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wordsafterhours · 2 years ago

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Songs About You - Chapter 15

Author's Note: Buckle up and enjoy this fluff fest. I worked so long on getting this chapter right and I think it still fell short. But I just love this time of year. Fall and Winter are my bread and butter, especially Christmas. I'd like to live in a Hallmark movie and make zero apologies for it. In the next few updates, we will be seeing more explanation onto what happen to her parents, more details on Arobynn's betrayal, and Gavriel and Aedion's exile from Aelin's life.

*Unedited update. I couldn't wait.

Triggers: I can't think of anything crazy that would need to be listed

Word Count: 9.8k (I haven't written college papers this long)

Masterlist

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Still quite bemused with herself, Aelin dawdled through getting dressed and making her way down the stairs. Several familiar voices deep in conversation reached her ears long before she found them in the foyer, digging through dusty boxes.

“Does she have decorations for every occasion? I’m pretty sure I’ve looked through thirty boxes and only found one with Yulemas stuff,” complained Dorian.

“Her family was big on celebrating any and everything. It was magical coming here as a kid. Trust me, the Yulemas decorations far outnumber anything here three to one,” Elide stated matter-of-factly.

The dark-haired male dramatically whined and started opening another box. Aelin decided to take pity on him, “The items in question are in the basement and carriage house.”

“Oh, hey there. I didn’t realize you’d come down.” Elide’s cheeks tinged pink with her admission, clearly flustered at having been caught unaware.

The blonde said nothing, leaning casually against the wooden banister to her left, patiently waiting for anyone to divulge an explanation for the scene at hand. Elide dusted off her hands against her jeans and smiled tensely. “I’m sorry about last night. You were right to be upset and after you left, I was such a mess trying to figure out how I was going to apologize. A little birdy told me the house wasn’t decorated and I decided that it would be the best apology I could muster.”

Her friend bounced anxiously up and down while she talked, a telltale sign of how unsure she was of herself right now. Aelin knew it had taken a lot for Elide to show up uninvited, especially given how last night had gone, and in taking such a bold move to decorate the house. Yulemas wasn’t the same since her parents passing and even less so after exiling the only family she had left. Each year, as December fell, she longed to pull out the boxes, to put up trees and wrap garlands around the columns, yet it never came to fruition.

Chaol had tried it to snap her out of it, but after one too many meltdowns, he’d just stopped. He’d always get her a gift and then head south to Adarlan, to spend it with his father, Dorian, and Dorian’s family. It was easier that way. No fake smiles, pretend happiness, or unwanted melancholy chasing away the holiday joy.

If the very idea of this holiday hadn’t been artfully avoided, the decorations’ locations would be a forgotten memory, beyond her grasp. But her mind cruelly remembered what each and every box had, where it lived, and whose job it had been to put it up. Yulemas used to be the one thing worth waiting for as a kid. Not her birthday, summer, visits from Aedion, or traveling the continents—it was and had only ever been Yulemas.

As the air cooled and the calendar marked December 1st, her mother was hiring local city folk and paying bonuses to landscapers to help put up all the decorations. It was a grand affair and the week before Yulemas, her parents would open their finished home for tours. Hot cocoa, cider, and sweet treats were offered. Carols would be sung, and she would play piano for their guests. Aelin lived for it. What she wouldn’t give for five minutes in one of those memories.

A very sharp delivery of her name brought her out the reminiscent reverie. She took a startled step backward in attempt to gather her bearings. Elide was in arms distance now, looking concerned more than anything. “Are you okay?”

Was she? Simple answer: no. Would that be shared? Also, no.

“Only trying to process all of you here, digging through my house.” She internally winced at the tone, knowing its harshness wasn’t deserved, but too aggrieved to cop to it.

“I wish all my friends groveled like these two,” Fen casually declared between bites of toast.

“Sharing my bed wasn’t enough, you’re eating my food, too?”

“I worked up an appetite,” he whined, dark eyes giving her a pleading look that would rival Fleetfoot’s.

Graciously, no one chose to run with the blond’s comment, sparing her from further humiliation and or drawn-out explanation. At least the day was giving something back to her, small as it was.

“Who else is here?”

“We all are, well minus Lorcan. He’s being a pain in my ass, and we can leave it at that.”

She gave a non-committal acknowledgement, staring too hard at one of the boxes Dorian had previously been looking through. If she granted them the okay to pull out the Yulemas decorations, could she bear it? Would the joy of it overshadow the grief that was picking her a part, one stitch popping at a time, threatening the remaining seams that were left.

A presence came to rest behind her and she unconsciously gravitated back. His warmth radiated across her, momentarily chasing away the chill that had settled. Even as upset as she was with him, as betrayed as she felt—Rowan had become a much-needed life raft.

He shouldn’t be.

Couldn’t be.

But yet, he was. There were somethings this world knew that she didn’t, but what she did know, undoubtedly, down to her very marrow, was that Rowan Whitethorn had been the very thing missing from hers. “It’s okay to be scared and sad, Ace, but you have to stop limiting your happiness. Take it back. You deserve joy. Elide told me how much the season means to you and it’s almost over, but it doesn’t mean you can’t partake in it. We’re all here for you. Just say yes.”

His appeal was low, warmed breath washing over the exposed column of her neck, words meant to only be heard by her. Resigned, her shoulders sagged as she nodded in wordless acquiescence.

“This is going to be so exciting!” cheered Elide, clapping her hands together in paramount enthusiasm.

At least someone was thrilled. All Aelin could feel was a ten-pound leaded weight sitting in the pit of her stomach. It was cruel how emotions could rule, define, own. She’d do anything to turn it all off; to be cold and unfeeling, if only to get through this day.

Her blue eyes stared intently, roving over every oak plank not covered by the foyer rug. One, two, three… one-hundred and fifty-one. All visible ones accounted for and the heaviness humanely lessened. She was alone, the sounds of her friends muffled, but it was clear they had wasted no time tackling the decorations.

“Better?”

Her breath caught in surprise. Why Aelin had assumed she was truly alone was beyond her. If her thoughts hadn’t consumed her so, his presence would have been felt. A lie was forming on her tongue, but it tasted bitter, too bitter to bring to life. “Not really, but I think you already knew that.”

“Perhaps. Not that you give me benefit of the doubt often, but I don’t know everything.”

An unladylike snort sounded between them. Her eyes widened in embarrassment, and she hid her face. Rowan laughed loudly, chasing away her self-consciousness, and warming her to the core. It was such a beautiful sound, carefree and unbound.

“I heard they found the sitting room decorations and some aged sheet music. Dorian said you play. Can you show me?”

“Gods what a gossip queen,” she muttered with rolled eyes.

“I know I don’t know him well, but he doesn’t seem like a vault by any means.”

“He would spill everyones’ secrets for a good romp in the sheets.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Rowan acknowledged dryly.

Expectance hung in the air as Aelin waffled between telling Rowan no or sucking it up and playing. She hadn’t played in years. The piano was surely out of tune, the ivory keys covered in a telltale dust film. It was a talent, a habit long forgotten, buried beneath a barrage of painful memories.

The feel of smooth keys beneath her fingers could never be forgotten and suddenly hers were itching to glide across them. To artfully construct notes into beautiful chords and drown out the world until only music remained. Nothing else mattered when she sat at the bench. Maybe, just maybe, that was what she needed.

“Just one song.”

“Just one song,” he agreed. He sounded somewhat surprised, but Aelin wasn’t too sure since her back was still to him.

She brushed around the foyer table and pushed apart the dark wood pocket doors, revealing a beautiful brown piano, nestled in the far corner, between a window and fireplace. Without much thought, Aelin raised the lid, and then sat down, flipping back the cover, revealing ivory and gold keys.

The piano had been a gift from her parents one Yulemas, after she’d shown promise with the instrument. It had been redone just for her; the traditional black keys replaced with gold. After the finished stretching her hands, she played a few notes to ascertain how out of tune it was.

It wasn’t as much as the thought and a small, pleased smile turned the corners of her mouth upwards. Out of her periphery, she watched Rowan’s large frame settle into one of the chairs that faced the piano. Her hands slightly trembled, the gravity of the moments to come setting her nervous system haywire.

Assuming proper position, Aelin moved to the edge of the bench with her back straight, arms out and relaxed in front of her. The opening chord notes tinkered through the air, harsher than they out to have been—her wrists were dropping. In the back of her mind, the severe chastisement of her former tutors reminded her that she wasn’t “grasping the keys”, thus her wrists were not lifting accordingly, the notes not soft.

Playing solely from memory, more than a few missteps occurred, but if Rowan noticed, he never gave it away. His green eyes were piercing, watching her with rapt attention. He could have been a stone statue if not for the occasional rise and fall of his shoulders.

Moving to the next piece, her fingers glided across the keys, caressing them in near reverence, like one would caress a lover after long being separated. Tendrils of blond hair slipped forward, partially obscuring her view of the man sitting opposite her. The wisp of privacy came at the perfect time—the crescendo was up.

Furiously, her fingers danced upon ivory and gold with precision, the familiar ache settling into her hands and shoulders. Uncertainty, grief, life—it ceased to exist as Aelin gave all of herself to the keys. It wasn’t until the last beautiful note filled the air with a resounding resonance that she let herself breathe.

Silence, the cliché type where you could hear a pin drop, settled heavily across the room. Rowan was still sitting there, wordless, jaw resting against a balled fist, watching her with an undecipherable gaze. Had she not played as well as she thought? Was he trying to find the words to critique it? Critique her? Vulnerability and anxiety came on swift wings, like thieves in the night, whisking away her joy.

His opinion should not matter, especially under the circumstances now encompassing their friendship, but it did. Rowan’s opinion perhaps mattered more than anyone’s and she hated he had that power over her. It was power she gave him, but the heart was a fickle, stubborn thing, particularly the one housed beneath her own twelve pairs of ribs. It did not adhere to the principles of logic, not now, not ever.

The statue broke from his confines, leaning forward, bracing both elbows on his knees, hands steepled. He remained quiet, his gaze still just as studious as it had been the entirety of her playing. If he didn’t say something, Aelin’s nerves were going to split apart. Vulnerability was making her it’s entire three course meal.

His warm timber reached her ears, and she stood in anticipation before he’d even said two words. He gave a faint laugh. “I think your piano needs tuning.”

Six words have never been so defeating. The small kernel of joy that had roared to life instantly snuffed out, leaving as though it had never been there in the first place. The traitorous burn along her lower lids meant tears were welling up, preparing to fall down, like water from a broken dam. Aelin prayed to the gods for the floor to split open and swallow her whole; it would be a mercy compared to this.

Angered, she roughly wiped away the moisture, pinning the silver-haired man with her gold and turquoise stare. “If you didn’t like it, you could have just lied to my face. It took every ounce of will I could muster to sit down and play for you and the only comment you can make is antagonistic? You can be a real godsdamned asshole sometimes, Ro.”

His brow furrowed and he took a step back, hitting the chair causing it to squeak sharply in protest against the oak floor. There was just enough space for her to run by him and Aelin seized the opportunity. His warm hand encircled her left bicep, stopping her before she could get out of the sitting room completely.

“Aelin, stop.”

She fought against his hold, refusing to turn and face him. His pressure became a little firmer, not enough to hurt, but enough to cease almost all of the fight. Calloused fingers twirled the errant tendrils of hair along her face and neck, and as though he had done it a thousand times prior, he tucked the hair behind her ear, tracing the shell of her ear softly.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you. I didn’t know what to say. Everything that I was thinking just seemed so trivial and underwhelming. Inadequate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There are moments in life that define who you are. Moments that break and remake you all in the same breath. Moments that will be written on your bones for others to see long after you’re dead. Moments that you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you could revisit them because nothing will ever be as sweet.”

He was whispering now, hushed, like he didn’t want any part of the world to hear him. Secrets and words were powerful currency. Both could be used at a moment’s notice to bring someone to their knees. Aelin had learned that with the death of her parents, Arobynn’s betrayal, Aedion’s strangled pleas as she shut the door on him. If you never gave words life or shared secrets—then they could never be used against you.

“You can’t keep cutting my legs out from underneath me to protect yourself.”

“Aelin, that wasn’t my intention at all. I thought you’d call me on my bullshit with some line about how the piano wasn’t out of tune or something.”

“I showed you my underbelly. I know you could tell I was nervous. Do you really think a joke was the appropriate response?”

He snorted. “Well, now I don’t.”

Exasperation zipped up her spine and she pulled hard against his hold. If he wanted to be a prick to someone, it wasn’t going to be her. Rowan adjusted his hold before slipping his other arm around her, holding her tight to his chest. She struggled but stopped when it became apparent he wasn’t going to let up. She didn’t have to see his handsome face to know he was wearing a smug smile as he rested his chin on her head.

“I think that if I could bottle up that moment, I’d never know another sorrow for the rest of my life.”

The confession had been unexpected and brutally honest. The vulnerability in his words was profoundly tangible. A feeling all too familiar. The tension left her body as Aelin relaxed into him, taking time to process what he had said before she responded. Words, they mattered, and while he wasn’t hers, it felt like right now he was. In another life, she could turn to him and capture his lips with her own in a silent conveyance of how she felt. They were two faces of the same coin, different, beautiful apart, but whole together.

But Hellas himself would have to drag that secret out of her. No acknowledgement meant no control. This life had enough influence on her; she couldn’t afford to give it anymore. So instead of saying and doing what she wanted, she offered him a small thank you that tasted rancid on her tongue.

He continued to hold her; his strong arms wrapped comfortably tight. His shirt had moved up his arms a bit, showing off tanned skin, and the whorls of his tattoo. Later, she promised herself, she would ask him what it all said and meant. A handful of the words were known to her, but the archaic language had fallen out of favor years before her time.

“Do you think we should help with the decorations?” his question vibrated across her back.

“Why should I help with my apology gift, defeats the purpose doesn’t it?”

“Always with the smart mouth,” he declared with a pinch to her side.

“It’s part of my charm.”

“I mean if that’s what you want to call it.”

“You know what, you get to put up the 26ft tree up outside. By yourself.”

“You promise?”

He sounded too excited at the prospect. “Better yet, I’ll send Manon to help you.”

Rowan’s arms dropped from around her and he stepped into the doorway, wide-eyed.

“Snow leopard got your tongue?” Aelin’s smirk was threatening to split her face in two.

“I will take anyone else. She’s scary,” he fake whispered, looking over his shoulder while he said it.

“I know. I think it’ll be good for you.”

“I had another idea in mind.”

“Go on,” she encouraged.

“I was thinking you could help me. I won’t make you do any heavy lifting, and you can insult me the entire time.”

“It’s not enough. What else?”

“What else?” he said slightly taken aback.

“Mhmm, what else?” She thoroughly enjoyed how panicked he looked as he wracked his brain to come up with something agreeable.

“I’ll bring you an entire chocolate hazelnut cake the next time I come by the shop.”

“But you’ve already brought me some before. Try again.”

He ran a hand through his hair, displacing some of the silver locks. Her eyes followed and it was then she knew what she wanted.

“You can let me braid your hair?”

He suspiciously sounded like he was choking before falling into a small coughing fit. Aelin had got him, satisfaction rolling through her.

“One time. This is a one-time deal because I fucked up a lot recently and I’d do just about anything to make you smile.

“Well, I chose wisely then. We better go drag tree out of the carriage house. And check on everyone else, because it’s too quiet and with Dorian around, that’s never a good thing.”

Rowan gestured towards the foyer, allowing her the chance to head first into the chaos.

Surprisingly, most of the upstairs had been decorated and the bannisters had been wrapped in garlands. When Rowan and Aelin had surveyed everyones’ work, both shared a look of guilt at not having helped. Connall and Vaughn had moved the big boxes for them and hadn’t been seen since. Rowan asked if they needed any other heavy lifting done, but Lys, Manon, and Elide waved them off.

Taking the back set of stairs down, they wandered into the kitchen, to find Vaughn flipping through several cookbooks laid out on the counters, writing things down on a scratch paper. “Do you have a zester?” he asked without looking up.

“I should, in one of those drawers. What are you doing?”

“Well, someone has to make Yulemas Eve dinner, Aelin,” he replied like it should have been glaringly obvious.

“I normally just have takeout and pretend the day doesn’t exist,” she admitted quietly.

“Aelin?”

“Yeah, Con?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but get out of the kitchen.”

She questioningly looked up at Rowan and mouthed, “Was it something I said?”

He jerked his head towards the back door and out they went. “He takes food very seriously. He loves to cook for everyone, and he eats pretty clean. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat takeout. He’ll eat at restaurants but spends twenty minutes picking apart the menu before eating. Its rather cumbersome.”

“So, it was something I said,” she chuckled.

“Can you two shut up or go somewhere else?” a displeased, muffled voice asked. Both turned and noted Dorian happily smothered beneath two dogs on the porch swing. Rowan had brought Elliot. She smiled to herself—it was sweet he loved his dog the way she loved Fleetfoot.

“I thought you were helping with decorations, not sleeping your highness.”

“I was in the way and Fen said I was too whiny. Besides, Lorcan showed up looking angry and pushed me off the ladder. I wasn’t going to get into it with that guy. He’d eat me for breakfast or use me as snow leopard bait.”

“And to think you’re supposed to be taking over running Adarlan.”

“Well, when I take it over, I can order someone to deal with unpleasantries like that man. Or manual labor. You know I was built to supervise.”

People told Aelin she was dramatic, which she was. But somehow, she knew they’d find another adjective to describe her antics if they had to put up with Dorian. He was lovable, fiercely loyal, fun, a good listener, but nauseatingly theatrical without much effort or thought.

“If you change your mind and get tired of lying with the dogs, we’ll be out front putting up the tree.” Rowan looked like he was ready to bite through his lip to keep from laughing.

It took twenty minutes for them to pull out all the tree boxes from the carriage house and drag them into the front yard. Lorcan and Fen had offered to help but Rowan had politely declined, letting them know if they were needed, he’d get them.

Aelin could tell Rowan was really trying to make up for last night. He’d followed each direction she’d given him to the T and done so without terrorizing her in the process. He didn’t even laugh when she tripped over an errant tree root poking out of the ground and knocked over several boxes, spilling shiny ornaments everywhere.

The tree was halfway done, and she was fluffing the faux branches, waiting for him to return with ladders so they could put the rest up. Once it was put together, they could plug it in, and see what lights needed replacement before deciding on ornament placement. Her mom had always taken ornaments seriously and hung them all herself. It took hours sometimes because she’d take several breaks to step back and look, moving the glass balls accordingly until they were perfect.

Inside, there was a Christmas tree for every room except the bathrooms and kitchen. All differed in size or style, each with their own set of dedicated ornaments. Each Yulemas, Rhoe had gotten both her and her mom a new ornament to be hung on the tree of their choosing. Some were wooden, others blown glass, and on occasion, metal. It had been years, but pain ferociously nipped at the heels of nostalgia made it feel like this was the first Yulemas without them.

In a way it was. The holidays that had been celebrated with Aedion, Gavriel, and Arobynn, had been spent at the latter’s house. It was easier that way. She thought that Arobynn had been doing her a kindness but really it was just to ensure he could keep an eye on everyone. If all ends of the knot were in your hand, nothing could unravel, providing all the reassurance you needed.

Not wanting to be melancholy when Rowan came back, she sidelined her thoughts, returning back to fluffing the branches, doing her best to fill in any bare spots. It was tedious, often cramping her hands, but there was comfort in monotonous activity. Most of it was done, but one particular branch was proving to be a hindrance. A few colorful words escaped as she tipped forward, catching a mouthful of synthetic tree.

“Are you trying to tip the whole thing over?” he asked playfully.

“If that what it takes to get that last branch fluffed, then yes,” she replied stubbornly looking over her shoulder at him.

He tipped his head back, a full-bodied and carefree laugh sounding from him. He looked like the picture she’d been admiring on the bar wall—young and happy. She could only watch him, a smile of her own forming. Rowan was handsome; the most striking man she’d ever seen but nothing compared to this, and Aelin vowed to never let this memory go. He continued to laugh as he walked up and reached above her, righting the troublesome branch.

“Is that better?”

“Yes. If you could have been a minute sooner, I wouldn’t have taken branches to the face.”

“If my defense, the appropriate ladder was in the back of the carriage house, buried under stuff. And it’s heavy. I also stopped to talk to the guys.”

“Uh huh. I just hear excuses.”

A loud squeal escaped her as Rowan’s strong arms picked up and tipped her upside down while tickling her ribs. “Excuses, huh?”

“Ye—.” She tried to speak but he continued his assault, making it too hard to answer.

“What was that? I can understand you. Words, Aelin. Use your words.”

Every time she tried to talk; he tickled her again. Her stomach hurt from laughing and her head felt heavy from being upside down. If she was lucky, he was ticklish, too. She grabbed above his knee and squeezed—he jerked and almost dropped her.

She screamed in half in delight, half in panic. Was tickling him back worth the possibility of being dropped? It wasn’t that far to the ground, but it was far enough. Tickling him won out and she latched onto his knee, squeezing it.

“Hey, stop that!”

“You started it.”

“Don’t make me drop you.”

“I trust you not to.” She smiled deviously. He wouldn’t drop her now, not after she’d said that. The likelihood of him dropping her before was minute, but added reassurance wasn’t bad. She hadn’t counted on him starting to spin. His grip tightened and he spun and spun and spun. Her head was swimming when he stopped. He seemed completely unphased.

Aelin was about to tease him some more when she felt the familiar vibration of a phone. Hers was inside, which meant it was Rowan’s. As though she weighed nothing more than a feather, he continued to brace her body against his with one arm and used his newly freed one to dig in his pocket. His body stiffened as he looked at the screen. Flipping her upright, he set her down and took two steps back, answering the phone.

Eaves dropping was extremely rude, but he was still so close—it was hard not to hear every word of the exchange between them. His silver brow furrowed the longer the conversation continued, and he was intermittently pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Lyria was clearly upset that he hadn’t answered her previously calls or called her back. Then she brought up how he wasn’t “here”. Aelin didn’t know where “here” was, but she did know it wasn’t hanging out with his friends.

“I’m not going to do this with you right now. You’re jumping down my throat and I understand you’re upset, but this isn’t how I want to spend my holiday. I love you and I’m sorry I had a prior commitment. You knew this when you asked me last week.”

Prior commitment? The decorating was last minute, she knew from Elide’s tenuous confession and pleading this morning. So, what had Rowan given up to be here? The mother of his child was currently ripping him a new one, he’d ignored several phone calls, and still, he was in here, instead of doing whatever he was supposed to be doing.

She startled when he said her name. She had missed him hanging up with Lyria. His guarded green gaze met hers and held steady. He was waiting for to ask him what was going on. Most of it didn’t need to be asked about because she heard it, but against her better judgement, she had to ask two questions.

“Where were you supposed to be and why aren’t you with her?”

His angular jaw tensed just enough to let her know he was uncomfortable with what she had asked of him. His left hand clenched into a fist, the tanned skin of his forearm flexing the tattooed whorls. “I’m not with her because I didn’t want to be.”

“But she’s having your baby. And it’s Yulemas tomorrow.”

“Thank you for that astute observation, Aelin.”

“I just don’t understand,” she said plainly. Quietly.

“I was supposed to go to Doranelle early this morning, on a red eye, but I didn’t. She’s mad because I wouldn’t cancel it to go spend the holiday with her and her parents. I’ve spent every Yulemas with my cousins since my parents died.” She knew he’d lost his parents, but he’d never stated is so plainly. Truly, he had said more about himself in those three sentences as he had in as many months of friendship.

“Did you tell her you didn’t go?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“And she’s livid you still didn’t go to her parents.” It should have been a question, but she said it as a statement instead. It was evident from the tense exchange just how upset the dark-haired woman was about his lack of attendance.

