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awesomethreedragons · 3 years ago

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Loved it!

The Viscount Who Loved Me {Epilogue}

TVWLM Masterlist

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.

Written alongside @snelbz

Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain - Feyre x Rhysand - Elain x Azriel x Gwyn

Summary: (see TVWLM masterlist!)

A/N: The end!!!!!!!! Or is it? Thank you for reading! We hope you've enjoyed the story. We would love to know what you think! x

Feyre had never been so exhausted in her life.

She’d also never been as happy as she was and she knew those things went hand in hand as she leaned her head on Rhysand’s shoulder. Together, they gazed down at the tiny bundle in his arms, their sleeping child.

He was the spitting image of his father, with his dark hair and tanned skin. All but his gray-blue eyes. She loved it, loved the fact that every time she looked at her son, she was reminded of her husband.

“Everyone will be here soon,” Rhysand muttered with a yawn. “But I’m just so tired.” Feyre laughed quietly while her husband yawned again, looking down at his newborn son. “I can’t believe we created this little guy.”

Feyre had been pregnant when they had gotten married but she hadn’t known yet. They had told the ton that he had been born six weeks early when in reality he had been born just on time. The only person that knew the truth was their doctor, and she was sworn to secrecy. A fact that she delighted in.

“He’s perfect,” Feyre agreed, brushing back the tufts of black hair. “They say we should be sleeping when he’s sleeping. Does that mean we should be napping now?”

Rhysand looked down at their elegant attire. “We do have a luncheon to host.”

“Yes, but it’s just with our family,” Feyre muttered. “Would it truly be so bad to miss?”

Rhysand laughed quietly. “Am I horrible if I say no?”

She was just about to suggest they steal away to their room, kick off their boots, get rid of the stuffy jacket Rhys was wearing, and sleep just as soundly as their baby was when there was a knock on the door.

“That’ll be Nesta,” she sighed, looking at the clock on the mantle. Everyone was supposed to be there around eleven, but ever since she was a little girl, Nesta had her own inner clock. If you aren’t early, you’re late, Nesta had always told her, and she knew being married to Cassian had likely been pushing her inner clock closer and closer to everyone else’s.

Except for when one was meeting their nephew for the first time.

Rhysand carefully handed their son to her, tucking him into the crook of her arm. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, just beneath the tufts of dark hair, and then kissed his wife. “We’ll take a nap later,” he promised, helping her to her feet.

It had been a week since Nyx was born and while Feyre wouldn’t trade anything for their perfect baby in her arms, the birth had been…difficult. Almost a full day after her water broke, Nyx was finally born, and Rhysand had never been more awestruck, proud of, and in love with his wife than he had been after she’d given birth to their son.

The doorman’s voice carried to them, as well as other familiar voices. Voices Feyre and Rhysand had missed in these past three months.

“My lady, if you’d give me a moment, I’ll introduce you and—”

“She is my sister, there is no need for an introduction.”

“Nes…”

Nesta scoffed. “I don’t need an introduction and I am allowed to voice my piece.”

“He’s just doing his job,” Cassian muttered.

An exasperated doorman rounded the corner, followed by Nesta and Cassian.

“The Baron and Baroness,” he said, looking as if he could not leave quickly enough.

Nesta swept into the room, heading straight for the baby. Cassian smiled fondly after her before meeting Rhysand in a warm embrace.

“Fatherhood looks good on you,” Cassian smiled.

“I think you mean exhaustion,” Rhysand joked, “but thank you. How was the honeymoon?”

Cassian grinned. “Oh, it was—“

“He’s so beautiful,” Nesta interrupted, looking at Nyx with tears in her eyes. “He looks just like his daddy, yes, he does.”

Cassian lifted a brow as he watched Nesta, as Nesta’s voice rose an octave.

Nesta took Nyx into her arms and she bounced him, whispering soothing words to the infant as she walked back and forth in front of the settee.

Feyre took the opportunity to sit down, smiling sleepily at Cassian. “So you had a good time?”

He had crossed the room, taking a seat on one of the loveseats, and opened his mouth to respond.

“We did,” Nesta answered, carrying Nyx to sit next to her husband. She was still speaking to the baby it seemed, as she said, “But we would have been here no matter what to meet you, sweet one. Yes, sir.”

Cassian reached for Nyx and Nesta shifted out of his grip. He blinked at her. “Let me hold my nephew, woman.”

“I’m not done yet,” she replied, glaring at him. She was gently rocking Nyx as she flayed Cassian with just a look and he was back asleep in an instant. “Wait your turn.”

Rhysand couldn’t help but chuckle as he sat in the empty seat next to Feyre and took her fingers in his. Brushing his lips over the back of her hand, he intertwined their fingers and looked at their siblings. “I think the last letter I received, you two were visiting one of the smaller port cities in Summer.”

Cassian nodded, stretching his arm over the back of the couch, scooting in closer. Nesta smiled up at him, love and adoration in her eyes, despite the fact that she was still hogging their nephew. He pressed a kiss to her temple and leaned back in his seat. “Yes, we didn’t stay long though. Someone preferred the beaches of Adriata.”

“It smelled like fish everywhere you went,” Nesta defended, brushing her thumb along Nyx’s chubby little hand. “And not in an oh, we’re close to the sea way. In a someone needs to bathe way.”

Rolling his eyes, Cassian turned to Rhys, giving his brother his full attention. “But you’ll never guess who we ran into while we were sitting down to dinner on that little island, before we returned to Adriata.”

“Azriel and Gwyn,” Nesta finished for him.

Cassian gave his wife an exasperated sigh. “I told him to guess.”

Nesta shrugged. “It would have taken them ages. Surely we have more important things to discuss than guessing games.”

“You’re a thorn in my side,” Cassian muttered.

“I could say the same for you,” Nesta replied, but then she was leaning into him, finding solitude in his touch.

“I must say, I was surprised when Az said he was taking this woman on holiday with him,” Rhysand said, brows pinched together. “We’ve only ever met her that once, at the wedding.”

Cassian shrugged, his arm still around Nesta. “He claims they’re only just friends. She seems kind enough.”

“And quite lovely,” Nesta said, meeting Feyre’s eye. “Will she be joining us today?”

Feyre shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of, although she would be welcomed.”

“Azriel would take a woman who is only just a friend with him on holiday.” Rhysand chuckled. “As long as he can sketch her, he’s happy.”

“Your uncle Az is quite the fellow,” Cassian muttered, brushing his hand along Nyx’s cheek as he slept in Nesta’s arms. “I can’t say I’d find satisfaction in such simplicity.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Oh, we know exactly how you find satisfaction.” A second passed before she added, “Or, at least I do.”

