#acofas fan fiction

[wildlyglittering]

Illyrian Comfort Pie

I shared a post with some Christmas OTP prompts and asked if anyone wanted any for Nessian and @dustjacketmusings chose:

"Every country has different traditions for Christmas when it comes to food: trying something new when they have always eaten the same dishes for the holidays feels wrong at first. But when it’s cooked with love by their favourite person, it can sure taste like new traditions."

I don't know if this entirely fills the prompt and it's a lot rougher than I'd like but please enjoy!

Illyrian Comfort Pie

“Fuck you, Morrigan.” Nesta wiped her bare arm across her brow, spices and herbs transferring straight from her forehead onto her forearm, the little green and orange specks dusting her skin. “And fuck you Rhys come to that.”

The alarm on her phone screamed and Nesta whirled around in her small kitchen space. She’d put the device down earlier, stabbing at the timer with a flour covered fingertip whilst trying to shove her pie into the oven.

Where the hell had she put the damn thing?

On the counter stood an open cookbook entitled ‘Recipes from the Heartland of Illyria,’ a bottle of wine which doubled as a rolling pin and cooking motivation, and Nesta’s pathetic pastry attempts one, two, and three – each one slightly less gloopy than the last - until she finally made semi-successful attempt number four.

No phone.  

Nesta let out a noise halfway between a screech and a yell, her hands reaching either side of her head, ignoring whatever food stuff would end up in her hair.

“Shit!” At least she managed to remember what the phone alarm was for, swivelling behind her and yanking down the oven door, reaching for the mitts as she ducked a plume of smoke.

This one didn’t smell too bad. Nesta grabbed the pie and shoved it onto the trivet on the counter. The crust was a little singed on one side but, if she was careful, she’d be able to scrape that off.

Her movements jostled a reem of paper towels and as they fell to their side, they revealed the object of Nesta’s irritation. One phone.

“Thank you,” she muttered, her eyes drifting upwards to the ceiling as she turned off the alarm. Her thanks was to whatever cookery god was willing to listen and half to the smoke alarm not going off.

Three notifications waited for her. She took a breath in and hit open on the first one.

Hahaha. You agreed to what?! Even *I* run from making that dish. Pretty sure my *grandmother* ran from making that dish and she used to be a baker. Anyway, are you coming Thursday?

Emerie. Not providing the answers Nesta was so desperately hoping for, instead reminding Nesta she had yet to confirm drinks with her and Gwyn. Nesta typed out a quick response.

Yes to Thursday. Any chance your grandmother would attempt making this again if I paid her?

Sent. Nesta moved onto notification number two - Feyre.

Did you want me to see if the Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street will do a delivery? If you put it in the oven for a bit and burn the edges no one will know.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. The audacity of her sister to assume Nesta would need assistance and that she’d burn the pie. She had burnt the pie but still, the audacity.

She chose not to respond to that one and instead moved to the final notification. Cassian. Nesta took a deep breath and hit open.

Are you having as much fun as I am? Thinking I could do this as a side hustle.

There was a photo attached. Cassian had taken a selfie of himself standing in front of his obnoxiously large quartz kitchen counter. His dark hair was tied in a messy bun and he winked into the camera. He wore an apron Nesta had never seen before, deep red with candy cane striped ties and in Christmas style writing was embroidered ‘Kiss the Chef’ underneath a sprig of mistletoe.

Nesta squinted at the image, zooming past Cassian himself to the dishes behind him slightly out of frame. Was that a bowl of perfectly glazed parsnips? A tray of immaculate shortbreads?

She let out another noise and flung the phone back onto the counter so she could press her palms into her eyes. At this point she was covered in flour, meat juice, and soggy pastry pieces. Sweat gathered under her breasts and trickled down her back from the constant heat of the oven.

Nesta had been baking for over six hours now and though there was a small part of her which wanted to cry, she refused. Although she’d cursed Morrigan and Rhys the biggest ‘fuck you’ should have been delivered to Nesta herself.

She’d agreed to this when she should have declined, and now her pride would cause her to take a fall.

There had been five of them for drinks at Rita’s. Should have been two – only Nesta and Cassian for their quiet post theatre drinks, but Morrigan had been there with other friends who she swiftly abandoned as soon as she saw Cassian arrive.

Within minutes Morrigan had called Feyre and then before Nesta knew it, she was being squished into a booth, Cassian to her left and Feyre to her right, while she sipped her chilled white wine and counted the minutes until it was socially acceptable to say her goodbyes.

“Oh my god,” Morrigan had been saying. “That was the best dish I think I’d ever eaten. Do you remember it Rhys? The caramelised onions and gravy? What was it called again Cass?”

Cassian groaned and lolled his head back. “Illyrian Comfort Pie. My favourite.” He took a sip of his beer. “The Illyrian army did a version with off-cuts, almost ruined a perfect dish.”

“What’s this pie?” Feyre asked.

“Only the best pie in the world,” Cassian replied, his eyes misting over. “Imagine thick tender beef soaked in its own juices for hours, drowned in rich gravy and embedded with caramelised onions all under a cover of hot crust pastry.”

“You need a room, Cass?” Rhys laughed.

Cassian raised his middle finger to Rhys but joined him in the laughter.

“Cassian’s ex made the best version,” Morrigan said, her eyes sliding to Nesta. “Honestly no one would be able to top it. Bri wasn’t even Illyrian but it was spot on.” She took a long sip from her own glass of red wine. “I guess it doesn’t need to be your own tradition if you care enough to put in the effort.”

There was a heavy silence which would have lingered if not for the clearing of Feyre’s throat. “Who’s got who for Secret Santa?”

“Oh, I’m sure if Nesta put in the effort it would be just as good. Right?” Nesta looked up and met Rhys’ eyes as he ignored Feyre’s question. He smirked as he finished speaking, cocking his own beer bottle to his mouth.

Three more pairs of eyes looked her way. Nesta felt the slight, almost imperceptible tensing from Cassian but it was Feyre’s eyes which widened the most. There was a kick against Nesta’s shin under the table.

“I’m sure it would,” Nesta said, “if I had the time.”

“Cassian was telling us at the bar you’re now on vacation. All your gifts already wrapped and under the tree. Sounds like you have time.”

“Rhys...” Feyre began but Morrigan jumped in.

“I think that would be a lovely Christmas present for Cass. You can start your own tradition now you’re official. Illyrian food is so hearty.”

There was a part of Nesta which was too stubborn for her own good. Rhys’ smirk and Morrigan’s too-wide grin opposite her, the meeting of the cousin’s eyes like this was some in-joke they had just started. Feyre kept kicking her under the table, the jostling movement irritating Nesta further.

The flash of irritation was the problem. That, and the second glass of wine she’d drunk on a half empty stomach fuelling it. Her temperature rose and her skin prickled and instead of counting to twenty like she’d been practicing in her apartment Nesta opened her mouth.

“Fine,” she said, “this whole thing sounds great. One Illyrian Comfort Pie it is. When do you want it? Day after next?” Nesta quickly grabbed her glass to take a swig of her drink before she agreed to anything else.

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t want to meet his eyes, he was probably thinking how Nesta wasn’t implementing those ‘take a moment’ techniques. But his hand reached down to clasp her free one under the table, giving it a squeeze.

“You know what?” he said, looking at the group. “I want in on this. New traditions sound great. You’re making mine so how about yours. What’s the Archeron family dish of choice?” He asked this looking at Nesta but she still had the wine glass clamped to her lips. No longer drinking, just holding it there to feel the cold.

“Ooh,” Feyre said, clapping her hands and jiggling a little on her seat. “Roasted venison, but that’s quite tricky. We haven’t eaten that since Elain went vegetarian. We also had roast potatoes and honey glazed parsnips. Green beans. There was a cheesy mash and – oh, oh, the shortbread biscuits with a chocolate drizzle and the Prythian Pavlova. That’s Nesta’s favourite.”

Cassian laughed. “You want to take a breath there, Feyre?”

In response, Feyre’s stomach grumbled. “No, but I think I need some dinner.”

Aside from Nesta, the table laughed. Her wine glass was now empty and back on the table, her fingers toying with the stem, her mind too preoccupied with the thought of this pie and how the hell she’d even find the recipe.

As the chatter resumed, now about where Rhys and Feyre were going for dinner, Cassian’s weight shifted against her, his arm casually slinging around her shoulders.

“You ok?”

She glanced up at him, plastering a smile on her face. “Absolutely fine.”

“Hmm. Is that genuine fine or Nesta fine?”

Cassian was staring at her intently, concern swimming in his dark eyes. She knew if she immediately conceded he’d let it go, their friendship group knew Nesta wasn’t known for her domestic pursuits and Cassian could whip up a mean dish filled with flavour.

If she really wanted to, Nesta could cheat her way out of this. Getting Elain to bake the pie for her would have once been a consideration until Elain and Lucien’s diet change. No meat, no dairy, no sugar.

No flavour, Lucien had added, ignoring Elain’s frown.

Still, there was something else shining in Cassian’s eyes. Excitement. He was pleased she’d agreed, he relished competition in all its forms and he seemed eager to do this with her.

Nesta’s smile melted in a more genuine one and she squeezed his hand back. “Honestly, it’s good. Dare I say I may even find it fun?”

That was two days ago. Two long days.

“Ha!” She now shouted to her cramped kitchen. “Two drink Nesta has no concept of what the fuck fun is.”

Everything was a mess, even the edges of the cookbook were singed and Nesta cringed at the sight. Gwyn had managed to track down the edition on her behalf and Nesta hated to see a book suffer.

She looked at the clock. Two hours to go – plenty of time to shower, dress up and cart the pie to Cassian’s where they would have a grand unveiling in front of their friends. Her phone pinged and Nesta glanced down to see a reply from Emerie.

She says no chance.

“That’s not a problem,” Nesta said, wiping her hands on her thighs and staining her jeans further. “Because I now have a half decent pie.” She picked up the sharp knife. “Just scrape some of the black bits off and we are good to go.”

The knife slid through the crust and Nesta lifted some of the burnt pastry off using the blade. Odd. What was a deep and crispy brown on the surface seemed pale and soft underneath. Almost as though the pastry hadn’t fully cooked all the way through.

“It’s just this bit,” Nesta told herself. “I’m sure the rest is just fine.” But as she gently lifted the pie-top she could see the same pale colour underneath. Worse was the distinct lack of steam rising from the filling. “No, no, no, no. You’ve been in the oven for almost two hours.”

Grabbing a fork, she stuck it into the dish and scooped out a lump of meat. Juice, which looked far too oily for her liking, dripped off the prongs. Nesta placed the meat on the counter and cut through it with a knife.

She was met with resistance. The beef was still cold. A noise left her throat unbidden, something akin to a half sob. Nesta had researched the best meat cuts for the pie, she’d made sure to go to the best butcher and spent no less than forty-five minutes asking the rather exasperated man behind the counter questions from her list.

Her eyes flew up to the clock. Less than two hours to go. The time she’d budgeted to get ready and go to Cassian’s now shrivelled up. Just like my hopes for this pie.

She peered into the dish, the caramelized onions bobbing in the gravy like some apple bobbing contest gone wrong. “You’re mocking me,” she said and then groaned. They wouldn’t be the only ones.  

Nesta sank down onto her floor, ignoring the drip of gravy she sat on and put her head on her knees. She could imagine it all now; Feyre, Rhys, and Morrigan all dressed up, swanning around Cassian’s apartment waiting to be served their multiple courses.

Feyre’s eyes would go wide at Nesta’s attempt but she’d try and make Nesta feel better and yet somehow by trying, she’d only make Nesta feel worse. Cassian would likely tuck the monstrosity – if she even bothered bringing it – behind some extravaganza he’d made and perform an elaborate distraction.

Rhys and Morrigan would probably just snigger behind their drinks and tell her that ‘at least she tried.’ Patronising fuckers.

A tear dripped from the corner of her eye down her chin.

Nesta had tried. Had really tried. She’d memorised the recipe from back to front before she even started, she’d gone out into Velaris Market with a clipboard, she’d called Elain early for pastry tips ignoring Lucien joining the call to ask Nesta if she could describe what real food tasted like because the memory of butter was fading fast.

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, knowing she must look even more of a state than before. But wait – there was an option open to her. Hope flared yet.

Nesta grabbed her phone from the counter. What had Feyre said? The Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street might be able to deliver. If anyone served an Illyrian Comfort Pie, it would be them. She scrolled through her favourites for the number. Her and Cassian had eaten there so often, she practically had them on speed dial.

The phone answered after the second ring.

“Hello? Hi. I know it’s late notice but I’m in a bit of a bind and hoping you could help.”

She explained the situation, confirming that yes, her pie request was for that Cassian, the one with the tattoos and arms.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Nesta said, eyeing up the clock and tapping her foot against the cupboard. “I’ll ask him. Some kind of protein shake, I think. Yeah, it’s really glossy hair. I’ll ask him that too. Anyway – the pie?”

They were regretful. Truly. Nesta could almost feel their sorrow down the phone. They didn’t have any pies pre-baked and they wouldn’t have one ready for the time she needed it by. They offered Nesta and Cassian a discount on their next visit and Nesta thanked them before hanging up.

“Well. Shit.”

Her eyes itched and she wanted to cry again but this wasn’t the Archeron way. She shook her shoulders and cleared her throat. There would be no pie but Nesta would be damned if she turned up without bringing anything and looking like a chaotic mess.

The kitchen horror show was a problem for future her, but in less than an hour, she had showered, dressed herself in her most confidence boosting little black dress and practiced her affirmations in front of the hallway mirror.

“You are a calm, confident, capable woman. You did not achieve the pie. Others have probably not achieved the pie. You have achieved other things. Like your best friends, two degrees, and this awesome looking pavlova.”

Nesta held the covered bowl to the mirror as though to show her reflection the cream and meringue evidence. Her lipstick red smile shook a little but the taxi driver was calling to say he was downstairs so there was no time for doubt to creep in.

On a usual night it took too long to get to Cassian’s. The drive was less than fifteen minutes from one end of the small city where Nesta lived to Cassian’s address and every second stretched out painfully slow.

Tonight, it was as though all roads had cleared especially for her just to say ‘look, you can get to your ritual humiliation even earlier.’

“It’s not like I’ve ever seen Rhys or Morrigan cook,” she mumbled to herself as she exited the cab and entered Cassian’s building. The porter nodded and buzzed her in and then Nesta was counting the too-quick numbers on the elevator.

Cassian’s apartment was one of two at the top of the building and though the sound-proofing was excellent, which they could attest to personally, Nesta was surprised at the distinct lack of any festivities sounding from behind his door when she approached.

He answered after one knock, hair freshly washed and dried. His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons were undone, swathes of black swirling tattoos on display.

Cassian let out a low whistle and grinned like a wolf when he saw her. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite lady, in my favourite dress of hers, with my favourite dish.”

He leant in to kiss her and Nesta winced at the mention of food. Cassian’s lips met hers in a chaste kiss but he must have noticed her response as he was frowning when he pulled away.

“Come in,” he said with a light tone. “Let me take that.” He held his hands out for the bowl she was carrying but she clutched it tighter to her body.

“That’s ok, let me find a space to put it.”

“Sure.”

Nesta stepped further into the apartment. Everything was chrome, quartz, or wood but Cassian couldn’t help himself when it came to Christmas. What was once an interior designers dream for a ‘bachelor living’ magazine spread was now a grotto fit for the dreams of any eight-year-old girl.

A smile lifted the corner of her lips. She’d never begrudge him this. Foster care and ten endless churn of care homes hadn’t left Cassian with any sense of home and the orphanage tried their best but lacked the funds.

Cassian had told her that his best Christmas eventually came in the Illyrian military and all that involved was eating dry turkey from paper plates and reading stupid jokes from cheap crackers. But he was with people that felt like family and that’s what mattered the most.

Now, garlands hung from the oversized windows, a tree larger than Cassian himself stood by the fireplace decked with shining ornaments. A range of presents piled up under the tree to the point where they spilled across his floor.

Stockings on the mantel, rugs everywhere, gingerbread houses which increased in number each time Nesta was over. Candles on every surface.

“Wine?” Cassian asked as Nesta slid the bowl onto his counter. She nodded while taking a breath in. Ham and apricot, honey, a distinct scent of rich chocolate. All the food laid out but under coverings to keep them fresh.

Her stomach stank. She’d failed him so miserably.

Her face must have painted a picture because Cassian moved beside her. “Hey, what’s up.” His fingers tucked under her chin, tilting her face to his. Those deep eyes of his, again swimming in concern.

She hoped the best Christmas present she could get him was honesty.

“I fucked it.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“The pie, I completely fucked it up.”

