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achaotichuman · 2 months

Text

A Field Of Dahlias

Notes:

Finally free of the Mountain and Amarantha's grip on the people. The Spring Court is scrambling to get back to normal. With their wedding not far away, Tamlin is struggling to keep his Court from falling into disarray. When he starts to get sick things begin to take a turn for the worse and worser.

When Feyre is taken by the Lord of Night, it doesn't look like anything it can get any worse. With his life experience Tamlin should know that things can always get worse.

Request- Do you think you could write about dahlia in this context: https://www.tumblr.com/praetorqueenreyna/737196004108058624?source=share, hopefully featuring deadbeat at first mom feyre, horrified stepdad rhysand, tired of it all tamlin and a supportive lucien/eris.

Anyway here is this little fic. Also here is part 1, part 2, and part 3 if you missed 'em. You can also read this on Squidgeworld, or AO3.

Also! I am now realizing I have strayed entirely from what the original prompt was, which was basically the exact same events of Acomaf and Acowar just with the added inclusion of Tamlin being pregnant with Feyre's kid. Buuuut this is my story and I shall do as I please.

Plus if I rewrote the entirety of the Acomaf and Acowar books this would be unnecessarily long and I would lose all interest, so in an effort to keep things fun I have pretty much scraped the entire plot of Acowar and made it my own.

I think my ideas are more fun anyway. But when I tell you this plot is was deeper than I meant it to be, I mean it.

Anyway enjoy!

Tag- @sonics-atelier (Anyone who wants to be on the tag list, feel free to ask me!)

____________________________________________________

The next few days passed, each seeming longer than the rest. Meetings with Hybern that lasted hours, and keeping the mask glued to her face.

Lucien often found his way to the former human, snarking with him in the corner, sharpening his tongue and finding every way to irk the General.

Though it seemed Jurian entertained his game with insane eyes and a twisted grin. Lucien met it with skilled words and smart replies. Watching them dance around each other as they practically sized the other up was entertaining in it’s own way, Tamlin supposed.

Tamlin found herself coming into contact with the woman in robes more often than she liked.

Lady Amber, with her cunning mouth and smart eyes, she was a threat. A cruel snake in tall grass. Always lurking around the corners in the shadows. Watching with slanted eyes, everytime she opened her mouth Tamlin expected to see a forked tongue.

After a meeting, Lucien remained engaged with Jurian in whatever talk they had found. Jurian watched him with a cocked head and eyes that barely blinked. He looked as though he had lost it.

Tamlin slipped away from the meeting. A murmured goodbye to the Lords and an apology that she would not stay later. Hybern had brushed her off as he spoke to another Lord, and Tamlin was too tired to snap for a response.

Passing through the cold hallways, she kept her eyes ahead, watching the crawling shadows. A chill ran down over her skin, showering her in goosebumps.

As she walked over wooden floors. Dark green dress whispering around her ankles, she almost wished she had just grabbed Lucien, or someone to escort her.

She hated this place. Hated every room, every reminder of the woman who had made her life hell for so long.

But that would be stupid, she knew her way back to her room, and didn’t need someone to hold her hand.

But as she turned a corner, Tamlin nearly jumped.

Lady Amber stared at him, with her cruel icy eyes. Tamlin took a quick step back, one hand subconsciously going to her womb, the other falling to her thigh, where a concealed dagger laid.

“Lady Amber, I didn’t expect to see you.” Tamlin told her.

“Just taking a breath of fresh air.” She smiled. Even her voice sent chills down her spine.

“I see,” Tamlin replied, “Well, you enjoy yourself, I must be getting to my rooms.”

But as she went to walk past her, Lady Amber chimed, “Leaving so soon? Come Lady, we have barely spoken these past few days.”

Tamlin swallowed and said, “Well, we have been quite busy.”

She went to step away again, but Lady Amber moved smoothly to block her way to her rooms.

Shit.

Tamlin breathed a tad quicker than she needed to, and Amber noted that she cocked her head, a serpent's smile on her face, “Well, neither of us are busy now. Please, let us talk.”

Tamlin swallowed, another action she noted, shit, “About?”

“How far are you along?” Amber asked, tilting her head to the other side slowly.

She considered not answering, but ended up replying, “Five months.”

“Halfway then,” She murmured.

The world seemed to darken, Tamlin took a step back, feeling like something was pressing in around her lungs. Constricting her breathing, “Yes.”

“That is very interesting, and the father, or mother, is the Cursebreaker? Right?” She took another step forward.

“Yes.” Tamlin let the agitation shine in her voice, “Now, if that is all you have to ask, I will be on my way-”

“Oh but darling, I have more questions,” She said, reaching out a hand, her sleeve pulled back to reveal a bracelet of emerald. Her fingers brushed Tamlin’s arms, and she reeled back.

“Please do not touch me.” She insisted.

“Oh I apologise, my dear, but please do answer all my questions.” She prowled closer and Tamlin felt like prey caught in a hunting trap.

“I can answer any more questions in the meeting tonight.” Tamlin said, “Now please, I will be going.”

She pushed past Amber and headed in the direction of her room, wanting to sprint, to run, to go, go, go-

Amber grabbed her arm with such a force, bruises would surely be left.

Tamlin screamed, but a palm was slapped over her mouth.

She tried to summon claws, her magic fought to the surface. Screaming and crying as it raced to protect its favoured son.

But Tamlin cried out again as her magic slammed into a wall, preventing it from escaping. It shoved and pushed, and screamed and it felt like he was exploding under her skin.

Her eyes had screwed shut but when she opened them she saw the bracelet on Amber’s wrist glowing golden.

“My daughter has told me much about you, Spring Lord. And the power this child could have.” She whispered cruelly.

Tamlin struggled against her arms, but Amber was deceptively strong. And she was feeling weaker and weaker.

She laughed, “Emeralds hold much power from my family. Ours are enchanted, my dear.”

Tamlin tried to scream, tried to run, but Amber pulled her closer.

“The birth of your child will fuel the magic of Spring for centuries to come. To harvest that energy,” Amber's hand slipped down to take away the dagger from Tamlin’s thigh, “We would be unstoppable.”

No.

No, no, no, no.

She laughed, and that dagger began to slide over whatever bare skin she could find, “Even your blood holds power, it sings-”

“Amber!” A voice shouted.

Tamlin cried with relief as Amber quickly threw her to the floor. Barely catching herself on her knees.

Shit.

Dear Gods-

Looking up, Tamlin saw a familiar face.

Jurian was leaning against the wall. Eyes wide, mouth curled into a grin, face twisted with insanity. Tamlin couldn’t exactly blame him if he had lost himself, afterall he had been an eye ring not just a few months back.

“Jurian.” Amber said smoothly, “To what do we owe your company?”

She didn’t keep the sneer out of her voice. The man flicked his eyes between Tamlin and her, tilting his head to the side, looking like a cunning cat.

“The King has sent for you two.”

Amber straightened at that. Eyes glancing down to Tamlin. Burning with such an intensity Tamlin heard the words she spoke, ‘Don’t tell him a thing that happened here.’

As if the King of Hybern would care if she had been trying to kill her.

“And why would that be, Jurian?” Amber asked bluntly.

His grin twisted into something insane once more, “Why the delightful Cursebreaker has come.”

She was going to be sick. She was going to be sick all over the floors, or pass out, or a combination of the two. Tamlin raced to stand beside Jurian, and Amber maintained a leisurely pace behind them.

Her heart was thundering against her ribcage. Desperately wanting to run. To hide, to leave immediately. But there was nothing to be done. A predator at her back and an insane man at her side, there was no telling what either of them could, or would, do.

They went through the dark tunnels, and then finally, they were opening the large, heavy doors to the throne room.

Amber then strutted ahead and Tamlin sighed with relief as she was finally in front of her and not leering behind.

Hybern sat upon the massive, black carved throne. Soldiers flanking at every side. Many hidden in shadows, waiting and watching. Lucien was standing near to the throne but when he laid eyes on Tamlin, he ran to her.

“Tamlin are you-” Lucien blinked as he saw the sheer panic in her eyes, “Tamlin what happened?”

“We have to get out of here.” She whispered quickly.

“Dear Gods, the Night Court-” Lucien cupped her face.

“Lord and Lady of Spring, come forward.” Hybern barked.

Lucien looked over his shoulder and quickly took Tamlin’s hand leading her up to stand beside the throne.

Leaning in, he whispered, “Keep up the mask a little longer Tam, we’ll get out of here.”

Dear Cauldron and Mother.

The room was large, the ceiling looming far overtop of her. The throne she stood beside, was the same one she had seen her father kneel before. Seen Amarantha kneel before.

Now she stood there. Below the same King that had allowed his General to take over Prythian.

From the shadows of the throne room, she saw blue eyes glaring, and a cruel smile. Amber watched from where she could not be seen. Emerald bracelet gleaming in the minimal light.

Shit, shit, shit.

She was being hunted. Prey in a trap. Prey in a trap. Prey in a trap.

Lucien’s eyes followed her. Finding the glowing sky blue in the shadows. He looked back at Tamlin, opening his mouth to ask, or to accuse Amber. But he was cut short when the doors slammed open.

And writhing, kicking and screaming, was Rhysand and Feyre Archeron.

Her blood turned to ice.

She was dressed fully in Night Court uniform. Face twisted in hatred and anger. Eyes glowing with a storm.

Lucien stepped out in front of Tamlin, half hiding her from sight. Just enough that Feyre would only be able to make out half of Tamlin’s face and blonde hair.

“Welcome Night Court, to the Kingdom of Hybern.” Dae drawled from his throne.

“You.” Feyre hissed with such venom Tamlin nearly flinched.

“King of Hybern.” Rhysand murmured. His voice reverberated with power, even if he was held back by guards.

Three others came into view, and Tamlin’s eyes went wide at the Night Court entourage. Two Illyrian warriors, and a blonde-headed female with wide brown eyes. All their faces pulled back into snarls. All their eyes found the King of Hybern.

Feyre however was staring right at Tamlin and Lucien. She screamed something that Tamlin couldn’t make out.

“What an interesting group,” Dae said. Dragging a finger up the arm of his throne, “So you’re the great Cursebreaker? Finally a face to put to the name.”

“Release us!” Feyre screamed at him.

“Now, I cannot do that so soon, Feyre.” Dae said, “Why, you just got here. After trying to steal away with my little prize no less.”

Little prize…

“We’ll return to our Court.” Rhysand offered. “And give you no more trouble.”

Liar, as always. His ploy was as clear as crystal water, yet there was something nearly trusting in it.

Daemati magic, he was attempting to coax the King into releasing them.

Dae just laughed at his attempt, “Then I wouldn’t be fulfilling my part of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” The blonde haired female questioned.

Dae then gestured to the Spring lords beside him, “Why my bargain with Spring of course. I help to return their missing fawn, and I will have their loyalties in the War soon to come.”

“You bargained with them.” Feyre breathed, her spiteful face nearly blank for a moment. Before it curdled into undying rage, “You bargained to steal me back!”

“Feyre.” Tamlin breathed.

“How fucking dare you!” She screamed, voice raw and powerful. Echoing through the room.

That was the mother of her child. His child. Tamlin looked between Hybern and Feyre. Hybern who smiled so coldly down at her. Eyes narrowed and cruel. Feyre’s mouth was pulled back into a snarl as she pulled and kicked against the guards holding her down. Like if she was free she would run at the King, or Tamlin. Lucien seemed to sense that as he subconsciously held out an arm. Keeping Tamlin locked behind him.

Rhysand’s violet eyes jumped around the room. Locking into everyone. Taking into account every piece on the playing field.

Tamlin sucked in a breath, grazing Lucien’s arm with his fingers, “Feyre, we are saving you from him-”

“How dare you decide what is good for me!” She cut him off with a shout, “You have no right.”

“Feyre.” He felt the High lord’s power seeping into his voice, and begged it to stay at bay. For now.

“You will not take my mate back there.” Rhysand snarled, violet eyes glowing with barely concealed power.

The day outside felt like it got a little colder. And Tamlin's eyes went wide as his heart pounded against his ribcage. Mask slipping away as anger took hold of him. Burning inside his flesh, face heating up, bones tightening in his skin. He wanted to shift claws and fur and teeth and lash at Rhysand, but a hand reaching over to brush the back of his hand halted every action. Lucien’s eyes were set on the Night Court, but Tamlin could hear the unspoken words.

‘Just a little longer.’

Hold out, keep the beast at bay, just a little while longer.

So Tamlin straightened his back. Summoning the face of the High lord of Spring, he felt the cruel cold mask of his father slip away as he faced Rhysand with all the raw, unfiltered hatred he held for him, “I do not care if she is your mate, I do not care if you think you have a right to lay claim to her. She is mine and she is coming home with me.”

Tamlin remembered his mother’s face when his father laid claim to her time and time again. He remembered the tragic story of the former Lady Spring, how she had been taken by his father and claimed without consent, all for the crime of being his mate.

Tamlin wouldn’t let that happen to Feyre.

Never would he ever stand by and let that happen to any other female again, least of all his Feyre. His sarcastic, wild, beautiful Feyre.

But as the words left his mouth something deeply rooted, and hateful twisted in Feyre’s eyes. Causing the storm to darken like never before, she tried to leap forward but was reigned in by Hybern’s soldiers.

“Let her go.” Tamlin ordered, turning his eyes up to Hybern.

But Dae just lifted a finger, an order to be silent. Tamlin nearly snapped but Lucien’s hand gripped him quickly.

Damn it.

Dae lounged back in his throne, “Now, this has been as interesting as ever, but if I may, I would like to perform a little experiment.”

At those words, all eyes snapped to the King of Hybern. Lucien’s head turned so quickly Tamlin thought he heard the Fox’s neck crack.

“What-” Tamlin murmured, but his words were cut off.

The giant, black stone room seemed to darken for a moment, like the lights had flickered on and off simulatanously.

In between a heartbeat, the air shifted, tightening until it was nearly to heavy to breathe. Shadows pressed in and darkness swirled in his vision. It was like a presence had descended in Hybern.

An earth shattering clap of thunder, Tamlin jumped back and Lucien grabbed him by the waist. The Night Court reeled back, and someone screamed.

But the doors of the throne room were thrown open so quickly they slammed against the walls.

And four figures strutted in with their heads high, eyes cruel and each wearing the same twisted expression.

Four human women, each with flaming eyes of a multitude of colours. Like different colour flames. Each breath was a puff of power into the whirlpool of magic that had shadowed the throne room.

There was a shout of something incomprehensible and the two Illyrian warriors tried to rush at the human women, but the soldiers were fasted and in a split second, the two were chained to the floor by threads of black magic.

There was laughter and smiles from the humans as they gazed upon Fae brought so low. One, an older female were greying hair and silver eyes, stopped before the Illyrians, glaring down with a smile.

Tamlin felt the hatred burning off of her, years of remembrance from times humans kneeled before Fae was in her gaze. The High lord of Spring couldn’t say the hatred for their kind wasn’t deserved. It absolutely was.

But then she turned her eyes up to Hybern as the four approached his throne.

The seemingly eldest of the group spoke first, “Hybern, make this trip worth our time.”

“As if I ever wouldn’t.” Dae purred to her. Eyes gleaming wickedly. Something like disgust gleamed in hers, but she held his evil smile with a uncanny version of her own.

“What is-” Rhysand yelled out, cut off by a guard pulling him back by a rope that had been quickly tied around his neck.

Lucien moved even further in front of him. Hands twitching like he might just grab Tamlin, toss him over his shoulder and run.

Tamlin put a hand on his shoulder, if only to prevent him from doing just that.

“This, Lord of Night,” The eldest human purred, “is power.”

They bargained.

It was clear as day, Tamlin saw in all their eyes was magic that shouldn’t belong to humans. It came from a bargain.

And it was only confirmed by Dae’s next words, “The Queens of the Human realms and I have created a bargain of our own. I give them the power they so desire, and in return I have their support.”

The blonde female on the floor, next to Feyre, screamed, it was raw and guttural, “We had a deal!”

The Queens just grinned with cruel eyes.

Hybern was planning to invade the mortal world. To take them all back as slaves, and the Queens had countered with a plan of their own making. A last ditch effort to protect their lands, making plans with the enemy.

Tamlin caught the eye of one of the Queens. A beautiful woman, with eyes that were wide set like a fawn, hair perfect and dress smooth. Her fiery eyes burned into his own with delight and something rest-assured.

She winked, her grin softening into something confident and genuinely kind.

Tamlin returned it with understanding in his eyes.

They were here to protect their Courts. The same way he was.

But as he looked back down at the Night Court, it seemed the great powerful Daemati’s had yet to catch onto that.

Rhysand’s eyes were wide with panic, the purple shining bright like light violet, he writhed against his chains. And Feyre tried to dive a foot into the gut of the male holding her back.

“Let her go.” Tamlin ordered again.

Dae once again ignored him, “Back to my little experiment. As per requested by the Queens. I will show you just the amount of power we hold in the palms of our hands.”

With a snap of his fingers. The doors slammed open.

And the room fell silent as the air was sucked, and darkness filled the world.

Whispers of ancient evil and cruelty filled his ears, and phantom hands crawled up his skin. Invasive and touching, and filled with a power he could barely imagine.

The whispers got louder and for a moment Tamlin made out what they said to him.