Cassian grinned before he reached for Nyx again. This time, Nesta gave him up and she melted at the sight of him in Cassian’s arms.

“That is far more information than I think we needed,” Feyre replied, fighting a yawn and losing.

“What’s life without a little over-share?” Nesta waved her off. “How’s he sleeping?”

“He’s great at it,” Rhysand sighed, and even though they could see how happy he was, they could see the exhaustion setting in. “For very short periods of time. Then he’s very good at waking us up.”

They decided to send most of the staff to their homes for a few months, to spend Nyx’s first few months as a family, with just Miryam and a few others. They had done it for some privacy and to enjoy their time together as unimpeded as possible.

Little did they know they’d be doing the staff a favor. No one in the manor house was getting much sleep, thanks to the mighty lungs on the tiny boy.

Footsteps approaching in the hall snagged everyone’s attention and suddenly Azriel appeared in the doorway.

“How did you get in without an introduction?” Nesta asked, tilting her head.

He shrugged a muscular shoulder. “I came in the back.”

Crossing the room, he first greeted Feyre with a kiss on the cheek and then embraced Rhysand as he stood. “Congratulations, brother.”

“Thank you,” he replied, patting Azriel’s back twice before pulling back to look at his face. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Mother’s tits, you’re tan.” Neither of them had heard Cassian even get off the couch, but there he was, Nyx still tucked into one arm. He tugged on Azriel’s collar, trying to look beneath his shirt. “Is it all of you?”

Azriel stepped back, swatting his hand away and rolling his eyes as Rhysand laughed quietly. “I shall not deign that question with an answer.” He stepped forward again to peer down at Nyx. “By the Cauldron…he looks just like you.”

Feyre sighed. “Yes, he looks just like his father which is ironic considering his father did very little in bringing him into this world.”

Rhysand grinned. “Perhaps not, but I did enjoy making—“

“If this is the way you speak when two ladies are in the room, I would hate to hear what the three of you speak like in private,” Feyre noted, purposefully cutting off Rhysand’s personal confession.

Cassian grinned as he passed his nephew to Azriel, who took him gently in his arms and bounced gently as he walked around the small space. Nyx immediately melted into his arms.

“Good evening!”

Elain came around the corner and Nesta threw her hands in the air. “How did you get in without an introduction?”

Elain shrugged. “I just smiled at the doorman and kept on walking. I passed Miryam, she said you all were in here. Poor woman looks like she hasn’t slept in ages.”

“None of us have,” Rhysand muttered, but then he looked longingly at his cradled son.

Elain followed his gaze where Azriel stood near a wall of books, swaying back and forth with the baby in his arms. She stilled as a look so pure and heartbreaking swept across her gestures.

Azriel was already watching her.

She cleared her throat, her shoulders settling back. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“We just returned yesterday evening,” he told her, though it was news to everyone in the room.

We.

Nothing had been the same between the two of them since the night of Rhys and Feyre’s wedding. There was a tension that had never been there between the two of them and it was palpable enough that Nesta cleared her throat.

“How have you enjoyed your time in Spring?”

The question had her tearing her eyes from him and instead focused on her sister. “Lovely. Prince Tamlin has been a gracious host and it’s gorgeous this time of year. I’m considering returning until the start of the social season.”

“Why come back for the social season if you intend to marry the prince?”

Elain’s eyes found Azriel’s again. There was something in his tone, in the way he asked that gave her pause. He was genuinely curious. Tearing her gaze away, she looked to the bundle he was holding. “May I hold my nephew, my lord?”

He didn’t speak as he nodded, meeting her in the center of the room. As he nestled the baby in her arms, his hand brushed against the exposed skin of her own. She was careful not to jerk away, but she did flinch. His eyes darkened at the reaction she had to him.

Just as he started to turn away, she softly said, “And for your information, I’m returning for the gardens. Not the prince.”

Azriel froze, his jaw locked, and the storm brewing in his eyes declared that he was not so sure. Everyone else in the room had gone silent. Neither Azriel nor Elain had explained any aspect of their relationship to their siblings, but they all knew something had happened, that something was going on.

If Elain or Azriel were being honest with themselves, they did not fully know what had gone on between them, what dwelled between them now. All they knew was what they felt, the chaos of emotions that enveloped them both when they thought of one another.

“I do hope the gardens are worthy of your presence,” he said.

She took in a deep breath as her eyes bore into his. She knew full well that he did not speak of the gardens.

Elain turned from him and walked towards the others, cradling Nyx in her arms. “He’s so beautiful. He looks just like—“

“His father,” Feyre interrupted, sighing. “I know.”

Yet she fell into Rhysand’s side and smiled fondly at him.

“Prince Tamlin, then,” Cassian started, his arm around Nesta. “Is he truly a gracious host? Every time I’ve been around him— oof.” Nesta had nudged him in the side, cutting off his words. He frowned at her. “What? Am I not allowed to speak freely?”

Elain chuckled. “You are most welcome to speak freely. And he has been a gracious host, truly. He has been kind and welcoming, showing me all spring has to offer.”

The room was quiet for a moment, Elain gazing down at her sleeping nephew and Azriel stalking to the windowsill to sit down, which left Rhys, Feyre, Nesta and Cassian to glance between each other. It was Feyre that asked, “But?”

Her eyes found Feyre’s before she’d even finished asking. Then she found four other sets of eyes on her, including a penetrating gaze by the window.

“But…I do not find myself happy there,” she admitted. “It is beautiful, I cannot deny that. There are more types of flowers there than I could ever imagine and I’ve enjoyed learning new customs and traditions. The prince would be a wonderful match.” She cleared her throat, looking down at the babe in her arms. “But I’m afraid he is not the match for me. I need to be close to what matters most.”

Nesta’s voice was hesitant, but gentle as she asked, “And what is that?”

Elain’s voice was clear, confident, as she brushed a thumb over Nyx’s soft cheek. “Family.”

Feyre’s slim rested in Elain’s knee and she smiled at her. “We’ve missed you.”

Elain leaned into Feyre as she said, “I have missed you, too.”

The three gentlemen huddled together, giving the sisters room to discuss their feelings.

Rhysand offered them each a glass of his finest whiskey which they humbly accepted. They would be a fool not to.

Once they each had a glass, they sat down and faced one another as the women, across the room, ogled over Nyx.

“What’s it like being a father?” Cassian asked.

Rhysand sighed, contently. “Unexplainable. It’s amazing. You simply have to see for yourself.”

“And will you be seeing for yourself?” Azriel chimed, sipping from his glass of amber liquid.