His confused blank expression immediately melted and he laughed, his head thrown back and the column of his throat on display. His face in laughter was a delight, he was young and happy and in love with life. “Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“There is no pie. I botched it.”

He looked down at her, his expression softening, his smile gentle. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. That pie is an art only the devil knows how to get right. Did you know Emerie’s grandmother won’t even make one and she won Illyrian baker of the year for fifteen years?”

Nesta coughed and reached for the wine poured out for her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Cassian moved round the counter to Nesta’s dish. “So, what did you bring?”

“The only thing that didn’t involve my oven. The meringue isn’t even home-made. I’m such a sellout.”

He peeked under the covering and exhaled. “Oh, thank the Mother.” He stepped back, his hand over his heart. “I fucked it.”

Now, Nesta blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“The meringue for the Prythian Pavlova. It was the one thing I wanted to get perfect but do you know how hard meringue is to make? I couldn’t even make it to the store.”

He shook his head, grabbing his own glass of wine. “I even rang Elain to ask her for tips but Lucien answered and begged me to tell him in great detail how the filo wrapped parcels were smelling. He said, and I quote ‘go low and take your time’. I’m not sure how comfortable I am having them over for New Year.”

Nesta laughed, shaking her own head, glancing around the apartment. It had taken her long enough but something finally dawned on her. “Am I early? When are the others arriving?”

Cassian paused, swirling his glass. “Yeah, about that... I thought ‘fuck ‘em.’”

Nesta’s eyes bulged. “I think I’m missing something.”

Cassian put his glass down and leant back against the far counter.

“You know Bri’s pie wasn’t all that great. Mor was being...” he trailed off, scratching his eyebrow the way he did when he was uncomfortable. “Mor was being difficult and it was unfair. Rhys too. But I liked the idea of you and I doing our own holiday tradition so I guess I thought I’d see where we ended up.”

He gestured to his apartment and the dishes before them. “So, we ended up here. Just you and I, a bottle of wine, lots of delicious food and a very comfy rug we’re fucking on after dinner.”

“Is that right?” Nesta said, putting her glass down. She walked over to him. “Have you seen what you’ve made? We are not fucking after dinner.” She placed her hand on his chest, his heart beating a rhythm against her palm as she ignored his disappointed face. “We’re fucking before dinner.”

That wolf grin was back on his face and he leant forward to kiss her but Nesta stopped him. “I feel bad, everything here is an Archeron dish. You didn’t get your pie.”

“Oh, I’ll get to eat my pie.”

“Cassian!”

He laughed again, his broad arms wrapping around her body. “The fact that you tried means everything. I promise. This is a great start to our forever tradition.”

Nesta looked up at him; the hours of failed baking, the constant smoke alarms, the mess she had to clear up tomorrow. Worth it. All of it. “Forever you say?”

“Forever.”

[somewhere-in-the-rain]

I was about to make a post asking if people thought authors wrote fan fiction for their own books, and then I remembered that ACOFAS and ACOSF existed and thought yes, yes they do.

[lainalit]

The fact that I thought I'm reading a silly little book when I read acotar but suddenly things get so serious in acomaf and then we go to acowar we are back with silly goofy shit and by the time we get to acofas we are in some reality TV timeline and when acosf comes around Sarah gave up and thought screw it I write fan fiction🥴

[lia-land]

A Court of Silver Flames

3/5 stars

Spoilers for A Court of Silver Flames*

How this book made it past an editor is beyond me.

I read a review where someone said that this book felt like reading smut about a cousin and I couldn’t agree more. I can’t connect with Nesta. She will always just be Feyre’s sister to me and not a main character as she was supposed to be in this book. I feel like we were set up to dislike her in the earlier books and that dislike was set in stone for me.

This was kind of like a long fan fiction and had the same vibe as A Court of Frost anf Starlight because there wasn’t a strong plot and it read like A Court of Nesta and Friends. What little plot exists was mainly there to set up for the sex scenes and Nesta’s redemption arc. When a book is over 600 pages, I expect a strong plot, not for things to conveniently happen solely for the purpose of Nesta and Cassian having sex and for her and Rhys to salvage their relationship. The pregnancy plot came across as nothing more than an excuse for Nesta to come in and save the day so that she can redeem herself. I also think we should have seen the pregnancy through Feyre and Rhys, rather than having it happen in a book where they are side characters. Especially since it involved the death pact backfiring. I have many issues with the death pact regardless and it was a plot point that was set up for failure, especially since it was thrown into the end of ACOWAR. In fairness, we did get a bonus chapter of them finding out she’s pregnant, but after three books of their relationship developing, this seemed like a big thing to leave out. Perhaps we’ll get a novella of it one day. Although, it doesn’t seem like Feyre was getting up to much in this book while she was pregnant, so maybe it would have been somewhat uneventful to read about her pregnancy from her POV. Then again, this book is over 600 pages of nothing particularly eventful, so it wouldn’t be out of the question.

As many other reviews have said, it makes little sense that Cassian’s guts were falling out in ACOWAR and he lived, but C-sections do not exist. As I said before, a lot of things were just too convenient for the ‘plot’ so that Rhys and Nesta could have an excuse to mend the relationship. And the whole thing at the end where Nesta quickly throws in that she changed her hips as well so that she can bear a winged baby?? That’s not the sort of execution I’d expect from an author who has published multiple series and has been writing for years. 

The stairs specifically don’t make sense because if Nesta is so tired from going down them, how does she make it back up the stairs every time? Surely going up is more effort than going down. This is a huge plot hole and I don’t understand how not one person picked up on it before the book was published. It’s stated that she is completely drained and doesn’t stop until the can’t take another step down, so it’s not like she’s strategically conserving enough energy to go back up. There’s one occasion where she goes down more than halfway, and then gets too tired so she goes back. Like… would it not have been easier to go down when you’re already halfway there… This bothered me the most out of everything else. The House of Wind in general is a plot hole because as far as I can recall, it’s never stated that there is another way to get in other than flying. So my question is why and how would they use it for their ‘official’ meetings and parties? Do Rhys and co go back and forth to fly all these people in? Especially during those weekly meetings Rhys and Feyre do with the citizens that was mentioned in ACOFAS, because I doubt everyone would be willing or able to go up those 10,000 steps while dressed for a party or meeting.

Also, how did Rhys and Feyre build the River House so quick? Hasn't it only been like 8 months or so since Rhys gifted her the land in ACOFAS? Has the rest of Velaris been rebuilt with this same speed since the Hybern attack? Are there still Velaris citizens living on the outskirts with their houses lying in rubble while their High Lord and High Lady built their fourth house (on the biggest plot in the city, I should add)? Let’s not forget Rhys only purchased the land because the house previously on it was ruined in the attack and the owner didn't want to rebuild. The timing is just in poor taste.

Then there’s the Valkyrie. How do Gywn and Emerie win the Rite after being dragged into it unprepared with a few months of training when we’ve been told multiple times that it is nearly impossible? Even for Illyrians who have trained their whole lives. I could maybe justify it by how it was implied that the Valkyrie had specific training methods and skills, but were those skills really that much more advanced than those of the Illyrian males? So much so that Gywn and Emerie won with only a few months of training? If so, this should have been made more clear, but I’d still find it unrealistic that said skills are so advanced that one could win the Rite with only a few months of training. If Nesta alone had won, I could maybe justify it and think about how her powers made her an exception.

It also didn’t fully sit right with me that Feyre essentially locked Nesta up in the House of Wind after what Tamlin did to her. I know it’s not the exact same situation, but it felt close enough. Even if it was truly and completely the last resort, which it seemed like it was, Feyre didn’t seem very bothered by the decision. I say this specifically because of the scene after the first meeting with Nesta, when Rhys has sent all the servants away so him and Feyre can have sex. Read the room. I get that they were both extra horny from the pregnancy, but I don’t think that scene was necessary. It felt more like SJM just being like 'don't worry! Your favorite couple from the original trilogy are still having lots of sex!' Although, I forget this is the same couple that got it on to ‘the distant cries of the injured and dying' in ACOWAR, so what do I know? At least their characters are consistent in that sense. Is there a situation they won’t fuck in? Now I’m curious about what the limit is for them to say ‘no, it’s inappropriate for us to fuck right now.’

The original trilogy made me want to read slower because I did not want the pages to end and I could read about that story forever. With this book, I ended up listening to the audiobook for 2/3 because I wanted to get it over with because I’d like to know what happens to the characters. I really only got through it because I wanted to read about Feyre and Rhys, but even they were out of character and not enjoyable. Feyre often seemed like she’d aged 30 years in the way she spoke and acted. Being High Lady and the things she went through would undoubtedly have made her more mature, but it’s only been like a year. It would have made far more sense if this book was set 50 or 100 years after the events of the last book. This didn’t feel at all like the badass and sometimes reckless Feyre who escaped the weaver, had water wolves, killed the Attor, and turned the Spring Court on each other—all of which happened approximately under two years before this book.

I would happily pretend that this book does not exist if SJM one day asked for it to be ignored so that certain plot lines could be rewritten. I didn’t like the direction of any character in this and it has not left me excited for the upcoming books in this series. In this case, I think the characters would have benefitted from having their story end in ACOWAR.

I did enjoy the dance scene between Eris and Nesta and I’m excited to read more about Eris and his side of the story. I don’t care much for Mor, though I wish Lucien made more appearances in this book.

Azriel Bonus chapter: Angry Rhys and the whole “My office. Now” is hot, but he was far too harsh with Azriel. He literally told him to go to a brothel if he’s that desperate for sex. I can see where Rhys was coming from, but he straight up threatened Azriel. Not sure how I feel about that, but maybe some justification from Rhy’s POV will help in the future. It's okay for Rhys to almost cause a war over Feyre, but Cauldron forbid Azriel even entertains the idea.

I find the Evil Rhys theory entertaining and this book made me happy in that regard, but nothing else.

The only thing this book somewhat attempted to do well is set up for another book in a different SJM series, which I will not delve into due to spoilers, but iykyk.

2.5 stars, really, but 3 because Azriel called Cassian out for the dining room. In saying all of this, I will absolutely be reading any upcoming books in this series because I love the characters and I’m invested in their stories, but this book was frustrating and slow.

[little-fierling]

Whats your ship? gwynriel/elucien 🥰

When was the moment you shipped them?

What are your top 3 reasons why you ship them?

What is one thing you'd love to see in their book?

Elucien! ☀️🦊😸🌷

I got obsessed with Lucien the moment he appeared on page. Him whispering that Elain is his Mate at the end of ACOMAF was all it took. I couldn’t get to ACOWAR quick enough. Reading ACOFAS and ACOSF was a bit rough for my elucien heart, and we are still waiting. That’s why I turned to fan fiction, and got involved in the fandom.

I like both Lucien and Elain as characters, and I think they’ll be very good for each other. They can help each other be the best version of themselves. Elain can help Lucien heal and take control of his life. I think he needs a true home more than anything, and Elain can be that for him. Lucien on the other hand will believe in Elain and won’t coddle her like others do. He can show her the world, and they can be emissaries together. Elain used to be a socialite, and Lucien can make friends anywhere he goes. There will be lots of tension, growth and healing, and of course we need to see what that talk about fire in their veins means. 😏

First thing that came to my mind was ”Beron dead”. 🤣 But seriously, that would solve so many problems and I doubt Lucien can truly be free and happy before Beron is gone. Lucien’s real father wouldn’t need to be a secret anymore, his mother would be free and they could all live in Day Court. Elain and Lucien don’t fit in the Night Court, and I don’t see them living in Spring for long.

[starsreminisce]

tbh even E/riels are disappointed with acosf but they don't say it to others although they talk about it among themselves lol I used to be one so I should know. acosf was Nesta's books everyone expected to see Elain more bc she was close to her and they also heard about the training so they were 100% sure they were going to see E/riel training scenes (the very one they accuse Gwynriel for being boring and they don't want Nessian 2.0 lmao) so when they didn't get that they started commenting on Gwynriel post of how they wanted Elain instead of Gwyn in those scenes (specially the shadows dancing around Gwyn and the private dagger lesson) and that's when the toxicity started and I knew this place was not for me anymore. even tho I used to be a bypass in the fandom and not actually fixated on the books I saw enough threats and bullying, it was bad. I came back on acotar fandom this summer after a very long time and even now the reek of jealousy from that side of the fandom is recognizable. the pure ignorance and delusion is quite amusing, they know E/riel won't happen but they have to make it look like they don't so their years of being obsessed with a fictional ship and bulling other fans, the author and publisher won't got to waist yk. bc when I read acosf for the first time I knew Gwynriel is endgame and even before that I wasn't a huge E/riel fan but I wanted to tolerate them for the possibility of them happening and not Elucien (after the end of acofas we weren't sure who would be endgame and I was quite sad bc I was more incline toward Elain and Lucien)

anyway if they were so confidence in their ship they wouldn't do none of that and let others enjoy their time being in the fandom.

Oop that’s some piping hot tea right there.

Honestly, why couldn't they just be as chill as Azris shippers?

Azris shippers understand that the likelihood of their ship is slim, but they can manifest and hope for the best. Through Love, all is possible!

Yes, it's quite possible! I can passionately support Gwynriel and Azris in tandem. E/riels can readily accept that Elucien is the endgame couple while finding delight in the hints and potentials of E/riel until the next book's release when perspectives may change. Although there may still be Neris shippers out there, I haven't observed any significant disrespect directed toward Nessian. It's possible that I might not be searching thoroughly, but it's heartening that it's not as prevalent as the mainstream rivalry between Elucien and Gwynriel vs. E/riel.

I perceived ACOSAF as a retcon of Elucien, as Elain's abrupt shift from suggesting Lucien move to Velaris to ignoring him lacked a clear explanation of their deteriorating relationship. More on this later.

I get why E/riel shippers held onto hope after ACOSAF, even though I viewed their connection as more platonic. Azriel's deep love for Mor was abundantly clear in the series, and the Hybern scene hinted at the endgame couples, particularly Moriel, which was reinforced by SJM's deleted Pinterest.

In my view, Gwyn embodies a blend of Mor and Elain, sharing Mor's trauma, the ability to fit in with "one of the boys," a girl-next-door quality, and an interest in combat, while also displaying Elain's quiet and reserved nature.

On a more serious note, it's entirely possible to appreciate a ship without resorting to belittling anyone, whether it's a character without proper canon context or an actual person. Doubling down and resorting to insults becomes even more embarrassing. Perhaps this is due to a reluctance to acknowledge the scarcity of E/riel content to draw from.

Ironically, my anti-E/riel posts stem from my restraint in responding to most of their takes but they aren't inclined to listen, and I lack a suitable outlet to release my frustrations.

Additionally, I take issue with the way many books romanticize red flags as desirable relationship traits. It's crucial to recognize that Azriel's hesitancy to be his true self around Elain is an unhealthy dynamic, and it's not Elain's responsibility to change that. When someone acknowledges their actions as a mistake, it's wise to believe them and move on. This situation is reminiscent of the problematic "Twin Flame" concept, which often excuses negative behavior under the guise of a deeper connection.

But, thats why I don't like E/riel in a nutshell.

Gwyn and Lucien are fictional characters written to have a lot of trauma in their backstories. While they are not real, I can easily consider what you say about them as a reflection of what you truly believe to real people who have gone through something similar.

[merymoonbeam]

On SJM website she says none of the ships are determined until she writes the books and she likes to see where these characters take her.

Do you think this is truth, or, of fuel on the shipwar fire?

Do you think SJM will give us some more insight into Elain in CC3? Or will she switch things up in that book. We didn’t see Elain at the townhouse but everyone except Mor was there..

hello anon. this is gonna be a little long...

I think that part in her website is to just make people see "I will write whatever I want" point. Because sarah is not an author that will cater to fans. she just writes whatever she wants. but at the same time she goes with her gut and what her characters tell her but these are not last minute changes. let's give examples:

Rowan and Aelin...sarah was writing the book in a fiction website and in that version dorian and aelin were endgame but she was writing her own fanfic on the side for aelin and rowan so when she got the publishing deal she made aelin and rowan endgame bc as you can see they were what the characters were telling her. but at the same time you can see that it is not a last minute change. she knew from the time she started publishing(and rewriting) the series that rowan would be endgame and made them work and rowan came in the third book and rest is... we all know.

another couple is Cassian and Nesta...nesta was supposed to be with lucien but when sarah saw the nessian potential she went with them. but as you can see this is happened from the second book and on. she didn't change them last minute. she saw the potential, started building them up from acomaf and then finally we got their book with acosf. so that is 4 books(acomaf, acowar, acofas, acosf)

what I'm trying to say is that she doesn't do last minute changes. they usually happen in the planning stages of the book or so early on that she has the time to build them up. I hope it made sense.

about thatwebsite thing fueling the shipwar...this of course fuels the ship war bc everybody wants to see their ship as endgame and people have this idea in their head that sarah is this last minute change author and could do anything with the couples when that is not the case as I explained. so it gives hope to people to see their ship as endgame and keep the people talking about the books.

about cc...sarah'd said there were going to be things that would build up over the crossover that will affect acotar books(at least I remember like that) and the series could be read own their own. So I do think that we will see elain and get more info in cc about her bc there are so many connection. I actually made posts about it if you wanna read it. in this post I talked about how elain might have seen bryce in a vision. and in this one I talked about the connection between seers and mystics from cc. also we have a huge connection with gwydion/starsword-TT and bryce-Elain. there are so many other posts how is elain is connected tbh but I can't link them all.

