#a court of wrath and moonlight chapter 1

[illyrianwingspans]

A Court of Wrath and Moonlight: Chapter 1

Hey guys! So I’m about halfway through my fic and after a lot of fussing over the first few chapters, I’ve finally decided to post it because I can’t wait to share this with you guys! I’m still waiting for an invite to Ao3 (I’ve never used the site to post before so that’s all new territory to me) so hopefully it’ll be up there soon for those that prefer reading it there! 

This is set seventy five years after ACOWAR and will centre around Feyre and Rhys’s son (an OC of mine) and Tamlin’s daughter (another OC of mine). Some pronunciation guidelines:

-Keorah (kee-oh-ruh)

-Keke (kee-kee) (yes, like the drake song)

-Milo (my-low)

-Vesna (Vess-nuh)

-Nyana (knee-a-nuh)

-Isra (Ee-z-raa) (here’s a link to the proper pronunciation, the arabic one)

-When Keorah says Mama and Papa, they are pronounced with a central-american accent, not southern united states

Without further ado, here is A Court of Wrath and Moonlight!

CHAPTER 1

Calloused, slender and careful, those hands drifted across the page, filling in whatever spaces they deemed fitting with fine brushes of charcoal. The surroundings were blurred around the edges, only a pale-stained wooden table littered with thick, creamy stationary, some new and waiting to be used, others crumpled up at failed attempts. A set of the finest charcoals gold could buy sat carefully poised near the unknown artist’s right hand, always within reach in case they felt the need to switch. Though it was a little messy, just by the care and precision those hands handled their tools, I could tell that they worshipped this art. 