“Son of the Lady. Son of our Lady. Son of the Blessed. Son of Dahlia. Son of Dahlia. Son of Dahlia.”

Dahlia.

Son of Dahlia.

His mother.

The Cauldron was placed on the floor, and the darkened liquid sloshing inside lapped at the edges of its cage. Whispering to the outside, curious and peeking around. Like fingers that traced the rim of the bowl. Beckoning.

There was a choked gasp and Tamlin’s eyes snapped down to Feyre, she wasn’t looking at the Cauldron, or the Queens or Hybern.

Rather she was staring down at a pendant around her neck. She held it in her hand as her eyes were wide, staring at it as it glowed with power.

Emerald.

He saw it in her palm, it flashed at him like metal gleaming. With power it glowed so brightly she clasped it in between her two hands, eyes shooting up, and they met his.

Momentarily stunned, hatred was all gone, as she looked to the Cauldron, then back to the necklace.

Two and two were quickly put together.

The necklace was reacting to the Cauldron.

“What-” Feyre gasped out.

Then there was raucous laughter as a snake stepped out of the shadows.

Lady Amber stalked towards the Cauldron like it called for her. The hood of her robe fell away as she approached, looking down into the deep magic it held like it was her own. Her eyes gleamed so wickedly, and as she lifted her hand, her sleeve fell down to her elbow.

And exposed her emerald bracelet, which glowed like a shining star in the sky, as if it was basking in the delightfully evil power of the Cauldron. Eyes gleaming in the reflection of the light, Amber turned her head up to the King of Hybern.

“We will be unstoppable, my King.” She murmured.

Dae grinned as he tossed a leg over the arm of his throne, lounging in all his glory, “I know, High Priestess.”

She was their High Priestess. No wonder she had such robes.

Tamlin looked back down to the emerald clutched in Feyre’s hand, as she hid it under her shirt.

He looked back at Amber’s emerald.

Feyre met his eyes, wide with confusion and fear.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

They needed to get out of here now.

“Lucien-”

Lucien’s eyes widening halted Tamlin’s words as cries and screams filled the air once more. And a set of guards winnowed in, bringing all Hell with them.

Feyre was the figure out what was happening, and the first to scream as she lunged forward.

“Nesta! Elain!” Feyre screamed, a guttural sound that shook the room with magic.

On the cold floor they were thrown, in just their nightgowns. The two Archeron sisters were tied, skin bruised, the eldest one had her lip cut, red and black blooming on her eye from where she had undoubtedly been punched.

The middle one was screaming, tears freely dripping down her face. Her hands were bleeding like she had been desperately grabbing onto something to prevent them from taking her.

No.

Fucking hell no.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Tamlin shouted up at Hybern. Stepping forward, wanting to rush at him.

Lucien held him back by his wrist.

Dae just grinned once again, “The experiment.”

“Let them go! They have no part in this!” Feyre shrieked.

“This was not part of our deal.” Tamlin seethed.

“No.” Amber said, hands hovering over the Cauldron, as if taking in warmth from a fire, “it was in our deal.”

Nodding, the King of Hybern grinned, “We needed a test subject for this little experiment. And these two, sisters of a Made Fae, will work perfectly.”

“You told them about my sisters!” Feyre accused, screaming as she nearly snapped her chains. Teeth and claws nearly breaking her skin, breaking through a near impenetrable force of magic around her.

“No, no I-”

“He didn’t.” Amber replied smoothly, eyes greedily lapping in the sight of the Cauldron, her own form of worship as she gazed upon it, “My dear little runaway daughter did.”

Runaway daughter.

“My daughter has told me much about you, Spring Lord.”

“Release them at once!” Tamlin shouted, hands curling into fists.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was supposed to happen.

Who told the King about them? Who would do this? Who would be so cruel-

“I told you not to come here, Tam.” An emotionless, static voice called.

A full body chill descended upon his skin, every nerve on end, burned and raw.

Please no.

If there was anything in the world he could ask for, he would ask for this to have all been a dream. Ice flooded him as starkly as the warm anger that had curled in his gut as another walked through those large doors.

Pale blue robes, blonde hair curling around her face. Eyes filled with nothing at all, as she walked towards the Cauldron, towards the two sisters.

“What have you done?” Tamlin whispered.

Ianthe stoic eyes didn’t meet his as she said, “You should have never come here.”

She told Hybern. Ianthe revealed the sister’s.

But that meant-

“Dear daughter.” Amber crooned, as she beckoned the Priestess forth. Ianthe obeyed, her head low as she stepped up to the Cauldron, beside her mother.

“Dear mother.” Ianthe murmured back, her voice as blank as her eyes.

No.

But denial was worth nothing, as Rhysand hissed, “I knew you were a viper, Ianthe. The apple never strays.”

For the first time since entering, emotion flashed in her blue eyes for a moment as she flinched at the words.

Amber ignored Rhysand as she stepped back and grabbed her daughter by her shoulders and held Ianthe in front of her. Fingers digging into the bone until it must’ve hurt. But Ianthe just held her head high and gazed into the Cauldron.

“Enough embellishments, let our experiment begin.” Dae declared, “The Mortal Queens wished for a show of how a human can be Made. We will give them just that.”

With a snap of his fingers, the guards grabbed Nesta and Elain pulling them to their shaking knees as they both pulled back and tried to kick away.

Dae observed them both with cruel eyes, before ultimately saying, “Put the pretty one in first.”

Nesta screamed as Elain was dragged to the Cauldron.

“No.”

She was lifted up, her head thrown back as she cried out. Heels slamming into the lip of the Cauldron, like she might shove off, like she might tip it over and run.

A burst of unadulterated magic struck him and Tamlin rushed forward. To Dae. To the Throne.

Claws and teeth and everything vicious and snarling. Tamlin lunged forward, but something burning and too bright grabbed him and reigned him back. Gagging him and pulling his clawed hands away from Dae’s face.

Tamlin snarled and Hybern laughed.

Gasps echoed from behind him, and Tamlin’s eyes widened by a fraction as he realised, Lucien was no longer in front of him to hide the evidence of the baby.

Hybern mouthed, ‘You will regret this.’

A shout of terror and anger vibrated in his bones as Lucien writhed against his own restraints, held back after trying to dive after Tamlin, and the girl being thrown into the Cauldron.

Nothing could be done. Even as Feyre screamed so loud the Palace nearly shook, Elain was thrown in.

The emerald on Amber’s wrist glowed as her smile widened.

And the world shook.

Everything quivered.

Like a shaking breath of pleasure, the ground, sky and wind melted into the point of the Cauldron, as Elain was boiled alive.

It was barely a second long.

Her hands broke the surface of the Cauldron and she grabbed the edge. Head breaking up for air, she gasped, and as she took a new breath, reborn, remade. The Earth quivered again.

Her long brown hair stuck to her back, neck and shoulders. Pushed up by her hands, nightgown soaked and sticking to her skin, revealing every part of her frame.

And Ianthe at the Cauldron, her stoic mask was burned away as she began to shake. Breath stolen from her lungs as her blue eyes shone like sapphires.

Elain’s hands slipped and she nearly fell back into the dark waters.

But Ianthe’s hands were faster. Nearly shoving away from her mother, she lunged forward, grabbing the creature that had once been the human Elain. And pulling her out, to the ground. Soaking her robes with water that was both holy and sinful.

“Ianthe!” Amber shouted. But Ianthe ignored her as she gently laid the shivering Elain in her lap as she kneeled on the floor.

Still the same eyes and sweet face, but her limbs were longer now, skin healthier, glowing. A golden light was pouring from her chest and the tips of her fingers. Haloing her head.

Ianthe was panting, breaths becoming shallower and shallower as stared down at the newly Made Fae.

“Ianthe, get back over here.” Amber seethed.

“Mate.” Ianthe gasped out.

The world exploded.

Nesta screamed as she lunged forward and tore Elain away from the Priestess, shoving Ianthe to the ground.

Amber shrieked something. Face burning red from anger, hands shaking, she snapped forward. Ianthe tried to scramble back, but her mother grabbed her, pulling her hood, her head covering off of her blonde hair. Ianthe screamed as she cried, trying to pull the hood back over her head.

Amber pulled Ianthe’s face to her own as she screamed curses in the name of the Mother in her face. Curses of breaking her vows, and Ianthe sobbed, heavy wet tears falling down her face.

“Enough!” Hybern’s voice echoed through the room, Amber looked back up to the King of Hybern, who nodded to her. Amber gritted her teeth and threw her daughter to the floor and quickly covered her head again as she cried and whispered prayers to the Mother. Apologies and begging for some kind of mercy.

Tamlin writhed against his chains. Pulling and pulling. Elain sobbed into Nesta’s chest, but the guards pulled her away, as they grabbed Nesta and forced her to her feet. Nesta screamed bloody murder as she was dragged to the Cauldron.

“No, No!” Feyre cried as she too was helpless but to watch her eldest sister be picked up and brought to the surface of the burning ice of the Cauldron.

But as she was plunged under, Nesta twisted her body and turned to Hybern.

As her skin was burned going under, the flaming water eating away at her skin and bones, turning her into something else. She lifted a hand.

Her eyes flashed.

Target locked.

Promise marked.

Nesta Archeron pointed to the King of Hybern, and Dae, Dae with all the power in his hands, flinched as his eyes widened and his skin paled.

And the once human girl went under.

If the world quivered in pleasure at Elain’s death and rebirth, it roared with anger at Nesta’s.

The air turned stiff and everyone began to gasp for air like it had been taken away. The ground under them shook and the stone floors screeched as it cracked.

Outside thunder split the sky. Causing the world to divulge into a show of rage and hurt, as the Cauldron cried out like it was being torn apart.

And finally, after too long and barely a second later at the same time, two hands broke the surface and Nesta tried to shove out of the Cauldron. Dark water dripped down her face, as she grabbed the rim of the bowl, she lifted her eyes.

Silver danced in them like flames of molten steel.

The whole room went wholly still.

She gasped and gagged, tears of anger and pain streaming down her face. She hauled a leg over the Cauldron, but as if something were pulling her back in, she slipped back.

In a sudden burst of light and energy, Lucien rushed to the Cauldron, free of his restraints.

However, he wasn’t faster than Elain, who scraped her knees, blooding herself further as she leapt up and grabbed her eldest sister’s hand. Dragging her to the floor. Nesta fell in a boneless heap in her sister’s arms.

Lucien, reaching them just a second later, didn’t waste time as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the two sisters. Nesta snarled up at him, but out of energy she couldn’t force him away. Elain accepted the warm, dry clothing with little more than a piercing glare.

Made. Pointed ears pushed past their long locks of hair. Skin glowing with power that wasn’t previously there. Fae, through and through, with nothing human left to them.

Dae cleared his throat, cutting through the power and magic writhing in the air. He addressed the Queens, “Now you see what the Cauldron can do, the power it holds. Creation itself is in our hands.”

Creation itself.

Twisting his head, Tamlin looked towards Feyre.

Her eyes were wet with tears, and her eyes kept darting between everyone. Like she didn’t know what to think about first.

They were so utterly fucked.

Feyre didn’t know what to do.

At first it had been going just as planned.

Then she had turned her back on the Cauldron and laid eyes on one she had only ever seen as an eye ring on Amarantha’s finger. Jurian had smirked at them as guards descended on them.

Brought kicking and screaming to the throne room she had at first been set on rushing at the King herself. As she watched Cassian and Azriel struggle against their restraints. As Morrigan was tied up and Rhysand was chained, she pulled her power to the surface and prepared to rush him.

Then her eyes fell to two standing by the throne. Tamlin mostly hidden behind Lucien, who was watching with blank eyes. All anger had consumed her in that moment, as she remembered being trapped behind those doors, locked in that house. She screamed and wanted for blood to spill.

Then those mortal Queens, betraying them and looking down at Azriel and Cassian like dogs. Feyre wanted to kill them too.

Then her sisters, tossed into the Cauldron and remade. Because Ianthe, someone she had considered a friend, had given them away. Had willingly handed them over to Hybern.

Ianthe’s own words came back to her, “Just know not to take the word of Faeries at face value." She had told her. Almost like she was warning her.

Or perhaps taunting her, Feyre thought, since she ended up betraying her.

But then Ianthe had pulled Elain into her lap, and whispered that dreadful word.

Mate.

Feyre had wanted to scream and shout, but froze. Nesta reacted the quickest, shoving Ianthe away from Elain.

Then that High Priestess of Hybern, Ianthe’s mother, had screamed in the Priestess of Spring’s face.

Ianthe still was on the floor, her mother hovering over her. Watching her every move.

And Feyre found herself clutching the emerald necklace now hidden underneath her shirt.

It glowed with the power of the Cauldron. And when she looked at Ianthe's mother’s wrist, a bracelet of pure emerald glowed under her robes.

What else had Ianthe told her that day? When she gave her necklace? The day she had cried out in her mind for someone to take her away from that wedding?

"Take it, Cursebreaker." As she let it hang from Feyre's neck she murmured, "You may need it."

"Need it?" Feyre whispered.

Ianthe just smiled, "Trust me."

"You said yourself not to take the words of Fae at face value." Feyre countered.

"I did." She stated.

Before Feyre could once again point out the blatant hypocrisy, Ianthe said, "Try to see past the person, Feyre. Try and see what may lay underneath."

Try and see what may lay underneath…

What lays underneath, what lays underneath, what lays underneath?

Now Nesta, Made Fae and stripped of her human skin, clutched Elain. Whilst the middle Archeron sister pulled her in protectively, anger and pure fear twisting in her face as she helped to shield the eldest.

Feyre clutched the necklace tighter, part of her wanted to rip it off for the deceit of Ianthe, the other made her keep it on.

One of the Mortal Queens, those traitors, stepped forward and away from the rest. She was the eldest of the group, her darkened eyes swept over Nesta and Elain before turning back to Hybern, “We see that you have such great power, Fae King. With this confirmation, my sisters and I ask we go through to the next phase.”

Hybern smiled coldly, “Then let us proceed.”

Proceed.

As the Queen smiled, the others encircled the Cauldron.

Hybern caught Feyre’s widened, confused eyes. As the Inner Circle around her were strapped with chains and gagged with cloth. Morrigan fought them away as best she could, but the blonde was exhausted and easily restrained.

“I see you are confused, Archeron. Allow me to explain.” He grinned, “The Mortal Queens will be vessels for the Cauldron’s magic, and with them we will spread power throughout the entirety of the Realm, taking full control of this world and all its inhabitants.”

Full control.

Feyre snapped her eyes to Rhysand, whose entire face had gone completely pale. That rope around his neck choked him as it was pulled. Spine bending, his back arching as his whole body trembled. A half-muffled cry of pain tearing from his throat.

Then her eyes tore to Tamlin, gagged and bound. Green dress singed where the ropes burned over his clothes. And when her eyes fell to his middle.

Like alarm bells were blazing in her ears. Fae senses all sharp on and on edge. Instincts in buried deep down in her core fought to the surface. Forcing her to crawl forward, towards him, as if if she laid hands on his skin this would be undone.

Her mind was screaming it, a voice that wasn’t her own told her what it was.

Pregnancy, a baby, her child.

Her baby.

Shit.

Feyre rushed to her feet on fiery legs, her muscles contracting and burning. She rushed for the throne, claws shooting through her fingertips. She would rip Hybern’s throat out, she would kill them all, she would undo all of this.

She screamed as the chains around her limbs dragged her to the ground, the noise that left her throat was half feral animal. Every one of the Inner Circle swivelled their heads to her. Their eyes wide, fearful and confused.

She met them with a look of anger and pain. It coursed through her skin, making her fill with light from another power that was not naturally her own. Skin glowing, hands smoking with fire and the whole world so sharp and clearer than ever, a sob was torn from her. Making her whole body shake.

Shit.

Then a scream echoed through the castle. And smoke filled the throne room.

When Feyre looked towards the Cauldron, she saw black, ashy smoke that rolled out in waves, rippling over the stone.

And the Priestess wearing black robes, who had called herself Ianthe’s mother, was bent over the side of the Cauldron. Her face completely submerged, burning and bubbling off.

Ianthe stood behind her. Eyes wide and full of terror and rage. Feyre nearly flinched as she witnessed the Priestess of Spring with her hand forcing her mother’s face into the Cauldron as she screamed and screamed, even under the water.

“Release her!” Hybern’s voice bellowed through the room.

Ianthe did not listen. As fire flamed in her eyes she screamed for all to hear, “This is what you deserve, you fucking witch!”

In a second, everything turned.

As soon as Ianthe’s declaration left her throat, her mother twisted up. Her hand grabbing onto Ianthe’s robes and tried to force her down into the Cauldron.

“Ianthe!” Feyre screamed.

The Priestess tried to kick and fight back as her mother came back up from the Cauldron.

Oh Gods.

Her face, fairer than before, eyes pools of blazing fire. Hair dripping and soaked, light that spilled down her shoulders. Like the sun had come down from the sky and walked as a person. Blinding and beautiful. And so, so angry.

Her mother screamed something incoherent as she pushed her daughter to the lip of the Cauldron.

“The emerald!” Ianthe screamed as she grabbed onto the lip of the bowl. Nails tearing away, fingers pouring blood as her mother tried to shove her in.