So I see Elain making an appearance.

and no I don't see her switching up things at all. like for the last couple of years people see writing as this "what will shock the reader" type of thing. but it is not that at all. you have to build things up slowly and make the people understand things. With this crossover it affects two series even though they can be read separately. Sarah has to connect things in a way that will make sense to the world and the reader and they can be read separately. this is hard work. so her changing the couple of the next acotar book is out of the question.

Like imagine changing the tog couples from let's say elide and lorcan to elide and manon. you would have to write a totally different book(s). you have to plot. you have to connect the plot points to make them come all together at the end. so sarah changing the next couple in acotar world would mean she has to find new ways to connect things in a way that would make sense to both series. and at the same time try to make the series stand own their own without reading the other series. This is not possible rn. and as I said you have to build up stuff in writing. sarah has been building up this crossover for 4 books rn (cc1-cc2-acofas-acosf...if you take all the acotar book it is more than 4 books). Changing the couple would mean she has to throw all of those build up to trash. that's about it.

and for mor...idk why she wasn't present but I hope sarah has a good way to work her plot bc so far I'm not happy how she is handling her plotline.

that's about it

[theladyofdeath]

Nesta wasn't sick in acotar, her depression starts in acofas. She was a horrible person the entire trilogy for nothing, and justifying behavior based on psychiatrist illness is manipulation. Nesta's story is simply poorly developed and doesn't make sense when you put it all together. It's obvious that people will not like Nesta, at most her fans just project themselves too much on a poorly developed fictional character.

I just poured my heart out as to why I love a certain character based on my own story. Keep your opinions to yourself and out of my ask box.

[mellifluousdazzlingeloquence]

Disclaimer: This is not a fan fiction, just a discussion of Tamlin as a fictional character as written by the author. There is no need for any harsh comments. In no away do I endorse anger issues or Tamlin’s behaviour in ACOMAF for that matter. I am not a Pro-Tamlin neither am I Anti-Tamlin. But I do think there is a potential for a great story there and if the author wants she can easily turn the tide in favour of Tamlin (like Nesta).

I had to share this. Please refrain from any negativity. This is beautifully written and made me cry( many things make me cry, especially when I read).

And yes I think Tamlin deserves (and will have) redemption. Because of this scene from ACOFAS.

This is very sad. There are characters in the series, good characters, that have not realised their mistakes and have caused far worse damage.

But, Tamlin knows that he made a mistake, and wants forgiveness.

[rayonfrozenwings]

Goodnight Cassian

Waiting in the Freezing Dark Chapter 2: Goodnight Cassian

A Nessian Fan Fiction: Characters all belong to Sarah J Maas and her book series A Court of Thorns and Roses. This Story takes place after ACOFAS and after Chapter 1: What Box sweetheart?  Multiple POV’s, taking place in the Illyrian camp Windhaven, Nesta and Cassian are living together at the behest of the high lord and lady of the night court.  

Word Count: 2173

Tagging by request or interest from the first chapter: @fucking-winchester-trash, @rhysanoodle, @velarxs, @urbisie, @howtotameyourillyrian, @illyrianbeauty, @lady-katkat,@photofeesh, @study-read-repeat @verifiefangirl​, @queen-archeron,@bookofmirth, @aqueentorattlestars, @acoaas @nephelle--warrior-scribe @librarian-of-velaris @anoverstuffedkindle, @miladyaelin, 

(Just let me know if you wish to be added/removed from this list - I mucked it up, so I hope I managed to get everyone who wanted to be tagged).

Also - because you are all so lovely, i’ll try to release the next chapter tomorrow. 

Nesta

Nesta closed the bedroom door behind her, threw the furs on the bed and lit the lamp readying herself for bed. The room was sparse, a few pillows on the small bed and an aged oak dresser on the opposite wall. It was a lot nicer than her slum in Velaris and more private than the cottage she shared with her family. At least she had her own room here. New illyrian leathers lay draped on her reading chair, yet to be used, given to her when she left Velaris. Walking over to them she pushed them aside and ran her long fingers over the elegant embossed fabric of the chair, feeling the intricate swirls in the pale grey and blue fabric. Eyes shuttered as she moved her hand over the dark wood carvings near the top of the chair. It was the most comfortable piece of furniture she had ever owned. She used to spend hours reading in it at the house of wind. Nesta was unsure who had orchestrated events to make this particular piece of furniture appear here; but she was grateful.

Not that the chair mattered, she hadn’t had much time for reading recently. Nesta had managed to find tasks to occupy her time in Windhaven that were independent from the high lord and lady’s dealings. They may have told her where to live but she would be damned if they would tell her how to live. Being apart from her sisters and that interfering circle of Rhysand’s had been the best thing for Nesta. The fresh air and solitude was calming to her soul. She was learning to appreciate the small happy moments that she and her sisters had managed to enjoy. Even managing to appreciate the skill her father needed to create his wooden creations. That was another reason she loved her reading chair. It had carvings all along its arms and back. Sailing ships fighting sea serpents and other faerie beasts. It reminded her of her papa. Nesta would never admit it to anyone. It was simply the most comfortable chair to spend hours reading in and matched her aesthetic - with enough room to curl up and fall asleep if she needed to.

Nesta was learning her place in the illyrian camp and had found a close friend with Emerie, a local merchant. A lot of her daily tasks were lonely and so she would often seek Emerie out to help without actually helping. 

Because Emerie refused help. 

Nesta felt that Emerie was closer to her than her sisters, so much like herself, they understood each other without speaking. She would never tell Emerie that though, better to leave it unspoken. Nesta didn’t hate her sisters, they just never really understood her or even tried to understand her. Elain seemed to scrape the surface, finding out things Nesta liked but never deeper, she never wanted to know how Nesta truly felt. Feyre was a different beast she was in her own world, always trying to save everyone, even when they didn’t want to be saved, much like her interfering high lord. At least Cassian had let her get on with her life. An inconvenience as a housemate but not an interfering busy body like the others.

Nesta’s mood was turning, all this reminiscing pulling her back into the shadows she had worked so hard to come out of. She grabbed her favourite book off the chair where she had left it. A romance novel about a handsome King who melted the heart of a coldblooded witch, it was possibly the fifth time she had read it since finding it in the house of wind. 

It was so late and she felt like she had been pulled left and right while talking with Cassian about his grief and her own. It wasn’t something she was mentally prepared for. A few chapters to immerse herself in another world would brighten her mood. It always did. Lifting the furs to the side, she sat down on her cozy bed and started removing her boots, lifting her legs up and under the covers. It was supposed to be early spring but you wouldn’t know it in these mountains. The more furs the better as far as she was concerned.

Cassian

Cassian sat outside watching her window and waiting for her lamp to go out. Hoping she really was going to sleep - avoiding mischief. But two patrols had passed now and that glow from the window still fell on the ground outside, Cassian knew she wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.

Tonight had opened up some old wounds. He hadn't really talked about his mother to many people and although everything he said was true, he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with the consequences of his words. That winter chill was still in the air and since Nesta had taken all the furs - he was left with one measly blanket.

The first patrol had made their way back, two young illyrian males grinning and shoving each other, engrossed in some story the older of the pair appeared to be telling. Cassian smiled and dropped the blanket, spread his wings and launched himself into the sky. He took in an aerial view of the camp and houses below. He’d always been protective. Two patrols in the camp should be enough, but the unrest lately had started invading everyday life. Something he needed to deal with and the main reason he had been asked to stay in Windhaven by Rhys.

Windhaven was one of the closer camps to Velaris, just incase he was called back for security. It seemed like a battle on two fronts with the unrest in the camps and Velaris opening its borders, letting Keir and his ilk in. Windhaven was close enough to both but also one of the safer camps for Nesta to be in. A perfect compromise. He knew Nesta resented being sent here at the start, but she was warming, part of her fire was back. This place was good for her even if she never admitted it to anyone.

The camp was quiet below. A few fires around the perimeter, and tents with a soft glows emanating but very few illyrians walking around or getting into trouble. The small settlement up the road held his home and a few other wooden buildings for trade. Located just far enough from the camp to be out of the way but close enough to still be protected by their patrols at night.

Cassian landed near Emerie’s shop, located at the other end of the street to his own cottage. Cassian liked to keep his distance to protect her reputation - He couldn’t have people talking about them in the same breath. Cassian told himself he was stopping just to check that everything was alright. No lights shon from her windows. The street only illuminated by the stars above. He hoped she was asleep. Emerie had been a blessing to Cassian, someone who didn’t mind that he was an illyrian born bastard, and who took his money without making a fuss. She was also someone who seemed to understand Nesta as much as he did - if not more so.

Cassian wrapped his wings around himself and started walking back to the house. It was a small wooden home with two bedrooms; a large communal room with a kitchen and lounge with dining room. Not too different from the house he grew up in with Rhysand’s mother, Rhys and Az. The house was modest, with few adornments but he didn’t need much from a house to be content. It was more than he ever imagined as a boy and he was always grateful for where he was. A comfortable bed and a room large enough so he could spread his wings if needed - it was more than enough.

Even though he was often away because of his duties Nesta had chosen to take the slightly smaller of the two rooms. She pushed her bed hard against the wall, making it appear smaller than it was. He hadn’t heard her bring anyone home while he was staying and the bed being pushed against the wall did make him smile because any illyrian male would have a hard time pleasuring her with his wings banging against the wall.

His smile grew as the vision of a naked illyrian falling off her bed came uninvited. Nesta standing furious and naked. He chuckled to himself. He was sure she hadn’t been with anyone, the only scents in their house were hers and his own.

They weren’t currently anything to each other but Cassian couldn't get her out of his mind. Tonight he had thought that she might have wanted to kiss him and instead she taunted him and walked away. 

A grin came to his face, she was returning to that girl he met at her manor - minus the knee.

That woman with fire in her veins.

Cassian could see her making her way back to the realm of the living, back to him, slowly. She had been through a lot, turning into a high fae, stealing from the cauldron, throwing her body over his on the battlefield - to save him. The death of her father by the king of Hybern. Not even including the recent months she had spent pushing away her family,  drinking and bedding every male she could find.

There were so many open wounds in her life.

The smile disappeared from his face, this was why there was distance. She had made her decisions in Velaris and Cassian needed to let her live her life and make her own mistakes. Just because they were living in the same house did not mean Nesta would give him the time of day. He neared the house and he looked to the ground ahead.

The light was still pooling on the ground outside her window, he sighed, so he would have to talk to her tonight after all.   

The wooden steps at the front of the house creaked under Cassian’s weight as he walked up them. He released a breath, it had been a few hours since their intimate moment under the stars but he really didn’t want to talk to her yet. Pushing open the door he walked into the dark lounge room. She had closed her door and the light peeked through underneath.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to talk to her after all.

Cassian creeped across the old floorboards trying desperately not to make any sound. Walking past her door he heard something usually reserved for Azriel. You would think the shadowsinger would be as quiet sleeping as he was awake but his snoring was as loud as a giant frosted bear from the winter court. The smile on Cassian’s face grew wider until he started to laugh.

Shit! Shit! He couldn’t let Nes hear him. 

Somehow the thought of Nesta snoring seemed so out of place that he couldn’t contain himself.  

Damn it!

Her light was still on.

She was asleep.

Cassian was holding his side he tried to calm down, realising he was going to have to sneak into her room and turn off the light. Three steps to her door, he turned the handle carefully and pushed it open. There Nesta lay, covered with furs in the strangest position. He was sure that having a book for a pillow was not comfortable and was most likely the cause of her horrendous snoring. In fact it was so loud Cassian wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep in the next room. He decided that making her more comfortable was worth her wrath, especially if it meant he would get a better night sleep.

Carefully he pried her arms away from the book and pulled it out of her grip, placing it on her chair.

Nesta was still snoring but at least she hadn’t woken up. Cassian leaned forward and pulled up her furs that she had kicked off, still in her simple gray dress from the day, she had obviously fallen asleep while reading. Nesta turned and snuggled into her pillow, her scent hitting Cassian in the face and making him look closer. The gods awful snoring had stopped. She looked so peaceful, serene, it was hard to imagine the fire behind her eyes could change her look so dramatically.

Nesta was beautiful, he could see that her face was delicate and lips soft. Lips so tempting even now. Her breathing even and cheeks rosy, he wanted to kiss her right now even if it meant waking her but he wasn’t sure he could take anymore rejection from her. They had been making progress, why ruin a good thing?   

So he blew out the lamp and walked to the door, turning back to her and the shadows of the night dappled on her beautiful face. He closed the door slowly as he walked over the threshold and just before it shut he heard her whisper.

“Goodnight Cassian”.    

Masterlist

[theladyofbloodshed]

AU where we pretend ACOSF didn’t happen - part ten

Taglist: @sv0430 @nehemikkele @mis-lil-red @confusedfandomslut @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @a-court-of-valkyries @nestaspegasus @moodymelanist

Nesta got as far as coaxing Azriel to stay the night. From the soft shuffle of his steps in the morning, he’d barely slept a wink – still, his mother beamed with sheer delight at the sight of him blinking blearily at the kitchen table with a freshly brewed pot of tea in front of him.

‘We cuddle up on the couch in the mornings,’ Nesta said, tapping him on the shoulder.

Begrudgingly, Azriel followed them into the chilly living room. Frost clawed its way up the window panes and their breath curled in the air. When he made to sit in the only arm chair, saying he couldn’t stay long, Nesta guided him to the couch beside his mother.

Both of the females had their hair unbound. There was no need to be guarded in this carefully protected home. Where Rovena’s was the colour of ink, Nesta’s hair shined like frozen gold. She gripped the main portion of it one hand, sweeping it out of reach of the hearth as she kindled her own form of fire there to warm them. Azriel watched closely, likely tucking that information away for one of his reports to Cassian or Rhysand. As much as she liked him, Nesta was under no illusions that Azriel, at his core, was a spy. Anything he viewed was currency, whether he chose to spend it was up to him.

Rovena patted a slither of space on the couch for Nesta to crawl into. Azriel shifted as much as he could towards the arm of the couch, but for the three of them, it was a tight fit. Nesta was thankful not to have a pair of wings too as those confounded things took up enough space. Being in the middle was a blessing though. She, Elain and Feyre used to squabble over the coveted middle spot in the bed during the winter - Elain always won.

Despite the warmth, there was an element of ease that was not something Nesta was familiar with. More and more, she was viewing Rovena as a mother figure; soft and welcoming, but also willing to give Nesta her independence. And Azriel, she knew he would never dare think of her as anything other than his brother’s mate. His muscled thigh pressed against her own. His bare forearm perched on her elbow. For some males it might have been an invitation, but she trusted him entirely to never think those thoughts of her. It was a cocoon of safety. She did not need to dress in armour. To harden herself. The three of them drank their tea in a sleepy, unhurried silence, all eyes fixed on the silver flames waltzing in the hearth.

‘Is it an Illyrian male thing to have such hot skin all the time?’ Nesta asked peeling her arm off of Azriel’s.

‘How much of Cassian’s hot skin were you touching last night?’

‘Azriel!’ His mother scolded, a faint blush blooming on her brown cheeks.

In retaliation, Nesta snapped, ‘What about the priestess you’re spending so much time with?’

‘Azriel?’

Rovena’s shock had turned to nosy delight. She bombarded her son with questions, all of which he responded to with short, non-answers then a look of pure fire at Nesta. You do not know what you’ve started, it said. Nesta didn’t prickle or ready her defences, merely lifted her chin in pure defiance as the shadows around him flickered with amusement.

The shadow singer departed without breakfast. He left a far too generous amount of money for Nesta. She’d queried it, feeling anger prickle in her veins, as if it was payment for seeing the big bat. Azriel had murmured it was for his mother’s reading lessons – which felt worse. She didn’t need to be paid to do it.

Rovena interrogated Nesta next on her son’s love life then asked how her meeting with the hungry one went in a casual way. Nesta answered honestly; it had been relatively nice to see a familiar face, but he could make her blood boil in the same breath that he complimented her.

Rovena declined a trip into the village. She’d taken one look at the thick crust of snow and shivered then declared she’d practise her reading and spend the day sewing in the warm rather than keep Marsela company.