One moment, there was only shading and vague figures and shapes, coming together to reveal awful, black hands that seemed to be reaching into the artist’s very soul, an evil, ancient and malicious crook to the fingers that only aimed to taunt and terrorize. Darkness surrounded them, thick opaque darkness that made me want to scream out to the artist, to wrap my hands around his, protect him from this pain that gripped his mind. But one sweep of his hand over the page and the lines were completely rearranged to portray a naked female body dead beneath the surface of bath water, dark juice lining her lips pale lips. My eyes snapped open. I gulped down choked breaths, unable to shake the image of that drawing from my mind, and cursed the Cauldron for ever creating nightmares. Before I even knew where my feet were taking me, I was ripping back the sheets and stalking to my wardrobe to pull on my fighting leathers, strap my knives into belt, then winnow to the forest as far from the manor as I could possibly be. The wind tore at my hair as I ran through the forest, my leather-clad fae thighs pushing off the ground far faster and more powerfully than most fae I knew. It seemed as though hours passed as I dashed by tree after bush after meadow. The leaves from the tall trees rustled in the night breeze and the moonlight guiding my path was fractured by the canopies that overhung above. As those canopies became thicker, I shifted my eyes into an animal's, my view instantly becoming accustomed to the dark of the night. I barely had time to register the strong, steady beat of my heart pounding throughout my body as I cleared the forest and was left with a grassy strip of land that separated myself from the jutting cliff that overlooked torrid sea thrashing a hundred feet below. I accelerated as the jut was only feet away, then pushed off as hard as I could from the rock ledge and dove down, down, down into the dark chaos. Just as my fingertips touched the water’s surface, I folded myself between the pockets of the world, the smell of sea brine and roses tangling together until I was slouched and panting underneath a willow tree, my favorite spot in my court. Its branches swayed softly in the wind, and I closed my eyes, picturing those moments with my mother that'd happened ages ago, feeling as though they were yesterday. "C'mon, my rose petal," she chirped, beckoning to sit with her under the shady refuge of the willow offered from the beating sun. It was a warm spring day, and the smell of the blooming roses filled every puff of breath I took as my infant legs waddled over to my mother's side. Slumped against the tree, I nestled myself into the crook of her shoulder, then gazed down at the book in front of us. “Alright, Keke,” she murmured encouragingly, “just as we practiced.” I nodded my head hesitantly. Her finger pointed to a sentence halfway down the page, and shockingly I began, “The…y-young boy stared up at the dark sk—” I paused for a moment, then, remembering the feel and sound of the word in my mind, I completed, “sky.” “Very good!” She exclaimed, a beaming smile donning her face, then her finger jumped to the next line. It was interrupted though by the booming sound of my father’s voice. “Lyra! Keorah!” By the growling undertones that laced those two words, I shot my mother a panicked look, and she only planted a kiss to my temple before we tore off into the meadow, towards the sound of his voice, exactly the opposite of where I wanted to go. Those moments alone with her—those were the only ones that’d kept me sane these past fifty years. And now, they’d be gone forever. Because my mother died last week. And tomorrow was the funeral. * * * Minutes later I found myself in my washroom, stripping down the worn, foul smelling leathers and quietly climbing into the tub to wash away the remaining sweat from tonight’s workout. I’d lather properly tomorrow morning before they stuffed me into yet another dress. Sitting against the white porcelain of the bathtub, the warm water soothing the endorphins running through my veins, I wondered once again what my mother thought and felt those last few moments of her life. Before she’d taken those berries and tore herself away from me. Before she’d fallen unconscious, then drowned to her death. I wondered if she thought of me. The life we’d built together. The life we’d survived so far together. I wondered if she felt any guilt or remorse as the sour juice of those deathly things touched her tongue. She’d left nothing behind. No note, no explanation, no last words. I knew because I’d been the one to find her dead, cold body— I shut the thought out and abruptly stood up, water splashing at my knees. There was nothing I could do about it now. Just play the perfect mourning daughter tomorrow as the rest of Prythian came to pay their respects. Towelling myself off, I watched as the cold rustling breeze whipped at the black banner hanging from my window, resisting the urge to snarl. Though she left no note, though she offered no explanation, I knew why she’d left us. Though I despised her for leaving me, I still had a small part of me that understood. Especially when I peered over my shoulder into the mirror that reflected the image of five claw marks slashing down my bare back from right shoulder down to left hip. * * * I didn’t mind the primping. My head-lady, Vesna, was excellent at what she did: she could make braids out of tangles with a brush and her nimble fingers, beauty out of dullness with fine powders and expensive stains. All the while cheering me up as I scowled at my reflection each morning. Her jokes and bawdy-tune singing always managed to crack a grin from me. But today, as every other day this past week, she worked in silence with two others, carefully arranging my blonde hair under the black chapeau that bit into my scalp Vesna applied a thicker layer of bright cream beneath my eyes to conceal the bags, the product of my late outing last night. Though she would normally go a little extravagant due to the presence of all seven courts today, she kept my face plain for the simple fact that she believed that maybe today would be the day I finally wept for my mother. So far, I hadn’t yet. I didn’t feel the rising urge to do so. Ever since I felt the absence of her heartbeat, something within me had broken so immensely that I believed my mother had stolen my emotions along with her life. Everybody was waiting for me to break down. I could tell by the way the servants silenced as I walked by. By the way guards stood a little more alert when I entered a room. Even my father was cautious this week during our brief exchanges. Though those were few and far between. He was out half the time wreaking havoc on the acres of land behind the manor, trying to keep the destruction out of the house. I knew with absolute certainty the white walls and marble floors would be in ruins if he’d unleashed himself upon them. Not me. No, while papa angered and raged at the world, I tamed the imploding of my life to the confines of my mind and body. And I would continue to do so, if only to try to grasp and preserve any bits of sanity I had left. “I think that is all, Keke,” Vesna murmured softly as she adjusted the black mesh material that fell over half my face and covered the chapeau in tufts. I only gave a brisk nod, then pushed off my chair, taking one last look at the flowing skirt of my dress that hugged my waist and torso, the billowing, long sleeves that always managed to get snagged on everything. A brusque knock at the door had me releasing a long sigh. It was time. * * * “Keorah, was that you I heard last night stomping about your room?” Papa’s voice filled the cracks and crevices of the manor as he escorted me from my room in the west wing down to the throne room. My stomach dropped to the floor. I thought I’d been careful, but his sensitive fae ears must’ve picked up on it. “Yes Papa,” I answered, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. “And what could you possibly be doing at all hours of the night?” “I went for a run, Papa,” I answered truthfully. “I needed to exercise. I couldn’t sleep.” He let out an angered huff. “How can you expect to be High Lady when you can’t follow a simple rule?” Those words, High Lady, always sent a shiver down my spine. There has never been a High Lady of Spring Court. There were only two High Ladies currently in power: Vivianne, High Lady of Winter Court, and Feyre, the first High Lady ever in Prythian, of the Night Court. Keorah, High Lady of the Spring Court. My father had been roiling when Mama gave birth only to see she’d had a daughter. And though they tried countless times again, Mama never had another child, let alone a son. And now she never would. And Papa was stuck with me as heir. “When I’m High Lady, Papa,” I countered quietly, “they’ll be my rules.” He snarled. “You will keep the laws of this court as I have done, and every predecessor before me—” “Can we not, Papa? Please. Not today.” I hated that word. Please. I hated whimpering it every time those claws unsheathed themselves. “You keep quiet,” Papa ordered. It seemed as though he’d allow me some peace, if only for today. Despite the alarming amount of people in attendance today, there was barely any noise sounding throughout the manor, only the echo of our quiet footsteps across the empty halls. Guards were far and few in between within the manor. They’d been concentrated outside to keep any ill-meaning people out, rightfully so. Today was not a day for trouble amongst the people. “You say what we practiced, you thank guests for coming, and you say how wonderful Mama was.” Right before the grand oak doors of the throne room, be stopped, then gripped my shoulders, and a slice of panic tore through me as I felt those claws creep out, only an inch, from his knuckles. They sat threateningly on my shoulders, ready to pierce the skin and ruin the dress, and it all but livened the storm brewing within Papa’s eyes. “Do not,” he breathed, “speak a word of what she did. If I hear those words leave your mouth, you will find yourself without a heartbeat.” Though the words careened within me and tore at the very heartstrings keeping me from completely falling apart, I only gave a curt nod, then, “Yes, Papa.” Resuming our initial position, our elbows hooked around each other, the doors opened merely from one thought of Papa’s mind. As one, the people stood from the pews that lined both walls of the throne room. As one, they bowed their heads. I did not meet their eyes as Papa and I sat at the front and Nevanthi, the High Priestess, began the ceremony. * * * “Tamlin, our sincere condolences,” Vivianne, High Lady of Winter murmured, clasping hands with Papa. Tears lined her eyes, and I let out a wheeze of a breath, remembering how well she and Mama used to get along. One year, when we went to Winter to celebrate solstice festivities, they’d invited me to play an old game of cards with them. They’d been heavily intoxicated by the time I’d joined them, and I’ll never forget the howls of laughter that’d radiated from the both of them at the stupidities they said. Kallias, High Lord of Winter, echoed similar words, and Vivianne’s tears spilled over as she turned to me. “You look so much like her,” she breathed, then collapsed into sobs, arms hooking around me so tightly I thought she’d bruise me. “Lyra was the best female I’ve ever known, best mother I’ve ever known,” she cried, cupping my cheeks with her palms. “You don’t understand how sorry I am for your loss.” “I miss her every heartbeat,” I whispered, laying my hands atop hers to retract them from my face, and close them within my own. I brought our hands and held them to my heart. “You were her dearest friend, Vivianne. She loved you so much.” “Cauldron bless her,” Nevanthi added quietly from my right. I bit back a scowl. It seemed Vivianne did as well. Though our court respected High Priestesses despite the havoc Ianthe had wreaked upon our court, it seemed that my father hadn’t learned his lesson, and let yet again a problematic Priestess slither in. Nevanthi was deemed as an important leader within our ranks, yet other courts seemed to…frown upon her. The High Lord and High Lady of Winter gave me one last quick embrace before the endless tide continued on, and my voice became scratchy from the never-ending exchange of words between myself and people Mama barely knew. High Fae and lesser faeries alike filed up the steps and embraced us over and over again before heading outdoors to the final part of the ceremony where my mother’s ashes would be scattered amongst the budding rosebushes, injecting her essence to transfer her life force to theirs. A familiar flash of red hair bobbed up the steps until Lucien was before us. My breath rushed out of me and I almost sagged in relief at the familiar sight of his ruggedly handsome face and metal eye. He wrapped Tamlin in a one-armed embrace, promising to talk later, before turning to me and practically tackling me in a hug. There was silver lining his eyes as he pulled away just enough to scan my face, then pull me once more against him. I buried my face into his chest, clutching his dark tunic with all my might. “I’m so sorry, Keo,” he murmured into my ear, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I would’ve been here so much sooner, there was just some business I needed to take care of in the Day court—” “It’s okay, Luci,” I assured him, resting my hands on his upper arms, “you’re here now. It’s all I need.” “Just fulfilling my blessed-fatherly duties,” he smiled weakly, and I tried to mirror it, but failed miserably. I knew he needed to move along so we could finally have this ordeal over with. He stepped away, and with a purse of his lips at Nevanthi, faded back into the crowd. Instead of more mourners, Bron and Hart, captains of the guard marched up the stairs with urgency and began whispering sinisterly with Papa. “They weren’t invited,” Papa hissed. My eyes darted down to see claws inching their way out of his knuckles, as I’d suspected. Concern made my eyebrows furrow. Who wasn’t invited? “…made it through the wards…just the two of them…waiting at the entrance.” A growl from my father. Then, begrudgingly, “Let them in.” Nods from both of them and they were off. Half an hour later, after nodding along to tearful words from Fae of the nearby village with high enough status to attend, only two people remained at the bottom of the steps. When my gaze settled upon them, the breath was ripped from my lungs. There, at the bottom of the dais, were the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. Feyre Cauldron-blessed was dazzling despite her plain dark gown. Her hair hung in soft curls and framed the high cheekbones and plucked eyebrows of her face. Her long thin nose was perfectly symmetrical, and those bright blue eyes pierced through my own as we locked gazes. Then my sight shifted to Rhysand, and something within me halted. I’d never met the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, nor had I met either of their children. I’d only ever heard stories and descriptions, myths and legends surrounding their many triumphs through the safe-guarding of Prythian through the second war with Hybern, and the recent news that their son had been captured in the night by lingering enemies across the sea, but was safely returned home. Yet as I gazed at Lord Rhysand’s jet black combed back hair and electric violet eyes, I felt as though I’d seen that face before, somewhere far off and distant. There was this feeling in my stomach that drew me toward those violet eyes. I ignored it as best as I could as Papa began to speak. “Rhysand,” my father said tightly. “Feyre.” “Tamlin,” Lord Rhysand replied, a grim expression on his face, “our sincerest condolences.” Everyone knew the stories behind my father and Feyre. Vesna told me they