“Correct.”

It was apparent that any further explication on the subject was going to be like pulling teeth.

“Did you miss your plane?”

“No,” he answered flat and succinct.

“Did they ask you not to come?”

“Of course not. They were very upset when I called this morning and said I wasn’t coming.”

“Why didn’t you go?” she pushed. It was unfair he always knew what was going on in her head, soliciting more than what she wanted to comfortably give. She didn’t regret trying to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Don’t ask me that Aelin.”

While the please wasn’t audible, she knew it was implied, as was the reason he didn’t go.

Her.

His green eyes were still upon her, narrowing slightly, as he anticipated her next move. She wanted to call him on his unsaid truth. To prod and prod and prod until one of them snapped, the consequences be damned. But she didn’t. He’d shown her the smallest glimpse inside his walls. If her inquisition backfired, he’d never let her in again.

Trust took an irrational amount of time to foster and create but could be forced to ruination in seconds. She would not bring their friendship to the battlefield today. As hard as it was to sit on her hands, it was exactly what she did.

“I think if we don’t hurry up with the tree, it’ll be dark, and we’ll have missed Connall’s cooking.”

Rowan visibly relaxed, like one of the Staghorns had been lifted off his shoulders. “You’re probably right. Fenrys and Lorcan won’t hesitate to eat our food if we’re not there when Con deems its dinner time.”

The rest of the tree took around an hour to put together, Rowan of course doing all the heavy lifting, and much to his chagrin, some branch fluffing while Aelin directed him from the ground. After she had almost fallen off the ladder reaching to fix one of them, he had refused to let her back on, using his body to block her. She was secretly glad; it gave her a chance to watch him unencumbered. His muscled frame, despite being large, moved with graceful ease, keeping him steady 20 plus feet in the air.

Aelin had only seen a small glimpse of the finished decorations and was itching to get up from the dinner table to look, but her friends kept sending judgmental looks her way. Rowan had thought it would be more special to plug in the lights outside once dinner was over, so they could ring in Yulemas as a family—she’d been pouting ever since. The need for instant gratification was on the forefront of her brain.

Now that the decorations were up and finished, the joy she used to feel before her parents’ loss was coming to life, soon to be a roaring fire. Connall had said he was putting the finishing touches on several dishes and waiting for dessert to finish, before dinner would start. It felt like later would never come.

“Would you quit bouncing your leg like a little kid who has to pee?” Lys quietly said into her ear.

“I’m starving and no one will let me look at the decorations.”

“Yes because you got out voted and we’re doing it all together. Not any one person has seen it all.”

“Quit scolding me like a child,” whined Aelin, tipping her head back against the chair. On her left, out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rowan’s mouth tip up in a lopsided grin as his gaze flicked away from Fenrys to her. Her pain was the night’s entertainment.

“You’re acting like a toddler right now,” Lysandra tried to sound stern but ended up laughing.

“Lysssssssss.”

“This is why you were an only child. Elide was she this insufferable growing up?”

“Worse. Between her and Aedion, it was constant ego, theatrics, and bad decisions. I’m pretty sure it’s why I ended up being an only child. My mom had to put up with them and then come home to me. I asked for a brother once and she started bringing me to play with them… I didn’t want one after that.”

“It wasn’t that bad, Elide,” Aelin declared indignantly.

The dark-haired woman remained silent, but raised a disbelieving eyebrow and stared her down. Aedion and Aelin had been menaces to her parents, Elide’s mother Marion, and Gavriel, but Elide had been their partner in crime too many times to count. Aelin would let the rest of the table believe Elide the angel she appeared to be, for now.

“Aelin, why don’t you go decorate the tree in your bedroom? I left a box with your name on it sitting on the bed. It was full of ornaments,” chimed in Manon as she walked in from the kitchen, a newly poured glass of red wine in hand.

“You found my tree?”

Manon snorted, the wine almost sloshing over the side of her glass when she did so. “It was hard to miss. Giant scrawl was all over the two boxes declaring it was your tree and the decorations that went with it. You guys really love Yulemas in this house.”

“Yeah we did,” she agreed, renewed nostalgia setting in. A heavy hand landed on her bouncing leg, giving her knee a brief, reassuring squeeze. Her blue eyes flicked over to Rowan’s, and he inclined his head towards the door, motioning for her to go.

She weaved out of the room and out the front dining room entrance, ending up at stairs closet to her room. Halfway up, a second set of footfalls joined in hers, and without turning, she knew it was Rowan. The outside tree and being present today, had been apology enough, but if he wanted to watch her agonize over perfect placement for her tree, then she’d let him.

The box on her bed was open, ratty cardboard flaps revealing some of her most prized possessions. Twenty-one years of her life could be found in this box. Every year, her father would present her mother and her with handpicked ornaments. It was tradition to open them on Yulemas Eve and then hang them on the tree at midnight.

Manon had set the tree to the right of her fireplace. It stood tall and naked in front of her bookshelf. Eagerly, she stuck her hand into the box of brightly colored tissue paper, pulling out a wrapped ball. Instant tears welled in her eyes as she unwrapped it. A flaming red heart sat nestled in her hand. It had been the last one her father had gotten for her and the most meaningful Yulemas gift she’d ever received.

A silent tear rolled down her cheek, dripping onto the tissue paper, darkening it. Another one followed. She knew it was in here but hadn’t expected it to be the very first one out of the box. She could feel his presence heavy at her side, probably wondering she was looking at her hands like they held the world.

She sniffed, her runny nose making very unlady like noises, “My dad got my mom and I handmade ones every year. We’d open them the night before Yulemas and hang them on the tree at midnight, signifying the start of our favorite day of the year. This one, it was the last one he got me before they died.”

“Aelin, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s what they used to call me. Fireheart.”

“Very fitting.”

“Not anymore. I don’t even know that girl.”

“I do,” he said quietly before slipping it from her hands and hanging it on a branch towards the top.

Aelin wanted to argue with him, to tell him that the girl she used to be was just as dead as her parents. She had been a force, burning brightly—unapologetically herself. There wasn’t a mountain she couldn’t conquer. She had been someone who never needed anyone, who didn’t cry at the drop of a hat, and had never doubted herself.

Now, she was nothing but a field of ash, burned and unrecognizable.

He held out his hand, waiting for her to hand him another, and she did methodically until the box was empty. It was stunning, each placed just right. The tree could have been in a magazine, reminding her of the days when Evalin had spent hours adorning the trees to the same standard.

Rowan’s tall frame dropped to the floor, and he plugged in the tree, illuminating the room. The heart at the top had been strategically placed, backlit by a bulb, giving the illusion it was actually burning. He leaned into her legs, his head resting against her hip as they stared at the tree.

“Sometimes, we all just need a little light.” The statement was weighted and required no elaboration, clearly a nod to her earlier confession. She dropped her hand to his head, idly running her fingers through the loose, silver strands. He had taken his hair out of its bun earlier, in anticipation of her braiding it, but they had never gotten around to it. It would have to be done at a later date; he would not get off scot-free.

“Dinner!” a cacophony of loud voices rang out from somewhere beyond the walls of her bedroom. Hastily, the pair separated, several feet of distance now between them. Shame felt heavy in the pit of her stomach as she stared at Rowan, who was conveniently looking at books on the shelf nearest him.

It might not have been the embrace of lovers, but the moment had been just as intimate, if not more. He was spoken for, a father-in-the-making, and situations like this, shouldn’t be happening. Aelin was to Rowan as a moth was to a flame—inexplicably drawn, despite the promise of a tragic outcome.

Moving forward, she would have to religiously remind herself that traipsing the fine line between friends and something more was not in the best interest of anyone involved. Too many cards were in play, and she did not yet possess a winning hand. With one last look, she strolled out of the room and rushed down the stairs, eagerly returning to her earlier seat.

Elide gave her a questioning look when she sat down alone. She shrugged her shoulders, reaching for whatever dish was closest to her. Later, one of her friends would corner her, demanding answers about her quality time spent with the silver-haired male. They were all a bunch of gossips, yet, if she shoe were on the other foot, she’d be acting the same. Secrets were the glue that helped bind friendships together.

Con had out done himself. The table was laden with various dishes from one side to the other. There was no way she was going to be able to try it all. She plopped a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes on the white and gold plate in front her and then followed it with carved pieces of turkey. A basket of rolls was making its way around but was rudely intercepted by Rowan’s big hand as he swiped one before sitting down.

“Looks like that was the last one, Aelin,” shared Dorian with a sympathetic look. He set the empty basket down and all she could do was stare at it, letting out a loud and dramatic sigh.

“There’s another batch baking. The rolls always go first,” called Con from the opposite end. It didn’t make it better. She had wanted one now. Instant gratification and all.

“Here,” he said warmly, his tattooed hand placing half a roll onto her plate. Melted butter glistened on the top and her ire softened, just slightly, at his gesture. Her turquoise eyes followed his hand’s retreat, a tingling, heavy sensation forming low in her stomach when he licked the butter from his fingers. Her thighs clenched together, a poor attempt at quelling the wayward response her body was having to such an innocuous act.

The gods were testing her. As if last night’s conversation or today’s Yulemas decorating had not been enough, now they were dangling a hot, hot man who she couldn’t touch right in front of her. Perhaps, she should attend Temple and pray to Kiva for atonement or to Lumas’, whose birthday was tomorrow… he was the God of Love afterall.

“I think we should go around and say one thing we’re grateful for or that we hope happens in the next year. Seems more fun than the traditional grace said at Holidays,” suggested Vaughn.

“Oh, I love this!” Dorian declared excitedly, dropping his napkin into his lap, and sitting up straight. His blue eyes were sparkling. “I’m grateful I’m spending this holiday with great friends.”

“That is so lame,” Manon declared dryly. Her unnaturally yellow eyes were pinned on Dorian, daring him refute her.

“It may be lame, but it’s true. I usually spend today and Yulemas with my family and Chaol. It’s nice to do something different with people who don’t tell me how much of a screw up I am. Or who don’t rant incessantly about mutual friends.” His gaze flicked to Aelin’s when he said the last part; apology was etched into his face.

“Well, we’re honored to be the better choice,” Fenrys said, raising his glass to Dorian before tipping it back. “I’m grateful for the beautiful life I get to live, and I hope this next year continues to bring good things to me and my.” Collective nods and smiles spread around the table.

“I’m grateful that Vaughn finally asked me out,” declared Conall with a grin so wide, it crinkled his eyes so much they almost looked shut. Vaughn leaned over, placing a sweet but chaste kiss against his lips.

“Me too, you’re the best part of my day.”

“Can we save some of the sweet for dessert? My teeth are rotting out just looking at you two.”

“She has to eat children for breakfast,” Dorian whispered, looking slightly frightened.

“I heard that,” Manon replied drolly. She took a large sip of wine from her glass, keeping the raven-haired male pinned with her glare. Aelin found it too amusing how much the woman liked to torture Dorian. He always acted as though at any second he was going to be disemboweled by her hands. Honestly, that seemed a little messy… she seemed the type to just snap someone’s neck and step over the body, unbothered.

“I’m grateful for the success of The Thirteenth.”

Lys coughed pointedly. Manon sighed, “I’m grateful for my friends. I guess you all are pretty cool.”

“Glad we rank somewhere in your life,” Lys laughed. “I’m grateful for Fleetfoot and I hope that by this time next year, I have something like Connall and Vaughn.” Despite being a top figure in the modeling world and successful in her own right, Lysandra had struggled in the romance department. It seemed to Aelin that most guys just saw a pretty face and became disinterested when they learned she actually had brains to accompany the beauty.

“I’m not doing this,” Lorcan vowed stone-faced.

“Yes you are,” argued Elide. Her dark eyes fiercely meeting his. A silent conversation passed between the pair, ending with the large, brooding male’s shoulders sagging in defeat.

“I’m grateful for my brothers and for ‘Lide.” He didn’t smile at his admission. In fact, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here at the dinner table.

Elide rested her head against Lorcan’s arm, smiling to herself. The appeal of their relationship was lost on Aelin. Lorcan seemed about as fun as running naked through thorn bushes or fighting a Ghost Leopard with only your bare hands.

“I’m grateful I twisted my ankle. I’ve never been glad to be clumsy until this year.”

There it was. Aelin had never actually asked Elide how she’d found Lorcan. Obviously, there were more details, but it seemed the angry man had a penchant for damsels in distress.

The table looked expectedly at her and Rowan, waiting for one of them to go. The food they’d plated was likely cold and the rolls were probably burning. It was worth it though, to hear all the sappy things that holidays brought to light.

“I’m fortunate to have irreplaceable friends and a proclivity for quality literature.” He didn’t bother to look at anyone else, his stormy green gaze focused on her. The conviction of his admission sent her heart skittering. A pink flush colored her cheeks, partly because it felt like he was stripping her bare and because there was an audience to his veil remark. The aforementioned line was growing finer by the minute.

Eager to redirect the focus of the table back to the task at hand, she didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m most grateful that I don’t have to sit alone at rock bottom. And for the grace you have all shown me as I try to find myself, again and again. Thank you for being the kindling that keeps my fire going.”

“Here, here,” cheered Fenrys loudly, his smile infectious. Aelin felt an answering one spread wide across her face. “Now let’s eat because there’s a whole lot of lights waiting for us.”

And eat they did; what started as a daunting amount of food, hardly seemed like it was going to be enough at the end. Aelin hadn’t kept company with men who could eat like that since her cousin and uncle. Every single one of them was fit, with hardly any body fat to their name, and likely their insatiable appetite stemmed from their active lifestyles. Dorian, for as high maintenance as he was, worked out several times a week. He blamed it on having an “image” to uphold.

Aelin was so uncomfortable, bloated like a fat tick, that she did not even have room to eat the chocolate hazelnut croissants sitting in front of her. Connall had found the recipe starred with a note declaring “Aelin’s favorite”. She’d probably have a good cry later after everyone left whilst eating one in the dark. Maybe if she was feeling terribly masochistic, she’d open the book, and run her fingers over the words written down. Would she feel the echoes of a mother’s love in the indented script? Would there be greasy fingerprints staining the pages? Would she hear the laughing chastisement of her dad as reminded her she had to wait for them to cool? What ghosts would creep in the dead of night?

“If I don’t walk around and digest this food, I’m simply going to perish right here.” Dorian was splayed out in his chair, looking pitiful, eyes pinched shut.

“Then get up. Your decomposing corpse will stain my floors.”

“Rude. You’d just let me rot right there?” he asked exasperated now staring at the floor.

Aelin shrugged, unabashed. “You’re too heavy for me to move.”

His eyes grew wide, hand flying to his chest in horror. “I know you did not just call me fat.”

“If you weren’t so vain, you wouldn’t have taken it like that.”

“That’s rich, the pot calling the kettle black.”

She laughed loudly, amusement sinking in. “I never said I wasn’t vain. Besides my dead body would be easier to move.”

“Again, with the fat jokes.”

“What cheerful Yulemas conversation: rotting bodies,” deadpanned Lorcan.

“You two are such children,” Lysandra observed. It sounded like she was trying to reprimand them, but the entertained look on her face said otherwise.

“He started it.”

“Aelin, stop,” Elide begged, dragging out the ‘p’ dramatically.

Huffing, she rolled her eyes, and closed her mouth, the rebuttal sadly dying on her tongue.

“Well, it’s almost midnight, so we better hurry through, so we can make it outside to plug the tree in when it’s officially midnight. Let the tour commence,” Elide sing-songed, clapping her hands together. One at a time, they filed out of the living room, through the kitchen, and into the living room. Both Fleetfoot and Eliot were asleep under the large Christmas tree that occupied one corner. The tree was decorated in only white ornaments, the clear lights slowly fading in and out, casting a warm glow throughout the room. It was so cliché, but perfect, nonetheless.

The exited the living room and made it back to the back stairs, the banister wrapped in frosted pine garlands with red bows. A small Christmas tree was nestled between the bathroom and closet doors. They followed Elide up the stairs, poking their heads in the decorated upstairs rooms, enjoying how each tree had its own theme.

Manon had decorated the front porch balcony, a beautiful tree in the middle, wreaths hung from the windows, and garlands with bright red, velvet bows decorated the columns. The downstairs porch carried the same décor, sans the tree. Both trees in the formal sitting room and piano room could be seen from the windows—perks of having 6ft windows in all the rooms.

They headed down the front set of stairs and took a moment to look closer at the trees in the sitting and piano room. The fireplaces were decorated with pine garlands with candied fruit slices strung along them instead of bows. It smelled liked mulled cider with a citrusy note. Aelin couldn’t have asked for a better group of friends. She knew that Elide had been the mastermind behind the decorations and today. After all, she’d really been the only one around to know how it used to be, to know how much care Evalin had put into the whole craft.

Her eyes burned with unsaid emotion. Today had been exactly what she had needed. These decorations, these friends, these new memories… they helped lessen the ache that had griped her heart mercilessly tight for almost a decade. Grief had been holding her head under water for so long, it was difficult to know how to come up for air.

Her ribcage expanded as she pulled in a deep breath and then exhaling, enjoying how it didn’t quite feel so heavy anymore to do so. “Thank you. It seems so paltry a gesture compared to this—,” she gestured to their surroundings, “but it’s the best way I know how right now.”

“Seeing your eyes light up has been all the thanks I needed. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you look like that,” Lys replied, slipping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She relaxed her head against her friend, enjoying the peaceful silence that had befallen them.

“Hate to ruin the moment, but its 11:58, and there’s a tree that needs lighting.” Thank the gods Connall was paying attention.

Hastily, they bounded out the front door, off the porch, and out into the yard. The unlit tree towered high into the night, the top barely visible. They stood together, merriment and anticipation freely flowing. The tree flickered to life with an audible buzzing sound. Aelin squinted, her eyes attempting to adjust to the bright radiance. Her and Rowan had done an amazing job. The ornaments were visible, some almost looking like they were lit themselves, the bulbs glowing against them.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed or even if it was. Truthfully, it felt like time was standing still—the moment felt infinite as they stood there, heads craned back, eyes wide with wonder. Yulemas, was a god’s birthday, but it was also a day of celebration and togetherness. A day for unbridled joy. An unspoken agreement with the universe that worries and troubles didn’t matter. No bad things could happen because just for one day, the gods hit pause on it all.

“Happy Yulemas.”

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Aelin was wrapped in her favorite blanket, sitting on the porch, still basking in the tree’s light. She had missed its presence more than she had known and now that it was up, the idea of leaving it to sleep, caused an ache in her chest. All of her friends, except one, had left hours ago. She didn’t know the exact time, but it late, the horizon staring to lighten just barely, signaling dawn wasn’t too far off.

It was supposed to snow, but the sky was clear, not a whisp of clouds in the sky. The air was heavy and still though, the smell of frost tickling her nose. Having a white Yulemas would be wonderous, especially with the house done up in spectacular fashion. It had been years since Orynth had been graced by snow on Lumas’ birthday.

“I have something for you.” His sleepy voice startled her. When she had last looked at him, he had been sleeping peacefully, Elliot curled into his side on the wooden bench.

Her gaze flicked over to him, noting that while she had been staring off, wishing for snow, he had sat up, folded his blanket, and pulled back his hair into a bun. She really needed to work on her observation skills, if only for self-preservation.

“It’s in the truck,” he said as he stood and extended a hand to her.

As content as she was wrapped up like a burrito, she uncurled herself, and slipped her hand into his. It was warm and calloused and much larger than her own. He didn’t let go even when she was to her feet and Aelin knew she should pull her hand back, but she didn’t. For just five minutes, it would be okay to pretend that there was nothing wrong with holding his hand. No lines were being blurred or crossed or ignored. He was just a guy and she was just a girl.

Elliot faithfully trotted behind them, stuck to Rowan like glue. Her own dog, had refused to come outside, choosing to lay in front of the fire. Fleetfoot was spoiled and it showed. They did say people often picked dogs like themselves.

Rowan opened the driver side door and dug around, only dropping her hand when he had to lean further across the bench seat. He stepped out of the door, allowing for Elliot to jump up into the truck—which caused her to deflate a little inside because it meant he was leaving. She wasn’t sure if she was dreading finally being alone or dreading him leaving.

He shut the door and leaned back against it. Holding is hand up between them, a small brown box with a gold bow sat on his open palm. When she didn’t immediately grab it, he stepped closer, their bodies almost touching. If she took even half a step, angled her head just so, their lips would be flush, and that was the only thing running through her brain.

When he spoke, his breath warmed her lips, “Are you going to open it, or do you have x-ray vision and haven’t told me?”

Embarrassment and shame coursed through her veins. Kissing him was the absolute last thing she should be contemplating. Her hand quickly relieved him of the package, and she took a step back, opening it. Reaching in, she hooked a green ribbon with her finger and pulled up.

Fleetfoot. A dog had been carved out of wood, collar, and everything, and stained to appear just like her own.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed quietly. A tear streaked down her right cheek.

Before she even registered him move, his hand was cupping her jaw, and he was swiping away the tear with his thumb. A small amount of pressure applied forced her to look at him. He stared intently at her, and she suddenly didn’t know how to breathe.

“I carved it from a piece of wood I cut that day you were at my house. I almost took my thumb off a few times. It was hard to get her just right.”

“It seems like it would be hard to whittle something with so much detail.”

Rowan opened his mouth a few times but said nothing. He seemed to be struggling internally with himself, his brow furrowing quite noticeably for it being so dark and hard to see features in any great detail. Frustrated with his silence, she huffed, “What?”

“When you told me about your Yulemas tradition earlier in your bedroom, I thought to myself how fortuitous it was that I had spent weeks on this thing for you. Out of all the things, I’d carved you something to be hung on a tree.” His hand slowly down her neck, his words barely above a whisper. The drag of his hot hand against her cooled flesh sent shivers down her spine, straight to core. Aelin’s self-control was fraying like a worn rope, soon too many fibers would break, and it would snap all together, ending with her doing something incredibly rash.

Sucking in a ragged breath, she dropped her gaze, and counted to ten, a pitiful attempt to ground her thoughts. His hand remained against her neck, the tip of his thumb grazing the straight plane of her jawbone. She wondered if he could feel her pulse racing or the flushed heat of her skin against his open palm.

“I love my gift, Ro. I’ll hang it on my tree when I go inside.”

He suddenly pulled her close without hesitation, the end of her promise muffled by his muscled chest. Pine and snow deliciously filled her nose she tucked her face in a little tighter. She could feel his hands playing with the tips of her hair and the unmistakable press of lips against the crown of her head.

“Happy Yulemas, Fireheart.”

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Tag list:

@lunadorned @theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @stardelia @astra-ad-mare

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shadowhandss60 · 2 years ago

Text

More Manorian smut to fill the void, I need some prompt ideas 💃🏽

“Deflecting; at least that hasn't changed." He mused.

"What do you want?" She punctuated each word with a step until they were a hands breath apart, she saw his broad shoulders tense, but he did not balk at the challenge.

"Your honesty."

She scoffed, furious with him, with herself for the treacherous way her body yearned for his closeness.

"Bold words from a silver-tongued king."

That wicked smile crept up his face, and it was a warning Manon refused to heed. “You‘ve seemed to enjoy my tongue plenty, if I recall.”