Nesta slipped down the steep path coated in snow until she’d ended up almost jogging the last portion to keep her balance. So much for being a graceful fae of immense power. Marsela snorted in response when Nesta skidded to a stop by her stall. How could the elderly female stand it? Spending all day in the snow in the hopes of being able to rub two coins together at the end of the day. Lorin grinned at her in greeting with a face smeared with something like mashed banana from where his grandmother had sat him on the stall. The winter wind made his wings tremble as it brushed along the membrane. She noticed that all the garments were well out of his sticky reach.

‘Where’s Lule?’ Nesta cast her eyes around the market place for a miniature set of wings flapping, but came up empty.

‘Being smart,’ her grandmother said, rubbing her frozen hands together.

Over by a forge, Lule stood balancing on one leg on a stool, gazing with wonder as a black smith hammered against an anvil. The glow of the forge was inviting. Certainly, the girl's face was flushed from the heat – the blacksmith wore only a vest and apron on top from the heat and effort of his work. In between hammering, he answered whatever questions Lule had for him. Knowing the girl, they would be never ending.

‘He’s a nice one,’ Marsela said, jerking her head towards the male, giving Nesta the courage to approach.

‘Nesta!’ Lule cried with delight as she sighted her. The girl zoomed into her arms with a toothy grin.

The blacksmith surveyed her with a heavy sweep of his brown eyes. ‘Nesta Archeron,’ he acknowledged.

Her spine straightened. The cage around her chest tightened. ‘You know who I am?’

‘The high lady’s sister.’

That was better than being the lord of bloodshed’s mate. The mate of the prince of bastards. Belonging to him. Nesta sucked in a breath. ‘Most males here call me a witch.’

‘Are you?’ A teasing smile was on that boyish face.

‘Pray you don’t find out.’ She tried to muster a poison to her voice, but couldn’t.

‘Nesta. Nesta. Count how long it takes for me to go to the monument and back. Are you ready?’

Lule had her brow furrowed, focusing her attention on the black stone monument jutting out of the snow on the other side of the valley. A ripple of excitement and shame caressed the pits of Nesta’s stomach as she replayed the memory of climbing onto Cassian’s lap. The girl was off, wings pounding furiously against the cold wind, black hair billowing, dragging her away from the previous night’s escapades.

‘Do you want to come closer?’ The male pointed to the forge. ‘You’ll warm up quickly.’

Her eyes narrowed, taking in the glowing coals. No wood. No wood to spit and break her heart again. A row of knives was laid out on the male’s stall – all bound in iron so they could not be stolen. The craftsmanship was beautiful, even Nesta could admit. The hilts were bound delicately in leather or drizzled with golden metalwork.

She ran a finger along one hilt. ‘You made these?’

The male inclined his head. As he tipped his head closer to the forge to turn a knife he’d been heating, a bead of sweat dribbled down a cheek carved from stone. One arm was packed a little more than the other with muscle, but both were sculpted from hard work. He wasn’t as well built as Nesta liked them, definitely not as colossal as the bat was, but decent enough.

‘You killed the king of Hybern.’

‘My sister put the knife through his throat. I just took off his head.’

If he knew that, he would have known just who she had shielded that day. Been willing to die for. That reputation would chase her wherever she went.

Lule burst back in front of them, breathless. ‘How long?’

‘I didn’t count,’ Nesta winced. ‘Neither did he.’

The girl stood with her hands on her hips, looking every inch the lady of bloodshed. She growled in irritation. ‘Count. This. Time.’

‘Lule. Spread your wings as far as they’ll go when you swoop over the valley.’ The male spread out his own wings to show her. ‘You’ll go quicker.’

She nodded, enraptured by the advice, then leapt off his market stall back into the wind.

‘What do they call you?’

‘Balthazar.’

Nesta saw no glimpses of black ink upon his skin. ‘You fought in the war?’

His eyes tracked her gaze to his bare, brown skin. He nodded once. ‘I haven’t participated in the Blood Rite yet. But in times of war, a soldier is a soldier, no matter how untested he is.’

That was true, Nesta thought. Her and Elain had been thrust into it. Feyre was barely trained. Nesta had refused to train with the bat, preferring Amren’s strange, brusque company – but that ended like a shipwreck. Did the training ever touch upon the after effects of war? The terrible nightmares that drove away sleep? The flashbacks that came in the day as raw and unexpected as when they’d occurred? How many of Balthazar’s companions had fallen in the war? The Illyrians were treated as disposable by the rest of the court.

‘We’ll tell Lule it was thirty-seven seconds,’ he said, inclining his head towards the small shape flapping towards them.

‘Could you make me a knife? If I gave you a rough description of what I want? I’d pay you, of course.’

‘I’d be a shit blacksmith if I couldn’t.’

Lule’s wings braced as she aimed to land back on the stool, but overbalanced. She toppled, aiming head first for the furnace, but Balthazar’s arm shot out, catching her round the waist.

‘Work on your landings, little beast.’

Lule flashed a grin then flapped out of his arms back towards her grandmother’s stall. Balthazar sighed. A heavy shake of his head.

‘Nothing scares her.’

‘Shouldn’t that be a good thing? That she’s not like the other females here, cowed into inferiority?’

Balthazar added more coals to the forge then beckoned again for Nesta to sit closer and warm her hands.

‘Fear can save your life. Too much can ruin you. None is dangerous.’ His brown eyes flickered across her as though he was trying to gage where she put herself on that scale. Nesta had learned to turn her fear to anger – to keep her alive. But it churned within her. For so long it had churned inside her gut, ever since she’d stolen from the Cauldron.

Satisfied he’d weighed her enough, Balthazar returned his attention to his stall. He ensured the weapons on display were polished though few males were in this village. Sensing her thoughts, he explained there was a small town further down the road where he sold most of his wares.

‘I know Rovena doesn’t venture beyond Marsela’s stall. If you wanted to go, I can fly you. Or walk. There are more shops. Clothes. Books. A bakery.’ He paused, eyes catching on her hand as if he could see something there. ‘I’m not a male who others cower from though. I won’t be able to stop any cries of witchcraft.’

That insufferable bat overshadowed everything.

‘That’s quite alright. Would you take me tomorrow?’

Nesta had braided her hair into a coronet and wore one of her gowns from when she’d first been Made. It was a dusky blue, almost midnight and fell to the floor. The sleeves draped over her hands – just in case that silver fire made an unwanted appearance. She loved the soft, warm Illyrian clothing, loved the hairstyles Rovena crafted for her, but pretending to be an Illyrian felt too much like an invitation for mockery. Balthazar couldn’t give her an estimate on the size of the town, only that it was a war camp. Lots of males. Unable to completely mask her fear, Rovena suggested waiting until Azriel came and he could retrieve anything she wanted. That was the path Nesta would inevitably continue down, sheltered and willing to rely on a male to care for her. Rovena had her own scars, her own horrors, and Nesta could understand her reluctance, but if Nesta didn’t face the world now, she never would.

Balthazar waited for her in the village, tossing snowballs at Lule as she zipped through the air. For most of the daylight hours yesterday, she’d remained at Balthazar’s stall watching him work, occasionally chatting. She had explained the knife she’d envisioned based on one she’d seen in the books Azriel delivered. It was an Illyrian history book. The knife had been Enalius’, a famed Illyrian fighter. It was said that he had carved the holes in the sky for Oristes, Arktos, and Carynth to shine with his knife. Balthazar did not comment, only pressed his lips into a thin line that fought back a grin. Of course he knew the knife. Of course he knew who had been likened to Enalius during the war against Hybern.

When they flew, he stayed low to the ground and it was a far gentler pace than she was used to – for which she was grateful. The memory of the high lord plummeting them to the ground, causing her to vomit, was one that still stirred fury. At least Balthazar was respectful. One hand had settled on the top of the arm then one around the back of her legs, and there they’d remained. His head remained focused on their direction rather than tilting into hers to talk. On the edge of a sprawling camp, he set her down without letting his hands linger on her body.

‘Windhaven,’ he announced.

He did not need to announce it. Nesta recognised it. Recognised the sorts of males that festered in its heart. She would need to adjust her expectations of Illyria. When Balthazar had said town, she’d had visions of the elegant streets of Velaris lined with boutiques. Not a few shabby buildings and grunting shirtless males smacking their last few brain cells into extinction.

Involuntarily, Nesta stiffened. Her armour came around her, protecting whatever soft parts of her that were left. If a male even dared to draw blood today, she would strike harder and faster.

‘Aren’t you embarrassed to walk through here with a witch?’

There would inevitably be comments. None of these males could hold their tongues. Killing the King of Hybern ought to have been enough to quell them, but it only made them more wary of her.

‘You don’t embarrass me,’ he said with a cool assessment of her. ‘I’m actually more concerned about word spreading back to the general of the Night Court armies.’

Only now had she considered the implications of another male bringing her here, escorting her through a war camp. Nesta had no intentions of sleeping with Balthazar, but she knew how gossip could be – and how possessive Illyrian males were. Especially that one.

‘I’ll go alone. We can meet back here in a couple of hours.’

Slowly, Balthazar shook his head. What could be worse – being seen with her and word reaching Cassian or allowing her to face Windhaven alone and that getting back to him instead.

‘You can buy me a pastry for flying you,’ he said, patting her on the shoulder as he strode towards the camp.

[wildlyglittering]

Silver In Her Eyes - Part 4

Happy Saturday!

Silver In Her Eyes part 4 is up on Ao3 here and also below the cut!

Please show it some love ❤❤❤

Lucien appeared well.

His long, russet hair flowed to his waist and he smiled more, laughed more. Rhys had interrupted raucous noise when he entered the drawing room, Lucien and his new friends throwing grapes into each other’s mouths.

Rhys' visit was unexpected but also apparently unwelcome. Jurian and Vassa excused themselves to the garden while Lucien stood and watched them leave. When he turned to face his guest his eyes, both the good and the golden, pierced straight through as though he could see Rhys’ very soul.

Rhys turned his agitation into resentment.

Resentment that Lucien was well while Amren made herself ill, resentment that Lucien greeted him as cooly as Varian now did. Resentment that Lucien found delight in the world when Feyre bloomed and grew like a rose before the sharp snap of winter claimed her.

There was the looming issue of allies. Varian’s growing coolness might influence Tarquin and Kallias was fretting like some old crone. Rumours persisted that Keir was whispering promises in Tamlin’s ear and Eris seemed extremely displeased at the lack of negotiated terms between himself and Night.

Even Helion had spoken to Rhys. About how worried he was over Rhys, how Rhys wasn't himself. Rhys had gritted his teeth. Now Helion thought him weak and it just wouldn’t do.

Rhys knew if he secured Lucien, Helion would remain an ally and Lucien could be used to convince Eris to drop his request regarding Nesta and potentially get Tamlin to choose Night. The trick was to secure Lucien in the right way.

Rhys joined Lucien by the window as Jurian and Vassa now lounged on the grass continuing their game. Vassa laughed when one grape missed and hit her in the eye.

“Is this what you were doing before I arrived?” Rhys asked. “How...puerile.”

Lucien scoffed as he moved away to lean against a bookcase. “We were having fun. It’s what friends do with each other. You’d know if you had any left.”

Rhys snarled, more beast than High Lord. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I have friends.”

The golden eye whirred as an eyebrow raised. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Detached, disinterested, bored.

“If you think you’re intimidating, you’re not.” Lucien looked back to Rhys. “You forget I lived with Tamlin for centuries and stood in front of Amarantha myself.” He gestured to the very gold eye Rhys was glaring into. “For my troubles.”

Rhys took a breath. This was not securing Lucien the right way. Rhys wouldn't benefit in losing his temper and giving Lucien a reason to slam the door in his face – not until Rhys had dangled his carrot.

“Apologies. I am... tense. Keir is making a power grab. He seems to think now is his chance to strike. He’s wrong of course but he has some invested parties and I’m now forced to try and find the same.”

“I’ve heard.” Lucien paused, his face falling into a frown. “What I don’t understand is why now? When Feyre is having your son, doesn’t that weaken his position?”

Rhys closed his eyes. He’d been able to contain the truth to the Inner Circle and Madja. Keir was an unfortunate slip up, one that wouldn’t be repeated once Azriel found the fae who shared that piece of information.

“Who knows what Keir is thinking,” Rhys said, opening his eyes, “but you can probably guess why I’m here.”

“Influence Tamlin? Beron?”

“No, not him.”

Lucien tilted his head and Rhys decided honesty would be the approach.

“Eris has promised to ally to me in exchange for certain conditions. One of those is that he marries an Archeron. For his sins, he’s chosen Nesta.”

A wry smile emerged on Lucien’s face.

“I have to dissuade Eris. Cassian and Nesta are together. I’m hoping you can appeal to Eris’ better nature as his brother, his love for you means you’d have his ear. I’d so hate for mates to be torn apart. Wouldn’t you?”

Half honesty then. Lucien didn’t need to know about the blades Nesta Made.

Lucien exhaled, facing towards the window, his pulse thundering in his neck before he relaxed as though something swept in and whisked his upset away.

“Ah yes,” he said, “the glory of Eris’ brotherly love. If Nesta hasn’t chosen him in return, why not tell him no? She doesn’t seem the type to be shy on how she feels.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. No. This reluctance of Lucien to be involved wouldn’t do.

Rhys conjured images, of Eris turning his head from the eldest Archeron to the one that tended the thorns. He constructed an image of Elain amongst her roses, being swept up by Eris and dragged to the Forest House where she walked the hallways, wailing like she did now.

Rhys fluttered them across to Lucien’s mind like butterflies where they should have landed so delicately that Lucien wouldn’t have realised they were not his own fears.

Instead, they caught on a torrent in the outer reaches of Lucien’s mind and tore into pieces, their fragile wings shredded and gone. Rhys kept his face neutral as his heart raced. Power had built within Lucien, the natural resistance of a High Lord against a High Lord but without trying, without even knowing.

The second approach then. Rhys’ back up plan. He snapped his fingers behind his back, a cry of surprise echoed out from the garden beyond.

“Elain’s here,” Rhys said, inspecting his fingernails. “I’ve winnowed her into the grounds. Take a look.”

Lucien’s face snapped to Rhys’ but he lifted himself from where he leant against the bookcase to move nearer to the window, Rhys joining him.

Elain now stood in the garden, glancing about her at the trees in confusion as a shocked Vassa and Jurian went to greet her. Rhys had promised her a visit to the Mortal Lands, a great garden for her to view and she seemed eager to accept the invitation.

Her fingers curled into the pale pink fabric of her dress, colour blooming to her cheeks which Rhys had yet to see in Night.

Lucien drank her in like he’d been deprived of water for years.

“It is a tragedy, isn’t it? When mates are torn apart,” Rhys said by Lucien’s shoulder. Some small guilt spun down Rhys’ web, knowing he dangled a mate in front of a male when Rhys himself was on the precipice of losing his own.

But it wasn’t the same. Elain and Lucien were nothing in comparison to he and Feyre.

“She looks well enough,” Lucien said, “but she’s sad, lonely. All the pieces of her life are falling away.”

“Night is good for her,” Rhys said, noting how Lucien placed a hand against the pane of the glass. “I think it would do her good to remain. I don’t know how she would fare though if she lost Nesta to Autumn. Another piece taken away I suppose.”

She’d fare fine, Rhys thought. Considering as the sisters could scarcely exist in the same space.

Lucien blinked, his palm dropping from the window and he turned to face Rhys, their bodies too close for his comfort. That damned golden eye whirred again.

“Rhysand, you speak of Eris wanting to marry Nesta to ally with you, of your concern over Cassian and their bond, of Elain’s wellbeing. Surely you can tell Eris no and be done with it. Or perhaps ask Nesta what she wants. That isn’t what you think of those under your protection is it? That they are merely pieces of furniture in your Court without will of their own.”

Rhys’ teeth pressed together. An impulse to dash out that damned eye rose within him, an impulse he quashed. Instead, he turned towards the window where Vassa was now offering Elain grapes but Elain was ignoring her, instead staring through the window back at Rhys, her brown eyes watchful.

“Of course not,” Rhys said, and with a click of his fingers, Elain was gone.

***

Rhys had been fouler than usual.

Where others saw confidence, Nesta saw arrogance. Where they saw charm, she saw manipulation. She never had love in her heart for him and though she tried to find a slither of affection for Feyre’s sake and Cassian’s, Nesta felt that she had always been looking at a different person.

She knew he’d travelled to the Mortal Lands to visit Lucien and had taken Elain with him. She’d not learnt that from Elain but from Feyre, the only sister still willing to speak with her. A simple note landing on her desk; Feyre was busy planning the nursery, the baby was kicking and keeping her awake, Elain had gone to the Mortal Lands.