Cassian shrugged. “Nes and I have talked about having kids. We’re going to start trying soon but we’ve enjoyed the time we’ve had to ourselves.” He looked across the room at Nesta, where she stared lovingly at the baby in Elain’s arms. “Although, after today I think she’s going to be pushing it.”

Rhysand snorted. “It’s going to happen when it’s supposed to. That’s what we told ourselves when we found out that Feyre was with child. When it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” Cassian smiled as he took a drink and Rhysand redirected his eyes to Azriel. “No Gwyn today?”

Azriels shoulders tensed but he shook his head. “She has yet to see her own family, she is spending her day with them.”

His words seemed wooden, and both of his brothers frowned.

“Do you truly expect us to believe that you traveled together for three months and you’ve only remained just friends?” Cassian asked.

His distant eyes hardened. “I expect you to understand that there are things about her past that she’s only just divulged to me and I won’t betray her trust by discussing our relationship with others when the two of us don’t even have a clue of what’s going on.”

The two blinked at him, Azriel only realizing his voice had been loud enough to carry when he noticed how silent the room had become.

Nesta cleared her throat, dragging the attention back to her. “Lunch should be just about ready, don’t you think, Feyre?”

She nodded, standing stiffly. Groaning quietly, she said, “Yes, it’ll be waiting for us in the dining room—”

The tiniest cry filled the room, cutting Feyre’s words off as all six sets of eyes fell on Nyx. He had woken up, each time just as jarring as the one before. Elain tried to soothe him, but ultimately she handed him off to his mother.

“He’s likely hungry,” Feyre said, swaying with him in her arms as she headed for the door and to his nursery beyond. “We’ll be a few minutes, but please go ahead and eat.”

“Nonsense.” Nesta stood and followed her. “I’ll help you upstairs and the boys can wait. They’ve got their bourbon anyways, they’ll be fine.”

They exited the room, leaving Elain on the sofa by herself. It was only a moment before her eyes met Azriel’s and she stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall…help as well.”

With what exactly she’d be helping, Elain wasn’t sure, but she bolted from the room.

Once her footsteps faded down the hall, Cassian and Rhysand turned on their brother. Rhys spoke first.

“We did not mean any offense to Gwyn,” he explained. “We do not know her as well as you do, but we would like to. And three months is a long time. You can see why we’d assume…”

Releasing a sigh, Azriel nodded. “I get it, don’t worry. Gwyn is not a fan of the society, but that is something about myself I cannot remove.”

Cassian was rubbing his hand across his jaw. He pointed from his brother to the vacated seat Elain had just been in. “And what exactly is going on there?”

“Nothing.”

The word was nothing more than a snap.

“Let me rephrase.” Rhysand leaned forward and refilled each of their glasses. “What happened between you two?”

Azriel stared at his glass, mouth grimly set in a straight line. It was a difficult question to answer because he honestly did not know the answer. One moment he was falling in love with the woman and the next she had left his brother at the altar and was being courted by Tamlin. All the while, it has felt as if she did not like Gwyn which only made him angry. Elain had no reason not to like her.

He and Elain had not spoken to one another since the night of the wedding.

“I am unsure,” Azriel answered and took a drink before carefully setting his glass back down. “We have not spoken since your wedding night and I hardly remember what we had spoken of then. Perhaps I said something wrong.”

It was a lie. He remembered that last conversation perfectly well.

“Perhaps you should speak with her,” Cassian suggested. “It’s clear there’s tension between you. Every one of us just witnessed that.”

“She does not wish to speak to me,” Azriel replied, quietly.

“I disagree,” Rhysand replied, settling back into his chair, signaling that they would indeed be waiting for the ladies and wouldn’t be going anywhere until he’d talked about this with them. “And despite what your outward appearance tells us, I’m pretty damn sure you would like to speak with her.”

“Do not presume to know what I’m feeling, Rhysand—”

“I don’t have to presume, it’s written all over your face.” His glass hung between his fingers, even as he pointed a finger at Azriel.

“Fortunately for us but unfortunately for you, we are married to her sisters, so despite whether or not you wish to speak to her, you will likely be seeing her quite often if you plan to see us.” Cassian leaned down so his elbows rested on his knees, clasping his hands together. “And we plan to see you, so you better figure it out.”

The bluntness that only Cassian could dole out cracked the shell of Azriel’s anger.

“I’ve done just fine without my father for twenty-seven years, I do not need you two stepping in acting like him now.” The smirk that grew on his lips shoved away the tension in the air and he sighed as he dragged a hand through his hair. “I will speak to her, if she will allow me to. Not today though, today is not about me or her. It’s about you.”

He nodded to Rhys, who smiled in return and took a drink. “Actually, it’s about Nyx but I had a pretty crucial part in making him—”

“The girls are right, we can be quite crass,” Cassian jumped in.

“But, back to you, Az.” Rhys set down his glass. “If you have feelings for one, you cannot have the other, no matter what their own feelings are. That isn’t fair to Elain, or Gwyn.”

Azriel frowned. “You truly think I’d be so cruel?”

Rhysand lifted a brow. “Not intentionally, no.”

He waited for Rhysand to go on but he did not. Instead of replying, he took a much longer drink of his whiskey. He should talk to Elain. If anything just to get everything out on the table. Whether he was ready to admit it or not, something had been going on between them. Which was ironic, considering it was all he had wanted since the moment they met, for something to be going on between them.

But life happened. Elain was to marry Cassian and when she did not, suitors had lined up at her door. She could marry any of them, could have a perfect life with any of them.

She was being courted by a prince, for the Mother’s sake.

Elain was not the safe choice, was not the easy choice, but he truly did care for her more than he was willing to admit.

He cared for Gwyn, too, even though they were simply just friends. Although that friendship has bloomed into something special over the months they spent together…

It would be easy to create a life with Gwyn, but she did not fit in with the ton, with no intention to, and Azriel had a responsibility to his title, to the life that his mother had created and lived before him. He would not disrespect her by walking away from it all, no matter how much he loathed it sometimes.

Thinking of the women had him pensively swirling his drink. He feared with the gain of one he would lose the other, and that simply would not do. Not when he really did care for each of them in his own way.

There was a time not so long ago that he could never see himself as a married man.

Now he could.

He just didn’t know with whom he wished to share that life.

