a-frog-with-a-laptop

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

your hands are cold

from Pride and Prejudice (2005)

pair: Azriel x Reader ~ 4.8k

warnings: mysogony (not from az), risque thoughts from reader, sharing a bed ooooh, shadow violence, protective azriel

summary: Azriel would give you the shirt off his back if he knew you were cold and he's trying so so hard to make you see that

Illyrian's lived in the snowy mountains of the Night Court. Thick blankets of snow fell year-round, the sun scarcely offering a reprieve from the constant bite of wind. By the time the children were old enough to run and wield a stick the boys were thrust into training and the girls into house/camp work. Everyone grew to adapt to it, their bodies functioning at an unnaturally high temperature.

Although Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian had lived away from Illyria and the camps for multiple centuries now, they still grew overly warm during the earlier seasons. Both a curse and a blessing.

So why the hel didn't anyone tell you to bring a thicker coat?

Being the night court's newly appointed emissary, you were tasked to go to Illyria to comb over some of the issues stirring up. Specifically concerning the female's training. Surprise surprise.

Thankfully, Azriel had offered to come with. Rhys had given him a smirk, looking between the two of you but Azriel winnowed you before you could decipher what that look meant.

You now stood outside the training ring with him as Devlon and two of his croonies made up some half-assed excuses as to why they weren't prioritizing the females training.

"-we have two new mother's in the area who need the extra support." Devlon ranted, clearly exasperated that his high lord was continuing to harp on this matter.

You looked up to Azriel who was watching the pathetic male with a clenched jaw. He loosened it to say, "Have the father's help then. If they can't care for their own children then they should keep it in their pants."

You refrained from giggling but remained indifferent. Some of the people you worked with were open to your messages while others were... Devlon. And Beron, you supposed. You had to tread lightly because one misstep and they would prod at the weakness until you couldn't handle it. 

"All of our males are needed in training to ensure that they stay in shape. Those females shouldn't have spread their legs so fast." Devlon drawled.

"Surely Rhys would be willing to reenact the castration laws." You said without thinking, glaring at him. "You wouldn't mind being first on the list, would you?"

Devlon only ignored you.

Even with the ire coursing through your veins, you shivered. You were supposed to have been here for an hour max. Get in, yell at them, get out. Unsurprisingly, there was more to fix than you had assumed.

Azriel side-eyed you as you shook from the cold and held out his hand to Devlon. "Coat."

Devlon paused, glaring at the shadowsinger's scarred hand as if it held the plague. "What?"

"Give me your coat. Now."

The words sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. One that made your eyes widen at the hostile calm with which he said it. Sure, you'd heard that tone once or twice, but it never failed to impel you to stand straighter even if it wasn’t aimed for you. 

Devlon scoffed. "I'm not giving you my coat. Who do—"

Shadows crept up around Azriel's feet, climbing his tall, hard body until they amassed near the siphons at his hands, contrasting starkly with the pure white snow that fell around him. With the tendrils of darkness poised to strike, paired with the unforgiving look on Azriel's face, he made a hauntingly beautiful picture. Feyre would be distraught she hadn't been here to capture it.

Not a second further, Devlon took his coat off and placed it in the shadowsinger's waiting palm. His own hand trembling, you noted with smugness.

Azriel stayed silent as he flicked it once. Twice. Until he was certain it was free of any contamination, and then turned to you, a far softer expression pulling at his achingly handsome features. He then stepped forward and brought the coat around your shoulders, encircling you in his arms to fasten the buttons.

Time stopped and you took the chance to study him. The mussed locks of hair from running his hands through it every time Devlon opened his mouth. The smooth planes of his tanned skin. His enviably dark, long lashes framing those all-seeing hazel eyes. And his mouth... if you were a poet you would write odes about it. Both admiring and wicked.

You blushed.

"Is this alright?" he asked softly.

You slowly nodded, words stuck in your throat due to his close proximity.

His fingers brushed against your throat softly and he pulled away, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

When the argument started back up again, you found that while your upper body was warming up, your legs and feet were still at the mercy of the breeze.

Azriel looked to you again and released a heavy sigh. "We'll send healers to perform check-ups on the babes and new mothers. The other females will train as normal. And you will speak to the court's emissary with respect." He told Devlon, voice final.

"I have no idea why he has a weak female performing court check-ups." Devlon bit out, no doubt angry at having been pressed into submission and having his coat stolen.

One second you could see clearly, and the next your vision was clouded by swarming darkness. Instinctively, your hand shot out to find Azriel, fear twisting your stomach at the thought of being attacked or—

You barely had time to call out for him when the darkness vacuumed back to its origin—Azriel.

He now stood a breadth away from Devlon, shadows morphed into the shape of a hand held at the camp leader's throat.

There was no curiosity lingering in your mind as to why he was often referred to as the Angel of Death. His body was tense and forbidding, as if he had been carved from stone. Broad, claw-tipped wings spread in threat, consuming the space around him. The largest you'd witnessed.

"It'd be a shame if your windpipe was broken," his voice was colder than the wind that had picked up, "I'd think twice if you were to make another smart remark about our high lord's emissary."

They stared at each other and then Devlon's shoulder sank in defeat. The ghost hand dissipated at his throat, revealing finger-like bruising. You could only imagine the true harm his shadows could inflict if given free rein.

Devlon's eyes snapped from Azriel to you, chin dipping nearly imperceptibly before walking away, back tense as if he were preparing for an attack.

You waited until he was out of sight to speak. “Thanks for the coat?”

Azriel rolled his shoulders, eyes on the space above your head. “Sorry that it belongs to that dense misogynist; I rarely find the need to carry one around.”

You laughed, hoping to dispel the tension clinging to the air, and clutched the coat tighter to warm your hands up. “It’s summertime; how is it still snowing out here?”

“The elevation of the mountains results in colder weather year-round, no matter the season. This is considered warm.” He jerked his chin in the direction of a group of shirtless Illyrian’s training. “Cassian used to tan on days like this when we were younger.”

“Is that what he’s been doing the past week? I wandered up to the roof yesterday and caught him rubbing some oil into his legs. I never want to see him in shorts those small again.” You widened your eyes in horror. 

"Count yourself lucky. I've seen the bastard’s ass more than I have his face."

"Some would say that you should count yourself lucky then."

Azriel scoffed, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked. 

You really weren’t. Not when he was watching you with such tenderness. A cold gust of wind blew past, making your teeth chatter. Azriel didn’t waste any time in scooping you into his arms. 

“Wait,” your breath hitched, “what about Devlon’s coat?”

“We’ll burn it when we get back to The House.” 

Just as he was about to lift off, thunder cracked, causing you to peer up at the malicious looking grey clouds rolling in. Odd, considering just this morning, when you first arrived, the day had been clear and sunny.

Azriel let loose a long breath, eyes switching from you to the sky until he put you on your feet. "We'll have to wait it out."

"You've traveled in far worse conditions," you reminded, although you'd much rather stay put too.

"I'd never risk your life." He stated, voice gruff.

You had to ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. This was not the place nor time to feel flattered by Azriel's protectiveness. He was this way with all of his friends and family, after all.

"Where will we stay? I guess Devlon would let us-"

Azriel snorted. "If I spend one more minute with that shithead I might strangle him to death. Fortunately, Rhys' mom has a cabin here that we can stay in."

As if to hurry you both, the heavens opened up and peltered you with a cold sleet. You were almost instantly drenched. Azriel wasted no time in putting an arm around your back, wing stretched overhead to offer reprieve, and urged you forward through the slick mud.

Finally, you arrived at the cabin, a, small yet homey, two story house with an already roaring fire and steaming kettle on the stove. The shadows doing, you assumed. You turned to Azriel who retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with tea.

You could picture Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys as young, growing boys wandering in and out of that kitchen, hungry after long days of training. And you spotted notches in the wooden cupboards and dining furniture where playful fights or inaccurately aimed daggers managed to land.

He made his way to you, setting the mugs on the mantel, cringing as you shivered hard. "Do you mind?" he motioned to the coat you still clutched tightly at. "It will only make you colder."

You shook your head, teeth chattering, and reached to take it off when you were stopped by Azriel's hands. He peeled it off of your shoulders and down your arms and chucked it in the fire without blinking.

You couldn't help but laugh at his obvious distaste of the clothing and it's owner.

"Warm up and drink the tea; I'm going to search for some clothes that are, hopefully, untouched by mothballs."

Who would have blamed you for admiring the way his leathers fit to his bunching muscles as he made his way up the stairs?

A small part of you hoped that he wouldn't be able to find anything. From the stories you'd heard from the inner circle about missions that have gone awry in the cold, one of the ways they managed to stay warm was to share body heat.

The image of Azriel aiding you taking off your wet clothes before doing it to himself, flashed in your mind.

Ugh. You rolled your shoulders, turning towards the fire to soothe the ice settling in your bones. Yes, Azriel had been incredibly kind today by offering to join you and giving you a jacket, but that was just it. Kindness.

When you had first met Azriel, like most everyone, you fell for his devilishly handsome features and cool nature. It didn't help that he was unfathomably loyal and strong. Or tall and athletic. Or a good male with good intentions overall.

"It's just a stupid crush," you muttered to yourself as you put your palms out towards the fireplace.

"Hm?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Azriel returned to your side on silent steps. A shadow skittered over your shoulder, tickling your neck as if to laugh at you.

"We should really put a bell on you,"

"I'd prefer my enemies to not know when I'm near." Azriel held out clothes to you. "They're old but should suffice. If you'd prefer to wash-"

"That would be wonderful." The idea of a warm bath caused you to sigh with longing.

Azriel clicked his tongue, amusement lighting his eyes. "I shouldn't have even asked, huh? Come," he jerked his head to the direction of the stairs, "let's get you cleaned up."

Electricity zapped through your body at the image of sitting between Azriel's legs in the bathtub as he used a washcloth to soothe your goose-bumped riddled skin. Would he press his lips to each knob of your spine while he massaged shampoo into your hair and-

"Coming?"

Your eyes snapped to Azriel, the fog of your imagination dissipating, making you feel ridiculous. Your cheeks pinked and you nodded, following him.

The bathtub wasn't big enough to comfortably sit two people. Much less if that second person happened to be an Illyrian male.

Azriel put the dry clothes on the counter. "Do you need any help navigating things?"

"I am confident in my ability to bathe myself, thank you for your concern." You teased.

"Don't need me to get your back or anything?" he shot back, looking a lot less tense than he had when you were speaking with Devlon. In fact, he looked a lot lighter than when he was even around the inner circle.

"I think I have it all under control. Thank you again, Azriel."

Before heading out, he lingered at the doorway, looking as if he had something to say but decided not to. He then left you to your own devices, saying something about cooking something up. You stripped out of your drenched clothes and turned on the faucet, shivering when you first dipped into the water. It felt like a warm hug.

The only thing that would make it better would be if you were nestled against Azriel's tattooed chest.

No no no.

You shouldn't be feeding into your delusions. Especially while the person you were daydreaming about was the only other person in the house with you. It would only make things terribly awkward. And you didn't want to ruin anything with Azriel. Not when you were just becoming close friends.

You had been emissary to the night court for a couple of years now and while you had gotten along quickly with everyone, it had taken a while for Azriel to even speak with you one-on-one. He wasn't easily trusting, which you completely understood. But lately things had been warming up. He would make you breakfast when you were the only two up, hand-deliver the books Nesta let you borrow, even nudge your leg under the table when Cassian was making a fool of himself.

Not to mention the fact that he brought you to this camp despite it being a solo mission.

You pushed it all from your mind, not wanting to overthink things, and finished your bath.

The sweater and sweat pants Azriel supplied you with smelled faintly of him. You wondered if they had been his when he lived in this gods-awful camp.

Having found no brush or comb, you settled with running your fingers through your damp hair, wandering down to the kitchen to find Azriel at the stove, preparing what smelled like chile. He tilted his head up to look at you and fire settled low in your belly as his pupils seemed to take over his irises'.

You swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat self-conscious wearing his clothes that hung off your frame. You tugged on one of the sleeves as it slipped down your shoulder. "Hopefully there's warm water left."

The pot hissed with bubbles, shadows whisking the soup ladle out of the oblivious shadowsinger's hand to continue stirring, as Azriel scanned you from head to toe.

Judging by the amusement dancing in his eyes, you probably looked like a drowned rat. You itched to turn back into the bathroom and check yourself in the mirror.

He stepped into your space, "They're not too big?"

The clothes. You shook your head, pointing to the rolled up pant legs. "Needed some adjusting but they shouldn't cause too many problems."

"Certainly wouldn't want them to fall off," he mumbled, more to himself, the insinuation in his voice not helping in tamping down your growing feelings.

"Do I look silly or something? Why are you watching me strangely?"

"Not at all. I just thought you look... adorable." He smiled crookedly.

You realized now you had never seen a genuine smile—one that wasn't produced from dark humor—grace his face. Red splashed over your cheeks and you hurried to say, "You should probably wash up yourself. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold or anything."

After a moment of consideration all traces of pleasure were wiped from his face. You nearly swayed at the whiplash of his emotions. "There's some soup and I discovered one of Cassian's hidden stashes of wine,"

"Perfect," you offered an awkward smile.

While he bathed, you wiped down two bowls and wine glasses of grimy dust before filling them with soup and wine. You then stood by the sink, watching out the window into the night.

The storm had grown, howling winds causing the structure of the house to groan as rain continued its rhythmic drumming on the roof. A flash of lightning lit up the sky every few minutes with the accompanied roll of thunder.

Your heart raced double its time from the inane fear of how destructive nature could be.

You drained the wine in one swallow.

"Not fond of storms?"

"Shit!" you whipped around to find a fresh-faced Azriel rubbing a towel through his dark, wet hair. "When we return home I'm finding that bell."

His eyes squinted in amusement, tossing the towel onto the back of a kitchen chair. "If it helps soothe your worries, Illyria has endured worse weather than this."

"Are you sure this cabin is sound enough to withstand this weather? Considering how old it is?"

A black eyebrow rose, "Is that a jab at my age?"

Apologies began tumbling out of your mouth. Azriel only waved off the words. "Sit and let's eat. The storm will hopefully clear by tomorrow morning and we can be on our way back to Valeris."

"Were you able to reach Rhys?"

"He told us to stay put," he shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, "and that if anything is to happen to you, I will be the one to blame."

"I'm flattered he finds me so valuable."

Hazel eyes met yours for a heartbeat as he said, "You are very valuable."

Oh Cauldron. If he continued saying things like that, you wouldn't be able to keep your growing feelings from showing on your face.

You cleared your throat instead, "How much trouble do you think we'll be in because of that incinerated coat?"

The rest of the dinner was spent bonding over your hatred of Devlon. You weren't sure how Azriel survived being under the insufferable male for so long. Or all the males here, if you were honest. It helped you to understand why he was so hesitant to claim them as his people.

"How long has this cabin been unoccupied?" you inquired, taking another bite of the chile.

Azriel leaned back in his chair, considering your question. He'd been, surprisingly, open tonight. There seemed to be no trace of the ever-reserved male you encountered more often than naught. "The inner circle prefers to handle the camps during the day so we rarely find the need to stay here. Devlon uses it sometimes for meetings."

"Did each of you boys get your own rooms?"

"Boys?" a corner of his mouth kicked up, "You say that as if we're not all centuries older than you."

You stifled a chuckle, "Considering how often you three wrestle over ridiculous things like who gets the last slice of dessert, I think it's fitting."

His biceps flexed as he stretched them above his head. You felt dizzy with awe. "Whatever," he retorted playfully, "but, to answer your question, we shared the same room until it became too much of a hazard."

"Hazard?"

A faint blush crept over his tan cheeks. "When we became more interested in females than pulling pranks on one another."

Oh. You blushed in response and took a drink from your glass to hide your embarrassment.

Azriel huffed a laugh, obviously recognizing your regret of asking the question. In a considerate manner, he said, "Remember how I told you about Cassian tanning?"

"Oh gods, I won't be able to unable to get the image you offered out of my head."

"Then you'll be affronted to know that I found the oil he used."

A laugh spewed from your mouth. Azriel smiled softly at your unexpected outburst. The conversation was built on from there and your stomach hurt from how hard he managed to make you laugh.

As soon as you scraped the last bean out of your bowl, Azriel took it from you and washed it in the sink. Huh. A male who cooks and cleans? You couldn't believe your eyes. And you had to ignore the space in your heart that warmed.

Your attention was drawn to the shifting muscles in his forearms as he scrubbed the dishes. To the dark tattoos swirling around his powerful arms, practically calling you to trace them with your fingers.

"—sleep?"

You shook your head as you realized you hadn't heard him. "Sorry, what?"

A shadow tugged on your hair teasingly and he repeated, "Obviously you're tired since you can't even think straight. Let's go sleep."

He led you upstairs once more and into what you assumed was the master bedroom, with a large four poster bed, a vanity, armoire, and lace curtains that hung over the window. It looked as if it belonged to a... female.

"Was this—"

Azriel nodded, eyes softening as he took in the homemade quilt, "This was Rhys' mother's room. After difficult training or frightening storms, she would let us all fit in the bed with her as she told us stories of fearless Illyrians."

"You used to be scared of storms?"

You couldn't imagine the spymaster being afraid of anything. Even as a child.

"I was scared of many things,"

That was all he offered before attempting to stoke the fireplace and ensuring the room was warm enough. You hesitated before asking, "Is this where I'll be staying tonight?"

"We'll both be staying in here."

Your world flipped upside down.

"You're serious?"

Hazel eyes snapped to you with amusement. "The only fireplace working is the one in the living room; these logs are too wet. Not to mention the magic of this cabin isn't as strong without Rhys here."

It looked as if your idea of sharing body heat was coming to fruition. This would quite possibly be the best night of your life, so you needed to savor it as much as you could until everything went back to normal the next morning.

Your fingers shook as you pulled back the covers and slipped in. Oh gods. This was much more nerve-wracking than you'd anticipated. Yes, you seemed to get along great and you felt comfortable around him, but he was still handsome as sin and effortlessly attractive.

After Azriel was certain no logs were salvageable, he stood from his crouched position, spread his mighty wings once in to prepare for a cramped bed, then tucked them in tightly. Your eyes tracked the movement, the sconce lamps revealing the red tint running through the membranous tissue.

He walked to his side of the bed and laid down, a weary sigh leaving his lips. "The temperature will drop the later it gets, so it'd be wise if we slept closer. I don't bite."

Despite that last teasing remark, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Who wouldn't? You were only sharing a bed with one of the greatest warriors to ever live. And he was acting like it was a regular occurrence.

You tested the waters and inched close enough that your hips touched. You swallowed thickly.

He fluffed his pillow, and even yours, before resting his head and asking, "Comfy?"

Not trusting your words, you nodded, and the room was engulfed in darkness. There was nothing besides the staccato beat of rain hitting the roof and the buzzing along your skin where you were touching Azriel.

You counted sheep in your mind to calm down enough to sleep, fighting off the overbearing thoughts of the male beside you.

A peal of thunder caused you to start.

A heavy hand closed over yours, the ridges and callouses of unhealed burns pressing into your own unmarked skin. You caught your breath. "I won't let anything harm you," came Azriel's deep assurance, instantly calming your racing mind.

Two blinks later and you were sound asleep.

It was so gods-damned hot.

Having Azriel sleep beside you was like having your own personal Illyrian heater. Sweat beaded at your temple and your body felt like it was being roasted over a fire.

Obviously this sleeping-together thing would have worked a lot better if you didn't have access to the indoors or multiple blankets. The fact that you were so inclined to move away made you frown. You enjoyed sleeping so close to Azriel; he was safe, and strong... but he was going to burn you alive.

Slowly, you inched away from Azriel, closer to the edge of the bed, and pulled off the quilt, sighing at the instant relief of cool air sliding across your heated skin. You could finally—

The windows blew open, a gust of frigid wind bursting through the room. You began shivering and grabbed the corner of the quilt when a heavy arm was thrown over your stomach, tugging you into a hard body.

"Where were you going?" Azriel rasped into your ear.

This time you trembled for a different reason. "Wh-what?"

His thumb stroked over your hip, "You were trying to leave."

"It was hot," you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, he would realize what he was doing and let go of you.

"Don't go."

Hel, you wouldn't move again if a thousand Illyrians dragged you out of his protective embrace.

"Are the windows broken?" you asked.

What had caused them to slam open like that? Was this cabin deteriorating quicker than Azriel had let on? Would it hold on through the night?

You turned your head to the side to assess the damage just as the windows pulled together again. The latch clicking into place.

Squinting your eyes, you managed to spot two slithering shadows gliding along the windowsill.

"Azriel," his name came out suspiciously. Did he send his shadows to open the windows?

He hummed, the vibration of his chest reverberating through your own. "You're always so antsy around me," he admitted, "getting nervous when I start to get comfortable and changing the subject."

What else did you expect from the spymaster of the night court? Obviously he would be able to read a person's behavior.

"I didn't want to scare you off." Came your timid reply.

Azriel huffed a laugh. "Why would I be scared of the attention of a beautiful female?"

A pink flush spread across your cheeks, hidden in the dark of the room. You were never getting over this. Oh, how you wished you had your journal.

"I like you," he continued, "and I know you like me. But this game of cat and mouse has me growing anxious. I would rather like to smile at you without you diverting your eyes."

"I don't think you're scary."

"I know." He said in a cock-sure way.

You scoffed, amused. "For the record, I wasn't escaping because I was scared this time, but because your body runs at two hundred degrees."

"That's why I opened those damn windows." So that the cold would send you rushing back into his arms, you slowly realized.

You were at a loss for words.

"Say something," he asked, an imperceptible plea in his voice.

What were you supposed to say? I think you're beautiful and want to get to know you? You decided to play it safe with, "This is nice." There. That was enough to keep your heart at ease, and not make you sound desperate.

"I like you too," he tightened his hold on you, languidly nosing along your scalp, as if he were smelling you, "And I always want you here."

"In this cabin?"

In the span of two seconds, he had you on your back, limbs trapped under his own. From the scarce lighting of the cloud-covered moon, you could make out the slants and slopes of his face, the soft glimmer in those all-seeing eyes. "In my arms."

In all your day-dreaming, nothing ever compared to hearing him say those words than in real life. When his thumb brushed along your fluttering pulse, and his warm breath fanned against your face.

You swallowed thickly, "Is this a dream?"

His lips met yours, achingly slow, and oh so beautifully.

Once. Twice. He kissed you. The simple action conveying all that words could not. That he truly did like you. That you shouldn't be afraid. That he was falling with you. Falling so so so fast.

author's note: RELEASE ME! guys. i have been trapped in the writer's block hell. i'm home. if there are any mistakes or loopholes, no there aren't. i hope you all love it, pretties. (I haven't forgotten about the beautiful readers who sent me requests🥰)

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem!reader (mini-series) part 10

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel's secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

See masterlist

Previous part

Warnings: some slight angst, fluff

"Because you're here"

The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the heat of last night's words still clung to the air. Y/N lay on her side, back to the room but her eyes were very much open.

She hadn't turned once throughout the night. Not because she'd fallen asleep peacefully--no. Her body had been tense beneath the covers, her mind playing and replaying the moment Eris entered the room with that infuriating blanket and pillow like he owned the place.

And now, as the sunlight tiptoed past the drapes and spilled across the floor, she heard the slow stretch of leather, a faint grunt, and the rustle of fabric. He was awake.

She didn't move.

Not until she heard him say, voice low and hoarse from sleep, "You always this still when you sleep?"

Y/N rolled onto her back, slowly. Her voice came out even colder than she intended. "Wouldn't know. Didn't get much of it."

Eris sat up on the couch, running a hand through his hair, his shirt wrinkled and clinging slightly to his chest. "Neither did I," he muttered. Then, more pointedly, "We'll talk. Later. Properly this time."

"Later," she repeated, voice laced with challenge.

There was a moment of silence. His eyes searched hers for something--she didn't know what--but when he rose to his feet, she forced herself to not watch the way he moved. He didn't speak again. Just left the room, closing the door behind him.

Y/N exhaled the breath she'd been holding, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly. Whatever had happened last night, whatever this stranger emotional ceasefire was...it couldn't last.

Not with everything still hanging between them. Not with the card.

She sat up, her movements slow and calculated. Her ribs--miraculously--barely hurt at all anymore. As she dragged her fingers through her tangled hair and reached for the cup filled with water, her eyes flicked to the desk. Empty. The card was still gone. With Niera.

And soon, she'd need answers.

The scent of cedarwood clung into the air as Eris adjusted the cuffs of his tunic, standing in front of the gilded mirror within his and Y/N's shared bedchamber. Though the bed behind him remained untouched on one side. Her side. Right, she was in the other room.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his tousled auburn hair. His reflection stared back with a frown etched too deep for a morning this early.

Last night hadn't gone the way he'd expected. Not that he expected much anymore when it came to Y/N. She was unpredictable. Sharp-tongued. Daringly reckless. And now....someone who has healed faster than anyone he had ever seen before. Seriously, the Y/N from two days ago and the one he saw last night, in terms of injury, were completely different.

She was quite literally on the verge of death and now, in a matter of hours, she is already walking around just fine. Not that he wasn't relieved, it's just...since when did Autumn have such good healers?

His jaw tightened.

He scoffed under his breath. "Liar," he muttered, though he couldn't quite decide if he meant her deception...or himself. She was hiding something. Something she didn't want want anyone to know about. Not even him. Especially not him.

Eris reached for the rings laid out on the dresser, slipping them onto his fingers one by one. The way she'd refused to speak to him--ignored him completely as if he were a passing breeze--still gnawed at the edge of his patience.

