over the assembly.

“An ode,” Rhysand murmured. “To the eternal glory of Illyria. And a warning to those who would cross it.”

All at once the chanting and the drums stopped, the silence deafening as they all waited, breathless. Then somewhere a great horn blew, an the drums began again in a less frenzied beat that echoed in time with the horn as it continued its low, measured hum.

Two riders appeared at the end of the aisle, both helmeted and riding fully-armored destriers.

“I thought Illyrians didn’t ride,” Tarquin said.

“Evidentially, they do,” Helion said. “Which is your prince, Rhys?”

Nesta studied the riders, once bearing emerald syphons, the other amethyst. Lazar and the Lieutenant Na’afeh.

“Neither,” Rhysand said, sounding somewhat bemused. “Though he does seem to love making a spectac—“

There was a terrible shriek, and they looked up the see an asgyir descending towards the ground, its wings beating in time with its rider’s.

“Gods be damned,” Lucien murmured when the beast let out another piercing cry just its hooves touched the ground, head tossing as it fought the bit in its mouth.

Its rider beat their wings to steady the landing, pulling the creature this way and that to keep it from taking flight again.

He wore an ornate helmet, his face obscured by a bronze mask sculpted to resemble his features. Two large rams horns curled from the back of his head, and he truly looked like on of the Old Gods; the ones ever Stryga had the Carver would have worshipped.

The agsyir reared again, and Nesta felt Adan’s attention on her has he wheeled the beast towards the Dias. The soldiers lining Adan’s path began to stamp their feet in time with the heavy drums, and Nesta could hear the Peregryns’ wings shifting in nervous agitation behind her.

Eris snorted as Adan continued his approach.

“Good luck, princess.”

Nesta bristled.

Enough of this, her pride snarled. She was Nesta Archeron, thief of the great Cauldron and slayer of the King of Hybern. She would not be cowed by this display, impressive though it was. She let the lingering fear—the memories of the Illyrian dead and dying—filter through her before pushing the notion aside. If Adan wanted to make a spectacle, she would give him one in return.

Nesta willed her heart to slow as she dragged at her power, drawing it up like water from a dark well. It made her palm itch and her eyes burn, but she ignored it, focusing on the frothing asgyir instead.

She felt her power slithering from her body like a python from a branch, silent as it sought its quarry. It took her a minute to find the beast’s pulse under the beating of the drums, but finally she felt it, thundering like a tempest.

She struck, wrapping her power around creature’s life-force and beginning to squeeze.

The asgyir reared with a shriek, but Adan managed to keep his hold on the reins as he called a command and the creature steadied.

Nesta tightened her grip, and the beast careened half a step to the left, nearing knocking into Lazar’s horse before finding its balance. Still, Nesta could feel it’s pulse slowing under her insidious grip. It stumbled several steps to the right this time, eyes rolling back in its head as it fought her.

Nesta grit her teeth against the strain, raising a clenched first to keep her power from slipping.

“Witch,” Tamlin breathed, but Nesta didn’t relent.

“If Adan wishes to play at power, perhaps he requires a lesson in what real power looks like.”

The asgyir keeled sideways like a drunken sailor, and Adan had to beat his own wings to keep from being toppled.

It was no use. As Nesta squeezed her fist tight enough for her long nails to dig into her palms, the beast screamed, stumbling to its knees. Adan only had time to leap off the creature as it slumped to the cobblestones, alive but unconscious.

Nesta could feel Adan’s eyes on her even though the mask as he glanced up to the dais, and she lowered her fist slowly. Let him see, she thought. Let him see her power and despair.

However, if the felling of his wicked beast bothered Adan, he didn’t show it. As soon as he was back in his feet, Lazar and Lieutenant Na’afeh were at his side. Adan tugged off the helmet as he sauntered forward, handing it to Lazar as the three of them knelt, bowing their heads.

All seven of the High Lords had loosened their grip on their powers, and Nesta could smell the bloom of fresh Spring flowers and hear the phantom rustle of an Autumnal breeze, taste the bite of snow on her tongue and feel the warmth of dawn’s rays warming her skin . However, it was darkness of Rhysand’s power that ruled over all the rest, and it poured from him like waves of heat, obsidian mist cascading down the dais steps until Adan and the others were nearly buried up to their shoulders.

However, none of them moved, heads still bent as their waited for their High Lord’s permission to rise.

Instead of addressing them, Rhysand turned to look at Cassian. The latter gave a solemn nod before breaking from where he’d stood behind Feyre and descending the steps. The Illyrian foot soldiers all came to attention as he approached, their heads bowed in deference as they pressed their fists to their hearts.

The Lord of Bloodshed. That’s who Cassian was as he made his way to Adan. Greater than any mere prince or warlord. The best of them, in title and in deed. Indeed, even with his nine syphons Adan seemed a boy next to the dreaded Lord Commander, because while the prince may have had power, Cassian was power.

Cassian finally reached where the prince knelt, and after something in murmured Illyrian Adan rose to his feet, a hand to his chest in the same deferential gesture his soldiers had given. Cassian cuffed him on the shoulder before pressing his brow to Adan’s, so close they were nose to nose. It was an old Illyrian greeting Nesta had seen used before, meant to symbolize the meeting of two equals.

She watched as they exchanged words, and she felt as if she were watching her future and her past colliding, what was versus what might have been. The male she was sworn to, and the male she—

It was Cassian who finally pulled away, face stony even as he gestured the rest of the Illyrians at ease with a flick of his wrist. He turned to survey the veritable army Adan had brought with him for the ceremony, hazel eyes keen as if he meant to mark every single face down the the last soldier.

His eyes moved over the crowd before seeming to snag. He stiffened, and Nesta felt a spike of oily wrongness slithering down her spine as Cassian’s wings twitched slightly. The feeling was unexpectedly intrusive, and her mouth watered as she fought down bile.

However, but it was gone before she could think to fully question it. Adan and Cassian were ascending the dais now shoulder-to-shoulder, and she tried to keep her breathing as she met Adan’s dark gaze. His expression was the same as it had been the last time she’d seemed him, eager and edged.

When she glanced at Cassian, however, she felt her blood go cold. His face was blank but his eyes blazed, and she felt a stab of ire course through her, so cold it burned. Whatever mental door that had been opened between them the previous evening seemed to have been blasted off its hinges, and Nesta could feel his anger almost as if it were her own. It was violent enough that she nearly swayed on her feet, and she had to fight to maintain a neutral expression as Adan approached, falling to his knees before the leaders of Prythian.

“My Lords,” he said. “It is an honor.”

They gazed down at him with hard eyes, each trying to assess just how much power it was that knelt before them now. Nesta felt the wash of each other their magics, potent enough to make one sick as they eddied together.

Still, Nesta found herself struggling to tear her focus from Cassian, whose thundered heartbeat she could still hear bounding in time with her own. She grit her teeth, fighting to tear herself from the whirlpool of his essence. She couldn’t give in to the temptation to abandon herself to it, not with Adan within scenting range—

She forced her gaze back to the prince in time to find Rhysand silently ordering Adan to his feet, arms wide as he announced, “Welcome, Adan Demir-Macar, to the Hewn City.”

Cassian could barely catch his breath as Rhys made the customary overtures, his vision going red at the edges.

He’d seen her, tucked among the crowd of Macaran gentry.

It had only been for a moment, but he knew it was her. He would know that face—those dark eyes—anywhere; he still saw them in his nightmares, could still feel them raking his bare skin as he’d struggled to get dressed the next morning.

He couldn’t breathe. After months spent scouring the territory to no avail, she was here, in the Hewn City.

And she was traveling in the Şehzade’s revenue.

Next Time on Like a Lonely House...

Cassian watched as Elain pretended to stumble, sending an unsuspecting Céres sprawling backwards—

And straight into Lazar.

Surprised, he grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling to the floor, turning his back to the female in question as he did.

It was enough. In an instant Azriel had disappeared from Cassian's side, reappearing as nothing more than a long shadow behind where the female stood, watching the exchange with frightened eyes. Cassian's heart thundered as they both vanished.

By now Tamlin was there, an abashed Céres scuttling behind him as he wrapped a protective arm around her and snarled at the younger Illyrian.

"How dare you," Tamlin began.

Lazar put his hands up, bronze skin paling at the teeth Tamlin now had mere inches from his throat.

"I haven't done anything!"

He looked somewhat helplessly to Rhys as he approached.

"My Lord, please!"

Rhys clicked his tongue as he surveyed the scene with dispassion.

"Oh Lazar, you do like to make trouble, don't do?"

"I swear, My Lord, she fell into me!"

Tamlin snarled.

"You had your hands all over her!"

"Lazar, what's going on?"

Adan appeared at his cousin's side, subtly inserting himself between the Tamlin and the younger male.

"I'm afraid Lazar's found himself in a bit of trouble," Rhys purred, eyes glittering behind the mask of the cruel High Lord Cassian had seen him wear so many times before. "He seems rather good at that."

Cassian heard Rhys speaking in his mind, voice markedly less amused.

Azriel has her in the dungeon. Be discreet. Make sure you aren't seen, and don't be gone too long. I'll keep Lazar distracted.

Cassian needed no prompting. Casting a final look to ensure to assure the Illyrians were suitably occupied, he slipped into a shadow and out into the hall.

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#acotar #nessian #nesta x cassian #like a lonely house #featherywrites #acomaf #elriel

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thebluemartini · 5 years

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Far From the Shallow - Chapter 7 [Nessian Fic]

TITLE: Far From the Shallow SYNOPSIS: Post-ACOFAS. As part of a deal with Feyre, Nesta has agreed to live with Cassian in the Illyrian Mountains. However, shortly after her arrival, she receives the startling news that she’s pregnant from one of her one-night stands. While she tries to quickly get a grip on her life, Cassian’s determined to make her see that she’s not facing this alone.

FIC LENGTH: Multi-chapter (Total Chapter Estimate: 14)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 TAGGING: @trash-for-nessian @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights @queenofillea1 @nestaarcheronwillkillme @my-fan-side @strangeenemy @maastrash @cageddovepoetry @bybooksanddreams @lilbat90 @ritamordio19 @mastercommandercaptain @feysand-dot-acotar @archeron-queen @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @empress-ofbloodshed @there-is-warmth-in-winter @mybbyfeyre @saltydreamcollector @justlikethecheshirecat @mis-lil-red @supebowlere @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @everything-that-i-love

*This chapter is also posted on AO3 and FF ________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 7: February

As Cassian flew back from Velaris to his cabin, his body seemed to sing at the fact that he was getting closer and closer to Nesta. A couple of weeks ago, he felt something snap between them, and he knew it must have been the mating bond. And since then, it felt as if there was some kind of tether between them that was always wanting to pull them together. His body seemed to be in a state of unrest when he wasn’t near her.

But when they were together, he only found some contentment...because there was the fact that he always detected another male’s scent on her.

He knew that scent was coming from the baby she had created with another male, and it sent his blood pulsing with jealousy, leaving him feeling a little on edge when he was around her.

As far as he knew, Nesta knew nothing about this bond between them.

When he felt the bond snap into place, he nearly fell off of her bed in shock. But Nesta had no reaction as she continued to relish in the feeling of her baby kicking inside her stomach. And over the course of the few weeks since then, she made no mention of feeling anything different between them nor sensing the snap.

So Cassian said nothing to her...and still had said nothing about it to her.

Because how do you tell someone who feels that she’s lost control of every aspect of her life that something outside of themselves determined she should be bonded to him for life?

He certainly didn’t want her to feel forced to be with him.

After being alive for over 500 years, the bond felt so strange and foreign. To be experiencing this after all this time…

He had thought that the potential for a powerful, strong and loving mating bond was a myth, considering he had seen so many poor matches over the centuries. But then Rhys and Feyre’s bond was superior to any relationship he had ever seen.

And he longed to experience such a love.