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@mariamuses @photofeesh @the-regal-warrior @gracie-rosee @irisofink @strawberries-and-reveries @zeppelin-and-unicorns @live-the-fangirl-life @cassianscool @clacings @argentumstella @cuppamelia @chillspritecranberry @emilyrose111294 @awesomelena555 @gengen64 @dontbenddontbreak @blueunoias @liliput2203 @sleeping-and-books @kindofawalkingpoem @thebitchydonutcollector @shedoessoshedoes @cretaceous-therapod @emily-gsh @annie-laur @impossiblehistoryofquotes @midnightrose-reader @beanl1 @shniya-hiiragi @towhateverend87 @deezrmuhsheeple @pintas3107 @sarcasm-is-the-best-insult @santkazoya @lady-winter-sunrise @themoonthestarsthesuriel @story-scribbler @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @sv0430 @dreammoutlouddd @katlady13 @lokisllama @mrspettyferr @missannieshay @live-the-fangirl-life @headinclouds48 @secretlycressdarnel @awesomethreedragons @lokisllama @littlehoneyybee @vicioux @cest-la-vieve @lokisllama @thewinterroza @aching-for-distance

#Bridgerton #nessian #feysand

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awesomethreedragons · 3 years ago

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I have been MIA for a while. I returned to binge this lovely fic!!! Can’t wait to read the rest!

The Viscount Who Loved Me {Eighteen Part I}

TVWLM Masterlist

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.

Written alongside @snelbz

Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain - Feyre x Rhysand - Elain x Azriel x Gwyn

Summary: (see TVWLM masterlist!)

A/N: Thank you for reading! I can't believe we have only 3 chapters "left" to post...This chapter also had to be split into two...

Tag list is at the end. If you’d like to be added, please comment below or submit an ask. :)

Dear People of the Ton,

With the social season coming to a close, I wonder if the Queen's beloved Diamond will secure a match? With one sister in social banishment and the other just broken at the altar...that poor family simply cannot deal with any more scandal.

Time's running out, Archerons.

The Suriel

It had been five days since Elain left Cassian at the altar. Five days that Nesta had not seen Elain, save for once the following morning when she’d tried to speak to her, only to have the door slammed in her face. After that, she’d given Elain all the space she wanted, avoiding her at all costs, taking her meals in her rooms.

But this morning, Nesta needed to get out of her bedroom. The floral wallpaper lining the room had started to look less elegant and more sinister. She’d noticed thorns in the pattern she’d never seen before and could have sworn some of the roses were coated in blood. It was only her eyes playing tricks on her, thanks to how little sleep she’d been getting, but she sat in the dining room, a plate of fresh fruit, eggs, and bacon before her.

She had just speared a piece of cantaloupe on her fork when two sets of footsteps approached the room. One of them halted as they walked in.

Glancing up, she saw Feyre striding towards her, taking the seat across from her, but then she looked to the door.

Elain was frozen, her jaw locked, hands fisted at her sides. She wasn’t looking at Nesta, she was staring at the marbled floor, which hurt even more.

Her sister couldn’t even bear to look at her.

Nesta looked at Feyre, who nodded with a small smile, before asking, “Elain, would you care to join us?”

Elain took a deep breath before entering and quietly sitting next to Feyre. She filled her plate without a word.

“It has been a good week,” Feyre began, simply, grasping on to any hope of conversation. “The ladies say there has been minimal gossip, and it has all been toward Lord Nazari. Elain has not been in the crossfire much.”

Nesta eyed Elain, but she showed no expression.

“That’s good,” Nesta said, clearing her throat. “I actually have heard from my sources, as well, that there are multiple suitors with their eye on Elain this season, even though it is nearing its end. Including Lord Vanserra.”

Feyre lifted a brow. “Eris?”

Nesta shook her head. “The youngest, Lucien. I believe he is Elain’s age.”

Feyre nodded, thoughtfully. “Ah, I believe I met him months ago during a promenade with the Prince.”

“I hear he’s very kind,” Nesta said, and tried to give Elain a smile.

She was staring at her plate. “I would appreciate it if you two did not speak of me as if I am not here.”

Nesta’s body tensed, but she nodded. “Of course. Apologies. As I was saying—”

“I no longer need your help, Nesta,” Elain said, stabbing a strawberry with a little bit too much force. “I am perfectly capable of securing my own match.”

You wanted Cassian although I objected, and we all witnessed how that turned out. Even as she thought it, Nesta felt guilty…no matter how true it was.

“Elain and I will both be attending the ball tomorrow evening,” Feyre said, as if to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. “Will you be joining us, Nesta?”

Nesta eyed Elain once more, and this time her sister was watching her, waiting for her answer. Her lips were pressed together, eyes hard. She had never seen Elain so angry, and to know all of that anger was directed at her only broke her heart. “No,” she said, and that heartbreak only grew when she saw the relief sag Elain’s shoulders. “No, I will be packing.”

Now Elain froze.

As did Feyre. “Packing?”

“I’ll be going to Adriata first thing Sunday,” she explained, pushing the fruit around on her plate. “It is one of the many stops I will make on my travels. I am going to see which corner of Prythian calls to me.”

For a moment, each of her sisters were silent. Feyre said, “But you love Velaris.”

“I do,” Nesta agreed, her breakfast feeling heavy in her stomach. “However, as already mentioned, I am needed here no longer. Feyre, you are the Diamond. I know of multiple suitors that are ready and willing to make an offer of engagement. And, as I said before, Elain has choices, as well. I have no doubt that you both will find your matches before the season is finished. It is simply time for me to move on.”

The silence grew, becoming almost uncomfortable. Nesta picked up her fork once more, but nearly dropped it against her plate when Elain asked, “When will you return?”

Eyes on her food, Nesta swallowed roughly. “I’m not sure. I plan to visit each court at least once, and if I find my home along the way, so be it.”

She could hear the unspoken words radiating off of her sisters.

Velaris is your home.

But it wasn’t, not anymore. Not after what had happened, what she’d caused, what she’d done.

“Then you must come to the ball,” Feyre said, and Nesta finally looked at them across the table. They both were dressed and ready for the day, hair perfectly styled and cosmetics applied with an expert hand. She still wore her dressing gown, her hair piled on her head and not a stitch of makeup on her face.

“I have too much to do,” she argued.

“Feyre is right,” Elain said, clearing her throat. She cut into the pastry on her plate. “If it is indeed your last night in Velaris, we must properly send you off.”

She couldn’t bear it, knew who would be there. She hasn’t seen Cassian since he’d kissed her and she’d asked him to meet her after the ball in the woods beside his home. It had almost been a week and she hadn’t decided whether or not that was a foolish decision on her part. She also hadn’t decided if she were indeed going to meet him.

“I have nothing to wear,” Nesta said at last, and it wasn’t a lie. She’d already had all of her gowns packed and stored. She wouldn’t be needing them on the road.

It was Feyre who snorted. “You act like you don’t have two sisters of similar build.”