Nesta guessed that Rhys’ interaction with Lucien had been far from pleasant based on the way Rhys stormed into the House of Wind.

She hid her smile behind her hand, a smile which didn’t linger long as Rhys checked over the blades she forged, chastising her for producing less.

“Three,” he said, a dark mist swirling around his feet. “Last week, the number was five.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired,” she told him. “These three are what you get.”

He’d slammed the door on his way out while Nesta rolled her eyes at his retreating back.

It was no lie. She was exhausted. The time it took for her to forge a single blade had increased. Her back hurt and her head throbbed, her fingers slipped when she held the tools and she’d almost dropped a dagger on her foot.

The clash of hammer on metal was still a song but now each blade joined a screaming chorus in the room and Nesta couldn’t recall when there had last been silence.

She loved the blades but she knew, as she had always known, these were not ordinary. That she had poured a part of herself into their being.

The pile was growing but it wasn’t enough and deciding that Rhys would never be happy if she produced two or twenty, Nesta left the House, the hood of her cape pulled over her face and she stepped out into the fresh Velaris air.

Her desperate, clandestine walk along the cobbled fae-lit streets was not to meet a lover but the two friends she had made on her own. The café was small and squashed between two shabby buildings that would be overlooked by any of the Inner Circle if they tried to find her.

Hours were spent tucked in an alcove, the three of them; Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, so close Nesta had to push down the pang of sadness at remembering when she, Feyre and Elain had to share the same bed.

This time there was nothing but joy. They consumed cups of hot tea and thick slabs of cake with chocolate so rich Nesta smelt it as it left the kitchen. All she wanted was this. A home, friends, someone who loved her.

Nesta returned to the House drunk on excitement. When she approached the first steps, she considered turning and fleeing into the darkness of the wilderness. Yes, the House gave her everything she required but a gilded cage was still a cage.

That excitement soon died when she reached the top. At first Nesta thought exhaustion had overtaken the adrenaline but she realised what she was hearing – or rather what she wasn’t.

Silence.

The blades that spent their time calling to her no longer did. Her stomach squirmed as she ran, her heart racing.

The door to the blacksmith was open, the blades gone. Only Rhys stood in the darkness, the moonlight highlighting his form.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

“Am I a prisoner?”

He ignored her. “I thought you were tired, Nesta. Isn’t that why only three blades were made this week?”

Her laugh was brittle. “Have you not heard of rest? I asked if I was a prisoner but let me re-phrase; I am not a prisoner. Nor am I your slave. It seems the fae struggle to let old habits die out.”

The growl was low and strong that Nesta first thought it was thunder. But Rhys’ eyes were now blacker rather than violet, the mists swimming about his fingers.

Ice grew within her, her bones hardening, her blood freezing. Nesta’s teeth chattered together as her skin turned grey. He’d freeze her from inside out and then she’d shatter into pieces on the ground.

“You are worthless,” he said. “Letting your baby sister risk her life to keep you fed and clothed, allowing her to come close to starvation. Even the first blow against Hybern wasn’t yours. You benefit from the success of others while doing nothing of note. Your family doesn’t want to see you and Cassian is with you because he has to be. You are no one’s choice, Nesta, no one’s. I am gracious enough to give you a gift to make you more than useless and this is how you repay me.”

The heat she’d felt before burned in her, the flames licking the inside of her skin. A voice spoke into her ear. Do not let him see. Stay as you are, as hard as it may be.

Nesta shivered and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth lest her teeth bite through it.

“You leave this House without permission again and I won’t be so forgiving. Agree to it. Agree.”

Nesta’s words were forced. “Agree.”

He moved away, dropping his power as he did, walking past her without a backward glance as Nesta sagged on the floor like a puppet whose master had cut the strings.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. The effort of pushing down whatever rose within her had exhausted her and the fire which burned inside her had turned any tears to steam.

Nesta made it to her room. She was alone in the House again, no Cassian, no Azriel. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had demands held against them but unlike the others, she wasn’t acting through love.

Her arms and legs were heavy as she crawled into bed, barely removing her cape, not even removing her dress. An ache started in her chest and she pushed her hand against it. This wasn’t an ache for Cassian, it was for something else.

“Where are you?” she said aloud. She could never reach Ataraxia although she knew where the sword was housed. She thought of Betrayer who had been mounted in the blacksmiths, of the other swords surrounding it.

Nothing. But she was starting too large - she was weak and unpractised so why did she think calling to a broad sword would gain an answer.

Nesta thought of the small, unassuming dagger which had been sheathed in the corner, its snake like handle twisting into an open jaw, sharp fangs protruding. That had been a blade which called to her with clarity, an image of Nesta slicing through Rhys’ cheek to draw first blood.

Viper. She spoke its name. This time not aloud but inside her mind, imagining the colours of the metal, the shimmer of subtle green along the metal, the sting of its point.

Nesta envisioned pulling; her teeth grinding, sweat dripping down her neck and back. A reverse birthing. No expulsion of life but a calling of it back. She dug her heels into her bed and pressed down, grabbed at the sheets with her fists tearing into the cloth.

Then the pull snapped and her eyes opened. There it was, lying on her stomach, blade pointing towards her heart, as though an invisible midwife had lain it upon her.

Nesta sobbed, even if she couldn’t form tears, sitting up and grasping Viper in her hands. Somehow it was warm and cold to the touch, shivering with anticipation, overjoyed to be back with Nesta.

Rhys had the blades hidden someplace Nesta couldn't reach but for now she had this one, her one. Viper.

It whispered to her, soft and slow, a much-wanted breeze on a too hot day. Mother.

***

“I will not forge.”

Cassian’s presence at the House was a rarity these days and she was loathe to spend their time together in any state of argument. After their fight regarding children, they hadn’t spoken before he’d once again left for Illyria.

Now he was home and while their old argument was cast aside, they were on the precipice of a new one. But this was one she meant.

Cassian had paused by the bed redressing, shirt half on, expanses of tattooed skin still on display while Nesta stood in front of the fireplace. The flames flickered across the wood but she’d been long adept at making them soundless. All that existed was the heat.

She refused to continue forging, not until she learnt what the blades could do or who they were for - or who they would be used against. She also didn’t want Rhys to lay claim to any more, not like he’d done with her first three and the rest he’d stolen since.

Cassian’s shirt rustled as he continued dressing, movement finally returned to his body but she noted his fingers were stiff, fumbling as he worked the buttons.

“Have you said this to Rhys?”

“Not yet.”

Cassian stared at her and Nesta braced herself for the onslaught of his irritation, the protestations of how could Nesta do this to Rhys, his most beloved High Lord and friend.

Instead, he walked to her, placing large, warm hands on her shoulders as his eyes searched her face. A war waged within him; guilt, shame, worry. No, not worry, something stronger and with a more potent flavour – fear.

“Don’t tell him,” Cassian said, “let me be the one to speak to him.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of him.” Furious yes, but not fearful.

“Because he’ll say no to you. He might not say no to me.”

Nesta clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t care if he says no. He doesn’t get to make that choice. I want to stop, so I am stopping.”

Heat flooded her hands, fuelled by the pit of rage stoking in her belly, and rushed up her arms and over her chest. For a moment Nesta felt like her face was on fire, that her eyes were burning.

Cassian reared back, dropping his hands from her shoulders and stepped away, his palms singed.

“Nesta-” he begun

“I don’t know what that was,” she said, stepping backwards herself, groping at the wall behind her. “I don’t-”

“Tell no one,” Cassian said, the smoke already dissipating from his hands as he held them up, imploring her. “And don’t speak to Rhys.”

“Fine,” she said, pressing a shaking finger against her newly pounding temple. "Speak to him yourself if you think that will sweeten the blow but I will not sit in that room for him anymore.”

Cassian’s chest rose and fell, his eyes wide, his hand now rubbing his brow. A stab of sadness hit Nesta’s chest and she felt his confusion, his torn allegiance.

Part of him remained a little boy, a child forced to be a soldier rather than play at one. He wanted comfort, a mother to hold him, a mate to love him. Cassian had stood for centuries; fighting and commanding, garnering respect and loyalty, dragging numbers of creatures into a prison and here he was, subservient and scared.

The ice-cold shimmer of his fear was not directed at her but towards the male he called brother.

She walked towards him, pulling his hand from his face, before tilting his face down so she could press a kiss, sweet and chaste, upon his cheek.

Even as she did, Cassian leaning towards her, his chin on the crown of her head, pulling her tighter into his embrace she knew part of him was too far away.

[vassiensupremacy]

wedding 💒

VASSIEN WEEK | DAY FOUR | WEDDING

Vassa takes a breath and steps towards the beautifully decorated venue. She takes in the people present, all of them here to celebrate their love story. She has waited forever for this moment. She has waited forever to wear this dress and walk towards the love of her life with flowers in hand and a crown on her head. Vassa sees him standing, dressed immaculately and her heart thunders in her chest. She can't help but smile as she drinks in his sight. Lucien, her Lucien. The love of her life, her confidant, her safe space, her partner in crime and now in just a while, her husband. Her always and forever.

Lucien's breath catches in his throat when he sees Vassa walk down the aisle. She looks so beautiful that no words could ever describe her. From the gorgeous dress to the flowers in her hand, from the crown on top of her reddish gold hair to the ethereal smile on her beautiful face. She looks like perfection. Lucien cannot believe that this amazing woman could fall in love with him and choose him over and over. Considering himself lucky, he smiles back at her. He cannot wait to spend the rest of eternity with her now that the war, the mortal queens and Koschei's drama was behind them. Everytime Lucien is reminded of how he could've lost her, not only due to the war and Koschei, but also due to her mortality, he shudders. Those days he spent in pain, thinking of how he could lose Vassa were some of the hardest days of his life. He is more than grateful that Vassa now has an eternity to live with him as well. Without her, he couldn't have lived either, she was his life.

Vassa walked by familiar smiling faces from the Night Court: Feyre and Rhysand, Nesta and Cassian, Elain and Azriel, Amren and Varian, Morrigan and Emerie. All of the other Prythian High Lords were present too and so were Vassa and Lucien's allies, political connections and contacts from Prythian, the mortal lands and from across the Continent. They were all here to celebrate their union. It was a beautiful sight, one Vassa knew she'd cherish forever. In the front row sat the people closest to Vassa and Lucien. Jurian who was not only a friend to but also a brother to them both. Next to him sat the High Lord and Lady of Day Court: Helion and Aurelia. Lucien's parents. Aurelia smiled seeing Vassa while Helion winked, ever the flirt. Vassa grinned at them, so happy to see them together after everything they had been through. When Vassa reached Lucien, he held onto her hands, such genuine adoration in his eyes that she had to close her eyes to stop the flow of tears ready to fall down. Standing next to Lucien was Eris, his half-brother. They had a rocky relationship their whole lives but decided to reconcile after Beron's death. Eris gave Vassa a smile, his eyes showcasing how happy he was for Lucien.

The ceremony was beautiful. Tears of joy and laughter followed throughout the day. The vows were so heart wrenching, that they made even Amren shed a tear. Cassian was a riot through out while Nesta rolled her eyes, though secretly enjoying herself. Feyre and Rhysand laughed at his antics while Elain and Azriel were grinning from ear to ear as they stared at one another. Lucien was happy, beyond happy. Infact, this was the happiest he had ever been in life.

After the ceremony, Vassa and Lucien arrived back at their palace in the Day Court, gifted by Helion himself. It was a sight to see, like out of a fairytale. Moments after the two stepped into their room, Lucien was kissing Vassa. The kiss was happiness and joy, passion and fire. Within moments, their clothes were off and they fell onto the soft fabric of the bed. What followed after that was a rigorous session of lovemaking. Passionate, hot and steamy. Later, the two lay next to each other as Lucien's fingers circled the freckles on Vassa's beautiful brown skin.

“I love you Vassa,” Lucien sighed letting it sink in that he had finally found his home, after all the problems and pain. He was happy.

“I love you, Lucien.” Vassa replied.

“I love your hair, I love your beautiful blue eyes, I love your smile, I love your body and I love your soul. I love your fierceness, I love your passion, I love your determination, I love your foul mouth, I love everything about you. Top to bottom. And in every way possible. Now and for eternity.”

Tears welled up in Vassa's eyes as she listened to Lucien talk about his love for her. She really was the luckiest. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her as well, so she told him.

“I love your hair, I love your russet and your gold eyes, I love your scars, I love your smile, I love your body and I love your soul. More than you can ever know. I love your wisdom, I love your sensibilities, I love your sass, I love your teasing, I love everything about you. Top to bottom. And in every way possible. Now and for eternity. My heart and soul is yours, Lucien.”

Vassa wiped the tears running down Lucien's cheeks. She knew how much this meant to him and seeing him happy, made her happy.

Her lips met his and there was no going back. They made love, again and again. Intensely and slowly, feeling every nerve and every part, every emotion and every sensation possible.

Vassa and Lucien were one, forever and ever. After everything they had been through, they were together. Happy, at peace and with an eternity in front of them waiting to be lived.

[thewigthatflew]

I'd love it if y'all could check out my fanfic on wattpad and give me feedback 😚

My @ is shamelessforcardan cus why nOt

THANK YOU:)

[eternallyrunning]

Peace

Inspired by the comments section of this video

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBYkshOZMrY

Warnings: Underlying themes of death, dying, and pain. It’s kinda depressing. Lowkey romanticizes death. If you need help please feel free to reach out or call the National Suicide Hotline (US) 800-273-8255.

It’s about a girl appearing in a field when she almost dies and finding the Inner Circle there and then having to go back to the real world and live.

For 5 minutes, I finally found peace. I found the peace I had been searching for since I was a child. I was in a field with no one around, and I felt lighter than I ever have. A weight from my chest that I had adapted to having was finally gone. I looked up at the sky that was perfectly clouded and laid down in the field. I smiled because this is what I had been searching for my entire life, peace. This was my peace, and I had found it. I had lost my desire to scream at the world and just wanted to run around, so I did. I got up and started skipping and running and doing whatever the fuck I wanted to do because I could.

Then I looked into the horizon and saw some people. They felt familiar, safe. So I ran toward them. I ran as fast as I could to them because I knew in my heart that they were the Inner Circle. I could start to see their smiles as I got closer.

“Why can't I be in your world?” I yell at them when I think they’re within shouting distance. I stop a yard away from them. “Why couldn’t I have joined you earlier?”.

“Because your world needs you for a bit longer,” Rhysand says.

“Longer? I have to go back? Why can’t I stay here with you?”

“It’s not your time yet. You have some unfinished business,” Feyre responds this time.

“I can’t. Living is too hard to do. There’s nothing worth suffering that much for,”

“I know you may think that, but there is,” Cassian says

“I don’t belong there,”

“That is true, but try to make a space where people like you do belong,” Azriel says, giving a small smile.

“Will you come back to find me when it’s my time?”

“Yes, because you do belong with us,” Mor says

“We will always be watching over you,” Rhysand says

“See you soon,” Amren says as they start walking away. I try to follow them, but I can’t.

“Please… Come back. How will I know this was real?” I say, shouting at their retreating figures. Feyre stops and turns back toward me.

“I promise we will come back for you. It’s a deal,” Feyre says. After she says this, I feel this strange tickling on my side, and I know there is a tattoo there now. Feyre smiles and turns back around, and walks into a bright light. After she disappears, I look under the crop top this magical land placed me in and saw a beautiful swirling tattoo wrapping around my waist, not as a belt but spiraling up from my hips.

I sigh and lay down in the field. I don’t want to go back, I wish I could stay here in this eternal peace, but I know that I’m eventually going to go back. I get up and start slowly walking around, absorbing all of this scenery before it gets stripped away from me. It starts to rain as I walk around. I look up to the sky to feel the rain hitting my face. I feel myself get lighter and leave this place. The last thought I have before I wake up back on Earth is that I will spend the rest of my life chasing this peace.

“Welcome back,” a man with a deep voice says as I open my eyes. The bright lights of a hospital momentarily blind me. “We thought we lost you there for a bit, but you’re a real fighter. While I go get your parent's a nurse is going to come in and check your vitals and see how you are doing,” He leaves as a nurse enters and examines my body while asking me questions about how I am feeling. At one point, she compliments my tattoo and I’m confused for a second then I realize the deal Feyre made with me. She asks if there’s a story behind it, and my answer is simple.

“It’s a promise,”

[itsatinylove]

Tamlin: After the War

Before the war, the Spring Court fell. After the war, the Spring Court almost ceased to exist. Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring, was still there and amongst the ruined lands and buildings, there were families who were unable to flee, affected by the devastations their court had experienced. It is time to rebuild. 

Warnings: Tamlin's POV + a little bit smutty + Takes place after #ACOFAS, spoilers may be included.