whispered them around Mama and Papa’s wedding, saying how history would repeat itself, that those tendencies don’t go away. They were right. They didn’t go away. He just got better at hiding them. Though the High Lady of Night, Feyre Cursebreaker, Feyre Cauldron-Blessed, did not show a hint of the history between Papa and her as she and her mate climbed those four steps and stood before us. Lady Feyre was clad in a simple black gown that hugged her curves, Lord Rhysand a complementing tunic. Ethereal swirls of darkness seemed to dance around them sombrely, only a hint of what their magic offered. I held back the urge to run my hands through those tendrils, to snatch the starlight that encompassed the both of them. “We’re very sorry for your loss,” Feyre offered quietly, but with vehemence, “I couldn’t imagine the pain.” Papa only nodded, only the tiniest hint of disgust lining the features of his face. I knew the topography of those features, how they danced and contorted together. “No politics, no masks, no history,” Rhysand added softly. “I wouldn’t wish this sorrow on anybody.” Tamlin only let out a huff, mumbled what seemed like words of thanks, then stalked off through the oak doors we’d entered in, leaving only myself and the Night Court family on the dais. For a moment, we stood in silence. Feyre’s gaze wandered over the throne room as if remembering her time spent here all those years ago. Rhysand only watched her intently. He curled a hand around her waist in a supportive manner, and she turned to him, some unreadable expression dawning their faces. Their eyes finally tore away from each other, as though they’d been speaking in some silent language, before their gazes turned to me. Feyre’s eyes softened as she took me in. People often seemed to do that: with my soft blonde hair and doll-like face, to them, I was seen as the pretty little flower of Spring, Tamlin and Lyra’s pride and joy. I let people indulge in that mask. I didn’t let them see the fierceness that burned beneath, the scars that lined my body though I hadn’t been alive for any war. I let them see the primped, dolled-up blonde stuffed into dresses and bonnets, learning to play housewife. I gave a deep bow of my head. It was no secret that the Night Court was the most powerful court in Prythian. The denizens of Prythian owed a great debt to the Night Court and its Inner Circle for all the efforts they contributed to stopping Hybern from invading seventy-five years ago. Showing respect to the pair that stood before me was inked into my very blood. “Please, there’s no need.” Feyre smiled softly. Rhysand remained neutral, scanning me head to toe, assessing. There was a beat of silence before Feyre finally offered, “We never knew your mother very well.” I blinked. Of course, they didn’t. Papa wasn’t very keen on visiting the Night Court. Neither was he keen on having the Night Court visit us. “It can only be expected with the…strenuous relations.” Rhysand nodded solemnly at my words. “Nonetheless, my dear, we know you’ve probably heard condolences and sorry’s a thousand times this week, which is why I will only say that I too know what it is like to lose somebody so important to me. You are not alone. Though it may feel this way, you are not alone.” There was something in the way he said it, something about the words he offered me that had sobs rising up my throat. I only put a hand to my heart and replied, “Your words are much appreciated, High Lord.” There was more silence, and the hall was quickly emptying. The oak doors opened once again, and Papa, red-faced and claws out stormed back onto the dais. He was breathing heavily, and I did not want to see the state of his study after this whole ordeal was over. Feyre only blinked as she stared at the claws, claws she’d probably grown to fear just as much as I did. “Excuse my absence,” Papa said dryly as those mighty claws retracted once more. “It is time for the Rebirth.” He waved a hand to the entrance of the throne room. The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court nodded once more before stepping down the dais and heading for the doors. I was about to follow suit until thick, calloused fingers wrapped around my upper arm and pulled me roughly back, causing me to nearly trip in my shoes. “What did they say to you?” Growled my father, eyes full of rage and wrath. I swallowed, used to the anger, used to the temper that consumed him. “They only offered their condolences, Papa.” “You swear—” “I swear it,” I interrupted him, tired of the constant back and forth, just wanting to get this day over with. My impatience only earned a squeeze of his fingers, tightening so hard that I winced and tore my arm away from him. In silence, we walked to the front doors. I hated that silence. Because I knew, I knew that if my mother were here, it wouldn’t be silent. She would’ve protected me. Calmed Papa down. But she was just a pile of ash now. A pile of ash and roses. * * * Dinner was taken to my room. I peeled myself out of the black dress with Vesna’s help. Her eyes skipped over the purple bruise lining my left upper arm due to the simple fact she couldn’t see it. I kept the glamour on my skin thick and solid at all times, even going to the extent to teach myself to have it on while I slept. The servants knew full well the wrath that boiled within my father’s veins, and when that wrath surfaced, they were quick to turn a blind eye. Obviously, they didn’t know the actions that rage drove him to, nor the pain he inflicted on Mama and I. Even if they did, they couldn’t defy their High Lord, no matter the brutality he may wreak upon the manor. But the less they knew, the better. They needed to feed their families, to keep a steady lifestyle for themselves, despite what it may mean for me, or others around him. Once I was in my beige cotton trousers and soft white knit sweater, I settled into the wooden rocking chair beside the window overlooking the front gardens with my mutton stew for another night of loneliness and shifting my food around my plate. Then there was a soft knock at my door, and Vesna opened it to an auburn-haired head poking through to reveal Lucien’s smiling face. For the first time in a while, a full smile danced on my features, and I set my tray down on a nearby table and ran to him, giving him a proper greeting as per our tradition. He scooped me into his arms and swung me around, just as he did when I was about as tall as his hips, then set me down, clearing away the hair that fell into my face. “Tell me everything,” he murmured. “I can’t believe she’s really gone.” I looked down at my shoes, my hands curling to fists, before breathing a long sigh through my nose. “Me neither. It seems unreal.” He joined me where I was in my rocking chair, pulling over a plush velvet chaise and slumping back. I picked up my bowl of mutton stew once more, more for the heat if offered my hands than the food itself. “It was just like any other ride, you know? We were out in the woods near the border when they attacked. One minute we were both laughing, galloping along.” I swallowed. “The next she was ripped out of her saddle. Before I could even blink they’d bit her head clean off her body. Then, before I could draw a breath, my power misted the seven of them.” “Naga,” he swore. “Bastards.” It was the story Nevanthi had concocted to cover-up the ‘sin’ behind my mother’s true cause of death. She said the people would respond negatively if they knew she’d taken her own life, because the Cauldron heavily cursed those who committed ‘such atrocities against its gift of life’. Though I knew it was because it would reveal the true state of this court and the person ruling over it. “Bastards,” I echoed. “You truly misted them?” Lucien murmured in wonder. I couldn’t blame him. Misting was a very, very rare and deadly gift that few and far in between possessed, but I nodded my head anyway. It hadn’t been a complete lie. With a snap of my hands I conjured an orange, plucking it from the kitchen and tugging through those pockets within the fabric of the world, then once it sat in my hand, only one thought and it turned into a citrusy mist where the full, ripe fruit used to be. His eyes widened in wonder. “When did you learn? How did you—” “Mama, it seemed, kept the power a secret from Tamlin,” I said quietly, “and taught me discretely. Your silence is appreciated.” A frown, then a clench of his knuckles, and finally a sigh. “He hasn’t changed, has he?” I’d never told Lucien of the abuse. I’d never shown him the scars or bruises, which I kept constantly glamoured, I’d never hinted at the notion he would lay a hand on me. The show my mother and I kept up was exhausting and took a toll on ourselves emotionally, but she convinced me it would keep us safe. And look where that got us. “No,” I admitted, then grinned. “But look at how wonderful I turned out.” Lucien snorted. “Yes, a snot-nosed brat with enough power to tear life away with the blink of an eye.” “Now, now Lucien, those are hurtful words you’re directing towards your beloved—and might I add only—blessed-daughter!” “Believe me, Keo, I was forced into it. It didn’t seem so bad when you were a diaper-soiling baby, but once you grew that mouth of yours—Cauldron, did I regret it.” I only rolled my eyes in response, giving him a vulgar gesture. When I was Blessed by the Mother as a child, my head dipped into the soft rose-petaled waters that filled Nevanthi’s sacred basin to represent the Cauldron, Mama and Papa had chosen Lucien and his mate as well as High Lady Feyre’s older sister Elain to be my blessed-parents. If anything were to happen to my parents before I turned of age, the pair would take care of me until I reached maturity and could rule my court. Yet now that I was of age, or nearly in a few weeks, the role seemed useless. But I cherished it if only for the fact that it created a special bond between Lucien and I. Elain and he had tried to figure out their messy relationship. Mama, Papa and Lucien never gave me the full details, only that she was there for my Blessing, then gone a year later once they mutually decided it wouldn’t work out between them. Well, mutual is a strong word. Nobody ever broached the subject with Lucien. Especially once the news reached us that Elain had married a member of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. Lucien left the Spring Court soon after for the Day Court, where his true father was, and took up his life he never had there, claiming he couldn’t stand to be around so many flowers after being with her. I was barely five years old. But he’d visited regularly, teased me, raised me, trained me. Sometimes I wished that he’d been my father instead of Tamlin. “How are you holding together?” Lucien wondered after a few moments passed, the humour leeched from the conversation with those five words. I shrugged my shoulders. “As fine as I could wish for.” He gave me a pointed look. “You know I don’t believe that for a second.” “I know. But maybe if I say it enough I’ll believe it.” “Fair enough.” “How long are you staying?” He sighed. “Not long, unfortunately. A few days at most. Internal affairs issues concerning trade deals with Dawn popped up and we’ve been trying to charm their pants off to keep them in our good graces.” “Why do I feel as though Helion takes the saying ‘charm their pants off’ literally?” Lucien shuddered. “Because he does. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that my father is an orgy-powered walking library.” “Don’t forget the powerful thighs,” I smirked. He poked his own. “Doesn’t seem like I inherited those.” I flashed him a grin and finally reached over to set down my plate. Lucien looked down at my outstretched hands and frowned. “So it’s still happening then? The engagement?” Ah, yes. The engagement. I’d worn the ring for so long now that my mind filtered it out every time I looked at my hands. If only it could filter out the misogyny surrounding my husband-to-be’s words and actions. Carrick was a High Fae of wealth and haute social class in the nearby village. Papa had decided that when I was to turn eighteen, the age of maturity, I’d be betrothed to him and have him as consort once I was High Lady. Though the idea was mighty appealing to Carrick’s family in terms of power, and for Papa in terms of the wealth they’d be giving to the kingdom in thanks for the union, the real catch was the fact that Carrick was the most powerful High Fae in the village. Offspring from our shared genes would likely be of incredible strength, power and capability. Carrick had extreme strength, shapeshifting abilities, air and wind manipulation as well as winnowing and other minor powers. Combined with my extreme strength, shapeshifting abilities, wind manipulation, misting powers, winnowing, fire manipulation, spell-cleaving and healing powers… The results would be incredible. I’d earned few of my powers from Papa. Lyra, a denizen originally from the Dawn Court, had a mixed bloodline of powerful males and females from all over the courts. Her lineage seemed to dilute the more it expanded, yet for some reason she’d been gifted many of it: fire manipulation, spell-cleaving, air and wind manipulation, healing abilities, misting powers… a blend of autumn, day, dawn and night carefully crafted and siphoned into one female, who then handed it down to me. People murmured how I was stronger than any of my predecessors. As a young girl I never believed them, yet as Mama and I practiced in the thicket near the willow tree, I finally began to believe them. Carrick though, as a male, was definitely not the choice I would’ve made for myself. He was handsome, sure—ruggedly so, with short sandy coloured hair and hazel eyes. His body and shape were as expected: pure toned muscle hardened by decades of rigorous training and constant toning. Yet his personality fell flat due to the fact that he held no respect for me. Or any female, for that matter. Marrying him would be signing myself away like a piece of property, something Papa had no qualms over doing. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t have a say in it, that’d been decided when I was still a young girl, not even past my first bleeding. “Yes,” I finally answered the loaded question, “it was supposed to be the week of my eighteenth birthday, a few weeks from now. I’m only hoping that maybe I could feign needing more time to mourn.” “Surely you wouldn’t have to feign it, Keorah,” Lucien’s brows furrowed together, and the words had an accusatory lilt to them. “What happened was tragic. It’s normal if the grief is overwhelming. Nobody will blame you for taking the time you need to mourn your mother.” And I wished I could tell him the truth, I wish he could scream with me at the injustice of it all. So I settled for a half-truth instead. “It just hasn’t set in yet, I think. Mother’s arse, Lucien, I haven’t even cried. Does that make me a monster? Does that make me abnormal?” “Two things. No, three things.” Lucien pushed himself to the edge of his seat and gripped my biceps. I hid my wince at the uncomfortable pressure on my left arm. “Firstly, not crying doesn’t make you a monster. We all grieve differently, and what you saw was extremely traumatic. You’re probably still in a state of shock. Seeing your mother die like that?” He scoffed. “That would likely dredge away anybody’s sanity for a little while. Secondly, no, it doesn’t make you abnormal, and even if it did, you are abnormal anyways. You are abnormal in the best way possible. If you were normal, you’d be boring as hell, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing my blessed-daughter is so mundane. And thirdly,” he chuckled, “if I ever hear you say Mother’s arse again, I’ll throw you into the rose bushes, thorns and all.” I shook my head at the incredulousness of his words yet still smiled. “Why can’t you visit more often?”