Nesta glanced between the two of them and down to her ample…assets. Yes, they were all roughly the same size when it came to their waist, but Nesta was nearly three inches taller than Elain and neither of them were as well endowed as she was when it came to her breasts.

“We can find you something in one of our closets, I’m sure,” Feyre said, smiling, and then nudged their sister with her elbow. “Right, Elain?”

Elain sighed, the rigidness in her body deflating as she said, “Yes. Of course.”

Nesta nodded, although nerves filled her body. She wasn’t sure if it was because she would be seeing Cassian or spending a whole evening in Elain’s presence, or if it was because it was the first social event they would be attending since the failed wedding. Nonetheless, her chest felt heavy, her stomach churned, and suddenly eating breakfast hadn’t seemed like such a good idea.

<.>

Elain had to get away.

She was feeling nervous about the ball, although most of the ton did seem to only frown upon Cassian for the incident. Yet, she was still embarrassed about the whole thing and feared showing her face at such a large social event.

So she went into town for a new pair of gloves, and took the long way home. She asked her driver to stop by the Sidra so that she could feed the ducks, which is what she was doing now as she sat alone on the grassy banks.

Until she heard his voice.

“Miss Elain?”

She looked over her shoulder to find Azriel, making the finery of his apparel seem casual as his hands rested in his pockets. He gave her a small smile.

“Lord Azriel,” she said, and returned his smile with one of her own. “A pleasant surprise.”

He nodded to the grass next to her. “May I join you?”

She did not hesitate. “Of course.”

He nodded as he plopped down in the grass and stretched out his legs, leaning back on his hands. She remembered the first time she had seen his hands, scarred with so many stories to tell. She thought they had been beautiful then, just as she did now.

“How are you?” he asked, after a moment. Usually, it would be such a simple question, but this time it was loaded.

She laughed quietly as she shook her head. “Would you like the honest answer or the one I have given to everyone else?”

“The honest one,” he said, without a thought. “Always.”

Her smile was soft as she looked down at the ground, but he watched it fall. She plucked a blade of grass and ran it between her fingers. “I am…okay. Which I know seems like I’m lying, but I’m not.” Pausing, she pulled another blade from the ground, dropping this one, and ripping out one more. “I won’t say that I’m not hurt, because I am, by both my sister and Lord Cassian, but I also can’t blame them. The way they look at each other, I don’t know how I was so blind to it for so long. It’s clear that they love each other and I cannot begrudge them that.”

Azriel watched her silently, listening to every word. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, even as the tears slowly started to slip down her cheeks.

“And I did not love him and he did not love me. Maybe one day, we could have grown to love each other, but as it stands, I think…” She turned, finding his gaze. “I think I just wanted to be loved so badly that I took the attention of the first man who offered it to me.” Shaking her head, she sniffled once. “You must think it’s silly of me to still dream of marrying for love.”

“On the contrary,” Azriel murmured and when his warm hand covered hers, forcing her to quit picking the grass, she looked into his face again. “I think marrying for love is the goal everyone in the ton should have.”

She gave him a soft smile, one that actually reached her eyes. She nudged him with her shoulder. “Maybe I should marry you instead.”

Azriel’s body tensed, but Elain was laughing, quietly. A joke. It was just a joke. He told his body to relax, although now he could not, because the thought…

No, Azriel would never marry. He never thought himself to be a good husband, never thought himself to be the type to marry.

And it had been a joke.

Just a joke.

Azriel forced himself to chuckle. “Yes, what a pair we would be.”

“Indeed,” Elain agreed, and smiled at him. She patted his hand. “Whatever woman is lucky enough to have you, Azriel, is blessed, indeed. You are a kind soul. You have been my saving grace this season and I thank you.”

He was not sure how to handle her compliment. Everything in him melted at her words, but he would not show it. He simply nodded his head in appreciation and said, “Thank you, Elain. You have been that for me, too. And, for what it is worth, I believe you will find the soul in which yours loves. You will find that happiness.”

Her eyes shone again, and she squeezed his hand. Her words were hardly more than a whisper as she said, “Thank you, Azriel. Truly.”

He smiled, then looked back over the Sidra. The ducks were swimming near their feet, the sun bright and sparkling across the water, but he saw none of it. All he could focus on were those words.

Maybe I should marry you instead.

<.>

After everything that had happened, Rhysand knew that he could not stand by and have Feyre be hurt by their last encounter. Whether he could marry her or not, the last thing he wanted was for her to hate him, and he had acted like a complete ass.

The hurt in her eyes when they departed, when he spewed those hateful words, were all that he could focus on since the day on the river. Even with all that had happened, all he could focus on was the last time he’d had her alone, when he had completely broken her heart.

If Cassian had taught him anything in the last week, it was that life was fragile. Those you cared about deserved to know where they stood.

And, despite everything, he truly cared for Feyre, more than he had ever cared for anyone before.

With a few hours left before the ball, he strode up to the Archeron manor and knocked on the door. The doorman opened it a minute later and bowed. “Good evening, your Grace.”

“Good evening,” Rhysand replied, politely. “I was hoping to speak with Miss Feyre. It’s urgent.”

He nodded and let Rhysand in, leading him up to the sitting room where he plopped down on the couch, alone.

The waiting was agonizing.

After a moment of sitting, he stood to pace but then he felt foolish, pacing in a home that was not his, so he sat back down and twiddled his thumbs.

Feyre entered ten minutes later, alone. Rhysand expected a maid or someone to be with her, but no one was. He was grateful for it. Now, he could speak freely.

“Hello,” Rhysand said, lamely, as he stood. He added, “Good evening.”

Feyre didn’t laugh at his discomfort as she once would have, did not find it charming. “Good evening, your Grace.”

He flinched at his formal title coming from her lips. “I was worried you would be getting ready for this evening. I was worried you would not come.”

“When my doorman says there is a guest here for me, I respect them enough to show,” she replied.

They stood so far apart. The distance made his heart ache.

“What do you want, your Grace?” she asked. He did not ignore the harshness of her tone.

“I wanted to apologize,” he stated.

Feyre jolted, only slightly, her body language changing just enough for Rhysand to catch it. “For what, pray tell?”

He longed to cross the room, to get rid of the distance between them, but he could see the fire still in her eyes. He knew approaching her right now would not end well for him, or his balls, so instead, he tried to reason with her. “Feyre, I—”

“Don’t.” She took a step towards him, whether she realized it or not, and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare think you can come in here and act like nothing happened that day.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. Feyre, I’m sorry.” He took a chance and stepped closer, waiting to see if she’d retreat. She stood her ground. “I don’t have words to tell you how sorry I am. The things I said to you were abhorrent and I had no reason to, save for fear of losing the promise I’d made to myself. Instead, I broke a different promise. I hurt you, and I cannot even begin to apologize or make things right.”