And yet tonight, she'd return to this room. He'd make sure of it. She had to. She needed a proper rest.

A pause.

He looked toward the untouched side of the bed. No. Maybe it's better if she didn't, actually. Not with Calanmai so close and him feeling....all types of things.

Calanmai. A spring Court tradition, yes, but like everything else, its reach bled through the realms. The air was already shifting. The pull in his veins stronger than he cared to admit. Fire magic stirred easier. Hunger simmered beneath his skin.

And she...she didn't even know what Calanmai was. He couldn't scare her away like that. He wouldn't.

He clenched his fists. If she found out--if she saw--if she even felt an ounce of what was beginning to stir inside him, she'd run. Or worse...she wouldn't. And then he'd-

A sudden flicker of black light blinked in the air beside his shoulder, and a rolled parchment dropped gently onto the table, as if the wind had set it down.

Eris stared at it.

No seal. No signature. No emblem.

But he didn't need one.

He recognized the texture, the precise folds of the paper.

His spy. The one he'd sent out to search about Y/N.

He unrolled it with careful fingers, eyes scanning the simple, elegant script.

"My prince, we must meet. I have all the information."

Nothing more.

But it was enough to have Eris's heart thrum once. Hard. Loud.

He folded the parchment back and stared into the mirror again, this time not seeing himself, but instead a woman with sharp words. Y/N, What are you hiding?

And why does it feel like I already know the answer?

He stepped away from the mirror, fingers still tight around the message.

Guess he will have to skip breakfast.

"What?!" Samira practically shrieked, her voice ricocheting off the walls like an alarm bell. "And you decided to hide all of this from me?!"

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the bed, legs tucked beneath the sheets for show--an illusion of fragility she didn't bother upholding anymore now that Samira knew the truth. Her spoon hovered above the half-finished bowl of broth as she raised a brow, calm in the face of the storm.

Y/N gave her a sheepish smile. "Well, technically, I just told you, so that's not hiding."

Samira gaped. "You--You-- You mean to tell me you bribed a healer, snuck a forbidden card out of that cursed house, got yourself healed in record time, and left me in the dark through all of it? Me?! I thought we were in this mess together!"

Y/N sipped a lukeworm soup and hummed. "That's a very dramatic way of putting it. But yes."

Samira looked one breath away from combusting. She began pacing, her robes swishing wildly as she stormed back and forth like a general preparing for battle. "That healer? Gods, you don't even know her!"

"She's young. Careful. Quick with her hands. And scared enough not to cross me."

"That is not reassuring."

"I've thought it through," Y/N cut in before Samira could spiral further. "All night, in fact, while Eris was snoring his ass off on the couch. Said he didn't sleep a wink. Lied to my face. That idiot."

Samira threw her hands up. "You should've told me! Or--gods, Y/N, do you realize how dangerous this is? This card--this Unmaker or whatever--we have no idea what it's tied to."

"I know." Y/N's voice lowered, eyes sharp. "That's exactly why I had to do something. I'm not stupid, Samira. I know I can't leave the palace again, not without guards following my every step, not without permission. You'll be watching me like a hawk and so will half of this cursed court. So I need a middle hand. Someone I trust."

Samira halted mid-pace, spinning toward her.

"No."

Y/N smirked. "Yes."

"No."

"Yes," Y/N said again, firm. "I need you to be the in-between. I can't meet with Niera again so soon. But you can. Carefully. Quietly. Pass messages. Ask questions. Get updates, progresses."

"And then what?" Samira hissed. "Then we all burn?"

Y/N tilted her head, calm despite the roiling anxiety in her chest. "Then I finally know the truth and I stop wondering what it means to be The Unmaker. Or why that thing in the forest knew my name. Or why the flames didn't burn me when Eris carried me out."

Samira crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. "You're going to get us both killed."

Y/N leaned back on her palms. "Maybe. But at least we'll die knowing things."

A long pause.

Then finally--grudgingly--Samira exhaled through her nose and dropped onto the bed beside her like a stone falling from a tower. "I hate how persuasive you are."

"I know."

"I hate that I'm going to do this."

"I'm grateful you are."

Another beat. "If anyone asks, I was seduced by your brilliance and corrupted by your charm."

Y/N snorted. "I'll put it on your grave."

Samira smacked her arm.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of it all stretching between them. Y/N turned her gaze towards the window, where the morning sun filtered in just a bit too cheerily for the kind of mess they were both now in.

Her curiosity wasn't going to rest. And maybe--maybe--neither would the truth anymore.

The leaves of the Autumn Court whispered as they always did--sweeping in copper-red spirals over the moss-drenched ground, dancing like fire without flame. Eris leaned against the twisted trunk of an old, gnarled tree, its bark cool against his back as he stared out at the forested cliffs below.

Sunlight fractured through the canopy, slanting golden against the russet hues. A wind brushed past, carrying the scent of charred wood and falling apples. Normally, this was the kind of place he found peace in.

Today, it only worsened the tension coiled in his chest like a beast waiting to snap its jaws. He tapped his gloved fingers against his thigh, counting the seconds. Alaric was never late.

And yet Eris' nerves refused to calm. He was about to receive information...about her. Fully. Truly.

He heard the footfalls before he saw the man. Soft, calculated steps breaking through the rustle of leaves. Alaric emerged through the treeline like a wraith--his hood down, golden hair pulled back messily, a blade strapped to his thigh, a satchel slung across his back. His lean, sharp features were unreadable as always, eyes the dull gold of worn coin.

"Prince," Alaric greeted, bowing his head in respect.

"You're late," Eris said coldly, though it wasn't true.

Alaric didn't bother explaining. He unslung the satchel and crouched beside a flat-topped rock, pulling out a stack of files, scrolls, parchment--gathered and bound with exacting precision.

"This," he said quietly, "is everything. Every piece of her I could find. All the information ranging from her favourite colour to her entire ancestry tree. All the details are here but I will tell you the overall summary."

Eris stared at the stack. "Then start talking."

Alaric nodded once. "As she claims, she was raised in the coastal quarters of Montesere. Working class. Her mother, as you know, is alive but truly ill. From all accounts, Y/N has done everything for her--sacrificed schooling, work, even relationships to care for her. They moved around often in her childhood, never staying in one city more than a few seasons."

Eris's throat tightened despite himself. "And her father?"

"That's where things shift."

Alaric placed another thinner file to the side. "Her records show no father ever listed on paper. But there were whispers in Montesere. I followed them."

Eris crossed his arms, jaw clenched. "Get to the point."

"For the most part," Alaric said, eyes flicking up, "she is who she says she is. Her intentions, her background, her reasons for accepting your plan--all true. She's kept her head down, protected her mother, lived modestly. But- "

"But?" Eris's voice was a warning now.

Alaric touched the file. "That's just the surface. These files...they hold everything. Her family's history, bloodlines, even her favorite damn dessert. I wanted to prepare you before you looked at it yourself."

Eris pushed off the tree. "Prepare me for what?"

Alaric didn't answer.

"Alaric." Eris grabbed him by the shoulders roughly, eyes blazing. "Prepare me for what?! Spit it out or I'll- "

"Her father," Alaric said tightly, holding his gaze, "was not just some passing merchant or traveler. He wasn't even from Montesere."

Eris's grip tightened. "So?"

Alaric exhaled like the weight of it might crush him. "Her mother had a brief affair--fleeting, hidden. She never told anyone--well, except Y/N--the name or identity, scared of the shame it would bring. But I traced it. I followed the trail. And I'm sure."

A pause.

"Azriel," Alaric said, barely above a whisper, "the Shadowsinger of the Night Court...is Y/N's half-brother. They share the same father."

Silence. Then Eris's hands dropped slowly to his sides.

The leaves of the Autumn Court kept dancing.

The room smelled of crushed lavender and stale bandages.

Y/N sat propped against the pillows, her face carefully schooled into the expression of someone still weakened--though her body no longer throbbed with that sharp ache in her ribs. Not anymore. She’d made sure Niera healed her well, quickly, thoroughly. But the performance had to continue. The bruises were painted on with faint illusion, the stiff movements calculated.

Because even though Samira now knew the truth, the rest of the court didn't. And these types of injuries didn't heal in a day. Let them all believe she was still the broken, recovering wife of the Autumn Court heir.

The High Lady had come earlier, all clipped words and polite concern. Two different court healers had fluttered in after that, their hands cold and curious. She had played the part well--half-flinching, wincing just enough, offering vague words and weak smiles. They left satisfied. Fooled.

Y/N’s gaze drifted to the faintly open window. The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden lines over the floor. Her mind should have been on the plan--the card, Niera, the risks. Instead, it wandered.

Where was he?

It had been a few hours since she last saw him. No sightings. No messages. Not a whisper of Eris Vanserra in the halls.

Typical. She wasn’t even sure why she cared. Maybe because they had left so much unsaid. Or maybe because part of her hated how he could vanish like mist, how he could disappear without explanation and still take a piece of her peace with him.

They were supposed to talk. Weren’t they?

She shook her head, grounding herself. No. Focus.

Her eyes flicked to Samira, who was busy scribbling something behind a small privacy screen. Y/N had already instructed her, in hushed tones earlier that morning, to seek out Niera and deliver a message. To act as the middle, to be cautious but thorough.

“This is risky,” Samira had whispered. “You’re risking too much.”

“I know,” Y/N had said. “But curiosity will be the death of me if I don’t.”

Now, as the air in the room shifted slightly, a hush fell over her thoughts.

The door clicked.

Her eyes snapped up--and froze.

Eris entered.

Not a servant. Not another healer. Not a courier.

It was him.

Just him.

Her thoughts scattered as their eyes met across the room.

"Get out, Samira."

Y/N watched Samira freeze mid-scribble, her back tensing. "Are you serious right now?" she snapped turning around. "Why are you always kicking me out?"

Eris didn't even blink. "Don't test me."

Y/N didn't speak. She just watched him.

Samira pushed past him aggressively as she left, muttering curses loud enough for him to hear.

Eris remained near the door for a moment after she left, as if deciding whether he wanted to come closer. His eyes raked over her--not in that usual calculating way, but more...assessing. Careful. Almost like he didn't trust himself to move without unraveling.

But he did move eventually, slower than usual, and took the chair beside her bed. He didn't lean back like he normally would, didn't cross his legs or rest an arm over the side. He just...sat.

His silence wasn't hostile this time. It was almost contemplative.

"I didn't come here to fight," he said at last.

"Good," she murmured, gaze still locked on him. "Because I'm too tired for round two."

He gave a soft huff of breath--something between a sigh and a quiet laugh--and rubbed the back of his neck. "I...wanted to talk. Not argue."

Y/N didn't answer right away. Her fingers played with a loose thread on her blanket. "So talk."

He was quiet for another few seconds. "Last night got out of hand."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You think?"

That earned her a small smirk. "Okay it was a disaster."

"A disaster you started."

"You leaped out of bed and shouted at me."

"You disappeared for a day without a single word--again."

His smile faded, replaced with something tighter, wearier. "I know. I know that wasn't right."

Y/N studied him. He looked tired. But more than that, there was a tightness to him today. His posture. His eyes. Something just slightly off.

And yet...he was trying.

"I didn't leave because of the kiss," he said suddenly.

Her heart stumbled.

"I left because I have a whole plan to forge in order to take Beron down. And also because...I needed time to think."

Y/N looked away. "You could've said something. Anything."

"I didn't know how."

His voice was quieter now. Almost unsure. Eris Vanserra, unsure.

"You don't have to run away every time things get complicated," she murmured. "Not everything's a battlefield."

There was a pause.

"I'm learning that," he said. "Slowly."

The silence that folowed wasn't awkward this time. It was soft. Bare. A shared quiet. An in that quiet, he finally leaned forward.

"You're my wife," he said, more firmly now. "And whether you like it or not, it's my job to protect you. I can't do that if you keep sneaking off into unknown places the Mother knows when, making reckless deals with unknown people."

Her lips twitched. "You're one to talk about recklessness."

"I never claimed to be innocent," he said with a small grin. "But I need you to atleast meet me halfway."

Y/N tilted her head. "So you're saying you want...rules?"

"Not rules. Boundaries. A...truce, maybe."

A truce.

She didn't say anything for a moment. Then, quietly, she nodded. "Okay. A truce."

His shoulders relaxed. Just a little. But she noticed it. The tension didn't disappear entirely--it lingered in the corners of his eyes, in the way his jaw stay clenched for too long after he smiled.

"Is everything alright?" she asked gently.

He looked at her then--really looked--and for a moment she thought he might actually tell her something important. Something he was holding back.

But then he blinked and looked away. "Yeah," he said too quickly. "Everything's fine."

Liar.

Still, she didn't press. Not now. But she will. Especially on the fact that he isn't including her or needing her help in his grand plan.

Instead, she let the quiet stretch again, this time a little more comfortable. He stood then--slowly--and walked to the window, pulling the curtains slightly wider so the light could reach her better.

She caught herself staring at the sunlight haloing his hair, at the faint line of tension in his shoulders that he tried to mask with ease.

"Thank you," she said, just a squietly.

He turned.

"For not yelling," she added, smirking slightly.

His smile returned--this time, softer. "Don't get used to it."

But then he took a step closer. Not too close. Just enough. His fingers brushed her hand--barely a touch. A whisper of skin against skin.

Her pulse quickened.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly. "No matter how mad you are. You're not alone in this."

She wanted to believe him. Gods, she really did. But something in his eyes said there were still things he wasn't teling her. Still, she didn't pull her hand away. Not this time.

And when he finally left the room--without slamming the door, for once--her fingers still tingled from that brief touch.

The moment Alaric had said the name, Eris hadn’t moved.

Azriel.

The Shadowsinger.

For a heartbeat, he felt as if the entire forest had fallen into silence. The wind had stilled. The rustle of leaves had ceased. Only his heart had thundered--loud, vicious, like it might break something on its way out.

He had stared at Alaric, not saying a word.

Not punching a tree.

Not cursing.

Not demanding confirmation again.

He just… stood.

Stood there while all the pieces began to click into place. Quietly. Cruelly.

The way she’d gone still whenever Azriel’s name was mentioned. The faint glimmer of recognition she never voiced. Her evasiveness. Her buried rage at being kept in the dark by everyone--him included. And that eerie feeling he’d had from the start: that her secrets weren’t born of ambition, but protection.

She wasn’t just anyone.

She was Azriel’s sister.

And she didn’t even know he knew.

He still hadn’t told her.

Not after their fight. Not after their calm conversation this morning. Not even when she’d looked at him with narrowed eyes and asked if everything was alright.

He hadn’t told her because he didn’t know what he’d do with the knowledge yet. Because he didn’t trust himself not to say something he couldn’t take back. Because--

Because, gods, what would she do if she knew he had her entire truth laid bare on a table?

So, he left.

He needed clarity.

He needed answers.

He needed Azriel.

Not because he gave a damn about courtesy, but because if the bastard already knew she was here--knew who she was married to--then this had never been a game of strategy.

It had been a trap. One he’d walked into.

And if he didn’t confront that now, before word slipped into the wrong court, then everything he’d built--his plan, his control, even her--would crumble faster than flame devoured paper.

So the second he’d returned from the forest, Eris had sent word. No names. No crests. Just one sealed message, worded in a way only someone like Azriel would understand: A private matter. Urgent. Meet me alone.

It hadn’t taken long to get a response.

Now, as he rode through the quieter, colder stretch of the forest beyond the palace borders, the golden-red leaves of Autumn blurred past him like dying embers. His horse’s hooves struck the dirt in sharp rhythm, and yet he heard none of it. He heard only his own mind repeating the same question again and again.

Does Azriel know?

He tightened the reins.

If he did…

Eris didn’t know what he’d do.

And if he didn’t…

Then he held all the cards.

He exhaled sharply as the narrow trail widened into a small clearing. Trees loomed tall around him, silent witnesses to what was coming. The wind was colder here. Harsher.

A perfect place for secrets to be exchanged.

For truths to crack everything open.

Eris swung off the saddle and took a few slow steps forward, hands behind his back, jaw clenched.

Now all that remained was to wait.

To face the male who may or may not know that the blood he shared with Y/N ran deeper than either of them had ever let on.

The wind shifted before the shadows did.

One moment the clearing was empty, the next--he was there. Silent as breath. Cloaked in black, leeching the sunlight from the trees around him, Azriel stepped forward like he'd always belonged in the darkness.

Eris didn't flinch. He merely arched a brow, keeping his stance as casual, leaning back against the tree as though he hadn't been waiting for answers that could change everything.

Azriel's eyes flicked once over him. Assessing. Calculating.

"You said it was urgent," the shadowsinger said, voice like gravel and steel.

Eris offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Did I?"

Azriel's stare sharpened.

"It's urgent enough," Eris drawled. "I wanted to speak about surveillance. Between Autumn and the Night Court."

Azriel didn't move. "You're the one who always insists no spies from your side ever slip across."

"And I still do," Eris said with a smirk. "But I think we both know that's not entirely true. Nor is it a one-sided offense."

Azriel folded his arms. "If you're trying to accuse- "

"I'm not," Eris cut in smoothly. "I'm proposing coordination. We've both had...incursions lately. Rogue operatives, strange reports, movements that don't make sense. I thought it might be wise if you and I kept a direct line. Less court politics. More results."

He watched Azriel's face carefully.

Nothing.

Not a flicker of recognition. Not a twitch of discomfort. Not a glance that said I know you have my sister.

Good.

Or bad.

He didn't know.

But it was something.

Azriel tilted his head. "You've never cared for results outside your own borders."

"Well, you're not the only one who changes, Shadowsinger." Eris pushed off the tree, dusting imaginary bark from his sleeve. "And besides, it's not as though your court has no secrets of his own."

Still nothing.

Not even when Eris added, with calculated care, "Or missing pieces."

Azriel's brows furrowed faintly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." Eris waved a hand lazily. "Strange things are happening. People are moving. The balance is shifting."

Azriel's jaw flexed, his expression unreadable. But no--there was no sign. No defence. No oh, you mean my sister?

Just...guarded confusion. Genuine.

So Eris knew.

Azriel didn't.

He had no idea.

And that--Gods, that changed everything.

It wasn't just a secret now. It was power. It was leverage.

It was a thread only he held in his hand.

"I'll think about your proposal," Azriel finally said, his voice curt.

"Do," Eris replied, stepping forward, tone as easy as a fox near a henhouse. "We'll coordinate monthly. Quietly. Just the two of us. As a gesture of mutual interest."

Azriel's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you trying to gain, Vanserra?"

Eris's smile was razor sharp. "Peace of mind."

That was all he said.

That was all he needed to say.

As Azriel gave him a final nod and vanished into mist and shadow, Eris exhaled slowly.

So, he didn't know. Not yet.

And until the moment came when he needed to--Eris would make sure it stayed that way.

Because now, he had a new game to play. A new piece on the board.

And the rules had just changed.

"Come with me," Eris said.

Y/N arched a brow, still nestled in the mound of pillows. "I'm supposed to be pretending to be wounded, remember?"

Eris leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "It's been three days. You can start walking again--slowly. I made sure of that."

A sigh slipped from her lips as she shifted her legs off the bed. "You really are relentless."

"I've been called worse," he murmured, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his amber eyes.

She scoffed. “You made that happen, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer, just gave her that look. The one that said you know I did.

“You’re lucky I’m a good actress.”

“You’re lucky I’m patient,” he shot back, stepping aside as she approached, brushing past him. “Don’t make me carry you again.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered.

Their footsteps echoed faintly through the quieter, older parts of the palace--deserted corridors few still used. The walls were darker here, heavy with old wood and worn tapestries, and the air cooler, like the stones themselves remembered secrets no one dared speak aloud. Eris didn’t speak, and for once, neither did she.

He led her through a side passage, then another hidden staircase, until they reached a set of tall, arched doors guarded by two sentinels. They bowed the moment they saw Eris and opened the doors without question.

The moment she stepped inside, Y/N halted in her tracks.

It was not a room--it was a cathedral of sunlight.

The chamber was round and enormous, its ceiling impossibly high and domed in red-gold glass. Sunlight spilled through the circular stained-glass window at the top, casting long, fractured rays across the marble floor like a divine spotlight. Ruby and amber hues danced across the walls, glinting off bronze candelabras and velvet banners stitched with fire.

But it was what stood in the center that made her breath catch.

A pedestal. No--an altar.

Upon it, beneath a delicate dome of glass, rested the crown.

Not just any crown--the Autumn Court’s royal crown. Wrought of deep gold, molten as the sun, adorned with sharp blood-red garnets and shadowy obsidian stones. It gleamed as if it breathed with its own heat, regal and violent and ancient all at once.

She blinked. “Is that the real one?”

Eris stepped beside her, his voice oddly distant. “The original. The one worn by the first High Lord of Autumn. It hasn’t been touched in decades.”

She swallowed. “It looks… heavy.”

“It is,” he murmured. “Not just in weight.”

Y/N took a step closer, the light catching the strands of her hair, painting fire across her skin. She couldn’t tear her eyes from it.

“It’s strange,” she said softly. “I thought it would feel more… sacred. But it’s just sitting there. Like something waiting.”

Eris chuckled darkly beside her. “That’s exactly what it’s doing.”

She turned her head. “Waiting for what?”

“For someone willing to wear it.”

Their eyes met. A beat passed.

“I’ve worn it once,” he admitted, gaze drifting back to the crown. “In secret. Just to see how it felt.”

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. “And?”

He hesitated. “It didn’t fit.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Didn’t fit your head, or didn’t fit… you?”

He didn’t answer.

They stood there, side by side, for a long moment. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but heavy, threaded with the unspoken. Finally, Eris broke it.

“You know why my mother’s crown isn’t here?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Because the High Lady gets to choose her own crown,” he said. “She crafts it herself. Symbolically. It’s not passed down.”

Y/N scoffed. “Well, no need to worry about me. Once Beron is dead and my mother is well again, our little deal is done. You can go crown whatever simpering lady you want.”

Eris’s entire body seemed to tense at that. Not overtly--but enough that she noticed.

“I’m serious,” she said, eyeing him. “You get to be free. Finally. Of me. Of this arrangement. And I’ll go back to being a nobody in Montesere.”

Still, he said nothing. Just stared at the crown.

“What?” she pressed, voice quieter now.

He gave a faint shake of his head. “Nothing.”

“Eris,” she said, voice low, cautious. “Talk to me.”

He met her eyes. And this time, there was something in them she hadn’t seen before. Not fire. Not smugness. Not flirtation.

Uncertainty. Wariness. And something far more vulnerable.

“Do you think I’ll be a good High Lord?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to say that.

“I think…” She stepped closer, her voice gentler now. “You could be a great one. If you let yourself be.”

That made him look away.

“You’re more than your father,” she said. “More than your family name. I see it. You just refuse to.”

Another silence. But this time, it was warm.

Their eyes met again, and for the first time in a while, there was no edge between them. No bite. Just quiet understanding.

“Thank you,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

She gave a half-smile. “Don’t make it a habit.”

He smirked faintly. “Never.”

She laughed under her breath. He offered his arm, and this time--just this once--she didn’t hesitate.

And as they stepped out of the crown room, the sunlight trailing behind them like smoke, neither noticed how the guards subtly bowed their heads--not just to Eris Vanserra.

But to her.

The halls of the Autumn Court were quiet as they walked, the only sounds of their soft footsteps echoing against golden-red stone. Eris kept a hand slightly at the small of her back, guiding her through turns and staircases--his mind nowhere near the path. It was still in that room, with the crown glinting like fire under sunlight, and her voice echoing in his ears: "You can and will be a good High Lord."

She had no idea what those words did to him.

When they were nearing her chamber again, Eris slowed, then suddenly turned down another corridor.

Y/N halted. "Wait. This isn't the way."

He didn't glance back. "It's fine. Come along."

"Eris- "

"Shh." He cast her a sharp, amused glance over his shoulder. "Trust me for once."

Against her better judgment, she followed.

They wound through servants’ halls and long-forgotten stairwells, the deeper passageways of the palace that most had never seen. Finally, they emerged before a set of enormous double doors--aged mahogany carved with roaring flame, autumn leaves, and wolves of legend.

Without ceremony, he pushed the doors open.

Warm, golden light spilled across polished marble.

It was an empty ballroom.

But not just any ballroom.

One of the oldest wings in the Autumn Court--unused, untouched, undisturbed by the noise of court life. Dust hovered lazily in beams of sunlight that poured through high stained-glass windows, painting the room in molten reds and burnished golds. The silence was thick and reverent, broken only by the soft click of her boots as she stepped inside behind him.

Her breath caught audibly. “What is this?”

“A place to breathe,” he said quietly. “And a place to move.”

She turned to him. “Move?”

“You’ve been in bed for too long,” he said. “If you want the court to believe your healing is real, you have to start acting like it.”

She blinked. “So you brought me here for… what? Physical therapy?”

“Call it whatever you want.”

She gave him a flat look.

He smirked slightly. “You’ll like this part.”

With a subtle flick of his fingers, a shadow moved from one of the corners.

A man stepped forward--tall, silver-haired, holding a worn violin.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “No.”

Eris’s smirk widened into something more dangerous. “Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

But the violinist raised his bow.

A single note rang out. Clear, slow, aching.

Eris turned to her, extended his hand, palm up. “Care for a dance?”

She stared at him like he’d grown antlers.

“Dancing? Now?”

“I could drag you into a sparring match if you prefer.”

She scoffed.

He took a step closer, voice lower. “Y/N.”

She stared at his hand for a moment longer, weighing something in her expression. Then, with visible reluctance and a muttered curse under her breath, she placed her hand in his.