Hope you liked it! I’ll be posting the next chapter tomorrow :)

[saiyuki]

dhbat#15-1

TL done by me. this is not a precise, 1:1 TL as i took some liberties to adjust/rephrase some parts to help get the point across.

any form of repost or rework of my TLs is prohibited; sharing a link to this post is allowed.

i translated these chapters in order to help readers understand the manga as they read and not as a replacement for the actual chapters.

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read this chapter here

Otome: Instead of foolish men who will not stop warring, women will bring forth a new beginning to the world!

Jyushi and Hitoya are seen watching Otome's declaration through the television form their respective places. The next page features...

Kuukou: Farewell... we won't ever meet again.

A scene of Kuukou and Ichiro parting ways.

3rd year of H-Age. Nagoya.

Employee: Amaguni-san, about that one case, did you go to trial?

Hitoya: Trial? Of course not. I settled it before it can get taken to court.

Amaguni Hitoya, 35 y.o.: Hey. You know of a surefire way to not lose?

Employee: A surefire way to not lose... is there anything like that?

Hitoya: You see... it's to not go to trial. If a trial doesn't happen, you won't lose, right?

Employee: I... see...

Hitoya: There are two things that I can't stand: first, terrible coffee, and second, losing. That's why I always have a high-quality coffee machine and coffee beans in my room. Also, that's why I'm known as an undefeatable lawyer.

Employee: By the way... what do you do when there is no likelihood to win?

Hitoya: That's simple. If you refuse to handle that case, you won't lose.

The employee looks taken aback.

Hitoya: There are two things that I like: first, Islay whisky, and second, money. Do you understand?

Hitoya: Money is more reliable than God. In an unavoidable situation, you pray to God if you don't have money. But if you do have money... you can spend it and settle the situation.

Employee: .....

???: I am one who amuses with the nocturnal moonlights, Aimono Jyushi! Bring Hitoya to me!

Hitoya: Tch... that stupid brat. Even though I told him not to come here anymore...

Female Employee: That is... quite troubling...

Jyushi: Why must you be so troubled. Is that supposedly your raison d'être...

Female Employee: Um... please leave...

Jyushi: Ouch!

Hitoya comes to the front desk, where Jyushi is talking... arguing? with the female employee and bonks him in the head.

Hitoya: Jyushi! How many times should I tell you to not come here?!

Jyushi: Ah, Hitoya-san! Please hear me out...

Hitoya: Jyushi, listen well. There are two things that I can't stand: first, fruit in salad, and second, people who don't liste-

Jyushi: You know, actually...!

Hitoya: You're just going to trouble others here... come in.

Jyushi: Got it~!

Female Employee: Phew...

She seems relieved now since the eccentric, big and tall boy has finally been taken care of. She realizes that someone else is standing near the front desk.

Female Employee: Oh, apologies, I've made you wait! What appointment do you possibly have?

???: Everything went as planned, so it's okay now!

Female Employee: ?

Ramuda: Bye then, Miss! If we meet again somewhere else let's go on a date☆

Ramuda: To think he's that troublesome. But whatever - everything's going well.

Kuugen Temple.

Harai Kuukou, 19 y.o.: That hurts! What are you at!?

Shakku: That's supposed to be my line, you slothful son! You immediately slack off if I don't keep watch over you!

Kuukou: This shitty father... I'll render you speechless one day...

Shakku: Floor-mopping too is part of training. Stop chattering and get back to work!

Kuukou: Got... you!

As we know, Kuukou throws a wet mop... and it lands square on his father's face.

Shakku: Throwing a mop towards one's parent, what in the world...!

Kuukou: Heh heh! As they say, "the grudges towards one's blood and flesh are to be rid of"[1]!

Shakku: You foolish son, wait right there!

Kuukou: Waiting after being told to while running, only half-assed people do that!

Shortly after, Kuukou managed to escape his father's... wrath. He sits in front of the temple gate.

Delivery Man: Excuse me!

Kuukou: Yeah?

Delivery Man: I'm with the delivery service. Is Harai Kuukou here?

Kuukou receives a package box.

To be continued (September 10th).

[1] The original saying, as mentioned by Kuukou, is "怨憎会苦なれば肉親なれどこれを撃滅せよ". Still don't know how to translate this properly, so I might change this line.

[alette-stars]

The giant goes to rest. More than two years, 130 000 words and many screams and tears since its start, Lavender Jade is complete.