Feyre said nothing. She simply stared at him, chin raised high.

“I have thought of nothing since,” he went on. He took another step forward. She still did not move. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you crying; and every time I am awake, I long to run to you.” He shook his head. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, containing those emotions within her slim frame. “I was a fool. Am a fool. Feyre, I have spent so many years resenting my father. I hated him, and if I’m being honest, I still do, even all these years after his death. I loathe my last name. I hate that I share his blood. I have sheltered myself for so long to get back at him that I have forgotten what it is like to feel.” He took another step closer. Feyre did not move. “But you made me feel. You made me feel everything. You made me feel what I feared I would always feel for someone, because it meant that keeping that promise, that vow, to my father…” his words fell off and he sighed. “I’m conflicted. And I know that is no excuse, for there is no excuse for the words I said that I can’t take back, but that is how I feel.”

Feyre’s eyes welled with tears, but she did not balk away from him. Her posture did not waver, her chin did not dip. “And how is it that you truly feel, your Grace?”

Her words were hard, clipped, filled with so much emotion that Rhysand felt his heart being grabbed and twisted. “I care for you. I have cared for you since the moment I met you, since your sassy tongue fought against my every word, since I danced with you and kissed you and held you close. Feyre, I—“

His words quieted and a tear fell down her cheek. “You can’t even say it,” she breathed.

“Letting that truth see the light of day would do nothing but hurt us both,” he said, reaching for her. As his fingers grazed her skin, he expected her to jerk back, to tell him to get out, but she didn’t. He took her fingers in his and a tremor ran through her at his touch. “Admitting the truth to you will change nothing. I still cannot marry you, Feyre, no matter how much my heart may cry out for you.”

Cursing himself, he watched as fresh tears ran down her face, yet she still let him hold her hand. “You truly hate your father more than you love me,” she breathed, and it wasn’t a question.

Rhysand hung his head, hatred coursing through his veins. He didn’t know why he went to Feyre’s, didn’t know why he was standing before her now. He was only causing them both further anguish.

Because the truth of the matter was yes, he loved her. He was so madly in love with her that his body ached when he wasn’t around her. He only dreamt of her, and longed to be around her from the minute he woke up until the second he closed his eyes for the night. He thought of no other woman, didn’t even look another woman’s way. And if he did, none compared. She was his everything.

But this vow to his father…

He had made it when his father was dying. They were the last words Rhysand ever spoke to his father. It was all he cared about, every social season, since the day his father died.

Until now.

“You don’t understand,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze, even though her hand remained in his.

“Then help me understand,” she said, and her voice broke.

Rhysand looked up at her and everything within him disintegrated. He couldn’t help her understand because he didn’t understand it himself. All he knew was how he felt, even if those feelings made no sense.

He cupped her face and dropped his forehead against hers. “All you need to understand is how I long for you, Feyre. You have completely and utterly consumed me.”

Her eyes closed, another tear falling and he wiped it away before pressing his lips softly against the spot on her cheek where the tear had fallen.

She trembled beneath him. “I loathe you,” she whispered, but there was no bite in it. It was almost as if she was trying to convince herself.

It was okay.

He loathed himself, too.

“I want you to find a husband,” he said, their foreheads together, Feyre’s fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. “I want you to find someone who will cherish you, and respect you, and love you as you should be loved. I want you to find someone who worships you. You do not deserve this, what I have put you through, and I will never forgive myself for it. Find someone better than I.”

Feyre shook her head as she leaned back and met his eye. Agony. It was agony in her stare. It was heartbreak, torment, grief. It ripped Rhysand’s soul to shreds until there was nothing left. “I loathe you,” she repeated, and her grip of his clothes tightened. “But I would not trade a day with you for anything. Every minute was worth it, even if we can never be.”

“Feyre—”

She kissed him. At the touch of her lips, Rhysand’s body tensed, but it quickly relaxed and he swept her into his arms. One hand went to the back of her head, the other around her waist, holding her body up against his. That kiss deepend, and every ounce of Rhysand’s self control went with it.

Feyre’s hands dove into Rhysand’s hair, holding him to her as tightly as she could. As he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, she whimpered and he let himself memorize the sound. As his tongue swept through her mouth, he memorized the taste of her. As his hand splayed out over her lower back, running down over the swell of her ass, he memorized the feel of her. He wished it could be like this all the time, that he could kiss her as freely as he wished, that he could give her the future she dreamed. The future she deserved.

But that wasn’t possible.

Tearing his lips from hers, Rhysand breathed, “I should go. You need to get ready for the ball.”

Her hands remained in his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. “I do.” She pulled his face back to hers, lips barely brushing. “Will you be there?”

His eyes fluttered shut and he resisted the urge to shake his head. If he did, his lips would be back on hers and he would be lost in her again. “Probably not, but you should—”

The door opened, but there was no time to jump apart.

Both of their heads whipped around to see Nesta perfectly still in the doorway, brows raised. She looked from their mouths that were nearly together, to Feyre’s arms around his neck, to Rhysand’s hands on her ass.

She blinked.

Then said, “I heard we had a visitor.”

Feyre stepped back and Rhysand’s hands slowly fell to his sides. “Apologies, Miss Archeron, we were just—“

“Oh, I think it’s perfectly obvious what you were doing,” Nesta said, looking between them. “And it seems this is not the first time, is it? I had a hunch of where my sister would go in the middle of the night. It seems my hunch was correct.”

Feyre hesitated, but it was Rhysand who said, “What we have done is none of your concern, with all due respect.”

“Incorrect,” she said, and apparently it was the wrong thing to say because her eyes were now ablaze. “You see, it is my duty to marry my sisters, to find them husbands, and judging by the comfort you held in holding my sister’s assets, I am forced to believe that this little dalliance has gone beyond simple stolen kisses. I hope you realize and accept, your Grace, that it is now your duty to marry my sister.”

The room fell silent. Each of Nesta’s words were clipped, hard, directed to make an impact. Rhysand couldn’t breathe. Stupid, he was so incredibly ignorant. Feyre looked at him but said nothing.

“Truly?” Nesta scoffed. “Nothing to say for yourselves?”

“Rhys and I will not be getting married.” Feyre’s voice was just a whisper but it cut through Rhysand like a knife.

To his surprise, Nesta laughed. There was nothing joyful in it, but her laughter filled the room and Rhysand’s body tensed. “Oh, you will marry. There is not a noble man in this city that will take a defiled bride. He claimed you, he will marry you and I will hear no more of it.”