Warmth shot up his arm like wildfire.

He almost flinched.

The violinist continued, spinning a slow melody that filled the room like smoke.

Eris placed his other hand gently at her waist and began to move.

She followed, stiff at first, clearly uncomfortable.

“Relax,” he said quietly.

“I haven’t danced in ages,” she muttered.

“Then you’re overdue.”

Their feet brushed against ancient marble in slow, even steps. The weight of their bodies matched and shifted with each motion, guided by instinct more than practice. Her hand rested lightly against his shoulder, but he could feel the tension--how close she really was. The way the sunlight caught the glint in her eyes. The slight stutter of her breath every time their bodies came just a little too close.

He was not immune.

His body was a battlefield, and Calanmai was creeping ever closer.

Every part of him that had been honed to resist--to deflect, to contain--was screaming to cave.

But he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Still, he allowed himself this. Just this.

A slow, quiet moment where their movements created something that resembled peace. Something that felt real.

“How long has it been since you danced?” she asked softly, surprising him.

His lips twitched. “Longer than I care to admit.”

Her eyes flicked up to his. “And yet you’re not half bad.”

He raised a brow. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound more genuine than he’d intended.

The song shifted slightly, deepening, becoming something closer to a waltz. She moved more naturally now, no longer second-guessing her steps. He barely had to guide her. They spun beneath the chandeliers, their feet a whisper on the floor.

She was beautiful.

He knew it already. But here, in this soft light, with the faintest smile curling her lips, her eyes no longer filled with fire or cold indifference--he felt it in his bones.

The violin reached a crescendo.

Their hands tightened slightly.

He didn’t mean to lean in. Didn’t mean to breathe her in like that.

But--

Gods.

Their faces were close. Too close.

One more step and she’d be in his arms for real.

He almost--

No.

He stepped back. Abruptly. Too fast.

She blinked, startled by the break in motion.

Eris cleared his throat, retreating behind his usual mask. “That’s enough.”

“You sure?” she said, confused.

He didn’t meet her eyes. “You’ve moved. That’s what matters.”

The violin fell silent.

He turned, walking briskly toward the door. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

She didn’t move right away. He knew that without looking.

She was watching him, probably with narrowed eyes, probably wondering what the hell had just happened.

So was he.

But better this--better her confused and safe--than him risking whatever was clawing at the surface of his restraint.

Especially now.

Especially with Calanmai so close.

He would not lose control.

Not again.

The scent hit him first.

Smoke.

But not the kind from the hearth.

No, this was sharper--burned parchment, ink, wax seals, silk ribbons. The acrid tang of something sacred violated. Something lost. Eris's steps faltered as he approached his private study, a chill running down his spine despite the ever-burning Autumn warmth.

He reached for the doorknob.

It was warm.

Too warm.

He shoved the door open.

Silence.

Then chaos.

The room looked like it had been caught in a storm. Drawers pulled out and cast aside. Cabinets cracked open, their contents dumped across the floor. Shelves toppled, chairs overturned. And in the center of it all, a scorched desk still smolderin--ash and embers dancing in the air like snowfall in hell.

He stood there for a heartbeat, unmoving.

Then another.

Then--

“No,” he muttered, low and dangerous.

He strode forward, boots crunching over the remains of papers that had once been plans--his plans. Months--years--of strategies. Letters exchanged in coded ink. Parchments that tracked Beron’s network of spies. Hidden maps, military coordinates, bribes, sealed orders--gone.

Burned.

All of it.

But one horror surged above the rest, crashing like a tidal wave over everything else.

He turned sharply toward the locked drawer behind his desk--hidden behind an enchanted panel only he and Alaric knew how to open. His heart thudded wildly in his chest as he muttered the unlocking spell and forced the small compartment open.

Empty.

Gone.

The folder. The sealed leather scroll case. Every page Alaric had handed him about Y/N--her life, her past, her bloodline, her secrets,her consent to this entire plan, the truth--all of it…

Gone.

Ashes clung to the inside of the drawer like a final insult.

He stared into the blackened void.

No one should have known where he kept it.

No one should have been able to get past the wards.

Unless…

He straightened, his breath slow, measured, as fury boiled just beneath the surface. Not rage at the loss alone, but at what it meant. At who it meant.

Whoever had done this--this wasn’t just sabotage. This was a warning.

Or a threat.

Or both.

Eris didn’t move for a long moment.

Then, quietly, too quietly, he whispered to the empty room:

“Someone’s playing a dangerous game.”

And this time, the fire that flickered in his eyes wasn’t born from magic.

It was born from vengeance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @lamimamiii @batboyslutt @k-godling @littowl @jaybbygrl @kissesfromnovalie @talesofadragon @tele86 @annamariereads16 @circe143 @yukimaniac @babypeapoddd @darkbloodsly @hauntedstudentobservationus @i-know-i-can @12358 @holb32 @herondale-lightworm @byysandra @sourapplex @wiggly-yrath @pandawritesthings210 @teenagellamaangel @lindsayjoy444 @yourallaround-simp @adventure-awaits13

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Be My Shield (Liam Mairi x OC)

Summary: She did not expect to find an ally while waiting to cross the parapet, but she easily accepted his protection…and then offered her own.

This is my submission for @empyreanevents Liam Week- Day 2: Protective. Also this is my first time writing for Fourth Wing and Liam so i hope you like it! I read 'protective' and this is what my brain immediately thought of.

Quick note- in this fic, Liam and Bodhi are the same age and entering the Rider's Quadrant together, which makes Xaden a second year.

Warnings: violence, minor character death (its parapet, y'all)

Words: 5k

The morning dragged by, the burning sun inching across the sky like an archaic form of torture to weed out the weak and unworthy. 

Unfortunately, it seemed to be working. 

Leyla peeked over the edge of the stone stairs, careful of the lack of railing and the chance of plummeting the two hundred plus steps to the hard ground below. She glanced down at the other foolish recruits standing idly in the long line of those waiting to cross the parapet and hopefully join the Rider's Quadrant. More than once, as the morning transitioned into midday, cries from recruits signaled another potential had fainted as they waited, the unexplainable heatwave taking its toll. 

“Can they move any fucking faster? It's fucking hot out here.” 

Staring at the stone steps beneath her feet, she allowed the eyeroll at the whining of the man-child standing in front of her. Zinhal was certainly punishing her for her lack of temple worship if he stuck her behind this asshat. 

“I bet it's those marked ones. I saw a couple ahead of us.” The one in front of the man-child spoke without heed of his loud volume. “Fucking separtists’ kids.”

Biting the inside of her cheek was the only physical indicator of her annoyance Leyla allowed to manifest. Even after all these years, her mother's training of keeping her emotions to herself still wrapped around her like a muzzle. 

“Ha! They're all cowards anyway. I'd bet they see the parapet and freeze, too fucking scared to walk it.” The man-child wiped sweat from his brow and his close-cropped hair.  

The line up the stairs moved forward two steps then stopped again. 

“Maybe I'll help encourage them along.” He chuckled darkly. “They're not technically cadets until they cross the threshold, right?”

“Nothing stopping them from encouraging you to see Malek then.” She muttered, wondering if her eyes would be permanently stuck in the back of her head from rolling them so much at this idiot's statements. 

Could he not see the massive target his haughty statements slapped onto his back? Even if most of the Narravians disliked the marked ones for what their parents did, that did not mean those same marked ones would not protect their own. And in a place like this…where murder was basically encouraged…she doubted he would live long if he kept talking like that. 

The sudden snort-laugh behind her made her eyes widen and her stomach drop as she realized someone overheard her snarky comment.  

The realization solidified when the man-child turned around to stare down at her, a thick jaw clenched reminding her of her old neighbor's bulldog. “Did you say someth–” His words cut off, anger draining away as he finally acknowledged the person standing behind him. In the span of two heartbeats, his entire demeanor predictably shifted. A sleazy smirk drew up one side of his mouth and his dark eyes scanned her body like it was a treat up for auction at the market. 

Leyla wisely kept the eyeroll internal this time, yet stiffened her spine at his unwanted attention. Unfortunately she was stuck, unable to escape as they stood high up on the stone stairs, almost to the crowded, open doorway of the turret. Man-child stood in front of her, looming taller as he stood above her, even though she guessed he was only several inches taller than her own average height, but it was his barrel chest and bulky form that reinforced her prior observation of a bulldog. Behind her stood a tall and very attractive blond, that she had briefly said ‘hi’ to when they first stood in line but she kept her focus on her feet, trying to keep her fears and doubts from strangling her. The only other way to escape man-child was to jump from the stairs and that was the last thing she was willing to do. Some asshole with the intelligence of a cracked walnut was not about to influence her future. 

He placed a hand on the stone wall between them, bicep flexing against his short sleeve shirt. “Hey, beautiful.”

She stared over his shoulder, her jade green eyes focused on the turret. 

“Are you Loial in the flesh because I think I might be falling in love?”

“The line moved.” She deadpanned, still refusing to look at him. 

He peered over his shoulder and sure enough, the line had taken two more steps upward while he was distracted. Of course, once he moved up, he turned back to continue his barrage. 

“What's your name, beautiful?”

“No.” 

“No?”

Ignoring him, she tucked her shoulder-length black hair behind her ear, allowing a moment to mourn her real hair. It was foolish of her to think cutting and dyeing her hair would repel unwanted attention. Stupid genetics. 

“Ohhh…is this one of those ‘you're not worthy to learn my name yet’ things? That's fine. It just makes the victory all the sweeter.” He nudged his companion standing in front of him in line. “Hey, Rus.”

“What is it–Oh fuck.” Rus said once he looked around his companion and noticed her, his blue eyes trailing over her with the subtlety of war horn. 

If their attention was not so wholeheartedly predictable and aggravating, she would have laughed. She had been standing behind them for hours and they just now noticed her. She knew those around her were twenty years old but gods, she had hoped for some sense of maturity from those wanting to protect their kingdom. 

“She won't tell me her name.” Man-child said, his dark gaze trained back on her. 

“Aw, come on, baby. You need allies in a place like this.” The other- Rus- smiled winsomely. “And I promise, Iver and I would be beneficial allies.”

“Yeah, we'd look out for you.” Iver reached out, trying to touch her shoulder. “You know…mutually beneficial.”

Leaning back, she twisted her body before he could make contact, ignoring how it brought her closer to the tall man behind her. “Don't touch me.” She flatly stated, even as annoyance burned away inside her to unearth anger. 

Iver blinked before chuckling in a way that was anything but humorous or friendly. “Don't be like that. We're just being friendly. A beautiful girl like you needs someone to protect her, who knows what might happen if she's all alone.” 

Leyla tried to suppress the shudder slinking down her spine. How was she already making enemies when she had not even crossed the parapet yet? She was supposed to keep her head down, blend in as much as possible and survive. 

“The line moved, asshole.” A deep, soothing voice spoke from directly behind her. 

Iver glared at the man behind her before turning and taking the eight steps along with his friend to the top of the stairs, bringing them directly to the turret's open door. 

“Are you alright?”

She turned to look at the man behind her. “Yeah.” She replied, selfishly allowing herself a moment to appreciate how handsome he was, especially under the midday sun. His blond hair shone, tousled with longer strands swept over his forehead. Even with her standing two steps above him, he still managed to be taller than her. Broad shoulders, an obviously muscular body that his short sleeve tunic could not fully mask, and toned arms, she wondered if Loial had a hand in creating him, especially with his sharp jaw, plush lips and bright blue eyes that stared at her like her answer was the most important thing in this moment. 

“Do you want to switch places with me?” He questioned, his soothing voice a caress to her ears. 

She hesitated, the word ‘yes’ on the tip of her tongue before she shoved it back down. How was she going to survive the Rider's Quadrant if she could not even handle a couple of assholes, let alone dragons? No, she needed to be strong…even if she felt anything but strong or prepared for what lay ahead. 

“It's fine. Thank you.” She took the first step upward before throwing back over her shoulder. “Unless he starts farting, then I'll definitely switch. He looks like he would smell like death.”

The blond behind her snickered as he followed her up. “Write that on my tombstone. It wasn't the parapet or dragons that killed me. It was a deadly fart.”

Slapping a hand over her mouth, she stifled the laugh that erupted at his blasé comment. She stopped at the top step, one down from the top of the turret, and turned back to the blond. Something fluttered in her belly at the genuine smile and sparkle in his eyes. “I'd never allow your reputation that disgrace. It'd be shameful. I'll come up with something more interesting.”

“What’s more interesting than death by fart?”

“Well, obviously, you wanted to make a reputation for yourself before you even crossed the parapet….it's just a damn shame that you decided to try and cross the parapet by walking on your hands the whole way. I mean, it would be very impressive if you succeeded but alas…” she sighed dramatically and shook her head in faux melancholy, “Malek found you amusing and stole you away. A real tragedy.”

She fully faced him as she spoke, giving herself front row seats as his smile grew, revealing dimples in both cheeks and she had to remind herself not to swoon. Loial definitely had a strong opinion when he was created. She lazily wondered if he was blessed by the goddess of love also or just a recipient of her favor in genetics. 

“That's the story we're going with?” He asked, mirroring her pose. 

“Unless you can think of something better?”

“No, I think that'll work.”

She opened her mouth to reply when a hand on her shoulder whipped her around roughly, making her almost lose her balance on the slick stairs and tumble off if the blond behind her had not latched his hands onto her waist to steady her. 

“Stop fucking ignoring me. You're too pretty to die this soon.” Iver stated, his eyes drifted down to the pair of hands on her body. His eyes widened for a brief moment before they narrowed into slits, directed at the man behind her. “A marked one. Makes fucking sense. You know what, beautiful, I wouldn't touch you since you let those dogs put their hands on you. I bet you fucking moan when they rut into you.”

“Shut the fuck up before I make you.” The blond snarled, his grip tightening on her as if that alone prevented him from lunging at the asshole in front of them. 

“Hey! The line moved! Fight on the other side!” Someone from further down the stairs yelled out. 

Iver turned around but not before sneering at her like she was shit beneath his boots.

Once he moved forward, Leyla started to take the final step up but the hands still on her waist remained, preventing her from moving. She looked up, above her shoulder to meet his furious gaze. 

“We're switching spots.” He demanded quietly. 

“Okay.” She breathed out, desperate to mask the tremor in her voice.  

Gently and carefully, he moved around her, keeping her body against the stone wall and purposefully putting himself towards the open air and the long fall down to the ground. It was as he switched with her that she finally took note of his rebellion relic. The mark traveled from his wrist and up his arm, the rest hidden by his tunic. The swirls and sharp lines stunning in their design but laced with the despair of what it represented. 

She had never met a marked one before, tucked away in the country like she had been. Of course, she had heard the stories surrounding the Rebellion and what had happened to the leaders’ children but…she was the last person to blame children for the sins of their parents. 

Leyla might not have a mark on her arm but she felt marked all the same. 

“He shouldn’t have said that about you.” 

She shrugged, gazing out over the expansive fields surrounding Basgiath. “That’s not the first time someone has tried to insult me. I’m sorry too. About what he implied about marked ones. I don’t think that.”

“I know.”

She turned her face to look up at him upon hearing his smug tone. 

Those dimples made a reappearance as he leaned down to whisper. “You wouldn’t have been checking me out earlier if you thought that.”

“Shut up.” She grumbled, heat warming her cheeks to an embarrassing degree. 

Luckily the line moved once more and she was momentarily saved from her embarrassment. The turret’s top was open to the air, allowing an unobstructed view of the ravine and river on the other side…and the two hundred foot drop from the stone parapet. 

Observations of the turret’s stonework or the three riders standing at the entrance to the parapet suddenly vanished from her mind as she stared at the long stone trail, only eighteen inches in width, that she was expected to cross to join the Rider’s Quadrant, or fall to her death. Success or failure. 

Gods, what was she thinking? This was a terrible idea, the absolute worst. Fear bloomed within her chest, tendrils slipping out to prick her with thorns, constricting her heart. A nauseating wave of understanding doused her in its icy chill. She had heard rumors and stories of what the Quadrant entailed, of the death tolls, the violence and terror it caused. It was not until this moment she truly believed it. And now she was going to voluntarily try to join. 

How could she do this? If anyone found out…. But what else could she do? This was her best chance to survive…or not. Either way, at least she tried. At least she could say she did not give up. 

“Name?” One of the three riders waiting by the entrance, which just looked like a gaping hole in the stonework, asked in a clearly bored tone. 

“Liam Mairi.” The blond stated confidently to the roll-keeper.

Anxiety and fear danced a tango in her belly as she watched him move forward to stand at the entrance, waiting for the signal to take his turn and prove he deserved to be a cadet. Two other riders loitered around, barely shifted their posture, but she could tell they were talking to him…to Liam. Staring at them, she belatedly took notice of the winding rebellion relics on their own arms. Two more marked ones, but ones that were riders already. A hint of something, perhaps gratitude, coiled in her belly in knowledge that there were others like Liam already in the Quadrant, he would not be alone. 

Unlike her. 

But she had to remain so to survive. 

“I said ‘name’, girl, or are you deaf?” The roll-keeper snapped. 

“Sorry,” she immediately apologized, ducking her head, “it's…ah, Leyla Rivers.”

The rider wrote down her name, barely sparing her a glance as he covered a yawn and gestured her forward. Taking a step, moving behind Liam, she wondered how embarrassing it would be if she vomited right then. Would they make her clean it up? Would they laugh and throw her off the parapet? The rolling of her stomach was about to make a decision for her when a gentle touch startled her. A large, warm hand wrapped around her own shaking one and squeezed. 

“Hey.”

Daring to be brave, she looked up and was greeted by those bright, blue eyes again. 

“I'll see you on the other side.” He said in that soothing tone, imbued with confidence. 

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, a poor attempt to soak in his reassurance and smiled softly, not wanting his last memory of her to be surrounded in panic, not that it really mattered if he remembered her. “No walking on your hands.” She teased. 

He chuckled. “I'll try my best.”

“Then neither of us have to worry about meeting Malek today.”

“Liam, stop flirting with the pretty girl and get going.” One of the marked ones by the entrance drolled, but with a familiar undertone to the remark.

Liam winked at her and squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “Ignore Garrick, he’s always been upset that I'm obviously more handsome than him.” 

“For fuck’s sake.” The marked one that was as wide as a barn door and with huge muscles for days groaned, rolling his eyes. “Xaden, if I push him off–”

“You know he’d float with all the hot air in his big head.” The taller marked one with dark onyx eyes lazily said but smiled for a brief moment, turning his dark, broody aura into something warm before killing it once again. 

“Hilarious, the both of you.” Liam snarked back. Placing his hands on either side of the entrance, he froze for a moment, meeting intense onyx eyes and sharing a brief nod before stepping out onto the parapet and the open air surrounding it. 

Chilling anxiety and crippling nerves gripped her with an iron fist. She watched with bated breath as Liam casually walked across the stone parapet like it was a leisurely stroll, arms by his side and an dauntless swagger to his gait that would have been distracting if she was not terrified for his safety. 

Once Liam made it to the quarter mark, the marked one- Garrick- she thought, finally spoke to her. “Step up.” 

Wordlessly she followed the order, her gaze only drifting briefly to the massive second year and the one with onyx eyes. She startled at seeing those scrutinizing onyx eyes staring at her, gazing at her in a way that felt assessing, like he was trying to read her secrets. He was truly gorgeous with dark hair, tawny skin and a sharp jawline but something about him unnerved her and she quickly darted her gaze away, focusing on watching Liam continue to cross. 

It was when Liam was almost to the halfway mark that Zinhal decided to show his fickle hand. 

“Go.” She heard from beside her, shoving down the rising terror and taking that first uneven step onto the parapet. 

Yet when she looked back up, her heart leapt into her throat. 

Liam was warily taking steps back, dodging powerful swings from Iver who had gone before him but clearly turned back. 

As if on their own accord, her feet slowly moved forward, her own terror forgotten on the turret as her gaze refused to abandon the sight of the fight happening. She knew hardly anything about fighting, her training was more focused on being a lady, but she could tell Liam remained defensive, only blocking yet giving ground with each step. 

Everything changed in a split second. 

Iver overswung, losing his balance on the narrow stone walkway. Liam blocked the swing towards his side. Instinctually, Iver gripped onto Liam’s arm as if that would steady himself, like a drowning man clambering over another to try and stay above the deadly waters. 

Gravity, and Zihnal, chose otherwise. 

They both started to topple over the side, a petrifying shriek yanked from Iver's throat as he grasped at the taller blond. 

WIthout thinking, Leyla raced along the parapet, ignoring the two hundred foot drop on either side of her, outrunning the terror previously eating away at her. 

With a pained shout, Liam slammed onto the parapet, arms blindly reaching across to grip onto the narrow stonework as his legs and torso dangled freely over the ravine. Iver clung to Liam’s waist like a parasite, loudly cursing and screaming to be pulled up. 

Liam’s head shot up, mouth in a grimace, as his gaze locked on hers when she slid next to him on her knees. “No, it's too–”

“Don't let go!” She demanded, locking her arms around his shoulders, pressing her forehead against his temple, desperately hoping it would keep him from falling. 

“Wasn't planning on it.”

“PULL ME UP! FUCKING PULL ME UP!” 

Leyla lifted her head just enough to meet Iver's wide, panicked eyes. 

“DON'T JUST FUCKING SIT THERE! HELP US THE FUCK UP!” 

She dropped her forehead back to Liam's temple, her lips brushing against his ear. “Can you do it? Pull yourself up?”

“Just my weight…fuck!...not his too.” He grunted with eyes closed, the strain of hanging on evident. 

Realization settled on her like a boulder dropped onto her back. She knew the Rider's Quadrant was hard, that it was ruthless and death would be the shadow that followed all cadets…she just had not expected to taste its darkness so soon. 

“Fuck!” Liam shouted, torso jostling as he quickly readjusted his hold on the uneven stones. “Princess, let go. I can't– you need to let go.”

“No! Hold on…just don't give up yet, sunshine!” She commanded, mind scrambling on how to help. A renewed sense of panic bloomed in her chest but she valiantly tried to ignore it, logic warring with everything she had been taught all her life. 

Under the bright afternoon sun, a thin shadow wrapped around her wrist and fiercely tugged. At any other time, she would have gaped and screamed but with the adrenaline and mind-numbing panic coursing through her, her mouth remained sealed shut. Her gaze followed as the shadow guided her hand across Liam's back to his ribs, nudging her as it spread across a hard line. Acting on instinct, her hand wrapped around something hard, but it was not until she tugged it out that she recognized what it was. A slim dagger. 

Oh gods.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BITCH?” 

She only allowed herself one heartbeat, one brief second before she changed her world forever. Or maybe once she stepped foot in the line to join the Rider's Quadrant, that alone set things into motion. She gave into the growing horror for the span of a breath then forcibly locked it away in her mind. 

Gritting her teeth, she leaned over Liam's back and stabbed one of the parasitic hands wrapped around his waist. 

A scream ruptured the air around them but she tried to pretend it was only a bird of prey's cry. Not because of her. Not because of what she was doing. 

So, she stabbed again. 

Just a bird’s cry. The wetness on her hands was only rain drops. Don’t focus. Just act. Don’t…

Oh gods. 

Making sure to avoid Liam, she solely focused on Iver's hands and wrists, stabbing one more time. 

With a pain-fueled wail, those bloodied hands released…

…and Iver dropped, screaming all the way to the rushing river below. 

“Shit.” She gasped, sitting back on her knees, bile coating the back of her throat. Blood splattered across her hand, still painfully gripping the handle of the dagger. 

“Princess?” 

“Can you–can you get up?” She sputtered, tremors racking her body at the knowledge of what she had just done. 

Liam nodded, back and arms flexing. “I think so…back up.”

She scooted back on her butt a little but refused to move more, terrified she would fall off with how badly she was shaking. 

Carefully he pulled himself up until his torso was over the parapet and then turned like one would to get out of a pool. It was not until he was balanced precariously on his knees facing her that she let out the breath clogging her lungs. 

“Are you hurt?” Those blue eyes scanned over her, the edge of fear still coloring his tone. 

She shook her head, throat tight like the very air was trying to suffocate her.  

“Come on, let's go.” 

“I can’t…” She whispered, terror and horror breaking through her mental box, freezing her limbs to the stone beneath her. Malek…she killed someone. 

“Hey, look at me.” He reached out, cupping her cheek as he forced her gaze to hold his. “I won’t let you fall, okay? We can do this.” 

Then he dropped his hand from her cheek and grabbed her clenched fist in front of her. Slowly he opened it, slipping his fingers into the empty space between hers. With a fleeting smile, he squeezed her hand before rising. 

Following his actions, she rose too. 

Above the horror and terror. 

Above the raging river that would claim dozens of bodies this day. 

She shoved it all aside and willed herself to survive. 

Still holding hands, they began to walk towards the other side, that distant entrance to the Rider’s Quadrant. She could feel her hand shaking in his, which only seemed to make him tighten his grip on her. She kept her eyes on his broad back, refusing to look down. The sun burned down upon her face but she welcomed the sting, anything to dilute the writhing emotions swirling in her body and mind like poisonous snakes. 

As they approached and then crossed the threshold to the Quadrant, those poisonous emotions slithered to the back of her mind, leaving her feeling drained and exhausted. 

“Well that was fucking dramatic.” The woman standing just on the inside with a scroll and pen stated flatly, making a rider standing next to her laugh. “Names?”

“Liam Mairi.”

The rider nodded and then pointedly eyed her. “And yours?”

“Leyla Rivers.”

“Find a spot to sit until formation. Welcome to the Rider's Quadrant, cadets.”