Let me start off by thanking you all for supporting this fic! When I started I had no idea it was going to receive the love it has. Before Lavender Jade I was known for more overall lighthearted works (Mint and Poppy in the Monsta X fandom, Stray Romance for ASTRO). All your constant love and support has been a huge help. Thank you so much! Words cannot describe the joy your comments and messages gave me ♡

I’ve made so many amazing friends and spoken to so many beautiful people because of this work, but this fic is dedicated to Monsta X ♡

Okay, enough sappiness! Time to move on to the trivia and extras. This is my 4th trivia post (you can find Mint and Poppy here; Stray Romance here; Wrong (Right) Number here) and longest yet, so it’s in 3 parts:

basic tidbits/extra info

regarding the vei, the card divination system

some personal rambling regarding my character motives (entirely skippable)

If it’s not obvious, there are going to be major spoilers, so if you haven’t read the fic yet but plan to do so, I advise not reading this ^^

If you need, you can always reference the character list here

Okay, so let’s get started! Rest of the post is under the cut

1. Basic Trivia

Most of the extras in the fic were original characters this time, with a few exceptions. Even these exceptions are not exactly based on the idols they’re named after, but I imagined them while writing. These are:

Sojung, Jooheon’s bodyguard - WJSN’s Exy

Sewoon, Kihyun’s manservant - soloist Jeong Sewoon

Seungwoo, another of Kihyun’s servants - soloist Yoo Seungwoo

Dawon, Hyunjung, Jiyeon, Luda, Soobin, Juyeon, the girls mentioned as being part of Jooheon’s people in Eigak - WJSN’s Dawon, Seola, Bona, Luda, Soobin, Eunseo 

Along with the ones living, there were those who lived in the past. Mentioned in-text:

Hoseok II, a previous king of Yishin - BTS’ J-Hope

Seokjin, a consort to Hoseok II - BTS’ Jin

Kim Namjoon, prime minister of Hoseok II - BTS’ RM

Hakyeon, the first king of Yishin - VIXX’s N

And those referenced only in the snippets in the chapter summaries:

Jungsoo, a previous king of Yishin - Super Junior’s Leeteuk

Kyuhyun, a historian - Super Junior’s Kyuhyun

Yoongi, a consort to Hoseok II - BTS’ Suga

Taekwoon, high prince to Hakyeon - VIXX’s Leo

For some reason which I still cannot fathom, I’ve been praised for the worldbuilding in this fic. The capital city of Yishin doesn’t even have a name. 

The basic geography of the peninsula is Yishin, Eigak to her east, a number of tiny states to her west, the sea to her south. The western side of Yishin is more fertile. The stretch of border between Yishin and Eigak is a rocky wasteland.

Yishin was named as a mix of Wonho’s two surnames: Lee and Shin

The concept of snippets from literature and media from the universe as chapter summaries was inspired by Steven Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen saga. The vei deck (more on it later) was also very heavily inspired by his Deck of Dragons in the same books. 

A lot of fics focus on Hyungwon’s looks (something I’m guilty of as well) so I wanted to write a world where he wasn’t considered handsome. I understand why all the shows set in alternate worlds have the same beauty standards as us—it makes for prettier TV—but I decided to set a different one for the world of Lavender Jade. Somewhat arbitrarily, we have:

considered very handsome -  Hoseok, Minhyuk, Changkyun

considered somewhat handsome - Kihyun

considered plain/regular - Hyunwoo, Hyungwon, Jooheon

Han Jehan, obviously, also falls in category 1.

Han Jehan was my first time writing a proper villain in my fics, and I don’t know how well I succeeded but I enjoyed it immensely. I went out of my way to add all the traits I like so that I wouldn’t end up hating him, even going so far as to give him the surname of one of my favourite idols (sorry Hyuk). 

There are two main things I’d change in the fic if I could turn back time:

tighten up the front end. I’d combine the first couple of chapters 

Yeon Hu would be a woman. By the time I realized the awesome power of a badass lady general, it was too late

All court members—Jo Senmi, Yeon Hu, etc—are original characters. They’re both basic archetypes you’ll find in sageuk dramas. I think it’s worth mentioning both of them really do love Yishin, they just had very different, more conservative ideas of what would be best for the country.

I’d thought of using all the proper Korean names for the clothes especially, but decided that would make things difficult to read and binned the idea.

The opening note says the world is inspired by the Joseon dynasty. Regarding the initiatives to improve people’s lives, yes, but the hall/court system is more inspired by (what I know of) the Goryeo dynasty system.

I’ve been asked this before, but I’ll answer it here again: I’d never finished a sageuk drama before Flower Crew (very recently, and only because I was watching it with my sisters), and definitely not while I was planning this fic. Don’t judge me. The one I would recommend is Six Flying Dragons, most like Lavender Jade in tone. The others I’ve made headway into are Moonlight Drawn by the Clouds, Ruler: Master of the Mask, and The King and the Clown. 

I’m surprised no one brought up the foreshadowing I did near the end of chapter 16. Seven stars, two possible fates. The final fate of the two lovers (Kihyun and Changkyun) turned out to be a mix of the two stories: there was a fire, and the heavenly king was pulled from heaven (Kihyun from his position) to live the rest of his life with his lover.

Unlike my other secret couple (myungjin in Stray Romance) there are no hints of Hyunwoo and Minhyuk. They never did anything that would show. Minhyuk attempts to fluster Hyunwoo, but he does that with everyone.

Changkyun’s final card from the reading in chapter 8 is the two of Knives. It means a sacrifice. 

My favorite parts of the fic to write were Kihyun’s various descriptions of Changkyun’s beauty :)

This is, undoubtedly, the fic that has required the most work from me. I will say the most difficult scenes to write were Minhyuk’s fight with the assassin and Hyunwoo’s with Kim Sungil. Action scenes are not my forte. 

If you don’t know, I have written a romantic one-shot set in the same universe, titled Only One

2. The Vei

I don’t know how obvious this was, but the entire vei deck concept was inspired by and based on VIXX. The idea itself came from the Deck of Dragons in Steven Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen saga. 

There are 84 cards in the deck: 72 cards in six suits, and 12 Unaligned. The Unaligned can be paired off, where each card is the opposite of its pair (with the exception of the last pair). The Unaligned cards are:

Fountain and Grave - a beginning and an ending

The Open Hand and The Closed Hand - generosity and miserliness

The Lord and The Lady - bad luck and good luck

The Centaur and The Fox - someone proud and someone crafty

Magnolia and Crown of Thorns - misery in success and happiness in failure

Pyramid and Mirror - stability/instability and karmic justice/unfairness 

The six suits, along with the member they represent, are:

Stars - N

Rings - Leo

Shells - Ken

Scrolls - Ravi

Flowers - Hongbin

Knives - Hyuk

Each suit, like our playing cards, has a king, queen, and knight (jack). The king of each suit is based on a VIXX member, and has some particular qualities along with being very rare. All visual cues for the kings come from VIXX’s masterpiece MV, Shangri-La. 

Stars - King: the Emperor, Queen: Sloth, Knight: the Page. The Emperor is the rarest card in the deck, and is represented by a crowned man with no features, only darkness in place of a face. The Page is the icon of diligence (and was in Minhyuk’s hand in chapter X). The theme of the suit is mystic fates, technically the uncategorized cards. In the natural half of the deck.

Rings - King: Death, Queen: Envy, Knight: the Messenger. Death is a card of finality (like Grave). The theme of the suit is secrets. In the manmade half of the deck.

Shells - King: Life, Queen: Gluttony, Knight: the Fool. Life is a card of possibilities. The Fool denotes absolute luck--essentially the card of negation. The theme of the suit is environment. In the natural half of the deck.

Scrolls - King: the Mage, Queen: Greed, Knight: the Apprentice. The Mage is a figure of knowledge and learning. The theme of the suit is motivations. In the manmade half of the deck.

Flowers - King: the Elf, Queen: Lust, Knight: the Handmaid. The Elf is an elusive, hidden figure with hidden motives. The theme of the suit is happiness. In the natural half of the deck.

Knives - King: War, Queen: Wrath, Knight: the General. War is a decisive figure, one who brings final consequences. The them of the suit is decisions. In the manmade half of the deck. 

I’ve been asked about the game played with the vei deck as well. It is a game of my own invention, yes. It’s based on trick-taking games like Hearts, where the object is to win the least cards as possible. It’s played in alternating rounds, one where the Unaligned are not used, the next where they are. I didn’t hash out the details beyond some basic motifs, but it is technically playable. Only if you have a vei deck though. The whole gameplay hinges on the fact that some cards are less likely to appear when picked from the stacked deck. 