I do not own this image.

CHAPTER 1

Tamlin felt the chair threaten to collapse underneath his weight, but he was too tired to move. His limbs ached with every movement, causing the chair to croak even louder. Even if the chair collapsed, he would likely allow it and collapse alongside it. It would be easier than standing up and much easier than skinning his latest catch.

A rabbit no larger than a house cat lay across the kitchen counter. While rabbit was not his favourite meat, it strolled into the house with a broken leg, its eyes wide with fear and pain and Tamlin decided to put it out of its misery. It was a bonus that he did not have to hunt any more today.

But the thought of skinning the rabbit, preparing its meat, cooking and then eating it seemed like far too much effort. Starvation often seemed like a better option these days.

Snapping him out of his thoughts, he heard light footsteps enter his home. He needed to remember to repair his broken down wards, but then again, he didn't care who entered his home.

It wasn't Rhysand, not again. It wasn't Lucien either. It was lighter. Quicker.

And then he heard a female scream.

Tamlin rushed out of the kitchen and into his foyer to find a female faerie trembling in the corner, in front of her, a grey wolf baring its yellow teeth. The wolf's growl echoed to the house.

The faerie and the wolf turned to look at Tamlin, one set of eyes filled with fear and the other set were the eyes of a predator.

Tamlin transformed into a beast, a form he was more comfortable in lately. He matched the wolf's growl, deep and low, preparing for a fight that will no doubt, end with him burying the wolf. The wolf bowed and fled the manor. He was relieved, he had had enough of death.

The faerie remained in the corner. Silent, but he could still hear her heartbeat racing. He transformed back into his skin, his eyes traveling over her.

She was not entirely high fae. She was shorter than the average female fae and her ears were slightly longer. Her big eyes were darker than the night sky, but still, they were filled with fear. A look Tamlin was all too familiar with.

She was grasping her left arm with blood leaking through the fingertips on her right hand.

Tamlin walked towards her and she attempted a step back, pushing herself deeper into the corner. Tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.

He raised his arms in surrender and walked away, "Follow me to the infirmary, I can heal your arm there."

To his surprise, he heard her racing heart follow him.

He sat down on the stool beside the small medicine cabinet, hoping it made him seem less threatening. Slowly, she released her hand and offered her still bleeding arm to him.

As gently as he could manage, he cleaned the wound. It wasn't caused by the teeth or claws of the wolf.

"I fell." She whispered, wincing as he disinfected the wound. Her body was still trembling.

Tamlin nodded and gestured his large hand across the wound. Her tan skin instantly healed. The touch of her skin tickled his senses. It had been months since he'd seen anyone, friend or foe.

With wide eyes, she bowed slightly, "Thank you, Lord Tamlin."

Tamlin shook his head and left the room, leading her back towards the open front door, "There's no need for that."

The faerie followed him out of the room and stopped at the doorway to the kitchen. She stared into the kitchen at the dead rabbit still sprawled across the table.

"I could prepare that for you, or clean up a bit, to say thank you." She said, her chin raised.

Tamlin sighed and shook his head once more, "There's no need for that either."

She looked around the manor, noticing the wreckage that he once called a home. The furniture was either broken or scattered across the room. The floors were dusty. The vines that once covered the outside of the manor, now crept inside. The windows and doors were either open or shattered and a cool breeze constantly made its way through the manor. Whistling. Laughing. Howling.

"No offense, my Lord, but there does seem to be a need for some cleaning," she rolled up her shredded sleeves and walked into the kitchen, "And I don't accept favors."

Tamlin sat down on the same chair he so reluctantly stood up from earlier and watched as this female skillfully skinned the rabbit in two swift moves. His eyes searched her hands for signs of scars or calluses. There were none. Her build was small, too dainty to be a warrior, at least not a successful one.

Noticing his focused stare while she sliced chunks of meat into cubes, she mumbled, "I'm kitchen staff, or, I was."

"From where?"

She bit her lip and turned her back to him to light the stove fire, tossing the meat in some spices while the oil heated.

"From where?" he asked again, his voice edging on a growl.

"The Court of Nightmares." She said as her voice was drowned out by the sound of sizzling meat.

CHAPTER 2

Tamlin launched out of the chair once more, his right arm gripping both of her arms against her body and his left claw threatening at her neck, “What are you doing here?”

His deep voice rumbled through her, “Please,” she whimpered, “Please, don’t hurt me.”

Tamlin released a low growl as he felt the fear inside her, “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“I don’t know, the door was open, that wolf was chasing me and I was inside your house before I could decide what to do next.”

Aside from her already escalated heart rate, Tamlin could sense that she was not lying. Slowly, he retracted his claws and backed away, “You’re a far way away from home.”

“That’s not my home, it never was,” she exhaled, stirring the meat. The smell of the cooked meat made Tamlin salivate. It had been months since he had a proper meal. “Please don’t send me back, please don’t tell him that I am here. I ran away after the war, while the borders were open, while everyone was still distracted. I have been on the run ever since.”

Tamlin noticed her clothes were filthy, her face was gaunt, not for fear, but for a lack of eating, a lack of sleeping. He settled back into the chair, “Why did you run away? I hear the Night Court is not as bad as I once thought it was.”

“Perhaps,” she said, plating the hot meat and setting it down in front of him, “But the Court of Nightmares doesn’t get the same treatment the rest of the court gets, least of all Velaris.”

Tamlin resisted the urge to eat as a million questions flooded his brain at once.

“Eat, while it’s still hot.” she said firmly and Tamlin found himself picking up a piece of meat and throwing it into his mouth.

The tender meat melted in his mouth and before he could swallow, his mouth demanded more. He grabbed a few more pieces and shoved them into his mouth. The corner of the female fae’s mouth turned upward into the slightest smile before she quickly turned around and fried the rest of the meat.

She filled his plate once more and he kept eating, he had barely taken a break to breathe. Perhaps rabbit meat wasn’t that bad after all. She plated the last of the meat and offered it to him. Her thin arms reminding him of his manners.

He cleared his throat, swallowing the last of the garlic and peppery taste that lingered in his mouth, “You,” he gestured to the chair on the other side of the table, the chair shifted outwards. She sat down quickly and he pushed the plate towards her, “Eat.”

She protested but Tamlin heard her stomach growl in response. Her cheeks reddened. He pushed the plate towards her once more.

“Thank you, Lord Tamlin.”

“You need a kingdom to be a Lord and my kingdom barely exists, please, call me Tamlin,” he said, leaning back into the chair, resisting the urge to rub his belly, “What should I call you?”

“Kaira.” She mumbled in between chewing. She ate quickly as if the food may escape.

Tamlin stared at her, watching her every move. He watched her jaw as she chewed, her throat as she swallowed. He watched her small fingers pick up each piece of meat. But mostly, he watched her eyes, trying to make sense of why she was here and whether he had it in him to send her back out there, with no weapons.

Her eyes stayed focused on the food and when she reached the last piece, he waited for her to look up at him. She licked her lips slowly, savouring the flavoured grease and looked up at him.

Her eyes were wide, waiting for him to say something. He knew he couldn’t send her out there. Alone. There were monsters in the woods that had on occasion, nearly killed him. Plus, as a female, she had the added threat of fae males. “Stay the night. There’s plenty of room. Finding a bed that isn’t covered in dust and rubble might be a challenge.”

“Thank you.” was all she said before standing up quickly and washing the dishes.

Tamlin sat for a while longer, watching her move around the kitchen, the fullness in his stomach making his body heavy.

Suddenly, he awoke as a splash of cold liquid splattered across his face. He growled loudly and watched the female fae retreat against the kitchen wall, an empty jug in her hand.

“You were having a nightmare.”

“That’s none of your business.” Tamlin growled again, wiping his sleeve across his face. He stood up, aware of how he hovered above her and how her heart rate increased.

She looked around quickly, “You were wrecking the kitchen, I was afraid you might bring the whole house down.”

Tamlin looked around and noticed the shattered plates and mugs. Pots and pants were lying across the floor and the cupboard doors that had remained fixed to the cupboards were now blown off their hinges.

His nightmares have become increasingly worse and so have the physical effects. Gone were the days where he would wake up and vomit out every bad thought and feeling. The vomit had been replaced with uncontrollable power shredding everything around him and he had no idea how to stop it.

“I won’t do it again.” She said quickly, the jug shaking in her hand.

Tamlin loosed a breath and said quietly, “It’s okay, just glad one of the pots didn’t hit you in the head.”

“I am very fast,” She said confidently, “Although that cake dish came really close.”

A smile crept onto Tamlin’s face, an unfamiliar feeling. He nodded politely, turned around and went to his bedroom.

CHAPTER 3

As usual, Tamlin tossed and turned, unable to find a peaceful sleep. Whenever he awoke, he swept his senses through his manor and sensed Kaira in the second floor bedroom, before falling back asleep.

As the morning sun reached his bedroom, he awoke once more, and searched for her. The bedroom was empty. He swept through the manor quickly, sensing her presence in the kitchen.

He bathed and pulled on a clean set of clothes, after all, he had company. It was improper for a High Lord to wear clothes soaked in blood and soil.

The small kitchen table was already set. A cup of steaming coffee on one end and a plate of pancakes.

"I am sorry, I didn't have much to work with. Your pantry is quite empty." She said quickly, "But I found some honey."

Tamlin shook his head and gestured casually, "You didn't have to cook."

"I like to earn my keep. I told you, I don't accept favours."

Tamlin scrutinised her clothing. They were of Night Court fashion, albeit torn and worn from her months on the run.

"I would like to offer you my services as kitchen staff. I can cook and clean and help you clear out the rest of..." she gestured to the rest of the house.

"I have no money, which is why I have no staff." Tamlin said easily, drizzling honey on a pancake before rolling it up.

"I require only a safe space to sleep."

"Sounds like slavery." He said, shoving two pancakes into his mouth. It would be nice to have pancakes every morning, and a clean house.

"Pay me when you can." She countered, leaning against the table, meeting Tamlin's steady stare.

Tamlin closed his eyes as the sticky honey travelled along his taste buds. Seduced by the idea of prepared meals, he agreed. "Fine. But you're not my servant. You're just helping me out. And I will pay you."

She nodded quickly, turning around to start cleaning the kitchen.

"Sit down, have a pancake, the house has been in ruins for months, it can last another ten minutes," he said, in between gulping down the hot coffee. He didn't care that his mouth was stinging from the heat, the coffee was dark and sweet, exactly as he liked it. "One of the closets upstairs will have clothing that should fit you. Help yourself to it."

Kaira smiled at Tamlin. A genuine smile. A smile of gratitude. Tamlin nodded awkwardly, unaware of how to receive it. He shoved another pancake into his mouth.

A few days went by and each morning, he was presented with coffee and pancakes, which they ate together in silence. As soon as they finished, Kaira would start cleaning and Tamlin would leave, to survey the damage to his court and hunt something she could prepare for dinner.

He crawled through the woods in his fae form quietly, towards a deer rustling in the bushes, unaware of his presence, unaware that it would die. He transformed into the beast the animals feared and lunged towards its throat, killing it instantly.

He carried the deer towards the centre of his court. His heart ached at the ruin. Empty homes stood tall. Vendors' stalls were ravaged. There was nothing left in Spring Court. The flowers refused to bloom and the grass refused to grow.

Tamlin knocked on one of the doors and a female faerie opened up quickly, "Lord Tamlin," she beamed, eyeing the deer on his shoulder, "Come inside, please. Elisa please put on the kettle."

"I won't be staying," Tamlin responded, "Thank you for the offer." He offloaded the deer onto the table and smiled slightly as he watched the three children's excitement.

"This is too much."

"Please share it then, with Eric, from across the way. I will be sure to bring some more as soon as I can." Tamlin said, and with a quick bow, he left. He couldn't bear to see the gratitude in their eyes when he knew that all this destruction could have been avoided. He didn't have time to linger on it. There were more families to feed, more animals to hunt.

He walked into one of the few active vendor stalls, the owner perking up immediately and bowing, Tamlin nodded politely.

"I need some basic pantry items," Tamlin said as he looked across the limited shelves, "I have no money, but I could trade you these rabbits."

The shop owner shook his head almost violently, "No, my Lord, please, take anything you need, you have done enough for my family."

"One rabbit, for your trouble."

The shop owner took the rabbit and mumbled his appreciation until Tamlin left the store with a box of eggs, flour and some other essentials the shop owner so kindly recommended.

He returned home to find Kaira standing on a chair, shearing the vines off the inside of the dining hall. Of the two walls that were initially covered in vines, only a handful remained on one of them.

"Do you mind getting the corners?" she said stretching up to the corners, her hand still a far way away, "Oh, you brought eggs!" She jumped off the chair was elbow deep in the box within seconds, "Eggs, rice, flour, salt," she squealed with delight, "Tonight, we feast!"

Tamlin smiled slightly, unable to hide his excitement at the meal she was bound to create. He swept his hand across the walls and all remnants of vines disappeared immediately.

She looked up at him, her brows furrowing in the middle of her forehead, "Are you telling me you could have done that this entire time?"

Tamlin stifled a giggle and she flew at him, punching him on the shoulder, "Asshole!" followed by, "Ouch!"

He walked throughout the house, gesturing at the walls, willing the vines to either retreat or disappear. "I forgot I could do that."

Tamlin ran a hand through his golden hair and grunted as his fingers got tangled in the knots. He missed Alis. She used to wash, brush and trim his hair. All he did now was wash it and tie it up in a bun.

Kaira grabbed her chair and dragged it toward him, "Wait here." She ran upstairs and returned with a brush and then ran to the kitchen, returning with some oil, "This has been bothering me since I got here."

She climbed the chair and slathered his hair in oil, gently trying to brush out of the knots and then when that didn't work, she attacked the knots with the brush and Tamlin feared his scalp may pull right off. "It's beyond repair!" She shouted angrily.

"Cut it off, then," he said, wanting anything except for her to continue to try brushing it.

She leapt off the chair and returned with a pair of scissors moments later, "Sit down."

The High Lord of the Spring Court obeyed her and sat quietly as she cut off his long tangled hair. It was comfortable having someone touch him, talk to him, it almost made him forget how everything had changed.

"Perfect!" She exclaimed and pulled him towards the mirror in the living room. He stared at his reflection. It had been centuries since his hair was cropped short. His eyes wandered to Kaira's reflection. Her black hair was long, pulled into a bun similarly to the way his had been. Her cheeks were fuller than when he first laid eyes on her. Her eyes still black, reminding him once again of the night. The Night Court.

"What did you mean when you said the Night Court does not care for the Court of Nightmares, isn't it the same thing? I have heard plenty of things about the secret city of Velaris, since it had been exposed." Tamlin said, thinking back to when Lucien first arrived back in the Spring Court, gushing about the secret city of Velaris, indirectly gushing about the manner in which Rhysand ruled.

"The Court of Nightmares refers only to Hewn City and does not fall under the ruling of Lord Rhysand, it does, but he doesn't seem to exercise that rule." She said, rubbing her hands through his hair to loosen the stray cut hairs.

He resisted the urge to purr, suddenly understanding why cats always presented him with their bellies, "I don't understand."

"Hewn City is ruled by Keir, The Morrigan's father." She continued, making eye contact with him in the mirror.

"Why?"

"It's where all the monsters live. It's where Nightmares are created. Rhysand sent them there to live by their own rules, protecting the rest of his precious court, especially Velaris." She spat.

"You don't seem like a monster." He leaned back into her hand, hoping she'd continue brushing her hands through it.

"I was born in Hewn City. My mother was exiled there after having an affair with a married high fae. I was the product." She ran her fingers along his scalp, scratching softly and Tamlin exhaled loudly. His mind spinning with this information and the sensation travelling through his scalp.

"You couldn't leave?" he managed, resting his eyes for a moment.

"Keir wouldn't let me." Her fingers froze, "I was his..." she hesitated, pulling her fingers out of his hair, "One of his playthings. Against my will."

Tamlin's eyes shot open just in time to see her leave the room.

CHAPTER 4 - Kaira

It had been a few weeks since Kaira exposed that piece of her history to Tamlin. The shame still clung to her skin, everywhere where his hands had been. She wished desperately she could wipe the memory away.

She willingly allowed herself to be drugged, knowing what would happen next. The drug, at least, helped her escape the body that she had no control over. The one time she refused the spiked drinked, she experienced everything and now, she still remembered screaming. She remembered kicking. She remembered everything.

She saw the way Tamlin looked at her. His eyes filled with pity. She didn’t need his pity. She survived Keir. She survived Hewn City.

Her mother always told her the same thing, No one is coming.

It was then that she realised she didn’t need saving. She would save herself. She had only ever had herself to rely on. No one is coming.