Hybern shot up from his throne and gaurds rushed to the Cauldron.

The emerald.

It burned a hole through her shirt, and marked her chest as it filled with undiluted power.

Feyre grabbed onto the emerald even as it singed her palm, burning her flesh until it was scorching and smoking.

With no idea what it did or how to use it, Feyre did the first thing that came to her mind.

She brought up every drop of power she had writhing in her, screaming for release. Screwing her eyes shut so she only saw black. She imagined the seven orbs of magic, sitting deep in her belly. Waiting for their chance to rise. She imagined each Court. With their magic, their skies, their sights, their feels. Even the wind was different for each.

She felt the emerald grow hotter and hotter and hotter until her bone was exposed and turning black from heat. The pain was nothing compared to the magic clawing its way out of her body.

Winds that surrounded her, each different, some harsher, some hotter, some softer, some colder. Feyre didn’t know where her body began or ended as power collapsed in on her, and the emerald became her only anchor to the world around her.

Screaming erupted in the throne room and Feyre opened her eyes.

She saw light, golden beautiful light, it shone in her eyes and hair and skin. She met the face of Ianthe and her mother.

Ianthe grinned so wildly as her mother plunged her into the Cauldron.

Feyre screamed and the world shattered.

The Mortal Queens drew swords from the pockets between worlds. The eldest tossing off her heeled shoes and diving at the guards holding back Rhysand.

She cut them down in one fell swoop, heads rolling to the ground, and the High lord of the Night Court was free.

Feyre didn’t feel the ground beneath her feet, and when she looked down, she saw that she hovered above it. Power writhed around her like threads of light and fire. The colours shifted from green, to purple, to white, to black, to blue, to every colour she had ever seen and more.

With her hand clutching the emerald, she felt it, sucking the energy around it.

She gave and gave and gave her magic until the emerald had all of it. A stone of magic and power. Until it was no longer recognizable as an emerald, until it was just a pool of pure magic.

Falling to the floor, her knees cracked against the stone, she pulled it close to her heart as all magic left her.

Her breaths were slowing, her power was gone, her ears were rounded now, instead of pointed. And she felt the undoing of the healing work, as her neck felt more and more fragile, the bone chipping away.

Not much time left.

Ianthe’s mother left the Cauldron’s side as she rushed for Feyre, running with her hands out, trying to get the emerald from Feyre’s hands.

In one final burst of strength Feyre got to her feet and threw Ianthe’s mother to the floor. Then ran for the Cauldron.

Her feet gave out under her.

Sprawling across the floor, Feyre saw through darkened eyes, the emerald rolling from her hand out across the floor.

Then Ianthe’s mother laughing as she stood over Feyre.

“Off with your head.” She crooned, as her foot came down and snapped her neck.

Tamlin didn’t think he would be able to break free of the restraints that were holding him down.

Then he heard the sound of bone under foot. And he saw her again, red hair, and laughing cruel eyes. Hands on his bare skin. And then hands on her skin, her power holding her up as she snapped her neck.

In a burst of immense power that washed through his veins. Forcing to the surface. Roots that shot up from the ground. The ropes turned to nothing around him, bursting into light and warmth.

And Tamlin launched at Amber. Her head tilted back as she laughed and reached for the emerald.

But never got to it as Tamlin pulled her down to the ground.

She screamed as her arm reeled back and hand closed into a fist, connecting with his jaw. He cried out in pain, but grabbed onto her hand and yanked hard enough that a handful of blonde curls were ripped out. She screamed, pulled her hand back again and her punch landed in his belly this time.

Tamlin screamed, as she laughed and pulled her hand back again

Amber shrieked as fire split across her side and she was thrown across the room.

Lucien screamed his name and ran to his side.

He couldn’t feel much, that punch sent fire up his jaw, he tasted blood in his mouth, but nothing was compared to the terror seizing up his every movement as pain twisted and pounded in his belly. A sob was ripped from his throat. Big, wet tears shedding down his face, but he forced himself up.

Lucien grabbed and held him back. But Tamlin laid eyes on the glowing emerald, and the chaos around it.

The mortal Queens were fighting the soldiers with all the strength they had. Swinging their swords and meeting the soldiers for every strike. But being human, they were losing the fights.

The Illyrian warriors and the blonde female were grappling with their captors. And Rhysand ran for Feyre. Arms reaching out, screaming as he tried to grab her.

Then a guard reefed him back, shoving faebane down his throat. And forcing him to be tied once more.

They were losing. Badly.

And through all the chaos, the swords clashing and the screaming. Tamlin heard footsteps. Footsteps that reverberated through the room and through his bones.

When he looked up, Dae stared down with a grin. Reaching down he took the emerald in his hands. Filled with the power of seven High lords. Glowing like a fallen star spilling its light across land.

“Well look at this.” Dae said as he looked into his palm, at the star of power shining up at him.

“I do wonder just what we could do with this.” His grin widened as his head filled with all the power he now held right in the centre of his palm.

“Nothing!” A voice screamed.

The world rumbled, shaking with the power that shuddered through it.

Everyone ceased their movements as the earth seemed to come to a blinding stop.

Looking to the Cauldron, there she stood. On shaking legs, as unstable as a just born foal. Soaked to the bone, her hair stuck to the sides of her face. Eyes blazing with anger and courage.

Nesta Archeron clung to her limp sister. Her broken neck unable to hold up her head. Her formerly strong body, now unmoving and dead.

“You will be nothing.” Nesta breathed, voice a puff of frost in a frozen land.

Dae stared at her with wide eyes. Unable to anticipate what the middle Archeorn sister was doing.

Elain appeared from seemingly nowhere, as if travelling in between worlds. As if winnowing, but in a way that was slightly different, unlike appearing from one place to another, but as if running between the worlds, travelling on air.

She snatched the emerald from Dae’s hand, and as he shouted and went to grab it. Elain tossed the emerald into the Cauldron. At the same time, Nesta pushed in Feyre.

Coming back to life was a different experience than before.

Her skin burned and burned and burned. Back arching, each muscle on fire. Flames spread over her skin like never before. Singed like the hairs of a feather. Fire and icy water delving into her body. Ripped apart and put together again like a deconstructable doll.

She wanted to scream, open her mouth and throat and scream for all her life. But as her lips parted her throat filled with water and she choked. Drowning, as her lungs filled with it. The fiery liquid burning and freezing her all at once. In a panicking haze she fought to get somewhere. Anywhere, just out of the water, but there was nowhere to go.

She wasn’t in open air, instead underwater, deep in a void of darkness that was never-ending. As if she was in deep ocean. Opening her eyes, she looked down and saw black. Around her was just black, above her was all black. All of it was black.

Black, black, black.

She was dead, she had to be dead. She was in some kind of eternal punishment. This was the Hell she had been warned about. Oh dear Gods.

Her body went limp as her eyes closed once more. Unable to breathe, unable to think as she fell deeper into the darkness. Feeling cold seeping in like never before

Then something grabbed her.

A hand held onto her arm, keeping her connected to whatever was with her here. Her eyes shot open again, as her body fought for life, as something, that thing holding onto her, just being there wouldn’t let her die.

Darkness, it was all darkness, until it wasn’t.

Until something filled with light dropped down with them, like a drop of sunlight falling into the sea.

As it fell down to them, Feyre saw her.

Blonde hair floating around her face in the water. Eyes of bright blue. Skin pale and covered by pale robes.

Before it could fall past them, Feyre took hold of the drop of light, holding it in her palm as she stared at Ianthe.

And as that emerald sat in her hand, a warmth spread over her skin. Making her come alight. Her very blood began to glow with its magic, making every line, every vein underneath her skin light up with it.

The water was gone from her lungs, and air was no longer needed. Her body completely sustained on power.

Not dead.

They weren’t dead.

Looking down at the drop of light in her hand.

It was the emerald.

Soft fingers touched her mental wards. Feyre quickly opened them, and a soft voice spoke into the space between them, ‘Feyre.’

‘Ianthe.’

They stared at each other through the water, shimmering reflections connected their hands, holding onto each other like they might slip back into darkness at any moment.

‘They’re out there still.’ Ianthe said, ‘We need to use the emerald.’

‘How? It has all of my power now. How do we use it?’

Ianthe grinned as she covered Feyre’s hands with her own, closing the emerald in.

‘Breathe in, and command it.’

The Cauldron was bubbling over. Water splashing over the lip, hissing angrily as it hit the floor. Black flames licked up over the water. It boiled over as the world started shaking. Parts of the roof falling.

Time to get out of here.

Tamlin was still unconscious. Blood dripping from his mouth, a bruise swelling on his face. Lucien picked him up and stood off the floor, being as careful as he could. Pulling him into his arms even as Lucien himself still knelt on the floor.

He took a hit to the stomach, panic swelled in Lucien’s chest as he thought of what could have happened.

Gods please just make sure he’s okay.

Where to run?

The world around them was swirling shadow and fire and smoke. There was no way out. No one could get out now. They were in the middle of a losing fight, a circle of bloodshed and killing around them, as guards shouted, the Queens cried out, and the Night Court spun with their steel and hands.

And Hybern ran for the Cauldron. The King looked over the edge, going past the bubbling and the black fire spreading. Looking in, trying to find that emerald of light.

Elain had fallen to her knees and crawled to her shaking sister, who even with her eyes of steel could not hide her horror at the sights around her.

Lucien pulled Tamlin closer to his chest, and pulled fire from his core as his eyes lit up.

And his own flames burst through the room.

Two guards screamed as their body was reduced to ashes. Around them, Lucien formed a circle of impenetrable flames, and did the same for Elain and Nesta. Elain whom had pulled Lucien’s coat from the floor and covered her sister with it. Her doe brown eyes jumped up to him, Lucien nodded to her and Elain returned the gesture with an almost smile, an almost thank you.

Almost because she couldn’t be anymore thankful to him than she was to the people who had put her in the Cauldron. But Lucien didn’t blame her for that.

“Feyre.” A voice croaked from below him, Lucien looked down at Tamlin whose eyes slowly blinked open. He coughed and more blood dripped down his chin, “Feyre… Cauldron-”

“Tam we have to focus on getting out alive.” Lucien told him as he lifted his hand and aimed a blast of fire at a guard who threw one of the Queens to the floor and lifted his sword to her. He fell to the ground a pile of bubbling flesh. Lucien heard retching noises and when he glanced over he saw Elain finally keeling over as she vomited at the sight.

He felt bad for the girl, but had no time to stew over her as Tamlin quickly reefed away from his arms.

“Tamlin-!” Lucien panicked, hands going out to grab him and pull him back.

Tamlin shoved his arms back with an apologetic look before forcing himself up on shaking legs. Lucien got up and went to follow him but slammed into a ward. He cried out as he winced, but it was quickly replaced by terror as he realised Tamlin had warded him back.

‘I’m sorry.’ Tamlin mouthed, before he ran for Amber’s body on the floor.

He knew what he had to do.

If only to get everyone out alive.

Those emeralds, they could absorb power.

Those words Amber had hissed to him in that hallway.

She laughed, “Emeralds hold much power from my family. Ours are enchanted, my dear.”

Enchanted.

Tamlin had been wondering with what, and he finally figured it out.

They could absorb power from others and give that magic to whoever wore them. And Amber had been going to use her emerald to absorb the power of the Cauldron.

The emerald that had been around Feyre’s neck had absorbed the magic that had been keeping her alive, leaving her dead and mortal again. If unleashed, that magic was the equivalent to the most powerful Fae in known history.

What magic did Amber have stored?

Even as Lucien screamed from behind that ward. Tamlin didn’t turn back, but felt as Lucien gave up trying to run and instead focussed his energy on blazing their enemies. Guilt writhed in his core, but he needed to do this and Lucien would try to hold him back.

A guard came out of nowhere and tried to pin him down with his sword. But even if Tamlin was near collapsing he wasn’t a High lord for nothing. Claws shot through his skin almost unannounced and it was nothing to slash his throat and leave him choking on his own blood on the floor.

Tamlin passed the haze of smoke and blood and fire. And finally made it to the darkened corner where Amber was limp on the floor, her breaths shallow but still there, not dead yet. But her face different from the rest of her body, shining faintly, gleaming in the light, as Tamlin put a hand on her forehead, he felt how cold her skin truly was.

Gold.

Her skin had turned to gold.

The Cauldron it seemed, had done a number on her.

Tamlin gave no hesitation as his hands went to her wrist, pulling up her sleeve he saw the emerald bracelet.

Yes.

He went to pull it off, but as he tried to tug it over her hand, her arm shot up.

“Insolent fool.” Amber hissed as she launched up and grabbed his hair, shoving his head to the ground, forehead bashing into the cold stone.

The world went dark for a moment, then he was thrown back into it as she pulled his head back up and went to smash him down again. This time he moved, running on adrenaline and fear.

Twisting back, Tamlin grabbed her robes, then sharply kicked her in the stomach. Amber cried out, but was not quick enough to react as Tamlin sunk his teeth into her throat, ripping with sharpened canines, blood pooled in his mouth and she screamed death in his ear.

“Fuck. You. Witch!” She might as well have been one.

Amber spluttered, vomiting blood, every inch of him burned to finish the job, but as the Cauldron bubbled over once more, spilling more ancient water to the ground, causing more black fire to scorch the ground. He knew he didn’t have much more time.

Grabbing her wrist, it was nothing to snap it. Causing her body to convulse with pain, he let her fall to the ground as he ripped the bracelet off and forced himself back to his feet.

The world faded in and out, Tamlin nearly tripped and fell. He was losing energy quickly. In no time at all he would pass out, and the High lord genuinely didn’t know if he would wake up again.

The closer he got to the Cauldron the more the emerald started to glow, and burn. As it burned into his hands, the pain throbbed through his arms and the added injury ca

used him to nearly lose footing again, it was a miracle he hadn’t fallen again already.

Everything was burning hotter and hotter, the air was suffocating, he could barely see as the room was now little more than black smoke. Another gust of unnatural wind caused by the power of the Cauldron and Tamlin could no longer see.

He coughed and spluttered, but still ran forward, knowing it was somewhere in front of him.

Feeling splashing underfoot, the water that touched his skin burning marks that would scar forever, he knew he was almost there.

Almost there, almost there, almost there-

“There you are, my love.” A cruel male voice hissed as he was grabbed and torn away from the Cauldron.

“No!” Tamlin screamed as he kicked and bucked and thrashed, desperately holding onto the emerald bracelet like a lifeline in a storm.

Dae laughed in his ear as he pulled him back, “I may not have the cursebreakers power, but I will make do with yours.”

Screaming, Dae grabbed the bracelet from his hand and put it to his chest. Whispering something like a spell, a curse or maybe an enchantment, the emerald began to glow, and Tamlin felt himself get weaker and weaker, as the emerald sucked away his magic.

Not now, not when he was so close. They were on the brink of losing or winning.

Losing he realised, they were losing.

Done for.

He went limp as his eyes started to close.

Dae pressed his lips to Tamlin’s ear, cold words seeping into his skin, into his bones, as if they were etched there with a knife, “Did you really think you could outsmart me, Tamlin? Did you think you could win?”

A cruel laugh, “You will see what we do to traitors around here, even if they’re dead.”

The world turned cold once more and Tamlin felt himself slipping in and out of reality, as everything became less and less corporeal.

Dying.

So this was dying.

Why did it have to be so inviting? So loving and tender?

“Please.” He whispered.

Someone.

Anyone.

As he closed his eyes for the final time. Tamlin felt the breath leave his lungs-

“Keep your hands off my mate!”

The black smoke was forced back by magic of another. And there he stood.

Free of the ward which had fallen away as Tamlin’s power was drained. Hands blazing with fire and eyes melted into pools of burning, burning light. Lucien looked like flame personified.

Dae shouted something to his guards, but no one could react quick enough as a blast of fire was shot out at Hybern.

Dae lifted a hand and a ward blocked the attack with ease. He tilted his head back as he laughed in Lucien’s face, “What was that fire lord? At least give me something harder to fight against.”

“He was just the distraction, bitch King.” A delighted voice hissed, before a knife sunk into Dae’s side.

The King screamed as Nesta Archeron stabbed him. Blood poured from his side, but as he raised his hands to grab her neck, he dropped Tamlin to the floor.

It was no matter as Tamlin sprawled, weak and near powerless, against the stone, as he still held the emerald.

Nesta choked as she ripped out the knife, Dae lifted her above the floor with a single hand as she grasped his wrist with both hands, face beginning to turn pink from lack of air.

“Stupid, stupid girl.” He said, as he raised the emerald, it glowed with power as he pressed it to her body, “I wonder what power you took from the Cauldron.”

The knife dropped to the floor, and Tamlin looked up to meet Nesta’s eyes.

Smart, smart girl.

Tamlin grabbed the knife, and in a swift motion stabbed it into Dae’s back.

The High lord barely heard his cry, just watched as his body seized up and released Nesta along with the emerald on instinct.

Even as Dae swung around and grabbed Tamlin, it didn’t matter, because Nesta grabbed the emerald. And threw it through the air.

Dae shouted as he watched the scene unfold, letting Tamlin drop back to the floor and this time he remained there, content with what he had done as he saw what the sisters did.