I’ve heard from more than one person that I got them into tarot as a hobby. That’s great! But the truth is I know next to nothing about tarot haha

3. Rambling

I might suggest skipping this. This adds 0 value to the post and fic aside from giving me a space to ramble and whoa it turned out long

First: King Hoseok. He’s copped a fair share of criticism in this fic regarding his passiveness and his acceptance of the unfair consort system. I will defend my handling of this character to the ends of the Earth. I’m not saying he’s perfect (obviously! the only character that comes close to that is Hyunwoo) but I think he did right by what he had.

A neat indication would be to flip back to chapter 14, the Hyungwon POV chapter. When Hoseok says that the two of them are alone even though the room is filled with servants, Hyungwon forgives it as a result of his upbringing. He’s undoubtedly biased, but he has a point. Hoseok was raised as king. Certain things that are so obvious to others don’t even register to him. The consort system, where they have to swear loyalty to him but he doesn’t to them? He was raised as seeing this as normal. They all were. He never even fathoms a consort would want to leave their position. When Kihyun tells him the truth about the affair, Hoseok is stunned. He doesn’t understand Hyungwon calling his old life of poverty a life of freedom.

Basically, Hoseok is just trying his best after being raised (and still living) in a life of absolute privilege. He expects loyalty, love, because he hasn’t been exposed to anything different. His situation is completely different from Jooheon’s, who’s grown up in a much more volatile situation. Jooheon had to learn early on to really open his eyes, to listen, and he’s much more observant and understanding. By the end of the fic Hoseok’s had a wakeup call, and he’s going to get better. 

Second: the consort system. Yes, it’s cruel. It wasn’t what Hakyeon had envisioned when he had his companions instated formally. But in Yishin this is the norm. No one thinks it cruel. It’s a position of huge honor (Kihyun thinks of it a few times).

Even though there’s no homophobia, misogyny etc, Yishin is a conservative society. They haven’t had a change of regime in 23 generations. They’re used to the norm, and consortship is the norm. Also, if you look at most conservative societies, you’ll see romantic love isn’t considered a prerequisite for marriage (which is kind of what consortship is). In many societies (including my own) many people would jump at a chance for consortship, no matter their relationship with the monarch. 

Third: the fic had a lot of subversion of typical historical expectations and standards. I still consider myself primarily a fantasy writer. Typical fantasy and historical works have a strong focus on honor, dignity, truth and justice and all those values.

Lavender Jade does not. Kihyun and Changkyun are oathbreakers, they are traitors (by Yishini law). Every insult flung at them is true. The king breaks his country’s laws to help them escape their deserved punishment. Even Hyunwoo, the honorable and admirable commandant, defeats Kim Sungil using an underhanded move, and gets his happy ending with another consort breaking his oath.

At times I seriously considered ending this as a tragedy. It felt fair. Kihyun and Changkyun had broken laws, broken promises. All that happened did as a result of their own actions (even Han Jehan’s targeting of Kihyun was, from what we see, brought about by Kihyun digging into his affairs). A sad ending would be deserved. But then I thought, hmm, why? Why should it be fair? Why should they be miserable because it is deserved? 

So we got the ending we got, and I hope you’re all happy. I know I am. 

Thank you for reading to the end of this (unnecessarily) long post! It’s almost as long as the fic itself haha If you have any questions or messages you can shoot me an ask or pm here, or on my Twitter or on CuriousCat ^^ 

So what’s next? I’m writing Wrong (Right) ID, an epistolary fic for ASTRO in the same style as Wrong (Right) Number, and A Match Made in Heaven, my VIXX karma officer fic (it’s an unusual concept! you should try it). Both fics will end soon, maybe even before the end of the year, so you won’t have to bear much waiting ^^;;

I’m also writing Blood, Water, a vampire fic with a strong emphasis on family for ATEEZ, so you can check that out too! This one’s going to be long and angsty and quite self indulgent ^^

I’ve been asked if I’m going to continue writing in this universe. The answer is, yes. I will be writing White Carnation, the book referenced in multiple chapters of this fic, as a novella. I might write a short story on how Hoseok and Hyungwon met, but that’s undecided. I’ve hashed out ideas for side stories involving VIXX (and the founding of Yishin) and ATEEZ (and the change of regimes in Eigak) in this CuriousCat ask and this Twitter thread, but those will probably only remain as threads ^^;; 

And in the future? I have Monsta X one shots planned, and perhaps another long fic too. All possibilities are open! I hope you’ll stay with me for them ♡

Again, and as always, thank you. I hope you enjoyed Lavender Jade ♡

[ao3feed-acotar]

A Court of Wrath and Moonlight, Part Two

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2J4mpv9

by whokilledkat

With Keorah in the thicket of enemy lands, the Night Court must rally the rest of Prythian in order to face down new and old enemies alike.

Words: 5304, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of A Court of Wrath and Moonlight

Fandoms: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Original Feyre/Rhys Children, Milo/Milonius, Isra, Original Tamlin/OC children, Keorah, Rhysand (ACoTaR), Feyre Archeron, Tamlin (ACoTaR), Amarantha (ACoTaR), Nesta Archeron, Cassian (ACoTaR), Azriel (ACoTaR), Elain Archeron, Morrigan (ACoTaR), Amren (ACoTaR), Lucien Vanserra, Tarquin (ACoTaR), High Lords of Prythian, Oris (OC)

Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Elain Archeron/Azriel, Keorah and Milo, Tamlin / Original Characters, Amren/Varian (ACoTaR)

Additional Tags: Graphic Scenes of Torture/Violence, mentioned thoughts of suicide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Fluff, Smut, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2J4mpv9

[illyrianwingspans]

A Court of Wrath and Moonlight: Chapter 2

The fic is now up on my Ao3! Here’s the link!

Fic Masterlist 

Chapter 1

Trigger warning: This chapter contains graphic scenes of violence and physical/emotional abuse. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with caution. 

CHAPTER 2

We ate breakfast the next morning in the dining hall. I’d convinced Vesna through a series of long whines and sighs to let me wear an outfit of my choice instead of my normally formal attire, claiming I was sick of being so presentable after such a hard week. She wisely chose to back off and I sighed at the warmth of the blush wool knit that hugged my arms. Papa sat to my right and Lucien across from us, both donning similar clothing for sparring. They’d be practicing after breakfast then going out for a hunt, traditions of theirs that held up every time  Lucien visited. It was nice to have an extra person at the table, to not have the scraping of utensils against plates be the only sound filling the space.

“And how is Helion these days?” Papa questioned, sawing through a thick slab of steak.

“As Helion always is,” Lucien grinned, “ruling and fucking as he pleases.”

Father snorted. A slight grin tugged at my lips. “Good to know things don’t change.”

“Indeed,” Lucien echoed. “And you, Tam? How are the state of things around here?”

“Not much different I’m afraid. The people are mourning, as are we, and everybody wants more money that we don’t have to give them, nor are they entitled to.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. He didn’t know what it was like to live as a poor, lesser faerie in the Spring Court. He kept to himself behind the manicured hedges surrounding them manor to hide from the fact that the people out there were starving. Starving of life, starving of passion, starving of purpose. This court had nothing to offer them, no opportunities in education, arts or in a decent well-paying employment. I’d seen it first hand when I went to help out with repairs of the wreckage Hybern swept through so thoroughly we were still recovering from it seventy five years later. And on top of it all, they had to pay the bloody Tithe, which could cost them nearly their livelihoods. Time after time, Mama tried to convince him to stop such stupidities, that we had enough money, that the court could make more efforts to rework budgets and fund other areas that could certainly use more development, but her opinion was scoffed at by the council as well as my father. She was relentless at trying, they were relentless at denying her.

It seemed Lucien too remained quiet at the words. I knew that he was thinking the same thing I was. He’d seen what wonders a High Lord makes when he cares for his people, when he cares for his position. It was no secret my father would’ve gladly handed it off to his brothers if he had the chance. But they’d been slaughtered by the Night Court and he’d had no choice.

Lucien quickly changed the topic. “And what of my blessed-daughter’s wedding?”

Papa smiled, wiping his face on his napkin before speaking. “Weeks away. The court is very excited to participate in the festivities. By the way Nevanthi is describing it, we’ll be celebrating for days.”

My eyes snapped to Papa’s. “Weeks?”

“Yes, Keorah,” he replied before sipping from his steaming mug of tea. “You’ll be eighteen on Nynsar. We’ll likely be setting Nynsar as the date.”