Knowing Nesta was his mate brought him both excitement and trepidation. He knew he was falling for her - had been falling for her for a long time. He already loved her as an ally, a confidant and a friend, but knew those feelings were on the brink of going deeper.

But he had no idea if she was close to feeling the same way. Hell, he didn’t even know if she even considered him a friend. And the mating bond wouldn’t matter if she didn’t feel anything for him. He would never allow her to accept the bond unless she reciprocated his feelings.

So he resolved to wait to tell her until he knew she cared for him.

(If that ever happened.)

Once he landed, he strode across the snow and through the door of his cabin, eager to find Nesta to discuss his morning visit with Rhys. After shaking the snow out of his hair upon entering the cabin, he headed in the direction of Nesta’s room when he didn’t see her in the living room.

But something felt off...he was not able to sense her presence.

She wasn’t in the cabin.

He tried to remind himself that were plenty of instances where he had come home to find Nesta was out somewhere. She was rather fond of walking and exploring.

But now the mating bond had made Cassian overprotective, he couldn’t help but feel extremely frustrated that he didn’t know where she was.

That frustration didn’t last long, however. As he stood in her room pondering where she could be, he heard the front door of the cabin open and close, and his heart seemed to pump with excitement at the nearness of his mate.

He stalked over to the living room and found her hanging up her coat and removing her boots.

“Where have you been?” he asked more roughly than he intended. The bond made him more edgy than normal.

“There’s no need to be such a possessive brute,” Nesta reprimanded him. “I was visiting the healer,” she revealed as she walked past him, heading toward her room.

Cassian followed after her. “You visited the healer? You should’ve told me. I could’ve gone with you.”

“I am perfectly capable of going to see the healer on my own,” Nesta said with a bit of sharpness to her voice. “Just as I have done the past few times.”

Cassian signed. “I know, but we’re getting closer to the baby’s birth. You shouldn’t be -”

“Being possessive and controlling does not look good on you, Cassian,” Nesta interrupted him as she turned around to face him and crossed her arms above her pregnant stomach.

“I don’t mean to sound that way. I -”

Nesta frowned as she interrupted him again. “Usually after such a comment, you would say something ridiculous like ‘Then tell me what does look good on me, sweetheart? Would nothing be more suitable?’ and you didn’t. What’s going on with you? What’s wrong?”

Cassian opened his mouth to speak but paused as he stared back at Nesta. She had evidently been trying to bait him back into acting like his usual self, like making comments that would typically make her roll her eyes. She had used it as a test to see if he was acting normally, and she admitted it. The old Nesta - the Nesta of a few months ago - would have never said nor admitted such a thing.

In the couple of weeks since he felt the snap of the bond - which occurred during a week where they had also expressed some of their deeper feelings to one another - their relationship had begun to feel more at ease. They certainly still bickered and tossed insults at one another, but now it was more out of fun rather than spite.

Cassian ran a hand through his long hair. “I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just more worried about the baby the closer we get to the birth.”

He truly was concerned and growing extra cautious about Nesta and the baby, but the bond perhaps amplified those worries.

“Please stop worrying. I am fine and the healer said that as far as she can tell, the baby is also fine,” Nesta said as she went over to the side of her bed and began pulling back the covers. “How was your meeting?”

“Good,” he answered, keeping it short upon the realization that Nesta was trying to get ready for an afternoon nap.

“Good?” she questioned as she turned her head back at him, giving him an unimpressed look. “That’s it?”

“I can tell you more after your nap.”

“Tell me now,” she calmly requested as she sat in her bed with her back leaning against the headboard.

“We don’t need to right now,” he replied. “You need to rest.”

“Cassian,” she said with exasperation as she patted the spot on the bed next to her, gesturing for him to lay beside her. “Tell me.”

“Are you inviting me to into your bed?” he asked charmingly with a devilish grin as he sat next to her.

“There’s the Cassian I know,” she remarked with a smirk.

“And find completely irresistible,” Cassian finished for her as his eyes glimmered with amusement.

Nesta huffed, but the smirk didn’t leave her face. “So the meeting…?” she began.

Cassian nodded. “Rhys wants me to visit with some of the other camps. He’s heard some camps have been having meetings with each other, so we need to make sure it’s not the beginning of some civil war.”

“Hmm,” Nesta said as she stared thoughtfully at the wall and slid her body down so her head was propped against her pillow.

“What are you thoughts on this?” Cassian inquired.

“Should you really be imposing yourself on the other camps?” she wondered. “They’d be forced to host you, plus you run the risk of them poisoning you again.”

“Do you have another suggestion?”

Nesta remained silent for a moment before answering. “Invite the camp leaders here. All of them.”

“Hmm.” Cassian rubbed his hand against his chin as he contemplated her suggestion. “Maybe for something like a dinner party?”

Nesta nodded. “You can talk to them all at once.”

“And possibly gauge their alliances.” Cassian remarked thoughtfully.

“And you could cook for them too,” Nesta added with a devious smile. “They’d love that.”

Cassian chuckled, knowing the idea of a male - let alone a bastard - cooking for them would drive them mad. “Indeed.”

“Plus, I’d actually be able to watch your back if you met with them here,” Nesta added with a smug grin. “I think we’re getting close to the point where I probably shouldn’t be flying around too much.”

She started to rub her stomach as she closed her eyes. A genuine smile graced her face as she did so. As he stared at her, he thought about how he probably would be at a loss without her if he had to visit the other camps without her.

Plus, he would likely lose his mind with anxiety over wondering how Nesta was doing.

“I’ll consider it and discuss with Rhys,” he answered. Later, he would have to use his magical parchment to get a quick message to him. “But whatever we choose to do, will you help me write my letters to the camps?”

“Well, you certainly can’t be trusted to write a quality letter on your own,” she answered with her eyes still closed. “You’d be at a loss without me.”

“That’s true,” Cassian revealed softly and genuinely. Nesta’s eyes fluttered open to look up at him in surprise.

He loved this. These moments where they casually talked to each other, came up with ideas together, joked around with each other, and had honest moments together. These days, it felt so easy-going and natural. He wished he could lay beside her all day and talk like this.

...as well as stare into her mesmerizing eyes like this.

Cassian simply reached down and swept a stray strand of hair out of her face, letting his fingers linger on the side of her face as he stared back at her.

“We’ll talk more after your nap,” he announced quietly. A content smile came across Nesta’s face. “I’ll have dinner ready for you when you wake up.”

When she closed her eyes again, he removed his hand and got up off the bed.

_______________________________________________________________

Three Weeks Later

When Nesta was stirred awake by a fluttery movement in her stomach, she couldn’t help but recall when she felt the baby kick for the first time last month.

It completely took her by surprise. The feeling of something within her - moving - was a strange sensation.

And yet, it was one that instantly brought her so much joy. Because the baby finally felt real to her. Her baby.

Without even thinking about it, she had instantly smiled and giggled with glee from the feeling. Despite the anxiety, the stress and the fear of becoming a parent, she was overcome with the realization that she hadn’t been alone these past several months. Her baby was with her as she was forced to go to the Illyrian Mountains and tried to find purpose in her life again.

This baby had made her want to live again.

Her elation from feeling the kick was so strong that she longed to share it. And when she had looked up, she found Cassian staring back at her and instantly took his hand to press it against her belly so he could feel the kicking too.

And he laughed boisterously with her, enlivening her even more.

It was the first time in a long time she had felt so tremendously happy. After feeling like an outsider and feeling so alone for so long, to have someone there to share her excitement made the moment all the more euphoric.

Especially after the emotionally intimate moment they had just shared, revealing their misconceptions, pains, and sufferings because of the war and because of the other.

Since that day, her relationship with Cassian had felt deeper and stronger than ever before. Being around him made her feel at ease. And over the past few weeks, they had organized a dinner gathering together for the Illyrian camp leaders, mailing out the letters to invite them about two weeks ago.

Her and Cassian operated as a team in the planning it. He always sought her opinion and considered her ideas, making her feel important and valued.

It was so unlike how her father and Tomas made her feel. When her father lost their family’s fortune, she felt discarded and unworthy of love. With Tomas, he made it clear that all she would be good for was pleasuring him whenever he wanted.

But Cassian made her feel like his equal, always asking for her help or opinion.

The dinner gathering was set to be tomorrow evening, and he asked her to be there.

(As if she wouldn’t demand to be there.)

But to be invited made her feel wanted.

It had been a long time since she felt that way.

As she laid in her bed, the baby gave another kick. Suddenly craving a midnight snack, she decided to get up off the bed and head to the kitchen, carrying her lamp for light as she went.

As she grabbed a piece of fruit from the kitchen and started eating it, she heard some kind of talking and groaning.

Feeling alarmed, she dropped her unfinished apple on the table and walked out of the kitchen. Following the sound, she ended up at the bottom of the staircase and realized the noise was coming from Cassian’s bedroom.

Slowly, she began making her way up the stairs. As she went, she suddenly started hearing cries and shouts of “No!” over and over again. They made her want to run up the remaining steps, but with her large belly, that was impossible.

She moved as quick as she was able and when she reached the top, she rushed to Cassian’s bedroom. When she pushed the door open, she found Cassian writhing on the bed, still shouting, with his cries growing louder and louder.

“Cassian!” Nesta exclaimed as she went to his bedside and put down her lamp on his night stand, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

“CASSIAN!” she shouted again as she crawled into his bed, reaching her hand out to grasp his upper arm and shake him.

But he was so large and muscular, she had to use two hands as she leaned over him and shook him. “CASSIAN, WAKE UP!”

His cries died on his lips as he opened his eyes to find her looking over him. He took a few deep, heavy breaths before answering. “Nesta?”

Nesta nodded and put her hand against his cheek. “Whatever you saw, it was just a nightmare.”

He hadn’t lied to her when he told her months ago, after hearing her scream his name during a nightmare, that he had nightmares about the war too.

Cassian brought up his hand to cover hers on his cheek and squeezed. Probably checking to make sure she was real.

She understood the need to make sure the world around you was real. That you were no longer in the midst of the war, the pain, the suffering, or the warped memories.

She watched him as he gradually remembered where he was.

“You came up the stairs?” he asked groggily. “You’re over six months pregnant! You could’ve fallen!” he stated, clearly aghast.

“Stop acting like I can’t walk around while I’m pregnant,” she reprimanded him. “Besides, someone’s shouts was disturbing my sleep. I had to put an end to it,” she added in a lighter tone.

A soft smile appeared on Cassian’s face, and he squeezed Nesta’s hand again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he released her hand.

“You don’t need to be,” she answered softly as she laid down beside him and removed her hand from his cheek. “What were you dreaming about?”

He sighed. “The day when so many of my men died from that blast of light from the Cauldron,” he stated solemnly. “Except this time, I was forced to watch as the blast killed each of them, one by one. It was...horrifying.”

She couldn’t comfort him by telling him the dream wasn’t real. The events were indeed real. And with the meeting with some of the Illyrian camp leaders happening tomorrow, it was not a complete surprise he was having a nightmare about the death of his men.

In her own nightmares and sufferings resulting from the war, she was not alone. Just as he had said...but to actually witness it...the realization sunk deeper within her.

And she didn’t want him to feel alone either. Comforting him in the only way she could think to, she laid her head upon his shoulder and hesitantly rested her hand across his chest. At the motion, Cassian lifted up his hand to wrap it around her shoulders, bringing her closer.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, still feeling awful for being the one who called him away from the Cauldron’s blast, leaving him to deal with this guilt.

“As I’ve told you before, you don’t need to be,” he murmured before gently placing a kiss on her forehead. “Thanks for being here.”

There was a stirring within her stomach. “I think the baby wants you to know it’s here too,” she said with a slight smile before picking up Cassian’s free hand and leading it to her stomach.

While he pressed his hand against her belly, he beamed. “Thank you, baby Archeron.”

“Are you all right?” Nesta asked him, being familiar with the difficulties of recovering from a terrible reminder of the events of the war.