Elain caught the glowing emerald with a single hand and ran for the Cauldron. Even as Dae bolted after her, he was not near quick enough for Elain, who seemed to disappear behind shimmering air and then reappear by the Cauldron, still running.

As the Cauldron seemed to cry with overflowing magic, Elain held the bracelet over it. Her hands visibly began to burn and blister with the intense heat, but she didn’t back down, didn’t flinch, not even as the burning spread over her arms.

The Cauldron splashed one more time.

And a hand shot up out of it. A pale hand with tattoos covered it, an eye drawn into the centre of her palm. Feyre seized the emerald bracelet as she grabbed the edge of the Cauldron and hauled herself up.

And holding onto her as she was pulled up as well, was Ianthe. Drenched and shivering, but clutching the glowing emerald necklace that Feyre had once had around her neck, to her chest.

The world faded in and out again.

Then hands were on him and Tamlin flinched, but when he looked up, he relaxed. Dark brown eyes bore into his own, red hair falling around them. Lucien’s eyes were flicking all over him. Assessing each part of his body, pulling Tamlin into his arms.

“Hold on.” Lucien begged, “Please hold on, we can win.”

Tamlin smiled weakly at Lucien, as his eyes fell closed.

“I love you.” Tamlin whispered, as all started to drown out.

The last he heard was a petrified scream from his mate as he descended into darkness.

As her hand closed around that bracelet, Feyre felt power flood her veins. Power that was not hers but hers to use so long as the emerald was in her hands. And with Ianthe touching her, Feyre’s emerald in her hands. They were a combined magic. For a moment in time, whilst still in the Cauldron, they were the magic of the Cauldron.

Eyes blazing and bodies alight with magic, Feyre lifted her hand and closed her eyes.

Black, she pulled out the power. Commanding it. Breathe in. She told it to obey.

With the help of the emeralds magic, the power it had sucked it, like a breath held in still lungs, it all blended and merged together. No longer chaotic and refusing to work with each other. Rather it moved like water commanded by the Summer Court magic. Flowing and controlled.

Feyre grinned with bone white teeth as she lifted a clawed hand, and squeezed her fingers into a fist.

“Let all Hell break loose.” She whispered.

And break loose it did.

The soldiers screamed as they were burned with black fire. Their bodies dissolving into ash. Even as the Mortal Queens seemed horrified at the blinding figures emerging from the Cauldron, they ran to continue their killing sweep. Finishing off the last of the soldiers.

Then Feyre turned her attention to Hybern, who lifted his head and grinned. Even as he stumbled to one knee, clutching the wound at his side, as his shirt darkened with blood.

Try me, was what that grin said to her.

Feyre gritted her teeth. Twisting her hand as she forced the magic to move with her. The world around her darkening. The room filling, as light exploded from her form. Like a star in blackened night, she was the magic she commanded.

But as magic was forced onto the King of Hybern, she felt it… start to disappear, rather than make contact with the target.

Oh.

Fuck.

Hybern grinned as he lifted a large emerald amulet, a wall of protecting, keeping his body safe from the attack but absorbing the power.

“No.” Ianthe shook from beside her.

He had an emerald.

“No!” Ianthe screamed, she shoved Feyre out of the Cauldron and fell out with her. Stopping the onslaught of magic so he would gain no more.

Sprawled against the stone cold floors, Feyre coughed and spluttered. Feeling herself weakening as the power she had been controlling calmed again.

Now out of the Cauldron, it stopped its bubbling and settled down.

The smoke still drifted around the room, but now it was silent. As the guard had been killed, and there was no one left to fight.

Stepping out from the haze of black smoke, Hybern grinned at her, his wounds healing over from the magic she had just handed to him on a silver platter.

“You should have stayed in the Cauldron, little girl.” He grinned as he lifted the amulet, it glowed with power and reflected in his cold, cruel eyes.

His hand buried in her hair and forced her neck back, as he placed the emerald on her skin, leaving a branding mark, “Let’s see what power we can steal from you.”

Feyre screamed and writhed as once again she felt power torn from deep within her flesh, the very bindings keeping her together.

But unlike last time, Hybern was cut short.

As someone from behind him screamed, “Don’t you dare ever touch my sister!”

And Elain tackled Hybern to the floor, releasing Feyre from the grip of the emerald.

Elain’s small, untrained body was no match for the King but she fought valiantly anyway. With a scream, she kicked and punched, but not before her hands grabbed the amulet and ripped it free of his grasp. She tossed it to Feyre, and shouted “Run!”

“But-” Big, heavy tears fell down her face as Feyre watched her older sister fight.

“Run Feyre! Get out!” Elain cried as Hybern grabbed her hair and slammed her into the floor.

Feyre didn’t run.

But Ianthe did. She grabbed Feyre by her collar, and in what must have been adrenaline filled strength, dragged her up and forced her to run.

The smoke began to clear. And Feyre finally saw the true extent of the damage.

Rhysand was on the floor, her eyes went to him first. Shaking and gritting his teeth, coughing up blood as he tried to stand on two feet. She screamed when she looked closer as she barrelled forward, and saw that one wing had been completely torn off.

Feyre fell to his side but as she cried, “Rhys-”

He shook his hand and grabbed her arm forcing her to look to the middle of the throne room.

“Not me.” He croaked out, “Get him first.”

“Get who-” Feyre cut herself off with a gasp.

She saw them. She saw them and her chest caved in.

Tamlin lying limp across the floor, his body not moving, his chest not rising or falling. And Lucien hunched over his form, crying and pleading into his neck to come back.

“No.” Feyre whispered.

“Everyone evacuate!” The eldest of the Mortal Queens screamed.

At that same moment, Hybern was bolting for Feyre, eyes blazing with rage. And Elain a bloodied form on the floor behind him, whimpering with pain and just barely holding on.

Ianthe laid eyes on her. And she screamed a scream so agony filled that Feyre could have sworn the room shook.

Abandoning everything else. Ianthe shot Feyre one last look, full of apologies unspoken, before she ran for Elain. Falling to her knees by her side.

Hybern ignored the weeping Priestess as he headed for Feyre, “You think you can get away.”

“Oh I think she can.” Rhysand croaked out.

The King’s eyes went wide as a rage-filled grin split his face, “No she won’t.”

“Yes, she will.” A new voice echoed through the room. One like fire and wind. Bursting through and adding a whole new level of danger.

Eris grinned from the doorways, “Hope I’m not too late to the party.”

“Just in time.” Rhysand smirked.

Hybern laid eyes on the Autumn Heir and snarled, “I suggest running now, Autumn bitch.”

“Great fun, Hybern, just like your General was.” Eris drawled as he drew up fire to his hands. Preparing to launch his own attack.

Hybern grinned, “Let's see what the pretty Autumn boy can do then.”

Eris’s eyes were seething when he lifted his hand and fire descended on Hybern.

Shit.

Everything ached, but she had no time to focus in on it. Not as the room was screaming once more, not as they were being thrown into battle again. Elain couldn’t see well at all. Black edging in and out of her vision, she thought she might collapse at any second.

But slowly, very slowly, she felt the pain of her body disappearing and when she forced her eyes to open properly. She saw her.

And her chest tightened until her lungs couldn’t open or close.

The Priestess, Ianthe they had called her, was kneeling over her. The emerald that had been on Feyre’s neck being pressed into Elain’s chest by her hands, she was whispering a prayer of some kind, forcing the power residing in the stone to heal her.

Elain finally breathed in deep enough that she could move again.

A sob tore through Ianthe’s chest as relief flooded her.

“You’re alive.” Ianthe whispered.

“We won’t be for long.” Elain whispered back as she pointed to the fire show going on before them.

A Fae with short red hair and burning eyes, that looked similar to the red-headed male they had called Lucien, was summoning fire down on the King of Hybern. But nothing could harm him, as Ianthe’s mother, the older Priestess, had quickly rushed in front of him and held up her hands.

Whatever power she had been given from the Cauldron when her head had been under, it allowed her to create a ward strong enough to withstand the onslaught of fire from the Autumn male. But forced them to remain standing still so the others around them could rush out of the throne room.

Elain watched as Feyre met her eyes. Elain nodded and Feyre mouthed ‘I’m sorry’.

Before helping to pick up her mate and run from the throne room. Followed by the two winged warriors and the blonde woman.

Leaving the last of those there.

“We need to get them out of here.” Ianthe said, pointing to the middle of the throne room.

Dead.

She was dead. The fair fae, who had been called Tamlin, was dead in the arms of Lucien. Her blonde hair matted with blood, her dress torn and ruined. Elain gasped at the sight of her swollen womb, the child inside it either dead or dying.

And Lucien wracked with grief, his power and energy drained, was collapsed over her. Begging and praying for a miracle.

They needed to get out.

From across the room, Elain saw another lump of fallen flesh. Nesta coughed and vomited, before forcing herself to her knees, surveying the damage with wide eyes.

Then she looked to Elain. And Elain shuddered at what she saw.

Her sister’s grey eyes, now burning, burning silver.

Nesta looked back at Hybern, and the male forcing fire on them. Starting to weaken.

They had to act right now.

“Go!” Elain shouted.

“But-” Nesta started, moving to go towards Elain.

Elain tried to get to her feet but she fell again. Dizzy and unable to stand up properly, the feeling of her body having been through so much, the emeralds could only undo so much damage.

Ianthe was the one to make the decision, as she tossed Nesta the emerald and screamed, “Go!”

Nesta, for the first time, sobbed, wet tears falling down her face. But she nodded and ran.

But not for the doors.

For Lucien and Tamlin.

She grabbed Lucien by his shoulders and screamed, “Grab her and get up!”

Lucien’s eyes went wide, but as if his body was not his own anymore, he obeyed and scooped Tamlin into his arms. Forcing himself up on shaking legs that were even worse that Elain’s. And went for the door.

Thank God.

Elain’s head tipped back as darkness engulfed her.

Nesta was running on burning, burning legs. Every muscle was rigid, she felt everything and nothing at the same time and it was torment.

But nothing could stop her as she forced herself forward and forward. The fox haired male beside her, cheeks tear-stained and cradling the body of his dead mate.

She wanted to look behind her, just to catch a glimpse of her sister, but knew she couldn’t, that she had to get out now. She had the emerald and they needed that to remain out of Hybern’s hands.

The exit was right before them. They were almost out.

A little more.

Lucien passed through the doors and as soon as he was gone from the spelled room, he disappeared into thin air, along with his dead mate.

And Nesta.

Nesta was grabbed and thrown to the floor.

The Fire Fae that had been pelting down flame on Hybern and the Priestess that served him had collapsed in a heap on the ground. Fully spent, with barely enough energy to breathe.

“No!”

She had been so close.

“You stupid whore!” Hybern screamed in her ear as he went to grab the emerald.

“Fuck you!” Nesta screamed as she fisted the emerald, and it burned in her hands.

Then something rage-filled, and hot rolled through her core in dark waves.

And Hybern was screaming and Nesta’s vision was white with flames.

Flames that came from her own hands.

Shit.

Silver, it filled the room, dancing along the stone floor. Burning the King and his Priestess, sending them sprawling back against the scorching stone.

She had no time to revel in her own victory, Nesta clutched the emerald which absorbed the power she could not control herself. Running for the unconscious Fae male.

In a moment of pure fear, strength came to her. She grabbed him and slung his arm around her shoulder, running from the throne room.

“Wake up!” She begged, still he remained limp.

With no other choice, or place to run to as she left the spelled throne room. Heading new guards, the armies rushing into the castle. Filling the place with shouting and the sound of steel being unsheathed.

Nesta put the emerald to the male’s chest like she had witnessed happen and forced magic through it.

“Come on!” She shouted.

The emerald pulsed, the sound of footsteps quicked.

“Please, please, please.” She begged.

He gasped in air as his eyes opened. The green a scorching liquid amber colour.

“Well hello.” He rasped out.

“Get us out of here!” Nesta ordered.

As he looked around and saw new soldiers beginning to rush in through the hallways. He nodded, “Of course, my Lady.”

And they were gone.

When Elain woke up, it was because chains were being wrapped around her body and she was being hauled to her feet.

Head spinning she didn’t know where to look. Maybe Hybern’s half scorched face, maybe Ianthe’s mother, whom she quickly realised was called Amber, when a guard referred to her as such, and her golden face.

Ianthe was silent as she too was put in chains.

Elain didn’t know how long it had been, but it must have been not more than a few minutes, as the bodies of soldiers were still out. And the mess of the battle was still visible.

“Dungeons.” Hybern hissed.

Amber grinned, “With pleasure.

They were walked down dark tunnels that only got darker. The cold seeping in through the walls and into Elain’s skin. She kept her head low but watched Ianthe in front of her through her eyelashes.

Eventually they were led to a large metal door, it swung open with a loud creak and inside could be seen two male guards.

Ianthe stopped in place, as if waiting for Elain to be put in first. But then, Amber tsked, her grin widening as she said, “You’ll go in first, Ianthe.”

There was a moment of silence as the guards then forced the Priestess forward.

In a heartbeat.

Ianthe screamed. A raw sound that tore her throat, nose bleeding from the severity of her crying out. The red streamed down her face as her eyes too began to bleed from her never ending sobbing.

She screamed to the roof, neck stretching up and head fallen back. The Priestess writhed against her chains, clinging to a threshold, as the guards tried to drag her into a room, into a dungeon.

Elain was behind her. Watching with teary eyes of her own, as the robed female scabbed at threshold. Her arms strained, hands beginning to tear.

“Please.” Elain flinched at the tearing screech in her voice.

“This is your punishment,” Amber said to her daughter, as she smiled from behind them, “Your vows were forsaken when you betrayed me.”

Ianthe let out a gut-wrenching cry as she turned her eyes to the sky, “Mother of creation and Cauldron-”

“Do not beg.” Ianthe’s mother crooned. “The Goddess will not save you.”

Ianthe was sobbing, her cries making her voice shake and her prayer barely coherent, “I have been your loyal subject. Save me from staining. Save me please.”

“You defile us by your unworthy prayers.” Amber spat, “You will break your vows today by entering under a roof with only a male. The Mother will punish you with eternal flame and suffering. You are no Priestess.”

“Save me please, Mother, I have done nothing wrong.” Ianthe shrieked, as her fingers began to slip and the guards dragged her inside-

Elain leapt forward, her sudden, sharp burst of movement shocking the guards enough that she slipped from their grip.

She hit the ground, and felt her arm shatter as it hit the floor. But she managed to dive into the room. Hitting a set of stairs and screaming as she almost tumbled down them, only just digging her nails into the wall and stopping herself from falling.

Elain Archeron managed to get through the threshold just before Ianthe was thrown in.

There was a terrifying shriek of anger from the Lady Amber outside, but Ianthe collapsed to the floor, face smeared with her own blood, tears and mucus. Her breaths were too quick and shallow, hyperventilating as she cried more on the floor.

Elain went forward quickly. Her arm screaming with fiery pain but the adrenaline was enough for her to ignore it.

With one arm, Elain managed to pull a sobbing Ianthe into her arms, holding her close.

“You are okay.” Elain whispered, “You did not break your vows.”

Ianthe opened her mouth to say something, but it was cut off by gasping that was getting quicker and quicker as panic was still flooding through her. Elain could feel tears in her own eyes, but she hugged the female tighter, “Priestess.” She whispered, “Your Goddess had mercy, Priestess, she has not forsaken you.”

“My merciful Goddess.” Ianthe whispered into Elain’s skin.

Elain ignored how that declaration felt more like it was directed at Elain herself rather than unseeable God.

I’ll give over my soul. I sacrifice myself. I’ll gut myself on your alter. I throw my body into the sea. Just please, Mother, bring him back to me.

Lucien recited his prayers over and over, and over, and over. Yet Tamlin’s body in his arms remained limp. Unmoving, not breathing.

Water from the beach lapped against his knees. Causing his body to shiver from the cold. The crying of birds watching them was the only noise for a while. Lucien cried into Tamlin’s hair. One hand wrapped around him and the other going to his womb. Resting on the child they would have had, the baby they could have been blessed with.

What would they have looked like?

Blonde hair, blue eyes? Brown hair, green eyes?

A little girl? A little boy?

Lucien cried harder into Tamlin’s hair.

The mating bond, it had snapped into place as Lucien had watched Hybern lay his hands down upon him. The fire that had leapt up in him had been nothing compared to the hatred and anger he had been engulfed with.

But as soon as he was given it, it was ripped away.

Sobbing, barely coherent, barely even there at all. Lucien looked at that lovely face. Blood drying on the corner of his plush lips. Skin still so divine, even if paler now. Lucien threaded his hands through Tamlin’s hair and untangled some of the knots gently.

Lucien pressed his lips to Tamlin’s cheek, then the other, then his temple, then his nose, then the crown of his head. Like it was just another lazy morning in bed, like Tamlin would laugh as he woke. Like Tamlin would open his big green eyes and smile up at him once again.

Please bring him back, please I can’t live without him.

Please.

Please, anybody.

Lucien’s chest heaved and shuddered again as a cry was torn from his again. Rocking his love, his High lord, his Tamlin, back and forth. Like he was just sleeping, just asleep, nothing more. He would awaken. He always did.

“Lucien.” A cracked voice said from behind him. Lucien snapped his eyes up and he saw her.

Feyre, with her beautiful face, scattered with freckles, her brown hair stuck and clinging to her face.