“You two are off to a good start.” The companion chuckled, nudging the roll-keeper. 

Without sparing them a second glance, Leyla silently followed Liam, allowing him to draw her further into the Quadrant. Almost as soon as they passed the roll keeper, Liam was bodily dragged into a fierce hug. He released her hand, slapping his companion happily on the back. 

“Took you long enough. I almost came out to get your ass, but they wouldn't let me back onto the parapet.” The dark-haired companion with a matching rebellion relic on his arm said, after smacking Liam one more time on the back. “You don't have to be such a show-off.”

Liam chuckled, taking a step back and returning to Leyla’s side. “I had to make it interesting. You practically skipped across it.”

“Well, Xaden told me if I did something stupid like fall, he'd wring my neck…can't imagine what he's going to do to you.”

“Oh fuck.”

The dark-haired companion chuckled. “Lucky for you, you had a gods-sent savior.” He finally looked at her, a smile growing on his face. “Thank you for saving his ass.”

“I'd say ‘anytime’ but I really don't want to do that again.” She softly murmured. 

He laughed, tawny skin catching the sunlight, before jerking his head towards where the crowd of cadets loitered. “Come on, let's find somewhere to wait.”

She paused as the two started to walk away, unsure if she was meant to follow them. When a large, warm hand wrapped around hers, tugging her along, she easily relented. 

The three of them secured a spot against one of the outer walls, dropping to sit on the dirt floor. She found herself sandwiched between the two taller men, but instead of fear, comfort skated down her nerves, even though she could sense the bone-deep horror and tremors only a heartbeat away. Right now, she tried to ignore it. To revel in the reality that she made it, she was a cadet! Amongst the sea of strangers and danger ahead, she relaxed into the cove of momentary peace her companions’ surrounding presence offered, soaking it in like parched ground. 

“Shit, you've got blood on you.”

Leyla startled as Liam gently grasped her hand, sliding the dagger from her palm. In the mental chaos of crossing the parapet, she had not noticed the dagger still in her grip. “Oh.”

“Are you hurt?” He asked, wiping off the blood on the bottom of his pants before sliding the dagger back into its sheath against his ribs. 

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” 

“I'll be fine.” 

To her shock, he lifted the hem of his dark tunic and used it to clean the drying splatters of blood off her hand. She caught a glimpse of a firm core and the faint outline of abs before she quickly darted her gaze back up to his face, hoping what brief flash of heat she felt did not transfer to her cheeks. Now was certainly not the time to be ogling him. 

Then something hit her. “Wait…did you call me ‘princess’ back there?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Her heart raced at the potential implications of his answer. 

He leaned back against the wall, lips curled upward in a smirk that drew out a dimple in his cheek. “Well, you were quite demanding, telling me to hold on. I figured ‘princess’ fit.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “I'm fairly certain you called me ‘sunshine’ right back.”

What building tension whooshing out of her so quickly, she felt momentarily lightheaded. It was just a silly nickname. He did not mean anything by it. 

She ignored his latter comment, not about to reveal how struck she was by him at their initial meeting and how his warmth and their lighthearted humor reminded her of sunshine. “Well, I didn't feel like working on your tombstone today so I told you to hold on and Malek to fuck off.”

That drew a startled laugh from the men on either side of her and a responding, weak smile grew on her lips. 

“I think you'll be fun to have around.” The dark-haired man chuckled, then held out a hand in front of her. “Bodhi Durran.”

She took it, giving it a quick shake before wrapping her arms around herself again. “Leyla Rivers.”

“Who else made it across?” Liam asked in a hushed tone. 

Leyla zoned out as the two quietly spoke over her. Gods, she hoped she made the right choice. What was this place going to do to her? How was it going to change her? She had not even fully entered into the Quadrant and she had already murdered someone! The reminder made her breath hitch in her throat and horror clawed its way towards her lungs. She could not do this. She had literal blood on her hands. Someone died because of her. The back of her throat tasted of bile once again and she wondered if she had enough time to sprint for somewhere seclusive before vomiting. 

Before she could spiral further, a warm hand covered hers, tugging her into a broad chest. Without thinking, she leaned against Liam, absorbing his comfort and warmth. Taking slow breaths, she waited for the swelling nausea to subside, for the faint trembling of her hands to dissipate. 

She desperately hoped she had not made a mistake. She had heard it sworn once that those that attempted the Rider's Quadrant either came out on the back of a dragon or dead…but she silently rationalized to herself that either was a better option to the alternative. 

At least HE could not find her here. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, this is feels like the first chapter of a series. My brain can't stop thinking about Liam & Leyla so we'll see if I continue and ignore all my other WIPs.

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

and it's all in my head | eris x reader

Eris x Reader ft Azriel | Eris has a nightmare.

a/n: surprise surprise! *insert little shimmy dance from the meme* Double update to make up for not updating this in awhile. I said I was going to write some fluff after the last update but I couldn't help myself with this one. This takes place somewhere between pt 9 to 11 and is 911 words.

warnings: angst, reader is pregnant, Eris being jealous of Az & having a nightmare that you got together with him

A soft lullaby-like tune drifted through the night and Eris followed it like a man under a spell. It was the only sound he could hear. Everything else was still, too quiet.

 But as he followed the sound, he spotted you.

You stood at a balcony that overlooked the shining city below. There was a baby in your arms and you cradled it close as you gently swayed side to side, humming softly.  Though your back was to him, Eris could see the smile blooming across your face. When you leaned down to press a kiss to the baby’s head, his gaze followed. It was dim but there was no mistaking that red hair. It seemed to glow like embers in the night.

His breath caught.

That was his baby. 

Eris felt the world slow around him as he stepped forward, every instinct aching to reach you. But when you turned around and lifted your head, your gaze passed right through him.

You were looking at someone behind him.

He felt that unmistakable rush of cold air, that featherlight sweep brushing past his feet.

The shadowsinger.

Azriel moved past Eris like he wasn’t even there.

It was Azriel who crossed the distance, who came to your side, shadows curling protectively around the three of you like they belonged there. It was Azriel who made your face glow with a light so bright it rivaled the stars above.

He bowed his head and without hesitation, you leaned into Azriel’s kiss. His hand rose to cup your face, thumb brushing along your cheekbone before looking down at the baby in your arms.

Eris couldn’t move, feeling as if someone had a tight grip on his heart. He wasn't sure he was even breathing.

“I’m glad you came into my life,” you whispered, voice quiet so that you didn’t wake the baby.

But to Eris, the words roared, nearly unraveling him.

He could only stand there, frozen in place,  heart pounding in his ears. You handed the baby–his baby–to Azriel. The shadowsinger pressed a kiss atop the baby’s head, just as you did earlier.

Eris could only continue to watch as the baby stirred, letting out a small, contented sigh.

The sky darkened at the edges and suddenly, Eris was in a field full of blooming flowers.

A little girl was running, laughing in a sun-kissed meadow. She paused, head lifting up to the sky, as a gentle breeze blew by, her fiery red hair flowing behind her. Eris’s heart clenched at the sight of freckles sprinkled lightly across her nose. Just like him. And her eyes–her amber eyes–shone with joy as she turned to him.

“Father!”

Once again, Eris stepped forward. And once again, he was brushed aside. 

The little girl ran past him and straight into Azriel’s waiting arms.

Something sharp caught in his throat. His mate—not his anymore, some bitter voice reminded—stood beside the shadowsinger. Your hand rested gently on your stomach and Eris’s eyes began to sting when he saw the swell of your stomach.

Azriel picked up the girl effortlessly and she squealed in delight. He spun her around, pressing a kiss to her forehead before setting her down. His shadows brushed along her small form, engaging her in a game of chase.

And then—more children. They came out of nowhere, laughing and tumbling through the meadow. They were just as beautiful as the little girl. One had your smile. But the rest…the rest had Azriel’s eyes, Azriel's wings...

They were your children. With Azriel.

Eris looked at you, eyes wide and frantic. His mouth parted but no words came out. This couldn’t be happening. He was right there, right in front of you.

And yet… you didn’t see him. As if he didn’t exist.

You leaned into Azriel, the shadowsinger wrapping an arm around your shoulder to bring you close. “You know if Eris hadn’t broken my heart, I would’ve never met you.”

Azriel’s wing curled around you, brushing so close to Eris’s face it nearly clipped him. “In a way, I’m glad he did. You're mine now."

What? Eris thought. His heart pounded as if trying to punch its way free from his ribs. The world tilted. The air felt too thin. This had to be a dream. A nightmare.

Wake up, Eris. Wake up!

“I wouldn't want to be anyone else's” you said.

Wake up!

**

Eris jolted awake.

His chest heaved as if he’d been drowning, cold sweat clinging to his skin. His bedroom was dark. Too dark. He sat up and then used his magic to light the candles on his nightstand. It was only a dream, he told himself.

But his hands still trembled as they gripped his sheets. 

Glowing eyes stared back at him from the foot of the bed. His hounds, alert now, heads tilted in concern.

“It was only a dream,” he repeated out loud.

Though, it felt like something far more cruel than that. Like the Cauldron itself had reached into his chest and carved out every hope he had left.

One hound padded forward and rested its head on the bed, blinking up at him with those wide eyes of his. Gravy. Eris reached out and buried his hand in its fur, trying to steady himself.

But the image of you with Azriel, of his child calling Azriel "father" refused to leave him.

And for the first time in a long, long while, the heir of Autumn felt cold.

a/n: This was inspired by The Killer's Mr. Brightside. So sorry to Eris bc I had fun writing this (he's going to get his happy ending dw) At least there was one accuracy in his dream, the gender of his baby was revealed to him before reader told him.

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper, @icey--stars, @moonlovefairy, @hellohauntedturnstudent, @lucia-valentinaa,

@wrenisrad, @smol-grandpa, @sleepylunarwolf, @63angel, @anuttellaa

@anon1227 @paleidiot @thatacotargirl, @queenoffeysand , @slut4acotar @awkardnerd

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@sunny1616, @holb32, @gamaranci

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

No One Like You | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader ft Azriel | Eris and you finally have your talk.

a/n: This is pt 12, a little over 5k. I sure do have a habit of updating this at 1AM where I live lol.

warnings: angst, reader is pregnant, Eris feels baby kick for the first time (pls lmk if I missed any!)

Eris was nervous to see you.

The anxiety coiled in his veins like wildfire, quick and hot. It crackled beneath his skin, making his thoughts and heartbeat more erratic. He was excited to see you, wanting to see for himself how you were doing. Curious, too, about your bump and whether it had grown since he last saw you.

However, overriding the excitement was worry upon worry. How would this meeting go? You had accepted to see him, to hear him out. A grace he knew he didn’t deserve.

But…what if you still wanted nothing to do with him after?

His hound could sense it too, ears perking as he turned to look up at his master.

“S’okay, Gravy,” he murmured, reaching down to stroke the hound’s head. The gesture soothed him more than it did the animal.

They stood inside a small house nestled within one of the Night Court’s smaller towns. The place was poorly kept—sparse furnishings, dust lining every surface, and an elaborate cobweb in the corner of the sitting room. He wondered if this was a random abandoned house Azriel gave himself access to. Or perhaps, one of Azriel’s properties, remembering his last conversation with Lucien. 

Still, he didn’t think this was your town. There wasn’t even a trace of your scent in the air. He and Gravy had arrived earlier to scout the area. He knew it must be somewhat close to you as he imagined you couldn’t travel far. From his experiences with his mother’s pregnancies, he was aware that winnowing was not recommended past a certain point.

Gravy caught your scent first, a small whimper leaving him. The hound’s entire body stilled, ears flicking forward, muscles tightening with anticipation. Eris’s breath hitched in response.

That’s why he’d brought the hound. 

Well, one of the reasons. 

The hound, though younger than the others, was sharp and intuitive. Loyal in the purest way a creature could be and protective, especially of you. Gravy had followed you everywhere, curling beside your feet at night when you’d stay at the cabin. Even after you left and Eris returned to the cabin alone, Gravy would look past him, eyes scanning the threshold expectantly, tail giving a hesitant wag—just in case you were behind him, like you used to be. 

Eris’s heart stuttered when he finally spotted you.

You weren’t alone. He’d expected as much, though he couldn’t fight the frown at the sight of Azriel beside you. The Shadowsinger kept a hand on your arm, steadying you over the uneven path leading up to the house. The stones were cracked, overtaken by grass and weeds. Eris silently cursed himself for not clearing it earlier.

 The hound paced around, back and forth in front of Eris. A bark of joy bursted from him before he glanced back at Eris, eyes bright with anticipation. “Wait,” he said, hand raised.

Eris moved from his spot in front of the window, a ragged curtain falling back into place. He then walked to the door, Gravy following close behind. He opened it, leaning against the doorway, his arms crossing against his chest.

The bond between you stirred and when he lifted his gaze, he met yours. Your eyes quickly fell down to the hound beside him and his lips curved upwards slightly at the way your face brightened. “Go on,” he said softly to the animal.

Gravy rushed toward you, meeting you at the bottom of the porch steps. He didn’t jump, knowing well to control his excitement. He sniffed at you eagerly, his nose lingering at your stomach. His ears perked, head tilting slightly in recognition of the life growing inside you. The coat you wore was thick but not enough to fool Gravy’s keen senses.

Gently, he nudged your leg and then licked your hand. Azriel’s shadows tensed, circling protectively. They eased up when they sensed your calm and the smile you gave.

“Well, hello there, Graves,” you said, a little breathless from the walk. Gravy leaned into your touch as you softly pet his head. 

The smile lingered on your face as your eyes lifted to Eris’s again but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your smile had dulled, the emotion in your eyes complex and body language cautious. It mirrored the turmoil in his own chest. 

Still, to him, you were breathtaking. And he would give anything, everything, to bring back the light he once saw dance in your eyes when you looked at him.

One hand held the porch railing as you climbed the frail steps with slow care. Azriel moved to help but the hound beat him to it, stepping into his path and forcing him to pause. Good boy, Eris thought, not bothering to hide the brief flicker of pride on his face.

He met you at the top of the steps and offered his hand, just in case you needed the extra support. He was surprised, and quietly thrilled, when you actually took it.

“Hi,” you said softly.

He swallowed. “Hi.”

Azriel cleared his throat, a bit awkwardly from behind. Both you and Eris turned to him. “I’ll be around. Call when you want me to come get you,” he said. One of his shadows left his side to go to yours, curling itself around your wrist.

You nodded your head, murmuring a small thanks. Azriel’s gaze shifted to Eris. A glare settling into his features, a stark contrast to the soft way he had looked at you. Eris recognized this glare as a warning–to not try anything. To not hurt you anymore than he already has.

Eris reigned in his anger and annoyance, nodding his head in silent acknowledgment.

Then, Azriel vanished into his shadows. 

**

The air between you was thick, a bit awkward and strained. There was so much to say, a thousand truths jammed behind his teeth, but none of them felt like the right place to start.

Eris’s eyes had not left you for a moment and he couldn’t stop them from drinking in every detail. You had taken off your coat after he lit the fireplace, the warmth slowly spreading through the room. He noticed you hadn’t worn a scarf or gloves and you hadn’t shivered at all outside, which was different. You used to exaggerate over the slightest chill. 

His gaze drifted—he couldn't help it—to the swell of your stomach. The sight of it stirred something visceral in him. Wonder, guilt and longing clawing at his chest and throat all at once. His child, the life you two created, was in there.

When your eyes met again, the words tangled in his throat. Cauldron, where did he even begin? There was no neat explanation. No apology deep enough to span the distance he'd put between you.

You glanced away first, down to Gravy, whose head rested against your knee, jaw slack and tongue poking out as you scratched behind his ear like old times.

“You cut your hair.”

You brushed your free hand through it. “Yeah. It was getting in the way.”

“I like it.”

You gave him a look, unreadable.

He inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. You didn’t come here to start over with small talk. I—” He faltered, raking a hand through his hair. “I came because I wanted to explain…everything.”

You folded your arms, the same guarded expression from earlier on your face.  “Everything,” you echoed, apprehension furrowing your brow.

Eris hesitated. “Would you like to sit?” 

His voice, so often smooth and confident, sounded unsure. Ridiculous, even. But with you, everything felt unsteady at the moment. You were close enough to touch and yet he had never felt farther from you. He was terrified of making the gap permanent.

You glanced at the room’s single piece of furniture—a battered, miserable excuse for a loveseat. The right end sagged at an odd angle and the padding spilled from torn seams like a wound left to fester. Eris frowned at the sight and, with a wave of his hand, the loveseat transformed into something less scary and more comfortable.

You murmured a small thanks and carefully sat down, Gravy immediately settling at your feet. You and the hound both looked at him as you asked, “Aren’t you going to sit too?”

“Sure.”

Eris took the very edge of the loveseat like it was made of thorns. The last time he had tried to reach out to you, you had shrunk back as if his very presence burned you. The anxiety in him was telling him that if he made the smallest wrong movement, it might send you walking right back out the door. But the loveseat was small, his legs too long and despite his efforts to keep distance, his knee still brushed yours.

It was almost laughable. The way he sat like a stranger next to you, afraid to get too close to the person who once knew him best.

“Relax, you’re acting as though I might bite you.”

The tension in his shoulders eased but only slightly. “Well, you have before,” he quipped, a glimpse of his personality flickering through his awkwardness. “If it makes you feel better, you can. Or order Gravy to. I deserve that and more.”

Something in your expression softened but then your fingers twisted together in your lap.  Eris watched your hands fidget, watched the tremble in your fingers as they twisted the fabric of your dress into knots. His own hands ached with the need to reach for yours to steady them but he held himself back. 

“In your letter, you said you heard what I said to you last.”

“I did.”

“I need you to know that I meant it,” Eris said, his voice gaining back its strength and certainty. “I love you, y/n.”

Your fingers stilled at that. No longer fidgeting, now curled tightly around the folds of your dress like you needed grounding.

“I love you," he repeated. "And I need you to know that my feelings for you came before I knew of the bond. You already had a place in my heart long before then. The Cauldron… it just confirmed what I’d already known.”

“When did you know?”

Eris’s chest rose and fell slowly, drawing the memory forward from somewhere warm and aching. “I knew my feelings for you ran deep the day I took you to the cabin for the first time…“

“And while I was under that mountain, I thought of you every day.” His brows pulled together as the heavy weight of that place surfaced. “You were the only light I could hold onto, the only hope I had. I told myself I had to survive because I had to see you again. And when I came back, seeing you–everything shifted. I couldn’t hide it anymore. I knew you felt it too. Still, I said nothing. I let you say it first and then I—I ruined everything.”

You looked up, your gaze locking onto his. Your eyes seemed to be searching, as if trying to determine if this was another crafted lie of his. As if you wanted to believe him but didn’t dare trust your own heart to lean in fully.

A knot in his stomach twisted at the cautious look on your face. He had broken your trust but he hoped you could learn to trust him again and hear the truth in his words. What you found in his expression must’ve answered some doubt. Your eyes widened just slightly, your lips parting with surprise. 

Because it was true and that meant he had known he loved you for years. Decades, even. Long before Under the Mountain.

“I knew of the bond,” he added, voice gentler now, “the night you confessed your feelings. It snapped for me right after.”

Your expression cracked, pain surfacing in your features like a wave breaking through. A wave that crashed through him as well, stealing the breath from his lungs.  “Then why, Eris? Why did you lie to me that night?” you asked and this time your voice did break. “Why did you push me away? Why–why did you pretend I meant nothing to you?”

The questions struck him like a blade, each one piercing further and further into him. Shame seeped out, thick and hot, flushing across his face and down his throat like poison.

“Because I was scared,” he admitted shakily, his eyes burning. “You told me you loved me and my immediate thought was that you were joking. That you couldn’t possibly mean it. Love is a rare thing to find in Autumn. I had begun to believe it was a fable whispered by fools. But then… there was you.”

His gaze searched yours, reverent and pleading. “I had never felt something so… so all-consuming. You were light and I was darkness. I didn’t know how to hold something so precious, so good without ruining it. Without ruining you.”

His voice cracked, and he didn’t bother hiding it. “I thought if I denied it—denied you—then maybe I could protect you from me. From the court. From everything I’ve become in order to survive in it. From my brothers, my father…”

Eris looked down, resting his head into his hands for a moment. He took a deep breath. “Do you know why Lucien left?”

And why my brothers died, he thought to add. The way you shifted in your seat let him know you knew exactly what he was talking about. 

“I’ve heard rumors,” you replied.

Lucien leaving Autumn so suddenly had caused a shift in Autumn. He’d always been known as the friendlier, more approachable Vanserra. The one people loved and adored and yet after his disappearance, the people spoke little of him. It didn’t take long for rumors to surface–on how Lucien had betrayed some small folk and it had caused an uproar, leading to his brother’s deaths. His brothers had died, labeled as heros for their loyalty to Autumn, but their cause of death was far from heroic.

Your father hadn’t been a part of Beron’s inner circle yet so Eris did not know how much you knew. Those that dwelled within the Forest House did not know the full story but they knew enough to put the pieces together of what the Vanserras had tried to cover up. Beron did all he could to quell the gossip and within weeks, all that happened was nothing more than ashes in the wind.

“They’re true,” Eris said, lifting his head. “There was a time when love was a death sentence in this court. My youngest brother… he’d always been different. Beron never said it outright but he hated that. He let my other brother’s tear into him. Encouraged it, even. So when Beron found out Lucien had fallen in love with a lesser fae, he ordered us to make an example of her.”

He felt the way your body tensed, breath hitching ever so slightly.

“I took no part in it. But my brothers, they…they tortured her. Made Lucien watch and then they killed her. I tried to stop it. Cauldron, I tried. But I was too late. When Lucien broke–when he tried to fight back, they turned on him too. Beron just stood there and then he walked away. He was going to let them kill him.”

His hands balled into fists on his knees, knuckles turning white. “I had barely enough time to help him escape. I sent a message to Spring and that’s what saved him. Though, he thinks I was compliant and resents me for it. That night is among one of the few that has haunted me for centuries…”

Eris fell silent for a moment. That would be a story for another time. He hadn’t told you this for pity. He’d told you so you could understand. So you’d know why love—you—terrified him more than anything else.

He felt a gentle pressure on his hand and was surprised to find yours on top of his. Your touch was light, barely there, but grounding all the same. His gaze flicked down, staring at the soft contrast of your fingers resting against his rough, calloused hand.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you said quietly.

“In Autumn, love can put a target on your back. You may have been born from a noble family but that wouldn’t have mattered. Beron would’ve seen my love for you as a weakness. And as his heir, I fear what he would’ve done…or my brothers…they’d hurt you just to get to me.”

Anything to see him bleed. Anything to see him fall.

Eris had been there for each of his brother’s births. Held them as infants, watched over them as they took their first steps. As the eldest, he had taken it upon himself to look after them. He tried to shield them from the cruelty of their father. But as the years passed, that bond had rotted.

Greed grew among them like a weed too deep-rooted to kill. One by one, he’d watched them change. Men twisted by power, by ambition, by the hunger to be favored. His brothers could be cruel but that night… that night they turned on Lucien, they proved just how far they’d go for Beron’s approval. For a sliver of higher status.

“That’s why I feared love,” Eris continued. “I would protect you with my life but danger lurks in every corner in Autumn and I feared what would happen to you if I–if I…”

If I slipped, he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. The same way Lucien had. If one moment he blinked a moment too long.

Jayce was always on his trail, always seeking out a tear in his armor. He had taken after Hunter, the brother that had taken it upon himself to find and trap Jesminda. He feared that history would repeat itself.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze in understanding. “Why didn’t you just tell me all of this?”

There was no anger in your voice. Only a lingering, aching hurt.

“I thought… it would be safer if I pushed you away,” he admitted, ashamed of his foolishness. “I told myself you’d move on, forget about me. That you’d find peace. Live your life happy and safe, even if it meant finding another Lord Debling.”

“And you would have been fine with that?”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “But I told myself it would be selfish to keep you with me. You wanted a family, a safe place to call home. I lied to you when I told you I didn’t want any of that. I, too, yearn for it all. I just didn’t think I could give it to you.”

Eris caught the way you placed your free hand on your belly, over the child growing inside you. The irony of the situation. The very thing he thought he couldn’t give you was already taking shape.

“I’m sorry. For not telling you the truth, for hurting you so deeply.”

“I know a bond doesn’t fix anything. A baby doesn’t fix anything,” he went on quietly, echoing your own words from before. “But when I found out that I left you, carrying my child on your own, I felt like the worst male alive. I had already failed you once. And now…” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t come here expecting forgiveness. I just—I needed you to know the truth. Even if you don’t wish to speak to me, even if you still chose to resent me for it.”

You didn’t respond right away. He didn’t rush you. The seconds passed like hours. The hand on top of his shifted, slipping so that it was now under his. Your fingers threaded with his and you gripped his hand tightly. 

“I could never hate you, Eris.”

Eris’s head turned to you slowly, his expression raw and open. No mask left to wear. Just a male who had made mistakes and desperately wanted to fix them. He brought your joined hands to his chest, right over where his heart thundered like a war drum. “Do you—do you still love me?” 

He braced himself, preparing to be gutted. But then, your gaze softened and he swore he felt your answer through the bond. And when you finally answered him, he felt his world tilt back into alignment.

“I never stopped.”

A trembling exhale escaped from him as he clutched your hand to his chest. Your words echoed in his chest and rang through his bones, chasing away every cruel thought that had taken root since the day he lost you. Relief surged through him so fiercely it nearly brought him to his knees. 

“Let me show you I’ve changed.”

“I believe you and I want to trust you but…” you looked away, blinking as if to hold back tears but one still slipped down your cheek. 