#manon blackbeak #throne of glass #dorian havilliard #manorian #smut and fluff #smut and angst #angst and fluff #throne of glass fanfiction #manorian fanfiction #dorian havilliard fanfiction #manon blackbeak fanfiction #hofas #house of flame and shadow #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn

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totaledbloom · 2 years ago

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#throne of glass #manon blackbeak #manon #manon x dorian #dorian havilliard #domestic fluff #fluff #healing #healing journey #children #wyverns #post book kingdom of ash

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moonlitstoriess · 1 month ago

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Heyy!! Could I request a Azriel x witch reader. Like Blackbeak clan (I’m reading the TOG series & loving Manon & the 13 rn) & maybe she’s like another spy or one of Amren’s friends from another world and he doesn’t trust her at first but she ends up helping the IC with koschei or something n he finds himself more interested in her

Touch Me and Bleed- Azriel x fem!witch reader (oneshot)

Summary: A Blackbeak witch, loyal to a distant queen and bound by blood and war, crosses into Prythian to hunt a death god. Azriel doesn’t trust her—but when shadows meet iron, loyalty and hatred blur into something far more dangerous.

A/N: This was a very exciting thing to write!! Thank you so much anon for requesting such an interesting idea. I hope you enjoy it🫶

Warnings: violence, blood, angst, some sprinkle of fluff? open ending (happy-ish?)

See masterlist

The rift pulsed against the quiet stone at the edge of Velaris, its shifting light painting faces with harsh, unnatural shadows. The Inner Circle stood close, watching.

Azriel arrived last, moving like a shadow melting into the crowd. His wings folded behind him, but the restless stir beneath his skin told a different story--unease, suspicion, something like anger.

Koschei had been creating more headaches for everyone in the past few weeks--his dark influence seeping into the mortal realms, twisting the dead into unholy servants and corrupting the very fabric of the Shadowlands. Villages near the border reported disappearances, strange creatures prowling at night, and whispers of a power growing beyond control. The Inner Circle knew time was running out. If Koschei wasn’t stopped soon, the entire realm would drown in his rising tide of death and chaos.

That is exactly why Amren had proposed to call in one of her "otherworldly strange" friends (Cassian's words). Of course, Rhysand and Feyre wouldn't allow anyone in without a proper briefing about them. Amren had insisted that there is no one better suited for this than her apparent friend, Y/N.

And Amren didn't shy away from giving all the essential informations about her to them.

Y/N Blackbeak. An Ironteeth witch--Azriel still couldn't understand how does one have sharp iron teeth and claws--part of the Blackbeak coven. Or was. Apparently, there used to be three different covens which were later on all united together with the Crochans under one queen. Manon Blackbeak. This great shift had happened during a huge war that they were all in.

Y/N is very loyal to her "sisters" and even more so to her queen. That part Azriel understood. Rhysand held his loyalty the same way: earned in blood, kept through sacrifice. But this witch didn’t come from their courts, their histories. She belonged to a different world entirely.

She was known for being one of the most ruthless among them. A hunter. A killer. Not gifted with elegant magic, but with precision, instinct, and a taste for blood. Her body was a weapon--iron teeth, iron nails, every strike calculated. Countless deaths were tied to her name, most of them earned in silence.

She had tracked monsters across war-torn mountains in her world. Killed gods, if the stories were true. But what made her dangerous now wasn’t myth--it was knowledge.

She had seen Koschei before. Fought things he made. Abominations born of rot and death-magic. And she’d survived. More than that--she remembered. She knew how he moved, how he hid pieces of himself. She knew the scent of his work. The feel of it in the earth, in the bodies he left behind.

“She doesn’t use shadows or spells,” Amren had told them. “She doesn’t need to. She finds things that don’t want to be found. And when she does, she ends them.”

After the death of "The Thirteen", she took the place of Asterin Blackbeak as the new second-in-command to queen Manon. Her "Wyvern" (whatever creature that is, Azriel still hasn't understood that part either) is the largest and most ruthless-just like her apparently.

"And what exactly happens when she walks in here? Do we just you know- greet her like a normal guest or-"

"Just because she is from another world and a witch, doesn't mean that she is an abnormal creature, Cassian." Amren hissed back, cutting off Cassians curiosity.

Azriel's head snapped back up, coming back to reality, his shadows whispering faintly at the edge of his senses like they’d felt something shift in the air. He narrowed his eyes toward the glowing rift, watching the edges throb and flicker--unsettled, like the veil between worlds was starting to tear.

"In any case, I believe she is very unique. I mean I know that your friends have all been quite unique but with the way you described this specific friend has me very interested. I mean, an ironteeth witch? drinks men's blood? wish I could do that sometimes. And I'm sure I'm not the only one excited, right Nesta?" Mor winked at the female beside her who only gave a small nod.

“She’s close,” Amren muttered, fingers moving in sharp, precise patterns as she worked the ancient sigils surrounding the portal. They pulsed faintly beneath her hand, reacting to her touch like blood answering a heartbeat. “The rift is thinning.”

“Great,” Cassian said, rolling his shoulders. “Because nothing says ‘safe and sane’ like summoning a death-witch with a wyvern from another dimension into Velaris.”

Feyre arched a brow. “You’re the one who wanted to spar with her, remember?”

Cassian threw her a grin. “I said I might spar with her. If she doesn’t bite.”

“She probably will,” Mor added brightly, brushing a curl over her shoulder. “Amren made her sound like a feral bat crossed with a blade.”

Amren didn’t look up. “She’s more refined than that.”

“Sure,” Rhysand drawled, his tone easy but his stance alert, shadows curled near his boots. “Refined in the way a storm is refined. Or a plague.”

“She’s not here to impress any of you,” Amren snapped, her eyes flicking briefly to Rhys. “She’s here because Koschei is getting smarter. Bolder. And she’s one of the only people who’s fought the things he leaves behind and walked away.”

Azriel said nothing, but his jaw tightened. That was the part that stuck with him—the walking away. He’d seen what Koschei’s creations did to people. The kind of twisted, broken things they left behind. You didn’t just walk away from that unless you were something worse.

Nesta finally spoke, quiet but firm. “And what happens if she’s not what you think she is?”

Amren didn’t flinch. “Then you kill her.”

A long silence settled after that.

Mor blinked. “Wow. Casual.”

Feyre stepped forward slightly. “Let’s assume she’s not a threat.”

“We don’t assume,” Azriel said, voice low. “We watch.”

Rhys nodded once in agreement. “The moment she steps through, we gauge her. Carefully. No grand welcomes.”

“She won’t expect one,” Amren said, almost amused. “She hates this kind of thing. Told me once that ‘warm greetings are for weak hearts.’”

Cassian whistled. “What a ray of sunshine.”

Azriel tuned them out after that. The voices blurred at the edges as his attention zeroed back in on the portal. It was changing now--deepening, folding in on itself, the color shifting from silver to blood-red, then back again. Whatever lay on the other side was moving closer.

His shadows recoiled. Not from fear--no, they didn’t fear. But they recognized what was coming through. A presence that wasn’t born of this realm. A presence used to war and silence and blood.

Azriel’s hand hovered near the hilt of his dagger.

And then--

The rift pulsed once, hard.

The air thinned.

The ground vibrated.

And something stepped through.

The pulse echoed like a drumbeat in Azriel’s bones.

The portal split open with a hiss--no thunder, no blaze of magic. Just a tearing sound, like skin peeling from flesh. The air went sharp with the scent of iron.

And then she stepped through.

Boots first. Blood-crusted, weather-worn. A slow, deliberate step. Then another.

Her leathers were torn at the seams in places, dark with dried blood and soot. Her iron nails caught the lamplight--glinting like small, wicked blades. Her eyes were pale gold, colder than ice, older than winter, and her mouth--Gods, those teeth--flashed in a quiet sneer as she looked them all over.

Behind her, the creature emerged.

Azriel had seen many beasts in his life. He’d fought through battlefields soaked in gore. But the thing that slithered half-formed from the fading rift, a massive wyvern, its wings frayed at the edges, claws curled into the stone, was not a beast. It was a weapon. A dying one, perhaps, flickering and insubstantial in this realm, but no less terrifying.

It let out a low, guttural noise--like a growl, like grief--and folded its wings as it took position at her back.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Then Y/N Blackbeak tilted her head, eyeing the group like she was picking which one she’d kill first if she had to.

Her voice, when it came, was rough like gravel. “This is Velaris?”

Cassian blinked. “I was expecting more screaming.”

“I’m disappointed too,” she said flatly.

Mor let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief. “Charming.”

Rhysand stepped forward, calm but cautious. “You must be Y/N.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

Rhys inclined his head. “High Lord of the Night Court.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to Feyre, then to Amren. The only one she seemed to acknowledge was Amren, who gave her the faintest nod.

Azriel watched her every movement. The way she stood--not like a diplomat, not like a soldier. Like a predator. Relaxed but alert. Ready to rip out a throat if needed.

He didn’t trust her. Not even a little.

But damn if he didn’t believe the stories.

“So,” she said after a beat, iron nails glinting as she flexed her fingers. “Which one of you is going to point me to Koschei’s rot?”

Azriel’s voice was out before he thought to stop it. Cold. Controlled.

“That depends. Are you here to help… or hunt?”

Y/N turned to face him fully for the first time.

And smiled.

There was no warmth in it. Only teeth.

“Why not both?”

Rhysand’s expression didn’t shift, but Feyre stepped closer, the edge in her voice barely masked.

“And what exactly do you want in return for this help?”

Y/N’s head tilted slightly, as if she were listening for something only she could hear. Her wyvern gave a low growl in response--its translucent shape pulsing faintly behind her like it barely existed in this realm at all.

“I want nothing,” Y/N said, voice flat. “No gold. No favor. No alliance.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you here?”

“I owe a debt,” she replied, finally looking away from Rhysand to glance at Amren. “To her. She saved my life once. This repays it.”

A beat passed.

Cassian’s brow shot up. “Wait--what?” He looked between them. “When the hell did that happen?”

Amren didn’t even glance his way. She waved a small, dismissive hand like swatting a fly. “None of your business, brute.”

The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable. Even Mor’s smile had vanished.

Azriel’s shadows stirred at his shoulders, quiet but tense. He didn’t take his eyes off Y/N, not because he thought she would strike, but because he could tell she could. Her posture hadn’t changed, but her presence filled the entire courtyard like a second sky pressing down on them.

Nesta, beside him, said nothing either. But when he glanced her way-

It startled him.

Not fear in her eyes. Not suspicion.

Admiration.

A subtle tilt to her chin. A slight parting of her lips. The faintest crease in her brow like something about the witch had unraveled a knot she hadn’t realized she carried.

Azriel had never seen Nesta look at anyone like that- not even Feyre. Not even Cassian.

It pulled at something in his chest, something he refused to name.

Then Amren stepped forward.

“As I told you, Rhys,” she said, casually brushing nonexistent dust off her tunic, “I would never bring someone here I didn’t trust.”

She gave the High Lord a pointed look.

“Well- actually, she only trusts me,” Amren added with a sharp smile. “And I trust her. Which should be enough.”

Rhysand exhaled slowly. He gave her a long, unreadable look. Then a single nod. Barely perceptible, but permission all the same.

That was when Feyre cleared her throat, wrapping her arms around herself like the temperature had dropped a few degrees. “Right,” she said, voice brisk, steady. “Let’s go in, shall we?”

Y/N said nothing. She didn’t smile. Didn’t thank them.

She just turned toward the House.

And the wyvern followed.

The doors to the House of Wind shut behind them with a soft thud, the sound echoing through the wide, vaulted chamber. It was quiet in a way only high places could be: thick with power, history, and something more fragile beneath.

Y/N walked with the same quiet dominance she’d arrived with. She didn’t gawk at the vaulted ceilings or the glowing lights that flickered overhead. She didn’t ask questions or offer comments. Her wyvern trailed a few steps behind, its form wavering, too large for the space and too ghostly to care.

Rhysand led the way, flanked by Feyre. Neither said a word as they entered the informal war room, but every step radiated the tension of two rulers trying not to snap the moment a guest said the wrong thing.

Cassian leaned against the long table in the center, trying too hard to look casual. Mor took her usual seat, legs crossed, eyes glittering with a mix of curiosity and calculation. Nesta moved silently to a shadowed corner, where she could observe everything without being in the middle of it.

Azriel didn’t sit. He remained standing, hands behind his back, shadows curling faintly around his boots. Watching.

Y/N didn’t sit either.

She stood at the far end of the room, her back straight, eyes scanning the windows like she was mapping exit routes.

Feyre spoke first. “Amren says you’ve seen Koschei’s work. What exactly did you encounter?”

Y/N’s response came without hesitation. “Plague-spirits. Hollowed corpses. Men turned inside out, walking on bones they didn’t grow with. Magic that smells like rot and sounds like begging.”

Mor blinked. “Sounds delightful.”

Y/N ignored her. “It was worse near rivers. He favors places that border things—life and death, land and water, flesh and memory. Thresholds.”

“That lines up with what we’ve seen,” Rhys said, glancing at Feyre, then back at Y/N. “And you’re sure what you saw is the same as what’s happening here?”

“I know his scent,” Y/N said simply. “You don’t forget that kind of rot.”

The room went quiet again.

“Why didn’t you kill him in your world?” Azriel asked, voice low.

She turned her head toward him. Not hostile. Not cold. Just… empty. Like the question was too simple for the weight it carried.

“Because he left before I could. Slipped through one of the last cracks between our worlds. I followed him.” A pause. “Eventually.”

“So this is a hunt,” Rhysand said, folding his arms.

Y/N didn’t answer. Just glanced at Amren.

Amren, lounging in her chair like none of this mattered in the slightest, rolled her eyes. “She’s not here for revenge or power plays, Rhys. I already told you.”

“Yes,” Rhys said quietly, “but it’s different hearing it from her.”

Y/N’s lip curled. “I am not your subject. I do not kneel to your throne.”

Feyre bristled, but Rhysand just nodded once. “Good. Then we’ll speak plainly.”

Azriel watched the exchange unfold in silence, but every word pressed at him like a blade against skin. He didn’t like her tone. Didn’t like her indifference. But something about it, the calm detachment, the bluntness, it rang true. She wasn’t playing them. If anything, she was already halfway out the door.

Nesta leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, eyes still fixed on Y/N. “You don’t care what happens to this world.”

“No,” Y/N said. “But I care what happens to Amren. And if she’s staying in this realm, then it’s in my interest to make sure it doesn’t turn into Koschei’s personal graveyard.”

Cassian let out a soft breath. “She saved your life?”

Y/N’s head tilted slightly. “She pulled me out of a god’s mouth. You don’t forget that.”

Cassian blinked. “Holy- wait, an actual god’s-”

“None of your business,” Amren said, sharp as a blade. Her expression didn’t waver. “Let it go.”

Silence again.

Azriel’s gaze drifted--not to the witch, but to Nesta.

There was that same look in her eyes. Admiration, yes--but also a flicker of something like recognition. Like she’d found something of herself reflected in the Ironteeth woman standing so calmly across the room.

Nesta didn’t mask it. Her jaw was tight, but her eyes were clear. Like she'd been waiting for someone to say the things Y/N had just said and mean them.

It unsettled him.

Not because he didn’t understand it.

Because he did.

Then Amren rose, smoothing down her tunic with a quick flick of her hand. “As I said, Rhysand,” she said, her voice taking on that ageless, steel-edged quality that still made the room hold its breath, “I wouldn’t bring someone into this court if I didn’t trust her.”

She turned to face him fully. “Well- she doesn’t trust any of you. Only me. But the sentiment stands.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Feyre cleared her throat, glancing at Rhys before offering the smallest of smiles. “Right. Well then… let’s go in, shall we?”

That was when Y/N finally stepped forward, calm and deliberate. She didn’t wait to be offered a seat- just took one, dragging the chair slightly apart from the others as if claiming neutral ground. From her small, worn satchel, she pulled out a thickly folded map. She spread it across the table in one sharp motion, weighing the corners down with nothing but her iron-cool presence.

It was a detailed map of Prythian, far more detailed than any Azriel had expected. But what caught everyone's eye weren’t the borders or mountains- they were the markings. Circles in black ink. Crossed-out towns. Arrows pointing to rivers, forests, patches of nothingness. Strange notations in a language none of them recognized.

"Amren was kind enough to have this sent to Erilea, my world, a few days prior so that I could get a good analysis and idea of what world I'm dealing with. I prefer to know what kind of battlefield I’m stepping onto before I start bleeding.”

Cassian let out a soft grunt that might’ve been impressed. Feyre leaned forward, brows drawn tight.

But before anyone could speak, Y/N turned her head and looked directly at Azriel--unflinching, sharp-eyed. Then, without a word, she raised both hands, slow and deliberate. The iron claws that had glinted moments before shimmered once, then retracted beneath her skin, leaving behind plain, clean nails.

She held his gaze as her jaw shifted with a soft click. When she parted her lips again, the iron teeth were gone, no fangs, no metal gleam. Just the unnerving stillness of a predator who had momentarily sheathed her weapons.

A show of restraint. Or a warning.

Azriel wasn’t sure which.

But it silenced the edge in him just a little. Not harmless. Never that. But perhaps… something else. Something controlled. His shadows recoiled and settled, just barely.

Then her voice cut through the quiet.

“I’m not staying long,” Y/N said. “Manon expects me to be back within forty-eight hours by our time. That translates to approximately three days here, give or take the way time bends between realms. Though I would say Erilea and Prythian are quite close. Hence the short time difference."

“You’re really just here to leave again?” Feyre asked, a mix of surprise and wariness.

“I’m not a diplomat. I don’t do tea and chatter. I was sent to deal with Koschei, nothing more.”

Azriel hated it, how direct she was. Hated how something in him respected it, too. No games. No fawning. Just teeth and strategy.

Rhysand finally spoke, his voice low. “And what have you learned about his movements so far?”

Y/N leaned over the map, tapping one of the circles in the north. “Koschei doesn’t spread like war. He spreads like sickness. Slow. Precise. Rotting the foundation of whatever he touches until it crumbles from within.”

She moved her finger down the map. “He doesn’t take cities. He takes people. A village falls quiet, and by the time you notice it’s gone, the surrounding land is already turning.”

She pointed to a forest near the border. “This was your first disappearance, yes? And this-” she tapped an area far west, “is where your scouts found bones that didn’t match any native species.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed. How the hell did she know that?

Cassian stepped forward now, tone sharpening. “So. What’s the plan?”

Y/N straightened. “The plan is to split into three teams. Exactly two per group. Koschei moves through mirrors-reflections, still water, glass--and he splits his attention. We need to do the same. Three fronts, three targets, three strikes.”

She looked around the room. “I’m leaving it to you to decide who goes with whom. I’m unfamiliar with your strengths, your tempers, and your… alliances.” Her eyes flicked to Mor, then Azriel, then Nesta.

“I assume your rulers,” she added, glancing at Feyre and Rhys, “will remain here to maintain court stability.”

Feyre opened her mouth to protest, but Rhys lifted a hand. “She’s right.”

Feyre scowled but said nothing more.

Y/N rolled the map to a smaller region now, tapping three points in a triangle. “These are the weak spots. I believe he’s testing them—probes, leaks, trying to open small rifts. We need to hit all three before he gets a foothold.”

“The groups will need a balance of flight, magic, and brute strength,” she continued. “One to track. One to strike. One to watch the shadows.”

Azriel felt her eyes flick briefly to him at the last one, but she didn’t linger.

Nesta, still watching from the edge of the room, finally spoke. “He’s drawing people in with promises, isn’t he? Not just killing--corrupting. Offering them something they want.”

Y/N’s expression shifted for the first time. Almost… approving.

“Exactly,” she said, tapping once on the table. “That’s how he breaks them. Promises them their lost lovers, their children, their second chances.”

She turned her head and pointed across the table. “Honestly, I’m starting to really like her.”

Nesta didn’t respond. But her mouth twitched.

And Azriel—

Well. He’d never admit it aloud. But he didn’t hate the sound of that either.

Then Mor clapped her hands together, breaking the moment. “Right, then. Who goes with whom?”

Cassian clapped his hands as well, eyes flicking around the room like he already knew how this would go. “Alright, we’ll need to be quick about this. I say we move at first light tomorrow.”

Amren snorted. “First light. Of course.”

Cassian leaned in, arms crossed over the table. “I’ll go with Nesta.” His tone left no room for argument. Nesta didn’t flinch. Didn’t smirk or roll her eyes. She only nodded, sharp and sure.

“Mor and I will take the eastern flank,” Amren said, like the matter had been settled long before anyone else had opened their mouths. Mor raised a brow but didn’t argue. She merely winked and added, “You’re lucky I like danger.”

That left Azriel.

And her.

Y/N was still standing beside the table, gaze down on the map, not watching the others as much as sensing them. When her head lifted, her eyes met Azriel’s again--dark, quiet, measuring.

Rhys glanced at them both, something unreadable in his face. “That leaves Azriel and Y/N.”

Of course it does, Azriel thought.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

Cassian’s brow twitched. “You two gonna be alright playing nice together?”

Y/N turned slightly, her arms folding across her chest. “I don’t need nice. I need effective.”

Azriel’s voice came quiet, colder than he meant. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

He saw it, barely, but it was there. A flicker of amusement behind her gaze. As if something about his retort pleased her.

She looked back down to the map. “Our target is here,” she said, pointing to the most remote of the three points: deep forest bordering one of the lesser-traveled mountain ranges.

Azriel knew it well. Dark, damp, prone to heavy fog and worse things hiding in it.

Perfect.

She tapped the ink with a clawless finger. “This was the first place I smelled his work. It’s old, but still warm. We’ll go there first.”

“And if he’s already moved?” Feyre asked.

“Then we follow the rot.” Her words were flat. Practical.

There was silence for a beat too long. Then Rhys nodded once. “We move at dawn. You all have until then to prepare.”

The meeting broke apart slowly. Chairs scraping, boots scuffing against stone. Azriel lingered at the edge, eyes still on the map. He could feel her beside him-- still, quiet, like the eye of a storm waiting to shift.

Nesta passed him as she left, but she paused only long enough to glance once back at Y/N.

Admiration. Clear and open. Azriel had seen Nesta sneer, seen her freeze people out with a look, but this was the first time he’d seen her… intrigued. Her mouth pulled into something faint. Respect, maybe.

And for some godsdamned reason, that unsettled him more than anything else.

Y/N spoke softly, without turning. “You don’t trust me.”

Azriel didn’t respond. Not right away. His shadows flickered, tense and restless.

“I don’t need you to,” she added, “but if we’re walking into something that’s already watching, I’d prefer we don’t bite at each other’s heels.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I don’t trust easily.”

“Neither do I.” She finally looked at him again. “But I’ll watch your back, Shadowsinger. You don’t have to like it, but it’s true.”

Azriel studied her, his jaw tight. Everything about her was sharp. Edged. But something about her steadiness, her refusal to flinch or flatter, scraped against the part of him that recognized survival.

Maybe not trust.

But understanding.

“I’ll see you at dawn,” he said finally, and walked away.

Behind him, he thought he heard her say, quiet as a whisper, “Try not to be late.”

Velaris didn’t seem quite as bad as she’d expected.

When Amren had mentioned it was part of the Night Court, Y/N had pictured something darker. Bleaker. A city crawling with shadows and dripping with pompous fae magic. But now, as the sun began to bleed gold into the sky and the breeze carried the scent of sea salt and distant pine, she found herself… tolerating it.

Maybe even liking it. A little.

She stood on the narrow stone balcony just outside the guest chambers they’d given her, already dressed for the road, boots laced tight, leathers snug. She hadn’t slept, not that she needed to. Her arms were folded as she leaned against the railing, fingers tapping absently with normal, unarmed nails. Below, Velaris still slumbered, lanterns casting soft glows across misted rooftops, the city slow to wake.

Above, circling sluggishly against the pale sky, her wyvern drifted in lazy, slow arcs.

“Firkhan,” she murmured.

He didn’t respond, not with words. He never had. But his shadow passed overhead, his translucent wings shimmering like heat waves, a ghost of the beast he’d once been. In this world, he was weaker—his body flickering at the edges like smoke caught in wind. The magic here resisted him. Or maybe he simply didn't belong.