“This is your fault!” Lucien screamed with every last bit of strength in his weak body.

Her eyes went wide and her face scrunched up as she fell to her knees crying.

“If you had just come back, he wouldn’t be dead.” Lucien cried, his words near incoherent from his sobbing.

But even through his cries and screams. Even through Feyre’s relentless sobs.

Tamlin stayed still.

Fully and utterly dead.

__________________________________________________

Whoops I ended it on an angsty note.

I swear Tamlin lives; I promise the story doesn't end here.

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ladymidnight-goesforth · 6 months

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"If I give you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss?" ~Lucien to Feyre in A Court of Thorns and Roses

Not only is this scene a nod to canon, this also happens in my fic: A Court of Frost and Embers, featuring Feycien as a couple! 🥰

If I can get this rendered by the end of the day, I'll be ecstatic. It's been a while since I participated in an ACOTAR event week, and Lucien is one of my favorite characters. Today happens to be Romance Day for Lucien Week, and while I do love Lucien and Elain together, Lucien and Feyre have really captured my heart ever since I started writing them in ACOFAE back in 2021.

So I'm not going to tag the official event until this looks a little more polished, but I still wanted to share something. ❤️ I hope you like it!

Please do not repost.

#feycien #my darlings #the moon on a string #this line is so iconic #i refused to let it be a throwaway line #it's too romantic #feyre x lucien #lucien x feyre #pro lucien vanserra #feyre archeron #my art #my sketches #lady midnight makes

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highladyofterrasen7 · 5 months

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(Some of the) Most iconic feyre scenes:

- killing a faerie

- trapping a suriel

- leaving the manor during calanmai

- lying to a mind reader

- sneaking back into the spring court after being explicitly told not to

- sneaking into the worst possible place for her to be

- making a deal with the very dangerous faerie queen to save the male she loves (ugh) and people who would kill her

- defeating the middengard wyrm with a trap

- flipping off the most powerful high lord in prythian

- throwing a bone at that very dangerous faerie queen

- making a deal with the most powerful high lord in prythian

- almost dying because she can’t read

- comforting the most powerful high lord in prythian because he’s doing it for his family

- figuring that the guy she loves has a heart of stone and that the riddle is love (I would never have done that)

- becoming high fae

- mating with the most powerful high lord in prythian (even tho she doesn’t know it)

- becoming loved by the fae

- being dubbed feyre cursebreaker

- having to wear a really ugly dress

- throwing a shoe at the most powerful high lord in prythian

- throwing another shoe at him

- being taught to read by her sworn enemy

- telling her abusive bf that she’s depressed and he’s really not helping

- befriending two really powerful illyrians, a literal demon, and the morrigan

- single handedly fighting the weaver

- having to fight to get her own wedding ring

- seducing the high lord of summer

- impersonating the high lord of summer

- stealing a book from the high lord of summer

- convincing her pathetic sisters to help the faeries

- yelling at the most powerful high lord in prythian because he used her as a trap

- going into the hewn city

- being the high lords whore

- practically orgasming on his lap as he gets hard

- ✨wingspan sweetheart✨

- mastering how to use the high lords’ powers

- sprouting wings to intimidate her old friend when he tries to take her back

- telling the most powerful high lord in prythian she wants a “distraction” (she doesn’t) as she comes on his fingers

- hunting down the people who shot him out of the sky

- killing them

- taking the arrows out of his wings

- trapping a suriel again who tells her they’re mates

- making him winnow them back when she’s pissed

- leaving the most powerful high lord in history in the mud

- painting his 500 year old cabin

- making him practically grovel

- CHAPTER 55

- fighting off an attempted attack on her city

- water wolves

- stabbing the attor three times

- telling it she’d see it in hell

- leaving it to splatter on the ground

- feyre cursebreaker, defender of the rainbow

- breaking into hybern

- becoming prythians first high lady in secret

- making the king of hybern believe he shattered their mating bond

- going undercover in the spring court with her ex dick-friend

- making them believe she’s back for good

- slightly moving the altar so the sun shines on her

- hunting down the twins and setting the bogge on them with Jurien

- making her ex believe she’s interested in his best friend

- making ianthe smash her own hand in with a rock

- killing the twins

- running away from the spring court

- making it to winter and her besties make a really dramatic entrance

- “I am the high lady of the night court”

- seeing her rhysie darling

- defending the home of the people she stole from

- holding her own at a meeting with a bunch of really old guys and her dickhead of an ex

- helping convince them to join her and her friends

- making a deal with both bryaxis and the bone carver so they’ll fight in the war

- trapping the suriel again

- sending ianthe into the weavers cottage

- breaking the cauldron and then fixing it agian

- saving prythian yet again

If any of these are in the wrong order or there’s something I’ve forgot comment

And I’ll add this because I love it

#in conclusion #feyre is an icon and you just hate her because you’re miserable people #sarah j maas #acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand #feyre cursebreaker #pro feysand #pro feyre #acomaf #acowar

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edgyeli · 1 year

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Rhysand is the sluttiest High Lord

#rhysand #feysand #feyre archeron #my art #acotar #feysand and pegging whats more iconic than this #i stayed up to 3 am drawing this

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spideyns · 1 month

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Feyre Archeron

like if u save/use or credit @evrllarks on twitter

#header #headers #icon #icons #feyre #feyre archeron #rhys #rhysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #feysand #acosf #rewrite the stars

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westfalledits · 1 year

Note

feysand headers pleasee 🥹🫶

FEYSAND HEADERS

art credit to palesile on ig

• open and screenshot for better quality

• like / reblog if you use

• credits to @ thomasvtair on twt

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thesistersarcheron · 2 years

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Pairing: Feysand Rating: E Word Count: ~2,500 Summary: Feyre Archeron is the youngest member of the Fae nobility trapped in Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain. When her father presents her to the court, intending to pay off his debts by selling her hand in marriage, she faces scrutiny on all sides: the wicked queen herself; the leaders of the rebellion against her; and the cruel High Lord of the Night Court. [An ACOTAR retelling.] ----- Read more on my masterlist or on AO3! (Thank you to @ultadverb for giving this chapter a once-over for me! I would have agonized for days without a second opinion.)

Chapter 5: The High Lord

Everything about Rhysand radiated sensual grace and ease.

He was tall, his shoulders broad, and he was grinning as he set his weight back on one leg. His short black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers, offsetting his pale skin and blue eyes so deep they were violet. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld her.

Feyre was struck silent. Thank you seemed too small now, too ordinary, for a male who looked like that. Who was looking at her like that.

He stood with absolute stillness, the type that went beyond placid Fae mannerisms. It was the stillness Feyre suspected could only be trained into a warrior through years of brutal discipline—even she hadn’t mastered it. But despite how still he was, how fit a subject to be preserved with oil and canvas, she hesitated, knowing that she would never dare to try painting him. She would never have the nerve.

The darkness seemed drawn to him, too, pressing in closer around him. The blackness surrounding him was different than the shadows she knew, warmer and richer, and for a moment, Feyre was jealous.

She was born and raised in the dark and had grown to welcome it like an old friend… but Rhysand was made of it, molded from it.

She supposed someone would have to be anointed by the dark to have the nerve to kill two dozen innocent Winter younglings with nothing but their mind and an insatiable appetite for blood. She still didn’t know if it was a new escape that Kallias had been planning to warrant the attack, or if the slaughter was retribution for the same rebellion that had gotten her mother killed. No one bothered to tell Feyre these things.

An insincere half smile played on his lips.

“It’s dangerous to walk these halls alone, Feyre.” The sound of her name spoken in that voice, a pillowtalk murmur, sent shivers through her, caressing every muscle and bone and nerve. “Someone might be tempted to spirit you away and make you his bride before you can make your choice.”

Feyre took a step backward, deeper into the shadows guarding the Seasonal wing. She tipped her head in the direction the brothers went. “It seems you missed the first half of that conversation then.”

Her pulse was pounding in her ears. His clothes—all black, all finely made, and entirely alien compared to anything an Autumn or Winter Fae might wear—were cut close enough to his body that she could see how magnificent he was.

“Is that what they were planning?” His smile shifted into something predatory. Behind his lips, his teeth seemed too long, sharper than they had been a moment before.

Feyre retreated a little more and kept her mouth shut. Had she just traded three monsters for something far worse?

“Do they always treat the ladies of their court with so little respect?”

He prowled closer, pushing his hands into his pockets. Something about the gesture calmed her, the visible proof that he wouldn’t lay a hand on her—or at least not a physical one. Aside from the daemati gifts he flaunted so often, only Amarantha knew what malevolent powers he still possessed.

He must have read the relief in her expression, because he said, “I’ll have to set them straight, then.”

Feyre shook her head. She almost didn’t want to know what would happen if she ratted them out—what kind of retribution would await if word of what had just happened circulated back into the Autumn annex. If the brothers faced any sort of punishment from Amarantha or another High Lord. If Beron lost face in front of the other courts.

“That’s not necessary,” she said again.

“I assure you, it is. If your High Lord—” A sneer ghosted across his beautiful face. “—won’t keep the peace and see to the rabble, then I suppose I must.”

Feyre held her tongue, silencing her surprise as well as her need to protest. A small, vicious part of her wanted to claim their punishment for herself.

When it became apparent she wouldn’t speak again, he chuckled. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he said. “For saving you.”

She bristled at his arrogance but retreated another step. If she could just get into the deepest part of the shadows, maybe she could sprint to the slim passageway at the end of this corridor. Even if she didn’t manage to lose him, he was too large to fit into that small crack in the mountain. And maybe Augus would take pity on her—maybe he would help Nesta and Elain hide her in Autumn, sacred ground where no non-Autumn Fae save Amarantha, not even High Lords like Rhysand, could tread.

At least, she could hide until Amarantha’s revel tomorrow night.

“In my experience, Amarantha’s favorites are best served by sticking together,” he continued, looking her up and down. It should have made her skin crawl, but instead that look heated her from inside. As he began circling her, the darkness seemed to bend around him, bowing to him, strange little bursts of light twinkling wherever he tread.

“I’m not one of her favorites.”

I’m not one of you. Rhysand seemed to understand the words she couldn’t put a voice to, and his violet eyes gleamed with the same hypnotizing light filling the air around him.

“Aren’t you? You’re lucky she likes your name, else you ran the risk of becoming little Clythia today.” Rhysand tipped his head to the side, as if he were mentally trying on the name while he looked at her. His lip curled. “As I was saying, the Prythian Fae are usually terrified of us, and the Hybernian bastards are just, well…” He shrugged, a rolling, sensuous movement. “Bastards.”

Feyre was terrified of him, but she wasn’t about to let him know. Not here, not now.

“There have been others… like me?”

Behind her, he paused his circling. He now stood between Feyre and her escape route, but when she turned to face him, his face was serious. “Not quite—no sisters. Amarantha likes to play matchmaker, but she saw something in you that makes me think she is going to keep you around for a long, long time.”

“I already have sisters,” Feyre said lamely, foolishly, for lack of anything better to say. His smile returned—but this time it was somehow warmer, though his expression hardly shifted beyond the lips. The sight of it was startling.

“Does blood truly make a family?” Rhysand mused. “And do you think she cares? No, Amarantha has singled you out like she did me, all those years ago. It’s just you and I together now, Feyre darling.”

For a moment, he was so convincing that Feyre forgot her fear. She had to tear her eyes away from him and think of everything she knew he was capable of to break the hold he had on her: shattering minds on a whim, torturing innocents and rebels alike, the Winter Court younglings. Maybe he was reading her thoughts already— stupid, she cursed herself. She was so stupid for making eye contact with him. Who knew what he had done to her mind since they started talking?

“I hardly think a High Lord needs to trouble himself with—” she started, eyeing the corridor behind him, but Rhysand cut her off.

“It’s no trouble at all, love,” he crooned, and his smile turned feline when a hot flush swept across Feyre’s cheeks. “Though, if you’re still opposed, I suppose I could send the Attor to watch over you, but he’s a terrible conversationalist…”

He smiled at his own joke for a heartbeat longer. She had never seen anyone so handsome—and never had so many warning bells pealed in her head because of it.

Against her better judgment, Feyre asked, “So you want to… what? Be my brother?”

Rhysand clicked his tongue. “Were you thinking sisterly thoughts when you asked about joining me for lessons?”

A hot, stomach-churning wave of embarrassment crashed over Feyre. “You were listening!”

“Of course I was listening,” Rhysand said, rolling his eyes. It was such an irreverent, casual gesture that Feyre fought the urge to gape. He stalked another lazy circle around her, and she watched warily as his hands flexed in his pockets and the pinpricks of light surrounding him dimmed. “Consider it my first act as your ally: keeping you safe from saying anything in front of Amarantha that might get you killed. I make a good distraction, don’t I?”

Prick. The High Lord of the Night Court was a terrifying, handsome, eavesdropping prick.

“You heard—”

“I heard everything, Feyre,” he said, strolling closer. The scent of salt and citrus, still shrouded in Amarantha’s rose-and-amber scent, filled the air between them and made her head spin. “You were thinking so loudly that you’ll have to forgive me if it was hard to resist skimming a bit off the top of your mind. I didn’t know there were so many fascinating things to do down here when everyone is asleep.”

“No,” she said, her tongue thick and heavy.

“Yes. Your mother… She was one of the Winter rebels that died with the others from Day and Summer, wasn’t she?” Rhysand leaned in closer, every movement exquisite and laced with lethal power.

“Don’t you say a word about my—”

“She broke her vows to your father and ran with you girls to Winter, where she hid you until they were all caught trying to pass notes to those little mortal chits. Tell me, did they really think they had any allies on the continent who would help them organize an escape attempt?”

“She wasn’t—”

“And then Kallias hid you three for years until Beron nearly called the Mountain down around us, trying to get you girls back, isn’t that right?” Rhysand prowled forward into her space. Feyre stepped back again. “Amarantha thought it was great fun: a skirmish over three minor nobles. Three females. It’s almost unbelievable, the squabbles they had over you. A story made for the stage. I almost thought Beron would give up, but between his pride and your father’s once-deep pockets… Well, children are so precious—”

“You would know all about depriving Winter of their children, wouldn’t you?” Feyre spat. “And my mother was innocent!”

Her back hit the wall and Rhysand snarled, his fists bracing themselves against the stone on either side of her head. “Was she? And what did Kallias teach you in those missing years, Feyre? How old were you when he twisted your grief to his advantage? Ten? Twelve?”

Feyre watched him with undiluted terror, her knees going weak as her headache returned.

Kallias had trained her to do nothing. It was Winter’s sentries who had thought it amusing during the long stretches of mind-numbing nothingness to teach a curious little girl how to use their nimble bows and arrows to strike from a distance. Feyre had trained herself to remain silent and unseen and to sneak through the narrow, claustrophobic passages fully grown Fae used to the open air Above the Mountain were too scared to explore.

They had been kind to humor her, despite the disapproving noises Nesta made about it.

And if Kallias caught wind of Feyre’s talent after she stole back into Winter a few weeks after Beron dragged them kicking and screaming back to their father’s quarters in Autumn’s annex when she was fourteen? If he offered her some small bit of sanctuary in Winter when she needed a place to forget the pieces her mother and the rebels left to rot in the halls of the Seasonal wing as a warning to any other rebels? To escape the confined quarters she shared with her sisters, all in exchange for putting an arrow through the occasional Queens’ Guard and dark faeries from the same legions that had tortured and killed her mother?

It had been an easy deal to make.

As quickly as he had come, Rhysand withdrew, casual and careless. He straightened his tunic and shoved his hands back into his pockets. At almost the same instant, Feyre’s headache abated again, as if phantom talons found purchase in her brain matter let her go, gently pulling back.

Finally, those violet eyes slid off of her.

“You’re in my mind,” she whispered, horrified.

“Your mind is unshielded,” Rhysand said, as if it were as simple as that. He blinked once, slowly, a tired gesture. “You’ve been a very naughty girl, Feyre Archeron.”

Feyre swallowed and ignored what those words said in that voice did to her.

“You know all this, and you still want to be my ally?”

He removed a hand from his pocket to offer his arm.

Feyre shook her head, backing up further against the wall.

He sighed, long and low, and said coaxingly, softly, "Come now. Beron wants you escorted home, and here I am, escorting you home. I'd like the old bore to owe me a favor, anyway."

It was then that the gravity of her outburst struck her. She had yelled at a High Lord. At Rhysand.

Something stroked along that thought, and Feyre shuddered.

“I’m not going to tell him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. Unbidden, the memory of a dried out arm wearing her mother’s wedding rings, of Elain gagging and crying as Nesta pushed them both forward entered her mind. Had Rhysand…?

He stopped, frozen again in that frightening warrior’s stillness.

“Get out of my head,” Feyre whispered. Slowly, so, so slowly, the last pangs of her headache ebbed away.

A book appeared in his hand. He held it out to her.

“What…?”

“Proof that my offer is sincere.”

Feyre took the book—what else could she do when a High Lord offered her a gift with no strings attached?—and asked, “How does a book make you sincere?”

Rhysand merely nodded at the cover, smooth and self-assured, and Feyre tried not to think too loudly as she read:

A Ruddy… Rudiment… Rudimentary… Guide to… Dah… Day… Daemati… and Mind… Shih… Shee… Shielding.