Cassian rubbed her stomach. “I will be,” he said after his chest heaved with a sigh. “Distract me. Tell me, do you think the baby will be a boy or a girl?”

Nesta took a moment to think. “A girl.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just...have this feeling.”

“I think it’s a boy,” Cassian piped in.

“Why?”

“Just a feeling,” he said with a smirk.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess we’ll find out who’s right in a couple of months.”

“We should probably go shopping soon to buy clothes and toys for the baby,” he offered.

“As long as it’s a shop nowhere near Feyre’s art studio,” Nesta sternly said.

“Understood.” Cassian nodded. “Any ideas for a name yet?”

“In a book I was reading the other day, a character was named Cordelia. I rather liked that name. For a boy...maybe Theo?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” she asked him sarcastically.

“Well I still stand by Cassian for a boy, and then Cassandra if it’s a girl.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I am not naming this baby after you. I already have too many cocky Cassians in my life.”

“You mean you have just the right amount of Cassians in your life,” Cassian corrected her.

After a pause, she spoke. “I have just the right amount,” she was willing to admit as she looked up at him.

And he was staring right back at her, giving her the infamous look. That look that the shopkeeper in Velaris pointed out. That one that he sported during their sleigh ride at the Solstice fair. The look that sent her heart racing with desire yet terrified her all at the same time.

And that urge to close the distance bubbled up again.

But she gave into her fear. “Goodnight, Cassian,” she said as she abruptly sat up with the intention of heading back to her room.

“Nesta,” Cassian suddenly pleaded as she shifted her legs to hang off the side of the bed. “Please stay...and keep the nightmares away.”

His words made her stop.

Most people considered her to be a living nightmare.

Was he implying that her presence would stop the nightmares from coming for the rest of the night?

That was something she could not deny him.

Ever so slowly she turned around and returned to her former spot on the bed, nuzzled at Cassian’s side. He wrapped his arm tightly around her again. “Thank you, Nes.”

And they fell asleep peacefully beside each other, remaining embraced until dawn.

________________________________________________________________

“Nes, are you ready?” Cassian exclaimed loudly as he went between the kitchen and the living room to place dishes of food on the table set for eleven. He had temporarily cleared out the living room couch to make space for his dinner gathering with the Illyrian camp leaders.

“Almost,” Nesta called back.

Cassian looked up at the clock that hung in his living room above the fireplace. It was almost time for the camp leaders to arrive.

“I’ll be outside to greet them,” he hollered back.

Illyrian protocol required him to be outside his residence before fellow Illyrians arrived, or else it would be a sign of disrespect and offense. Stepping outside the door, he walked across the wooden platform and stepped down onto the snowy ground to stand and wait.

His body was tense with anxiousness over the meeting. Over the past few weeks, he and Nesta had gone over ideas and topics to discuss to improve life for Illyrians females and children. While he passionately believed in the reforms, he was nervous over how the Illyrian leaders would react…

Well, he certainly knew they would not react well to them, but he just wasn’t sure how badly they would react to them and what he would have to do to convince them to make the changes…

He heard the crunch of boots against the ground, causing him to abruptly lift his head. Devlon was approaching.

When he reached him, Cassian held out his hand to shake in greeting. “Good evening, Devlon,” Cassian forced himself to say kindly.

Devlon simply nodded in greeting as he returned the handshake. “I suppose a congratulations are in order,” he remarked sarcastically as he eyed Cassian suspiciously. “I saw your witch walking around the camp recently. It appears you’re going to be a father soon.”

“Indeed,” Cassian said seriously without even thinking about it.

But as soon as the word slipped out, he realized his mistake. And yet...ever since his poor choice of words with Mor, he had started wondering about his relationship to Nesta’s child. Wasn’t he taking on the role of a father for this child? He’d been determined to help Nesta through this pregnancy and intended to help her raise the child if she needed it. He didn’t want her to feel like she was alone in this...and if there was no other male figure in the child or Nesta’s life, wouldn’t it be only natural that he’d be seen as the father figure?

The thought of another male stepping in to be a father to Nesta’s child sent his heart pounding with jealousy, on top of territoriality the bond brought him.

But...he knew he should really ask Nesta to see how she views his relationship with her child.

“But Nesta is the one you should be congratulating,” Cassian added to Devlon, despite knowing that he wouldn’t listen to his suggestion of offering good wishes to a female. “You may head to the table inside.”

Devlon gave him a curt nod before stepping up on the platform and going inside the cabin. Cassian’s eyes followed him, but his body froze when he saw him walking past Nesta, who evidently had been leaning against the doorway.

Nesta and Devlon shared a cold look with each other, even as she curtsied (with slight difficulty due to her stomach) out of respect to his status. After he passed her by, Nesta turned her gaze to Cassian.

Cassian couldn’t breathe.

Nesta was wearing the elegant black dress he requested she try on and buy when they were in Velaris...and she looked more stunning in the dress than he remembered. Perhaps it was because she had her hair up and twisted in a special braid atop her head this time or the way she had done her makeup or the way the silky dress accentuated her larger breasts.

Nesta brought her hand up to her stomach and smiled.

Or perhaps the stunning beauty was because Nesta was glowing.

Ever since the baby first kicked, she’d been glowing with joy, and now she was looking back at him with happiness shining in her eyes.

“You look…” Cassian paused. “You look...so beautiful,” he managed to get out in his state of awe.

“Thank you,” Nesta replied with a slight blush as she returned to leaning against the doorway. It suddenly dawned on him what he had just said to Devlon, which meant...she probably heard him say it.

“Did you overhear…?” Cassian trailed off as he grimaced.

Nesta nodded.

“I hope...you aren’t upset that I said that,” he stated tentatively.

“I’m not,” she replied coolly.

Cassian let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

But the fact that she wasn’t upset...he couldn’t help but wonder if this meant something.

The sight of her in that dress fueled his desire to kiss her. But did she share that desire? Last night, she had cuddled next to him and slept beside him. And now she was blushing as he gave her compliments, telling him it was fine that he allowed Devlon to think he was the father of her child, and she was staring back at him with a look that wasn’t a glare. Was he too blinded by his own care for her that he thought she seemed to be looking at him with admiration?

He stepped up the platform and walked toward her. Her eyes widened a bit as he approached, and she straightened her body. “I came to ask you if you needed help with anything else?” she asked.

Cassian grabbed hold of both of her hands in his. “Your presence is enough,” he whispered.

For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes, but suddenly Nesta pulled away from him and removed her hands from his grasp. “Someone’s coming,” she explained.

Flustered from the loss of touching her, Cassian clumsily turned around to find Orion from camp Dunclare strolling toward them. Upon realizing it was him, both Cassian and Nesta straightened themselves. Nesta crossed her arms across her chest.

Cassian grinned with amusement when he noticed Orion eye Nesta warily while cautiously approaching them.

“I see you managed to get yourself up off the ground,” Nesta coldly stated when Orion stood before them. “But I suppose dogs like you have a knack for getting up when there’s hope of getting scraps from the table.”

Orion narrowed his eyes at her, while Cassian beamed with pride at her.

“And what might those scraps be?” Orion asked her, trying to play the fool.

“The power you hope to reclaim by being with your fellow camp leaders,” Nesta answered sternly. “But I trust you remember my words to you the last time we met and will think before you dare to bite.” Nesta made a show of tapping her fingers while her arms remained crossed above her pregnant belly.

They may have not yet discovered how Nesta could activate her powers, but that didn’t stop her from reminding him of what she was potentially capable of doing again.

“You certainly know how to leave a lasting impression, Nesta Archeron,” he whispered roughly. “You’re very fortunate to have such a wicked creature as your bodyguard, Cassian,” he added without even looking as Cassian. His eyes never left Nesta’s arms.

“I am very lucky to have her at my side,” Cassian remarked sincerely as his eyes flitted to meet Nesta’s gaze.

Nesta’s current facial expression was one he could not yet figure out and one he did not yet have a name for. It was new to him.

“And in your bed, evidently,” Orion added in a disgruntled tone with a glance to Nesta’s stomach.

Cassian narrowed his eyes at him, frustrated with the implication that Nesta was his whore. Before he could even think of a response, Nesta threw him a look that told him to keep silent.

“Allow me to lead you inside,” Nesta told Orion, gesturing for him to follow her as she walked inside the cabin.

From a distance, Orion followed her inside, while Cassian turned around, prepared to greet another war-lord.

_______________________________________________________________

The room was quiet.

It appeared everyone had chosen to seethe in silence as Cassian, Nesta, and the camp leaders sat around the table.

Upon learning that Cassian prepared and cooked their meal and set the table, the leaders wanted nothing to do with the meal. The imbeciles were still so caught up in their male-dominated ways and certainly didn’t take Cassian’s first topic of discussion lightly.

“I’d like to establish a monthly council meeting between all of the camp leaders to discuss grievances, reforms, and solutions,” Cassian announced. “And my first request is that you each select a female from your camp to also serve on the council.”

They immediately all cried out in protest and outrage:

“This is ridiculous!”

“What would they know about this?”

“They shouldn’t have a say. They don’t need a say!”

“And what female will you pick? Your whore right there?”

Up until that moment, Cassian managed to remain calm. But that comment set him off, sending him to his feet in rage. He slammed his palms on the ends of the table.

“Her name is Nesta,” Cassian said in a deathly quiet tone. “She is not a whore, and I certainly do not own her. If you ever refer to as a whore again, I will blast you into pieces with my siphons. Is that understood?”

He received a stiff and stern nod from each of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nesta to his right with a stoic look on her face as she stared at them all.

Cassian sat back down in his chair at the end of the table. As soon as he did so, he felt Nesta grab hold of his hand under the table and give it a squeeze.

“As for the female council member, I’ve decided to let you all pick one for me,” Cassian explained more calmly.

Cassian originally wanted Nesta to be on the council with him, but she declined, citing the fact that she wasn’t Illyrian and how that would be even more offensive to them. Instead, she recommended that he ask the other leaders pick one for him to let them have more power as an act of goodwill.

He still wished it could be Nesta though, but she insisted she would continue to help him without being on the council.

“Before you go making changes, Cassian…” Andor of the Emberhale camp spoke up, still not giving Cassian respect in referring to him by his title. “There is still a score to settle.”

Cassian and Nesta turned to look at him. “And what score is that?” Cassian inquired.

“Many of our camps...” Andor began as he gestured to rest of the leaders. “...are still bitter and resentful of the fact that you lost so many of our men in the last war. They demand atonement.”

The other leaders mumbled with agreement.

“And how would they like me to atone for this?” Cassian asked carefully, not sure where this was going.

“All of us leaders here are challenging you to a special Blood Rite. The same Blood Rite rules apply, except for this one, you will be the only trying to reach the top of Ramiel by the end of the seven days. The others in the Rite will be relatives of the Illyrians who died, and their intention will be to kill you.”

Cassian’s heart started pounding fast. “So, if I make it to the top of Ramiel by the end of week, then what?”

“You will have atoned for the deaths of our people, and the camps will accept you as the General Commander and will be more inclined to obey you.”

“More inclined?” Cassian asked incredulously. Their offer didn’t even guarantee anything.

“If you don’t follow through with this Rite, a war will certainly break out, demanding you be replaced as our General Commander since you have not looked out for the interests of the camps.”

Anger raged through his body. “But we are part of the Night Court. We -”

His voice was drowned out by the words of affirmation among the other leaders about what Andor had said.

Nesta released Cassian’s hand.

“So, what you’re saying is I have no choice but to undergo this special Blood Rite?”

“You also have the option of stepping away from your position,” Vitus from camp Erwood piped in. “And avoid all of this.”

Cassian took a deep breath and resisted the urge to snarl from frustration. He turned his face toward Nesta, looking to her for answers as to what he should do. “Nesta…”

She returned his gaze. “You should go through with the Rite,” she stated, then quickly shifted her eyes to look down at the table.