Eris reached for you instinctively, his hand rising before he could think better of it. His fingers paused just before they touched your skin, hesitating. His grip on your other hand loosened, giving you the chance to pull away if that’s what you wanted. But you didn’t. 

So slowly, he brushed the tear away with aching tenderness and gently turned your head back to him. Pain still lingered in your eyes and he desperately needed to know what you were thinking. “But…?”

“It’s not just me anymore. There’s a baby now and this path is unclear. The future feels–it feels uncertain and terrifying. How do I know you won’t push me–push us–away again when things get hard?”

“I’ve fought many battles but none of them compared to the war I waged inside myself when I lost you…,” he breathed, wiping another tear away. “I was so wrong, so stupid and foolishly wrong. I let you slip through my fingers and I realized… nothing terrifies me more than a life without you. A life without knowing this child of ours. I will never push you away again. Loving you is no longer a risk I’m afraid to take. It’s the only thing I know for certain."

"Let me earn back what I broke. Let me become the male you deserve.”

Another pause. Then, more hesitant, “But if… if you’ve moved on, if Azriel is who you want now—I’ll understand.”

You blinked and he swore the shadow still wrapped around your wrist did the same. “What?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he—” Eris nearly choked on the words. Though he meant them, it nearly killed him to say the following words. “If you’ve found something with him, something that feels safer or better than what I can offer you… I won’t stand in your way. But…” His voice faltered and then he shifted in his seat, moving so that he now kneeled before you. Both his hands now clutched yours in his. “Please don’t keep me from my child. I just want to be a part of their life. Even if I can’t be part of yours.”

Your eyes widened for a beat. Then, to his complete confusion, you scoffed. A sound that turned into a short laugh. “Azriel?” you said, brows knitting together in disbelief. “There’s nothing going on between me and him.”

“Oh,” Eris breathed, too stunned to react properly. “There’s not?”

“No, we’re just friends.”

Eris didn’t bother hiding the relief that bled into his features. His entire body eased, hair ghosting over your stomach as he bowed his head. He let out a small laugh of his own.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.

“And you're radiant,” he replied automatically, before he could stop himself.

It was instinctual, the words spoken as naturally and easy as breath. It was how the way things used to be between you two. And as soon as they left his mouth, he froze. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Not yet. Not while everything still hung so delicately between you.

"Sorry." He cleared his throat, his expression returning to its solemn one from before.

"I forgive you," you then said quietly.

He felt your words in his chest like glowing embers with tender promise. He knew this wasn’t a bridge back to what you had. Forgiveness didn’t mean the path to your heart was clear and open again. And yet… that door you’d cracked open with your letter had opened just a little wider now. It was enough to begin with and he would earn every step back.

“I want you to come back home.”

“Eris, I don’t think I can.”

The longing in your eyes hurt. You wanted to come home. He could see it.

But he also knew why you couldn’t. He was the reason, after all. He knew your family well enough to know that they would not take well if you returned in your current state, pregnant and unwed. Even if he laid claim to you as his mate. The bond would bring you some protection. No one would dare harm you, unless they wanted to invoke a blood duel and only a fool would do so. 

Still, it didn’t mean you’d be any less vulnerable. You would be protected, yes. But not safe. Not truly. Not yet.

“I know,” he murmured, eyes falling shut for a brief moment. “I know you can’t. Not like things are now.”

And his heart broke a little more for that truth.

“I meant what I said.” His voice steadied, low but burning with intent. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life fighting for you, protecting you.”

His eyes met yours, holding your gaze. “And I’m going to start by fixing Autumn.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, clearly taken aback. Emotion flashed in your eyes and he knew without question that you understood exactly what he meant. It was something the two of you had spoken about before. 

“Fixing?” you echoed, your voice almost afraid to believe it.

“Yes,” he nodded, the fire coursing through his veins burning hot. “I’ll bring peace back to Autumn. I’ll make it a place where hope can be sown and dreams allowed to take root. A place where love can grow..."

Though the weight of that promise settled heavy in his chest, it didn’t crush him. Instead, it steadied him. This wasn’t just a vow to you but to everyone in Autumn too. It was a declaration of war on everything his father had twisted their court into. He was done pretending that cruelty was order, the only way to gain respect. Enough with the silence and enough with the fear.

He’d tear down what Beron had built. Brick by brick, if he had to. He would no longer serve a kingdom rooted in terror, nor would he let your child—his child—grow up in a court where compassion was weakness and power was pain. He glanced down at your stomach again, at the swell of life beneath your skin, and something in him steeled further.

“Eris…”

“I know what it means,” he murmured. “To fix it. I know what it will cost.”

It would mean standing against the very male who had tried to shape him in fire and violence. Dethroning the monster whose blood ran in his veins. But Eris didn’t flinch from that vision anymore. Not now.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home,” Eris promised. “Meanwhile, I want you to keep Graves with you. I trust him more than most people.”

Most people being Azriel, that is. He didn’t say it outloud. Hearing his name, the hound’s head perked up, tail thumping against the floor. 

“Eris, I can’t just bring a hound back with me. It’s not my home, Rosanna–”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Eris gently interrupted. “Please. He’s well behaved and won’t cause any trouble. Having one of my own by your side to watch over you while I’m away, it'd bring me some comfort."

You looked down at the hound, who was now watching you as if awaiting your verdict.

“Fine.”

The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly. He brought your hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Whether you let me back into your heart or not, I’ll always be there for you,” Eris paused, eyes lowering to your stomach for a moment. “And for them.”

“For her,” you said softly.

Eris felt like his heart stopped.

He looked up sharply, his entire being stilled. “It’s a girl?”

You nodded.

Tears welled behind his eyes, blurring his vision. He didn’t know what to feel, what to think. He felt like he was breaking apart and being rebuilt all at once.

He didn’t know where the two of you stood. Whether you’d ever let him truly return to the place he once held in your heart. But right now, none of that mattered. He would keep trying. What mattered now, was that you were letting him in—letting him be a part of your life again. 

Of her life.

You reached for his hand, lifting it with yours and then, you placed it gently over your stomach.

“And she’s doing well?” he asked, barely able to get the words out.

There was a small shift beneath his hand. So small he almost thought he imagined it. It happened again and his breath caught, his eyes widening in awe. His throat closed with emotion as he stared at your stomach, completely undone.

“That was her, she moved,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he looked up to you. 

“She does that a lot now.” Your own eyes were glassy, lips curved in a small smile. This time, the tears weren’t heavy with sorrow but shimmering with joy.

Eris lowered his head slowly, until his forehead came to rest against your stomach, as if bowing before something sacred. His free hand clutched yours tightly, anchoring him to this moment. To the warmth of you, the presence of her.

His daughter.

He could stay like this, knelt before you, for as long as you'd let him. He closed his eyes and listened, reaching for that fluttering rhythm beneath. His baby's heartbeat. And when he heard it, warmth flooded through his veins, like a flame that whispered softly instead of roared.

His little flame.

She was real. She was alive. And she was already reaching for him, offering the smallest nudge against his head. He pressed a kiss to the space just beneath his hand. 

For the first time in his life, Eris truly understood what it meant to be willing to burn the world down just to make it safe for someone. For her. For you.

He knew what he had to do, his decision already made. There would be no more hesitation. No more waiting. Even if it meant setting fire to everything he’d known…

Even if it meant killing his own father.

a/n: boy, do I love writing conflict but writing some resolution? Not so much lol. Full disclaimer here and don't hate me for it but I don't think I'm going to explicitly write how Eris kills Beron bc I already have a different series where I plan to and I don't know how to make this au different from that 😅 Anyway, there's only like 1-2 parts left of this before it "ends." By that, I mean the end to the main storyline. I do plan to keep writing one shots for this au every now and then bc I've been dying to write girl dad Eris.

Like I've mentioned before, I've been kind of writing as I go, so I'm still conflicted on whether I want the baby to be born after or before Beron's death. Part of me is leaning toward after though. Anyway, as always, I love to hear your thoughts so feel free to leave them below! <3

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper, @icey--stars, @moonlovefairy, @hellohauntedturnstudent, @lucia-valentinaa,

@wrenisrad, @smol-grandpa, @sleepylunarwolf, @63angel, @anuttellaa

@anon1227 @paleidiot @thatacotargirl, @queenoffeysand , @slut4acotar @awkardnerd

@blueroseava , @lovetia , @historygeekqueen , @idk1027 ,@naturakaashi

@blightyblinders , @wolvesnravens , @galaxystern08 , @faeofthemoonandstars , @antisocial-architect

@elisha-chloe, @cwallace02sblog, @randomramblesfanfiction, @moonlitlavenders, @booksnwriting

@sunny1616, @holb32, @gamaranci

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Jealousy Wears Fur - Rhysand x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N's new kitten--gifted by Rhysand himself--quickly becomes the center of her world. Rhys tries to hide his growing jealousy but fails spectacularly. Cue soft chaos, playful banter, and a High Lord who just wants his mate's attention back.

Warnings: rhys being a jealous prick, fluff.

see masterlist

The townhouse was unusually quiet that morning, bathed in soft Velaris sunlight that streamed through the high windows and scattered gold across the rug. Rhysand stood in the sitting room, arms crossed as he stared at a simple cardboard box placed delicately on the low table in front of him. It didn't look like much--just a box with a few small holes poked through the sides--but inside, nestled in a blanket the color of moonlight, was something far more precious than the packaging suggested.

A gift.

Not one meant to impress or dazzle. No--this was something softer, gentler. Something that might make her smile the way she did when she thought no one was watching. Something she could hold on quiet nights when sleep eluded her, when he wasn't there. Something to comfort her, like she so often comforted everyone else.

Rhys's gaze softened as he imagined her reaction. His mate. His high lady.

So beautiful it ached sometimes. So strong it terrified him in the best way. She had been burning herself down to embers lately--working longer hours with the city healer's, meeting with Night Court officials in the evenings, barely sparing time for rest. Even when she did collapse into bed, it was always with one arm flung over her eyes, breath coming out in a sigh like she'd been holding it all day.

And he hated that he couldn't do more. That all his power, all his status meant nothing when it came to quiet exhaustion and unseen weight.

So, he had gone for something simple. Something living. A tiny black-and-white kitten with wide blue eyes and an ear that flopped slightly to one side. She was impossibly small and impossibly curious--much like her soon-to-be owner.

The kitten let out a soft mewl from inside the box.

Rhys smiled slightly and knelt beside it, brushing his fingers along the rim of the lid to reassure the little creature. "Not yet," he murmured. "She'll be here soon."

He had called for her moments ago--just vague enough to be believable. Something about an urgent matter at the townhouse. Not a lie, exactly. Just...a creative bending of the truth. Because it was important, at least to him. Important that she knows that she was seen. Cared for. Loved, in ways she didn't always realize.

Another soft sound came from the box, followed by a shuffle of tiny paws. Rhys chuckled under his breath.

And then-

"Rhys?"

He turned at the sound of her voice--melodic, warm, unmistakably hers. She stood at the doorway, brows drawn slightly together in concern.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, eyes scanning the room. "You said it was urgent?"

Rhys straightened, smoothing the faintest grin off his face before turning fully to her.

She stood just inside the threshold, framed by the doorway like some vision torn from the heavens. Windswept hair, flushed cheeks from the rooftops of Velaris, the faint gleam of a blade still strapped to her thigh.

Beautiful. Fierce. Utterly his.

He masked the sudden rush of affection with a slow blink and an expression of casual gravity.

"It is urgent," he said smoothly, stepping towards her. "Incredibly urgent, in fact. A delicate situation requiring your attention."

Her eyes narrowed, not buying it for a second. "You're smirking."

"I'm always smirking."

"Smirking more, then."

A tiny rustle behind him nearly gave the whole thing away--a soft scritch of claws against cardboard. He shifted slightly, angling his body between her and the box like a wing shielding a secret.

Y/N's eyes flickered over his shoulder, suspicion deepening. "What's that?"

"Classified."

"Rhysand."

"High Lady," he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Have a little faith."

Her brows rose.

He sighed, dramatic. "Alright, alright. But come sit first."

He gestured toward the couch, then strolled over to the box and crouched beside it once more, glancing up at her with an infuriatingly innocent expression. "Just be...gentle and quiet."

"Why does that sound like something Azriel would say before unleashing a death beast?"

He grinned. "Because this one is much cuter."

With a flick of his wrist, the lid of the box vanished into a soft puff of violet mist.

Inside, nestled in the folds of a silver-and-midnight blanket, the kitten blinked up at them with its blue eys. Her fur was black with a white spot in the middle of her chest, like ink spilled over parchment, and she let out a small, questioning mewl as the light hit her face.

Rhys didn't look at the kitten though, he looked at Y/N.

Her breath caught--just for a second. Then her entire expression softened like thawing ice, shoulders lowering, lips parting in the barest gasp.

"Oh," she whispered. "Rhys..."

He said nothing at first, only watched her. Watched her kneel slowly beside him, as if afraid the spell might break. Watched her reach her tentative fingers into the box, eyes wide with wonder.

"She's...for me?" she asked, voice barely above a breath.

Rhysand's voice was quiet, his reply wrapped in silk and shadow. "You've been giving so much of yourself to everyone else lately. I thought...maybe it was time someone gave a little softness back."

And in that moment--watching his mate cradle the kitten to her chest, cooing in a voice he had never even heard her use before--Rhysand realized that he had made the greatest mistake of his immortal life.

At first, it had been endearing.

Y/N carried the tiny creature everywhere. She named her Nyxie--"because it's cute and vaguely threatening," she'd explained with a smirk. Rhys had pretended not to preen at the name, pretending it wasn't the smallest consolation in what was quickly becoming a tragic turn of events.

Because Nyxie, that furry little menace, had done something Rhys hadn't expected.

She'd replaced him.

It began subtly. The kitten would curl into Y/N's lap during breakfast, and instead of her usual habit of pressing a kiss to Rhys's cheek or carding her fingers through his hair while they read reports, her hands were now entirely occupied with with scratching tiny black ears. Rhys tried to lean his head on her shoulder once, only to be met with a firm but gentle "Don't jostle her, Rhys. She just got comfortable."

He'd blinked. "I was here first."

Y/N hadn't even looked up. "She's sleeping. You'll survive."

He most certainly would not.

By day three, things had escalated.

The kitten now slept on his side of the bed.

Y/N would fall asleep with Nyxie curled on her chest and Rhys exiled to the outermost edge of the mattress like some scorned lover. Which, technically, he was.

He woke one morning with a paw on his face and a tuft of fur up his nose.

"Darling," he'd said carefully one night, voice low as Y/N got into bed, kitten in hand. "I love you"

"I love you too," she murmured, kissing his cheek.

"No, I mean- I love you. Not the feline tyrant who's currently trying to take my place."

She giggled and reached over to stroke his hair. "Jealous much, High Lord?"

He smiled.

On the outside.

Inside, his soul wept.

One evening, the Inner Circle had come for dinner, and Cassian--traitor that he was--had taken one look at Rhys sulking in the corner while Nyxie lounged across Y/N's lap like a queen on a throne and howled with laughter.

"Is that really why you called us?" Cass choked out, wiping tears from his face. "Because your mate dumped you for a kitten?"

"I did not call you here for this," Rhys said coldly.

"I've never seen him this defeated." Azriel muttered from the corner.

"I am not defeated," Rhys snapped.

Amren, sipping blood-red wine, raised a brow. "You're literally loosing a battle to something that weighs three pounds."

Y/N, oblivious or perhaps delighting in the chaos, simply buried her nose into the kitten's fur and murmured, "He's just being dramatic."

Rhys stared at her. The female he loved. The female he would burn kingdoms for. The female who was now kissing the cat goodnight before him.

Truly, he had never known such betrayal.

The days passed, and with each one, Rhysand's quiet jealousy evolved--like a sickness he couldn't get rid of. Not the good kind of jealousy, either. No, this was soul-wrenching, deeply pathetic kind. The kind that made him, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, question if he'd been replaced by a creature who couldn't even form thoughts.

The worst part? The kitten knew.

Nyxie would stare at him with those blue eyes, utterly unbothered, nestled in the crook of Y/N's neck like a smug little void demon. Once, she knocked Rhys's pen off his desk mid-report and then settled directly on the paperwork.

Y/N had laughed, scooping her up with a fond "She just wants a little attention, Rhys." and planting a kiss on her little head.

Rhys was certain that kitten had winked at him.

He tried to fight back, in small ways.

One night, he lit candles and filled the room with stars, a soft melody humming through the house. Y/N walked in, cradling Nyxie.

Romance was in the air.

And then-

"Oh no," she whispered, looking down at her arm. "She fell asleep again."

"Again?"

"Her little paw is twitching in her sleep, look how cute- "

"Darling, I can twitch too," he said flatly, gesturing at himself.

She didn't even hear him. She was too busy cooing over Nyxie.

He caught her mid-conversation with Elain one morning, whispering that Nyxie purred every time she said Rhys's name.

"That's a coincidence," he said from the doorway.

Y/N turned, blinking. "What is?"

"You said my name and she purred. You think that means she likes me?"

She smiled, glowing. "Of course she does."

Rhys blinked. The kitten hissed.

By the end of the week, the whispers had started. From himself.

You're her mate. Her husband. One day, the father of her child. You've fought in wars together. Surely you're not threatened by a kitten.

But then, he saw her cradling Nyxie like a babe, humming gently, eyes closed as she kissed the tiny head--and something inside Rhysand broke a little.

The turning point came the night he amde The Plan.

He sat in his study, hands steepled, Azriel across from him, blinking slowly like he regretted accepting the invitation.

"I just need her out of the house for an hour," Rhys murmured, eyes narrowing as he stared at the diagram he'd drawn of the townhouse. "Maybe Amren distracts her with something. Mor shows up with wine for Y/N to make her forget about it. Something."

Azriel stared. "You want me to help you...kidnap the cat?"

"It's not kidnapping, it's strategic relocation."

"To where?"

Rhys didn't answer right away.

Azriel said, "Y/N's going to kill you."

"I'll put her somewhere nice," he'd snapped. "Not far. Just...enough that Y/N remembers that she has a husband."

"She brought the kitten into the bath with her last night," Azriel deadpanned, "You think you can seperate them now?"

Rhysands silence was dark and long.

Azriel stood. "I'm not helping you."

"Coward."

"Dead man."

Later that night, Rhys stood at the doorway of their room, arms crossed, watching as Y/N read a book in bed--with the kitten curled on her stomach, purring like a tiny engine. Her fingers gently scratched under Nyxie's chin. She looked peaceful. Radiant.

Loved.

And it wasn't even him making her smile like that.

For a moment, the jealousy wasn't funny anymore. It was a slow, sinking ache. A guilt-twined sadness that maybe--just maybe--he'd given her something she needed more than him right now. That he hadn't even realised how much she'd been missing softness until she held it in her arms.

He sighed.

And went to sleep that night with his back to her, pretending not to notice when Nyxie flopped onto his pillow.

It happened on a rainy afternoon.

Velaris was veiled in soft gray mist, the sky low and humming with distant thunder. Y/N had tucked herself into the corner of the couch, legs curled beneath her, a mug of tea in one hand and Nyxie balancede contentedly in her other arm, swaddled in a blanket like she was made out of starlight.

Rhys watched from the opposite end of the room, a book open in his lap. He hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.

The sound of purring filled the air between them like a barrier. Like static in his heart.

She was humming again. That same little tune she always used when she was holding the kitten. And Rhysand--High Lord of the Night Court, Son of the Hewn City, dark and mighty and terrifying--was loosing to a kitten with crooked ears and a smug expression.

Again.

He closed the book.

Y/N glanced up, smiling. "You okay?"

And something in him just...snapped.

"No," he said.

She blinked. "No?"

Rhys stood slowly, walked across the room, and then stopped in front of her like he didn't quite trust himself to sit. "I am not okay," he repeated. "In fact, I've been decidedly not okay for over a week."

Y/N straightened, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

He gestured towards the blanket in her arms. "She happened."

There was a pause.

Then Y/N laughed.

Not just a giggle--a full, delighted, musical laugh that lit up the entire room. "Rhys, are you jealous of Nyxie?"

He crossed his arms. "Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not- oh, Mother above, I am- but only because of how ridiculous you're being."

"She's taken over everything!" he burst out, pacing now. "My side of the bed, my mate's attention, my pillow, Y/N. She used my head as a footstool last night and you let her."

"She was sleeping."

"I was sleeping too!" He stopped, turned, and looked at her. "I miss you."

Her laughter faded, expression softening. "Rhys..."

"I miss us. I miss the way you’d curl into me at night instead of curling around a fur-covered dictator. I miss your fingers in my hair. I miss being the one who got your sleepy kisses and your quiet laughs and your middle-of-the-night thoughts.” His voice cracked, just a little. “And I know it’s stupid, and I know I’m acting like a spoiled male, but I don’t want to share you with anyone--even if she’s small and purrs and has very soft paws.”

Y/N stared at him, lips parted in stunned silence.

Then, very slowly, she lifted Nyxie from her chest and set her gently on the armrest. The kitten blinked, offended but dignified, and promptly fell asleep.

And then Y/N reached for Rhys.

He stepped into her arms without hesitation, and the second she wrapped herself around him, he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days.

"You idiot," she whispered, pressing a kiss beneath his jaw. "You didn't loose me. You could never loose me."

"You say that, but she has very sharp claws."

She smiled against his neck. "You have wings and shadows and a crown made of stars. You win."

"Barely."

Y/N laughed again, warm and soft this time. "You should've just told me. You didn't have to spiral into full-blown secret cat relocation plots."

Rhys stiffened. "Who told you about that?"

"Azriel," she said sweetly. "Immediately."

He groaned and buried his face in her neck. "He's a traitor."

"He's a saint."

"Should've used Cassian."

"Please never do that."

They stood like that for a long while--quiet, wrapped around each other as the rain fell softly outside.

Eventually, Nyxie rolled over and gave a tiny, indignant chirp.

Y/N smiled and looked up at him. "You know there is room for both of you, right?"

Rhys sighed. "Only if I get my pillow back."

"No promises."

A few nights later, Rhysand awoke to a strange sensation.

Warmth at his back. A soft, rhythmic vibration against his ribs. And—he dared not open his eyes yet--the distinct tickle of fur brushing his jaw.

He cracked one eye open.

There, nestled between him and Y/N, was Nyxie. Flat on her back. All four paws in the air. Snoring softly.

Rhys stared at her.

She snorted in her sleep.

Y/N shifted beside him, her hand curling instinctively around his waist, her head tucked into his chest. Still asleep, completely at peace. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to have both of them there--her mate and her menace.

Rhys sighed quietly. One arm settled around Y/N’s shoulders. The other…well.

Very, very carefully, he rested a hand over the kitten’s ridiculously tiny belly.

She let out a content little mrrrp, but didn’t move.

Rhysand--High Lord of the Night Court, wielder of night and starlight, feared across continents--whispered the quietest, most reluctant surrender of his life:

“…Fine.”

And somewhere in the depths of sleep, Y/N smiled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Temptation Island - Episode 1

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Xaden, Liam, Ridoc, Bodhi, Brennan, Dain, Garrick x reader

Warning(s): ...none. Yet.

Summary: Four couples come to Temptation Island to test the strenght of their relationships -- relationships built on rocky foundations, that is. Will these couples survive? Will these individuals be tempted during their stay on the island, or stay true to their partners? Only readers decide -- find out what happens next in this juicy, dramatic new series!

SR’s Note: I know some of you have been WAITING for this one! I'm finally just now getting around to it, and I hope it was worth the wait. With the success the Too Hot to Handle series brought, I hope this one will be a hit too! Also, you've spoken in reguard to the series following this... I saw the polls... get ready for The Selection next (this time, featuring ACOTAR and Quicksilver too!)

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @loveofmychips @bodhidurrans (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You'd stepped off the plane hours ago, but were just finally making your way to the villa. You could see it in the distance, the way it sat so pristine atop the rolling green hills of the isle.

This is stupid, and we shouldn't be here.

The recurring thought flashed in your mind once more. Were you really going to do this? Risk your relationship over a house full of boys? Not to mention, your boyfriend would be in a house full of girls...

This is stupid. We should not. Be. Here.

"Welcome everyone! So great to finally meet you all!" A cheery man said as you approached. Other couples had already taken their seats in their respective cabanas, and you glanced at the empty one.

Guess we're really doing this.

"Nice to meet you!" Your boyfriend, ever the charmer, answered. The man, surely the host, motioned toward the empty cabana seat and then looked back to the two of you.

"It looks like you guys may be last to arrive -- please, follow me and join the others," he said, stepping onto the perfectly manicured lawn as he walked over to the group. You took a deep breath, nerves starting to get the better of you. Your boyfriend noticed this, taking your hand in his as he began walking.

"It'll be fine," he said, glancing at you and winking. "We'll get through this."

Yeah, you scoffed in your head. Like we get through everything else.

He sat first, sprawling out on the beach bedside as you smoothed your skirt underneath your legs. You could feel the eyes of the other ladies on you, and looking to your right, you realized the girl sitting there was actually smiling at you. Without thinking, you smiled back, the small gesture bringing you more comfort than you'd felt all day.

"Alright folks, lets start off with some quick introductions," the host said, clapping his hands together. "My name is Mark, and I'll be hosting you during your time on Temptation Island. I've been doing this for a few years now, and not to brag, but I have a phenominal success rate." He said, earning a few chuckles. He looked to the cabana all the way to your left, eyeing the couple sitting there.

"How about we start off with you two -- tell us your names, how long you've been together, and why you've decided to give Temptation Island a try, shall we?" He smiled warmly. "The floor is yours."