“And,” Rhysand said when she looked back up at him, her lips parted in surprise. It would take her ages to read the whole book unless she convinced Nesta or Elain to read it aloud for her, but a book like this would be worth its weight in gold. Without waiting for another word from her, he snapped his fingers and then nodded down at her overskirt—spotless, as if the tea and blood had never stained it. “For my own peace of mind. Mother knows what fell beast might scent the blood next and come after you.”

Feyre clutched the book to her chest. “There are no fell beasts down here anymore.”

“Of course not, Feyre darling.” Rhysand closed his eyes, but the lights sparkled in the space around him. One hand rose to his face before he fisted it and instead held out his elbow to her, as if thinking better of whatever he was planning to do. “Now, come. You may be the most wicked creature lurking in these halls, but I will not leave you here tonight.”

Feyre eyed his arm. If he truly would not leave without her, if he wanted to escort her back to Autumn so badly… She bit her lip, moving the book until it was behind her back.

“Why don’t we make a deal?”

-----

Thank you for reading, as always!

#feyre #rhysand #feyre archeron #feysand #feyre archeron x rhysand #ferhys #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of thorns and roses fic #If you see a familiar line #it's a Sarah J. Maas original #this first conversation is so iconic that there are some parallels that simply must be drawn #my fics #of the archer and the dark #rhysand x feyre

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twicouleur · 2 years

Text

icons ladies of acotar, all the credits goes to the amazing artist @barb-arts (tumblr) @/barb.arts (tumblr)

todos os créditos para a artista incrível @barb-arts (tumblr) @/barb.arts (no instagram)

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asnowfern · 8 months

Text

Crimson Starlight

Summary: His fingers twitch before clenching into a fist at the side of his body. He wears a nostalgic smile as amethyst eyes take in every detail, lost in every smudge and swipe of water colours. A secret conversation between him and the long gone artist.