The quickness and lack of emotion in her response startled him and burned him. His chances of surviving the Rite were not high. He may have survived it once, but he had the help of his friends and didn’t have pissed-off Illyrians deliberately out to kill him then.

Several months ago, he remembered musing to himself that he wished to do the Blood Rite again to break the tension among the camps. If he were asked to do this back then, he would have boldly accepted the challenge without any hesitation. That was when he had no one to look out for and care for.

But now…

He stared at Nesta, dazzling in her silky, black dress, and his eyes drifted from her face down to her stomach.

And yet, Nesta’s reply made it seem like she didn’t care if he was around to look after them and take care of them.

Well, if she didn’t need him…

“I will go through with the Rite,” he sternly announced.

Andor smiled at him. “The Rite will commence in a week’s time.” ________________________________________________________________

A/N: And "in a week's time," it'll be March! :) Prepare yourself for March - it'll be a doozy! (It's currently set to get 3 chapters.) Thank you (as always) for all of the support! I love reading all of your comments! <3 ---> CHAPTER 8

#nesta #cassian #nesta cassian #nessian #nesta archeron #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #a court of wings and ruin #acowar #a court of frost and starlight #acofas #fanfiction #far from the shallow

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kitashiwrites · 7 years

Text

Going Under - A Lucien ACOTAR Fic

Series: A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas Characters: Lucien, Tamlin, Rhys, Amarantha, Clare Beddor, Feyre POV: Lucien Rating: T Word Count: 3023 Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10583400/

Summary: ACOTAR Chapter 28 and the aftermath from Lucien's POV

There were only days left to break the curse, and Tamlin chose to damn us all. All for the safety of one mortal girl.

Comments: Three fics in a seven day period! I honestly can't believe how much I've gotten done so far! Thank you guys for all the sweet notes on my fics this week! It's been absolutely heartwarming and so motivating, and I really can't thank you enough <3

Also, you can thank @illyriantremors from dissuading me from making this a Tamlin fic. THIS STARTED AS A TAMLIN POV. But we both agreed no one wanted to be in Tamlin's head in ACOTAR (not when we have Rhys lol) and have to suffer through more than implied Feylin. So instead you get Lucien and his disappointment with Tamlin's inaction lol

And this inspired another Lucien alternate POV for ACOMAF, so we shall see how it works out (I just really love Lucien, he needs more love).

Hope you all enjoy! :D

----

Feyre walked down the stairs in the most hideous outfit I’d seen in centuries. The layered pink silk dress and white jacket made her look ridiculous. Topped off with the most absurd little decorative hat—some human fashion, I’d be willing to wager—I couldn't help but snort at her appearance. “Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm.”

“I’m not sure the human realm would know what to do with you,” she said with what I swore was affectionate sarcasm.

I tried to smile, but I couldn't even pretend to be happy about this. I looked sharply at Tamlin, who stood in front of a gilded carriage, waiting for her patiently, as though this wasn't as final as it really was. Waiting to send her away. “I thought you were smarter than this,” I said as I turned back to her. Indeed, I really had. But it wasn't her fault that we couldn't tell her the truth of our curse. I had to remind myself of that. It wasn't her fault.

“Good-bye to you, too,” she said sarcastically. I shook my head and stalked towards Tamlin, ignoring his very clear warning growl.

“You're not even going to give her a few more days? Just a few—before you send her back to that human cesspit?” I demanded. A last plea.

“This isn't up for debate,” Tamlin snapped, pointing at the house. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

I stared him down, but I didn't even have words to express my disgust with him right now. I spat on the ground at his feet, and without waiting for his reaction, stormed up the stairs to the manor. I couldn't be there for this. I would likely get myself killed for insubordination if I stayed any longer, curse notwithstanding.