None of us do, she thought.

Firkhan let out a low, rumbling screech that had no business sounding so mournful.

Y/N exhaled through her nose, eyes scanning the horizon.

It had been a long time since she’d stood still like this.

The war back in Erilea had carved her open and left iron in the cracks. She could still hear the shrieks of the Valg, the clash of blades against darkened armor, the hiss of Maeve’s shadows as they crumbled under fire. She remembered standing beside her sisters—her real sisters—when the skies rained blood. She remembered the silence after.

The silence that came when the Thirteen fell.

She hadn't asked for Asterin’s place. She hadn’t even wanted it. But Manon had given it to her anyway. Just looked her in the eye one night after the dust settled and said, “It’s yours now.”

And that had been that.

Manon never needed to explain herself. Y/N had only bowed once and borne the weight ever since. And she’d worn it like armor.

It was Amren who had broken that stillness.

A letter. Sealed in blood and old magic, slipped through the rift by means Y/N hadn’t asked about. The words had been few. No begging. No threats. Just a reminder:

"You owe me."

She did. Amren had pulled her from the mouth of a god...literally. Not during the war, but long before it, in the ruins of a temple swallowed by something old and hungry. Not out of kindness, but out of something older. Something sharp and mutual. They’d looked at each other across a pool of blood and ancient bones and understood one another without speaking a word.

They were both creatures carved from hard places, bound more by debt than affection. But it had been enough. Still was.

So when the next message came—a name she recognized, a darkness she thought she’d buried—she didn’t hesitate.

Koschei.

Of all the cursed gods and rotting immortals, he was the one that lingered. The one she hadn’t finished.

Manon hadn’t argued when she asked to go. Just stared at her for a long time before saying, “Two days. Then you return.”

Two days, Y/N repeated silently.

Firkhan screeched again, drawing her attention skyward.

And then—

A voice behind her. Rough, quiet, unmistakable:

“You’re up early.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn immediately. She didn’t need to. That voice was etched into her mind now--low and razor-edged, like something dragged over stone. Y/N slowly turned her head, casting a sideways glance to where he stood just outside the balcony doors.

Azriel.

The infamous spymaster of the Night Court. Cloaked in shadow even when he wasn’t calling on them, quiet as death, and about as warm. She’d done her research, of course. Amren hadn’t sent her in blind, Y/N had asked for details. Files. Observations. Whatever the Night Court had been willing to share, she’d devoured it.

And Azriel… was the one she’d paid the most attention to.

Not because she feared him, but because she understood him.

He moved like someone who had once been caged. Who still wore the scent of blood under his leathers, even if the rest of them had grown soft on peace and pretty skies.

She met his eyes now, unbothered. “We’re supposed to be out in twenty minutes. I assumed punctuality was something your court still valued.”

His lip twitched, maybe irritation, maybe amusement. “It is. I wasn’t expecting you to be ready before sunrise.”

She turned her head back toward the view. “I didn’t sleep.”

He stepped forward, coming to stand beside her. A brief moment of silence passed as they both watched the wyvern circling above.

“That’s… your wyvern?” Azriel asked eventually, nodding toward the faint shimmer in the sky.

“Firkhan,” she said simply.

He waited, clearly expecting more.

“He’s not meant for this world,” she added after a beat. “Too much fae magic in the air. Too much softness. It's like trying to keep a blade sharp in a pool of silk.”

Azriel’s brow ticked up at that, faint amusement flickering in his gaze. “We don’t have creatures like him in this realm.”

“I know,” she said. “Closest you’ve got are the Illyrians and the Peregryns in the Dawn Court.”

That earned her a sharper look. He leaned his forearms on the balcony railing, the shadows around him twitching slightly in what might have been surprise.

“You’ve done your research,” he said.

Y/N smiled. Tight, without humor. “Wouldn’t you, if you were walking into a court of fae strangers with enough power to burn cities?”

His silence was answer enough.

She let her gaze drift toward him for a moment longer before adding, “And besides, if I’m going to kill alongside someone, I prefer to know whether they’ll be useful or deadweight.”

Azriel’s mouth twitched again, but he said nothing.

Not yet.

A scream shattered the morning quiet.

Both their heads snapped down toward the street below, just in time to see Cassian scrambling backward behind a thoroughly unamused Nesta. The General was pointing toward the cobblestones in front of the townhouse where a very large, very real wyvern had landed, folding its shimmering wings with calculated menace. Firkhan’s golden eyes locked on Cassian like he was a meal. Or a nuisance.

Possibly both.

Y/N let out a small, rare smirk. “Looks like someone found breakfast.”

And with that, she pushed off the balcony railing and strode back inside, her steps light but unhurried. Azriel followed silently, a shadow at her heels.

They had a war to plan.

By the time they stepped outside, the others had gathered in the courtyard, surrounding the wyvern with varying degrees of wariness and awe.

“He's massive,” Mor said, eyes wide, chin tilted up as she took in the full wingspan. “Like, bigger than a Illyrian war-drake. And shinier. What do you feed him?”

“Illyrians,” Y/N replied without missing a beat.

Cassian let out a scandalized noise. “I knew it.”

“He’s joking,” Feyre added with a half-smile, though it sounded more like a question than a reassurance.

“Am I?” Y/N murmured.

Rhysand’s gaze slid over Firkhan with an assessing sharpness. “He looks like he’s holding together better than I expected, considering the dimensional rift.”

“He’s managing,” Y/N said. “Barely. It’s a miracle he survived the crossing.”

“He’s... beautiful,” Feyre offered, still watching Firkhan as if she was trying to sketch him in her head.

Nesta, standing closer now, spoke softly. “Can I pet him?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want to pet a wyvern?”

Nesta shrugged. “He hasn’t eaten anyone yet.”

From the side, Amren clicked her tongue. “He still might.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh and nodded. “Be my guest. He likes boldness.”

Nesta stepped closer, hand extended, slow but sure. Firkhan lowered his massive head, sniffing her fingers, his breath warm and metallic. For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then—he nudged her hand gently.

“He’s called Firkhan,” Y/N said, watching closely. “He’s been with me since before the final war in my world. Saved my life more times than I can count.”

Nesta’s hand moved along the wyvern’s scaled snout. “He’s… calmer than I thought.”

“He likes you,” Y/N replied, surprised at the truth in her own words. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve got steel in you. Rage. Will. Maybe even a little magic that doesn’t play by the rules of this world.”

Nesta’s eyes flicked to hers. “Magic, huh?”

Y/N gave a small smirk. “You seem like you have a little witch within you too, Nesta Archeron.”

Nesta gave a dry laugh. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing someone’s called me.”

A low, possessive sound cut through the moment.

Cassian stepped between them, gently but deliberately, inserting himself between Nesta and Firkhan...and Y/N by extension. “That’s enough fun for the morning,” he muttered, not quite glaring.

Y/N merely raised her brows. “Protective, aren’t you?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Cassian, I’m fine.”

“You say that now. Wait until he decides you look like lunch.”

Firkhan let out a chuff of breath, clearly unimpressed.

Y/N chuckled and stepped back. “He’s already chosen. You’re the one who keeps acting like prey.”

Before Cassian could reply, Rhysand clapped his hands, voice cutting through the morning fog. “Final checks. If you’re flying, make sure you’re not forgetting anything. Azriel, you’ve got maps. Cassian, try not to start another screaming match with a creature three times your size.”

“Ha ha,” Cassian muttered.

As everyone scattered to gather gear and double-check weapons, Y/N tilted her head toward Nesta. “Come,” she said, gesturing for her to walk alongside Firkhan. “I want to show him someone who isn’t terrified of their own power.”

They moved in silence for a few paces, Nesta still stroking the wyvern’s jaw, until Y/N added quietly, “There’s strength in softness too, you know.”

Nesta’s hand stilled. “You sound like Feyre.”

“I sound like someone who’s lost too many sisters,” Y/N replied. “Hold tight to the ones still breathing.”

Nesta didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

A breath later, Cassian was back, looming beside them with his hand brushing Nesta’s elbow. “We ready?” he asked.

Y/N gave him a slow nod. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”

With one last look at Firkhan, she turned on her heel and strode toward Azriel, who stood waiting with a folded map in his hand and that unreadable expression in his eyes.

Let the hunt begin.

Y/N snatched the map from Azriel’s hand before he could so much as blink.

A collective pause rippled through the group at the sharp sound of paper being pulled taut. She didn’t bother looking at him. Her voice rang out, clear, cutting through the morning air like a blade.

“Now, listen up.”

The conversation and casual banter died instantly. Even Firkhan, coiled on the rooftop like a silent, glimmering sentinel, went still.

They all gathered closer around her. Illyrians, High Fae, and the strange quiet creature that was Amren. Y/N didn’t care what court they were from. What power they wielded. She only cared that they listened.

“As I said,” she continued, spreading the map across the stone garden table with a sweep of her hand, “we’re splitting into three groups of two. Each one will target a different pressure point. Koschei doesn’t leave openings. But like all things that rot, he seeps.”

She tapped her claw-not iron yet, but sharp nonetheless-against the eastern coastline of Prythian.

“Amren. Mor. You’re headed to the tidal cliffs along the Sidra’s curve. We believe one of Koschei’s old mirror-anchors lies buried there, used to siphon spirit energy from the ocean’s pull. If we’re right, breaking it will sever a part of his reach.”

Amren gave a faint smile. “I’ve always liked smashing mirrors.”

Mor only smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s just hope it’s not cursed.”

Y/N ignored them, turning to the next mark: near the border of the human lands, deep in the ruins of an old battlefield.

“Cassian. Nesta. You’re heading to the Forgotten Vale. The blood magic he’s been using, it’s rooted there. That place remembers the dead. There’s something in the soil Koschei is feeding from. You’ll need to burn it clean.”

Nesta’s chin dipped in acknowledgment. Cassian gave a grunt that could have been agreement or displeasure, likely both.

Y/N circled her finger over a third spot, one nearly forgotten in the dense wilds west of Velaris.

“And Azriel and I will be heading into the Wildmere. There's an old forest there, twisted by his influence. His shadows have grown bolder, breeding in the dark. If he’s hiding his heart, the core of his power, it’ll be there. Azriel can track what others miss. I’ll know when we’re close.”

She looked up at last, scanning their faces.

“No one is to speak of this beyond this moment. Koschei has ears in the cracks of reality. This plan doesn’t get whispered about. Not even to your mates.”

Rhysand’s mouth twitched at that. Feyre, wisely, said nothing.

“Any objections?”

There was a beat of silence. Cassian opened his mouth.

Y/N didn’t even look up. Her voice was cold and firm. “No arguments.”

Cassian blinked, about to protest. “I wasn’t even- ”

“No.”

Cassian shut his mouth. Mor snorted. Azriel might’ve smiled, but if he did, it was gone in an instant.

Y/N rolled the map closed with a snap and tucked it back into her satchel.

“Well then,” she said, straightening. “Now that that’s settled- ”

Her eyes gleamed. The wind stirred behind her, brushing her hair back from her face.

“Let’s go kill a god, shall we?”

“Have you ever killed a god before?”

Azriel’s voice broke the morning silence as they walked toward the far side of the garden. Y/N didn’t look at him. Instead, her nails tapped lightly against her thigh, a small, knowing smirk playing at her lips.

“Why? Are you scared?” she asked without turning.

He chuckled softly, a dry edge to his words. “You act like that’s something you do every day.”

She sighed, the weight of a grim past settling in her tone. “No, I haven’t. But an ally of ours did. She killed every god in our universe. She’s now a queen, and they call her the Godskiller.”

Azriel’s guarded expression shifted as curiosity sparked in his eyes. “A queen called Godskiller? That’s not a title you hear every day.”

Y/N met his gaze steadily. “She earned it.”

They reached the clearing where the rift shimmered faintly. Azriel’s eyes dropped to Firkhan, the wyvern pacing with a restless grace.

“Is this thing coming with us too?” he asked, nodding toward the great creature.

Y/N corrected him smoothly. “His name is Firkhan. And yes, he’s coming. I don’t trust your High Lord and Lady one bit. Besides, Firkhan’s senses and ability to circle high above will give us an edge. He can smell death and rot, things even your shadows might miss.”

Azriel considered her words and nodded. “Fair enough.”

Y/N softened her voice and gave a quiet command. “Firkhan, come closer.”

The wyvern’s immense form swooped down beside her, shimmering faintly--still somewhat translucent in this realm.

Azriel glanced back at the pulsing rift. “Ready?”

She nodded once. Azriel inhaled deeply, the familiar shadowy mist beginning to gather around them. With a swift motion, he winnowed them away, the world blurring and folding as shadows swallowed their forms—carrying them instantly to the other side.

The world reassembled around them in fragments of shadow and cold.

Azriel’s boots hit soft earth, damp with rot. A canopy of gnarled, twisted trees loomed above, their blackened branches clawing at the morning sky. The air here felt… wrong. Thicker. Alive, almost buzzing faintly beneath his skin.

This was Wildmere. Or what it had become.

He scanned the surrounding glade, one hand instinctively brushing the hilt of Truth-Teller. The shadows slithered closer to his heels, nervous.

Beside him, Y/N landed with feline ease, already surveying the tree line. Her iron boots didn’t make a sound on the mossy ground.

"Charming," Azriel muttered.

“Better than what I imagined,” she replied flatly, adjusting a strap across her chest that held her curved blade. “I thought it'd reek more.”

“It will,” he said, eyes narrowing on the shifting darkness between the trees. “Give it time.”

A beat of silence. A low, reverberating thrum drifted through the earth like a pulse.

“Let’s move,” Azriel said, stepping forward.

“Wait.”

He turned just enough to glance back at her.

Y/N lifted her chin toward the sky. Then she murmured a string of guttural syllables, words Azriel couldn’t place. Not ancient Fae. Not anything he’d heard before.

High above, a shadow detached from the clouds.

Firkhan.

The wyvern gave a low shriek, answering her call, before rising higher and disappearing into the canopy overhead: circling, watching.

Azriel arched a brow. “That an Ironteeth spell?”

She smirked faintly, brushing past him. “Just a language. One your kind never bothered to learn.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “What’d you tell him?”

“To hunt. To scream if anything smells like rot or fear.”

Azriel fell into step beside her. “And what do we do in the meantime?”

She glanced sideways, expression unreadable. “We walk into a haunted forest ruled by a half-dead god, of course.”

He huffed a soft laugh, surprised by it.

They moved forward, deeper into the Wildmere. And above them, Firkhan circled silently, a predator beneath the rising sun.

They walked in silence for nearly an hour.

The deeper they moved into the forest, the more the light changed. It wasn’t just the thick canopy blocking out the sun, it was the shadows themselves. They clung to bark and roots like oil. And even the wind sounded… wrong. Too soft. Too deliberate. As if the forest was listening.

Azriel had tracked monsters before. He knew the scent of darkness, of unnatural magic. But here, in Wildmere, everything reeked of rot and memory. Of something old, curdled with patience.

Beside him, Y/N didn’t speak. She moved like she belonged here, her steps precise but unhurried, hand never far from the hilt of her blade. Her wyvern, though mostly out of sight, cried out occasionally above the trees--long, distant shrieks that echoed like warnings.

He cast her a glance. “You’ve been quiet.”

Her gaze didn’t shift. “You’ve been brooding.”

Azriel let out a quiet huff. “That’s just my face.”

That earned him the ghost of a smirk. Barely.

He tilted his head. “You don’t seem bothered by this place.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she said simply, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

“Than a forest poisoned by a death god?”

“Have you ever walked through a battlefield of broken gods and still-breathing corpses?” she asked, voice low. “This is peaceful compared to that.”

Azriel didn’t respond. Mostly because he didn’t doubt her. And partly because the way she said it didn’t sound like a boast. Just fact.

Still--he couldn’t help it.

“Why did Manon send you?” he asked quietly. “Not that I’m doubting your skill. But you don’t strike me as someone who gets sent. You strike me as someone who chooses.”

She slowed, just slightly, and he almost regretted the question.

“She didn’t send me,” Y/N said after a moment. “Amren called in a debt. Manon allowed it.”

Azriel studied her profile, the way her jaw tensed when she spoke Amren’s name. “You don’t like being in anyone’s debt.”

“No,” she said. “And I repay them quickly.”

Another cry from above. Firkhan, a low snarl this time--long and deliberate.

Both of them stopped.

Azriel’s shadows rose instantly, curling around his shoulders like smoke. His siphons flared with silent readiness. Beside him, Y/N’s hand had already gone to her weapon.

“East,” she said softly. “Something’s moving.”

He listened. There--just beyond the curve of a withered tree, something shuffled through the underbrush.

Azriel didn’t draw Truth-Teller. Not yet.

Instead, he turned toward her. “You ready?”

Y/N’s eyes glittered. “You tell me, Spymaster. Have you ever killed a god before?”

Azriel allowed a slow smile. “Not yet.”

They moved together, soundless and sharp. Into the dark.

And Wildmere waited.

Azriel's senses were on high alert as they ventured deeper into the Wildmere. The air grew heavier, thick with an unnatural stillness that made every step feel deliberate. The trees, twisted and gnarled, seemed to lean in closer, their bark slick with a strange, iridescent sheen.

"Do you feel that?" Y/N's voice broke the silence, low and cautious.

Azriel nodded, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade. "Something's not right."

Without warning, the ground beneath their feet trembled. Azriel's shadows recoiled, sensing the disturbance before he could fully comprehend it. The trees around them began to shift, their trunks bending unnaturally, roots uprooting and twisting in the air like serpents.

"Stay close," Azriel ordered, his voice firm.

But Y/N was already moving, her eyes scanning the shifting landscape. "It's the forest," she said, her tone a mix of awe and wariness. "Koschei's magic is warping it."

Azriel watched as the forest seemed to breathe, the trees pulsating with an eerie rhythm. The air grew colder, and a low hum resonated from deep within the ground.

"We need to find the source," Azriel said, determination setting in.

Y/N nodded, her expression hardening. "Agreed. But we must tread carefully. This place is alive with his influence."

They moved cautiously, the forest around them shifting and changing with every step. The path ahead was unclear, obscured by the ever-changing landscape. Azriel's shadows flickered nervously, reacting to the unnatural magic permeating the air.

As they pressed forward, the trees began to close in, their branches intertwining above, blocking out the light. The air grew thick with a palpable sense of dread.

"We're close," Y/N murmured, her eyes narrowing as she scanned their surroundings.

Azriel felt it too--a presence, ancient and malevolent, watching them from the depths of the forest. He tightened his grip on his blade, ready for whatever lay ahead.

But for now, they could only move forward, deeper into the heart of Wildmere, where Koschei's magic twisted reality itself.

"The deeper we will go, the worse it will get."

Azriel didn't look at her as he led the way, shadows curling around him like arrows, ready to be sent out whenever he commands them to. "How do you know that?"

Y/N only followed him, shifting her clean nails for iron ones "It seems like you know nothing about this place, Shadowsinger, the Wildmere was not always like this. It’s not just forest--it’s memory. What you see here? Twisted bark, blackened moss, silence that’s too loud? This place remembers what it used to be. And Koschei is feeding on that pain."

Azriel’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look back, but his steps slowed slightly. "Memories don’t kill people."

"They do, when a god gives them teeth," she murmured. "You’ll see soon enough. This entire forest is a grieving thing. You walk long enough, it’ll show you what it’s lost. What you’ve lost. Then it’ll ask for a price."

Azriel didn’t respond at first. Shadows slithered along his shoulders, shifting uneasily at her words. But after a pause, he finally said, "And what did it show you?"

Y/N gave a low chuckle--hollow and without humor. "Nothing yet. But it will. The forest always finds a way in."

They walked in silence after that, the mist growing thicker around them, the trees leaning in just slightly more than they had a moment before.

Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath their feet, and a low, mournful wail echoed through the forest. Azriel's shadows recoiled, sensing the disturbance before he could fully comprehend it. Y/N's hand instinctively went to her blade, her posture alert.

From the depths of the forest, a figure emerged: a massive, spectral stag, its form translucent and shimmering with an ethereal glow. Its antlers were adorned with chains of sorrowful faces, each one contorted in silent screams. The creature's eyes, hollow and endless, locked onto them.

Y/N's voice was a whisper, barely audible. "The Forest's Grief."

Azriel's gaze remained fixed on the apparition. "What is it?"

"A manifestation of the Wildmere's sorrow," she replied. "A guardian of lost souls. It feeds on despair and regret."

The stag took a step forward, and the ground beneath them seemed to pulse with each movement. The air grew colder, and the wailing intensified, as if the very forest was mourning.

"We can't kill it," Y/N said, her voice steady despite the growing dread. "We must offer it something, an acknowledgment of its pain."

Azriel's mind raced. What could they offer a creature born of sorrow? What could appease a being that thrived on despair?

The White Stag’s antlers cracked the air like thunder, pure magic slamming into the ground at their feet. Azriel flew back with the force of it, wings snapping wide to steady himself before he hit a gnarled tree trunk. The bark hissed where the Stag’s power had touched it, blackened, rotting.

Y/N stood her ground.

Not because she was unmoved.

Because she was thinking.

Its eyes burned with a light too ancient to belong to this world. Azriel’s shadows shrieked in his head, tangled around his arms and throat like they were trying to drag him away from it. From her.

“It wants something,” he growled, stepping forward, siphons flaring.

Y/N’s iron nails gleamed as she bared her teeth. “No shit.”

Another blast surged toward them. Azriel dove in front of her on instinct, shield raised from his siphons, but the magic slipped through, not touching flesh, but memories. His knees buckled.

A flash, his training pit. Then Elain, eyes wide with something unreadable. Then the Blood Rite, Rhys’s body limp in a river of red.

Gone.

Azriel gasped.

“Azriel.” Y/N grabbed his arm, grounding him. “It’s not attacking the body, it’s taking.”

He staggered upright. “Taking what?”

“Weight. Pain. Regret.” She turned toward the beast, blade now in hand, her iron claws retracted. Not her nails, her steel, that curved obsidian blade she'd claimed from the barrows of her world. “It doesn’t want blood. It wants burden.”

The Stag’s eyes flicked to her, then him. Waiting.

Azriel’s heart pounded. “So give it something.”

“I don’t- ” She hesitated. For a breath. “It’s not a trade. It’s a toll. It wants what we carry.”

Azriel clenched his fists. “I’m not offering it my damn memories.”

Y/N stepped forward, still not lifting her sword. “What if we offer it something false?”

“It’ll know.”

The White Stag stomped once. The ground split open just behind them, roots writhing like serpents. A scream tore from the soil, as if the forest itself was in pain.

“You’re right,” she hissed, glancing back. “We can’t outsmart it.”

The air changed then. Sharp. Electric. The stag charged.

Azriel lunged forward, wings snapping out. “Move!”

But Y/N didn’t run. She pivoted, blade slicing the air, not toward the creature, but downward, across her own palm.

Blood met steel.

Magic pulsed, raw and bright.

“Old gods don’t want lies,” she snarled. “They want truth.”

She threw the blood at its hooves.

The White Stag froze, the spray hitting the ground in front of it, blood soaking the roots. The earth went still.

Azriel stared.

The stag lowered its head.

And stepped aside.

Breathing hard, Y/N turned to him. “We have ten seconds. Run.”

They did.

The woods twisted behind them, the stag’s magic lashing at their heels like wind made of bones. Branches grabbed, thorns sliced, shadows pulled at them, but they made it through.

By the time they stumbled out of the cursed clearing, sweat-slicked and gasping, Azriel’s siphons were flickering low.

Y/N collapsed to one knee, gripping her still-bleeding palm.

Azriel dropped beside her, eyes scanning her face. “You alright?”