A lost history of the world's most iconic female impressionist artist and her first ever sale of an art piece.

~~~

OR Vampire Rhys and human Feyre falling in love in 1880s Paris.

Rating: M, some blood and violence

WC: 4.2k

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy Feysand Week everybody!

Written for day 2 of @officialfeysandweek2023 prompt: Hobbies Because she likes to paint🎨 and he likes blood🩸 (The link is tenuous I know)

Thank you so much to @octobers-veryown for helping me check on the art history stuff! Love you💜

THE FEYRE ARCHERON EXHIBIT

Defying English societal norms and her middle class background, Feyre Archeron propelled to notoriety at a private art gallery in 1889, rendering critics of the community speechless with her stunning use of colours and bold impressionistic still life paintings. Eventually, paving the way for the self-taught artist to win the gold medal at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris.

Come celebrate with us one of the most prolific and trailblazing female artists in history.

***

She watches from her corner in the cool exhibition as the man enters the room. His tailored jacket clings to his broad frame, the first two opened buttons of crisp white shirt reveal whorling black ink and tantalisingly teases lean muscles underneath. His presence is commanding even as his steps hitched in the middle of the exhibit, sharp violet eyes zeroing in on a portrait hung at the opposite end of the room, almost hidden from view from the general public. As if, it's a portrait which only he knows the existence of.

The lights of the museum seemingly follows him as he strides towards the painting, an aureate glow reflecting off dark skin with every step. He looks up at the smeared bright colours tracing three distinct lifeforms, the brush strokes in a distinctly different style.

His fingers twitch before clenching into a fist at the side of his body. He wears a nostalgic smile as amethyst eyes take in every detail, lost in every smudge and swipe of water colours. A secret conversation between him and the long gone artist.

A lost history of the world's most iconic female impressionist artist and her first ever sale of an art piece.

===

A deafening crack of thunder over Hyde Park snaps Feyre out of focus, her hand twitches and sends dark shades of brown splashing over delicate painted hands. Ruining what was supposed to be portraits of her sisters. Matching storm in crystal blue eyes narrows as she swears, her mind races on how she could correct the misstep and salvage the painting.

Another clap of Zeus's lightning bolt sends rain down on the garden. It quickly soaks the canvas sitting and accumulates water on her precious paint. Dismayed, Feyre closes the easel and gathers her materials. Within the next minute, she ducks into a small stand and relies on the small red brick structure above her for shelter.

Assessing eyes surveys her now damp canvas and sculpted lips curl inwards in dismay. Canvas are expensive, paint all the more so. For them to be wasted and ruined by the rain. The number of meals she may have to skip out on to recuperate the losses.

She stares idly at the splotchy colours as her mind overlays new images of how the painting could look like. Her hand pauses in mid-air as she reaches for a new brush. It is something different, something new.

Leaving no further room for doubt, she lowers her brush to the canvas in a smooth decisive stroke. With a slight curve to the lips, her brushes levels swipe after swipe, adding more colours, more shapes, more shadows. More.

Suddenly, her hand stills. Feyre inhales sharply.

A chill runs down her spine and raises the hair at the back of her neck. Feyre shivers as she looks up, surprised that night has fallen in what had to be hours since she escaped to the shelter.

As fast as it came, the pressing fear lifts from her chest and returns her breath back to her. Her fingers tremble as she dumps the brushes into her cup, quickly rinsing out the paint.

"That's a beautiful painting," a low, silky voice says from behind her.

Despite instincts screaming at her to run, Feyre turns towards the source of the voice and her mouth goes dry.

The man is impossibly beautiful.

Sharp sensual lines trace his facial features, his mouth pulls into a smirk with a hint of white gleaming through. He draws himself closer, wrapping her in a sea of salt and citrus. She feels her back practically arching towards him in response - closer, closer.

He leans, not into her but towards the canvas, pausing for a stretched second. When he finally turns his gaze on her, the world quietens. For there are no colours that Feyre could mix to emulate the violet in his eyes. No, not just violet but the varying shades of blue and purple. It is like a galaxy, drawing you in until nothing else matters.

"Hello, darling," he purrs.

The words break the enchantment and Feyre steps away, her back colliding into a pillar. The stone cold surface spurs her into action, hands flying to keep her belongings.

Rough calloused fingers gently close around her wrist. He asks lightly, "What's the hurry?"

Feyre fights to keep her eyes open, fights to not lose herself in the smooth silk of his voice. She breathes out shakily, "I don't want any trouble. Just let me go and you'll never have to see me again."

"Why would I ever want that?" He returns sharply, her hand remains rigid in the air even as he releases it.

A tension locks in her jaw as she pushes down the primal fear. She lifts her chin slightly, "Well, then what do you want?"

"I want," he pauses as if to collect his thoughts, his eyes drifting back to the coarse board sitting on the easel, "I want to see the finished work."

"Why?"

"Because I might like to buy it."

The words sound genuine and takes her by surprise. She swallows the lump, her heartbeat kicking up a notch, "You're lying."

The man studies her for a moment, she resists the urge to squirm under the intensity of his stare. Finally, he asks, "Can you afford to let me go on the possibility that I might be telling the truth?"

Hot wells of embarrassment burn her cheeks as he touches on a sore subject. She has never sold a painting. Without the easy privilege that comes with wealth and titles, a female artist with no formal training or connections can never sell or exhibit.

Forever an amateur.

She straightens her back to raise steely blue eyes to vibrant violet, saying carefully, "I'd consider it if you're telling the truth."

The edges of his mouth flick upwards, "Let's set up a meet when you've completed," he hands her a card with a name and address in Grosvenor Square, "We can discuss over dinner."

He lifts her hand to brush his lips, spreading warmth over her frigid knuckles. Feyre swallows thickly, "This time, a week from now"

He glances up, his lips lingering a touch longer than what is probably appropriate before drawing himself back to full height, "Very well, bring the completed piece and a couple more of your favourite ones. I will send a carriage to you at seven pm next Tuesday."

She nods and gives her address down in Bayswater, her mouth set in a grim line. The man steps a respectful distance backward, giving her slight how, "I'll be counting down the minutes before I am able to see you again…"

"Feyre"

His eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky, "till then, Feyre darling."

Feyre looks up at the blanket of clouds as she walks home, her hands clutching tightly onto the easel. She hopes that she did not just invite a murderer into the home of her and her sisters.

===

Feyre stares at the intricate designs etched into the wooden door. She shifts slightly and readjusts her grip on the numerous covered paintings sandwiched between her arm and body. Taking a deep breath, she raises her hand to grab the knocker. Only for the door to swing open to reveal her mysterious buyer - Rhysand, from the card, her brain reminds her.

Her eyes unwittingly drags up and down the male. He, Rhysand, has shed his jacket today. The sheer white shirt hangs loosely on his body but does little to hide his muscular physique. With a teasing smirk and another caress of his lips against the back of her palm, he leads her down a tastefully decorated corridor.

The tight trousers, Feyre thinks, was definitely a conscious choice on his part.

"Is there no one else here?" She asks as they enter a dining room, her head swivelling around, noting the lack of people around.

"Why, Feyre," Rhysand teases, smiling widely to reveal sharp pearly white canines, "are you enquiring after my marital status?" Feyre is about to scoff when he croons, his eyes slightly darkened, "Fortunately, I remain a bachelor."

This time, Feyre does scoff, settling her paintings down with a huff, "It doesn't concern me if a potential art dealer is a married man or a bachelor. Although," she nods her head in gesture of her surroundings even as he bends at the waist to carefully study the pieces, "you don't seem like a very discerning collector."

Rhysand draws to his full height as he smiles wanely, "There hasn't been art that made me want to collect as much as yours."

She withholds a frown to mark his sincerity, announcing, "I have not yet decided if you're conman or a predator."

He lets out a barking laugh, "Darling, I am sincere in my offer, but," his voice drops into dark velvet and awakens a dangerous heat in her, "make no mistake about it. I am most definitely a predator."

With her hackles raised, she meets the darkened stare with her own, "And what makes you think that I'm a prey?"

"No, you're not," Amethyst eyes glint as he dips his chin in agreement. Then as fast as a switch, he drops the heat and speaks formally, "Fifty pounds for the painting from the park and a thirty percent commission on all future sales."

Though she is sure her eyes are round with disbelief, she forces the breathlessness out of her voice, "Let's talk terms over dinner."

Dinner goes smoothly, a simple yet elegant affair. Servants slip in and out only to bring in food. Gentle clanks of chinaware bounce around the room as they eat.

"Paris?" Feyre asks incredulously, her dessert fork hitting the plate loudly, "You want me to move to Paris? With you?"

He shrugs, the very picture of nonchalance, "Is there anywhere else better to be?"

Her jaw clamps down on the delicate pastry. He is right, of course. The city of light is the epicenter of Europe's art scene - the birthplace of the often condescended upon impressionism. A place she could flourish much better than stuffy London. The marginal freedom she could attain as a female artist.

Her sisters are comfortable with the small inheritance they've received with their mother's death. She could modestly live off the money Rhysand is offering for the painting for a couple of months. She could entrench herself in the landscape, learning and absorbing. She could actually be an artist. She could, she could, she could.

Her heart lifts ever so slightly in hope and excitement.

She could.

===

Feyre wrestles her hands behind her back as she observes the casual art dealers surrounding her. It's been a few weeks since her move to Paris and things have progressed well enough that when she heard about Helion Spell-cleaver's private art exhibition, she paid the small fee and signed up for entry.

"Look, Dagdan. It's the same distinctive wild brushstrokes as before. This must be Rhysand Night's artist then," a low voice sneers from a distance, "the new star."

Feyre releases the iron grip on her hands and forces them open and relaxed. Her back straightens with every stretched beat as she turns to the pair, schooling her expression into one of impassion.

Dagdan and Brannagh.

Hailing from the upper echelons of French government and strong familial ties to the leadership of the society of French artists, the sibling duo made their debut at the last Salon with a piece Feyre found to be derivative. A pale attempt to pander to the recent commercial success of mixing impressionism elements into classical art styles the Salon prefers. A view that is sometimes whispered clandestinely around the community but never to their faces.

"Yes," the brother tuts, his elbow tight around his sister's, "and the same obscene mix of colours. But the price that it fetched? They say it's avante garde but I don't get it. Perhaps the perception of the common," his eyes flick disdainfully at the slightly frayed material of her plain cotton dress and distinct lack of a corset and bustle, "just isn't something that we can understand."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Feyre forces on a polite barely passable smile, interjecting, "Perhaps, the perception of the common is more suited for the masses. I couldn't possibly begin to understand the, er, beauty from a trained eye."

"No," Brannagh curls a perfectly shaped lip in haughty contempt, "you really wouldn't." Her voice drops a decibel, "Mark my words, your name will be forgotten the day you stop offering extra services to your sponsor."

Her fists clenched into tight balls as they stalk away, the low rumble of their sniggers fuelling the burn in Feyre's cheeks.

The words still haunt Feyre days later. She growls in frustration as she lifts a charcoal to paper for the umpteenth time that day. Her mind draws a blank.

Obscene mix of colours.

The charcoal breaks into pieces as it collides against the hard floor. Feyre bends her knees to pick up the pieces and inadvertently collapses to the ground. The cool sting of marble permeates through the fabric to reach her skin.

She twists her body slightly to rest against the leg of the chair, her eyes falling shut. It's just to rest her eyes, she tells herself. The next time she opens them, she will be ready to face her canvas. She thinks as Brannagh and Dagdan's voices melt into a pot of derisive laughter.

"Feyre, wake up!"

Large hands envelope her, pressing her against a stiff jacket while gently shaking her awake. Feyre whines at the intrusion, "Five more minutes."

The pressure of fingertips on her lessens and a low chuckle reverberates pleasantly down her spine. "Wake up, darling."

Her lids flutter open and Rhys swims into vision, lines of concern carved into his face. The lines lessen as he takes in her waking form, gradually giving into tender amusement.

"Rhys?"

"You had me worried for a moment there"

She groans, sitting up. A warm palm lingers on her back, lending her support, "What time is it?"

"Nine," he answers, his brows pinched together.

Feyre rubs the bridge of her nose. She is more than two hours late for their appointment, no wonder he showed up. She gives a woeful look, "I'm really sorry about this. I was just really tired."

He doesn't say anything. Instead the arms which are still wrapped around her tighten and there is suddenly nothing else in her world but a salty sea of citrus.

"I was so afraid that something had happened to you." The confession comes out in the slightest of whispers.

"It's just an ill-timed nap," she murmurs into his chest, his confession prompting one of her own, "I've been having a block the past few days. Ever since the gallery."

They lock gazes, Rhys searching her expression. But for what, Feyre cannot say. Finally, a familiar smirk returns, "I think I have a solution for that."

Refusing to let her change out of her paint speckled dress, he ushers her into a carriage and sets them off with haste. The infuriating man refuses to let her sneak a peek out of the carriage window, even after they have arrived at their destination.

"Is this really necessary?" She huffs as he ties a scarf around her eyes.

"Yes, now hush."

With a last good natured hush, Feyre loops a shaky arm around her mysterious broker's elbow and follows. She relaxes after a couple of minutes.

"Hold tight, darling."

"What, why?"

Feyre stifles a gasp as the ground beneath her moves upwards, leaving her stomach behind. With reflexes faster than what the other probably expected, she whips the blindfold off her head.

Dark metallic structures whirl past her at impossible speed, bringing them higher and higher. She lurches forward as the contraception comes to a halt, only strong arms which are still circled around her shoulders keep her upright.

She gingerly steps forward to move towards the viewing balcony. Every inch of her body thinks of nothing but to lean against that edge, "How? This isn't open to the public yet "

He gives a mysterious smile of his, "I have my ways."

She sniffs at the non-answer. But it doesn't matter, she peers downwards at the small dots that littered the streets of Paris, the shimmering glow of the street lamps glinting at her like stars. It is suddenly obvious why Paris is known as the City of Light.

But to speak of stars.

She shifts her gaze upwards and reaches out a hand. She's so close to the stars, closer than she's ever been before.

Colours burst in her mind, a cacophony of swirls and lines. Her lips relax and pull upwards at the image. She turns back to Rhys, "Thank you"

The male remains silent, his eyes are shaped like the moon and reflected wonder, "Do that again"

"Do what?"

His lips trembled, "Smile"

Her face splits open as a warmth fills her chest.

"Welcome to Paris, Feyre darling."

===

Feyre races down the street, swerving through Parisians, earning herself disapproving glances and tuts. She ignores them in favour of the paper scrunched up in her palm and the bursting excitement in her chest.

Exposition Universelle, Exposition Universelle. They are actually going to showcase her art at the Exposition Universelle - the world's fair to show the progress and success of the French and they wanted to display her art. The art of a no-name, English female impressionist. Her entire being vibrates with excitement.

She barges through Rhys's door, her chest heaving as she tries to regain her breath. The brunette darts around before dashing up the stairs and into Rhys's study.

Never mind that she did not have an appointment. For what is an appointment in the face of such fantastic news?

Apparently, very important. She thinks as her eyes numbly take in the sight before her.

Her throat fills with pennies, her tongue becoming numb in her mouth. Blood roars in her ears.

Rhys is locked in a lover's embrace with another woman. Her head lolls back and her eyes are glazed. She sighs in pleasure as familiar large hands hold the back of her head in an iron grip, his full lips pressed to her neck.

She should be mortified. Maybe even betrayed. Yet, a tight, blooming heat erupts in her stomach. Feyre's back hits the shelf behind her with a thud. Rhysand snaps his head dangerously towards her. His hand loosens on the woman, who slides to the floor.

Twin streaks of blood flow from his mouth and dribble down his chin.

With her heart still pounding jungle beats, Feyre turns around and bolts. She barely makes it to the stairs before a flash of black snarls and sweeps her off the ground, launching them into the air.

They land roughly at the base of the steps, hard arms absorbing the crucial impact from the ground. His heavy body pins her down. A guttural growl vibrates the narrow space between them.

She should be terrified, horrified, petrified. And she is all of those things. Yet, her brain is still caught up in the way Rhys had embraced the woman, her moans and sighs of limp pleasure, the trail of blood running down his chin as he fixed her a feral, hungry glare.

Teeth, no, fangs scrape up the surface of her cotton dress and rips the high collar. His hot breath tickles the length of her exposed throat and raises goosebumps. Another low snarl escapes his throat.

His pupils are blown wide open, a black hole consumes the vibrant galaxy she is used to seeing. No, this is not the Rhys she knows. A paralysing fear seizes her body.

He lowers his head once more, sharp fangs join the soft wet tongue, poised at her jugular. Feyre squeezes her eyes shut, a choked sob escapes her as pain erupts, "Rhys"

Immediately, the hard pressure lifts and is replaced by a pliable heat. The pain lessens.

"I am so sorry, Feyre," she relaxes her eyes open to see sorrowful violet eyes staring back at her, "Sleep"

There is nothing left to do but to let the darkness pull her under.

===

Dear Feyre darling, There are no pretty words I can use to defend what happened, nor will I ply you with lies. The truth is I am an unholy creature, an undead monster of the night. I prey on humans and leech off them. So as much as it pains me, I understand if you never want to see me again. If it is agreeable to you, Helion Spell-cleaver has agreed to be your agent and will be awaiting your correspondence. My dear heart, in the short weeks that we have known each other, you have become everything. You brought beauty into the humdrum of my centuries of existence. A shining star in the endless dark sky. A brightness that I sully with my very presence. A fact I grew comfortable ignoring. But alas, reality has caught up and I can't pretend to be what I am not any longer. Instead, I wish you the very best - at the upcoming Exposition Universelle and all future endeavours. I know you will shine, as you always have, and always will. Yours eternally, Rhysand

The paper remains crumbled in Feyre's hand as she reads it for the umpteenth time. Her heart grows heavier with every read, her heart that has no business weighing her down.

An undead creature, an undead monster of the night.

Nothing about that statement is wrong. The image Rhysand drew in his letter is one that matches her memory. Yet, it is also completely different from the image of Rhys in her head.

That Rhys is teasing quips and arrogant smirks. That Rhys is encouraging words and a confidante. That Rhys is soft smiles against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower.

She can't quite reconcile the two but she knows without a doubt that she isn't changing agents, not yet. She gives the River Seine a last glance, appreciating the glitters of setting sun, and stands up. Her body twists towards the main street when she collides head first in a hard chest, gasping.

Obsidian hair and pitiless dark eyes.

"Congratulations on the exhibition, peasant."

Sharp pain explodes in her abdomen. Feyre opens her mouth to scream but it is covered by a cloth. The cruel glint in Dagdan's eyes stands out in an otherwise nonchalant face. White hot agony spreads along her body as he twists the blade. Metallic tang fills her mouth.

No, she's actually going to die here.

The exhibition. She's going to die before she succeeds. Her sisters. She is going to be abandoned in a foreign land without ever getting to see them again.

Rhys. She is going to die before she ever figures out how things could be resolved. A scream of pure terror and a primal growl tear her away from her thoughts. Air floods her nostrils.

Inky blue-black hair, bright violet eyes.

Rhys's face is dark with rage, his lips folded into a thin line. Blood splatters his cheeks and immaculate velvet jacket. Next to him, Dagdan sobs, clutching on to his severed arm. Brannagh kneels over her brother, her neck tilted up at the male, her face locked in fear.

He turns a fearsome glare on them, his deep baritone blends with a beast-like growl, "Jump into the river and remember, we were never here."

There might have been a splash but darkness edges her vision and her world is muffled, nothing but a rain of salt and citrus. It feels like she's falling deep into the vast ocean.

"Feyre," a devastated voice reaches out for her, shining a beacon of light, "I can't save you. Not without condemning you."

Warm liquid gurgles her mouth as she forces out the words, "I'm not ready to die."

She continues, sending the gentlest look she can muster into conflicted anguished shades of violet, "Do it."

===

She watches as the nostalgic smile wraps around the man like a fitted glove. Then the moment vanishes. Giving the dark frame and vibrant colours one last look, he straightens his jacket, flicking off a lint and leaves.

She emerges from her corner, her mouth widens into a predatory smile. It is time to move. She smoothly navigates her way through the quiet crowd, memorising every guard location, every exit and every camera.

Not that it matters much, so long as she does it right.

She carefully looks around her surroundings before fixing her attention on the painting. She remembers the shaky hands and skittish strokes. Her first time blending colours in that manner, the first of many to come. Well, they do say you never forget your first.

With a broad, catlike grin, Feyre grips tightly onto the painting and walks out of the doors and the museum goers' minds. Later, as the painting hangs proudly in their doorway, Feyre raises a crimson glass to Rhys, the galaxy eyes that she can never tire of sparkle at her. The glasses clink together lightly.

'Happy 120th anniversary, my love."

#feysandweek2023 #feysand #feysand fic #Feyre Archeron #Rhysand #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Vampire!Rhys need I say more?

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feyreweekofficial · 7 months

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Announcing Feyre Week 2024 Prompts!

art by: niruskyart (twt)

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your patience and waiting as we came up with our prompts for Feyre week 2024! We were sad that there was no Feyre week in 2023 so to make up for it we are making a super-week and offering two prompts a day!

All prompts are completely option and there is ZERO obligation or requirement to do both prompts each day or to follow any prompts super strictly. Please feel free to pick whichever prompt you prefer on any given day you're participating! You may all follow the prompts as loosely or closely as you desire!

Look below for a little blurb about each prompt and some questions to get you thinking!

Monday 3/18:

Lady of Many Faces: As our lady of many faces Feyre has numerous parts of her personality. She's a mother, a high lady, a friend, a sister. She's cunning, kind, mean, thoughtful, nosy, and all sorts of things! How would you like to explore the different facets of Feyre Archeron? What sides of her character do you think could be further explored, or should have been explored?

Immortal With a Mortal Heart: As a Made being who was born human, Feyre may be one with this magical, faerie world, but at her core her heart will always be human. Does she struggle with this? How does her humanity impact her outlook on life and her interactions with others? In 1000 years will her heart still be mortal, or will she lose that part of her?

Tuesday 3/19:

Starfall: What kind of Feyre week would we be without the obligatory Starfall day? Starfall is one of the most beloved scenes from Feyre's journey and signaled a great change in her life! Does Feyre come up with any new traditions for Starfall? How does she celebrate it with Nyx? As of ACOSF, both of her sisters will now be celebrating with her from now on, does she do anything special with them?

New Beginnings: Today (March 19th) is the spring equinox in the Northern hemisphere, and one of the main reasons we chose these dates for our week! There's some speculation that Starfall takes place around this time in the books, and we wanted to honor that. As the frost melts and the seasons change new life blooms for us and for our beloved Feyre. What were Feyre's new beginnings like? How has her life changed? What was it like for her to wake up from her depressive winter "slumber" and come into herself? How has she changed over the course of the series?

Wednesday 3/20:

Cursebreaker: Feyre is the cursebreaker who freed the land from 50 years of suffering. What is having this title like for her? Is it burdensome? Do you think we'll see her breaking any curses in the future? "Cursebreaker" also has quite the intense meaning in the series, how does Feyre feel about that? How could her cursebreaking be explored further?

First of Her Kind: Feyre has done a lot of firsts throughout the series! She is the first to be made as she was. She's the first to come back from the dead bearing the powers of 7 high lords. She is the first High Lady and the first to survive looking into the Ourobouros. Are there any more iconic firsts Feyre will explore? How far can she go?

Thursday 3/21:

Childhood: We know a few scarce details about Feyre's childhood that have been scattered through the books. What more do you wish we knew? What do you imagine her childhood to be like that perhaps wasn't stated in the books? Is there anything you wish happened? How did Feyre interact with people before they fell into poverty? Did she have any interactions with her mother? What about after poverty?

Found Family: Feyre has found a family for herself through the Court of Dreams that is different than the one she was born to. Does she have any special traditions with them? Are there aspects of her relationship with them you wish were added? What's Feyre's domestic life like? How will her relationship with her family grow and change?

Friday 3/22:

AU: What would Feyre be like in alternate universes? What would Feyre look like in our world, another fantasy world, a video game? Anything Feyre AU! There are a million different ways we can imagine Feyre.