My stomach dropped to the floor. I barely had any time left. Then Carrick would be here, living here, living with me, sleeping in my room… If he treated females so sourly now, I could only imagine what it would be like the night of the wedding. If he would demand we consummate the marriage. The thought turned over and over in my head, making me sicker by the second.

“That’s too soon,” I breathed.

His eyes hardened. “Enough of this.”

And that was that. Lucien kept his eyes trained on his plate.

Heat filling my cheeks at the dismissal, I mumbled, “Please excuse me,” before pushing away from the table and storming to my room.

I paced back and forth along the white carpet, gripping my head tightly, wanting to rip the hair right out of their roots in frustration. Then I began chewing at the skin around my nails nervously, a bad habit I’d never been able to shake that came up in my nervous moments, which were often. I hated that I was nothing more than a piece of real estate to him, I hated that Carrick was such an asshole, I hated that I had no say in it, that despite my power and position in this court I couldn’t even object to the proposal, and I hated that I was pacing here alone in my room instead of being able to run to Mama, have her pull me into her side and rub soothing circles on my back. She’d know exactly what to say to calm me down. She’d know exactly what to do for me to let out my anger. But she was gone.

And I missed her. The pain and fury and sadness swept through me so strongly I put a hand to my chest, hating the physical ache that tore through it and made me damn near clutch one of the four posters of my bed to steady myself. I needed to have a piece of her, to bring her back to me when she was so far away.

So I waited until the sound of metal clashing metal resonated from my open bedroom window, then snuck quietly down the hall to the east wing where Papa’s room was.

Behind a heavy wooden door was a vast, open space with a neatly organized desk, two long armoires and a king size four poster bed, similar to mine, draped in black transparent fabric that swayed softly in the breeze from the open window. The fabric had slash marks ripping through it, as well as the black banner hanging from his window, and the curtains donning every other window of the room. There were three doors, one that led to the attached bathroom, and two that led to Papa and Mama’s respective closets. Clothes were strewn on chairs and furniture as I tiptoed through, and I remember when I was a child and I got scared at night, how I would run to this room and Papa would pull me up onto the bed to snuggle between them. When the only thing that filled Papa’s heart was his love for his first-born, the moments we shared together as a family were sacred. A bond had developed between the three of us. It was when Papa figured out he wouldn’t be having a son, that it would be his first-born female to take his place someday…that was when the hatred began turning that love to poison. Pure, unadulterated venom.

Mama’s closet was wide enough to be its own living quarters. I hadn’t been in here since she died, and hadn’t been here for a while before that, either. Her loveliest, most luscious gowns were hung on display in a neat row, while other clothing and shoes were tucked away into drawers and armoires. Besides clothing, two large book cases sat on the right side of the room along with a corner nook which was home to a side table and long chaise. We’d spend hours there together, reading, talking, teaching me to write. But my favorite part, the part she rarely showed my father, was her music.

In the left hand corner of the room sat a harp. It faced the window, so she could look out on the vast expanse of flower-covered fields that surrounded the manor as she filled the space with the sound of her nimble fingers expertly plucking the strings. She’d taught me in secret when Papa wasn’t home. She’d learned from her mother, who’d learned from her mother before that, and so on. It was an instrument originate of the Dawn Court, the sound of it exquisite, delicate and light, yet achingly beautiful.

She’d taught me one song only weeks ago. And as I sat down upon the stool, quickly stretching my fingers and taking a quick, deep breath, I readied my hands and cleared my throat.

Everywhere I'm looking now

I'm surrounded by your embrace

Baby, I can see your halo

You know you're my saving grace

You're everything I need and more

It's written all over your face

Baby, I can feel your halo

Pray it won't fade away

She’d written the words and accompanying chords and arpeggios that accompanied it on thick stationary that held itself up against the small stand that stood before the window. I squinted at it as I tumbled through the rest of the song, letting my voice lilt and dance and fill that quiet, empty part of myself, the crevice that’d formed when my mother’s soul left her body.

I ran through the song a few times until my nerves took over and I scurried back to my room, trying my best to put everything back in order and make it seem as though nothing was disturbed. I couldn’t even bare to think of what Papa would do if he found me there, amongst her things, using the most sacred possession she’d ever owned. I shuddered at the thought.

It’d been hours since they left and the sun was hanging high in the afternoon sky like a silver clam against the thin veil of clouds. I’d made myself a home in the library after returning to my room to pick up a book I needed to store to its place. The servants brought me tea and biscuits to munch on as I tore through a story, though I barely touched the food, and when I went to take my second cup of tea, it was cold. With a glance in both directions to see nobody was watching, I focused my eyes on the surface of my cup until steam began rising once again, the smiled as I brought it to my lips and the burning liquid ran down my throat.

A bob of red hair coming closer to the manor’s front steps was the only beacon telling me that Papa and Lucien had returned from their hunt. Feeling achingly bored, I slammed my book shut and marched up to my room, pulling my newly washed fighting leathers on. I quickly braided my hair then stuck my sword in my belt, determined to practice in broad daylight for the first time in a while. And not against a bloody tree, but an actual person.

Tamlin and Lucien’s footstep echoed in the great hall along with their chuckles and murmurs of approval. I could see why when two guards were hauling a great sized buck down to the kitchens to be skinned and prepped for the next few meals. Papa was always happier after a good hunt, so maybe this task wouldn’t be as daunting as I supposed. Feeling a sudden rush of courage, I trotted down the stairs until I stood before them. Papa looked me up and down before a look of disapproval dawned on his face. My stomach lurched.

“What are you doing dressed like that?” He demanded. Lucien looked my up and down as well, and his frown of disapproval was aimed at Papa instead of me.

“I want to train,” I said quietly but forcefully. “With Lucien. As we used to. I need to get outside.”

“Then go for a ride,” Papa answered. “enough of this. You have no need for training.”

“Tam,” Lucien protested quietly.

“She has me, she has all the Cauldron-damned sentries money can buy, and soon she’ll have a strong, powerful husband as well to protect her. She doesn’t need to train.”

“It would’ve been useful last week.”

I didn’t even have time to process the words through my usual mental filter before they slipped out. Instantly, his claws were unleashed and his face contorted, rage filling his features. Instead of breathing hard, roiling with rage as he usually would, we was still. Preternaturally still.

“Go back upstairs,” he said almost so silently I didn’t hear it. “There will be no training. There will be no ride.”

“Tam,” Lucien said again, more forcefully, and Papa only snarled in response.

With panic and worry and fear turning over in my gut, I pivoted on my heel and scampered to my room as quickly as I could, and I felt so fucking sick of myself, sick that I was such a coward, sick that just the sight of him consumed in his rage sent me into hysterics. But nonetheless, I sped to my room and shut the door as quietly as I could behind me. Then began pacing so hard I practically ran tracks into the carpet and biting the skin around my nails until they were bloody and raw.

* * *

A knock sounded from my door and without my answer Lucien was there shutting the door just as quickly as he opened it.

“I don’t care what he says,” Lucien breathed, his eyes locking with mine across the room where I sat on my rocking chair. I had my knees bent to my chest and my arms wrapped around my body, pulling myself into a ball and being as small as I could possibly be. I barely huffed an answer before he continued.

“Let’s go,” he said. “You need to train. You need to keep your strength up. Temper be damned, I won’t see him box you up. Not like what he’s done before.”

I didn’t have the strength or balls to tell him that it was too late, that I was in far too deep, that the leash of control he held over me was so tight I was nearly dead. But Lucien held his hand out to me, a desperate flare to his eyes, and I knew he needed me to do this for his sake just as much as mine. He once told me of the guilt and shame that’d wrecked him for not stepping in to help Feyre during her time of desperation and hopelessness, to be there for her and help her when Papa had abandoned her. The look that was in his eyes was probably the same look he’d given Feyre all those years ago. So, hesitantly, I reached my hand to his.

We became wind and darkness and dust.

I knew the clearing well. It was about an hour’s walk from the manor to the east where the forest was at its thickest, which was good for concealing any sound or light that might be emanated during our practice. When Mama and I would train, I’d sometimes burn entire acres down. Then, with enough concentration, make those trees grow once again as though nothing had happened.

The gift of growth. Yet another to add to the list.