She exhaled a slow breath. “That thing fed on grief. If I had offered it any more, I wouldn’t have walked out.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter. Protective. Watchful.

“Next time,” he said, voice quiet, “warn me when a mythical forest god might try to eat my soul.”

Y/N’s laugh was hoarse. But real.

“No promises, Shadowsinger.”

Then, as if just realising what he was seeing, Azriel looked at her palm in surprise, "You have blue blood? How- how is that possible?"

Y/N glanced at her palm, still glowing faintly under the streak of cobalt. She arched a brow.

“I don’t know, Spymaster. Maybe because I’m secretly made of frost and moonlight. Or perhaps it’s just a fashion statement in my world.”

Azriel didn’t so much as blink at the sarcasm.

She sighed and flexed her fingers, watching the blood thicken, already beginning to seal. “I’m an Ironteeth witch. We all bleed blue. Has something to do with how we were made. Something ancient. Unnatural, some say.”

He looked vaguely unsettled by that. His eyes dipped again to the wound--only to find the blood already drying, the torn skin knitting back together.

“That was… fast,” he muttered. “My wounds take at least two days to heal. Even with my shadows.”

She scoffed, rising to her feet. “Maybe that’s because I’m not a Fae.”

Behind her, she heard the sound of his wings folding in as he followed, close but never too close. “You got something wrong, at last,” Azriel said, his voice lighter than before. “I’m not a Fae. I’m an Illyrian.”

That gave her pause. She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in her periphery. “Is there a difference?”

He shrugged. “Illyrians are winged warriors. Fae in general aren’t born with wings. Or this,” he added, tapping a siphon. “We’re something... rougher. Less polished.”

Y/N kept walking but filed that away.

Why he was explaining it to her, she didn’t know. Why she cared to listen, she knew even less.

But the forest was growing darker around them. The trees closer together, their roots rising like gnarled veins through the soil. Firkhan circled above, a pale, faint shape against the thickening clouds.

She could still feel the residue of the stag’s magic trailing behind them, something old and heavy pressing against her spine like a ghost they hadn’t fully outrun.

“We’ll need to stop soon,” she muttered. “Even I can’t see what’s waiting in that dark.”

Azriel merely nodded, his shadows already fanning out ahead of them like scouts.

And still...still, Y/N found herself glancing at him again. At the siphons, the wings, the strange shadows that whispered things she couldn’t understand.

Not Fae. Not human. Not like anything she’d ever known.

Maybe she wasn’t the only weapon born in the dark.

They had found a small clearing, the air thick with the scent of moss and damp earth. The trees here were spaced just enough to allow a semblance of comfort. Y/N dropped her pack, her senses still alert, scanning the surroundings.

"Seems as good a place as any," she muttered, settling down and beginning to unpack.

Azriel nodded, his gaze lingering on the shadows between the trees. "Stay vigilant."

Just as they began to relax, the ground beneath them trembled. A low, guttural growl resonated from the depths of the forest. Before they could react, the earth split open before them, revealing a massive, serpentine creature with scales that shimmered like obsidian.

Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and its maw dripped with venomous saliva. The creature hissed, its tongue flicking out, tasting the air.

Y/N stood, her expression hardening. "An Ironfang Basilisk," she said, her voice steady. "Rare, territorial, and deadly."

Azriel's wings twitched, ready for combat. "Can we fight it?"

Y/N shook her head. "Not unless you want to end up petrified. We need to outwit it."

The basilisk advanced, its massive body coiling and uncoiling with terrifying speed. Y/N's hand went to her belt, drawing her obsidian blade. "Get ready," she whispered.

Azriel's shadows flared, forming a protective barrier around them. "On your mark."

With a swift motion, Y/N hurled a handful of enchanted dust into the air, creating a blinding flash. The basilisk recoiled, momentarily disoriented. Seizing the opportunity, Azriel winnowed behind the creature, striking at its exposed flank.

The basilisk howled in pain, thrashing wildly. Y/N darted forward, her blade flashing as she targeted the creature's eyes. Another strike, and the basilisk let out a deafening screech, its body convulsing before it collapsed, lifeless.

Breathing heavily, Y/N wiped the blood from her blade. "That was too close."

Azriel nodded, his expression grim. "We can't afford to be caught off guard again."

They gathered their belongings, moving deeper into the Wildmere, aware that more dangers lurked in the shadows.

The forest pressed in around them, thick and suffocating, but the small clearing they found was enough to catch their breath--for now. Y/N didn’t dare let them linger longer than thirty minutes. The Wildmere was too dangerous, too unpredictable.

Azriel kept his senses sharp, shadows coiling around him like watchful serpents. He glanced at her as she settled against a gnarled tree root, clearly still on edge despite the brief reprieve.

“Firkhan,” she murmured.

Azriel’s head snapped upward, just as a flicker of movement slipped through the dense branches above. Then, like a ghost wreathed in moonlight, the wyvern descended--Firkhan’s translucent scales shimmering faintly in the dim light, his nearly invisible form momentarily solidifying. His golden eyes caught the glimmers of shadow and leaf, glowing softly.

Y/N leaned against him, her voice low and certain. “Firkhan says he’s sensed something… great. Something close. It’s why we’re here—the heart.”

Azriel watched the creature with quiet awe, the way it moved so effortlessly between worlds, half-seen, half-spirit. He wondered what this beast actually looks like back in his world. His gaze shifted back to Y/N, and something about the way she steadied herself in this hostile place made him respect her even more.

They sat in a tense silence for a few moments before Azriel’s curiosity overcame the quiet.

“So,” he started carefully, “how did you come to know so much about this place? This ‘heart’ we’re searching for?”

Y/N’s eyes flickered with faint amusement. “Let’s just say I’ve had more than my share of dark forests and shadows. I’m sort of a spymaster too, born into war and betrayal. I come from a world where the gods are dead, and their shadows still haunt the earth.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed. “Your world... it’s different from ours.”

She nodded slowly, eyes distant as if recalling a lifetime in a single glance. “Very different. It’s a place where gods once ruled openly, but they were all killed--we have Aelin to thank for that.”

Azriel had no idea who this Aelin was but from the sound of it, she seemed to be quite the powerhouse.

Y/N then looked back at him. "Koschei has been slowly but surely infecting our world too and even though I had fought some of his creations, now I see how much more of a great threat he is in your world."

Azriel nodded his head, then, a question struck his mind. "You said Amren had saved you from a god's mouth. How and when did that happen? How do you even know Amren?"

Y/N smiled. Not a cold or cruel smile, but a real, nostalgic smile as she replied "Yes. It was a very long time ago and honestly, I would rather not speak of it. As for Amren, well, she doesn't just know me. She knows my sisters and my queen, Manon too. It's why Manon even allowed me to come here in the first place, because she trusts her and knew that if Amren calls, it's a serious issue because there is nothing Amren can't handle."

Azriel smirked slightly as his eyes drifted to Firkhan, watching the giant beast lay its enormous wing over Y/N. He hesitated, then found himself sharing a piece of his own story, the weight of his loyalty pressing on his chest. “My High Lord, Rhysand--he’s more than just a ruler to me as well. He’s fierce, loyal, relentless. We’ve fought wars, endured betrayals. He’s the reason I fight… why I keep moving forward.”

Y/N gave a small, approving nod, as if recognizing a familiar kind of pain. “Loyalty’s a rare currency in my world too. Trust is harder to earn than blood. Manon’s trust is the only thing keeping me grounded, reminding me there’s more than just survival.”

The forest around them seemed to close in, the shadows thickening as the conversation took a more personal turn. Their voices dropped lower, sharing fragments of childhoods marked by loss, hardship, and resilience.

“I grew up among shadows,” Y/N said softly, “raised to be a weapon, a spy. Not for glory, but to survive. It’s a hard life, but it teaches you to see what others miss.”

Azriel nodded, feeling the weight of those words. “I was born to serve in the shadows too. But my shadows aren’t just weapons—they’re pieces of me. I use them to protect, to hunt. Rhysand gave me purpose beyond the darkness.”

She tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “And what about your world? Prythian… it’s beautiful, but scarred. What keeps you fighting, if not loyalty?”

Azriel considered that. “Hope. For a future where the shadows don’t own us. Where people can live without fear. Rhysand believes in that future. I do too.”

Y/N smiled faintly, a rare softness crossing her features. “Hope is a dangerous thing. But maybe it’s what keeps the strongest alive.”

Azriel caught the subtle change in her expression--something almost like longing, buried beneath years of hard edges.

But then, Y/N chuckled slowly, "No wonder I knew the Night court would be the most troubled the moment I received the map from Amren."

Azriel raised an eyebrow. "And did you look into the other courts?"

"Of course I did. What kind of an idiot would go into a foreign world without researching everything from there? Personally, I would love to visit the Summer court for a much needed vacation but obviously that won't be happening so..." Y/N sighed rolling her eyes "It hurts my ego to says this but, I am slightly jealous of your world for having these nice courts. Even though I bet they are all posh and pampered."

Azriel couldn't hide his smile as he replied, "Well, if you do ever come back, just make sure to stay far from Autumn. You don't want to mess with them."

Y/N raised a challenging eyebrow. "Oh? and why is that?"

Azriel’s lips twitched into a small smirk. “They’re… complicated. The Autumn Court has its own rules and its own kind of darkness. Subtle, but dangerous. Like a web that traps the unwary.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Sounds like my kind of place.”

He studied her for a moment, intrigued by how easily she adapted, how she seemed to carry the weight of two worlds without breaking. “You make it sound like you belong everywhere and nowhere at once.”

She met his gaze steadily. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m just a survivor.”

They fell into a thoughtful silence, the sounds of the forest pressing in around them--shadows shifting, leaves whispering in the faint breeze.

Azriel finally broke the quiet, “So, what exactly are we looking for in this heart of Koschei’s power? What does it even look like?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. Something ancient. Something that pulses with his corruption. Maybe a source of his influence. Destroying it might weaken him... or maybe even kill him. Honestly? I have never killed a god before either so this is a first for me too."

Then, she shook her head, sighing in frustration. "I should have asked Aelin for some tips, how on earth does one even kill a god?"

Azriel leaned forward, very intrigued. "Who is Aelin exactly? is she that Godskiller queen you mentioned last night?"

Y/N looked at him and just nodded, seemingly not trusting him at all to give any important information.

Fair enough. Azriel has been doing the same anyway.

The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths and fragile understanding. But Y/N was quick to break the spell.

“Enough,” she said abruptly, rising to her feet, voice firm. Firkhan, as if already knowing his job, snuggled to Y/N one last time before flying back up.

Azriel watched her for a beat longer, curiosity sparking anew. She was more than the witch he thought he’d met. Something about her unsettled and intrigued him in equal measure.

He stood, shadows coiling like eager serpents around his fingers. “Ready?”

She nodded, determination flickering in her eyes. Together, they moved deeper into the Wildmere, stepping quietly into the thickening dark.

The trees grew stranger the deeper they walked—twisting into near-impossible shapes, branches bending down like fingers to scrape at their shoulders. The air turned dense, humming like a living thing. Firkhan circled silently above, his massive form barely visible except when moonlight slipped across the translucent shimmer of his wings.

Y/N felt it before she saw it.

A shift in the world’s breath. A stillness too complete. Even the shadows underfoot recoiled, Azriel’s included.

“Something’s wrong,” she murmured.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter. “You feel it too?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, her steps slowed as they entered a clearing.

At first, it looked… harmless. A meadow nestled between craggy hills, dotted with faintly glowing mushrooms and blanketed in tall, silver-bladed grass. Too quiet. Too still.

Then-

A mirror rose from the ground.

Seven feet tall. No frame. No stand. Just a hovering pane of glimmering glass, and the faint shimmer of a thousand reflections dancing across its surface, not theirs. Strangers. Dead things. Nightmares.

Azriel stepped slightly in front of her. “Is that…?”

But Y/N had already stopped. Her jaw set.

“The Mirror of Maw,” she said flatly.

“You know what it is?”

“It’s not from your world. Or mine. It was pulled through a rift, I think. I’ve only seen a drawing. They say it shows your deepest fear… and then tries to break you with it.”

Azriel’s wings shifted. “Break you how?”

As if in answer, the glass rippled, and his mother’s face appeared, beaten and bloodied. Behind her, two Illyrian boys, children, chained to stone.

Azriel staggered back a step, inhaling sharply.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She knew it was coming.

Then the glass turned again, this time to her.

Not Manon. Not Asterin. Not even the Valg.

Her reflection turned into her own face—wild-eyed, monstrous, fully shifted. Alone. Blood-soaked. Surrounded by the fallen bodies of her coven. Her sisters. Manon. All dead. By her hand.

She blinked.

Azriel hissed, “We need to destroy it.”

“No,” she said immediately. “If we do, it’ll shatter outward. The shards will reflect us infinitely and... trap us.”

He turned his head sharply. “Then what?”

“We have to walk past it.”

Azriel stared. “Seriously?”

Y/N shifted her nails into long, gleaming iron claws. “Don’t look into it. Not directly. Don’t let it know you’re afraid.”

Azriel’s wings flexed, his face pale. “It already knows.”

“Then pretend.” She took a step forward.

The ground beneath them twisted, pulling them in different directions. Illusions bloomed, not just in the mirror, but in the air, hovering projections of past sins and private nightmares. The air sang with the sound of screams not their own.

Azriel clenched his jaw and followed, shadows thick around him, muttering, “What kind of god builds things like this?”

“The kind that never wanted to die,” she whispered.

They moved forward. Step by step.

Each footfall brought a new vision. Azriel gritted his teeth against a sight of his brothers drowning in tar. Y/N fought against a phantom image of Manon turning her back on her.

But then-

The mirror lashed out.

Not with glass, but with reflection. It warped into a massive beast of pure light and shadow, built from every fear it had shown them. It struck like a viper.

Y/N lunged with a snarl, dodging the strike and raking iron claws across its neck. The illusion beast didn’t bleed. It cracked like glass, shrieked like a violin.

Azriel shouted her name, his shadows tangled with the form, but they passed through.

“Don’t fight it like a warrior,” Y/N shouted. “Fight it like it’s a lie.”

Azriel paused, narrowed his eyes, then did the unthinkable.

He closed them.

And drove his knife into his own thigh.

The pain was real. Grounding.

The creature paused.

Y/N followed his lead, slicing her palm with her iron claws, letting the blue blood spill onto the grass. Her breath steadied.

“We are real,” she growled. “You’re not.”

The mirror-beast began to shake.

Then, it shattered in a silent implosion, collapsing into a pool of starlight, then into nothing at all.

Y/N and Azriel stood in the silence, panting, bleeding.

She smirked faintly. “Creative. I’ll give the bastard that.”

Azriel wiped his blade, glancing down at her hand. “Blue blood again.”

She raised a brow. “And you didn’t faint this time.”

He gave a breathless chuckle. “Progress.”

But they both knew, the forest was watching.

And the next trial was already waiting.

By the time the next challenge came, they were ready for it.

After the Mirror of Maw, neither Y/N nor Azriel had let their guard down again. Every step through Wildmere became a calculated risk. They learned quickly that brute strength wouldn’t be enough. This place demanded wit, patience, and endurance.

One moment, they found themselves navigating a river that whispered their greatest regrets in voices not their own—a siren-like hallucination that tried to lure them beneath its surface with promises of absolution. Another time, they were stalked by phantom duplicates of themselves, twisted versions that mirrored every move seconds before they made it—forcing them to fight with instinct instead of thought.

Once, they even found themselves in a grove where time reversed for everything but them—fruit rotting and unrotting on the branch, rain falling upward, Firkhan caught in a loop above them until Y/N used a sliver of her iron blade to slash the air and break the loop’s hold.

But none of it was enough to bring them closer to the heart.

They’d pushed through challenge after challenge, but the twisted forest still swallowed the path ahead in shadows. And worse—Firkhan hadn’t smelled anything yet. No pulse of dark magic, no sulfur, no blood-thick scent of Koschei.

The wyvern had descended three times, enormous wings stirring the trees like thunder. Each time, he’d only blinked those golden eyes and shook his head once before vanishing back into the sky, invisible against the dark clouds.

And now—

“I’m way past the time Manon had assigned for me.”

Y/N’s voice came low, clipped, frustration curling in every syllable as she leaned against Firkhan’s warm side. The wyvern lay curled in a hollow of moss and stone, his translucent wings tucked close to his body like an exhausted sentinel. His presence was the only steady thing left in the wild.

Azriel stood a few feet away, checking the perimeter, his shadows flicking with agitation.

“She’ll understand,” he said eventually.

Y/N scoffed. “You don’t know her.”

“No,” he said, turning slightly. “But I know what it’s like to feel like you’re failing someone who trusted you.”

That shut her up. For a breath.

Then- “We’re going in circles, Azriel. This place, this whole cursed forest, is playing with us.”

His jaw clenched. “And we keep playing back. That’s the job.”

“Is it?” She pushed off Firkhan’s side, iron nails catching the moonlight. “Because I didn’t come here to get toyed with by a dead god’s leavings. I came here to destroy something.”

“So did I,” he said, voice sharp now. “But stomping around like you’re going to slice your way through a thousand-year-old maze of magic isn’t going to get us there any faster.”

She met his stare. “What would you rather I do? Sit here and braid flowers into Firkhan’s mane while we wait for Koschei to start breathing down your High Lord’s neck?”

His wings flared slightly behind him. “I’m saying you’re not the only one who wants to end this.”

They stood like that for a moment—breathing hard, not from exertion, but from restraint.

Y/N turned away first. Ran a hand through her hair. “I just... I don’t fail. I can’t afford to.”

Azriel’s voice came softer. “You think I can?”

She looked at him then. Really looked.

His face wasn’t unreadable this time. The tension in his jaw. The shadows pulled close to his shoulders like a shield. He was just as tired. Just as haunted.

A long silence passed between them.

Then, Y/N sighed, letting her claws retract.

She leaned back against Firkhan, whose massive head nudged her gently, a low rumble of reassurance vibrating through the stone beneath them.

Azriel sat down beside her a moment later, silent.

Neither of them spoke again for a long while.

Only the forest did--breathing, pulsing, watching. Waiting.

And somewhere beyond it all… the heart still beat.

Waiting to be found.

Y/N turned her head to him. "You seem frustrated."

Azriel sighed letting out an angry growl "I have been trying to reach Rhysands mind, to talk to him, talk to anyone at this point, but it hasn't been working and I don't understand why."

Y/N looked straight ahead. "It won't work, so don't tire yourself out."

Azriel looked at her in confusion. "And why is that?"

Y/N didn't look at him at first. She simply leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as the low hum of Firkhan’s breathing rumbled behind them like distant thunder.

Then she said, voice level, “Because Wildmere was designed to be a prison. Not just for creatures or for gods, but for anything that might try to enter or leave without permission. Communication magic, winnowing, tracking, it all dies here. Gets eaten by the forest.”

Azriel stared at her. “You knew?”

She gave a small shrug, iron nails lightly tracing the ridges of her palm. “I suspected. The way the air feels… it’s thicker. Charged. Whatever magic was used to curse this place is ancient and primal. Older than either of our worlds can probably remember.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that earlier?”

Now she looked at him, her gaze flat and unapologetic. “What would you have done? Turned back? Panicked? Told Rhys to call it off?” A pause. “We’ve made it this far. Would knowing you couldn’t call home have changed how you fought through the last three trials?”

Azriel opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Because no,it wouldn’t have. Not really.

“I’ve survived in places where even thoughts aren’t safe,” she continued. “You adapt. You stop relying on help that isn’t coming. You move forward.”

A beat of silence.

“You really don’t trust anyone, do you?” he said, not accusing,just observing.

Y/N gave a soft huff that might’ve been a laugh. “Trust is expensive. I spend it rarely.”

Azriel looked away, shadows curling tighter around him as if shielding him from something unsaid.

Firkhan snorted, shifting beside them, his massive head lowering into the moss.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” she added after a moment, more quietly. “I just didn’t see the point of wasting breath on something neither of us can change.”

Azriel finally nodded, slow and grim. “Then I won’t waste breath on it either.”

They both sat in silence again, the moment heavier now, not angry, just worn. Both aware of how alone they truly were in this cursed, forsaken place.

Finally, Y/N murmured, almost to herself, “If he really buried his heart here… then he meant for no one to ever leave with it.”

Azriel’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “Then we’ll make him regret underestimating us.”

Y/N’s smirk was faint, but there. “Damn right, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel didn't know where this came from but it seemed like his mouth didn't listen to his brain as he blurted out "Do you have a mate?"

Y/N looked at him, wide-eyed, and then bursted out laughing.

Azriel was confused. "What?"

Still chuckling, Y/N looked at him once more. "We are witches. We don't have any mates."

Now it was Azriel whose eyes widened. "What- I mean...how? Doesn't everyone have a mate?"

Firkhan’s head lifted slightly, golden eyes glinting in the dark. He let out a low rumble that raised the hair on their arms.

Y/N stood, brushing moss from her trousers. “Enough talk. Time’s up.”

So she didn't like this one. Maybe this was too intimate of a matter for her. Or maybe she thought he didn't need to know this information.

Azriel didn't push, he rose beside her. “Let’s move.”

And once again, the forest swallowed them whole.

Suddenly, Y/N stopped and turned around to look at Azriel, eyes wide, as if she just realized something.

Azriel's brow lifted in suspicion. "What?"

Y/N, opened her mouth, eyes lost somewhere else as if she wasn't even talking to him.

Suddenly, Y/N stopped mid-step and spun around to face Azriel, her eyes wide, too wide. Not with fear, but realization.

Azriel’s brows furrowed, instantly alert. “What?”

But Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her gaze wasn’t even focused on him. It was distant, like she wasn’t seeing the twisted forest around them but something deeper, some hidden truth unfurling at last.

Her lips parted, and when she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “We’re being played.”

Azriel blinked. “What do you mean?”

She began pacing in a small circle, muttering mostly to herself. “We’ve been moving through challenge after challenge: endless, brutal. And they haven’t lessened. Not once. If anything, they’ve become more unpredictable. More desperate. But what if…”

Azriel stepped closer, shadows crawling silently across the ground. “Y/N.”

She looked up sharply, something wild and sharp behind her eyes. “What if the heart isn’t a place?”

Azriel stared at her. “Explain.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, gathering her thoughts, the pieces slotting together. “Koschei’s power is rooted in rot, decay, illusions. We assumed the heart was hidden deep within the Wildmere, that all this--the challenges, the madness--was just a wall we had to break through. But what if that’s the lie?”

Azriel tilted his head. “You think the heart is… everywhere?”

“No,” she said slowly, her voice gaining certainty, “I think the heart is within the challenges. Part of them. A piece hidden in every test, every horror we’ve faced. It’s like we’ve been walking through pieces of his soul.”

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, processing. “That’s why it’s been getting stronger, more chaotic. We’ve been stepping closer each time, not geographically, but… spiritually.”

“Exactly.” Y/N looked around at the ancient trees, the corrupted mist, the way the earth pulsed subtly beneath them. “This forest, it is him. It listens. It watches. We’re not searching for a location. We’re awakening it.”

Azriel let that settle for a moment. “Then what do we do next?”

She turned in a slow circle, iron nails flexing. “We speak directly to it.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “Koschei?”

Y/N smirked darkly. “Oh, he’s listening. Has been from the start. I say… we stop playing by his rules.”

Then she raised her voice, sharp and clear, her tone cutting through the forest like a blade:

“I know what you are. And I’m done dancing for you.”

Azriel’s grin was slow, dark, and full of promise. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

From the trees above, a low vibration answered--something old and furious, stirred at last.

And as if Koschei had been waiting for this realization all along, the scenery shifted, pulling Y/N and Azriel into somewhere else entirely.