Pulled from her thoughts she heard the floors creak as he slowly approached, clearing his throat in preparation of the few words he would use to address her. “Good morning, Kaira.”

She smiled to herself. Three words. He must have slept well. “Good morning, Tamlin,” she replied, rinsing her hands before drying them with a kitchen towel, “You’re up earlier than usual, breakfast isn’t quite ready yet.”

Tamlin looked down at her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Kaira knew her presence equally comforted and frightened him, much as his did to her. “Sit, it won’t be long. You can have your coffee in the meantime.”

She brewed a fresh cup of coffee and placed it in front of him, he nodded quickly. A man of little to no words. She preferred it that way, it meant she could do all the talking.

She turned her back to him and faced the stove, cracking the eggs into the pan and watching them carefully, but not as carefully as he watched her. She felt his eyes on her.

She had heard rumours about the High Lord of Spring. She had heard about the beast that lurked within him. The rage. The lightning fast reflexes. She had heard that he was handsome. He was everything rumoured and more.

She set the eggs down in front of him and as expected, her chair shifted outward. His invitation to join him for breakfast was always open, but unspoken. “Could I use your library?”

Tamlin met her gaze and nodded quietly, “Of course. You’re welcome to anything in the house.”

“It’s locked.”

“After breakfast.” He mumbled in between forkfuls of eggs and fresh bread. She couldn’t help but smile. Tamlin always ate as if it were the most delicious meal he had ever tasted.

He led her to the library in the middle of the second floor and unlocked it, handing her the key. The walls were lined with books from top to bottom. Dust settled on every open surface.

Kaira ran up to the shelves. It would take her months, or years to read every book available. A treasure trove of knowledge and places to escape to. “Is there a ladder?”

Tamlin shrugged and shook his head, “No. I never needed one.” A smug smile playing on his lips.

Kaira narrowed her eyes at him, “Well, you’re helping me build a ladder or I will be disturbing you every hour to come and help me reach a book.”

A soft laugh escaped him, his green eyes sparkling, “I will get you a ladder.” His eyes shot to the desk in the room and within a second, he was at the desk, shoving a small brown leather notebook into his jacket pocket.

Kaira knew her place and usually she wouldn’t ask, but the High Lord’s cheeks were flushed and she couldn’t resist teasing him, “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” He grumbled, straightening his jacket, no doubt willing the colour out of the cheeks.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Does the High Lord of Spring enjoy reading smut?” She asked playfully, “Don’t hide the smut from me, I can handle it.”

“The High Lord of Spring enjoys writing smut,” He answered, his face breaking into a smile as his cheeks, once again, reddened, “But, there’s some smut up there,” he pointed to the top shelf, “If you can reach it.” Before he turned around and left.

Chapter 5

Rhysand, as usual, ignored the front door and winnowed into kitchen. Tamlin found himself relieved that Kaira was still asleep, he quickly threw his magic through the house, concealing her as best he could while maintaining eye contact with The High Lord of the Night Court. The High Lord that left Kaira hopelessly alone in the Court of Nightmares.

"Nice hairdo." Rhysand said in way of greeting.

Tamlin inhaled slowly, feeling his temper rise. "What do you want this time?"

"Came to see how you were doing, making sure you eat your monthly meal. Just being a good friend, since I know Lucien hasn't been visiting." Rhysand drawled, inspecting the clean kitchen, "Have you got company?"

"Get out." Tamlin ordered as he felt his claws pushing against his knuckles.

"Is that how you treat your only friend?" Rhysand replied with a smile, "I came to share good news, that's what friends do, isn't it?"

Usually Tamlin would let Rhysand ride out whatever it is he needed to. Often times it was the simplest of insults. Other times he felt Rhysand's power creeping out, threatening to strangle him. However, Tamlin sensed that Kaira was waking up. Her energy shifting around her bedroom.

"Make it quick, Rhysand, I have places to be." Families to feed, thank to you and your mate, he thought, but now was not the time to fight. He needed Rhysand to leave before Kaira came downstairs. His magic wouldn't conceal her from exposing herself and he couldn't lock her in her bedroom. He'd learned his lesson when it came to locking people inside, even for their own protection.

"Feyre and I will be welcoming a beautiful baby boy soon. All the High Lords are invited to the blessing of the birth, as per the tradition. Consider this your invitation and keep yourself available on the eve of the new moon." Rhysand's lips curled upward, exposing his straight, white teeth. It was technically a smile, but it brought no joy. Not to Tamlin, at least.

Tamlin caught his breath at the news and took a few seconds to control his voice, "Congratulations and as per the traditions, I will try my best to be there. Now if you don't mind," he said, standing up and escorting Rhysand towards the door, "I have places to be."

"I'll leave the way I arrived." Was all he said before winnowing out of the manor.

When he was out of earshot, Tamlin felt his aggression climb through his chest and escape his mouth in a roar. He heard glass shatter, but he kept roaring.

Feyre and Rhysand would be welcoming a baby boy. A life that could have been his. Should have been his.

Moments later Kaira appeared downstairs, in nothing but a dressing gown, armed with a contraption she fashioned out of an old milk bottle, a sponge and a spring. She would fill it with water and spray it at him from afar, whenever he had a violent nightmare.

"I'm fine." He growled.

"House says otherwise." She replied, lowering her water shooter, gesturing at the mess he'd created.

He glowered, silently. His mind racing through the news he had received and whether he could find a way to miss the ceremony.

"What was Lord Rhysand doing here?" she asked, tightening the belt on her gown. Her long hair was loose, falling in curls on either shoulder, meeting in her exposed cleavage. He lowered his gaze. "I could sense him, but thank you for the concealment spell, I don't think he sensed me."

"He wouldn't, he was too distracted by his own gloating." Tamlin replied, swiftly gesturing at the mess and sweeping it into a pile in the corner.

She raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, tapping her foot. Tamlin nearly smirked at her audacity.

"He was here to formally invite me to the blessing of his upcoming offspring."

She stood quietly for a moment and Tamlin turned to face her, "Are you going to go?"

"It's tradition for all the High Lords to be present." Tamlin said, his jaw tightening on every syllable.

"You should go."

"Why?" he grunted.

"It will make them uncomfortable and I think that's a good enough reason." She replied, a smile spreading across her pretty face. "In other, more important news, if you're interested, I have a few ideas on how you can help your court. I don't mean to overstep."

Tamlin looked at her expectedly, aware that she'd launch into an explanation whether or not he asked for it.

"You may not have money, but you have treasures. As you know, I cleaned out your basement last night and found collections of jewels and jewellery that would make even the richest of fae swoon. You have paintings painted by High Lords. You have skulls belonging to Yechins."

"What's your point?" Tamlin asked aggressively, his temper still coming down from interacting with the High Lord of the Night Court.

"I bet Lord Helion would love a painting painted by his mother. Amren would pay anything for those jewels. And the skull, there are healers in the Day Court who use it as part of enchantments. It's the reason Yechins are extinct."

Tamlin looked at the Kaira sitting across from him, her hands waving wildly as she spoke, "I didn't even know any of that was down there. My parents never got a chance to tell me what any of it was worth."

She sat quietly, surveying him in the same way he surveyed her moments before. "Mine didn't either. My mother was dead before I hit puberty. It's all in your library. Don't you read?"

Tamlin looked up quickly to see a playful smile spread across her face and against his better judgment. He smiled back. "My apologies for not having a moment to read when I was learning how to rule an entire court, as a young boy, after my parents were brutally murdered in front of me."

Her eyes flashed with sorrow and regret.

"I'm sorry, I'm joking, I mean it happened, but it was centuries ago." Tamlin stuttered.

"You're not good at telling jokes." She said, the smile returning for a moment, "Centuries or not, I'm sorry for your loss."

"I'm sorry for yours." He replied.

"Anyway, come and see what I have done." She stood up and walked away, her dressing gown hugging her hips. Her barefeet stepping without making a sound.

Tamlin followed without question as she led him to the basement that he had not entered in years. She waited at the door for him to unlock it, as he had done the night before for her. He wrapped his hand around the lock and felt it pierce his skin. His blood trickled into the lock and the door creaked open. Instead of sniffing in the smell of mold as he had the previous night, the basement smelled of lavender and detergent.

He stepped inside. Kaira had rearranged everything, dusted everything and polished everything. The items that were once piled on top of each other had been arranged in rows, small pieces of paper stuck on each of them.

"I tried a cataloging them. Whoever organized it before did a great job. It took me a while to figure out their methods, but once I cracked it, it made perfect sense. The name of each item. The date obtained. The estimated value. It's all here."

"My mother." Tamlin whispered, leaning down to observe a Yecchin skull.

"Your mother what?"

"My mother used to spend her days down here." Tamlin lifted the skull, "Is it just the one?"

"You have three." She replied, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the opposite end of the basement. Her hands were small, barely wrapping around his own wrist, but she was determined, pulling him with a force he could not deny. "Look at these paintings?" she pointed at each of them, "Painted by one of High Lords of Autumn. Painted by Lord Helion's mother. Painted by The High Priestess Parreeah."

"They are beautiful."

"I know, I wish we could hang them in the dining hall instead, but one painting could feed a hundred families for a month." She said, gently touching the frame of one of the paintings, "This was my mother's favourite flower."

Tamlin stared at the black flower that only grew in the darkness. "The Creha flower born in the Night Court."

"I wish I could paint." She said, her eyes caressing each painting as if she were able to appreciate each stroke.

"I find myself being glad that you can't." He smirked.

CHAPTER 6

Tamlin cautiously approached the Summer Court boundary. Aware that as soon as he set foot across the border, they would sense his presence. 

Approaching Lord Tarquin seemed to be the best choice. Summer had always allied with Spring and Lord Tarquin was a young Lord eager to build relationships with other High Lords. While Tamlin may not be the High Lord he was hoping for, he seemed to have the same values and ultimately want the same goal, whether or not he believed Tamlin felt the same way. 

As expected, two guards arrived the instant he crossed the border and led him to Tarquin's estate. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Tarquin greeted as his sentries escorted Tamlin into his receiving room. 

Tamlin bowed his head slightly, "Tarquin."

"Please, sit down. May I offer you some tea? Or something harder?" 

"A cup of tea is fine, thank you." Tamlin sat down in the offered chair as Tarquin gestured for his servants to prepare the tea. The tea arrived almost instantly. 

"I will get straight to it," Tamlin started, "You must be aware that my court is struggling. Thousands of families were left homeless before the war had begun, a thousand more after the war ended. Male fae who supported their families lost their lives or limbs and my court needs money to rebuild. More than money. But money is a good start."

Tarquin quietly listened, his eyes kind and soft, "We are also rebuilding after the war and while I don't have much to spare, I will help in whichever way I can." 

"I'm not here for charity." 

"Call it a loan then." Tarquin replied sternly. 

"I have come to make a sale. I believe you might be interested in a painting of the rare deep sea creature, Tiloper." Tamlin started explaining as he had earlier rehearsed in front of Kaira. 

"The Tiloper has only been seen by a handful of people, all of which are members of my family." Tarquin replied quickly. 

Tamlin waved in the air and the painting appeared. Tarquin's gasp was audible. 

"Gifted to Spring, to my mother, by your cousin, Wessem."

"Poor sod, he was in love with your mother until the day she died,” Tarquin smiled, “You're selling your mother's treasures? Her gifts?" His brows furrowed. 

"For the sake of my people, she'd have it no other way."

"I'll take it." He replied, his lips curving into a smile. A smile that Tamlin could reciprocate. 

The High Lord of Summer, along with Tamlin's asking price for more than one painting, gifted him with tools, wood and stone, to aid the rebuild of the shattered homes. He also promised to send workers as soon as his cities have been rebuilt. 

Tamlin arrived at his manor, a rare smile spread across his face as he already smelled the stewed lamb.

Upon nearing the manor, he sensed another presence. Kaira was not alone. 

Lucien. 

He entered the dining hall and found his old friend and emissary, Lucien seated at one end of the newly repaired dining table. Kaira was quietly seated on the other end. 

Lucien turned to face Tamlin, he raised an eyebrow towards Kaira, "What is this?" 

"Who." 

Lucien raised both eyebrows. 

"Kaira is a guest of mine. She's free to come and go as she pleases."

"Where did she come from?" he asked.

"I don't enjoy being spoken of as if I'm not in the room." Kaira snapped and Tamlin stifled a laugh, shaking his head slightly. Lucien looked at Kaira, a smirk spreading across his face, "I like you." 

Kaira smiled. The same smile that Tamlin could not resist, he watched as Lucien smiled back at her. 

"I'm needed in the kitchen, please excuse me." Kaira announced, standing up quickly. 

"Do I want to know?" Lucien asked, his metal eye swiveling around to watch Kaira rush towards the kitchen. 

"Stay for dinner." Tamlin said, pulling out a seat and settling into it, "I am aware of the upcoming baby, you no longer need to avoid me."

Lucien flinched, "I wasn't…" he stumbled, both eyes suddenly focused on a deep claw mark in the dining table. 

Tamlin shrugged, "I have good news. Say you'll stay."

Lucien swallowed and nodded gently. Tamlin waved toward the table, the lamb stew appeared, along with three sets of crockery and cutlery. Kaira entered the room with wine and glasses. She hesitated at the table and Tamlin gestured towards the third dining set. She sat down quietly, fiddling with her hair, "My apologies, I hadn't a moment to neaten my appearance…" 

"You look… Nice." Tamlin mumbled and Lucien smirked, his eyes darting between Kaira and the High Lord of Spring. Kaira's cheeks reddened slightly. 

"I have gold." Tamlin announced, "Not an enormous amount and nothing near to what I lost, but enough to sustain a few families for the year, if spent wisely."

Lucien sat back in his seat, his frown line deeping while chewing. "I would recommend you start with families along the Autumn border. They are the most vulnerable given their location." 

Tamlin nodded, "I agree. It would help if I had someone to help me get things back in order. As you know, I am not the best at communicating my intentions."

"You should hire someone." Lucien replied distractedly while helping himself to another serving. 

"That is exactly what I am trying to do." 

Lucien stopped mid chew. "Oh." 

Tamlin shook his head, "It's fine. I understand."

"I'll do it." Lucien quickly replied, "But I'm not coming back to Spring. I'll do it as a friend, if you'll have me."

Tamlin nodded, his eyes lighting up in a way Kaira had never seen before. She smiled inwardly as she finished her plate.

CHAPTER 7 - Kaira

Kaira awoke to the smell of freshly baked bread. She jumped out of bed. If Tamlin was trying to bake again, there was a good chance the kitchen would be on fire. She took the stairs two at a time, and landed loudly on the floor, sprinting her way to the kitchen. 

She reached the kitchen and skidded to a halt. There were two faeries in the kitchen. One female and one male faerie, both with pale skin and deep blue hair pinned back. They turned around to look at Kaira and she prepared herself to run. 

"Ms. Kaira, please have a seat at the dining table. Lord Tamlin is waiting. Breakfast will be served in a minute." The female faerie explained happily, her round eyes were friendly and Kaira felt herself relax, slightly. 

She trudged her way to the dining hall and found the High Lord of Spring slouched lazily in his chair, his fingers gently caressing the scars he'd left in the table as if remembering the reason behind each and every one of them. 

"Good morning." Kaira announced with a bow. 

Tamlin raised an eyebrow at her, "Morning, sit. I'm starving."

Kaira sat in the chair extended to her. Her hands folded neatly in her lap as the pale faeries brought scrambled eggs, freshly baked bread and hot coffee. Tamlin thanked and excused them. 

Kaira stared at the food and Tamlin stared at her curiously. "Are you okay?" 

"Are you firing me?" she asked suddenly. Her eyes focused on her lap. 

Tamlin's brows folded in a crease, "What?" 

"You hired kitchen staff. I'm your kitchen staff. Or I was. Are you firing me? Did I do something to upset you?" she asked, her voice nearing breaking point. Deceiving her as she tried to maintain a mask of coolness that the high fae so easily managed. 

Tamlin sighed loudly and shook his head, "No, of course not. I can afford kitchen staff with everything we have sold and I figured you may not want to live as my servant." 

"What am I supposed to do now? Where am I supposed to go?" Kaira asked, her voice just an octave higher than a whisper. 

Tamlin pulled her chair toward him, "Kaira, look at me," She looked up at his green eyes, "You can stay or go, but I'd like it if you stayed. Help the staff. Walk the grounds. Fix my furniture. Do whatever you want, because you want to, not because you're paying me for a place to rest your head."

Kaira nodded, entranced by his eyes, by the High Lord's kindness, by the fact that most of the time he only spoke a handful of words to her. "If I'm not needed in the kitchen, then let me hunt. For the families who can't do it themselves."

Tamlin straightened his back, "Can you hunt?" 

Kaira shook her head, "I can try."