Theories: Do you have any Feyre theories, or just theories you really like? Share them with us! What would it be like if those theories were true? What do you imagine for Feyre in future books?

Saturday 3/23:

Warrior: From slaying the Middengard Wyrm to training with Cassian to defending the Rainbow all the way to fighting in the Summer Court with Morrigan, Feyre is a warrior and a fighter. How can we explore this? Does she learn any new fighting styles, or will there possibly be a battle she's needed in?

Jack of all trades: Feyre has many skills and hobbies! She paints, teaches, reads. She's passionate about trade and her work as High Lady. She's redone the entire Night Court budget and was vital in the development of the treaty with Vallahan! She posesses many different skills! Is there any skill you think she's good at or would have that's not explicitly in the books? Do you see her trying to learn anything new? How will she continue growing as a painter? As a teacher? As a High Lady?

Sunday 3/24: FREE DAY!

Reminder, there is no obligation to do both prompts or hit both prompts in your post! Your post does not have to even match the prompts at all. All prompts are there to stimulate your thinking about Feyre and provide options for things you could possibly create!

Let us know if you have any questions!

#feyre #pro feyre #feyreweek2024 #feyre week #acotar

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achaotichuman · 2 months

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Ya'll remember the Dahlia fic I posted like three hours ago?

I hope you do because here is chapter 2

Link to part 1 is here.

@fell-in-luvs, @r-biter, @praetorqueenreyna

______________________________________________________________

A Field of Dahlias

When he awoke, someone was pressing a damp washcloth to his forehead. Slowly, he blinked open his eyes. Vision blurry and everything was sore.

Finally, he recognised the person above him as Alis. The female noticed him waking up and inhaled quickly before letting the washcloth rest on his head, taking his hands in hers.

She called over her shoulder, "Tell Lucien he's awake."

There was the sound of a book snapping shut as a person got up from the emerald chair in the corner of his room. Tamlin tried to lift his head to get a clue of who was sitting there, but he only managed a glimpse of pale robes before Alis pushed him back down.

"Where is Lucien?" Tamlin asked. His voice sore, barely above a whisper.

"Speaking with some courtiers, nothing to worry over." Her hands moved to hair and began to plait so as to keep her fingers busy.

"What happened?" He asked.

Alis still for a moment, then she said, "You're magic exploded, your study was the only thing affected."

"My magic exploded?" Tamlin asked, his voice even smaller.

"Yes."

"But..." I'm not supposed to use my magic, and for it to have exploded like that.

Oh no.

Oh god no.

At that moment Lucien walked in.

The red head was beside the bed in seconds. A hand went to Tamlin's shoulder, "Hey, you're up."

"Yeah." Tamlin replied.

"Still weak, but awake." Alis said, taking away the washcloth from his head and sliding off the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Lucien asked.

"Awful." Tamlin snapped.

Lucien gave him a soft smile that didn't reach his worried eyes, "Figures."

"Here." Alis said, and she helped him to slowly sit up.

The second he was upright, all the blood in his brain rushed out. Dizziness overtook and his face went frightfully pale.

Alis reacted faster than Lucien and grabbed a bucket beside the bed.

Tamlin vomited until he was dry heaving. Alis' rough hands pulled back his hair and Lucien immediately moved to rub his back. Tamlin however pushed him back.

When his body finally relented, Tamlin slumped back, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling.

Alis took the mess away with a murmur that she would be back soon. Lucien nodded to her while Tamlin closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath.

When the door clicked shut, Lucien broke the silence, "Well this has been a hectic day."

"You think." Tamlin rasped.

"Yeah I do. And I think it has been made worse by the fact we have not addressed all that need addressing."

"Lucien-" Tamlin groaned.

"No, if you won't talk about it Tamlin, then I will. Like it or not, you are pregnant, it is Feyre's. Feyre is now the God's know where in Night with that monster-"

Feyre in that fabric that couldn't be called clothes. In Rhysand's grasp. Painted and being touched while drugged flashed through his mind.

"Feyre-!" Tamlin shot up and wen to rush out of bed.

Lucien grabbed and pulled him right back, "Enough, Tamlin!"

"But she-" Tamlin would bite him if he needed to.

"She is Night because of a bargain she made when she was warned not to."

"He coerced her into it." Tamlin seethed, he knew, Feyre had said when he quested the bargain mark. How Rhysand had twisted her arm when she initially refused it.

"I know." Lucien said, worry shining in his eyes, "But it is still bargain magic and until the week is up, we won't know where she is."

"If," Tamlin's voice was like thunder, "She is still there a second after the seventh day ends, I am storming the Night Court."

"I don't doubt it." Lucien murmured, "In the meantime, we have another issue."

Just like that, the fear writhed in him again, "My magic exploded-"

"Heilda gave you a check over whilst you slept. We got lucky."

Mother above, he nearly thanked the Gods.

"But-" Lucien said sternly.

Tamlin already knew what he was going to say.

"She doesn't just recommend female because its more comfortable, it's also safer Tamlin. So-"

"I know." Tamlin whispered.

Lucien's hand travelled along the soft sheets, then gently covered Tamlin's.

"This is shitty." Lucien said.

Tamlin huffed a laugh, "Yeah."

A heartbeat of silence passed and Lucien eventually asked, "Do you want to try shifting?"

Tamlin sighed, "Yeah."

"Okay do you need me to leave-?"

In a second his clothes were ever so slightly baggier around his waist. The fabric around his chest constricted and his jaw became just slightly less defined. Small changes, but enough to mark him as something else.

Thank Gods for him that he retained most of his muscles. Eyes, wider now, looked up to Lucien.

The Fox was blushing furiously and it made Tamlin bite his lip not to laugh.

"How- you-"

Tamlin shrugged, "I base it off what my body already looks like."

"Mhm." Lucien's cheeks were flushed a rosy red, "I didn't realise it was so easy."

Tamlin laughed, voice with a slightly higher pitch. Toned differently enough for anyone to notice a change, "It doesn't sound like it would be."

"No it doesn't." Lucien murmured, then he cleared his throat.

Tamlin picked at the buttons of his shirt, pulling too tight to be comfortable. Lucien noticed and quickly asked, "Do you want a different set of clothes."

Tamlin was still in the clothes he would have been married in. Jacket and waistcoat gone. But still in his trousers and white shirt. His heart throbbed.

"Yeah."

Lucien nodded but before he could leave the bed, there was a rapping against the door.

"Come in!" Tamlin called out.

"Just as I thought." A female said as she opened the door, "Different voice means you've already shifted?"

Ianthe peeked through the crack in the door, not stepping through the threshold. One of her vows of purity. To not step under the roof of a room with only a male.

She looked him up and down, "I was correct then."

Without another word she tossed some clothes into the bedroom, they hit the bed. Tamlin lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

"Clothing." She said, as if it were not obvious.

"I won't be wearing Priestess robes." Tamlin said with a slight tilt to his lips.

"I would be offended if you were." Ianthe retorted, "Change and once you two have your heart to heart there is someone who wants to see the two of you."

"Who?" Lucien asked.

"Hurry up and you'll see." Ianthe told him flippantly. Then she closed the door.

Lucien rolled his eyes hard enough Tamlin thought they might get stuck in the back of his head.

"Must she be sarcastic as well as insufferable."

"Wouldn't be Ianthe otherwise." Was all Tamlin replied with as he moved to grab the clothes, she had tossed him.

Not her clothing, certainly not, the Priestess. Specifically, the High Priestesses, swore their virginity to the Mother. Which included a myriad of rules that Tamlin had never paid attention to learning. His mother had always scolded him for not being as studious as he should've been.

He didn't recognise the clothes and they smelled unused. How long had he been out that she had been able to go out and buy new clothing?

"I wonder who could be here-" Lucien started. Then cut himself off sharply as Tamlin unbuttoned his shirt.

"Tam-Tamlin!" Lucien quickly swivelled his head away, staring adamantly at the wall opposite to Tamlin.

Tamlin breathed in deeply as he still adjusted to the new weight on his chest. Strange and new despite him having worn it before.

He didn't purposely altar anything. His body was as it was if he had been biologically born a female. Risking alterations risked unnecessary magic and in turn unnecessary risk.

But it seemed he had inherited his mother's figure. Which was a pain in multiple ways. Including the back it was bound to cause his back.

"Mother above." Tamlin mumbled as he stretched his arms.

Lucien was very still, arms crossed, and eyes pinned to the wall. Tamlin watched him from the corner of his eye as he pulled on the thin blue knit top Ianthe had given him. It was fairly loose but tight enough that his figure was highlighted. Then he began to undo his trousers.

"Have you never seen a female's body before, Lucien?" Tamlin teased as he pulled his trousers down over his hips.

"I have-!" Lucien's gaze swiftly turned back at the implied insult, but he yelped and turned back away.

Tamlin rolled his eyes and quickly pulled on the new grey wool pants.

"You are free to look now." Tamlin said.

Lucien breathed out through his nose then turned back around. He nodded once then furrowed his brow.

"What?" Tamlin asked.

Lucien stammered for a moment before gesturing to Tamlin's chest. Tamlin nearly laughed.

"They're called tits, Lucien."

"I know- Mother above Tamlin." Lucien huffed, "I mean don't females usually wear.... undergarments for their breasts."

"Oh... yeah." That may possibly be helpful.

There was silence for a moment, then Tamlin asked, "Where do we get one of those?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"I don't know Lucien, you're out with girls all the time."

"I don't go shopping with them." Lucien said scrunching his face.

Tamlin sighed, then he slid off the bed, "Well I have to go ask Alis an uncomfortable question. Join me?"

"And watch you stammer as you try to ask, of course." Lucien replied, quickly following after him.

Tamlin laughed and felt like maybe this would be okay.

Alis had been lurking just in a room down the hall. Giving some order to the new maids who had been hired. Lucien had walked in first, Tamlin, suddenly insecure of his new form, had hidden behind him. Hands itching to hold onto the back of his shirt, but he already first embarrassed enough as it was.

When Alis saw them, she quickly straightened and told the girls to shoo. They scattered off with a 'Yes miss,' and a curtsey to the Lords.

Tamlin did not enjoy how they looked at him confused and hesitantly said 'My lady.' He did not refute them though.

Once they were gone, Tamlin appeared before Alis more fully and began by saying, "So Alis-"

"This is going to be about bras I'm guessing." Alis said, with one hand on her hip.

Tamlin blinked, "How did you-"

Alis gestured to his chest, then raised an eyebrow, "You have your mother's form. You can borrow some of hers until we can have some made for you."

"Oh please God no-"

"You have an important guest waiting for you in your office, so you will suck it up, sweetheart." Alis said kindly before leading him back in the direction of his bedroom, Lucien trailing behind.

"Who is this important guest?" Tamlin asked.

Alis hesitated for a moment, before ultimately saying, "You will see."

Lucien quickly leaned in a said, "I told you Ianthe is contagious."

Tamlin stifled a laugh as Alis dragged him back into his room. When Lucien attempted to follow in, Alis shut the door in his face.

"Sorry Lucien!" She called out.

"No problem!" Lucien called back, "I'll wait here!"

Quickly Alis went over to Tamlin's wardrobe and rifled through for a single box. His mother's possessions which had been cleaned and put away for safe keeping. She eventually looked back up at him.

"Do you like red?" She asked sweetly.

"I am going to get a very uncomfortable reality of what my mother went through aren't I?"

"Yes, sweetheart, you are."

***

After Alis finally taught him how the clasps worked, making more than one comment about Feyre must have had to undo all her own bras as he was hopeless. They walked back out.

True to his word. Lucien was leaning against the wall opposite of the door, fiddling with his nails. As soon as the door opened and Tamlin stepped out, the Fox looked him over. Cheeks flushing red again, but he nodded, then jutted his head in the general direction of his office.

"Shall we?" Lucien asked.

"We don't have another choice." Tamlin mumbled.

Alis told them she would be getting back to work. Then murmured a good luck, which didn't give Tamlin much hope.

As they walked the halls, Lucien said, "You look good."

"Thanks, enjoy it while it lasts." He knew the effects of pregnancy were many. And many he was not looking forward to.

Lucien lightly knocked Tamlin's shoulder with his own, "We'll handle everything as it comes."

Tamlin nodded but he couldn't shake the utter worry festering in him.

Finally, they made it to the closed wood door of his office. Lucien and Tamlin stopped before it. Sharing a look. Tamlin nodded once and Lucien opened the door.

Tamlin didn't know what he was expecting. A monster maybe, Amarantha back from the dead. Hybern himself.

But his mind never conjured the idea of Eris Vanserra sitting in his chair. Legs kicked up on his desk, mindlessly playing with one of his pens.

"Finally!" Eris exclaimed, "Someone deigns to meet me."

Lucien had gone awfully still in front of him. Eris met his eyes, having not seen Tamlin behind him yet, "Brother, I thought your High lord would come himself, but I can always discuss matters with you. You were always quite intelligent."

"Eris." Lucien growled.

"Easy boy." Eris told him. Voice mocking, "I will not bite... nor burn."

"What are you doing here?" Lucien asked, his voice was a low and harsh. His hand twitched like the youngest Vanserra would like for nothing more than to burn his eldest brother to death.

"Is it not obvious? I came to see my dear old friend Tam-"

As Eris spoke, Tamlin stepped out from behind Lucien.

"-lin.... Interesting." Eris mused, a lazy grin spreading across his feline face as he laid further back into Tamlin's chair.

"Vanserra, kindly get the fuck out of my chair."

After another careful once-over of Tamlin's new form, he said, "But the view from here if quite spectacular."

A smile spread on Tamlin's face, "Then come over here and you may see it better."

"Well, if you insist." Eris said as he easily stood without faltering and walked around the desk.

In a second Lucien's arm shot out, but Eris tsked, "Such behaviour, littlest brother. I am sure Tamlin is fully capable."

"I trust you, Eris, as far as I can throw you. Which we can both assume would not be very far."

"Right." Eris drawled, side-eying his brother.

"Enough sibling rivalry. Hello Eris." Tamlin said with a grin.

Eris turned his attention to his friend, the friend he'd had for four centuries, "Hello Tamlin."

Lucien blinked. Tamlin just nodded to him, and the Fox glared but moved his hand away.

"What do you need?" Tamlin asked, as long as he had been friends with Eris, he knew this was male never came around for just a friendly check in.

"Heard on the grapevine that a certain bride ran off with teh High lord of Night. Decided to come around and see what all the fuss was."

Tamlin blinked, then he looked at Lucien who was scowling.

If word had already reached Eris... How long had he been out for?

"Lucien how long was I asleep?" Tamlin asked.

Lucien pursed his lips, then he turned to Tamlin and slowly said, "About a day and a half."

Tamlin gaped. He forced his way past Eris, who despicably was taller than him whilst he was female form. He looked out the large window behind his desk and saw that the sun was indeed high in the sky.

"It's tomorrow?!" Tamlin seethed.

"I didn't want to worry you so soon after you woke up." Lucien said gently.

"It would have been helpful to know it was tomorrow!"

That meant Feyre had already been in the Night Court for a day and a half. Rhysand doing the Gods knew what to her-

"Mother above." Tamlin felt sick.

"Okay." Lucien hummed, he quickly walked over and took Tamlin's hands. Leading him to the green lounge. Slowly letting him sink into the soft pillows, "Breathe Tamlin."

Tamlin wanted to snap, but even breathing was becoming difficult.

"What is going on?" Eris asked, concern bleeding into his words.

Lucien looked between Eris and Tamlin, then leaned into whisper, "Do you wish to tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Eris stepped forward.

"Eris-!" Lucien stood up, looking as though he would physically remove Eris from the office himself, but Tamlin caught his hand.

"It's fine Lucien, he can know."

"Are you sure?" Lucien asked.

Tamlin nodded, then turned to look at Eris who was standing with his arm crossed and eyebrow raised.

He looked so smug, the one joy Tamlin could find was he about to knock that away.

"Eris I'm pregnant."

Eris' furrowed his brow.

A heartbeat passed, and the news sunk in.

The first son of Autumn's face dropped. His mouth fell open, his eyes widened so most of his whites showed. He quickly put the back of his hand over his mouth as he processed it.

"What?" Eris managed to choke out.

In any other situation, Tamlin would have laughed at how the snarky Prince was finally speechless. Right now all he wished to do was cry.

"Yes." His voice nearly cracked. But he swallowed hard and held his head high.

"So that's why..." Eris made a gesture to his body and Tamlin wanted to curl up and away from sight.

"Yes." Tamlin said in a far quieter voice to keep the shaking out of his voice.

"Oh... shit. But Feyre-"

"Is also a shapeshifter," Lucien said.

Eris looked between Lucien and Tamlin. Occasionally opening his mouth to say something but ultimately choosing not to.

Then he sat down on the lounge beside Tamlin, eyes blinking, and face still caught in shock, "Well... fuck."

"That was the beginning of the problem." Tamlin said.

Lucien and Eris chuckled suddenly at Tamlin's attempt at a joke.

Then the room fell silent again.

Now that it was out and open, Tamlin couldn't deny it any longer.

A baby.

He was having a baby.

And his fiancé was in the Night Court. Completely unknowing.

And he was here.

Tears pressed into his eyes and Tamlin was finally unable to stop them.

"Oh, love." Lucien whispered. Collecting Tamlin in his arms.

At the warmth, the love in his embrace. Tamlin was utterly helpless. He cried into his chest, unable to hold it back any longer.

A warm hand that wasn't Lucien's rubbed up and down his back.

"I'll murder Rhysand." Eris hissed under his breath.

Lucien drew in a breath, "Let's just start with handling this week."

***

The week itself ended quicker than Tamlin thought it would. Eris couldn't stay for longer than the rest of the day, but he promised to return again later.

As for Tamlin, he cried a lot that week. He also broke more than one vase after a nightmare of seeing Feyre underneath Rhysand, screaming for help-

Lucien held him a lot that week. Tamlin hated how dependant he felt on his touch, on his arms around him. Alis had been as open as she could, but even she was busy with training the new hires. And the most comfort Ianthe was physically capable of providing anybody was an awkward pat on the shoulder.

More than once Lucien and Tamlin wound up in the library. Curled up on a cushioned seat made for one. The fire roaring the manor asleep.

Tamlin had often tucked his face into Lucien's neck, whilst Lucien held him in his arms. Whispering sweet nothings in his ear to calm him.

It had been a nice reprieve from the stress. But nothing could put aside the fear he held that at the end of the week Feyre wouldn't be back.

But she was.

And something was very, very different.

Tamlin's first fear was that Rhysand had laid hands on her. But spoke little of what had happened during the week.

"Anything, anything you learned, anything they told you." Lucien said, as Feyre glared at him from her seat.

Her eyes were colder, her gaze piercing. She shook her head, "They told me nothing of value. I just stayed in his palace until the weeks end."

Tamlin nodded, finding comfort in that least, "He didn't touch you?"

Feyre shook her head and Tamlin wanted to thank the Mother.

"That's good."

At least they had that reassurance.

But why collect her now?

What game are you playing Rhysand?

***

"Feyre! Thank the Mother and Cauldron and every holy item in her trove!" Ianthe exclaimed as the taller female wrapped the Cursebreaker in a hug hard enough to crush.

The air whooshed from Feyre's lungs and she gasped. But her shock overode the pain. Ianthe was hugging her. Being physically affectionate.

That was... a first.

Then she quickly pulled back and cupped Feyre's face, moving her head back and forth as she inspected the younger woman for injuries of any kind.

"The Mother will wreak havoc on that male if he has harmed you. He never touched you, did he?" She asked quickly.

Feyre shook her head. "No Ianthe, he did nothing to me."

"Oh, the Mother is kind and merciful." Ianthe then pulled her into another embrace.

"Ianthe you- can't breathe."

"Oh, oh no." Ianthe quickly released her, "Sorry."

Feyre took in a breath and rubbed her sore ribs, "It's fine, really."

Ianthe nodded, then she scowled at her clothes, "Come flower, we'll get these atrocious fabrics off of you."

As much as Feyre wished to snap they were not atrocious, that she had learned to love the clothing she was in. That she didn't want to put on the clothes of Spring, but she nodded and silently allowed Ianthe to lead her back inside.

Tamlin she saw next. Her initial reaction was shock because of who she saw standing in place of the normally broad hunter-like male.

She saw Tamlin, in the same female form he had been in the night they shared together several months ago. A loose green silk dress adorned his figure, curving around his full breasts and slightly smaller waist. He was slightly shorter but still much taller than Feyre. Now Ianthe's height. Though Ianthe could not be called a short woman at all.

"Feyre." He breathed, before rushing to pull her into hsi arms.

Feyre let him, not knowing why the usual passion she felt for him was missing.

***

The Tithe came and Tamlin was sick several times before it began. Lucien stayed with him in the bathroom for over half an hour just holding back his hair and rubbing his back.

By the time he had to make an appearance he felt like going to sleep for a thousand years. He was tired and so, so fucking sick of it all.

"Are you sure you're well enough to do this?"

"Not at all." Tamlin said.

He was nowhere near well enough to do this, but life wasn't fair especially to him. So, he sucked it up but on a fake smile and walked out into the throne room where Feyre was already waiting with Ianthe. The two were talking about something or other and the conversation halted as he entered, and the Tithe began.

It was nearly as disastrous as the wedding. Ending with once again Feyre storming out.

Tamlin knew what it must've looked like to her. He himself nearly felt bad for the Faery, but he also knew they had found their way here from Summer during the fifty years and had never participated in the Tithe before. He already had the complaint that they didn't want to.

But until the treasures were at least partially recovered from Under the Mountain, and trade was back and running through the Courts. They needed the Tithe.

It was one thing that Feyre said that pissed him off enough that he didn't go after her himself.

"We already have enough jewels."

As if the Tither's collections were for him. As if most, if not all of it went into the salaries for his staff, housing for his people, the workers and the farmers supplies and defences for Spring.

Tamlin had stormed back to his room. It didn't help that he felt fucking useless, helpless, in this form. In a delicate state he couldn't risk too much.

Worst of all he hated the way he now had to dress in it to appear proper. He hated the way his body looked. And he hated knowing how the baby would ruin how he looked.

For years his body had been the one thing in his life had control of. Then Amarantha had forced him and his Court Under the Mountain and his body too was stripped from him.

Eyes roaming exposed skin, taking what didn't belong to it-

He just got his body back and now it was taken again. Now the love of his life was being taken from him a week a month.

Tamlin stormed to his room and locked the door. He then ran to his bed, grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it. He pulled back inhaled then screamed into again.

Then he threw the pillow to the floor like it was personally responsible for years of agony.

He wanted to destroy the entire room. Feel the thrill of shredding fabric and breaking furniture under his claws.

But he was fucking tired.

He collapsed onto his bed, grabbed another pillow and screamed into that as well. Before tossing it across the room, it hit the wall with a thud.

Tamlin closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, he hoped he never opened them.

There was a knock at his door.

"Go away!" Tamlin shouted.

"I wasn't going to come in." Ianthe answered, "I just wanted to tell you Feyre is safe in her room, but Rhysand will be collecting her tomorrow."

Oh shit.

Fuck no-

Tamlin sat up straight, but Ianthe called out, "Before you come rushing out this is a hallway with two closed doors at either end and no other women are here so let me leave first."

Tamlin huffed but sat back down, Ianthe then said, "She also doesn't want to see you, but I believe Lucien is waiting in the library."

Tamlin wanted to ask why he should care if Lucien was waiting in the library, but her heard her footsteps leaving and the door of the hallway opening and closing.

"Mother help me." Tamlin mumbled as he stood up and finally left.

He passed Feyre's room and at first his body screamed top open the door and see her. But Ianthe's warning came to mind. He sighed but left it alone.

Lucien was in fact in the library. Sprawled across the sae chair they had spent the week curled up together in. He was deeply entrenched in what he was reading. But he looked up at the sound of Tamlin's footsteps.

Lucien smiled, putting his book down he opened his arms, "Come here, baby."

"Fuck." Tamlin whispered under his breath before rushing to Lucien and falling into his arms, sobbing relentlessly into his dhoulder.

"I'm so fucking pathetic." He cried.

"No you're not, Tam, no you're not." Lucine murmured.

"I can't even protect the one person I'm supposed to protect."

"I know, Tam, I know." Lucien kept him wrapped in his warm arms. They stayed holding each other for hours, until Tamlin ran out of tears and fell into exhaustion, finally sleeping, despite the slightly awkward position.

At some point after Tamlin had fallen asleep someone knocked on the threshold and Lucien looked up to see Alis at the door, and behind her was Eris.

The eldest Vanserra walked in, needing no further introduction from Alis, who just nodded to Lucien before slipping away.

Eris sat in a lounge next to Lucien, simply saying, "I'll stay with him this week when you can't."

"Why do you care?" Lucien asked.

"Because he would do the same for me."

***

The week came and went. Same as ever. Except that this time Eris did stay.

As much as Tamlin just wanted to sleep for a week and wake up whenever Feyre was back, he was a High lord and lately one thing stood on the forefront of his mind. The bargain Feyre had made.

Books upon books were open on his desk. Scattered across the ground, papers scrunched littered the floor. Eris was sitting in the green lounge, also flipping through the old books they had taken from the library.

"Nothing." Eris stated, letting the book nag onto the coffee table.

"Could you at least try to be helpful?" Tamlin growled, though it did not sound the same in his female form it was just as intimidating. Though Eris, as per usual, was not impressed.

"I'd much rather be a nuisance." Eris said deadpan. Tamlin rolled his eyes.

"Gods above." Tamlin cursed.

Was there no way out of this?

Here is the link to chapter three!

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