The forest screamed.

Not with sound,but with movement. The trees began to shift.

Azriel had seen countless battles, had faced terrors that would break the spine of any ordinary warrior,but nothing had prepared him for this. For the way the earth itself groaned beneath their boots, how roots curled like skeletal fingers to drag them under, how the sky had turned a deep, bruised violet above their heads.

They had found the heart.

Or… it had found them.

Firkhan roared from above, his massive body circling violently in the sky, wings slicing through the thickening clouds. The wyvern’s translucent body was flickering between visible and invisible, the magic in the air distorting even him.

Azriel’s shadows lashed out, trying to scout ahead, but they shrieked back into him,blinded, confused.

Y/N stood beside him, her eyes blazing silver. Her iron claws were already out, gleaming. “It’s here,” she breathed. “He knows.”

And then-

The forest exploded.

Not with fire. Not with weapons. But with bodies. They came from the trees. Not beasts, not soldiers. Specters. Hollow things made of bark and blood, faces frozen in silent screams. They didn’t speak. They didn’t breathe. They simply lunged.

Azriel met the first with a flash of his blades, shadows curling up around his arms like a second skin. He fought silently, efficiently, but even he felt the press of chaos. Every time one was cut down, another took its place. They didn’t bleed. They didn’t die easily.

Beside him, Y/N fought like a creature out of myth. Her claws shredded through the phantoms, her movements fast, brutal. And when one got too close, she snapped with her iron teeth, tearing through bark like it was wet paper. But for each one she felled, more came.

"This is endless!" Azriel snarled, kicking a phantom back into a tree, only for it to melt into mist and reform again.

“They’re not meant to be beaten,” Y/N hissed, spinning and driving her claws into one of the specters. “They’re meant to wear us down.”

A blast of dark magic burst from a tree’s core ahead. The bark cracked and peeled back, revealing the heart. Not a heart of flesh—but a pulsing core of black and gold light. It glowed like molten metal, rhythmically beating in the trunk of a tree that stretched impossibly high.

Y/N’s eyes locked onto it. “That’s it.”

But then, the air grew cold. So cold, even Azriel’s Illyrian blood shuddered.

Koschei.

His presence slid over them like a serpent winding around a neck. He didn’t appear physically--just a voice, low and ancient, curling through the trees.

“You are too late. The forest is mine.”

Y/N staggered, clutching her temple as his voice clawed through her mind. Azriel grabbed her, pulling her behind him with one arm while shadows leapt to shield them.

“I’ve got you,” he growled.

“No,” she rasped, pushing away from him, blood now dripping from her nose. “We need to end it. Now.”

She stumbled forward,right into the path of one of the phantoms. It slammed its twisted arm across her ribs and threw her into a tree.

“Y/N!”

Azriel moved before he could think, slicing through two specters and diving toward her. She was curled at the base of the tree, blood blooming from her side, gasping through clenched teeth.

He dropped to his knees beside her, shadows wrapping around them both. “Don’t move. Don’t- ”

“It’s cracked,” she hissed. “My ribs- ”

Azriel didn’t let her finish. His hands pressed to her sides, shadows curling protectively. “Stay down. I’ll hold them off.”

“You don’t have time- ” she gasped.

But Azriel had already stood, wings flaring wide, blades glowing with shadows that roared to life.

The sky above them split, Firkhan descending like death on wings.

And still, the heart pulsed.

Still, Koschei whispered.

Still, the battle raged.

And somewhere in that madness, Azriel made a promise, not aloud, but in the marrow of his bones.

She would not fall here.

Not in his watch. Not in Koschei’s cursed forest.

Not when he had anything left to give.

Azriel’s wings unfurled fully, casting long, looming shadows over the shattered ground beneath them. Firkhan roared above, his distorted, flickering form cutting through the bruised sky like a living thunderstorm. The phantoms surged closer, an endless tide of twisted bark and blood, their silent screams a chorus of despair.

Azriel’s blades sang through the air, shadows coiling like serpents with every strike. He moved with lethal grace, a dark storm in human form, but even he knew brute force alone wouldn’t shatter this nightmare. The heart, pulsing with molten black and gold, throbbed in the center of the ancient tree, a beacon and a curse. It wasn’t just power, it was the very soul of Koschei’s corruption.

Y/N’s breaths came shallow and ragged at his side, blood darkening her iron claws and the forest floor beneath her. Azriel’s sharp gaze flickered between her and the heart, determination hardening his jaw. I have to end this. For both of us.

The specters pressed in tighter, relentless as the dark tide. Azriel’s shadows whipped out, forming a swirling barrier that absorbed phantom claws and bark-like shards, buying precious seconds. He knelt beside Y/N briefly, fingers brushing her cheek with a tenderness that belied the fury in his eyes.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, voice steady but fierce. “I’ll end this. I promise.”

She managed a weak nod, her silver eyes flashing once more with that fierce, untamed light. You always do, they seemed to say.

Azriel surged to his feet, wings beating the heavy, cursed air. He pushed forward, moving as close to the heart as he dared, the twisted bark of the tree pulsing beneath his fingertips. The core radiated an unbearable heat, not warmth, but something corrosive, devouring from within.

Koschei’s voice slithered through the trees again, low and venomous, “Foolish shadow. You think you can grasp what is eternal? What I have bound in blood and bone?”

Azriel ignored the whispers, focusing every fiber of his being on the heart. He reached deep into the shadow realm, calling to the ancient power of his bloodline, the shadows that were more than darkness, but living essence, sharp as blades and deep as night.

With a roar that shook the forest, Azriel’s blades ignited in spectral shadows, glowing with a fierce light that cut through the murk and decay. He struck the heart, first once, then twice, each blow sending waves of black and gold rippling outward.

The forest screamed in agony.

The phantoms faltered, howling in silent rage as their source was wounded. But the heart fought back, tendrils of shadow and rot lashing out, trying to bind Azriel in eternal darkness.

He faltered for a moment, pain biting deep as the corruption tried to seep into his soul. But Azriel’s resolve only sharpened, this was not just a battle of strength, but will.

Summoning every shred of shadow and steel, he drove both blades deep into the core, channeling his fury and hope. The heart shattered in a cascade of molten shards, exploding into a storm of blinding light and shadow.

The forest convulsed, roots recoiling, the corrupted mist dissipating like smoke on a wind long overdue.

Koschei’s voice broke, fractured and fading, “This isn't the end, shadowsinger...”

Azriel stood panting, wings folding back slowly, the oppressive weight lifting from the air. Around them, the twisted trees began to straighten, the pulsating heartbeat of corruption silenced at last.

Y/N groaned softly beside him, pain etched deep but the fire in her eyes undiminished.

Azriel knelt, reaching for her again, a tired but triumphant smile tugging at his lips.

“We did it,” he said quietly, voice thick with exhaustion and relief. “It’s over.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the forest breathed free.

And Azriel, shadowed and scarred but unbroken, swore he’d never let darkness claim them again.

Azriel sank to his knees beside Y/N, his breath heavy but steady despite the toll the battle had taken. The pulsating black-and-gold heart was no more, but the wounds it left behind were still fresh, both on the land and on them. Y/N’s breaths were shallow, each one a sharp stab of pain radiating from her cracked ribs and the blood staining her side.

He shifted his cloak gently, carefully trying not to jostle her too much. Shadows coiled around his hands, soft and cool, weaving delicate threads of healing energy. It was a power Azriel had kept mostly for defense, but now, with grim determination, he called upon it to mend what the heart’s corruption had broken.

“Hold still,” he murmured, voice low and firm. The shadows pressed against Y/N’s skin, knitting flesh and bone together like a masterful seamstress, sealing cracks in her ribs and staunching the bleeding. The pain didn’t vanish instantly--far from it--but it dulled, becoming a dull ache beneath the magic’s careful touch.

Y/N’s silver eyes flickered open, meeting his with a spark of gratitude mingled with exhaustion. “You… you always come through,” she rasped.

Azriel gave a tired, crooked smile. “I’m not done yet. You’re too important to lose.”

He eased her into his arms, careful and protective, letting his wings envelop them both like a shadowed sanctuary. The forest around them was already beginning to heal, corrupted leaves wilting and new green buds pushing through the undergrowth, nature reclaiming what had been twisted.

“We need to get out of here,” Azriel said quietly. “Stay with me. I’ll carry you.”

Y/N nodded, eyes fluttering closed as the healing shadows continued their work, easing the sharpness in her chest.

Azriel rose, wings spreading wide to shield them from any lingering threats. His steps were steady but swift, moving through the forest with the grace of a predator, the shadows parting before him like a living cloak.

Every heartbeat was a reminder--this victory was hard-won, but survival meant moving forward. And he would carry Y/N through whatever came next.

As the forest’s twisted grip loosened behind them, Azriel’s resolve hardened. He wouldn’t just survive--he’d make sure the darkness they’d faced never rose again.

Once they were out, Azriel winnowed them back. The familiar air of the House of Wind wrapping around him like a balm after the suffocating, corrupted forest. He carried Y/N carefully in his arms, her weight lighter than he expected, though the bloodstains on her side told a harsher truth. The others were gathered in the main hall, the tension in the room thick—like the air before a storm.

Mor and Amren stood near the tall windows, exchanging hurried words. Nesta and Cassian leaned against the hearth, faces drawn and exhausted. Rhys and Feyre were by the stairs, eyes sharp, concern etched deep.

The moment they entered, voices rose in a chorus.

“You took so long,” Cassian’s voice was rough but relieved.

Azriel’s gaze flicked to him. “How long?”

Cassian’s grim smile faltered. “Five entire days.”

Feyre stood up from the couch, coming closer to Azriel. "We've all been trying to reach you but we couldn't get an answer."

Azriel sighed, "It was the damn forest, the air in the, it's magic, I couldn't reach any of you either because of that."

A murmur rippled through the room. Y/N stirred slightly, getting down but still leaning against Azriel for support. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.

Rhys narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. “You’re injured. Are you alright?”

Y/N’s silver eyes flickered open. “I’m fine,” she said, voice steady but faint.

She looked at Amren and asked, “When can you open the portal again? I need to go back home.”

The room quieted at her words.

Azriel’s mouth opened, then blurted out before he could stop himself: “Do you really?”

Everyone turned, surprised by his tone.

He cleared his throat, voice rough. “I mean, you are injured after all.”

Y/N gave a small, wry smile. “Manon will be both worried and pissed. She already is. I’m way past the assigned time. I bet they all think I’m dead by now.”

Amren’s eyes glinted. “Give me a few hours.”

Y/N nodded, easing down onto the couch Feyre offered. Azriel never left her side, standing like a silent guardian.

Tea was brought, warm and fragrant, a sharp contrast to the cold metal taste of battle still lingering in his mouth.

The group settled, the fire crackling softly as they began to recount what had transpired in their separate quests. Mor and Amren spoke of the tidal cliffs, how the mirror-anchor shimmered beneath the waves, how the ocean roared with a power Koschei had tried to steal. Nesta and Cassian told of the Forgotten Vale’s haunted soil, the blood magic that bled from the earth itself, and how fire had cleansed the curse—though at a heavy cost.

Azriel’s mind wandered, watching Y/N carefully as she sipped her tea, the faintest flicker of pain crossing her face when she moved too sharply. He remembered the forest’s pulse, the way the heart had throbbed like a living wound beneath the bark, and the relentless onslaught of phantoms that had threatened to tear them apart. He thought of the shadows he’d summoned, not just to fight but to heal, to hold her together when the world had tried to unravel her.

In the quiet moments between their words, Azriel’s thoughts circled around a single, stubborn truth: they had survived, but the cost was far from over. The forest’s corruption was gone, but Koschei’s reach remained—fractured, yes, but dangerous.

"So, I guess my debt to Amren is paid at last."

And Y/N was leaving.

Azriel shouldn't care, after all, she did come here for the mission in the first place. But.... the moments they shared, the conversations they had....Azriel couldn't ignore that. His interest, his curiosity kept rising when he looked at her. She was everything and more that they said about her, yes. But she was also so different. He still had so many questions, so many conversations that he wanted to have with her.

Amren returned then, sharp-eyed and satisfied. “Alright, it’s ready.”

Y/N exhaled through her nose. Relief, maybe. Or weariness. Or regret.

They all followed her into the garden behind the House, bathed in the violet hue of the setting sun. The Sidra shimmered below, and the distant wind caught in the high pines.

Firkhan was waiting, perched like a statue of obsidian and smoke on the cliff edge. The wyvern’s translucent wings had returned to full visibility, glittering faintly in the fading light. He huffed once as Y/N approached, nuzzling her side gently--carefully--where she was still bruised. She placed a hand against his snout, murmuring something in her own language. Something old and sacred.

Y/N exhaled through her nose. Relief, maybe. Or weariness. Or regret.

Cassian, arms crossed but expression oddly soft, offered a nod. “You ever want to visit again, I’ll save you a sparring spot.”

Y/N smirked, the silver in her eyes brightening. “Only if you promise not to cry when I flatten you.”

Nesta arched a brow. “She’s serious.”

“I believe her,” Cassian muttered, half to himself.

Feyre stepped forward next. “Thank you, for what you did. What you gave. It wasn’t your war, but you fought like it was.”

Y/N inclined her head. “It became my war the moment I stepped into that forest.”

Rhys gave a small, approving smile. “And you walked out of it.”

“Barely,” Azriel murmured under his breath, but she heard it.

Amren was last. She held out a small, shining obsidian coin- an anchor token, Azriel recognized. Rare, dangerous, used for long-distance magical travel when gates were unstable.

“Send my regards to Manon,” Amren said. “Tell her I haven’t forgotten that bottle of blackfire she owes me.”

Y/N’s grin returned, sharp and wild. “She’ll pretend she has. But I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”

Amren gave a snort and turned, already bored with sentiment.

Y/N ran her hand along Firkhan’s scales once more, then turned to Azriel. The others, sensing something in the air, quietly stepped back. Shadows deepened in the corners of the garden.

He hadn’t moved.

“You’ll be alright?” he asked, voice low.

“I’ve survived worse.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

A pause. Her silver gaze met his. “I’ll be alright,” she said again, gentler this time.

Azriel nodded, but his jaw was clenched. There were still a thousand questions clawing in his throat. Not about war. Not about magic. About her.

She studied him for a long moment. “You could visit, you know.”

He blinked. “I- what?”

Y/N shrugged one shoulder, casual and not at all casual. “We’ve got plenty of cursed forests too. Would make you feel right at home.”

His mouth lifted in the barest smile. “And a brooding spymaster with too many shadows won’t draw attention?”

“I think we’d survive the scandal.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable.

Then she looked to the sky. “Firkhan’s ready. And… they’ve waited long enough.”

Azriel’s hand twitched at his side. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t stop her.

But gods, he wanted to.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, one last time.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

His shadows curled around his boots, uncertain.

“I meant what I said. Back in the forest. I wasn’t going to let you fall.”

Something flickered in her gaze. “I know.”

And then she stepped away. Climbed onto Firkhan’s back with the ease of a queen mounting a throne. No crown. No farewell.

Just fire in her blood and steel in her spine.

Firkhan launched into the air with a blast of wind and light, his wings cutting through the violet dusk as they entered the portal and vanished completely.

Azriel watched until they were gone.

Until the stars blinked open, silent and still.

And still he stood there.

Because the thing he wouldn’t say--the truth clawing quietly beneath his skin--was that he hadn’t expected to care.

Not for the shadows she had walked through.

Not for the strength behind her teeth.

Not for the ghost of her laughter when no one was listening.

But he did.

And now she was gone.

She came into my world like a storm with no warning. And left just as fast. But storms leave marks behind. And something tells me… this isn’t the end of our story. Not yet.

#acotar #fanfics #tog #throne of glass #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel angst #acotar angst #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar

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danikamariewrites · 2 years ago

Note

Could we get some Manon x a very sick reader 🥱

Just The Sniffles

Manon x reader

A/n: I live for soft Manon

Warnings: none

You had woken up alone this morning. As you sat up and the covers fell off you, you started shivering so hard your teeth chattered. Then you feel that odd change in the back of your throat. That achey feeling that comes with being sick. You start coughing so hard your eyes water and your nose starts to run.

Giving up on getting out of bed you lay back. You decided to stay in bed today. You just had to send a messenge to Manon before you fell asleep again.

Manon walked with Asterin to the grand dining room for lunch. As they take their seats Manon keeps talking about new flight exercises and what courtiers would be at the ball in Adarlan. On instinct, Manon reaches for your hand.

She’s confused as to why you’re not there. You two always have lunch together. Manon looks to her cousin, “Where is she?”

"Y/n is sick. I went to check on her this morning and she told me she was just going to stay in bed." Manon practically snarled from anger. She hated being left out of the loop, especially when it came to you.

Manon suddenly stood making Asterin jump. As she made her way to you bedroom Manon picked up her pace practically sprinting and almsot breaking down the door.

She stopped short as her eyes landed on you. You were sitting up against the headboard surrounded by pillows. A mug of soup cupped between your hands resting on your chest. You stared back at Manon with a small smile.

"Hi babe. What's wrong?" Her jaw dropped. She couldn't believe you were so casual right now. "You're sick. And you didn't tell me." Manon's worried face was so cute you were trying so hard not to giggle. She quickly walks over to your side of the bed standing next to you.

With the back of her hand she starts feeling your forehead and cheeks. “You feel warm. What are your symptoms.” You pull her hand away from you while still balancing your soup. “Manon, I’m fine. It’s just the sniffles. I’ll be perfect tomorrow.”

The witch queen rolls her eyes at you. “But for now it’s today and you will let me take care of you.” You roll your eyes back at her sighing out, “Fine.” Your tone playful and sarcastic. Manon gives you a look that says don’t push her and you give her a toothy grin back.

“Can I have more soup please?” She takes the monstrous mug from you. “Of course, anything else for the patient?” You tap your fingers on your stomach, biting your lower lip in thought. “Will you stay in bed with me?” Manon leans down to peck your forehead. “Of course. I wouldn’t leave when you’re sick, love.”

When Manon comes back she’s balancing a tray full of things. Your new serving of soup is accompanied by tea, water, bread, a stack of cloths, and a pastry in case you wanted something sweet. Manon takes the cloths into the bathroom, soaking one with cold water and resting it on your forehead.

You knew you weren’t sick enough for Manon to be doing all of this but you weren’t going to stop her. It was sweet and rare that she took care of anyone like this. Besides, you liked the attention from your girlfriend.

#throne of glass imagine #throne of glass #tog #tog x reader #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass manon #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fluff #manon x reader #manon blackbeak fluff #manon blackbeak x reader #manon fanfic #manon blackbeak #manon x you #Manon blackbeak x you

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shadowdaddies · 2 years ago

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It would be so cute if Manon hisses and snaps at anyone who talks to her gf because she’s so protective but only feels okay if the thirteen do it. She only thinks her gf is safe if she or the thirteen are around. She smiles when she sees the thirteen make her gf smile and giggle

DO YOUR MAGIC

Roar of the Wind

Manon x Reader fluff

Your boots crunched against the hay as Manon led you through the wyvern warrens, a possessive hand wrapped around your waist. The smell of the large beasts permeated the air, and you subtly brought the sleeve of your shirt to cover your nose to keep from gagging.

Manon gave you a sidelong glance, a soft laugh escaping her at your thinly veiled distaste. You passed by a stall where a Yellowlegs witch was feeding her wyvern, the rust-colored beast giving a pleased hum as it licked its chops. You giggled at the smile that seemed to show on the creature’s face, causing the Yellowlegs witch to turn and give you a smile. She opened her mouth to say something, shutting it quickly and backing away when Manon hissed at her, staring daggers as her arm tightened around your waist.

You bit your lip in an attempt to hide your amusement, your hand moving to find Manon’s on your waist, interlocking your fingers with hers. Pride flashed across her features, the witch queen standing slightly taller as you reached Abraxos’s stall. The wyvern bumped his gray snout against you, nearly knocking you over with the force as his chest rumbled in demand for pets.

Manon rolled her eyes, patting the beast’s neck as she maneuvered past him to grab the saddle. You heard a squeal of excitement before arms wrapped around your middle and you were pulled back into a fierce hug. Your head whipped to where Manon stood, half-expecting the iron nails to rip the person to shreds, but Manon just smiled as Vesta pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Hi, lovely!” she exclaimed in a sing-song voice as she let you go, her red hair blowing behind her in the wind.

“Look who it is!” Asterin said, coming up to you as she slung one arm around your shoulders, the other around Vesta’s.

“Hey Ster,” you greeted softly, relaxing into her touch as Manon smiled at the three of you. “We’re just going for a flight on Abraxos.”

Vesta and Asterin exchanged a glance before smirking at Manon. “Is this an exclusive, romantic flight, or might we join as well?” Vesta teased.

Manon shot her a playful glare, looking back and forth between the witches as if she were deciding whether it was worth putting up with them. You gave a slight nod of approval, smiling as Manon sighed in resignation. “Alright, you can come with us.”

Vesta and Asterin left to mount each of their own wyverns, leaving you with Manon and Abraxos. Pressing a kiss to Manon’s cheek, you leapt into the saddle behind her, ready for flight. “I’ll make sure we get some time alone once we’re home,” you promised, pressing a kiss below her ear, reveling in the blush that crossed her cheeks just before Abraxos took off.

#throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #manon blackbeak #manon blackbeak x reader #throne of glass x reader #throne of glass fluff #manon throne of glass #manon x reader #manon blackbeak fluff #manon x reader fluff #vesta blackbeak #asterin blackbeak #tog imagine #tog fanfic #manon tog #manon crochan #throne of glass fanfiction

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ggukgoldensoul · 2 years ago

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could i please request one where manon is mated to a sensitive reader, she’s quiet and like hyperfeminine. She’s not a warrior or fighter, she’s an academic and hates fights. When they first met reader was getting hit on by some drunk men who dragged her outside a bar and manon saw this and saved her. Ever since then reader has been protected by manon and the bond snaps for them🥺🥺🥺 protective manon😍😍😍 literally someone jokes with her too much or says something mean and she gets tears in her eyes. relatable 🙃

author note:hii anon!! thank you so much for your request, i loved to write this

𝕾𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

WARNINGS: mentions of violece, mostly fluff

Manon never thought her partner would be so feminine. She was a warrior, she had been trained to be a killing weapon and yet here you were, filling every room you entered with light.

You were sleeping peacefully next to her, your pink nightgown hugged every part of your body, your braid fell over your shoulder and the smell of your favorite soap that you used last night intoxicated Manon's senses.

She still remembered the night she met you. She was walking through the streets of Rifthold. Dorian had called all the rulers of Erilea and the Southern Continent to arrange some treaties. She was walking through one of the slums. The quality of life had changed drastically since Dorian took over as king, although there were still poor and rich people, the effort to create a better world was flourishing. Bars and taverns in full swing, music coming out of each of them, drunks lying in the streets, and then he saw you.

You had been inside one of the many taverns in that neighborhood with some friends, the sleeves of your long dress fit your thin arms and the flight of your skirt created a waterfall over your legs. It was late, the next day you had to work and although your friends insisted that you stay a little longer, in the end you convinced them, promising to stay another day.

That's when you ran into him. An older man, clearly drunk, tried several times to buy you a drink, you tried to ignore him but he was too insistent, so much so that he even followed you out onto the street. He grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him in order to give you a kiss. Shaking you tried to get him off of you and then you felt her behind you. Her presence was imposing on the entire street. With supernatural strength, she pushed the man away from you, slamming him against the wall. You had never seen anyone as beautiful as her. Not even the goddesses came close to her beauty.

Your fae senses picked up on what it was, witch. The man fled scared and your rescuer turned to you. Her golden eyes locked onto yours and a small thread began to grow inside you.