I blinked against the sun, and Lucien only tapped the pommel of my sword to shake me out of my stupor.

“Now, so far you’ve been all talk, blessed-daughter,” he taunted, a smirk overcoming his face. He unsheathed his sword, the metal letting a satisfying sigh against its sheath. “It’s time to back up that mouth with some action.”

I only returned his smirk, and with one swift motion, unsheathed Aurora. The smooth metal glinted in the sunlight. The reflection casted a beam of light about the size of a gold mark. And when I angled it just right, that light found itself right in Lucien’s good eye. Distracted, he held a hand up to block out the sudden beam of brightness, and that’s when I struck.

With a barked cry of surprise, he sidestepped, only barely escaping the sweep of my blade. Two more swings and he’d was backed into a tree.

“While you’ve been dealing with ‘internal affairs’,” I said the two words with as much fake sophistication I could muster, “some of us have been getting up off our asses and practicing.”

His roar of laughter filled the air before he shoved me off and we started once again.

* * *

We were both drenched in sweat.

“Again,” he said, and there was a hint of wonder there, wonder I’d only heard in one other person’s voice, wonder that warmed my heart because it meant that they did not balk from me.

Again, I conjured that living flame within me, that fire I felt whenever the suppressed anger would stoke its embers and burn and burn and burn through my flesh and skin and bones until I was encompassed by fire and heat and light. When I opened my eyes, flames were crackling around me. I beamed at the sight, of being encompassed by something so dangerous it could kill and make flesh fall off of bone, yet felt nothing as I was consumed by my power.

“I’ve never seen anything like you,” Lucien said quietly as I made my way back over to him. He laid beneath the willow tree, legs crossed at the ankles, hands cupping his head. I sat cross-legged beside him.

“Not even Feyre?” I wondered, wiping my forearm across my forehead to clear the sweat. My muscles ached from all the sparring we’d done, and I realized very quickly that despite the fact I had to rely on training alone in the dark at night, I’d still managed to keep myself in shape and practice the training that Lucien and Mama had drilled into me since childhood. Lucien had been impressed, but I was even more impressed with myself. I realized that the pleased, satisfying feeling within my chest was pride.

“Feyre was Made,” he explained, “and that gave her all seven lineages of the High Courts. But yours is natural. You were bred with these powers. Your bloodline was bred so you could have these powers. It just baffles me how it all happened, because it sure as hell wasn’t Tamlin’s lineage that created what I just saw.”

I snorted, then softly said, “It was Mama’s. Her lineage was a cross breed of many different courts. She tried explaining it to me, and I got so confused that she needed to draw a literal map for me to finally understand.” I smiled at the thought and kept my eyes trained on my hands wringing together in my lap. “Her mother’s side was strictly Dawn Court, one after the other ascending purely from their lands. Her name was Alba. She taught Mama the ways of their people and their traditions. They were Peregryn, the Dawn Court’s equivalent to the Night Court’s infamous Illyrian region, and she fell in love with my grandfather, Sadian. Now, his lineage spanned many, many courts. His father was of Autumn Court, a High Fae with a substantial amount of fire-wielding powers, and a temper that would put Tamlin’s to shame. But his mother was of Night Court. She was from the Hewn City, as you know it, the Court of Nightmares. A clipped Illyrian female that rebelled from her tribe at the unfairness of it all, and turned to evil to make amends with her pain. They were both awful, awful people. Absolutely vile.

“When they had my father, he was mistreated since his birth for his size. He was lanky, tall and skinny, unlike his younger brother that turned out strong and well-built. But what he lacked physically he made up with his magic. When his brother went to lay a hand on him one day, he snapped, and unwillingly misted him completely. Before facing the wrath of his parents, he winnowed away. Away from the Autumn Court, away from his family, and for some reason the Cauldron only knows, he winnowed to the Dawn Court. Right into the Peregryn mountains my mother resided on.

“He learned their ways. He learned their traditions. He was still a youngling then, not even reached maturity, and so their tribe accepted him openly if only because he hadn’t yet learned how to fly because nobody back home had bothered to teach him. He built up his strength, and soon enough he was soaring with the rest of them.

“When Sadian met Alba, they were fast friends. And when Alba had her first bleeding, the mating bond snapped into place for both of them. They had Mama, named her Lyra. Years ago when Papa was visiting the Dawn Court, they met and fell in love, got married, and now here I am. With all these powers.”

“Where is your family now?”

“Dead. Either they died in the war with Hybern or of other unknown battles or ailments.”

Lucien whistled lowly, but his head was bowed in respect. Then, it cocked to the side. “And what of Lyra’s wings?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never seen them. I never asked about them. When I did, she refused to answer.”

“And you? Your wings?”

“Feel all you want along my back, Luci,” I chuckled, “there’s nothing there.”

“So…weird,” he said, his lip curling back. “The Mother works in mysterious ways.”

I let out a sigh. “Indeed, she does.”

* * *

The sun was setting by the time we winnowed back to the manor. The moment we landed in my room, I wanted to back track, to disappear right completely, to fold myself between those pockets within the world and stay there forever.

Sitting at my desk was Papa, claws fully unleashed, head bowed in repressed anger. Once our feet touched the carpet, his eyes were instantly piercing through mine, and the snarl that laced his lips was unlike no other I’d ever seen.

“And where,” he said quietly with such fury it made my bones tremble, “have you two been?”

“It was my fault, Papa,” I said instantly, that desperation I despised leaking into my voice, “I forced Lucien to take me out. We went to a clearing to spar.”

“Keorah—” Lucien protested, panic overtaking his features—

“Leave, Lucien.”  Papa demanded. He stood from my chair, slowly padding towards me, and the storm that was brewing in his eyes was unlike anything I’d seen these past few days. This was the remnants of Mama’s death, of my defiance, of the past two weeks since his last unleashing that’d built up within him and writhed beneath his skin, ready to release itself to the nearest person. Which always happened to be me.

“No.” Lucien stammered, his panic eyes racing between Papa and I. “Tamlin, calm down. She just needed to get out of the house. To exercise.”

“This is none of your concern,” he growled with a snarl, fangs extending, “now leave.”

“I will not stand idly by again,” Luci stalked over to me, his voice shaking with desperation and suppressed rage, “I will not let you ruin somebody else—”

“Lucien,” I breathed, tears making my voice shake, “leave.”

“Keo—”

“Leave,” my guttered voice urged him, “get out, now.”

His eyes met mine and there was a silent plea that danced in his eyes with the silver that was lined there. To Tamlin, he murmured, “You’ve lost an ally in the Day Court, High Lord, and you’ve lost a friend.”

Then he was smoke and dust and light, gone in a heartbeat. Which left me alone with the feral beast before me. But I knew what to do.

I steeled my spine. I clenched my muscles. My breath quickened, hyperventilating with panic and terror and though I could leave in a heartbeat, though I could rip my father apart with half a thought, I couldn’t because then it would ruin all the lies that Mama and I built together, it would ruin the only thing she left behind for me: the facade. And I couldn’t take that away from her.

But there was that small part of me, that sick, twisted awful thing that lived within the dregs of my soul that twisted and writhed in delight at the brutality about to be unleashed upon me. The part of me that whispered in my ear: you deserve this.

“You ungrateful, spiteful girl.” Step after step, he backed me into the pale blush coloured wall, and I barked in pain when he slammed his forearm into my chest. He dragged me up until my feet were off the ground and we were eye to eye, and I was wheezing against the pressure against my chest.

“I gave you everything!” He roared, and behind him, the entire room began trembling with his wrath: jewelry went flying from my vanity, the four posters of my bed shaking and collapsing beneath the force of his magic. “I gave you food, shelter, power, a marriage, a life, and my love,” his breath puffed against my cheeks in hot bursts, and I clawed at the arm that held me back, “and this is how you repay me? Disobedience?”

I dropped my arms, rage and wrath and heat boiling through my veins and choked out, “You never…gave me…love.”

The answering roar was so loud I could barely hear the sound of my body slamming into my clothing chest. The impact spread throughout my stomach, knocking the breath out of me, and I stared up at my ceiling trying to catch my breath but didn’t quite have time until his face came into view once again. This time, when he raised his mighty claws, I did not balk.

And as they sliced across my body over and over, I did not fight back.