I watched her talk to Tamlin from my window, too far away to hear what they were saying even with it open. I watched him kiss her goodbye and the carriage to the Mortal Realm drive away until I couldn't see even the silhouette anymore. Watched as our last—and only—hope disappeared through the gates. I didn't go down to lunch.

~~~

Three days passed, and when I woke on the morning of the forty-ninth anniversary of our lives going to hell, I knew with a sinking feeling that the end was upon us. She hadn't come back. But then why would she? It wasn't like Tamlin had tried to keep her here in the end. I knew I was being unfair to him—he couldn't have told her anymore than we could. But that didn't stop me from feeling more than a little animosity towards my High Lord and oldest friend. I had just finished dressing and looked once more beyond the gate—as though I would miraculously see Feyre running up the drive in the last few moments, here to save us. But the gates remained shut.

I heard the shift of fabric behind me.

“You let her go.” I didn't have to turn around to know Tamlin stood in the doorway behind me. We had somehow managed to avoid each other, though it had probably been for the better.

“I did.” His answer was simple. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world to have done. I turned to Tamlin, who hadn't moved an inch. He looked like hell—as though the curse was now sapping strength directly from him. But instead of feeling sympathy, I felt a chasm of rage and sorrow rip through me.

“You let her go, and in turn, damned us all.” I waved a hand to the rest of manor behind him, to the lands beyond our borders. “You have damned Prythian to protect one mortal woman, who could have saved us all if you hadn't—”

“Lucien,” he said wearily. “This was not her battle—”

“You made it her battle when you brought her here!” I snapped. “You made it her battle when you sent Andras out and she fulfilled the requirements to be our salvation by killing him with hate in her heart. This all comes back to you.” I could feel myself shaking in anger now. “Do you really think that she will leave Feyre alone? If she doesn't go after her immediately, she will tire of Prythian eventually.”

“And hopefully by that time Feyre will have passed on and be out of her clutches.” I gaped at my oldest friend.

“You really don't care what happens to us, do you?” I asked softly, but the defeated look in his eyes was answer enough. Any remaining wisp of hope I had of getting free from this metal mask, of living without the fear that any moment we would be whisked Under the Mountain, was crumbling into nothingness. “So what are you going to do? Just sit here and wait for her to take you away?”

Tamlin turned without answering, leaving the doorway. I followed after him through the halls, and watched as he walked to the head of the table, taking a seat. The table filled with food as it always did, and Tamlin grabbed a roll & a knife. He gestured to my usual seat with the knife.

“The food is going to get cold.”

“Tamlin-”

“This is not up for discussion, Lucien,” he answered harshly. “Now eat.” He tore open the roll with more force than was necessary, and reached for a helping of potatoes.

I let out a ragged sigh, the pit of my stomach feeling like it was in a free fall. The last thing I wanted to do was eat. But even in my reckless anger, I didn't dare ignore the command in his voice and sat in my usual seat.

The table seemed so empty without her here. Even though we had spent so many years exactly like this, content if not for the weight of the curse bearing on us… for the first time it felt like something was missing. I hated to admit that a murderous, brash, and uncouth mortal girl had somehow wormed her way under my skin and made me not only respect her, but made me come to count her as a friend.

I looked at the only real one I had remaining now as he cut into his food, acting like we could just go on with our lives and pretend that Feyre had never existed. That our time wasn't going to be up at any—

The glass of the windows around us shattered simultaneously. I hunched down and covered my face out of reflex, and a loud crack echoed through the room as I heard the doors slam against the wall. There was the crunch of footsteps walking over broken glass, and I looked up slowly.

As though my thoughts had summoned him, Rhysand sauntered into the room with a feline grin. “That's all right Tamlin, I’ll just let myself in. No need to answer the door or anything. Though it seems my timing was perfect.” He took the seat opposite from Tamlin—the one Feyre used to occupy—and helped himself to a roll and a bit of jam. He looked over at me and narrowed his eyes, though the smirk stayed in place. “I’m surprised to see you here, Little Lucien. I’d have thought you would have run for the hills before I arrived.” He took a bite of the roll, and I could feel my anger threatening to spill over.

“Just get on with it, Rhysand,” I gritted out. He clicked his tongue.

“I told you, only my enemies and prisoners call me that. Though I guess you technically are, by virtue of me being Amarantha's whore and all.” He snagged a piece of meat from the center of the table. “Much as I would love to drag you both to our lovely home, I’m afraid this invitation is only for Tamlin. The rest of the Courts and their High Lords have already been summoned. All we need now is one more.” He looked around the table. “I see your betrothed isn't here, Lucien. Did she see the error of her ways and run back to the Mortal Realms like a smart human? Or did you tell her what the Autumn Court does to those that don't meet their standards?”

A low blow, as always. But he was the High Lord of the Court of Nightmares. The only rules he played by were his own.

“Did you tell her?” Tamlin asked harshly. Rhysand turned towards him with a lazy smile and propped his chin on his fist.

“Tell her what?” Tamlin almost relaxed for a moment before Rhysand continued, “That you had an inconsequential mortal woman in your manor and that she was clearly in love with you?” He paused for a heartbeat before the smile turned smug. “What do you take me for?”

Tamlin let out an enraged roar and in the blink of an eye, he was suddenly frozen inches from Rhysand’s face, claws out, as though he had planned to rip his face off. Rhysand clicked his tongue again.

“I see even having a human here did nothing to tame the beast inside you.” He looked hard at Tamlin and pushed him back roughly into the chair. Tamlin landed like a rag doll in the seat and straightened up, freed of whatever spell had held him in place, and glared at the smirking bastard. “You had your fun,” Rhysand continued, “but now my queen demands her payment.”

“You came into my court uninvited,” Tamlin said stiffly. “I have grounds to declare—”

“Only you would try to invoke a rule that has had no absolutely no recourse in the last century.” Rhysand raised his eyebrow. “I told you I was coming back.” He gestured to the broken glass on the floor and the doors, now hanging off of their hinges. “What part of this was not clear enough for you? But then you’ve known this day was coming for forty nine years.” He rose from the table. “Enough chit-chat though. It's time to go, Tamlin. Amarantha awaits.”

With all the dignity he could muster, Tamlin stood up from his chair.

“Tam—” I started. Rhysand looked at me, as though considering something.

“On second thought, perhaps you should come with us, Lucien. The entire manor is surrounded by Amarantha’s army, and if I leave you here, the chances of you surviving are not high. But you are welcome to make a choice.”

“What's in it for you?” I snapped. He had no reason to let me live. He’d said it himself; the invitation, if it could be called that, was only for Tamlin.

“I owe you no explanations,” he said dismissively. “Though if you would rather stay, I’m sure at least your mother will mourn you. But if you are coming, I’d suggest moving before the next turn of the century.”

I scowled at him, but rose from my seat nonetheless. No matter what his motives were, I wasn't about to… how did the humans say it? Look a gift horse in the mouth? Feyre had apparently rubbed off on me more than I’d thought.

I followed Tamlin out into the garden. Sinister looking creatures—monsters really—truly did surround the manor, sharp teeth bared in bloodstained grins and claws extended. They parted for Rhysand without a word, though the feeling of their eyes on us as we passed sent chills up my spine.

“Round up the stragglers,” Rhysand said to them. “The queen wants them brought alive. I’ll join you in a moment.” He waved to the manor, and they began moving in. Tamlin didn't even look back. There were still people in there—those who called the Spring Court home. And he was leaving them.

“Tamlin—”

“He’s accepted his fate, fox-boy. We all have. It's about time you joined the party.” There was a hint of bitterness in Rhysand’s voice. He turned to two sentries that waited away from the others—not as bloodthirsty, but no less lethal. “Take them to Her Majesty's court. The fox goes with the rest of the Spring Court. The High Lord goes before the queen.” A silent nod. I felt the cold, clammy hands that made me cringe grip my elbow tightly. In the blink of an eye, we were no longer in the garden, but a dark, cavernous hallway. I had been here only twice in the last hundred years, but I had always been able to leave. I knew as the guards opened the doors that I had seen the outside world for the last time. They ushered me to the side of the room, where I saw more masked fae—more of the Spring Court.

The regally dressed woman on the throne at the back of the room was one I had hoped to never see again. Tamlin's face was stoic—almost stone like—as he was led in and stood in the middle of her throne room. Amarantha gave him a serpentine smile, toying with the finger bone that hung around her neck with the hand that displayed an eye encased in crystal. Both, I knew from our past interactions, were Jurian’s. I was relieved to see the one she had taken from me had not joined it.

“Welcome home, Tamlin,” she purred, her eyes lowering in a way that I was sure she intended to be seductive.

He shrugged roughly out of the grasp of the guards, and walked up to the dais, avoiding the gaze of faeries that watched him from every corner of the room. Avoided the looks of disappointment—of despair—that were prominent on their faces. Those few remaining faeries who had hoped as I had that Tamlin would be their saving grace.

“It's been such a long time,” she simpered and gestured to the seat next to her. “Your throne has been waiting for you, High Lord.” He showed no emotion, didn't speak a word. He ascended the steps and took the seat next to hers without a word, his posture uncomfortably rigid.

“Nothing to say, Tamlin? No thanks for me bringing you back instead of killing you where you stood?”

He still said nothing. Amarantha pouted.

“Is this the game we’re going to play now? Do you really believe that sitting in sullen silence is going to change anything?”

Tamlin stared at the wall ahead of him.

“Well, perhaps this will change your mind.” She clapped her hands. “We wanted to make your first day in my court extra special,” Amarantha continued with a cruel grin, “and so we got you a little.... present.” She looked towards the back of the room. “Bring her in,” she ordered.

I felt sick fear in the pit of my stomach. The doors opened again, and the sentries dragged a struggling, sobbing girl through the murmuring crowd, followed by the Attor. They pushed her roughly to her knees in front of the dais.

“I don't know who this is,” Tamlin said evenly. I had never seen this girl before either. She was clearly mortal, but other than that, she looked like any other human to me.

“Now now, Tamlin,” she cooed, “you didn't really think I wouldn't hear about your human pet, now did you?” Tamlin's eyes flicked to the side, to Rhysand, who leaned against the wall near him, a bored expression across his face, his hands shoved in his pockets. He had apparently snuck into the room when I hadn't been paying attention.

She turned to the frightened girl shaking at the foot of the dais.

“Is your name Clare Beddor?” she demanded.

The girl nodded, her face pale.

“Louder!” Amarantha demanded. The girl shrunk back in terror.

“Y-yes,” the girl stuttered. Clare Beddor… the name Feyre had given Rhysand when—

By the Cauldron.

I looked at the girl in horror. That name she had given him had been a real person. This girl—Clare—was supposed to be Feyre. But she didn't look anything like her. Rhysand knew what Feyre looked like—

“Do you know this man?” Amarantha said suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. The girl shook her head emphatically.

“No! I’ve never seen him before in my life,” she insisted, her voice choked with tears. “My family…what did you do to my family?”

“Oh, I wouldn't be worrying about them, girl,” the Attor said from behind her, its voice cold and full of amused malice. “They have nothing to worry about anymore.” Clare turned back to the redheaded demon on the throne in front of her.

“Please, I—”

“Did you not go hunting at the Wall?”

“No, I—”

“Did you not kill a faerie in the woods?”

“No—”

“Did you not—”

“No!” The girl cried out in panic. “I don't know how! I’ve never hunted a day in my life and I’ve never seen a faerie before!”

“You dare lie to the High Queen of Prythian?” Amarantha demanded.

“I’m not—”

“You have guts, girl, I’ll give you that. I will enjoy watching them break you slowly.” She turned to the Attor and gave him a vile grin. “Give her a welcome worthy of my court.”

I could still hear her screams hours later, could still see her broken, bruised body as they nailed her to the wall across from Amarantha's throne.

As I fell into a fitful sleep that night, I thanked the Mother and the Cauldron it hadn't been Feyre.

And weeks later, after Clare had died suddenly in the middle of one of her public torture sessions, and I had finally let myself breathe as I thought Feyre was now finally safe, I watched her be brought before Amarantha's throne. She had come back to Prythian looking for us, the stupid girl, and now was declaring to everyone that she had come for the one she loved. After half a century of waiting, she had come just weeks too late. As Feyre looked pleadingly at Tamlin sitting next to Amarantha, his stoic expression showing no love, no compassion, no recognition... I asked them why Fate had chosen to be so cruel.

#Going Under #acotar fanfiction #Lucien #Lucien POV #ACOTAR Chapter 28 #under the mountain #kitashiwrites #my fic

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thebluemartini · 5 years

Text

Far From the Shallow - Chapter 5 [Nessian Fic]

FIC LENGTH: Multi-chapter (Total Chapter Estimate: 14)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 TAGGING: @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights @queenofillea1 @trash-for-nessian @nestaarcheronwillkillme @my-fan-side @strangeenemy @maastrash @cageddovepoetry @bybooksanddreams @lilbat90 @ritamordio19 @mastercommandercaptain @feysand-dot-acotar @archeron-queen @welcometothespeaknowworldtour

@empress-ofbloodshed @there-is-warmth-in-winter @mybbyfeyre @saltydreamcollector @aditiiparasharr

@justlikethecheshirecat

@mis-lil-red @supebowlere @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

*This chapter is also posted on AO3 and FF

________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 5: January – Part I

“We’ve been having Azriel pay special attention to Dunclare,” Rhys revealed from his spot next to Feyre on the couch across from Cassian. “He hasn’t heard any rumors or observed anything lately about them wanting to threaten or attack you again.”

Cassian wasn’t surprised. Once Nesta told him that she used some type of power to knock out three Illyrians at Dunclare on Solstice and nearly killed them, he figured Dunclare wouldn’t be threatening them again anytime soon. If they thought she was a witch, they’d be frightened of her power and wouldn’t dare try to attack again without knowing how to combat her power.

They didn’t realize she didn’t know how to use her power. Cassian thanked the gods for that.

“But,” Rhys continued. “Azriel has apparently heard them spreading word about a witch in the camps, and he believes they are referring to Nesta.” Rhys and Feyre both looked up at Cassian with a puzzled look as they said this.

Cassian’s heart began to race. He knew there was no way he was going to be able to avoid talking about Nesta at this meeting, but part of him still hoped he’d be able to graze over the fact that she came to Dunclare. Because talking about her made him anxious for two reasons: one being that Nesta forbade him from telling them she was pregnant, and second, she also ordered him to not tell them of her newly discovered power.