That same night, Manon took you to her room in the castle, and ordered the healers to take care of the bruise on your arm, as well as inspect you for any further injuries.

Since then Manon has not left you for a second. Months later, you accepted the mating bond and she made you her queen.

She noticed how you moved slightly, indicating that you were about to wake up. She moved the braid away from your shoulder, creating abstract patterns. You smiled sleepily, slowly opening your eyes.

"Good morning angel"

“Good morning,” you murmured, hiding in Manon’s shoulder.

You notice how her hands caress your back with a softness that is inappropriate for her. You hold her face with your hands and bring her closer to meet your lips. Manon loved the softness of your lips and the sweetness with which you kissed. You are so fragile, so feminine, so sweet that she promised to protect you from all the evils in the world and after all these years together, Manon had kept her promise.

You move away from Manon and get out of bed to go clean yourself. Halfway there you let out a small scream accompanied by a laugh as Manon had picked you up and was entering the bathroom with you on her shoulder.

Manon couldn't be happier to have you, and she showed it to you every day.

#throne of glass imagine #throne of glass fic #throne of glass #manon x reader #manon fanfiction #manon imagine #manon blackbeak #reader #sarah j maas #sjm books #imagine #female reader #fluff #fanfic

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dawninlatin · 3 years ago

Text

Lab assistant in training

Part of the Manorian Teacher AU

Words: 2,4k

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: When their daughter gets sick, Manon has to take her to work.

«Shit! It’s seven already? I’ll go and wake Rhia before I leave.»

Manon hummed in agreement, taking a slow sip from her steaming cup of coffee, as Dorian hurried out of the kitchen.

He was supposed to give a guest lecture at the local university today, and was already running late, though that was nothing out of the ordinary for the Blackbeak-Havilliard household. Manon, on the other hand, was busy arranging berries around a bunny-shaped pancake, to hopefully please their three-year-old daughter, who was known to be quite grumpy in the mornings.

She’d thought becoming a mother meant never sleeping in again, being woken up by an energetic toddler at the ass-crack of dawn every morning, but so far it had been the opposite; one of them had to carefully coax little Rhiannon out of her dear bed, and then it was at least half an hour of not making too loud noises or making inhumane demands such as «putting on your socks» or «brushing your teeth» as she made the effort to fully wake up.

They really were raising a teenager trapped in a toddler’s body.

Manon had just put the plate down on the table when Dorian reentered the kitchen. He was carrying a still-sleeping Rhia, her head resting on his shoulder. «I think she has a fever,» Dorian winced.

Worry immediately filling every inch of her, Manon stepped over to them, placing her hand on Rhia’s forehead. Dorian was right, she was a little warm.

«Rhia? Honey, are you not feeling well?» Manon cooed, brushing a few strands of pale hair away from her daughter’s face. Rhia’s eyes remained closed, but she made a few incoherent noises, letting them know she was on her way to waking up, at least.

The little girl whined at the loss of warmth as Dorian set her down on her chair, but she slowly blinked, then rubbed her eyes. Dorian carefully pushed the plate of breakfast towards her, and she obediently took a bite out of her pancake, staring out into nothing as she slowly chewed.

«Morning’s aren’t easy, huh?» Dorian chuckled, and Manon had to smile too as the only answer he got was a solemn «Uh-huh.»

Getting the thermometer from the bathroom, Manon measured her temperature to 100. It wasn’t too bad, but Rhia’s daycare had a strict sick-child-policy, and wouldn’t accept anyone with a temperature over 99,8.

Dorian turned towards Manon, then, face serious. «I’d stay home today, but this lecture has been planned for months. I can’t reschedule or cancel.» His concerned gaze told her he’d actually rather stay home with their sick child than hold the most important lecture of his career this far.

Eight years had passed, and Manon was still amazed by how much love and adoration she could feel for this man. Watching him become the greatest father in the world had only intensified those feelings.

«I’m not too busy today, I can work from home,» Manon offered, but she winced as she suddenly remembered her plan for today. «I need to be there for second period, though. My seniors have a big test later this week.» One she’d promised they’d spend today’s lesson preparing for.

Dorian frowned as he tried to come up with a solution. «I could ask Chaol to take her for the day?» Chaol was currently on paternity leave with his and Yrene’s second child, a six-moths-old baby boy named Theodore.

«No,» Manon started, shaking her head. «It’s probably just a light fever, but I don’t want Theo to catch it if it’s a virus. She can come with me for my lesson, and then we’ll go right back home.»

Drawing a breath, Dorian was about to say something more, but Manon stopped him. «Now you need to go, or you’ll be late.» To soothe him further, she placed a light kiss on his lips.

It lasted long enough, though, for a loud «Gwoss mommy!» to come from the kitchen table, and they both turned to find Rhia staring at them with a look of pure disgust on her face.

Laughing, Dorian said, «Alright, now that you seem to be in your usual spirits, I can leave!» He stopped by Rhia on his way out to place a kiss on her head, in which she groaned and lightly swatted at him to make him leave.

Toddler-sized teenager indeed.

«Bye, my adorably grumpy girls!» Dorian waved as he left.

Grinning like a fool, Manon waved back, then shifted all her attention to Rhiannon.

«How do you feel about joining mommy for work today?»

«YES!» Leaving the table, half-eaten pancakes forgotten, Rhia started jumping up and down in excitement. «Can we make slime again?»

Manon chuckled as she remembered last time she’d brought Rhia to work. Trying to combine entertaining a toddler and teaching a bunch of teens chemistry, she’d landed on making slime. Pink, glittery slime.

Man, motherhood had really changed her.

«I’ll see what we can do, but you need to get dressed, then.»

Before she knew it, Rhia was barreling down the hallway towards her room, talking about how she had to wear her new tutu, because aunty Aelin had to see it.

Manon sent a quick text to Aelin, or Principal Galathynius as she’d been as of last August, to let her know she’d be bringing an assistant today, then followed Rhia, ready to bribe a three-year-old into not wearing a halloween costume in public in the month of May.

After barely avoiding a tantrum, Rhiannon and Manon had finally compromised on her tutu, but no fairy wings or tiara or kitten-shaped slippers that meowed for every step you took (Manon had sent Lorcan nasty glares at work for a full month after that «present»).

Speaking of cats, Rhia had also insisted Abraxos told her last night he wanted to come too.

To distract her from that idea, Manon picked up her daughter’s backpack and told her to pack a few toys she could play with throughout the day.

Manon quickly got ready herself, packed her own bag, checked to see that Rhia hadn’t found any disturbingly noisy toys (nothing to worry about, the backpack was filled with a barbie doll, a plastic dinosaur, a Baby Yoda plushie, a puzzle, and a book about autotrophic organisms from Manon’s college days that Rhia had found and completely fallen in love with, even if she definitely couldn’t read advanced science textbooks yet). All in all, Manon had to admit she had the coolest kid in the world.

Then they were out the door, without a minute to spare.

By the time they made it to the high school where both Manon and Dorian worked, they were five minutes late. Manon tried urging Rhia to walk faster, but she was too busy jumping from tile to tile to notice. «Can you please hurry a little, Rhia?»

«No, mommy, they’re lava!» Rhia pointed to the lines in between all the tiles, and Manon had to suppress a sigh. Everything was lava these days.

«Can’t you put on lava shoes?»

«That’s not how it works.»

After what seemed like forever, they reached Manon’s classroom, where everyone was now waiting for her. Before she opened the door, she crouched in front of her daughter. «First, I have to teach a little, so you have to try and be quiet, okay?» Rhia nodded, face solemn. She was the spitting image of Manon, but when she made that face, she was all Dorian.

«Maybe you can puzzle, or look in your book?» Rhia nodded once more, glancing at the door as she thought over something. Even with twenty students waiting for her, Manon gave Rhia the little time she needed to ask her question.

«Can I say hi to everyone?» Manon melted a little at the sweet, innocent question.

She’d gone soft. There was no doubting it now. And while not as scary as before, perhaps, her students would get quite the shock, as she was still known to be rather hostile.

How her reputation had survived, was beyond her, though. Her relationship with Dorian had been known to everyone ever since they got busted over a fucking Zoom-call, and the fact that they had a kid together was no secret either. Still, almost every student, new and old, was slightly terrified of her.

Manon couldn’t blame it all on motherhood, though. She’d been a lost case from the moment she met Dorian. That bastard.

Smiling, she said to Rhia, «Of course you can say hi. Ready?»

Rhia nodded eagerly, and then Manon stood up and opened the door.

«Sorry I’m late, I suddenly had to bring a little assistant with me today-» Manon turned to gesture towards Rhia, but the girl wasn’t right behind her.

No, Rhia was still standing in the hallway, halfway hidden behind the door, staring at all the teenagers with wide, frightened eyes. For as much attention as her daughter could crave at home, she could be quite shy around strangers.

Manon sighed, crouching down in front of her again with a soft smile on her face. «You can come inside, Rhia. I promise these people are very nice, even if they look a little scary.»

She couldn’t believe she was saying it out loud. She loved being a teacher, yes, but she never outright admitted it. The things you did for your own child, though…

Behind her, the classroom was eerily quiet, only interrupted by someone dropping their pencil.

Rhia didn’t budge, assurance or not, only stared at the floor.

«Come,» Manon tried again, holding out her arms. Rhia hesitated for a moment, but then hurried into Manon’s safe embrace, hiding her face in her chest.

«Did you not want to say hi to everyone?» The voice Manon spoke in was the softest, mildest she’d ever used in this classroom, but she didn’t have the time to overthink it as she walked over to the blackboard. Rhia had clearly changed her mind from earlier, because she only shook her head, burrowing further into her chest.

Maneuvering both their bags down onto her desk, Manon picked up a piece of chalk and said, «She’s a little shy, but give her a few moments and she’ll warm up, I promise.» She even smiled at her stunned students, a nervous, awkward smile. Then she turned towards the board and begun her lesson, her child still clinging to her like a koala.

Manon had been right, Rhiannon had warmed up after a little while. An hour had gone by, and she’d already done her puzzle, «read» her book, drawn lots of little drawings on the lower part of the board, and was now sitting by Manon’s desk, humming to herself as she played with her barbie and her t-rex while Manon walked around helping her students with some tasks to practice for their test.

She was about to help a girl with calculating a concentration when she heard a pair of little feet running towards her, and before she knew it, Rhia was standing right next to her, holding up her barbie so Manon could help her put on a dress.

Accepting the barbie, Manon tried to ignore how the student she’d been about to help stared at her, as if she’d grown horns in the middle of the classroom. When she was done, Manon handed the doll back to Rhia, but the girl didn’t run back.

The look on her face told Manon she was about to ask her for something she couldn’t say no to, and of course Rhia didn’t disappoint.

«Mommyyyyy?»

«Yes, sweetheart?»

«Can we do it now? Pleaaaaaaaaase?»

Those big, blue puppy eyes were another thing Rhia had inherited from her father, and they were even harder to resist on a toddler.

Sighing, Manon nodded, then said something she’d never thought she’d say out loud in her classroom. «If anyone wants a break from studying, they can help us make slime.»

Rhia took off towards Manon’s desk, opening the main drawer and digging out the goggles she’d found earlier, when she searched through everything. She put them on, huge smile on her face, and Manon gave her a huge smile back, pulling up her phone to snap a picture to Dorian.

Later, they were in Manon’s office, Manon preparing tomorrow’s test while barbie now fought a war against t-rex. Rhia was talking to herself as she played, and it was the most adorable thing ever.

Manon had planned to go home after her lesson, but Rhia seemed completely fine apart from her slight fever, and she didn’t seem to mind being here, so they’d stayed, Manon trying to get some more work done.

Someone knocked on the door, and Rhia shot up to answer it, eager as ever.

«Aunty Yrene!»

«If it isn’t my favourite lab assistant!»

Rhia beamed as Yrene Towers stepped into the office, leaning down to give her goddaughter a hug.

As the toddler let go and skipped out into the empty teacher’s lounge, Yrene gave Manon a knowing smirk. «I had your seniors after lunch today, and they couldn’t shut up about how Ms. Blackbeak brought the most adorable kid with her and how she wouldn’t stop smiling and she even used the word sweetheart and I even think she gave us a compliment?!»

Manon rolled her eyes as hard as she could, yet her twitching lip gave her away.

«It’s all Dorian’s fault,» Manon said, but she was actually smiling now, looking at the wall behind her computer, filled with photos of Rhiannon, of Dorian, of all of them together, even one of Abraxos.

«Sure it is.» Yrene sat down in one of the chairs. «Why is it still Miss Blackbeak though?»

«Not this again! We live together, we’re engaged, we have a damn kid together! What more could you possibly want?» Yrene had been a strong supporter of their relationship from the very beginning. Before, even.

«At this point, I’m so invested I don’t think it’ll ever be enough.» Manon snorted as Yrene looked dreamily into the air.

«I’ll make you my maid of honor, or you can even officiate the wedding! We’ll name our sixth-born child after you! On our joint tombstone, it can say Courtesy of Yrene Towers on the bottom!»

«Okay, fine, I get it, I have a problem!»

As they kept joking, Manon could hear Dorian enter the teacher’s lounge, back from his lecture, by the way Rhia called, «Daddy! Don’t step there it’s lava!»

«Oh no! But you’re standing in it!»

«I have lava shoes, silly!»

Taglist: @fireheartfaery @bookishwitchling @gwynethhberdara @darklingswhxore @onfma @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp @rainbowcheetah512 @mirubyjane @zoyalovesbooks

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added!

#manorian #manon x dorian #dorian x manon #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #tog #sjm #sarah j maas #manorian fanfiction #manorian fluff #manorian one shot #dawninlatin teacher au

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julemmaes · 4 years ago

Text

Honey - part three

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre roommates au

A/N: famous last words: I can finish this is in two hours. six hours laters and I feel like I’ve been beaten up by a gang of bigass old faes if you know what I mean.

IT CONTAINS SMUT, not suited for readers under 18

Please be kind I fucking hate my smut, if it’s disgusting just don’t comment on it cause I could hit my head on the wall several times

masterlist

Word count: 7,519

Aelin's scream was like a stab to the brain, "Get up you nasty little bitch!"

"Ace! Why don't you try with sweet Ellie?" retorted Lysandra.

Elide didn't even have the strength to open her eyes or move from the fetal position she was in, curled up with a pillow pushed so hard against her belly that she wouldn't have been surprised if it had somehow damaged her internal organs, "Please leave."

The two didn't seem to hear her.

"Sweet?" Aelin huffed, "But you did see her last night, right?"

Elide opened one eye, seeing that they had both sat down at the end of the bed. She felt the cracks tugging at her eyelid and grunted, pressing her face into the pillow. She wanted to die. And she wanted Manon to come and free her from those two supposed friends who she knew were about to remind her of her misadventures.

"Except for what happened before we left," Aelin winked, placing a hand on her foot. Elide withdrew it, not wanting to feel physical touch of any kind at that moment. "I would have been willing to break up with Rowan so I could get between Kyllian and you, honestly."

Elide grunted again, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm begging you girls, you need to get out before I throw up again."

And it was true, she would throw up if they didn't stop talking. Plus, Elide didn't care in the slightest what the drunk her had done. She hated her so much.

Lysandra giggled and she felt it as she climbed between the covers until she was settled next to her on the pillows, "Between her and Lorcan though, no?"

The cry of disgust that erupted from Aelin and the all too loud laugh from the other didn't make Elide register the words right away, but as soon as she realised what they had said, her stomach began to twist and turn, and not like when Lorcan accidentally brushed her hand or when he put his hand on her thigh during movie nights. Oh no.

With a movement she didn't know she had the physical skills to make, she shifted the covers off her body and launched herself into the hallway, slamming her hand against the bathroom door and throwing herself to the floor in front of the toilet before the highly concentrated alcoholic contents in her stomach spilled onto the floor.

As she vomited and Lysandra tied up her hair, massaging her back, Elide felt her heart break slowly. She wanted to turn around, to ask Aelin what had happened, or maybe not. She groaned as another gag shook her body and her eyes filled with tears once more as she puked what could only be alcohol.

"How do you still have stuff in your stomach?" muttered Aelin from outside the bathroom door.

Elide didn't blame her, vomit was disgusting and she was particularly sensitive to the sound of gagging. The only reason Lysandra wasn't the least bit uncomfortable was her younger sister Evangeline, who she had practically raised without anyone's help. Whatever came out of a person's body, their friend had already seen it in all shapes and colours.

Elide cursed herself for thinking such a thing while she was bent over the toilet throwing up, because it pushed her over the edge one more time and a sob wracked her body, "Fuck-" she managed to mutter between spits.

"I thought you weren't going to barf any more after last night," Lys said, continuing to rub her back.

"True," Aelin mumbled a little louder, "did you keep drinking after?"

Elide managed to turn her head towards the door, seeing that her friend was sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom. She grimaced as a gust of air that smelled like vomit reached her nose, "After what?"

"You and Lorcan left after you threw up," Lys explained to her. Elide didn't bother turning towards her, she didn't have the energy, "And you threw up so much Ellie, everywhere. It's weird that you have anything else to reject."

It wasn't weird at all considering the only thing Elide remembered was the amounts of alcohol she had ingested. She'd started just before seven with straight tequila, desperate to see how indifferent people were to the biggest catastrophic problems in human history, and everyone knew she couldn't handle alcohol even in small amounts. But Elide was also known to be the type who could drink for hours without ever feeling sick, if she now found herself bent over the toilet the next morning, it meant she had gone too far.

"I don't remember anything."

"It's okay, don't worry about it," Aelin said and Elide felt a shiver run through her body at the hint of mischief in her voice. She braced herself mentally to hear how much she'd actually whored out the night before, "We're here to fix the memory loss."

Lysandra made a disgusted noise as Elide flushed the toilet and the water stirred underneath them, but she patted her shoulders and pulled herself up, "You need to take a shower first though. Because you smell like death."

"Geez, thanks," Elide murmured as she began to undress.

The grin that appeared on Aelin's face made her hands freeze around the hem of her shirt. The other arched an eyebrow, looking into her eyes, "What? Lorcan is the only one you can flash?"

Elide closed her eyes, bringing her hands to her face and then let go a scream of frustration.

"Exactly."

Oh, god.

"I remember..." Elide scoffed, running her hands through her hair. When her fingers reached the tips, she was horrified to find they were encrusted with what was surely vomit from the night before. "Fuck."

Lysandra snickered beside her, "Why were you so drunk that you didn't realise what you were doing so damn early?"

Elide looked at her, and although she knew the question was only asked to tease her more, there was a note of concern in her tone. Her shoulders sagged a little and she shook her head, starting to undress undisturbed, "I set out to research a few things and the world is a shitty place and there was nothing I could do in the immediate future to save us all so I got drunk."

"Sounds like alcoholism," Aelin joked.

Both Lysandra and Elide laughed, "If you knew what I found out you'd get drunk too," the latter added.

"Send everything my way." the blonde winked at her, and then they went out, leaving her alone to wash away the sins of the night before and letting her mind travel. And Elide's mind travelled far too much as she racked her brains to remember Lorcan's reactions to a naked her.

After her friends had told her everything that had happened the night before. From her taking her clothes off in front of her best friend, to him getting stuck in their bathroom and calling Aelin for help, to her dancing with Kyllian specifically to make her roommate jealous - or so the drunk her seemed to have justified her actions - to Fenrys saving her from what was sure to end up being just casual sex that would only widen the gap between her and Lorcan.

Gap that apparently wasn't as pronounced as she thought.

Aelin and Lysandra had told her about the way he had pushed his way through the crowd and joined Elide on the dance floor. The way they had danced to one of their favourite songs until they had been on the verge of kissing.

Elide had never been so relieved to know that she'd thrown up on someone. And that her plan to attract Lorcan had worked.

She was cooking now, thinking about how bad it would have been for her to find out they'd kissed without having even the slightest recollection of it happening, when the front door opened and the boy who was the object of her dreams walked into the kitchen.

He stopped in the doorway, looking at her with the most emotionless face Elide had ever seen him wear.

"Hello, handsome." she murmured, continuing to cook.

Lorcan stood still in the threshold for a while without saying anything, as if to sort the situation out. Then, without taking his eyes off what she was doing, he took off his jacket and shoes and walked into the kitchen, "How are you feeling?"

Elide had her back to him as she washed some tomatoes, "Just a bit of a headache. I threw up again when I woke up, but other than that I'm fine."

"Did you drink some water? Had breakfast?" he asked her.

Elide shook her head looking at him, "I woke up after noon, Aelin and Lysandra came over." then frowned, "I think it's their fault I threw up."

Lorcan chuckled, "Sure, absolutely." then he gathered his hair into a messy bun and Elide focused on the way the muscles of his biceps tensed every time he pulled on the elastic, "It's not the alcoholic coma from last night at all."

Elide gathered some courage and taking a deep breath, said, "About last night-"

"We don't have to talk about it," Lorcan immediately interrupted her.

She looked up at him, trying not to show any emotion, trying to read his on that sculptural face that remained impassive. Then, seeing the way he was looking at her, she came to a conclusion.

She arched an eyebrow, plastering a grin on her face, "Does this mean you didn't like my tits?"

Lorcan turned red in the face before stuttering, "No. I mean, yes! No, fuck. Shit... I don't know."

Elide chuckled and began to dress their salad, "You've never seen a pair of tits before?" she asked knowing full well how untrue that was.

When she had moved into the flat, both she and he had had their own wild nights out where they brought home a different partner every weekend. On one occasion, Elide had been stunned when she came out of her room and bumped into a girl she had spent the night with a few weeks earlier. The girl had only bid her good morning, winking, before returning to Lorcan's room.

"No, it's not that," he muttered, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"So surely you'll have other samples to compare my boobs to and you'll be able to tell me if they're above average," she continued, prolonging this gentle torture.

He sat down, both elbows resting on the table, and rested his chin on his clasped hands. He looked into her eyes for a few seconds, then whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I'm making our lunch," she replied innocently.

She heard him breathe through his nose, "Why are we talking about your tits, I meant?"

"Uh," she smiled, casting him another quick glance, "I didn't think you were so grossed out that you can't even handle a conversation about them."

The frown on his face went deeper and deeper. He remained silent for so long that Elide thought he would never say anything again, that she would never get his thoughts on her breasts, but when she served the salad, sitting down in front of him, he finally spoke.

"It's not that," he repeated, looking away, "they're very nice. Balanced." he began to eat undisturbed and Elide grimaced in amusement, finding a way to keep the conversation going.

"Balanced? What are they? An economic system?"

Lorcan clenched his jaw, setting his fork down on his plate and looking into her face again. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, that she was risking losing her sanity, but she had to know, had to-

"They're perfect and, maybe they are because they're attached to you, but they're probably the most beautiful tits I've ever seen."

Elide's brain shut down. And he seemed to realise it too because the shadow of a smile began to form on his lips.

Lorcan leaned forward on the table and her eyes snapped to his arms. Fingers flexing, interlocking, caught her attention completely. She returned her gaze to his, feeling her body heat up as he resumed speaking. "If I'm going to be completely honest... If you want the details, Elide," the way he said her name made her most intimate part clench around nothing, "I've never seen such nice, small nipples and that pink?" he shut his eyes, moaning as he brought one of the tomatoes to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the fork.

Elide swallowed the mouthful that had been in her mouth for over a minute and nearly choked when he opened his eyes again and they were darker than normal if that was possible.

She looked away, too many feelings building up inside her, but crossed her legs, trying to relieve some of the tension there.

"Wasn't that enough, Ellie?" he asked in a rough voice, biting into an olive, making sure she saw the way his lips closed around it.

She swallowed again, "No, it was fine..." she cleared her throat when it came out too weak, "Thanks for the feedback."