The girl on the end sat up straighter, but her boyfriend just slouched against the pillows.

"Hi everyone -- my name is Sloane," she announced, tossing her blonde braid over her shoulder. "This is my boyfriend Jack. We've been together for just over a year."

Mark nods encouragingly. "Fantastic! So tell us, why did you want to try out Temptation Island?"

Sloane raises an eyebrow, pursing her lips.

"Well, for starters, our issues run very deep in this relationship," she explains. "Jack here has anger issues, and that being paired with being unemployed-"

"Hey!" He shot up defensively. You couldn't help but flinch. "I did hold down a job for a while; a good one, too," he noted. Sloane only huffed, speaking again.

"Right... and in conjunction with all that, we got together right after he got divorced, and the issues just go on and on from there."

Jack huffed, leaning back against the pillows again. Mark nodded slowly, his eyes wide.

"Okay then... my last question to you is I guess, where do you draw the line? At what point here do you feel as though a line had been crossed, as far as getting to know the tempters and temptresses?"

Jack sat up again for this one.

"No physical shit," he said firmly. "No touching, kissing, any of that stuff."

Mark nodded in understanding.

"And, for you, Sloane? Where is your line in the sand?"

She raised an eyebrow with a small smirk.

"The same goes. The minute the physical stuff begins, I'm out."

Mark talks with them for only a minute more, and you can't help but look sidelong at Drake. He's shaking his head slowly as he gazes out at the ocean, turning to meet your eye when he realizes you've been staring at him.

They seem like they have a real solid foundation, he mouths. You chuckle, returning your attention to Mark as he moves to the second cabana.

"Alright! And, who do we have here?" He asks warmly. The couple on your left both greet him with warm smiles, holding hands as they speak.

"My name is Catriona -- Cat, for short," she explains.

"And, I'm Traeger," the male beside her introduces. His hand that's wrapped protectively around her shoulder doesn't budge, which warms your heart a little. Maybe there is still some hope out there for the world.

"Welcome to Temptation Island, you two! How long you been together?"

The guy goes quiet, but Cat speaks up.

"Three years," she answers with a smile. Mark gives them an astonished look.

"Three years! Wow," he muses, setting his hands on his hips. "So what in all these three years has brought you to Temptation Island?"

Now, it's Cat's turn to sigh. Traeger sits taller, his expression grim.

"Well Mark, at the beginning of our relationship, Cat was having a hard time settling on just one person," he explains. Cat shares in shame at Mark as Traeger continues. "She was dating a few people for a while, and now that we've established ourselves, we want to make sure we're absolutely certain of one another before tying the knot."

Mark gasps. "Marriage talk already? I like it! It shows how deeply you care for one another."

Cat smiles at that, her pearly whites shining.

"So, my last question for the two of you -- where do your limits lie?"

The two of them share a look, before Cat speaks again.

"We aren't setting any. We want this experience to be organic, and real -- we want to get all we can from it."

Mark nods excitedly.

"That sounds like a fantastic plan, and I hope the two of you get exactly what you came here looking for."

You gulp as he moves to you next, greeting you and Drake in turn.

"Hello, everybody; I'm Y/N, and this is my boyfriend of two years, Drake," you say, waving to the others. You get a few waves back, mostly from the girls. Drake nods curtly, mainly focusing on Mark.

"Nice to meet you both! So tell me -- why Temptation Island?"

Drake shrugs, not exactly offerring any words of encouragement. You sigh, straightening your spine as you prepare a response.

"Well, my main issue is that at the beginning of our relationship, Drake cheated on me." You explain. Mark nods in understanding, which is when Drake decides to speak.

"Yeah... it was not a good time for us, and it's something she's really held onto. We wanted to come here and test ourselves so hopefully we can clear the air."

Mark seems to accept that answer, as he moves on to his final question.

"That sounds like a valid reason to me -- so, limit? Do we have any?"

You prepare to speak, but Drake beats you to it.

"Absolutely no kissing. That's off the table for me," he insists. You shrug, agreeing with him.

"Same. Physical stuff would be where I draw the line."

Mark takes your words into consideration. "I think that's a very wise choice for the both of you."

He greets the last couple -- the one you were most interested in -- to your right last, and you learn their names are Violet and Halden. Violet has an unusually striking hair color, and you can see why the two may be attracted to one another. What you didn't see coming was their relationship issue.

"He's a good boyfriend, he just... he can't stay comitted. He's addicted to having threesomes," she explained, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. You had to stop yourself from letting your jaw hit the floor, and out of the corner of your eye you spotted Sloane covering her mouth with her hand. Your host took it all in stride though, talking them through their physical limits.

"I want her to do what feels right," Halden said. "If that means finding connections with other people here, then that's what it is."

Violet looked down, a little sad he'd even suggest such a thing.

"I guess... I don't have any limits either. Besides, maybe, threesomes. None of that," she said, smiling softly. Cat chuckled from the cabana beside you, and you watched Drake as he rolled his eyes.

"Well!" Mark announced happily, addressing the group as a whole. "You all know you'll be living in separate villas with seven people of the opposite sex for two months. Every week, we'll have a bonfire to discuss the week's events and you'll get to see sneak peeks into what your partner has been doing during that time. We'll talk through what we have to, and you'll get insight on what's to come." He explained. "Also, you'll be joining others on dates, engaging in exercises, and unfortunately sending people home along the way... with a few surprises along the way, of course."

The group shared a few worries murmurs, and Drake draped an arm around you. You leaned into him, embracing his warmth for what would likely be the last time for a few weeks.

"So," he announced conspiratorially. "Are we ready to meet your temptations?"

✧･ﾟ: *

Hell. This was Hell, and you were sitting in it.

You didn't know why you felt so surprised; of course the girls here were beautiful. All seven of them, walking out in a single file line, the tiniest of bikinis adorned on each of them. The most surprising of all were the cords they carried; small, black and woven in their hands.

"Gentlemen, we'll start with you; each individual will introduce herself to the group, and put a single bracelet on the male she finds most attractive. Now, this is not indication of anything other than instant attraction; we're all about changing minds here on the island, but this just gives you something to work with when choosing someone for your first date tomorrow."

First date? Already?

"Let's get started, then!" Mark announced, stepping back and motioning to the first girl. She was pretty of course; but what stood out most was her purple hair. The color looked good on her, unfortunately.

"Hi guys, I'm Nadine," she said sweetly. She waved at Halden briefly, but surprisingly stepped toward Jack with an outstretched band.

"I wanted to give you this... and so much more," she said, winking at him. Jack chuckled, sitting up straighter, but you were focused on Sloane. She was staring daggers into Nadine, daring her to say more. Reguardless, the purple-headed female stepped back in line, and it repulsed you the way Jack's eyes watched her from behind.

You snuck a glance at Drake, worried already. Sure, your turn would come soon enough -- but would he actually enjoy this?

The way his eyes lit up as the next female stepped forward gave you a pretty good idea.

"Hello everyone -- I'm Mira," she said, scanning the cabanas. Her eyes landed on Drake of course, and as she came closer, your heart rate picked up. "You're cute; this is for you."

"Thanks!" Drake said, almost a little too enthusiastically. You glared at the side of his head, watching as he too gazed upon Mira's backside as she retreated.

All men are dogs, you supposed.

The next three girls were nice, and introduced themselves as Aura, Syrena, and Rhiannon. They each handed a bracelet to Halden, who had now accumulated three. He seemed particularly thrilled at the options, and excited about Aura's comment about being a former cheerleader. If you recalled, you thought she said she "wouldn't mind being tossed around". Yuck.

After them was Jesinia, who offerred a bracelet to Traeger. He accepted it, seemed unaffected by Jesinia's appearance but appreciative of her kind aura.

Last was Imogen. Oh Imogen -- she'd stand out. Her half-shaved, pink-dyed hair only did wonders for her bone structure. She strutted her perky little butt up to Drake, Bending at the waist to put on his bracelet.

"Your girlfriend is pretty," she said, smirking at you. Gracing her with a big smile, you smirked right back.

"Hmm, yeah. That's really fake."

She rolled her eyes, blowing Drake a kiss before returning to the line. Your throat felt dry, itchy even at all this -- how were you supposed to test your relationship with these eye-candies, so to speak, dangling before your boyfriend?

Mark's words were lost on you as you drowned in thought, zoning out. It was only when the ladies walked away that Drake leaned back, arms behind his head as he sighed.

"Great," he griped. "Now my favorite part."

See, this is where you came back to reality -- in front of you, seven of the sexiest, most confident men strode up in one, long, line.

✧･ﾟ: *

Mark gave the speech again, as though you hadn't heard it the first time. All you could focus on were the males before you; your gaze jumped from washboard ab to washboard ab as you sized them all up. To your left, you noticed Sloane sit up straighter too -- was she feeling these things, too? Feeling almost guilty, looking at these men this way?

"All right gentlemen; let's get started."

The first to step forward was a blonde male, who happened to be very cute with the brightest blue eyes.

"Hello ladies -- my name is Liam, and I'll be so happy to get to know you all." He smiled, and you couldn't help but grin back. Especially as he stepped toward you, extending a hand. You took it without thinking and shook it, which made him laugh.

"It's nice to meet you too...?"

"Y/N," you finished. He chuckled, looping the bracelet around your wrist.

"Well, Y/N -- I look forward to hanging out with you more."

You blushed as he walked back to the line, instantly feeling bad as Drake groaned and huffed beside you. He was still your boyfriend after all -- hadn't you come here to mend things with him?

Next up was this guy named Brennan. He was cute, his reddish-brown hair and freckled nose. However, you could tell he was most interested Cat; the guy practically levitated toward her to give her his bracelet. She accepted kindly, and like her counterpart, was not too swayed by his appearance.

Following him was Bodhi... and boy were you hopeful.

"My name is Bodhi, and I like to surf," he introduced. Your heart lept as he moved toward you, taking your hand in his. Those deep brown eyes were like a portal to another world -- one you could get lost in.

"Which means I have skills... in more than just one area." He said quietly, winking at you. Drake scoffed, folding his arms over his chest in frustration. Nonetheless, you smiled as Bodhi returned to the line.

"My name is Dain, and I'm very into blondes," he said, earning a chuckle from the group. "But, I'm willing to step outside my comfort zone... as long as you ladies are."

He approached Sloane quickly, and her eyebrows raised at the welcome suitor. He grinned as he fastened her bracelet, seeming to pay no mind to her fuming boyfriend beside her. As if he hadn't also recieved cords of his own?

After Dain was a tall, muscular brunette -- one of course, that was very easy on the eyes.

"Garrick," he said as way of introduction. He raised his eyebrows as he approached you, and you mockingly fanned yourself.

"Wow, another for me? Are you sure?" You asked. Garrick laughed, bending to one knee to fasten your bracelet. When he walked off, you found yourself staring after him, too.

"I'm not surprised," Drake griped. "Of course they'd all want you."

You opened your mouth to comfort him, but the tallest, most gorgeous male yet stepped forward. He grinned slyly, his dark eyes raking over the group.

"My name's Xaden," he said, his tone even. His gaze stopped on Violet and he paused, his lips parted as if to say more. He took a few timid steps toward her, a genuine smile curving his lips as he approached. Halden glared at him, clearly happy his girlfriend hadn't gotten a bracelet yet -- but Violet's face visibly lit up as he kneeled before her.

"I think I already know who I want," he said quietly. Sloane and Cat awwwed at the cuteness, especially as Violet's cheeks pinkened. Xaden stood soon after, walking back to the line where you got a glimpse of his massive back tattoo. He was attractive, that was for sure.

The last male to step forward was interesting; his dark hair hung near the base of his neck, and his muscles bouldered beneath his tanned skin. He was exceptionally cute, lopsided grin and all.

"Hi! My name is Ridoc," he beamed cheerfully. He held out the cord before him, looking to each girl in turn.

"Now, you're all gorgeous, and I wish I could give each of you a bracelet, BUT," he paused, racing toward you. He kneeled and presented the cord to you on two hands, head bowed as though he were a knight to your princess. You laughed, accepting the bangle from him.

"Why thank you, Ridoc," you gushed, and he grinned up at you. He gave your knee a small pat before jogging back to the line, standing giddily next to the others once more.

"Alright then! That concludes our introductions; gentlemen, make way to the lady's villa please, and allow our couples to say their goodbyes."

You stood quickly, looking down at Drake as he sat. His arms were still folded, brooding per usual -- but you sighed and offered him a hand.

"C'mon, you won't see me for two months; can we at least share a proper hug?"

He stood at that, releasing a breath he'd been holding. Emotion was clear behind his eyes, a million unsaid things trapped in his throat. Your eyes shone too as you realized how very real this all was -- two months, no Drake. Seven males, alone in a house.

And four of them already seemed interested in you.

"Just think about me, okay?" Drake said, pulling you in for a hug. You sighed against his chest, tears threatening your waterline. Was this all worth it? Would you actually get any clarity from this?

You pulled back, looking up at Drake and watching as a single tear fell from his left eye. You sniffled, working to keep the emotion at bay as you leaned in to kiss him one last time.

"Of course I'll think of you Drake," you promised, lacing your fingers in his. "I love you, okay?"

He sniffed, nodding as he kissed the top of your forehead.

"I love you too."

It was the last words you heard before you were pulled away, escorted to your new residence. The other girls seemed emotional too; Cat was teary eyed, Sloane was full-on sobbing... however, Violet seemed rather calm during this transition.

You looked down, your eyes catching on the mass of bracelets on your wrist. It was only day one, and you'd managed to attract four boys just today. You couldn't help but wonder, as you took step after step closer to the pristine villa atop the hill...

How many more would you connect with by the end of this whole thing? And even worse...

How were you going to choose only one for your first date tomorrow?

✧･ﾟ: *

Episode 2

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

i’m like if a writer did not write and did other things instead

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

On the Subject of Shovels

@empyreanevents Liam Week Day 6: Brother

Brother!Liam Mairi x Sister!Reader

Ridoc Gamlyn x Reader

You were obviously in love, and it was driving your twin brother crazy.

Liam had been trying to figure out who it was for the past two weeks but you refused to even acknowledge that anything was different about you.

Sighing, doodling hearts in the margins of your Battle Brief notes, the whole shebang. It wasn’t like you.

But you were happy, something that had evaded you two and your little sister for a long while. It wasn’t that Liam didn’t want you dating anybody, he just didn’t think he could handle watching you get your heart broken after everything that had happened to you three. Especially with the way marked ones were treated by the wider student body. He wouldn’t be surprised if whichever boy had snagged your affections had only done so to string you along, make you feel comfortable, and then break your heart when you least expected it.

Or worse.

So puppy dog Liam, as you occasionally called him, turned into guard dog Liam as he began hunting down information.

You and whoever it was you were with were smart though, no one seemed to know anything. Or if they did, they’d sworn to secrecy. He’d asked the squad-mates. Sawyer held his hands up, swore up and down it wasn’t him and he didn’t know who it was. Violet didn’t claim to know anything, likely too busy with her thing with Xaden to have noticed. And Rhiannon only smirked at him. Liam never quite got a hold of Ridoc for his mini interrogations. But Liam figured, if his reputation was anything to go by, he likely had his hands full with his own relationship stuff to have even a clue about yours.

Which left no one and nothing to show for his investigation.

He was finally ready to give up, but had one strategy left. You’d sat next to him at lunch that day when he looked up at you.

“Just tell me who it is,” he said.

You glanced at him sideways, “no.”

“So you admit there is someone.”

“Sure!”

“Then who is it?”

“Not gonna tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“We’re twins, we tell each other everything!”

“And I’m practicing boundaries by not telling you this.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re twins and I know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to interrogate the hell out of him and I don’t want you to, okay? Simple as that.” You took a bite out of your sandwich.

“I just want-“

“-To make sure I’m okay, I know. I’ll be-“

“-fine, I know,” Liam interjected, “but you have to get that’s not good enough for me not after… everything.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“I trust you, yes.”

“Then you can either prove it by leaving it alone, or you can continue your one man crusade to find out who it is. I’m not going to tell you. Sorry to say.”

Liam sighed but dropped it for the time being as Ridoc came over with his tray, sitting across from you.

Without so much as a word to you, he reached over and grabbed a small handful of fries off your plate.

“Hey!” You said, attempting to snatch them back.

“Oops, sorry,” Ridoc said after sticking the pilfered food in his mouth, “too late. Guess they’re mine.”

“You have your own!” You protested though there was no anger in your voice at all. To Liam you looked…

“You’re welcome to take some of mine,” Ridoc reasoned.

“And eat the ones you’ve smothered in ketchup? No thanks. I’m surprised you ate mine without it.”

“You’re no fun,” Ridoc teased.

“I beg to differ. I’m a delight.” Ridoc laughed and you beamed. “You owe me a handful of dry fries tomorrow,” you said the threat holding almost zero weight at all.

Ridoc held a hand to his heart, “I swear I will repay my debt, my lady.”

You shoved Ridoc in the shoulder, the two of you dissolving into giggles as the rest of the squad joined your table.

Liam stared between you and Ridoc. The casual smiles, the easy laughter, the looks on both your faces…

Gamlyn? Really?!

Liam would’ve confronted the boy right then and there, but decided that he’d wait. He’d have to do this delicately. Liam didn’t want you upset at him, but he was older than you by a handful of minutes. He was still, technically, your older brother and with that came a protective streak.

Besides, he’d promised your parents he’d take care of you and Sloane. It was a promise he intended to keep.

With you engaged in a conversation with Rhi next to you, your attention was not on him or Ridoc, so he took the opportunity.

Liam glanced at Ridoc, a hardness settling into his face the other first year had only ever seen on the challenge mat.

Ridoc stared wide eyed as Liam flicked his eyes in your direction briefly. Ridoc gulped.

He knew.

Ridoc had been looking over his shoulder for the next three days. No sign of Liam lurking in the shadowy corners, but then again, that was more Xaden’s thing.

He’d attempted to voice his fear to you once.

You two had been in the midst of a passionate session of kissing when Ridoc said, “I think Liam knows about us.”

“We’ve been so careful though,” you reasoned, kissing his jaw.

“I know,” he said, carding his fingers through your hair, “but, this is your brother. Your twin brother, he knows you better than anyone.”

You stopped, looking Ridoc in the eyes. It was a look he’d seen many times before. The same look that, when he’d seen it the first time, had him forgoing his bed hopping all together.

“We’ll figure it out together, okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Besides, we’re on the same squad. He couldn’t kill you even if he wanted to.” Ridoc’s eyes darted to the corners again so you grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you, “Which. He. Won’t. Do.”

Ridoc nodded once.

“He’s my brother, he wants me to be happy. And you,” you booped his nose, “make me very, very happy.”

Ridoc grinned, fear momentarily forgotten in the wake of boyfriend pride.

You hugged him, dropping your head below his chin so he could rest his head on top of yours how he liked.

As he rubbed your arm, he sighed. You were right.

This was Liam he was talking about.

Liam.

The good, honorable Liam Mairi.

Your twin brother.

Who loved you more than anything.

Who had been separated from you in the wake of the Tyrrish Rebellion, and had only just reconnected with you here at this death trap of a school where everyone was out to get the two of you.

Liam, who Xaden Riorson - scariest motherfucker in town - had ordered to be Violet’s bodyguard.

…

Fuck.

Ridoc had made the mistake of sleeping in, meaning he was running late for class. He’d gotten used to you sleeping over in his room, and you were far more schedule conscious than he was. You’d become his very own, very cute, personal alarm clock.

So, without you, this morning he was running very late and very alone.

Ridoc was a sociable guy. He usually was with this friend or that one, it was rare he was ever found by himself. Especially once you’d come into his life in a more romantic capacity.

It was like the whole world was quieter, heavier and duller without you next to him. Rhiannon had teased him endlessly - the only friend who knew about the two of you for fear of word reaching Liam - for being down ridiculously bad for you. Unbeknownst to him, she’d made the same jokes about you.

As Ridoc walked through the halls of Basgiath, lost in his thoughts about you, he didn’t notice the hands reaching out to pull him into an alcove.

He yelped and struggled but the grip that had him was stronger. He mentally gave himself two guesses as to who it was and the first one wouldn’t even count.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Liam said, voice low, “care to tell me why that is?”

“What makes you think that?” Ridoc asked, shifting to break Liam’s hold. Unsuccessfully.

“Because ever since lunch four days ago, you have been very hard to find outside of class.”

“Been busy,” Ridoc said, “if you wanted to talk you could’ve just said.”

“I’m going to talk now, if that’s okay,” Liam said with a calm that made Ridoc gulp.

“You, my friend, have quite the reputation around here.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“So, I think you might have gotten to my next point ahead of me.”

“Liam-“ Ridoc started.

“There is no one in the quadrant I want my sister with less than you,” Liam said.

“I feel like Barlowe and Aetos should be higher on that list than me,” Ridoc said.

The anger in Liam dissipated slightly, replaced by a deadpan look of, ‘really?’

“You’re right, those two aren’t even options.”

“Your reputation raises red flags for me. I’m not going to have my sister’s heart toyed with and discarded for someone else” Liam continued.

“All right, let me stop you right there, asshole,” Ridoc said, “I would never hurt your sister like that! Any relationship of mine that’s ended has done so mutually. They’ve been flings and nothing else. That is not what she and I have. I love your sister, alright?!”

Ridoc had already spun out of Liam’s hold by now, his anger bolstering his movement. Liam stared at him with raised eyebrows as Ridoc flung an accusatory finger in his face. Ridoc didn’t care if the whole of Basgiath heard him. Liam wasn’t even sure Ridoc remembered that’s where he was.

He was shouting now. “Everyone thinks because I like to fuck around and joke with people that I couldn’t possibly care about anything, right?! Ridoc the irreverent asshole, that’s me! Let me get things straight, I care a lot! About a lot of shit! Your sister most of all! I love her! I can’t stop thinking about her! Every time I make a joke, I look at her first to see if she laughed! She means more to me than any partner I’ve ever had! So you can give me the shovel talk if it’ll make you feel better because I respect you and you’re one of the most important people in her life, but don’t insult me by actually thinking that me hurting her could ever be a possibility.”

Ridoc’s chest heaved under the weight of emotion he’d displayed, but he still said, “she’s it for me.”

Liam opened his mouth, but he was cut off by a, “what?”

Standing with your hands over your mouth at the edge of their little alcove, was you. Wide eyes brimming with tears.

“Ridoc?”

“Hey princess.”

“I- You-“

“Meant every word,” Ridoc said softly.

Liam was utterly forgotten behind him, the taller boy could’ve stabbed him right in the heart and he’d never have seen it coming, so complete was his focus on you.

You came up to him, cupping his face, and kissing him softly. When you separated, you looked up at Liam and said, “So, uhh…”

“Something tells me this wasn’t what you were predicting when you set out on your shovel talk,” Ridoc said, “I’m sorry I called you an asshole.”

“Sorry I freaked out on you,” Liam said, still reeling slightly from the speech Ridoc gave. “You didn’t really need it but, you have my blessing.”

“So are we cool, can we go to class now?”

You buried your head in Ridoc’s shoulder, “Aetos is gonna kill us for being this late.”

“It’ll be okay, pretty girl,” Ridoc said, “we’ll be fine. I couldn’t care less now that we can be public.”

You grinned up at him.

“You two are going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?” Liam said, laughing a little.

“You have no idea,” you said.

“As long as you’re happy,” Liam answered.

“I really am.”

“I am too,” Ridoc said, comically raising his hand, “in case anyone was wondering.”

“Shut up, Gamlyn,” Liam laughed.

A/N: Extra proud of this one gang, hope you enjoyed!

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

The Last Letter — Liam Mairi

Synopsis: Liam left you one last reminder of him before he went off to Athebyne. Nine months later, you still haven’t read it.

Includes: Pure angst. I am so sorry for all my Liam & Eden enthusiasts. I’ll make up for it with sisterly bonds (and fluff, later). Takes place during Onyx Storm and is written for day 3 of Liam Week.

The last letter that Liam wrote you, dated July 1st, sits in between some textbooks on your bookshelf. It remains untouched, even though it’s been almost a year since you received it. Liam had said not to open it until after he was back in from Parapet duty.

Little did either of you know, he wouldn’t even make it to see the year end.

The sealed envelope, the one with his scrawling handwriting, is pristine. It’s too perfect to mess up. Too clean, too reminiscent of your golden boy who used to press flowers for you in his spare time. You can’t help but feel like you’ll ruin something if you pry the golden wax seal open, tainting your lover’s actual final words to you forever. Those spoken ones didn’t count, from when the two of you snuck back into the Healers Quadrant on Reunification Day. He’d made love to you for the last time, equipped with soft words and gentle touches. His hands, calloused and warm, may have memorized every inch of your skin, but his parting words later that night were sealed like a brand in your memory.

“I’ll always come back for you. That’s a promise I intend on keeping.”

Well, when push came to shove, he didn’t come back for you — so did those words have any real meaning at all? Could they compete with the pages of rambling he shoved into that envelope a year ago and then hid in your room under a carving of an owl? 

You’d never know, because no matter how hard you try, you can’t make yourself open it. Of course, the curiosity chips away at you until you’re cracked and bleeding, but to no avail. There is not a single thing that could possibly convince you to open that letter.

Well, not a thing. But maybe a person.

It’s no surprise to you when Sloane comes creeping into the infirmary late one night while you’re completing your paperwork. She’s turned this into a weekly ordeal; every Sunday, she sneaks in to talk about Liam and ask about the things in the letters he addressed to her. There are so, so many — but you know that she’s getting close to the end.