A power that had not resurfaced since that night. In the two weeks since the Solstice, Cassian would have her grab his arms to see if she could make it happen again, insisting they should learn how this power of hers worked. He knew she would be able to stop it if it did occur, considering she left the Illyrians at Dunclare alive. Reluctantly, Nesta attempted to unleash the power, but nothing happened each time.

When he first wrote to Rhys and Feyre to inform them what happened at Dunclare, Nesta did permit him to say that she went with him (after much pleading from him, not wanting to have to lie even more to his His Lord and Lady). But she did not want him to tell them about her power because she didn’t think her sisters deserved to know anything about her life, so he neglected to mention how exactly the two of them escaped Dunclare camp.

“What makes them think she’s a witch?” Feyre asked.

Cassian swallowed nervously as he tried to come up with a way to avoid talking about Nesta’s new power that the few Illyrians at Dunclare experienced first-hand. “Remember when Nesta met Devlon for the first time? He thought she was a witch, and she claimed she was one too. I think it stems from that.”

“But did anything happen at Dunclare that would make them think she was a witch?” Feyre wondered. “I was shocked she even went with you.”

“Nesta demanded to come with me,” Cassian stated.

“Why?”

“She was threatened by the dead birds as well and felt like she should go too.”

Feyre slowly nodded in response but still seemed bewildered. “And how did the two of you escape?”

Cassian had been trying to come up with an adequate explanation for this his entire flight to Velaris that morning. He didn’t want to come up with an entirely new story. As close to the truth as possible would be best...meaning he would still say Nesta was the one who knocked out the Illyrians. But her method of doing so would have to be different...

“When I was unconscious, Nesta managed to catch them unaware and struck them all with a metal bowl to knock them out. Then we walked away from the camp until I was able to fly us out of there,” Cassian explained. “Perhaps, the Illyrians were just amazed she managed to hit them so hard with the way they view females and all, and that’s why they still think she’s a witch.” Cassian shrugged.

Rhys and Feyre considered his words and seemed to nod along in agreement that that was a possibility.

Cassian nearly sighed out of relief.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t go alone,” Rhys commented. “Azriel and I are going to pay them a visit on Saturday to remind them who their High Lord is and the consequences of murdering the General Commander,” Rhys continued. “I wish I could just take Orion’s war-lordship away,” he muttered.

“Me too,” Cassian growled. But if Rhys just took the war-lordship away from Orion, all the other Illyrian camps and war-lords would take it as another slight against them. There were no witnesses to the near-murder. It was Cassian and Nesta’s word against the three Illyrians.

There was no way the rest of the Dunclare camp and the other Illyrian camps would take the word of their bastard commander and his supposed witch and whore.

“Are you going with Rhys to Dunclare?” Cassian asked as he looked at Feyre.

“No, I’ll be staying here,” she stated. “I’ll be busy teaching art classes all day on Saturday.”

Cassian nodded, taking note of this information. He had told Nesta he had wanted to take her shopping for new clothes in Velaris, but when he had brought it up again last week, she expressed that she didn’t want to risk running into the Inner Circle or Elain.

But with Rhys going to visit Dunclare, Feyre preoccupied with art classes, and Elain never leaving the estate (as Feyre had mentioned to him earlier)...then perhaps he could convince Nesta to go.

Rhys and Feyre turned to look at each other then, and Cassian could tell they were talking to each other through the bond.

That bond that he was so jealous of. For centuries, he didn’t believe the mating bond was anything special, having witnessed bonds between couples who seemed so unhappy with each other...but Rhys and Feyre were proof that the bond could be special and extraordinary.

He wanted that. For centuries, he had felt so...lonely. Sure, he had the Inner Circle and had had many lovers...but he longed for something more. With someone.

Rhys suddenly got up and left the room, leaving Feyre to stare directly at Cassian.

“How is Nesta doing?” she asked softly.

Well, she’s pregnant, which appeared to shake her out of her state of emptiness. The baby has seemed to encourage her to find a purpose, to better herself. Because of the child, she avoids alcohol. She eats and is looking much healthier. She eats with me and talks to me. She’s still as fierce as ever. And now she apparently has the power to slow down a fae’s heartbeat and nearly kill them.

That’s what Cassian wished he could say.

He took a deep breath. “She’s well. She hasn’t had any alcohol, and she eats. She’s looking much healthier.”

Feyre smiled as her eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful! Do you think...I could come visit her?”

It would be one way for her to discover Nesta’s pregnancy...but Nesta would never forgive him if he allowed Feyre to come visit, knowing the bitterness she still harbored towards her. He had come so far with Nesta...he couldn’t ruin what had developed between them...An alliance? A friendship? Whatever it was, he didn’t want to risk losing her trust.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he answered hesitantly. “She’s...still angry at you.”

The smile on Feyre’s face disappeared, but she nodded in understanding.

Still, the desire to tell her that her sister was pregnant gnawed at him. He was essentially lying to his High Lady...

He’d need to get out of here before he blurted out the news. Abruptly, he stood up. “I better get going.”

Feyre nodded and stood up to follow him out of the room. When they reached the entryway, she hugged him goodbye as Rhys appeared.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to just winnow you back?” she asked.

“He’s probably thankful to have more time away from Nesta by flying,” Rhys commented. Feyre frowned.

“Yeah,” Cassian lied half-heartedly. It’s seemed to be the best coverup for the real reason...the fact that he couldn’t risk Rhys or Feyre seeing a pregnant Nesta. “But you know I love flying too.”

After a quick embrace with Rhys, he stepped outside of Feyre and Rhys’ home and took off to the sky.

________________________________________________________________

When he arrived back at his cabin, he didn’t see Nesta anywhere. Knowing she often took walks around the camp, he decided to go look for her.

He certainly did not expect to find her in the middle of one of the training rings.

He spotted her crouching down in the middle of the ring, wrapping a young Illyrian boy’s arm. As he approached, he found Emerie leaning against the fence surrounding the ring.

“What is she doing?” he wondered as he stood next to Emerie and watched Nesta talk to the boy. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but he could tell from Nesta’s features that she was speaking to him gently and sweetly...There was no sign of a frown or a smug smirk. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen Nesta talk to someone like that before.

“The boy got hurt during training. When the training ended, she rushed over to him and started bandaging his arm with her pieces of her shirt,” Emerie explained.

Suddenly, an older female approached the ring opposite Cassian and Emerie. The female looked at Nesta and scowled. Then she looked at the young boy. “Talon!” she shouted. “I told you to stay away from that witch! Get over here!”

The boy immediately ran over to the woman. Nesta just stared at them as they walked away. When they were out of sight, Nesta made her way back to where he and Emerie stood. Upon seeing Cassian, Nesta appeared startled, but quickly composed herself and walked with more determination toward them.

“Are Illyrian children taught anything else besides how to fight?” she immediately questioned them upon reaching them.

“Hello, sweetheart. The journey from Velaris was great. Thanks for asking,” Cassian sarcastically stated in response to her abrupt question.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Just answer the question. And let’s start walking back. The baby is hungry,” she stated with a slight edge to her voice.

Nesta started to walk away, and Cassian and Emerie followed after her.

“The only formal lessons they have are for fighting,” Cassian answer seriously.

“Only their family members - if they are literate - will teach them to read and write. Their mothers teach their daughters how to cook and clean,” Emerie piped in.

“Hmm,” was all Nesta said on the matter before she began to button up her coat over her now torn-up shirt without losing her stride.

Cassian glanced over at her and noticed that the shirt she was wearing seemed familiar…

“Are you wearing my shirt?” he asked, unable to hide his bewilderment.

“I assume so. I found it in one of the drawers in my room. My dresses are too snug,” she stated simply.

“I’m surprised you would willingly wear something of mine considering you always complain of my supposed stench,” he remarked.

And he was also surprised how...even more attractive he found her to be while wearing one of his shirts.

“Oh, I made sure to wash it twice before wearing it,” she said smugly.

Cassian grinned back. “As much as I adore the fact that you’ve actually deigned to wear one of my shirts, I found out today that Rhys will visiting Dunclare on Saturday and Feyre is going to be busy teaching art classes, so perhaps, we can go shopping in Velaris.”

“Where will Elain be?” Nesta questioned him seriously.

“She never leaves the estate.”

“And Azriel?”

“Will be with Rhys.”

“And Mor?”

“In the Winter Court.”

“Amren?”

“Still in the Summer Court.”

Nesta took a deep breath. “You’re positive that my sister will be busy teaching art classes?”

“Yes.”

She took another deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll go.”

Cassian grinned. “Excellent.”

________________________________________________________________

The scarf that Nesta had wrapped around her face was beginning to itch. But she refused to remove it.

Cassian thought she was crazy when she put the scarf on as well as the hood of her jacket, leaving her eyes to be the only visible part of her face.

“You do remember that Velaris is not as cold as it is here, right?” Cassian had said earlier that day.

She had glared at him as he lifted her in his arms and proceeded to explain how there were some people in Velaris who could recognize her as their High Lady’s sister.

...Then there was also the fact that following the war, somehow many of the Night Court inhabitants knew that Nesta and Cassian had nearly died together on the battlefield. She didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about them shopping together...especially since she was now visibly pregnant. But of course, she did not voice this reason aloud to Cassian.

Looking up at him as they soared through the sky toward Velaris, she was...surprised. Surprised at the contentment upon his face as he carried her and surprised at the ease she even felt to be within his arms.

As if feeling her gaze, he glanced down at her with a smile. “Almost there,” he said before grabbing her more tightly and swooping down toward the ground.

Even though the flight took hours, she found that she wished she was in the security of his embrace for a little while longer when they landed on the sidewalk and Cassian put her down on the ground.

Shaking off whatever feeling that was - it was probably because of the pregnancy, she told herself - she stepped away from him and looked from left to right at the shops along the street before them. It was her first time in Velaris in months.

And...she didn’t exactly miss it.

She turned around and looked past the buildings of the bustling city to a more run-down area of the seemingly spotless city. There lied her old apartment, all the seedy bars she frequented...

She didn’t miss that area either.

Bringing a hand up to her stomach, she started rubbing circles as she thought about what that period of time left her with.

“Want to head this way? I know of a shop with maternity clothes down there,” Cassian stated, causing her to turn around. He gestured with his hand pointing to the left.

Nesta nodded and began strolling alongside Cassian down the sidewalk. The street was filled with a fair amount of fae who were shopping in the strip of shops. To her relief, none of them seemed to pay them any attention. With Cassian’s status, she wasn’t sure if he’d draw attention.

But there was a family that caught her attention.

A male and a female, who she assumed was married, were walking toward them as their two young children skipped excitedly while holding their hands. The parents’ faces seemed to radiate joy as they smiled and happily replied to their curious children’s questions.

She couldn’t help but wonder...would that be what she would be like with her child? Would she be able to remain patient and gentle and excitedly talk to him or her about what they were going to do that day?

And would anyone ever be by her side to be patient and gentle and excited with her?

“I think they’re off to the winter fair,” Cassian said as the family passed them, and Nesta tilted her head to the side to look up at him.

“The fair?” she questioned, her voice muffled from the scarf around her mouth.

“Every year, for a month after Solstice, Velaris hosts a winter fair. There’s usually food, games, music, sleigh rides…”

Nesta nodded along, indicating she had heard him. A small smile, hidden by her scarf, came across her face as she thought back to when she was younger, when her family was wealthy, and the fair would come to their village. She would run around excitedly, and Elain would chase after her. She’d play the kids version of horseshoes and try to win ribbons for her hair, and she’d ride the beautiful ponies again and again.

Time was much simpler then, she realized as she stared down at her hands before rubbing her stomach once more.

“Here’s the store,” Cassian announced and led her to the shop’s door, opening it for her and gesturing for her to enter. Nesta walked inside the small shop that was compact with various maternity dresses. She was relieved to find that no other customers were present in the store. Only the shopkeeper was there, standing behind the counter and smiling brightly up at them as they came inside.

Nesta strode over to one rack of dresses and began flipping through them, one after another, searching for ones that caught her eye. As she did so, she noticed Cassian going through the dresses on the rack opposite hers.

She paused her search and looked up at him. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking for dresses for you,” he replied, still looking at the dresses.

“Why? I figured you would’ve just dropped me off and left to go to another store to buy cologne or something.”

Cassian stopped going through the dresses to look back over across the rack at her. “Is that your way of telling me to go buy cologne to cover up my supposed stench you always complain about?”

“Maybe,” she remarked as a small devious smile came across her face. But in reality, she didn’t mind Cassian’s scent...she only minded the fact that it was his scent.

“Well, I’d have to bring you along to shop for cologne to tell me which one actually covers up my stench,” he added as he resumed looking through the dresses.

Nesta went back to moving the dresses across the rack as she looked through each one. “But why are you shopping with me now?”

“I simply have an eye for picking out dresses,” he said as he grabbed the hanger holding a chartreuse-colored dress and pulled it off the rack to look at it more closely.

Nesta rolled her eyes after glancing at the dress he grabbed. “That is an ugly shade of green. If that’s your idea of a nice dress, then you are a blind bat.”

“Perhaps, I was searching for a color to match this unpleasant aspect of your personality,” he commented casually as he threw a playful grin her way.

Nesta narrowed her eyes but said nothing in return as she continued going through the clothing on the rack.

After Cassian hung the chartreuse dress back up, he looked over at her again. “No rebuttal?” he asked in a surprised tone.

“I’m too busy plotting the ways I could strangle you for such a comment,” she said casually.

“Sweetheart, if all you wanted to do was get your hands on me, all you have to do is ask,” he stated with a smug grin. “No strangling necessary.”

Nesta managed to not let a groan escape her lips. “Do you think if I wore this dress as I murdered you, your blood on it would be less noticeable?” she asked as she lifted up a crimson dress.