Lorcan let go a throaty chuckle, "The pleasure is all mine."

***

Like every Sunday evening, the whole group had gathered at the twins' house. And that night everyone was there, although Vaughan and Vesta, along with Aedion and Sorrel, had gone out into the back yard a few hours ago and had not yet returned. Elide suspected they'd taken to smoking.

Those left in the house were playing one of the most popular games, "I feel like."

The game had no real objective, other than to embarrass people or get them to confess to extreme or obscene sexual acts. It was simply a matter of drawing a card, reading what it said and giving it to the person you thought had done the closest thing to what was described on the card. The only real rule was that you had to tell the whole story of what happened if the card you were handed told the truth.

Quite often the game would be interrupted because one of the two sides of the various couples would cheat, change the rules and instead of passing it on to the appropriate person, they would pass it on to their partner as an invitation to lock themselves in the first spare room they could find to experiment with what was asked by the game.

The cards could range from as basic things as "I feel like your first time was in a public restroom." to as a bit more hardcore as "I feel like you got fisted in the woods."

And in that moment, Elide had a strong feeling that Rowan and Aelin would soon be going home.

"Oh my fucking god," Rowan muttered as he read the words on the card, turning red from head to toe. He looked up at Aelin, swallowing and making his adam's apple bob, "Where do you even find these games?"

Elide giggled beside him, "There's a girl on the internet who updates the cards every month and puts them up for sale, we take turns to see who has to buy them each time."

"Oh god," he said shaking his head. When he slid the card in Aelin's direction, the girl leaned towards him to leave a soft kiss on his lips and when they broke away they were both smiling. Aelin read what was written on the card and for a second it seemed like the colour drained from her face, but then she blinked and cleared her throat, looking at Rowan with wide eyes.

"Maybe we should go away. To try it out." she murmured, so quietly that only those on the couch with them heard her.

Elide looked up at the boy next to her, or rather, behind her, to see if he was listening, but he seemed lost in thought. He had been absentmindedly stroking her arm since they had settled there, and Elide didn't think she had ever been so relaxed in her life.

She and Lorcan were sitting at one end of the sofa, opposite to Rowan and Aelin, her between his legs and with her back against his chest. Every time one of them laughed, their bodies moved closer together and now she had her head resting on the part of his chest between his neck and shoulder.

She was home.

Fenrys and Connall, across the living room, sitting on the floor, booed.

"You can't pass them all on to her!" complained Lysandra.

Aelin didn't even look at her as she spoke, her eyes always fixed on Rowan's, as if they were having a telepathic conversation, "Lys, shut up."

Her friend gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

"I say we vote to kick them out of the room," Asterin said, in exactly the same position she was in, but between her boyfriend's legs. Half the people in the room raised their hands to the sky, making Aelin roll her eyes.

Fenrys nodded, always ready to back Asterin up in whatever situation they were in, "It's starting to smell like Rowaelin in here."

Lorcan chuckled behind her, knocking her forward. And as the others lost themselves in the chatter, Elide shifted her gaze to Manon, who sat in the armchair next to the couch, one hand in Dorian's hair, who sat with his head resting on the armrest.

Her friend's bright eyes sparkled with malice as she arched an eyebrow and gestured to the boy she was practically sitting on. Elide felt her cheeks blush, but smiled naively at her, pretending not to know what she was alluding to. Manon smiled back.

Elide had never spoken openly to her about Lorcan, not in that way at least, but she knew Manon knew - in fact, now that she thought about it, she had never had to do that with anyone. Everyone had been rather quick to catch on that. Everyone except Lorcan.

The hand on her arm stopped, clinging completely against her skin and Elide had to force herself not to look at him, but then he lowered himself onto her and whispered in her ear, "Ellie."

She turned her head just enough to look at him and his lips brushed her cheek, so briefly that she thought she had imagined it. Lorcan had pulled back and was now looking into her eyes, "Your turn."

She blinked and turned towards the others, only realising at that moment that all eyes were on them. She felt her face burn, but she nodded, putting a hand on Lorcan's knee and pushing herself forward, rubbing her ass on the crotch of his trousers. She'd been doing this all night, all night teasing him, just as he was teasing her, brushing the side of the breasts from time to time.

And each time, Lorcan would burst into a coughing fit and move further back, which only gave Elide a chance to grind even harder against him in an attempt to regain the comfortable position they were in before.

As she settled back into her seat, she met Fenrys' gaze, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. She lowered her eyes to the maroon card in her hands quickly, shimming her hips between his legs. Lorcan's hands ended on her shoulders and she looked up at him, batting her eyelids like a fawn.

"Stop moving around so much," he grumbled.

She smiled gently and then took up reading. She hadn't touched alcohol that night, for obvious reasons, but she still found it hard to understand what was written there when Lorcan's fingers began to draw imaginary lines across her bare skin.

"I feel like..." she whispered, her eyes going wide. She looked across the sofa at Rowan.

The friend gave her a chuckle, "I told you they seemed a bit extreme."

I feel like you performed a titjob on someone while being eaten out.

Before she could realise what she was doing, she said, "Can I give myself the card or...?"

Dorian turned a quizzical look on her, "You know you have to-"

Fenrys shrieked something unintelligible, but that stopped Dorian. Manon above them clenched her hands into fists, her eyes half-closed at the sudden commotion, "I haven't killed you yet just because-"

"Yeah yeah, just because of Asterin, I get it," Fenrys replied moving a hand midair, his gaze never leaving Elide's, who in a moment of clarity realised what Dorian was about to say. What the blond said only served to confirm her fear, "But Elide just confessed to doing whatever is written on it and I want to know every detail."

She felt Lorcan stiffen behind her and then Elide realised something else entirely. He must have read what was written on the card.

"So?" pressed Aelin, leaning over Rowan and snatching the card from Elide's hands. She opened her mouth wide with an amused expression, then put on a pout, looking at her boyfriend, "These are the things I sometimes wish you'd be a little more open about."

Rowan arched an eyebrow, reading the card in turn, "We can do those two things at the same time and without anyone else having to see you naked."

Lysandra, next to them, picked up the card, "Oh, Aedion and I did that too. Although it was a normal blowjob, no titty job." she exclaimed happily.

One thing that pleased Elide greatly was the fact that no one in that room would judge her for what she did in the bedroom and who she did it with. Also because there was a high probability that they had done it too.

And slowly the card was passed among all the members of their group and when it reached Fenrys and Asterin, the girl winked at Elide, murmuring a sensual, "I've never done it, but I'm sure it wouldn't hurt." Fenrys winked behind her, intertwining their hands. Asterin's smile only grew wider, before she added, "You have our numbers."

Elide blushed, but smiled anyway, nodding.

Everyone began to talk about the various possibilities, as they did during every turn, and the card finally passed from Dorian and Manon and the two exchanged only a glance before giving the card to Lorcan.

Lorcan who was taking deep breaths one after the other and had his eyes closed. Elide had never seen him so focused in her life. She noticed the way he contracted and relaxed his jaw repeatedly and frowned.

Was he alright?

She ran a finger over his thigh to get his attention, tracing a line from his knee to where his leg touched her hip and Lorcan let go a shuddering breath, opening his eyes slightly and tightening his grip on her shoulders, "I don't think you should do that." his voice so hoarse and deep that Elide felt her stomach knot. She didn't understand what he was referring to.

And then she felt it.

Hard and... thick against her ass.

She opened her eyes wide, pointing them at him, and held her breath. She had to stop herself from opening her mouth in surprise, but she couldn't stop herself when her hips pushed against Lorcan's now obvious erection.

Elide had never been so happy to hear Fenrys' laughter as she was at that moment, because if it hadn't been for the sudden noise, the moans that escaped them both would have been heard all too well and neither of them would have been able to look at anyone else in the room for the rest of their lives.

Lorcan swallowed, breathing through his nostrils, and his gaze fell to her lips. Her eyes did the same and she didn't care that they were among everyone and would have everyone's eyes on them if they did exactly what Elide was thinking, because his lips parted slightly and he whispered her name and she was lost.

Without thinking about it for another second, Elide turned just enough to have her face directly in front of his and closed her eyes, feeling his lips brush hers. She released a breath she didn't know she was holding, "Lorcan,"

And then she kissed him, and it was exactly as she had always dreamed it would be, as his lips moved with hers and they tasted and breathed from each other. A sound that Elide had never made in her life rose up her throat as Lorcan shifted and with a sharp movement of his hips turned her fully towards him and now she was on her knees in front of him, both of them breathing heavily as they looked into each other's eyes.

Someone coughed in the room and she heard Aelin whisper a weak "fucking finally", but Elide didn't give a shit.

She placed her hands on Lorcan's face, tilting his head back so she could reach him better. The second his hands landed on her hips, their lips collided again in a fierce kiss and his tongue found its way into her mouth.

The first touch of their tongues was like having a thousand fireworks explode in her mouth.

"Okay, it's time to join the others," Manon murmured.

Elide heard Fenrys mutter, "Please not on the couch, there are guest rooms upstairs."

Lorcan pulled away from her just enough to see what was going on around them and her hands slid around his neck, ending in his hair as she admired the line of his cheekbones and the way his lashes caressed his skin every time he closed his eyes.

God, he was beautiful.

"Which one can we use?" asked Lorcan as he looked at Fenrys.

Elide's eyes went wide, causing him to turn towards her. She ran a thumb over his lower lip, smirking, "So sure of yourself."

Without missing a beat, Lorcan mimicked her grin and squeezed her hips, "You don't want to?"

Elide smiled, turning towards her friends, stopping to look at Fenrys, "The second on the left right?"

When the owner of the house winked at her, nodding, she stood up, pulling Lorcan with her, who had a confused look on his face, "Why do you know that?"

She had the decency to blush, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the stairs, "You don't want to know."

Lysandra burst out laughing as everyone resumed their seats on the floor or the couch, "You really don't."

Elide tugged at him more insistently, not looking at Lorcan's reaction to those words. She just wanted to get to the room and lock herself in with him.

When she felt his hand settle on her hip and slide down to her ass cheek, where he paused to give it a squeeze, she almost turned and slammed him against the wall just so she could continue kissing him how she needed to.

They arrived in front of the door and she stopped with her fingers on the handle, once inside there would be no stopping. There would be no point of return.

His fingers brushed her cheek and she turned to face him, who now wore a ravenous, excited look, but Elide could see the concern and hesitation in taking the next step, "We don't have to do anything, Ellie."

She nodded, because she knew that was the case, but squeezed his hand to emphasize what he said, "But I want to."

"Good thing, cause the thought of you fucking those two gave me some ideas."

She grinned, placing a hand on his chest, "I wasn't the one doing the titty work, but we can always try."

Lorcan groaned softly at the knowledge of Elide licking another girl and then pushed the door open, backing in and taking his-

Whatever Elide was at that moment to him, it wasn't important.

The only thing that was important was his lips on hers.

The difference in height wasn't making it easy for him, and when he leaned down even further, never breaking the kiss, to run his hands under her knees and pull her up, Elide seemed to understand that right away and, pulling away just enough to jump into his arms, they found themselves on each other in seconds.

Lorcan bit her lower lip, making her moan, and when he moved to her jaw, nipping lightly at her skin, Elide threw her head back, pushing her hips against his and drawing a groan from both of them.

He immediately took the opportunity to latch his lips onto the smooth, quivering skin of her neck, feeling the bed behind his knees and sitting up, letting her straddle him. His hands moved up her legs, caressing her inner thighs, but never really getting close to where she needed him most.

Elide began to grope his chest, grazing the skin of his arms, but never staying in one spot, until Lorcan began to suck at the bare skin between her neck and shoulder and she nudged him slightly.

He quickly pulled away, panting, "What?"

There were too many layers. Keeping her eyes fixed on his, Elide lowered her hands to the hem of her shirt and slipped it off in one swift movement. She smiled smugly when she could finally see Lorcan's reaction to her bare tits.

His eyes were slightly wider than usual and his pupils so dilated that Elide realised that she had never noticed that Lorcan's eye colour was not black, but just a very dark brown. When he looked at her, the words died in her throat.

"I love it when you don't wear a bra," he murmured, reaching up to her and brushing her lips with his, "But I love even more the way you shiver every time I do this."

Elide didn't have a chance to dwell on the way he'd said love, because without her noticing, his hands had found their place on her waist and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pleasure when he brushed the sides of her breasts with his thumbs.

He pushed himself further against her, brushing his lips over her ear, "When we're alone and you don't have to hold back, I want you to scream my name." and then he moved quickly, leaving only a light kiss on her shoulder before his lips closed around a sensitive nipple.

With the first sweep of his tongue around the hard bead, Elide whimpered, pushing her hips down against his and making him moan into her chest. She brought her hands into his hair, clenching and pulling each time his teeth bit or scraped the sensitive skin around the nipple.

When he seemed to want to move on to the other breast, Elide shook her head, pulling his hair back to its roots and forcing her mouth against his, making him grunt. She had to feel him.

"Lorcan," she breathed, between kisses, "I need to touch you."

One of her hands slipped between the two of them, palming him through the sweatpants that did little to hide Lorcan's huge boner. He moaned against her chin, "Fuck."

They pulled apart again and when he had stripped off his shirt, Elide didn't waste a moment and pressed her bare chest against his, causing him to fall back onto the mattress.

Lorcan had other ideas though, because in one smooth motion she found herself lying on her back, his gentle weight pressing her against the covers and his bright smile lighting up his face. He left a kiss on her nose, on her lips and then down to the split in the middle of her breasts and her eyes rolled back in her head as a flashback from two nights before appeared in her head, of Lorcan doing the same thing with his eyes as they danced.

"Can I take these off?" he asked her, once he reached her hips where he was leaving kisses light as feathers.

Elide was breathing raggedly, but nodded when she understood he was talking about her leggings. Still keeping her eyes closed, she lifted her hips off the mattress, closing her fists around the covers as her bottoms disappeared along with her socks and the cold air hit her bare skin.

Now only the thin fabric of her black panties separated her from achieving what she wanted.

That and Lorcan's slacks.

"Ellie." she heard him as he came back on top of her, one knee between her legs to keep his balance. She licked her lip, opening her eyes and keeping her gaze fixed on him, on that perfect face.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked in a whisper, as if afraid the answer would be no. She had them, but they were downstairs, in her purse, and she had no desire to leave the room right then.

Lorcan arched an eyebrow, "I'm not having sex with you tonight, Elide."

She frowned, folding her arms under her and propping herself up on her elbows, "What does that mean?"

"That I'm not completely sober," he said, leaning his head towards her chest, keeping his eyes fixed in hers, "And the first time it'll be inside you," he murmured in a rougher voice, placing a light kiss on the nipple he hadn't licked before, "I want it to be at a time when I'm lucid and can remember all the noises and moans you make." and then he gave the same attention to her other breast, pushing her against the mattress one more time, until Elide was a squirming mess under him and deemed his treatment sufficient.

"Now I'm going to slip these off," Lorcan murmured, grazing a finger along the hem of her panties, and Elide shuddered, "and touch you. Here." the same finger slid across her covered folds, starting at her clit and following her slit to her entrance. "Already so wet for me."

Elide thrashed on the bed, moaning softly as he applied a little more pressure, "Stop teasing, we'll have time for that when we get home." she managed to toss out between shaky breaths.

"Understood ma'am." he taunted, grabbing the edges of the thing and pulling it down. The sound that burst from him was completely animalistic and threatened to make Elide come before he even really touched her. "So beautiful." he said, kneeling in front of her.

Lorcan's hands wrapped around her ankles and he pushed her legs up, placing her feet on the edge of the bed, until she was left with her knees bent and her pussy at his full disposal. Elide risked looking down between her legs and her eyes locked into his as he lowered himself onto her and smiled.

The way her chest rose and fell made her tits bounce and Lorcan seemed to appreciate it, but he didn't seem to be planning to do anything. Elide tipped her head back, whispering in a weak voice, "Do something, please."

He laughed and her muscles flexed, clenching around nothing. It was at that moment that she felt him, his breath on the most sensitive part of her body. "I'm going to make you cum so fast you won't have time to count to a hundred."

Lorcan's fingers came off her ankles and went to part her lips, making her feel the warm air of his breathe even more. He parted them until he was satisfied and Elide lowered her gaze just as his tongue made contact with her throbbing core. A rush of pleasure coursed through her body, making her legs tremble, "Lor," she moaned.

"Mh, El," he closed his lips around her clit, pressing his tongue against the pearl over and over, until Elide repeated his name like a prayer, "So good. You taste so good."

Her hands ended up in his hair again, pushing his face against her sex, seeking more. She began to move her hips, following the strokes of his mouth on her, but one of Lorcan's arms slithered around her pelvis and pinned her to the bed, lapping her juices as with his thumb he reached to massage her clit with such precision that Elide knew that whatever she would do on her own in the future, she would never be able to match how he was making her feel.

Elide cried out in pleasure, bringing a hand to her mouth as she felt his tongue thrust into her and an all too familiar warmth build up in the pit of her stomach.

She brought one hand up to massage the nipple he had only kissed and made a choked sound, her hips jerking upwards.

Lorcan moaned against her, a new sound, different from any he'd made so far, and Elide couldn't help herself. She pulled herself up onto her elbows, continuing to touch herself as he kept sending jolts of pleasure with every thrust of his tongue and every caress of his thumb, and the sight of him eating her out would have been enough to push her over the edge, but the hand wrapped around his thick, throbbing cock pumping relentlessly was the thing that made her eyes roll back and explode as the rope inside her snapped. Her legs gave out, falling over the edge of the bed and finding their place on Lorcan's shoulders.

Her mouth gaped open in a silent scream as her whole body trembled in pleasure as wave after wave surged through her and her back arched so wide she broke away from the bed.

Lorcan didn't stop touching her, but he pulled his mouth away from her, still massaging her clit until Elide was too sensitive and with a groan she tightened a hand around his wrist to push him away. She heard him grunt and then moan, but she didn't have the strength to lower her gaze to what she knew very well was a cumming Lorcan.

She was breathing hard, one hand on her stomach to rest and the other still clasped around his.

Every now and then her body was shaken by a spasm, but she managed to calm down after a few minutes and close her aching legs. She rolled onto her side, letting go of his wrist.

Lorcan was also breathless and kept his forehead pressed against the edge of the bed.

Elide felt a tinge of pain tingle through her heart. She pulled herself up just enough to look into his face, "Lor?"

She reached out a hand towards him, placing it on his shoulder, at which he raised his head and looked at her with bright eyes and an open mouth, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, smiling at him and falling back into the now unmade blankets, "Never been better."

He chuckled deeply, moving from his position on the floor and causing at least two joints in his legs to crack.

The moment Elide saw he'd managed to get at least halfway out of his trousers, her throat went dry. And her brain forgot how to talk when she noticed he wasn't wearing boxers. Elide knew Lorcan often went commando, but seeing it with her own eyes was a different story. Seeing him, was a completely different thing from feeling him against her.

She swallowed. She'd intended to scold him for taking all the fun out of both of them by touching himself, but maybe Elide had overestimated her abilities, because the idea of having to give Lorcan a blowjob when his dick was like this-

"If you keep looking at me like that I'm not sure I can keep the promise I made to myself," he murmured in a serious voice.

Elide looked up at his face and sighed as she saw his eyes as dark as before, just moments before he pulled off his clothes completely and lay down beside her on the other side of the bed.

It didn't take her even half a second to wrap herself around him and press her body against Lorcan's side as he draped an arm around her shoulders.

His fingertips began to trace idle lines on her shoulder as he had done only half an hour before on the couch in front of everyone.

A satisfied and surprised laugh came out of her. Lorcan put his hand under her chin and when she looked up at him he had an equally satisfied smile on his lips. He pushed her head towards his, causing their mouths to collide in a brief kiss that was chaste in comparison to what they had just done and when they broke away, Elide frowned, "I didn't like you touching yourself without giving me a chance to enjoy this in turn."

The corner of Lorcan's mouth turned up, "Sorry honey, but seeing you naked like that on the bed for me has been my dream for a little too long and I was sure I would have come in zero time if I had let you touch me. It would have been embarrassing." he whispered, caressing her cheek.

Elide tried to suppress a smile, failing miserably. She decided to tease him a little, "I thought I heard you say you lasted long in bed, didn't you?"

He chuckled, "You know it's hard to rely on stamina when the girl in question is you."

At those words she felt a particularly strong surge of affection for the boy who had given her one of the most intense orgasms she had ever received and she pushed herself closer against him, making her bare breasts feel against his skin.

Lorcan turned slightly towards her, looking into her face.

He looked so relaxed.

She knew he was.

But there was something that didn't allow her to be one hundred percent.

She fixed her eyes on his, placing a hand on his chest, over his heart. The hand Lorcan had held behind his head until now came to rest on hers, squeezing her fingers tight.

Elide took a shuddering breath, "Now what?"

Lorcan suppressed a yawn, "I guess it's not a problem if we stay here and sleep-"

"No, I'm saying," she interrupted him, looking away, "what do we do now? You and I." then, realizing that question couldn't have been more vague, she closed her eyes, mustering courage, "What are we now?"

"Whatever you want us to be, Ellie," he said softly, starting to stroke her hand, "But I want one thing to be clear. And I'd like you to look at me while I say it."

Elide opened her eyes, lifting her chin slightly so she could see him better, and gave him a small smile, which he immediately returned.

"What is it?"

Lorcan's gaze moved to her lips, before returning to her eyes, "I like you, Elide."

She stopped breathing.

"I really like you and whatever you decide to do with me, I'll respect that, but I also want to say that if you don't want anything exclusive, then this will have been a one night stand and won't happen again."

Although she also wanted exactly the same things, hearing him say them made her chest hurt, because the prospect of not being able to have him again so soon after just finally finding him hurt.

She cleared her throat, nodding, "I like you too." she whispered, noticing his eyes widen a little, "And I don't want you going with any other girls besides me if we decide to continue with this." Lorcan nodded, agreeing with her, then continued, "If you don't want a relationship right away, I can understand that, but know that I do." she felt herself blush as she finally admitted the truth out loud, looking away, "And I know our situation isn't the best with being roommates and all-"

"Our situation is perfect," Lorcan corrected her, moving a strand of hair out of her face.

She looked at him again, seeing him smile.

"Ellie, you're my best friend. The person who knows me the most out of all the people I consider important. We already live together, we won't have to fight over who to stay at every night. We won't have to go on any awkward first dates and the sex seems phenomenal to me," a lump formed in her throat as she tried to keep her breathing regular, but found it difficult when he smiled at her more broadly, "I waited months for you to see that the playlists were all declarations and hoped that after Friday night something would change. For once I won."

Elide figured he was talking about what had happened at the club, but if she was going to be completely honest... "I was the one who showed you my tits twice, letting you know I wanted something more. Don't take all the credit."

Lorcan burst out laughing and it sounded more scratchy than usual, "I'm sorry, you're right."

He kissed her again and again, and held her close as he ran his fingers through her hair and murmured the words to a love song, and before long she fell asleep in his arms, making Lorcan the happiest man in the world.

tog tag list (if you wanna be added or removed, just send an ask or dm me)

@maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-books @ladywitchling @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @anne-reads @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @letstakethedawn @simping4bookboisngrls @post-it-notes33 @booksstorm @nalgenewhore @queen-of-demons-and-hell @miserablemusings @lanyjoy-13 @vasudharaghavan @cupcakey00 @bri-loves-sunflowers @queen-of-glass @the-regal-warrior

#elorcan #elorcan fic #elorcan smut #elorcan fluff #tog fic #throne of glass #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin #lysandra ennar #fenrys moonbeam #dorian havillard #manon blackbeak #manorian #asterin blackbeak #honey

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