“Nesta—“

“If neither of you wanted marriage, you should have thought wiser before putting your hands and whatever else where they do not belong,” she snapped. “Viscount Lunasa, you will take my sister as your wife if you have any moral bone in your body. I know you are a gentleman. You must follow your duties as one. Now, I will kindly ask you to leave our home. We will make a plan to soon announce your engagement to the ton. Good day, your Grace.”

“Miss Archeron—“

“Good day,” she hissed, and Rhysand bowed his head in dismissal before glancing once more at Feyre. Her eyes were wide and she looked conflicted, so conflicted and panicked and scared. Rhysand couldn’t bear it.

He left, and when he did, he felt nearly worse than when he had arrived.

<.>

Feyre hadn’t spoken to her the entire carriage ride over. Elain hadn’t either, but that was to be expected. They had followed through on their promise to find Nesta a dress and it was absolutely stunning. She looked down at the shimmering dove grey fabric and sighed.

Her last ball in Velaris and she couldn’t wait to leave. The dancing and drinking and faked pleasantries had become taxing and she didn’t know at what point that had happened. The only thing on her mind was seeing Cassian one last time.

Well, that and the fact that she’d caught Rhysand and Feyre in a very intimate situation.

Her blood boiled, thinking of the audacity of Rhysand Lunasa. First, he’d ruined her reputation, rejecting her in her own social season. And now he’d not only sullied reputation but her body. He was a damnation to the Archeron family, but at least he would be a respectable match for Feyre to the rest of the ton. No one knew what had conspired between the two of them and Nesta would do whatever it took to make sure no one ever did.

Which meant Rhysand would marry Feyre.

As a server walked by, she saw that he carried a tray of red wine, usually reserved for the mama’s and lords. The women were expected to drink water, lemonade, or punch, but tonight, Nesta didn’t really give a damn. With a wave, she snagged the man’s attention and she took a glass with a smile. He hesitated, but she didn’t wait for him to say anything, walking away and up the stairs at the back of the grand ballroom.

Pausing halfway up, she looked around the expansive room. Elain was easily spotted, surrounded by not only the young ladies of the ton, eager to hear about what had happened with Lord Nazari, but also quite a few eligible young lords. The truth of Elain and Cassian’s broken engagement had not come to light, and although rumors ran rampant, none had come close to the truth. Aside from that, Nesta didn’t bother listening to them.

But then her eyes found Feyre.

Speaking to Rhysand Lunasa.

Her fingers tightened around her wine glass and she started down the stairs, going to demand that he either propose then and there or leave her sister alone until he was prepared to man up to his decisions.

But then she heard a familiar voice behind.

“Miss Archeron. How’s my former Diamond?”

Nesta spun around, a few drops from the wine glass sloshing over the edge from the hasty move. She quickly curtsied to Queen Amarantha. “Good evening, your Majesty. I am well. How are you?”

Her smile was sinister. “Lovely. It seems it has been a successful social season.” She glanced at the lords and ladies who danced with one another. “Has it not?”

Nesta nearly hesitated. She rarely hesitated, but this woman sent chills down her spine. “Yes, your Majesty, a very successful social season.”

Queen Amarantha’s brow rose. She watched Nesta with pure scrutiny for a moment before she added, “And yet, my dear, my Diamond has not secured a match…and with only one social event of the season left, might I add. I do hope I did not choose another Archeron only to find disappointment.”

Another. Because Nesta had been the first. She had disappointed the Queen, had shamed herself in front of the ton, and had made a mockery of her family. Elain, poor Elain, had not only one public heartbreak, but now two. Anxiety coursed throughout Nesta’s body as she stood under the stare of her Queen.

Perhaps that was the reason why she blurted, “Expect an announcement soon, your Majesty, for Feyre has found a husband, indeed.”

Queen Amarantha’s shocked expression only lasted for a moment before pure joy flashed across her face. “Truly? To whom?” She looked out over the crowd and found Feyre, who was still talking with Rhysand in hushed tones. Amarantha’s eyes swiveled back to Nesta. “Are you to tell me that someone has at last charmed the Viscount?”

“On the contrary, your Majesty, I think it is his Grace that has charmed my sister.” She looked down at the two of them. The conversation they were having was tense, but they continued to gravitate towards each other, always seeming to find each other. Nesta didn’t know how she’d managed to miss it all season long. “We were waiting to announce it, after all of Elain’s…excitement last week.”

Excitement. The most ridiculous way to explain what had taken place, but she wasn’t inviting conversation about it. With a silent prayer to the Cauldron, Nesta prayed that the queen would let it drop; she wasn’t prepared to lie about what had happened between she, Cassian, and Elain.

With a wave of her hand, Queen Amarantha cooed, “Nonsense. This is cause for celebration.”

Nesta hadn’t noticed the glass in her hand, but her heart stopped as the queen raised it up into the air and clinked her ring against it once, twice, three times. The entire room fell as silent as Nesta’s head, everyone turning towards their queen. From where they stood on the stairs, there wasn’t a single person who couldn’t see them.

Including Feyre and Rhysand.

“Good people of Velaris, I have exciting news,” Queen Amarantha called, voice carrying through the room. “Our Diamond has found her husband.” Even from across the ballroom, Nesta could see Feyre’s eyes widen and Rhysand’s darken. Both were settled on her. “I’m happy to announce that Miss Feyre Archeron will be marrying his Grace, the Viscount, Lord Rhysand Lunasa.”

There were shocked gasps and applause as people, which Queen Amarantha basked in. She waited as everyone turned toward the happy couple, offering congratulations or surprised glances, before adding, “In celebration of their union, the crown will take care of everything for the upcoming nuptials.”

Feyre and Rhysand couldn’t even pretend to be happy. Feyre was in shock, unable to form a complete thought, and Rhysand continued to stare daggers into her.

They were swarmed with people as the band continued to play, surely all of them giving their congratulations, and Nesta took that as her chance to flee.

If it wasn’t enough for one sister to hate her, the other one may as well, too.

She hurried out of the manor and to where her carriage awaited. She could send the driver back for her sisters but not before she got where she needed to go.

She needed to leave Velaris, needed to leave this life that had brought nothing but pain to those around her.

Before she left, however, she had to see him, even if it was just to say goodbye.

____________________________________________________________

#acotar #bridgerton

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awesomethreedragons · 3 years ago

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Can’t wait! Please tag me!

The Viscount Who Loved Me {Prologue}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.

Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain (I said what I said) Feyre x Rhysand Elain x Azriel x Gwyn

Summary:

As the season begins, a new Diamond is named. She catches the eye of a prince whose feelings remain unrequited. However, the man who catches the eye of the Diamond remains off the market, refusing to get married as a jab to his late father. Meanwhile, the Diamond of the Season’s sisters have found themselves in a bit of a quandary. The elder is pushing the younger to get married to help her move on from the horrid disaster that happened last season, but in the process, the elder catches the eye of the younger’s match, even though she is considered to be an old maid and far past her time to be wed at the age of six and twenty. As they say, all is fair in love and war.

Tag list is at the end. If you'd like to be added, please comment below or submit an ask. :)

Dear readers,

The social season is upon us and all the members of the ton are returning from their country homes. In a matter of days, the season will present a new group of young ladies in parade before the Queen and, hopefully, she’ll announce this season’s Diamond. If she’s anything like Diamonds past, we all know whoever this young woman is, she’ll come with an intriguing amount of scandal. And, as we know, as soon as a scandal does present itself, I will be the first to uncover it.

I know you’ve all missed me.

The Suriel

Rhysand had been away from his home in Velaris for a year but the sight of his beloved manor in town looked exactly the same as it always had. As the carriage pulled up to the gate, he sighed, already overwhelmed with everything the season would bring. Surely, the ton would be expecting him to marry, but it would only be another season of women throwing themselves at him, all of them wanting a wealthy husband, and him politely declining.

It wasn’t that he would mind having a wife. In fact, if he were to marry, he would be a perfect husband.

That wasn’t in the cards, though.

He was not meant to be a husband.

Was not meant to be a father.

It was the mindset he always held and it would continue to be his mindset until the day he found himself buried six feet under.

As the carriage came to a stop, Rhysand made his way out and onto the smooth, steady Velaris streets beneath his boots.

A doorman greeted him as he passed, opening the front door for him to enter. As he swept across the threshold, he observed the immaculate presence of his home. Everything was in the exact same spot, not a speck of dust to be seen, nothing an inch out of place. Every precious heirloom and expensive treasure bought throughout the decades of his family’s reign sat in their rightful spots, mocking him as he made his way through the foyer and across the grand entrance.

“Anybody here?” he called, making his way up the grand staircase. “I’ve returned!”

Even he noticed how he didn’t say I’m home. It’s hard to think of a place as home when it holds so many horrid and uncomfortable memories.

He passed servants, all of whom bowed their heads in respect as they passed, as he continued his way up the staircase and down the hall. It wasn’t until he reached the sitting room that he caught sight of someone he actually knew.

Azriel was lounging on a sofa by the windows, sketching something or another on his notebook with a piece of charcoal. Rhysand leaned against the doorframe and watched for a moment before asking, “Too busy to say hello?”

Azriel’s eyes snapped up from the sofa and he smiled as much as Azriel ever smiled at anyone. After slowly closing his sketchbook, he said, “I thought you weren’t due home until tomorrow.”

“No point in waiting another day,” Rhysand said, simply. “I was tired of Adriata.”

“Is that where you ended your travels?” Azriel asked, head tilted to the side in amusement. “Last time I heard you were somewhere in the Spring Court.”

“A wretched place,” Rhysand said, scrunching his nose. “I was only there for a week before getting out as quickly as possible.”

“Prince Tamlin is visiting from there,” Azriel said, the only thing he could think to say. “He’ll be a guest of the Queen this season.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my distance,” Rhysand promised. Azriel laughed and rose, at last, from the couch before meeting Rhysand halfway through the room in a friendly embrace.

“Where’s Cass?”

Azriel chuckled as he sat back on his place on the sofa. “Who knows? Haven’t seen him since yesterday. Preparing, no doubt. I’m certain he’s off buying a new jacket or polishing his boots.”

“And you’re not?” Rhysand asked, sitting across from Azriel in a black velvet, gold-rimmed chair. “Preparing?”

“No need,” Azriel replied, simply. “Don’t see myself finding a wife. I’m certain out of the three of us, Cassian is the only one who actually wants to be married.”

“He just wants to carry on his line,” Rhysand agreed. “But, can you imagine? A bunch of little Cassians running around?”

“Let’s not think about it before it’s necessary,” Azriel noted, and Rhysand laughed.

“It’s good to see you,” Rhysand said, crossing an ankle over his knee. “I’m sorry I didn’t write as much as I usually do.”

“I hope that means you were enjoying yourself,” Azriel replied, simply. “You deserved as much.”

Rhysand had opened his mouth to reply but a rumpled Cassian entered the room. He was smiling devilishly as he plopped down in the chair opposite of Rhysand, across from Azriel.

“Saw your carriage out front,” he said, grinning at Rhysand. “Welcome home.”

Rhysand lifted a brow as Azriel went back to his sketching. “And where is it that you’ve been?”

Cassian’s grin only widened. “Oh, you know. Enjoying the calm before the storm.”

“The storm being the social season?” Azriel asked. “Of course,” Cassian said, pouring himself a cold cup of tea. “This is the year I find a wife, after all.”

“And you prepare for that by bedding whom?” Rhysand asked, eyes lit with amusement.

Cassian shrugged, leaning back against the chair, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Tanwyn. She only charges me every other time now.”

“That’s a sign that you see her too much,” Azriel muttered.

“You should try it,” Cassian said, eyeing Azriel. “Not that I don’t love to see you sitting here with your sketches…all the time.”

“And I should be fornicating instead?” Azriel asked, not looking up from his sketch.

“Fornicating?” Cassian repeated, barking a laugh. “Do people say that? Fornicating?”

“Ah, now I remember why I needed to take time to travel,” Rhysand chimed in, nudging Cassian in the shin with the toe of his boot. “Get away from you two, bickering.”

“No one gets annoyed by it when you’re not here,” Cassian replied. “It’s not as fun.”

Rhysand snorted as Miryam swept into the room, smiling brightly. “Ah, my lord. I thought I heard that voice of yours. Welcome back. Is there anything you wish for me to attend to?”

“No, thank you,” Rhysand said, and his smile was genuine. “It’s good to see you. How are you? And Drakon?”

“Very good, my lord, thank you for asking,” she said, stopping in front of the sitting men. “Drakon just got a new job at a press in town. Seems to like it just fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Rhysand said.

Miryam’s mother had worked for Rhysand’s parents and once Rhysand took over after his father’s death, he had hired Miryam who was only a year or two older than himself. He’d always thought of her as a friend, even though he paid her.

Generously.

“Supper will be served right at six,” Miryam continued. “Are we to have any guests?”

“Not tonight,” Rhysand said, sighing, slouching in his chair in a very unlord-like way. “Tonight, it’s just the three of us.” “Very well,” she smiled, and was off.

Just the three of them.

It’s the way it had always been, ever since they were young.

Little did Rhysand know that was all very much about to change.

~~~~~~~

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