“Ha. Ha,” Cassian stated drily, the cocky grin disappearing from his face.

Instead, a smug smile appeared on Nesta’s face. She draped the crimson dress over her arm as she continued her search.

Eventually, she moved onto other racks, grabbing a few dresses that caught her eye and carried them in her arms. Cassian went to different racks and picked out some dresses as well.

Once Nesta was finished looking, she looked around to find Cassian. “I’m going to try these on,” she announced to him when she spotted him nearby.

Cassian immediately walked over to her. “Try these on too,” he instructed as he placed three dresses in her arms on top of her bundle of dresses.

The top dress was a black silk one that seemed sophisticated and elegant. She mostly wanted just simple, casual dresses. She couldn’t foresee a moment during her pregnancy where she would need a dress for a special occasion.

“I don’t think I’ll need this black one…” Nesta began to say. “It’s too...fancy.”

“Just try it on,” Cassian gently suggested. “You never know.”

Nesta simply nodded, not wanting to start a spat over this. It was a pretty dress. She wouldn’t mind simply trying it on.

The shopkeeper, clearly having heard their conversation, strode over to her and gathered the dresses from her arms, then led her over to one of the fitting rooms, shoving the curtain to the side and hanging up the dresses within the small room. “Let me know if you need any help,” the shopkeeper kindly offered before departing the room.

Shedding her winter coat, scarf and a shirt she borrowed from Cassian, Nesta tried on a simple, blue dress. Seeing that it fit nicely and comfortably, she took off the dress and went onto the next one.

As she was sliding on the crimson one, she heard Cassian’s voice call out to her. “Aren’t you going to come out?”

“Why?”

“So we can see how the dresses look like on you, sweetheart.”

His use of the nickname “sweetheart” still peeved her, but she was tired of trying to break that habit of his. Now all it did was make her heart yearn for the day someone would genuinely call her sweetheart.

But she wouldn’t dwell on it.

Because after all, in his words, he didn’t understand why her sisters loved her. So why yearn for something that would never come to be?

Nesta took a slow, calming breath as she stared in the mirror. Her stomach was bigger, and her breasts were much fuller. In her eyes, she was beginning to look and feel like an elephant.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Nesta yelled back to him.

As she twirled in front of the mirror to test the flow of the dress, she overheard the shopkeeper talking with Cassian.

“When is your baby due?” she heard the female voice say.

“In May,” Cassian replied kindly, and when she didn’t hear him correct the shopkeeper about their relationship, Nesta’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“You two will make such a cute family,” the shopkeeper said.

“I think so, too,” Cassian said, and Nesta just knew he was grinning mischievously as he said it.

Shoving the curtain to the side, she stormed out of the stall. “CASSIAN! I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU!” she shouted.

Cassian was clearly in the middle of throwing the shopkeeper a charming smile her way, but when Nesta appeared, he turned his face toward her and his mouth dropped slightly open.

“You’ve already killed me,” he breathed as he stared at her.

“Excuse me?” Nesta asked angrily and put her hands on her hips, not sure if she had heard him correctly.

“You look stunning in that dress,” he said, still staring at her as if he was completely mesmerized.

“Just because I’m pregnant and may feel unattractive doesn’t give you the right to tell me fake compliments,” she barked back at him.

“I’m not lying,” he said firmly and calmly, his eyes still gazing at her.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. Then with a huff, she turned around to head back into the changing room and immediately shuffled out of the crimson dress.

As she removed another dress from a hangar and slid it up over her body, she realized she never even reprimanded Cassian for his words that sent her out of her fitting room in the first place. She sighed with frustration.

“Show us the next dress!” she suddenly heard Cassian shout.

“No,” she hissed loudly as she looked at herself in the mirror.

“Will you at least show me the black dress I picked out?” Cassian pleaded.

“Not until you explain to the shopkeeper that we are not together,” Nesta requested through clenched teeth.

Nesta turned her attention toward the remaining dresses she had not tried on yet and looked for the black one Cassian chose. With its lacey sleeves and silky skirt, the dress was meant for a special occasion. Nesta was sure she wouldn’t be attending such an occasion anytime soon. What would she need a dress like this for?

“Well, we have been living together for four months,” Cassian pointed out, “But we are not a couple and I am not the father of her child,” she heard him explain.

Begrudgingly, Nesta slid on the black dress. Without even looking in the mirror, she stepped outside the changing room.

Cassian looked up at her and stared once again. “Alena, go ahead and charge this one to my account,” he said without taking his eyes off of Nesta.

“Yes, General,” the shopkeeper replied as she scuttled over to the register.

“What? You don’t need to do that,” Nesta remarked as she crossed her arms against her chest. “I’m never even going to have an occasion to wear this!”

“We’ll make sure there is one,” Cassian replied softly as he approached her. “You look beautiful,” he murmured as he pushed a strand of her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

Nesta closed her eyes and took a deep breath as he did so.

He was entirely too close.

She turned on her heel and went back into the changing room.

She then proceeded to try on the other dresses she had gathered. Taking the ones she felt were comfortable and best flattered her growing figure, she made her way to the counter where the shopkeeper stood.

As Alena went through each dress and analyzed each price tag to calculate her total, Nesta turned her head back to find Cassian wandering aimlessly through the aisles of clothing. As if he felt her eyes upon him, he looked up at her and gave her a warm smile as he began to make his way toward her.

“I wish my boyfriend would look at me the way the General looks at you, let alone compliment me the way he does,” Alena whispered.

Nesta jerked her head back to face the shopkeeper. “Excuse me?”

Alena gave her a soft smile. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nesta sternly replied.

Alena just shrugged and smiled, then announced the total she owed right as Cassian appeared at her side.

“I’ll need my allowance to pay for this,” Nesta remarked as she turned her head to look at Cassian.

Looking at him turned out to be a mistake as she found him gazing warmly at her, still smiling. The look stirred something within her that made her instantly look away.

“Just charge them all to my account,” Cassian instructed to Alena.

Alena immediately shot a quick grin Nesta’s way as soon as he said it. Nesta let out a frustrated sigh. “You don’t need to take pity on me. Just pay for it with the allowance my sister gave you.”

“Consider it a late Solstice present,” Cassian replied nonchalantly.

Nesta let out another irritated sigh.

“Alena, we’ll be back to pick the dresses up at the end of the day,” Cassian quickly said before Nesta could say anything more.

Alena nodded in response, packing the dresses in a sack and stowing them behind the counter. Nesta looked back at Cassian with wide eyes. “The end of the day? Aren’t we flying back to the Mountains?”

“I thought you and the baby might be hungry?” Cassian said, searching her eyes to see if he was correct.

Alena shot another annoying grin her way upon hearing Cassian’s suggestion.

She wished she could say Cassian was wrong and get them out of this insufferable city as soon as possible.

But truthfully...she was starving. And she’d probably tear Cassian’s head off during the long flight back if she didn’t get some food in her.

He was so good at keeping her well-fed…

Nesta slowly nodded in response, then put her jacket on and her scarf around her neck. Before moving to wrap it around her face, she gave a pointed look to Alena. “If the High Lord or Lady know that I or Cassian was here today, I’ll have your head.”

“Nesta,” Cassian chided.

“Understood,” Alena simply stated without the slightest bit of fear.

Nesta, looking pleased, wrapped the scarf around her face as Cassian bid his goodbye to Alena, and they headed out of the store.

When they stepped outside, Nesta lifted up her hood to cover her head and heard Cassian sigh beside her.

“Have something to say?” she questioned him as he led the way down the sidewalk.

“You’re just...ridiculous,” Cassian said with an amused grin.

“Well, you’re insufferable,” Nesta replied.

“Liar,” he asserted. “If I was truly insufferable, you wouldn’t be standing next to me right now.”

“This pregnancy has made me much more emotional, and the mother in me doesn’t want a lonely bastard like you wandering the streets alone.”

“And the lies continue,” Cassian commented in an amused tone. “We both know that you relish in walking the city streets next to a dashing, attractive male.”

“If only there was one here to walk next to,” she shot back with an amused grin.

Cassian winced. “I walked right into that insult.”

“Indeed,” Nesta confirmed. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a few restaurants at the end of this street that we can pick from.”

Nesta nodded as she turned her head toward the shop windows they were passing by. One was filled with kitchenware, another with unique and colorful jewelry and another with baby-related items.

“Let’s go inside and take a look,” Cassian suddenly announced. He must’ve caught her staring at the baby toys through the window as they walked. He grabbed her hand and whisked her into the store.

And despite the sudden action, all she could focus on was the feel of Cassian’s hand in hers. How his grasp was firm and tight around it.

She nearly squeezed his hand, but stopped herself when she remembered the powers that once flowed from her hands. She instantly let go of him, and he followed suit.

Looking up, she found themselves surrounded by racks and shelves of various items for babies, like clothing, bottles, carriages, and more.

Strolling up to one of the racks, she stared at the colorful clothing and kept leisurely walking along the aisle until she reached the stuffed toys.

It didn’t feel real.

To be looking at baby clothing and toys and various supplies for taking care of a baby, knowing that in five months’ time, she’d be cradling a baby in her arms, using all the various items that currently surrounded her.

She took a deep breath. How in the world she could possibly be ready for that sort of life?

“Nesta…” Cassian began hesitantly from his spot near a rack of baby clothing. “Is there a chance the child could...have wings?”

Nesta perked her head up to look over at him. He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was staring down at a piece of clothing he held in his hands.

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly as she thought back to the times she slept with an Illyrian to spite Cassian.

Cassian’s wings seemed to sag out of sadness as he looked back at her. “I wasn’t sure if we’d need to find clothes to accommodate wings,” he revealed quietly.

We.

Even though Cassian had told her he’d be there for her and help her with this raising this child, she still felt shocked every time he alluded to helping her and the baby.

She nodded back at him, then turned back to the shelves of various rattles and toys. She couldn’t handle thinking about her child potentially having wings right now. There were too many other things to worry about.

As she strolled along, she came across a few wooden cribs.

A crib. She would need a crib.

Let alone a room for the baby.

And a home.

Would she really live with Cassian, at least until her year deemed by Feyre was up? Would he even still want her living under the same roof once she had the child?

Nesta took a deep breath and grabbed hold of one of the wooden crib’s railings to lean against it and closed her eyes.

She wasn’t sure how she would ever get used to the idea of having a child. Being thrown into a world she did not know and did not care for and now had to raise a child within it...It was overwhelming.

Suddenly, she felt a warm hand press against her shoulder. “Nesta, are you alright?” Cassian asked. “What’s wrong?”

Nesta opened her eyes and turned to look at him. “It’s nothing,” she replied. “I’m just...hungry.” It may not have been the real reason why she was feeling distressed, but she was still feeling famished.

“Let’s go eat then,” Cassian stated. “I was just thinking that maybe we could go eat at the fair?”

“Okay,” Nesta softly said as her childhood memories of the fair flooded back to her. Perhaps the fair would be a good distraction for her...

She turned her whole body around to begin walking alongside Cassian toward the exit.

As they wandered along the sidewalk toward the fair, more and more fae populated the streets. It seemed like everyone was heading to the fair.

And there were families. Many, many families.

When they stepped through the fair’s gates, Nesta felt like all she could see were the many children roaming about. Nothing else.

But her focus was broken when she felt a hand press upon the center of her back. She tilted her head up to find Cassian giving her a brief smile before turning his head forward to continue guiding her with him to one of the many food stands.

Did he really look at her in a special way, as the shopkeeper had suggested?

He certainly took care of her...but that was out of honor toward his mother. That’s all it was.

Nothing more.

“Sit here to rest your feet,” Cassian suddenly stated as he stopped by a bench and gestured for her to sit down. “I’ll get us some food.”

Nesta simply nodded before taking a seat as Cassian wandered off to one of the nearby food stands. After he had cooked for her for the past few months, she figured he would know what food she would like. Plus, her feet were starting to feel a bit sore.

How did he seem to always know what she needed before she even fully realized it herself?

Choosing not to dwell on it, she turned her attention back to the event surrounding her. As she scanned the area, her eyes landed on the sleigh rides that were happening near the edge of the Sidra. The sleighs glided along a pathway amongst the various trees and twinkling lights and were led by a magical creature that was similar to a horse.

One of the few pleasant memories she had of her mother was riding in a sleigh led by a horse with her when she was very young that led them through the village and ended at a pond where they went ice skating.

At that moment, she saw a young girl excitedly hop into a sleigh with an older female who she assumed was her mother.

Is this how her relationship with her children would be? Would they go to fairs together and ride a sleigh or carriage? Would they come here to celebrate Solstice?

Even though she certainly was not fond of Velaris, would she need to put those feelings aside to best raise her child?

Which brought her back to wondering what would happen after the birth and her year in the Illyrian mountains was up. Where would she go? Would she even be allowed to stay in the mountains?

Would she even want to stay there, with the way they treated females and children?

The thought brought back the memory of the other day when she walked around Windhaven and found very young Illyrians training. When one boy was scratched on the arm by another boy’s dagger and it hadn’t been tended to by the end of the session, she had decided to tend to it herself.

As everyone left the ring, the upset boy had dragged behind, looking very upset. She had approached him and ripped off a strip of Cassian’s shirt. The boy had eyed her warily, but when she gestured that she wanted to bandage his arm, he slowly stuck out his arm.

He was not a shy fellow and openly lamented that he hated learning how to fight and would rather learn how to be a healer and help bandage people up as she was doing herself.

Children shouldn’t even be learning how to fight at such a young age.

If she stayed in the Illyrian Mountains after the birth, would her child be pressured into fighting? Or would the Illyrians want nothing to do with her?

Cassian suddenly appeared beside her with an outstretched hand holding a skewer with pieces of meat on it. Nesta accepted it, and then stared at it within her hand.

She’d need to remove the scarf around her mouth to eat it. And there was an overwhelming amount of people around them. Plenty of chances that someone would recognize her as the High Lady’s sister.