“Gods, that looks boring,” she snorts, plopping down in the seat next to you. “How much more do you have to do?”

You shrug and continue to scribble on to your little data sheet. “I’m at least halfway done. We weren’t too heavy today, so there’s not much to be done. I just want to make sure I’m being accurate.”

Her hand finds your free one. “You’re always accurate. You’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

You purse your lips. “Eh. You’ve met Violet.”

A light squeeze shuts you up. “I’m not talking about Violet,” Sloane retorts. “I’m talking about you. Liam said you’re always right about everything, and he never liked to exaggerate.”

Well. That’s only partially true, really. Liam was honest, yes, but he could also be verydramatic when he wanted to be, and you know for a fact that, no — you’re hardly ever right about anything.

You let it slide, though. Just for Sloane.

The sound of your name has you pausing again, just to look up at her quizzically. “Can…” She stops. “Do you want to read this one with me? It’s shorter than the others, and I saw your name in it.”

You hesitate. It’s been around six months since you’ve been able to touch Liam’s letters to you. The last one you reread, dated January 24th, almost tore you apart upon reading his lovesick confessions and how he missed you. After that, you’d shoved all but one into a box and stuffed it under your bed, never to see the light of day again.

Liam would hate that. He didn’t like the dark, as supplied by the many mage lights he kept aflame in his room.

But…This isn’t for Liam. It’s for his sister, for the connections she so desperately needs after being ripped away from her only living family. She deserves the closure just as much as you desire the solitude. As a quiet concession, you drop your pen and incline your head. “Go ahead.”

Sloane blinks, as if she didn’t expect you to say yes, but she pulls out a little, meticulously folded slip of paper from her breast pocket.

Oh, Liam. Even in death, I admire your attention to detail.

Sloane unfolds it slowly, her fingers trembling as if the thought of showing Liam’s thoughts to someone else is an unforgivable act. She doesn’t know about your letterbox, and you don’t intend on telling her, either. As much as you’re willing to give to help her, you’re also unabashedly selfish. There’s only one person who gets to see what Liam was like in love, and that’s you. End of story.

She clears her throat and waits for your nod to begin reading. Upon your concession, she flattens the paper against the table and reads.

“April 15th.

Sloane,

Here’s my tip to survival for you today: By all means necessary, do not — and I mean, do not — make a bet with people on racing dragons. Deigh and I may have won against Fohmar and Enna Laughlin, but at what cost? I went into vertigo and almost promptly lost my guts. I cannot recommend it, no matter how beautiful the adrenaline rush is. Then, when we landed, I landed almost directly on top of Bodhi, who looked like he was about to either yell or shit himself. Maybe both. You can never really tell with him.

By the way, because I know you’ll want to — you don’t need to make fun of me; my girl already did that for you (I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’s got the same bite as you).”

Sloane takes a second to breathe, which you take to steady yourself and write a few more notes into your data sheet. That day, Liam had stumbled into the infirmary looking pale and spent, which scared the shit out of you. Then, you’d promptly gave him hell for his boyish idiocy, which he accepted with — as always — a bright, dimpled grin.

Shit. You breathe in shakily and then nod to tell Sloane to continue.

“Here are some other highlights in case you need something to brighten your day.

We finished up Squad Battles today. I moved us up a couple of spots in sparring with this insane leg lock that hurt like hell. I kind of felt bad for the guy I was paired with, but the gratification at the end made every second worth it. I know; I’m so modest.

Subsequently, we moved on to the last challenge, which was scary as shit. I won’t spoil if it’s reused for next year, but we ended up sneaking into General Sorrengail’s personal office to steal stuff. It was both the most terrifying and exhilarating thing I’ve ever done. I know I’ve said this in every other letter I’ve written, but you’ll absolutely adore Violet. Her mother may be to blame for our struggles, but she is nothing but kind to me. Be kind to her in turn, please.

Not that this would interest you yet, but I also happened to steal a bottle of wine from someone else’s office. It’s labeled as Tyrrish Petrichor, but it’s definitely Zinfandel. You might not remember, but that’s Mom’s favorite. It’s very bold, with a little bit of spice. Maybe we should sneak back in when you get here so we can grab another bottle, just as a little keepsake.”

You know that flavor all too well. Liam had brought in that bottle with the most smug little smile on his face, and since it was a Saturday, you were free to get absolutely shitfaced together. What transpired that night is still hazy to you, but several things about the morning after pointed you both in the right direction immediately.

Wine stains on your bedsheets.

Your cane lying abandoned by your bedside table.

Liam looking bewildered, and then a bit too pleased with himself.

The recollections have you biting down on your lip to keep yourself from succumbing to the whims of your aching heart. Your fingers curl around the edge of your seat, grazing the wood while Sloane finishes the letter.

“By the time you read this, you’ll probably be preparing for Squad Battles yourself. I’ll be watching out for you on the sidelines, kiddo. Don’t forget to absorb every moment — the good, the bad, and the ugly. Once you’re past First Year, you’ll be aching to go back and experience it all over again, no matter how painful it may feel the first time. At least, that’s how I feel with a lot of things. 

P.S. I’m praying that we’ll somehow end up in the same squad by some sudden miracle. However, we probably won’t. Be prepared to get your ass kicked, Sloane, because no one beats Second Squad when it comes to any kind of challenge.

Just kidding, but not really,

Liam.”

Although hot tears swim in your eyes, you can’t help but sputter out a laugh. “Just kidding, but not really. Gods, what an idiot.”

Sloane just shakes her head with an exasperated but amused smile. “Hey, that’s purely him. You decided to fall in love with that.”

“I did, didn’t I?” You murmur, brushing your thumb under the tabletop absentmindedly. If you feel around enough, you can feel the shallow dip in the wood where Liam decided to carve out your initials with a tiny, all too realistic heart above it. How he was able to put so much detail in such a little indentation is beyond you — but, then again, so were a lot of things when it came to Liam.

Sloane’s eyes soften in a way that’s painfully familiar. She slides out of the chair and gives you a gentle hug, burying her head in your shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For doing this with me. I don’t like reading them by myself, and you’re the closest thing I have to him now.”

You tense a little at the contact, but you eventually ease and allow her to slump into you. “Anytime, kid,” you reply hoarsely, swallowing around a lump in your throat. “He loves you, you know. So much.”

You can’t make yourself refer to him in past-tense. It just doesn’t make sense, especially when it comes to him and Sloane.

“Yeah?” She whispers. “He fucking adored you. I’m sorry I can’t show you every letter, but I know for certain that he wanted everything with you. He had an entire future in his head.”

In and out. Clench the jaw. Swallow again. Breathe.

The faint trembling of your lip sends you reeling back into the present, and you slowly free yourself from her grasp.

“Thank you,” you tell her earnestly, giving her the most genuine look you can muster. “For that, Sloane. You don’t understand how much it means to me, that you’re willing to come and talk to me.”

She shoots you a small, knowing smile, one that says, “I do, actually.” She skirts her way back to the door and waves, a promise to return next week with another letter to both quell and strengthen your sorrow.

It’s five — or maybe thirty? Or is it an hour? — minutes later, and you’re completely alone, accompanied only by the sound of your breathing and your quill scratching against the paperwork you’d disregarded. Routine, as mundane as it is, is your saving grace right about now. With barely anyone to cheerfully interrupt up your day, all you can do to cope is work, work, work, and then pass out at the end of the day until the cycle begins anew. You’re definitely the only healer presently working right now, even if it’s just assignments that are second-nature to you by now.

As much as you try to focus, to block out everything but information and statistics, your mind keeps drifting to Liam’s letter. Despite it being Sloane who read it, you can replace her voice with his almost perfectly, as if he was speaking the words himself. 

“Don’t forget to absorb every moment — the good, the bad, and the ugly. Once you’re past First Year, you’ll be aching to go back and experience it all over again, no matter how painful it may feel the first time.”

Ugh. You lean forward and tuck your head in your arms. For everything dumb he did around you, Liam was never short on wisdom to share — and, from past letters, it seems he wanted to impart every last bit of it to his sister, like a good older brother. And, by extension, to you. Whether that was an intentional choice of his or not, you’d never know.

“Hm,” you muse under your breath, looping your signature expertly on a crisp line. “Was that a sign from you, Li?”

Of course, you know you won’t get a reply, but the cold air of the infirmary settling around you like a soft embrace is answer enough. If Sloane can do it, so can you. You can read a fucking letter and live with it afterwards.

Paperwork be damned. You haul yourself to your feet and drag yourself back to your room. Despite the exhaustion in your bones and the ache in your leg, you have a new sense of determination. If you don’t read that damn letter now, you might not ever be able to. You usually like to neglect your grief, shut it down and shove it in a coffin deep inside and never address it again — but that’s not how Liam worked. Grief was something to be held and cared for until it was tamed quietly, under gentle supervision instead of under lock and key. That’s where the two of you always differed; one of you cares too little about their feelings, and the other cared extensively. He always did. Always does. Present-tense.

You unlock your door and make a beeline for the third shelf from the top of your bookshelf, where the blue, smooth envelope sits delicately in between your numerous medical tomes and jars of stationery. Dropping onto your messy sheets, you prop your cane against the bedside table and stare at that dastardly golden seal that closes the letter off from your sight. Your thumb presses against the wax hesitantly, as if even the lightest of touches would ruin the beauty of it all. Tarnish it, forever staining its perfection and the image of Liam pressing the stamp onto the paper meticulously, just like he did with everything else.

The muscles in your thumb lock up for a moment, as if they could sense your hesitation and decided to act upon it. That nagging piece inside screams at you for wanting to open the envelope, to read Liam’s last words to you like they’re the finale of a romance that was supposed to last forever. If you laid your eyes upon his unread thoughts, would that render the adoration between you broken with nothing else to add to it? Would it just solidify the fact that he’s gone, and you won’t have anything to return to when you retire to your room at night?

Liam would hate that I’m thinking like this, you think to yourself. Like he’s gone gone, and not just a realm or two away. That was something he always rambled about when you were left alone with his head in your lap and your fingers in his hair; “No matter when someone passes,” he’d say, “the realm of the dead is just next to ours. They don’t leave. They just take a few steps back and wait for you to see them.”

Maybe that’s what you need to do, too. Take a few steps back to last July and grant Liam the blessing of having his last words to you tattooed in the back of your brain. It’s the least you can do; even with him being gone, you still feel like you owe him a thousand debts, plus a thousand more.

With trembling hands and a sinking feeling in your stomach, you start to peel back the seal with your thumbnail, ignoring the little voice in the back of your head that shrieks at you to stop before you make a mistake.

But there are no mistakes. He wouldn’t have wrote it if he didn’t want you to read it.

It comes off in one piece, slightly weighted and warm in the palm of your hand. You never did ask Liam what the little symbol on his seals meant, but it feels so solid on your skin. Grounding. Warm, like Liam’s hands whenever they found yours. Nice and strong, but lacking his callouses.

Ever so gently, you ease the papers from the envelope, unfolding them with your heart pounding in your ears. Liam’s handwriting, scrawling and rushed and utterly him, unfurls beneath your eyes perfectly. Your name, looped neatly at the top, has you biting down on the inside of your cheek. Despite the stretch of time since you’ve last heard his voice, you can practically hear him whispering in your ear as you begin to read.

“My sweet girl,

I won’t lie; the fact that I’m even beginning to write this feels absolutely surreal. It doesn’t feel like it’s been a year since the Parapet, and it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been less than a year since I met you. Call me a sap; I don’t care. Despite it being not that long since I first laid my eyes on you, I think that we may have been one soul in a past life. How else could I become so infatuated with someone so quickly?

You bear every burden with terrifying ease, my love. That is no small feat, no matter how modest you like to be. Not everyone can make the transition from rider to healer so seamlessly, but you make it look so effortless — and so good. You’re beautiful in black, but blue is definitely your color. I like to think it’s because it’s my eye color (don’t slap me for that one), but I digress. You are the strongest woman I have ever met, and I know so well that if my mother were still here, she would adore you. So would will my sister. I can’t wait for you to meet Sloane. She’s got the same energy as you, just with a little more audacity. You’ll be the first person she meets outside of her squad — I’ll make sure of it. When we sneak in after her first class, be prepared. I’ll make the excuse of showing her how to get to the infirmary in case she needs it.

You’ll be pissed at me for this, probably, but I got a look at your Reunification Day dress when you left your armoire door open, and…Wow. You’re absolutely gorgeous, but I don���t know how I’ll be able to handle it when I get to see you in that. When Imogen and Iris first introduced us, I couldn’t stop staring, no matter how hard I tried (which, I’ll be honest — I didn’t try that much. I couldn’t help myself). There’s an expression in Tyrrish for people like you: Mo solas i lár an scrios. My light in the midst of destruction.

It’s funny how time changes things so quickly. When I was a child, the only wish I had for my future was to be alive, and maybe to take over my father’s position in politics. Even then, I could never really envision a future where I was truly happy with my choices. Then, you happened. Suddenly, I can see everything so clearly that it’s scary. Where it was once dark, I see you and I together, wherever we may end up — may it be Morraine or Tyrrendor. You are my future, and dammit, I will fight with every cell in my body to make that future possible, even when it seems so impossible that not even a precog can see it.

Marry me after we graduate, my love. Or sooner. I’m sure we could pull some strings, with our combined success. Go wherever you want, and I will follow, from the tip of the sky to the very bottom of Malek’s realm. There is no man, dragon, or god alive that can keep us apart for long. I want to marry you, live with you, change with you, grow old with you, and pass with you. It’s only fitting, because you are the only thing I want in my future. Even if the world goes to ash around us, we’ll burn brighter than the stars together.

And if I have to leave? I’ll come back for you every time. Every damn time, and that is a promise. In the event that I’m killed in action, don’t you worry your pretty head off. After all, you know I’m just a realm away, and I’m still not leaving your side. Like I said, that’s a promise. I don’t break promises, you know.

Meet up with me after the healer’s graduation, at the bridge. I have something for you.

Always, forever, and then more,

Liam.”

You don’t quite realize how long you’ve been sitting there, just staring at the end of the letter, until the unmistakable sound of paper shifting hits your ears. A few dark, wet spots have made their way from your cheeks to the edges of the paper, and you shift a little backwards, laying the letter on your bedside table. 

It’s dark in your room, the only light being emitted from a dying candle that’s undoubtedly on its last tenure. The abandoned seal shines bright in the glow, catching and redirecting onto your fingers. You stare at it for a few moments, any speech you could have tried for melting into wet sand on your tongue. 

Marry me after we graduate.

Gladly, you would have said. No questions asked, you’d have married him on the spot if he asked. 

And he did. Not to your face, but he did. 

How are you supposed to just…answer that?

A dry laugh bubbles from your throat. “You couldn’t have just said something? Gods, you’re a douche.”

There’s no answer, of course, but you can imagine Liam’s sheepish laughter in the back of your brain followed by a flurry of apologies. A small, bitter smile keeps your face drawn up, and you just shake your head.

“Idiot,” you whisper, reaching out and brushing the edge of the letter with your thumb as another tear falls. “I would have said yes. I’m still saying yes. You being gone doesn’t change that.”

You sit back against the wall, resting your head against the cool stone and watching out your window at the stars. Could you burn brighter than those? Maybe, if you had Liam with you — but he’s not here. Not physically, at least.

You tilt your head to the side. “Just a realm away, huh? That doesn’t sound very far, when you put it like that.”

Against the faint light, imperceptible even to your keenly observant eyes, a flickering silhouette shifts towards you. Maybe, if you saw it and stared at it long enough, you could have caught it leaning in close to you, completely invading your personal space.

And, maybe if you’d been paying enough attention, you could have caught the cool touch of a breeze against your cheek, all too similar to that of a gentle, familiar, barely-there kiss.

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @kienhawon, @goldenmagnolias, @empyreanevents

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[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem!reader (mini-series) part 9

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel's secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

See masterlist

Previous part

Warnings: angst, slight fluff in the end, not proofread

The world returned to her in fragments.

A dull ache pulsed at her side, each throb anchoring her back to the present. Her body felt too heavy for the bed she lay on--if it even was a bed. The fabric beneath her fingers was too soft, the air too quiet. No smoke. No fire.

Only stillness.

Y/N's lashes fluttered. Pain licked her ribs as she shifted. A hiss escaped her lips before she could stop it.

"Don't move"

The voice was low. Rough. Familiar.

Eris.

But she didn't open her eyes right away. She let her other senses sharpen first. There was the subtle crack of a fire--not the kind that destroyed, but one tamed and burning in a hearth. The scent of clean linens. Blood. Herbs.

And him.

That scent she knew now, whether she liked it or not, embers and something forest-wild beneath it.

Her lids lifted slowly.

She was in a bedroom--dimly lit, unfamiliar. The walls were draped in deep reds and golds, likely somewhere in the palace, but not their usual chambers. A private healing room?

Eris sat in a chair beside her, elbows resting on his knees, face pale and jaw clenched. His hair was damp like he had just washed blood off, and there was a fresh scratch trailing down one cheekbone.

She meant to glare at him.

But it didn't quite work--not when her body reminded her of the fight with every breath.

"What..." her voice cracked. "What happened?"

"You nearly got yourself killed," he said tightly, not looking at her.

"I was handling it," she muttered.

"You were bleeding out, Y/N."

That silenced her for a second.

Then she forced herself to sit up, only for fire to shoot through her side and her hands to fly to the wound. Bandages were wrapped tightly there.

"I said don't move," he repeated, standing this time.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped. "You weren't there when I needed you."

His eyes blazed. "And yet I was the one who pulled you out of that fire."

Their stares clashed. For a moment, the silence between them held a storm.

But her strength was waning, and the effort of sitting up was too much.

She slumped back into the pillows, chest rising and falling hard. "You didn't answer any of my questions."

"I will." His voice was quieter now, a little less sharp. "Just...not when you are coughing up blood."

She turned her head away from him, to the fire flickering on the far wall. Her body felt like it had been cracked open and stitched back together with the rawness of what had happened.

She wasn't about to ask about the creature. Or the card still tucked in her cloak pocket--The Unmaker.

And yet, all those questions still burned inside her, just as fiercely as the fire they had escaped.

The door creaked open with soft urgency, and before Y/N could even fully register the sound, a familiar blur of blue and gold darted into the room.

"Samira," she whispered, her lips twitching in the faintest smile.

Samira didn't even glance at Eris--not once. She rushed straight to Y/N's bedside, her usual calm and composed demeanour unraveling at the seams. She dropped to her knees, her hands trembling as she carefully reached out, brushing her fingers over Y/N's arm and then clasping her hand like she feared she might disappear again.

"Oh, thank the Mother," Samira breathed, her voice cracking. "You're alive."

Y/N blinked, overwhelmed for a heartbeat, before a teasing smile curled on her lips. "Are those tears I see, Samira?" she said, her voice still hoarse, but amused.

Samira scoffed and immediately smacked Y/N's hand lightly. "You wish. I just had something in my eye."

Y/N's laugh turned into a wince, her ribs protesting. She felt the smile falter on her lips, but only for a second.

That's when the sound of the door clicking shut broke through the quiet.

She didn't even have to look to know--it was him.

Oh, right. Eris. He was here. Now, he wasn't.

Good riddance.

Samira must've noticed the flicker of emotion pass through her face because her gaze sharpened like a blade. "What happened?" she asked.

"I..." Y/N began, but Samira raised a finger--stern, sharp, unrelenting.

"No, never mind that. What the hell were you thinking, sneaking out of the palace like that?" Samira hissed, her voice rising like a mother scolding a reckless child. "You could've died, Y/N. You nearly did. Do you know what I walked into? A room full of blood--and you, unconscious and practically dead!"

Y/N groaned and sank back into the pillows. "Oh gods, don't start."

"I will start and I won't stop," Samira snapped. "You've been here for weeks and you haven't even been injured once, at least not on my watch, and the one night I let you out of my sight, you find the creepiest fortune teller in all of the Autumn Court and nearly get killed?"

"Well, technically, she found me."

Samira glared.

"Okay, okay," Y/N grumbled. "I get it. It was stupid. I wasn't thinking."

"Thats the part that worries me," Samira muttered, reaching for the water on the bedside table and handing it to her. "You're always thinking."

Y/N accepted it with a grateful nod, sipping slowly. She watched Samira fuss--adjusting her pillows, fixing the edge of the blanket--as if keeping busy would help her calm down.

"I'm sorry," Y/N said after a pause, the words quiet but genuine.

Samira's shoulders slumped. "I know."

They sat in silence for a while, the air thick with unspoken things. Y/N's fingers twitched near her hip, brushing against the hidden pocket sewn inside her pants--the card.

The Unmaker.

The fortune teller's voice echoed in her head like a curse.

Who will I bring to ruin anyway?

For a fleeting second, she considered it. Pulling the card out, showing it to Samira, telling her everything. But...no.

Not yet.

First, she had to solve this on her own. Second, she wasn't ready. So, Y/N forced a smile instead and said "So...did anything interesting happen at the palace while I was gone?"

Samira gave her a look that was this close to strangling her and said, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe just a high-level emergency, Prince Eris nearly burning down half the woods, and me thinking I'd have to plan a royal funeral. But sure, let's talk about palace gossip."

Y/N chuckled again, this time without wincing. "Glad to know I was missed."

Samira narrowed her eyes but leaned back into the chair beside her, her expression finally softening. "Don't you ever do that again, Y/N."

"I'll try not to," she said. But the truth was--they both knew it wouldn't be that simple.

He stalked through the palace corridors like a phantom cloaked in rage. His steps were soundless, but his magic simmered beneath his skin like a wildfire begging to erupt.

He hadn't returned to their shared chambers after the kiss, opting to quickly change in his second chamber. He couldn't, wouldn't go back.

He had fled.

Coward.

That's what you are, Eris. That's what you will always be. She is lying on that bed, in that state because of you.

The kiss was not part of the plan. The plan was control. Leverage. Deceit.

She was supposed to be a pawn.

Not someone he burned for.

But her taste haunted his mouth. Her trembling hands still ghosted along his skin. Her laugh in the fountain--the real one, unguarded--had shattered something deep inside him. And when her lips had finally pressed against his...he had known, then, with dreadful clarity that this was more than a slip.

So he left.

The next morning, while she woke up alone, his blood ran cold with shame. And fear. Real fear--because if he let himself spiral into her, if he let himself want her, need her...she would destroy him.

So he threw himself into the only other thing that could root him: Beron.

The plan had been brewing for years. Quiet alliances. Promises made in shadows. Whispers passed through wine-stained letters and blood-marked tokens. And this week had been critical. Two lesser Autumun lords had shown signs of doubt in Beron's leadership after the last border incident. Eris met them both--individually, covertly--at a manor deep in the foothills of the court. Promises were made, secrets exchanged, oaths sworn. It was progress. Slow. Dangerous. But progress nonetheless.

And then...the second thing.

He'd ordered Alaric--his most trusted spy and informant--to dig into her. Y/N. Supposed simple innocent from Montesere who was trying to make money for her mother. That's it. Just a regular citizen.

He didn't believe in "supposed". And he was beginning to feel like she kept a great secret from him.

Especially, something connected to Azriel. He knew it from the way her gaze lingered too long on Azriel during the ball two days ago. From the way her jaw clenched when someone so much as mentioned the Night Court. From the way she would ask specifically about Azriel whenever Eris brought up Night. He had kept his eyes on her during the ball. Azriel hadn't recognized her--or pretended not to. But she...she looked like she had seen a ghost.

It set him on edge. He would not be outplayed in his own game. He needed to know who the hell she really was.

And then, the third reason. The most...idiotic of them all.

Calanmai.

It was drawing near.

Though Spring held it's rights sacred, the ancient magic rippled across all courts, and Autumn...Autumn burned. It had always affected him--especially when he was younger--but this year, with her near, with the echo of her lips on his, her hands in his hair...

He had been in agony.

He wanted her. Wanted her too much. And for once in his cursed, calculated life, that want felt dangerous. He didn't trust himself to be near her during Calanmai. If he did...he wouldn't be able to stop.

But all of that came crashing down when his second spy's message reached him during his meeting.

Smoke, Fire. A cursed cabin.

Y/N.

The moment he heard, he didn't think. He shifted. A blaze of fury. He tore through the forest like a storm made flesh, flames licking at his heels as he found her.

Found her broken.

After it was all over, he carried her through fire and shadow, his magic cloaking her in protective warmth. The guards at the palace scrambled out of the way when he roared into the gates. He didn't wait for permission. Didn't stop barking orders. He'd nearly blasted the healer's wing off it's foundations.

If anyone failed to fix her--he'd sworn--he would burn this court to ash.

Even Samira hadn't been spared his wrath.

When Beron demanded answers later, he'd lied smoothly. Said they were attacked by wild magic near the border, said she had been dragged into it by accident. Said he found her just in time.

But Beron's eyes had narrowed. As if he knew there was more.

And maybe there was. Maybe that creature wasn't just wild magic. Maybe it was part of something bigger.

But that would have to wait. Because Eris had at last reached the doors to his mothers guest room.

His chest ached.

He clenched his fists once. Twice.

Then pushed the doors and stepped inside.

Y/N lay back against the plush pillows, her ribs throbbing with every breath. The pain wasn't as blinding as it had been last night, but it was enough to make movement feel like punishment. She had dozed on and off throughout the morning, but now her mind refused to rest.

Her fingers tightened around the card.

It stared back at her with the same ominous glint, the edges strange beneath her touch--too warm, too smooth. Almost...alive. What in the gods-damned realms was this?

Y/N turned it over for the hundredth time, but the back was blank, just that same muted grey. No marks, no symbols. And yet...she felt it. A quiet thrum, like a pulse. Like it was watching her just as much as she watched it.

"What are you?" she muttered, brows furrowing.

Did the card itself hold something more? A message? A warning? Was there magic woven into its ink, its threads? If that fortune teller hadn't turned into a nightmare-inducing creature from the deepest depths of hell, maybe she would have had answers by now.

But no. Now she was left with this burning in her ribs and a head full of cursed questions.

And speaking of curses-

Her thoughts flashed back to him.

Eris Vanserra.

Her lips curled into a bitter smile as she dragged in a sharp breath.

He had told Y/N that she had made a grave mistake. What did he mean? What in the Cauldrons name did he know about that creature?

Even through the haze of pain and her fading vision, she remembered his voice. Cold and furious.

But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. No reaction. No emotion.

She'd gone soft once--once--and look where it got her: nearly burned alive, nearly dead, caught up in all of his mess.

No. Never again.

If Eris thought he could disappear, avoid her, act like nothing happened, he had no idea who he was playing with. There were questions he would answer. On her terms.

Just as she huffed and turned to set the card down, pain flaring in her side, she heard the soft creak of the chamber door.

Her eyes snapped towards the sound, sharp and wary. A young girl stood there--barely out of her teens, her healer's robes too big for her slim shoulders. She bowed quickly, eyes wide and nervous.

"Forgive me princess," she said in a quiet, lilting voice. "Lady Samira sent me to check on you. She said you might be in pain still."

Y/N blinked, her gaze narrowing ever so slightly.

An idea sparked in her mind.

She looked down at the card still resting against her fingers. Then back at the young girl.

Her pain hadn't gone anywhere. Her ribs still ached. She was still exhausted. But this...this was an opportunity.

She straightened up ever so slightly, wincing but doing it anyway.

"Oh" she murmured softly, lips curving into a deceptively innocent smile. "That's very kind of her."

And just like that--her next move began to take shape.

Y/N tilted her head slightly as the young healer stepped further inside, careful to not let the pain show on her face. With practiced ease, she slid the card beneath the folds of the blanket, keeping it hidden by her side. No one could see it. Not yet.

The girl curtsied once more, then came to kneel beside the bed, placing a small satchel of supplies on the bedside table. "I won't be long," she murmured, voice gentle. "Lady Samira insisted you be checked again for internal bruising."

Y/N offered a faint nod, eyes sharp despite the calm expression on her face. She watched every movement the girl made--the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she opened a jar of salve, the way she avoided Y/N's eyes.

Innocent? Nervous? Or something else?

The girl's hands were steady as she peeled back the corner of the blanket, then lifted the edge of the tunic to reach the bandages. Her touch was surprisingly soft. Skilled.

Not a first-year apprentice, then. But still young.

Y/N didn't say a word as the healer carefully undid the wrappings around her ribs, her brows furrowing when she saw the bruising beneath.

"You shouldn't be moving," she said softly, concern seeping into her tone before she caught herself and cleared her throat. "The swelling hasn't gone down yet."

Y/N didn't respond. She simply lay there, silent, watching. Thinking.

The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of linen being unwrapped and the gentle scrape of glass jars.

She waited. Let the girl get comfortable. Let her think that this was a normal visit.

Only when the healer began gently rubbing the cooling balm into her skin did Y/N finally speak--softly, casually, but with intent behind every word.

"What's your name?"

The girl blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "N-Niera, highness."

Y/N gave a slight hum, eyes never leaving her face. "You're not originally from the Autumn Court, are you?"

Niera froze for just half a second--barely noticeable. But Y/N noticed.

"I was born near the border, highness." the healer replied quickly, "Still within Autumn but close to the Riverlands."

A rehearsed answer. Smooth, but not perfect.

Y/N gave no indication of doubt. She shifted slightly, hissing when her side ached. Still, her voice remained soft. Almost idle.

"Have you ever seen a deck of fortune-telling cards, Niera?"

The girl's hands slowed. Her gaze flicked up--just for a moment--to meet Y/N's.

And in that silence, that heartbeat of hesitation, Y/N knew exactly what her next move would be.

The stallion's name was Virell--flame-maned and sharp-eyed, with a temperament nearly as foul as his master's. The beast was bred from a bloodline older than most of the noble houses in Autumn. Unbroken, except by Eris himself.

He'd raised Virell from a colt, trained him to run silent in battle, to lash out with his hooves at the faintest flick of a wrist. The horse knew his moods. Sometimes better than his own damn brothers.

But even as he ran a hand down Virell's flank, tightening the leather straps on the saddle, Eris sighed heavily.

"Enough with trying to distract yourself," he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening.

Because he was doing it again. Wasting time. Wasting energy. The very thing he couldn't afford anymore.

He swung up onto Virell's back in a single fluid motion and kicked the beast into a fast canter that rapidly surged into a gallop. The wind tore through his hair, but did little to cool the fire simmering in his chest.

His thoughts dragged him back to a few hours earlier, just after he had left Y/N"s chambers when Samira entered. He hadn't dared linger longer. Not with the look Y/N had given him when her eyes first fluttered open. Not with the weight of what had happened.

So instead, he'd gone to the one person who might ground him: his mother.

The Lady of Autumn had been waiting for him. Arms crossed. Gaze razor-sharp.

She hadn't even let him close the door behind him before starting.

"You disappeared for an entire day, Eris, and while I would consider your sudden disapearences normal and usual before, I don't anymore." she said coldly

Eris sighed, opting to sit on one of the chairs near the window, "Why? Because you all started to suddenly worry for me?"

"Because you have a wife!" Her voice came out louder this time. "You have a court. You have duties. And now your wife nearly died."

He didn't have the strength--or interest--to argue. Not then. Not when his own guilt had been pressing down on his shoulders like a mountain.

"I was working," he had replied, voice clipped.

"On what?" she demanded. "And don't you dare lie to me."

He didn't lie. Not to her. But he didn't explain either. She didn't need to know. Not yet. Not until it was safe enough to involve her.

Still, he left that conversation with his ears ringing and a dull, bitter taste in his mouth.

He'd meant to go check on Y/N after that. H ereally had. But the memory of her, limp in his arms, blood coating her skin, the sound of her voice laced with venom and pain, he couldn't face it yet.

So he did the second-best thing: He found Samira.

The woman hadn't been thrilled either. But he couldn't care any less, he ordered her to give him constant updates on Y/N's condition.

"I don't take orders from you, Eris," she had snapped after he'd told her to keep watch over Y/N.

He'd stepped closer, leaned in, and in a voice as sharp as a dagger, murmured, "Then take it as a threat instead. You and your family back in Montesere would do well not to anger me."

She scoffed. "Try touching them, and I'll flay you in your sleep."

But then her jaw tightened. "Fine. But only because she is involved."

Now, as Virell thundered through the quiet forest trails beyond the court, Eris growled low under his breath.

He knew it was coming--a fight with Y/N. A massive one. She was going to tear into him wth words sharper than any blade, and this time...she'd have every right.

But so did he.

He gritted his teeth, spurring the horse faster.

"She better start praying," he hissed to the wind. "Because once she is better, she will be answering my damn questions, too."

He couldn't trust anyone with her. Not the guards, not the sentries and not even Samira. She'd still managed to slip away.

Imbeciles.

He'd deal with them later. Every single one of them.

But that fortune teller, that creature....

Gods, Y/N had no idea what she'd walked into. The chaos it would wake.

And now?

Now, she had fucked everything up.

His hands gripped Virell's reins tighter as the trees blurred past him, wind howling in his ears.

He needed to think. To plan.

And above all, to keep her from doing something even worse.

Y/N leaned back against the pillows now, her chest rising and falling at a steadier rhythm. The pain had dulled to something faint and throbbing, almost easy to forget if she didn't move too fast. Which was...suspicious. Because just hours ago, her ribs had felt like they were being stabbed from the inside with every breath. But now, here she was. Sitting up, eating her soup.

And the card--The Unmaker-- it wasn't on her anymore. Her gaze shifted to the empty table beside her bed, where she had once laid it out. Gone.

She exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to the window, before she let her mind drift back to the memory of earlier with the healer.

Niera.

After Y/N had posed her quetsion--carefully, casually, calmly--she'd watched the healer flinch and her eyes narrow with a sudden sharpness that hadn't been present during the silent treating of her wounds. She didn't respond immediately, but that pause had been enough for Y/N.

She knew.

That was when Y/N, very slowly, reached beneath her blanket and drew out the card, holding it up between them--so close Niera could see every etched detail on its surface.

Niera had gasped, her hands went still, and her face lost all color. "Where...did you...?"

"You've seen it before," Y/N had said flatly.

Niera's voice came slower this time, tinged with fear. "Not...this exact one. But I've heard of it. Of a deck like this. Forbidden, some say. Forgotten, others claim. But I never thought I'd-- "

Y/N cut her off. "I need to know what this is. And I can't be seen asking around. Tell me everything you know."

Niera swallowed. "That card is forbidden."

"Why?"

"Because it's cursed. Or...that's what people say. It's not part of any traditional deck. It appears only when it wants to."

"Sounds ridiculous," Y/N said lightly. "Cards don't appear on their own."

Niear hesitated. "They do...when they're linked to something darker. Some say it's not a card. It's a warning. A prophecy."

She leaned in then, the edge of the card still vicible between her fingers. "You can't speak of this, of what you will be doing for me to anyone. You will look into it. Quietly."

A long silence.

Y/N added, softly, "You have people, don't you? A family, maybe? A home somewhere beyond these walls?"

Niera froze.

"Right," Y/N whispered. "I don't want to hurt you. I want your help. But you tell someone about this..." Her voice remained sweet, but something about it turned...iron. "I'll know. And I'll ruin you."

The silence that followed was laced with something cold. But then, unexpectedly, Niera spoke.

"My family is in the North. I'm an orphan, so I only have three younger siblings that I care for. That's why I came to erve in the court--to send money home. But even here, gold is...scarce. I'm treated like dirt beneath their shoes.. So if you're offering gold..."

Y/N leaned back, intrigued. "How much would cover you?"

Niera named a sum that would've made Y/N's former self choke.

But this wasn't her old self anymore.

She simply smirked. "Done."

Niera's eyes widened. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. But in exchange, you're going to help me. First, take this card and find what you can. Second, heal me faster than your pretty rules allow."

To her surprise, Niera nodded--far too quickly. "Deal."

And gods, had she delivered.

Because now, just hours later, Y/N sat upright, breathing normally. Her ribs weren't whole yet, not exactly. But far closer to it than any other healer had managed in this timeframe. Which only proved what she'd always suspected: these palace healers could heal quickly if they wanted to. They just didn't.

She let out a sharp breath of amusement. "Slick bastards."

And the card...the card was out of her hands now, but not out of her reach. The real question was: what would Niera find? And could she be trusted?

Well, it wasn't like there were many options either. After this charade, it will be ten times harder to leave the palace unnoticed. Niera too, has no other choices but to follow Y/N. She made sure of that.

Y/N's fingers curled around the soup bowl in front of her, slowly lifting the spoon to her lips.

She would deal with Eris later. For now, her real focus lay elsewhere.

The Unmaker.

Who would she unmake first?

The crashing of water echoed around him, relentless and loud, yet strangely calming. The waterfall cut through the cliffs like a blade of silver, framed by trees whose autumn-red leaves f;uttered like dying embers in the breeze. Eris sat near the edge, one boot dangling loosely over the slope, the other braced against the damp ground. Virell stood beside him, still and watchful, steam rising faintly from his flanks.

He hadn't meant to ride this far. Not really. But the chaos in his chest hadn't let up for hours, and the sound of water was the only thing that felt remotely close to clarity.

Eris stared into the rushing cascade below, seeing nothing, but feeling...too much.

His mother's voice echoed in his head. "You have a wife now. You can't keep disappearing whenever your instincts tell you to run. You can't live like a blade, Eris. Blades break."

She didn't understand. Couldn't. The truth, the countless pieces he had to move quietly, the risks he carried like chains around his neck. If he didn't keep a step ahead everything--his mother's life, the lives of the few loyal to him, the entire future of Autumn--would crumble.

But the other side of him, the one that had refused to look away from Y/N even when she spat her fury at him, raged just as loud.

He hadn't planned for her. The kiss had been a mistake. A slip. But the second his lips touched hers, it had been like setting himself on fire and realizing far too late that he didn't want to put the flames out.

That was why he had to run--thrown himself into his plan, doubled his efforts to unravel Beron's network of spies, pushed his trusted contact to investigate Y/N's past.

He knew something was off, he always did.

And still...still he had come when she was in danger. Because when he had gotten word of it, when he'd heard what had happened, something inside him had simply snapped. He hadn't even realized how loud he was screaming for the healers to do something, how brutal he had been when they hesitated.

And now...now he sat here, torn between the life he'd built with his teeth and blood, and the woman who had begun to burn holes in his walls with nothing but a look.

He exhaled, dragging his hand through his hair, strands catching on his rings. "Get a grip," he muttered. "You're loosing control."

Virell huffed beside him, shifting slightly. Eris glanced at him, then down again at the water. And suddenly, without warning, the weight in his chest turned sharp.

He had to see her. Right fucking now.

He didn't care how this ended tonight, he couldn't go another moment without seeing her, without answers, without something.

He stood, his decision solidifying with every breath. He climbed onto Virell in one swift, practiced movement.

"Let's go," he said.

"And they thundered off toward the palace, the trees blurring past him like flames in the wind.

Y/N leaned back against the cushions, face paler than it truly was, hands folded lightly over the blanket as she listened to Samira talk. Every once in a while, she offered a soft nod or a strained hum, playing her part well. She had made sure to look tired, to breathe a little more shallowly, to wince just slightly when shifting. The game was necessary--if Samira suspected how quickly her injuries had vanished under Niera's skilled hands, there would be far too many questions.

Samira sat at the edge of the bed, one hand wrapped around a cup of tea and the other resting on the counter, concern etched into every line of her face. "I just can't believe it," she was saying, eyes narrowed. "That creature...whatever it was. If Eris hadn't gotten there-- "

Y/N waved a hand lightly. "Let's not talk about him."

That earned a raised eyebrow from Samira, but before she could say more, the doors burst open with a force that made them both flinch.

The bang echoed through the chamber like a war drum. Samira shot up to her feet, and Y/N's heart skidded to a halt as her gaze darted to the source of the intrusion.

Eris.

He stood in the doorway, chest heaving ever so slightly as if he'd been running. His coat hung open, boots muddied, hair wind-tossed. His eyes--those amber, wildfire eyes--locked on hers with such brutal intensity it burned.

He didn't even acknowledge Samira.

"Get out," he said-- no growled.

The command rang out like a blade.

Samira stepped in front of Y/N, her voice cold. "Excuse me?"

"I said get the hell out of here," Eris snapped, taking a thunderous step forward. "Now."

Y/N blinked, stunned, before her gaze flicked to Samira. The poor woman looked torn between loyalty and fury.

"It's okay," Y/N said softly, placing a hand over Samira's. "I'm alright. Just...go."

Samira stared at her for a long second before muttering a sharp curse under her breath. She turned toward the door but not before shooting Eris a glare hot enough to incinerate his boots. Then, just as she was about to step out, she paused--glancing over her shoulder at Y/N with an unreadable expression.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And Y/N was left alone in the room with her storm of a husband.

The silence in the room thickened after Samira left. Y/N sat motionless, the bedsheets tangled around her legs as she stared at the closed door. Her ribs barely ached now, thanks to Niera's accelerated healing, but she stayed hunched and breathing shallow--still playing the role of the injured wife for appearances.

Eris didn't waste a second.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped. "Leaving the palace like that--wandering the streets alone-- do you even know this court? Its streets? Its people? You don't know what's out there. You don't know who to trust. This place is nothing like your sunny, colorful Montesere. If you don't know how to survive here, it will eat you up alive, Y/N. Alive!"

Y/N didn't respond.

He paced at the end of the bed, hands running through his hair. "And the fortune teller? Do you even realize what you've done? You think this is some sort of game? You act like you own the entire court-- "

Still, she didn't reply.

He turned sharply. "Y/N."

Nothing.

"Y/N."

Her gaze remained fixed ahead, unreadable.

He stepped closer. "What the hell is your problem? You are now a princess, you are safe, you get drowned in riches, wear the absolute latest fashion, live in luxury and glory, are married to the future high lord, your mother is getting the best of the best treatments and yet...and yet you still have a fucking problem."

Finally, she turned to him. Her voice was ice.

"I don't talk to you unless absoluetly necessary. Which is in public."

He stared at her like she'd slapped him. "So that's it now?"

No reply.

"Oh, come on." He gave a bitter laugh. "Is this because of the kiss? You're angry I left?"

Silence. The room hummed with tension.

And then...he made the mistake of stepping closer--leaning down.

In a flash, Y/N was on her feet.

"Shut up," she growled. "You don't get to talk. You disappeared after the kiss! You left me! And now you're mad at me?!"

Eris had genuine shock on his face. "How did you heal so fast-- "

"No. You don't get to ask that." She jabbed a finger at him, "You disappear whenever you like. You have secrets you won't share. But when I do something for myself, I'm reckless?"

His eyes narrowed. "Well, look at your condition right now."

"What am I supposed to do?" she shouted back. "Rot in these damned walls while my so called husband vanishes for entire days? You expect me to trust you--follow your lead--when you give me nothing?"

"I never said you had to trust me," he snapped.

She scoffed. "Of course not. Trust means you have to tell me your plan. And gods forbid I know the plan, right? Because I'm just your pawn in all this shit!"

"You are not a pawn," he growled.

She laughed bitterly. "I understand we're not supposed to love each other. I get it. And I don't love you. But at the very least, I deserve some respect! For cauldrons sake, you kissed me Eris. I didn't run from it. You did."

"You think I had a choice?"

"Where were you?" she demanded. "Why did you only show up when I was about to die? You think your little hero act will make me believe in your bullshit Eris? When I was rotting in this venom-filled court, when I was taken to the fortune teller, when I was in the streets alone because my husband couldn't crae enough to show me his court, where the hell were you?"

Y/N cut him off before he even got a chance to reply. "Oh, that's right, you were fuck knows where! My guess is, with one of your mistresses, fucking around and not giving two shits about me!"

"That's not fucking true, and you know that! Call me whatever you want but not a cheater, never that. Only the lowest of low's do that and I'm never fucking low. I had things to take care of." Eris' voice kept rising with each word as his eyes narrowed down on her.

She sneered. "Mistresses?"

He glared. "You have no idea what I've been dealing with."

"And you don't care what I've been going through. You want to control me-- but not protect me. You want obedience, not trust."

"I came for you the second I heard. I saved you-- "

"And vanished again! You think that makes you a hero?"

His voice rose. "Do you even understand the danger we're in? Do you know what I'm risking? What I'm doing behind the scenes?"

"What's the point if you won't let me in?"

"Because this isn't love. This is a fake marriage, remember?"

"Exactly!" she shouted. "I can't stand you!"

The words sliced through the air.

And just like that, silence fell.

She slowly sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands, and muttered. "It was a mistake. All of it. Coming here. Agreeing to your bullshit plan. Leaving Montesere."

Eris stood still.

"I shouldn't have ever met you," she whispered.

Something cracked in him.

He dropped onto the bed beside her. "I know, but for some reason, I wouldn't change it."

She stared blankly at the wall. "All I ever wanted was to protect my mother. To cure her. And now I'm stuck in a palace with a male who doesn't give a damn if I live or die. You know, if this plan gets uncovered, if someone finds out the truth, I am dead."

His voice shifted--lower, rougher. "Nothing will happen to you."

She turned her head to him. "You don't know that."

"I do. Because I won't let it."

She snorted. "Right. like you've 'protected' me before?"

Eris clenched his fists. "The attackers in Tideholt--the ones who ambushed us on our way here--I found them. I made sure they suffered."

Her head snapped towards him.

"What?"

"I didn't forget. I can't seem to forget anything that involves you these days."

A beat.

Her heart twisted--but her face remained cold.

"Too little, too late," she said, voice brittle. "You're always too late."

His mouth opened. But nothing came out.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered. "I don't want your games. I don't want your secrets."

"And what do you want, Y/N?" he growled. "A perfect courtship? Roses? Love letters? You think I can afford to give you that?"

"I think you can afford honesty," she snapped. "But you don't even have that."

"Then leave," he hissed. "Go back to Montesere."

She glared at him. "Maybe I will."

They stood.

Two stroms, ready to collide.

"I hate you," she spat.

"I hate you more."

And with that, Eris turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door so hard it rattled the windows.

Y/N sank back onto the bed, he chest heaving, her heart screaming--and yet...the room felt even colder without him in it.

An hour later, she tugged the heavy velvet curtains shut with a little more force than necessary, the rings clinking violently against the rod. The entire room was cloaked in a soft darkness now, with only the warm flicker of the bedside candle to keep the shadows at bay.

She didn't care anymore.

Not about her ribs. Not about whether anyone noticed she was much better, stronger than she should've been after just a few hours. Let them question it. Let them gossip. Let them talk.

Her mind was too clouded with rage.

Rage...and something else she didn't want to name.

She yanked off the silk robe draped around her shoulders and tossed it onto the chair with a bitter sigh, muttering under her breath. "Arrogant, self-righteous bastard." She pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, teeth clenched. Her hands trembled, but not from fear.

From everything else.

She turned her face into the pillow and growled. "I shouldn't have ever met you," she whispered into the darkness.

And then--

The door slammed open again.

She sat up immediately, throwing the covers off. "What now?" she snapped, already ready for a fight.

But her words died in her throat.

Eris stood in the doorway. Again.

This time, dressed in only a loose, black shirt and matching pants--no armour, no boots, no weapon. Just him. His hair tousled, cheecks flushed and his arms--

Pillows.

A thick, dark blanket.

He didn't say a word as he closed the door behind him with a definitive click. Walked right past her. Past the ruined tray on the table. Straight toward the narrow couch by the window.

She blinked. "What...are you doing?"

No answer.

He set the blanket down and began fluffing one of the pillows.

"Eris."

Still nothing.

Fury erupted again in her chest. She slipped out of bed, marched over, and shoved his back with the palm of her hand--hard.

He didn't flinch, but he did pause. And finally, turned.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed. "You don't just walk in here--again--with a damn blanket and-- "

"I'm here to sleep," he said simply. "Obviously."

"In here?"

He adjusted the pillow again, choosing not to answer her question.

"You could've slept in one of your a hundred other rooms. Why the hell here?"

He turned to face her fully now. And for a heartbeat, everything stilled.

His eyes looked right into hers. And something in them...something silent but terrifyingly certain reached her in ways words never could.

His voice was soft, but absolute. "Because you're here."

Y/N's breath hitched.

"And I'm not going anywhere," he added. "So go to sleep."

She opened her mouth, ready to saya hundred things--none of which made it past her lips.

Eris turned away, settled on the couch, pulling the blanket up to his chest. He didn't look at her this time, just stared at the ceiling with that unreadable look on his face.

"We'll talk about your magical sudden healing later," he said blandly, voice half-lidded with exhaustion. "Don't think I forgot."

She stared at him. This infuriating, maddening, arrogant male. Who had insulted her, hurt her, kissed her--and now was camping on her couch like it was the most normal thing in thw world.

With a long, exhausted sigh, she turned back to the bed and muttered curses under her breath.

"Goodnight, princess."

"Go fuck yourself, Eris."

Eris chuckled.

She climbed under the sheets, turned away from him.

And in the silence, just before she drifted off, she whispered to herself:

"What the hell are we doing?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @lamimamiii @batboyslutt @k-godling @littowl @jaybbygrl @kissesfromnovalie @talesofadragon @tele86 @annamariereads16 @circe143 @yukimaniac @babypeapoddd @darkbloodsly @hauntedstudentobservationus @i-know-i-can @12358 @holb32 @herondale-lightworm @byysandra @sourapplex

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

I stopped reading Onyx Storm not because I 'didn't like it'. I stopped reading cause I needed to keep them all alive and protect them at least until the next book comes out. I can't handle a cliiffhanger. I have a full time job. I need my sleep.

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Eris is the fucking general of Autumn's forces, Eris was the one leading them on the war with Hybern.

This post exists just to say that.

If you don't get just how sexy that is...well idk get well soon?

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Furniture and home decor I think the Forest House would have:

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Smau ideas!

Telling Acotar guys your ranking of high lords based on how hot they are (completely out of the blue and unprompted)

Not sure if you have seen the trend on TikTok where wives are telling their husband they can’t pay the mortgage this month and the husband is like what do you mean, you never pay. Something like that maybe where you say you can’t pay y’all’s rent this month and they are confused as hell because you never pay the rent anyway

Telling them you bought puppy but then sending a picture and there’s actually like 8 puppies

Sending a flirty pic but then saying oops wrong number

Excuse me? acotar smau

in which you send the acotar males your rankings of hottest high lords

a/n: I’m SORRYY it’s been a hot few months since you sent this and i’m very sorry it took me this long! i’ll try to do the other ideas another time! thank you for the ask and thank you @thelov3lybookworm for reviewing these!

thank you @tsunami-of-tears for the dividers

smau masterlist

taglist: @profound-imagination @lilah-asteria @stargirl1714 @hieragalbatorixdottir

i’m sorry if i forgot you- my brain is wild rn <3

ask to be tagged, give ideas, comments, reblogs are appreciated, do not steal my work!

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

now bodhi's the duke's right hand, who never had time for a wife

and he's talking with garrick, who's still in the army and probably will be for life

and imogen is practising politics

as xaden slowly gets stoned

yeah they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

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.