Cassian eyed her curiously and was just opening his mouth to speak when Nesta interrupted him.

“Let’s go on a sleigh ride,” she quickly interjected before standing up abruptly and heading in the direction of the sleighs. She didn’t even wait for Cassian and simply assumed he was following after her.

The sleigh rides disappeared away from view when they went through a small, wooded forest. That would give her time to eat her food without the worries of being seen by someone.

When she reached the sleighs, she could sense Cassian right behind her. An attendant greeted the General and gestured for them to board the next sleigh.

Once they sat on the cushioned seat, Nesta still held out her skewer and just stared at it as the sleigh began to slide through the snow. Once it went behind the trees, Nesta yanked off her scarf and took a few bites of her food.

Cassian shook his head when she started eating. “And here I thought you just wanted to be alone with me.”

“Then you’re clearly delusional and should be checked out the next time I meet with the healer,” Nesta commented sternly before taking another bite.

Cassian gave her a concerned look. “How are you feeling? Is there a reason you need to see the healer?”

“Nothing besides the regular checkup,” she answered as she rubbed her stomach with her free hand. “As far as I can tell, everything seems fine.”

“And...how are you feeling otherwise?”

Nesta arched her eyebrow. “Otherwise?”

“How are you feeling...emotionally?”

“You mean, other than wanting to strangle you most of the time?”

Cassian smirked. “I mean, how are you feeling about the pregnancy?”

Nesta shrugged. “Fine.”

“You just seemed...troubled in the last shop,” he stated hesitantly.

“Well, I’m fine,” she said more harshly than she intended.

Cassian took a sharp breath and dropped his now empty skewer beside him. “I noticed you were looking at the cribs...” he began calmly. “It was supposed to be your Solstice present, but I haven’t finished it yet. I started to build a crib for the baby, so you don’t need to worry about buying one.”

Nesta perked her head up and stared straight at Cassian. “What?” she whispered.

“And I’ve started cleaning out my study, too, so we can turn it into the baby’s room.”

For a moment, Nesta felt like she couldn’t breathe. “You...you don’t need to do that. I’m sure your mother would be satisfied with you just providing -” she began.

“I’m not doing this for my mother,” he interjected as he stared into her eyes.

“Well, you certainly don’t need to do this because I’m Feyre’s sister!” she exclaimed.

“I’m not,” Cassian answered gently.

“Then why?”

“Because I care about you,” he revealed softly.

Nesta sat straight up and turned her face to look out at the trees they were passing and to avoid Cassian’s gaze. She put her empty skewer down on the seat. “I don’t understand why you would,” she revealed honestly.

“While you can be difficult most of the time,” he began, and Nesta could tell from the tone of his voice that he was probably smirking as he said it. “I’ve enjoyed living with you the past few months. And I think you have too.”

“I don’t know what makes you think that,” she replied sternly, but inside...she marveled at his care for her the past few months. She did not fully understand it nor felt deserving of it. But she was tremendously grateful.

“You’re telling me you haven’t enjoyed plotting how to handle the Illyrians together? Living together? Eating meals together? Spending today together?”

Nesta’s eyes fluttered closed, but she said nothing. To admit if she had enjoyed it...would be opening herself up to potential heartbreak. The males in her life seemed to always let her down. She should be detached from this.

Before...he wasn’t there for her.

But he’s here now, a voice inside her seemed to say.

“Even flying together?” he added.

“Not when you pretend to fall out of the sky!” she immediately shouted as she turned to face him.

“But otherwise, you enjoy it,” he said with a smug grin. He slid his hand across the seat cushion and stopped it beside her hand.

“I tolerate it,” she remarked.

Cassian still smiled but shook his head. “You’re a tough one to crack, Archeron.”

Nesta gave him the slightest smile before turning away to return to looking at the passing scenery.

“Did you know that you remind me of my mother?” he wondered aloud.

“I think we’ve already established that I am pregnant, and the baby’s father is not around to help take care of the baby, similar to your mother’s situation.”

“Well, yes, but there’s more to it than that,” he said. “I have only the vaguest memory of my mother spitting upon the boots of the Illyrian leaders when they took me away from her as soon as I could walk to bring me to Windhaven. She fought so hard to prevent me from going, they had to restrain her. Even though she’d been abandoned by my father and was alone and outcasted by her camp, she fought. I heard that even after they took me away, she tried everyday to convince the leaders to bring me back to her or to let her come to me. She was resilient and fearless...like you.”

Was that even true, with the way she acted only a few months ago? She certainly didn’t feel resilient and fearless. More like, just surviving and getting by so her child doesn’t experience what she went through with her father not caring about her well-being.

She didn’t dare voice these thoughts aloud to Cassian. Instead, she continued to focus her attention on the trees while keeping her face turned away from Cassian.

“You don’t have any other memories of your mother?” she wondered.

He shook his head. “No. I only have a few stories others have told me of her and some of her belongings the Illyrians allowed her to send to me before she died.”

“At least you have that,” Nesta said gently.

“Do you have any memories of your mother?”

“Only a few pleasant ones. I remember going on sleigh rides with her when the fair would come to town,” she stated. “She taught me how to braid my hair and would take me to buy dresses. Appearance meant everything to her. Actually, maintaining a high status was probably the most important thing to her. It was more important than taking care of us. So that’s what the servants were for.”

She never truly minded how her mother treated her and sisters. She still had a few pleasant memories of her...probably because she only spent a limited amount of time with her. She had clung tightly to her father’s love instead and felt like it was enough...until it proved to be her undoing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he moved his hand so it rested on hers on the cushion.

Nesta shrugged. “So you were forced to begin training as soon as you could walk?”

Cassian nodded.

“That’s horrible,” she commented. “And that young boy I saw who was injured during training...he didn’t even want to train. He was forced.”

Cassian sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s how it is. A male that doesn’t train to be a warrior would be considered an embarrassment to the family and to the entire camp.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“I agree.”

She turned back to face Cassian. “You need to do something about it,” she firmly stated.

“I will,” he insisted. “But I have to go one step at a time with these fools. Right now, I’m focusing on allowing females to be trained.”

“But the children -” Nesta began to protest.

“I’ll take care of them,” he hurriedly cut in. “In time. Their fathers agree to the training and the females aren’t allowed to disobey them. It’ll take time to change their mindset.”

Nesta sighed as she pulled her hand out of Cassian’s grasp and crossed her arms against herself.

“And I can’t do that without your help,” Cassian added seriously.

“Well, obviously. Someone needs to be around to save you from being poisoned again,” Nesta remarked, desperately needing to avoid the heaviness of Cassian’s words.

“And luckily, you’re already an expert in that area,” Cassian commented and then he gave her the look again as he brought his hand up to her face to slide a strand of her hair behind her ear.

It was the second time he had done that that day, but this time she didn’t move. There was nowhere to run to, and she found herself staring intently right back at Cassian.

His hand lingered on her cheek. She wondered if his heart was rapidly beating just like hers.

The sleigh suddenly came to an abrupt halt, causing them both to look up and realize their sleigh ride had come to an end. Nesta gasped as the crowds were now back in view, and she realized she needed to put her scarf back on.

“Stay right there,” she ordered Cassian before he could start exiting the sleigh. “Don’t move.” At first, Cassian appeared confused, but when she began pulling her hood down to rewrap her scarf around the bottom half of her face all while hiding behind his hulking body, he understood and rolled his eyes.

After she brought her hood back up, she looked back up at him. “Okay, we can go now.”

Cassian stood up and stepped out of the sleigh. As soon as his feet planted on the snowy ground, he turned toward her to grab hold of her hand and help her down from the sleigh.

But as they started walking away from the sleigh, he did not let go.

And against her better judgment, she didn’t either.

________________________________________________________________

He had almost kissed her.

And he still wanted to kiss her.

But now she had that silly scarf around her face, blocking her lips from him.

For now, he’d simply have to settle for holding her hand as they made their way through the crowds. Shockingly, she had not yet let go of it yet.

And that was enough to put him in a state of bliss. The only disappointing thing happening at this moment was the fact they would have to head back to his cabin soon. It had been such an easy-going and pleasant day with her. And it had been so nice to see her walk soberly down the streets of Velaris. It helped dampen the memories of finding her drunk out of her mind, stumbling out of bars with other males.

But having those memories and seeing her now proved her resilience.

He wished he could tell her he was proud of her. He almost did...but held back, unsure of how she would take him making such a comment.

She already had been difficult when he simply told her she looked beautiful earlier that day. Then saying she was resilient and fearless like his mother seemed to make her uncomfortable too.

But she was still holding his hand, and that was something. He gave her hand a squeeze and briefly looked back at her...simply to look at her.

Of course, he could only really see her beautiful blue-gray eyes, making it hard to read her expression. He wished he could understand what she was feeling.

“How are you feeling?” he called back loudly.

“Tired,” she said rather sleepily.

He had forgotten about fatigue being a common aspect of pregnancy. While he wished his day with her out and about like this wouldn’t end, he knew they needed to head back. “Okay, we’ll go pick up your dresses and then fly back to the mountains.”

Nesta nodded in agreement as they exited the fairgrounds and began strolling down the bustling sidewalk toward the boutique they visited earlier. As they got closer, the sidewalk gradually became less populated, allowing them to actually walk beside each other.

“So, did you enjoy today, or was it really merely tolerable?” Cassian asked her with a grin.

“I enjoyed it,” she replied softly.

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Did you actually admit that you enjoyed spending the day with me?”

“Don’t expect it to ever happen again,” she replied firmly. Her eyes narrowed at him, but he could see a glint of amusement as well.

Cassian beamed at her and gave her hand a squeeze as he pulled open the door to the maternity shop. Unfortunately, he was forced to let go of her hand as he held open the door for her to enter, and he followed behind her.

As soon as they walked in, Alena saw them and immediately retrieved the sack with Nesta’s dresses. Nesta outstretched her hands to accept it.

Then Nesta went up behind Cassian to attach the bag to his back.

She may not have believed him, but she truly did look beautiful when she tried the dresses on that morning.

And she looked beautiful right now, even with the silly scarf and hood covering her face. At least he still had her mesmerizing eyes to look at.

“You better not pull one of your silly flying jokes and lose my dresses,” she demanded as they began to head out of the store.

“Believe me, sweetheart. There’s no way I’d risk losing the chance to see you in that black dress again.”

It may have sounded like he said it in jest, but it was true. She had looked stunning in it.

They bid their goodbyes to Alena as they exited the store. Once they stepped outside, Nesta approached him, likely expecting him to pick her up to soar back to the mountains.

But there was...still one thing that nagged at him all day. That guilty feeling that he was being disloyal to his High Lord and Lady.

Maybe, just maybe, Nesta would possibly reconsider.

Cassian stared at her as she stood before him expectantly. To her surprise, Cassian grabbed both of her hands within his own.

He took a deep breath.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Feyre? She could help you.”

But as soon as he said Feyre’s name, Nesta froze and her hands went limp within his grasp.

“I told you,” she began in a deathly quiet voice. “That I didn’t want her to know, and I certainly don’t want to go talk to her,” she stated angrily before yanking her hands out of Cassian’s grasp and pulling her scarf down past her mouth. “Have you forgotten why I’ve been wearing this scarf all day?”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “Nesta, I know. But you should talk to her. Her studio is just around the corner.”

Nesta’s eyes suddenly widened, and he was unable to read the expression that came across her face.

“Her studio is just around THE CORNER?!” she reconfirmed, her voice rising with every word.

“Nesta, please - ”

“Was this just the plan all along?!” she cried out. “Convince me to go to Velaris, take me to a store right by my sister’s studio, buy me dresses and flatter me, then just get me to stay here longer to talk to Feyre at the end of the day?!” she exclaimed angrily. “Gods, I can’t even believe I actually thought you - UGH!”

“Nesta, no!” Cassian pleaded as he reached for her hands, but she kept them out of his reach, even going so far as to turn away from him. “I meant everything I said and did today,” he insisted. “There was no ulterior motive!”

“Please stop lying to me!” she pleaded softly.

“I am not lying!” he yelled back.

“I can’t even look at you!” she shouted as she crossed her arms against her chest.

“Nesta, please understand. While it’s hard for me to keep this a secret - ”

“It’s not your secret to tell!” she interjected.

“While it’s hard for me to keep this a secret and I do want you to talk to Feyre, it did not influence what I said and did today. I meant everything and I enjoyed each moment with you.”

Nesta took a long deep breath. He could only hope that his words were finally sinking into her.

“I don’t believe you, and I don’t care,” she suddenly said quietly. “I am not talking to my sister, so please just take me home.”

Her words stung.

It felt like a stab to the heart. After all their time together today...for it to conclude like this…

He thought they had come so far today, but now...were they really nearly back at square one?

“Nesta…” he said gently as he pressed a hand upon the back of her shoulder.

“TAKE. ME. HOME.” she ordered harshly. “And you can only touch me to carry me back,” she requested before quickly turning her body around, causing his hand to slide off her body.

While she was now facing in his direction, she kept her eyes glued to the floor and her arms crossed as she waited for him to pick her up.

It hurt so much to know that she didn’t believe him.

And it hurt so much to know that he hurt her.

Just like that, the elation he felt from his day with her was gone.

At a loss, he had no choice but to pick her up and hope she would cool off by they time they reached his cabin.

When he held her, she made no move to wrap her hands around his neck as she had done before.

While he’d been left feeling wounded by her words, he clung to one shred of hope: that she referred to his cabin as her home.

And he held onto that hope for their entire journey back.

________________________________________________________________

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed that cuteness with a dose of angst...always gotta have a dose of angst! ;)

Let me know your thoughts! :)

---> CHAPTER 6

#nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of thorns and roses #a court of misty and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #far from the shallow #fanfiction #nessian fanfiction

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