"Can you use a bow and arrow?" 

She shook her head again, "But I'm really good with a knife, and I'm quick."

"That I have seen," Tamlin breathed, concern etched across his face, "But a knife requires you to get extremely close and I would rather not purposefully put you in harm's way."

Kaira felt a warmth rush into her cheeks as it did whenever the High Lord said anything kind directed at her. She brushed it away. "I just want to be useful." 

He nodded thoughtfully. "I can teach you how to use a bow and arrow, and how to build snares. We can start after breakfast. I promised a few families meat before the end of the day." 

Kaira saw the exhaustion in his eyes, in the way his muscular shoulders slouched. She knew, from the screaming, that he still had nightmares. Most times a simple spray of her water shooter would wake him and he'd fall asleep after complaining about her methods. 

After breakfast, Tamlin grabbed a bow and arrow and dragged her into the woods. She stayed close to him, a sense of safety surrounding his body. No animal dared attack the male who so clearly had a beast lurking beneath his skin. 

Tamlin stuck out an arm, stopping her in her tracks, he glanced at her quickly and put a finger to his lips before pointing into the distance. 

She followed his finger and saw a rabbit, much like the size of the rabbit that she prepared for him on the night they met. He took a step behind her, careful not to make a sound and positioned the bow in front of her. 

She held the bow the way she'd seen others hold a bow and felt Tamlin's hand adjust her position. His calloused fingers rubbing against her soft skin. She reminded herself to focus. 

Carefully, he drew the bow, leaning down and placing his head on her shoulder, he closed one of his eyes and whispered playfully, his breath sending a shiver down her back, "Aim for the rabbit." 

She felt her lips curl into a smile before inhaling deeply, focusing on the rabbit and releasing the arrow. 

The arrow landed less than a foot away from her and the rabbits sprawled. Tamlin, to her surprise, threw his head back and laughed loudly. His deep laugh echoing throughout the woods. 

"You're scaring off all the animals." Kaira whispered aggressively. 

Tamlin contained his laughter, but the smile remained on his handsome face, "Let's try again." 

"Asshole." 

"Lord Asshole to you." He replied and she found herself giggling. 

After hours of attempts and failures, Kaira landed an arrow in the head of a rabbit. She jumped in celebration, startling a flock of nearby birds. 

"Come and collect your trophy." Tamlin called out and she ran toward the rabbit. 

Upon reaching it, she was struck by the rabbit's still open eyes. She dropped to her knees and felt its warm body. A body that had a life just moments ago. Taken by her arrow. 

Tamlin's heavy arms wrapped around her as he sunk to the ground alongside her. Scooping her closer towards him. "It's okay, it's okay." He whispered as he gently wiped her tears away. 

Kaira hadn't even realized she had been crying. "It doesn't feel okay." 

"I remember my first kill.” Tamlin replied, “Come with me." He pulled her to her feet walked her back towards her horse. He lifted her onto the horse and transformed into his golden beast. He ran ahead and the horse followed as it was trained to do. 

They reached the city centre and Tamlin quickly fell back into his own skin. He gently led the horse through a run down part of town where every house was a shade of mud brown or concrete grey. 

He knocked gently and a faerie male opened the door, leaning on a walking stick, "My Lord, please come in."

Tamlin gestured for Kaira to enter first and then followed after with the rabbit in hand. 

A gaunt female faerie eyed the rabbit and Tamlin handed it to her. "How can we ever thank you enough, my Lord." 

Tamlin waved her off and smiled politely. 

"Mummy," a voice cried out from the bedroom, "I'm so hungry." 

The female faerie smiled broadly, "Come inside and greet the High Lord and his guest, darling. He brought us some food, mummy will cook it up quickly. Don't you worry." She struggled to skin the rabbit and Kaira stepped forward to offer her assistance. Skinning and slicing the rabbit in a few quick strokes. 

The small faerie boy came out of the room, his skin tight around his bones and Kaira swallowed back tears as the little boy's eyes widened in excitement at the meat being presented to him. 

"Would you like to join us for dinner, High Lord?" the male faerie asked. 

"No, thank you Liyo. I'll bring some more meat tomorrow." 

The male faerie bowed his head quickly, "You know we have been trying to grow our own food, but nothing is growing. It's not just us either, none I have spoken to have been able to grow anything. My Lord, we haven't just been waiting…" 

Tamlin interrupted him, "I know. I'm aware. I didn't for a second think you were just waiting or expecting me. The lands are not fertile, but I'm working on it." Tamlin stiffened as he received a hug from the little boy, "She caught the rabbit." he said, gesturing to Kaira and the little boy leapt into her arms. 

Kaira's throat tightened tighter than the boy's grip on her. Releasing only as Tamlin lifted her to help her back onto her horse. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him. Just for a second. Inhaling his pine scent enjoying the feeling of resting her head on his strong chest. He ran a finger through her hair and she thinks she felt his lips touch the top of her head. 

They rode back in complete silence.

CHAPTER 8

"There's a magic rake in Hewn City." Kaira announced over breakfast.

"A magic rake?" Tamlin rubbed his eyes. It was too early for riddles.

"A magic rake. When nothing would grow in the Court of Nightmares, Keir made a deal with someone, I don't know who, and they gave him this rake. We each spent weeks, raking up every piece of land in Hewn and days later, everything we planted grew, even without adequate daylight or adequate water. Two things we were short of at the time." Kaira explained, shaking off the fear that came with the mention of his name.

"You think it will work here?" Tamlin asked, watching her pick at the edges of her nails.

"It's worth a try. Kheir could ask for anything from a pocketed favor to begging on your hands and knees. You won't know until you ask."

Tamlin's stomach recoiled at the thought of willingly entering the Court of Nightmares.

"He doesn't need the rake anymore. There's been a constant supply of fruit and vegetables since we raked the grounds." Kaira said speedily. Her voice was unsteady.

Tamlin nodded slowly, he knew he'd have to try. For Liyo, for his people, being able to grow their own produce would change their lives substantially.

"Don't drink the offered tea."

"Why?" He asked, watching her pick at a loose strand on her sleeve.

"Poisoned. Slightly. Uhuk."

"I'd smell it." Tamlin snarled.

"Not in the quantity used. It's just meant to slow you down slightly, giving Keir the upper hand should he need it. He'll be offended if you reject. Ask for water instead."

"He doesn't poison the water?"

Kaira shook her head, "It's easy to sense in water. Even just a drop. He can't risk his guests finding out."

Tamlin stared at her, waiting for her to look up and make eye contact with him. But she never did. He wondered what horrors she experienced in her time there and then shook the thought from his head as he felt his rage building. He made a mental promise to shred Keir apart. Limb by limb and make him regret everything he had ever done to her.

Tamlin arrived at the boundary of the Court of Nightmares, Hewn City, what he had previously thought was the Night Court in its entirety, having never had the opportunity to explore it further than the palace.

Keir sat on his throne, a look of satisfaction plastered over his face.

"The High Lord of Spring seeks me, tell me, are you still pining over our dearest High Lady, Feyre?"

Tamlin ignored the multiple sets of eyes that were all focused on him. On his reaction to her name. "I'm here on official business, Keir. My grounds have not been able to produce since Calanmai did not go as planned."

"Or at all. I believe you were too busy fighting over dearest Feyre." Keir hissed, and with a change of tone, quickly added, "Could I offer you some tea?"

"No, thank you."

"It's impolite not to accept." Keir countered.

"Water would be lovely, thank you." Tamlin replied, willing his claws to stay inside as he looked upon this man. Kaira's words echoing in his mind.

Plaything.

Plaything.

Plaything.

"I was busy fighting in a war, alongside the people who ran my court into the ground. But regardless, Calanmai isn't for another few months and I'm unsure my people will make it that long." Tamlin steadied his breath and raised his chin, "Name your price."

Keir giggled with pleasure, "Oh I love it when the High Lords need me. Take the rake, and know that you owe me."

Tamlin closed his mouth as he felt his teeth sharpen, he wanted to rip out Keir’s throat but there was enough rivalry between Night and Spring and his court could not afford to lose this opportunity. Thousands of lives depended on it.

Tamlin nodded and the rake appeared in front of him. "How do I know this isn't any old rake?"

"I am far too excited to make you pay for it."

Tamlin walked out of the palace, rake in hand, determined to leave this court as fast as he could. Just before he winnowed away, he noticed the front of the palace was lined with Creha. He picked one and disappeared.

CHAPTER 9 - Kaira 

Tamlin had been gone for a couple of days and Kaira was beginning to worry. She was well aware of what the Court of Nightmares was capable of. She saw the anger in Tamlin’s eyes when he left, she saw his claws release when she mentioned Keir. She wondered, for a moment, whether he’d kill Keir. Though she had warned him not to. They needed the rake.

She paced around the manor but pacing seemed to slow everything down further. So, she baked. She baked a giant chocolate cake and decorated it finely. It took hours. 

She felt his presence before she saw him. He always arrived like a hurricane. A whirlwind of power and muscle, too big for whichever room he found himself in. The ground he landed on seemed to bow in fear. 

He held out the rake, half a smile playing on his lips. But it never reached his eyes. She exhaled in relief. "What did he want?" 

Tamlin shrugged. A casual gesture, but she knew those big shoulders carried the weight of thousands of families, alone. "A favor. We'll have to see."

Kaira mimicked his casual shrug, even though a favor owed to Keir was the worst thing she could imagine. She watched as his eyes peered over her shoulder and settled on the cake. His mouth dropped open slightly. 

Kaira couldn't hide the pleasure she felt watching him salivate while staring at the cake - for a moment, she envied the cake. "You want some?" 

The big warrior nodded enthusiastically, the rake disappearing to whichever space he deemed safe enough to hold it. He pulled out a chair and sat down, looking up at her. 

Kaira sliced a piece of cake and presented it to him. He brushed his hand across hers and a Creha flower appeared in the palm of her hand. She felt her eyes well up, and looked at him. He smiled at her, his hand lingering on hers, before pulling it away and taking a bite of the cake.

Kaira blinked back tears and cradled the flower in her hands before grabbing a small glass and filling it with water for the flower to settle in. She set it down in the darkest corner of the kitchen. 

When she turned back to Tamlin, he had devoured half the cake. Chocolate ganache smeared across his chin and fingers and yet he leaned forward to slice off another piece. He looked up at her guiltily, “Was anyone going to join us?”

Kaira giggled lightly and walked over to him. She leaned down to quickly place the gentlest of kisses on his hard jaw. "Thank you for the flower." 

His green eyes met hers for a moment and something stirred within her. Before he could say anything, she asked for the rake, "I'd like to get started, we have lots of ground to cover, who knows when he'll want it back." 

Tamlin held her gaze for a second longer before throwing back another piece of cake and fetching the rake. 

After a couple of days, the once muddied soil was covered in green. A hope of fruits, vegetables and a variety of flowers sprouting from what seemed to be barren land. After a few more days, families were able to pick their own home-grown tomatoes. Eagerly telling Tamlin this as he presented them with whatever animal he hunted for them that day. 

Tamlin arrived at home glistening. His smile broad, his eyes tired, but joyful. There was something else. A look Kaira couldn't place. She stood up from their own vegetable garden and took off her gardening gloves and hat. Smiling curiously as he approached her with that unknown look. 

"It worked." He whispered when he reached her.

She laughed, "I know." and pointed to the tomatoes she had just harvested. His laughed wrapped around her own as he leaned downward and kissed her. Gently at first, their lips touching softly against each other as he laughed into her mouth. 

She looked into those green eyes and hungrily pulled him closer for another kiss. Harder. She wanted more. So did he. 

He lifted her up, effortlessly and pushed her against the wall as his lips crashed into hers. His tongue desperately seeking hers as his hands firmly gripped the underside of her thighs. She felt a heat between her legs and wrapped her legs around him tightly, pulled his body up against hers. 

Her body felt like it may explode. Every second his lips left hers, she thought she may die. She pulled him closer. She didn't need to breathe. She needed him. The undersides of her thighs were on fire, burning against the feeling of his strong hands. Every inch of her body needed him. On her. In her. 

He pulled away, his green eyes flashing brighter than she had ever seen them before. She attempted to pull him back towards her. She wasn't ready for it to stop. 

"Do you feel that?" he asked breathlessly, quietly, "I knew it.”

“Knew what?” she asked, leaning towards him to place kisses along his neck. 

“Kaira, you're my mate."

She knew it too. She could feel it. In her bones. In her heart. She could feel it in the air she breathed. She needed him. 

She pushed him away and watched as hurt flashed across his sensitive eyes. "You need to eat. You need to eat." She mumbled and a small laugh escaped him as he leaned down to kiss her cheek, her neck, her lips. 

"Go. To. The. Kitchen." She managed, her breath stolen by the feeling of his lips on her throat, "I need to make you something to eat… Unless you don't want me to?" 

Tamlin pulled away from where he had been kissing her neck and looked into her eyes, "Offer me that tomato." 

Kaira burst into a fit of laughter. "I'm a skilled chef and you want me to offer you a tomato as our mating meal?" 

"Offer me the tomato." He said again, biting his bottom lip and Kaira bent over to pick up a tomato. Rubbing it against her shirt to clean some of the soil off. 

"It's dirty." She laughed, offering it to him. 

"I don't care," he said before biting into the tomato more enthusiastically than she had ever seen anyone eat a tomato. The juice ran down his chin and Kaira grabbed his shirt, pulling him downward so that she could lick his neck, his chin, and eventually his mouth. Tamlin growled with pleasure as he lifted her into his arms and winnowed her into his bedroom. 

Kaira sat on the edge of her bed. Her body threatened to explode if he stepped an inch closer. 

He didn't step. 

He kneeled. 

She looked down as Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court kneeled in front of her, a lesser faerie, a mixed breed. He opened her legs and placed them over his strong shoulders. Maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. His tongue traveled up the inside of her thigh and upon reaching the top, he hungrily, viciously, licked her. Kaira's body erupted within seconds, but he wouldn't let go. She moaned loudly, calling his name, which only made him hungrier. For her. To taste her. To feel her writhe underneath him. 

"I need you inside me." She begged. 

Tamlin couldn't resist the offer. He peeled off his pants, exposing his considerable length and climbed on top of her, entering her gently, but she pulled him toward her, desperately. She kissed his neck, inhaling the smell of his skin as he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside her. 

She dug her fingernails into his muscular back, urging him closer. He still wasn’t close enough. He pushed deeper, biting at her neck while doing it, moans of pleasure escaping her mouth. 

"I love you." She whispered and he growled as his body came crashing down on top of her. 

He pulled her towards him, "Say it again."

"I love you, my mate."

Tamlin pulled her on top of him and pulled downward as his mouth wrapped around her nipple, she felt him harden again just as she felt herself pool. She had heard of the rumors of the sex frenzy after finding your mate but she didn't expect this.

CHAPTER 10

"Come with me, please come with me." Tamlin begged as he rolled over to look at his mate. She lay on her side, staring at him dreamily, no doubt the same way he looked at her. He stroked her face gently, tracing the shape of her nose, her lips, her jawline and felt himself harden again. 

It had been a few days since their mating bond clicked into place but his need for her hadn't lessened at all and the idea of leaving her at the manor while he attended a blessing ceremony for his ex-fiance and her mate's upcoming baby, sent him into a fury. 

"I don't want to go to the Night Court." She whispered, tracing circles on his chest. Scooting herself closer and closer to him. He knew what they would end up doing in just a few moments. 

"I won't let them hurt you." He said, trailing his hand down her sides, and gripping her behind. 

"That's what I'm afraid of. You'd rather die. And I can't have that either." She whispered into his mouth, placing soft kisses all over his face, driving him crazy with love, with lust.

"You're my mate and soon, if we can pull ourselves out of this bed, you will be my wife, my High Lady. I want you at my side." Their bodies were up against each other now, and he could feel his excitement growing. 

"I don't want to see Kheir." She whispered quietly, the light leaving her dark eyes for a moment. 

Tamlin felt his claws piercing his knuckles. 

"I'm sorry." she whispered again. 

He kissed her tears away, and pulled her into his chest, "It's okay, I'll be okay. Even if you're not at my side, I'll know you're mine. Here. Safe. Waiting for me and all the things I plan to do to you." 

A small smile returned to her lips as he pulled her close to make love to her again. 

Tamlin reached the Night Court with little to no enthusiasm. He trudged in. Politely greeting his fellow High Lords who had been offering help to rebuild Spring Court. 

Feyre and Rhysand appeared, eyeing him suspiciously, undoubtedly waiting on him to make a scene. They thought him a monster and while he knew that at one stage he may have been, he thought by now they would have realised that he was no longer a threat. 

He thought of his own mate and his anger subsided. Something else increased and he shifted awkwardly in his seat to hide it. 

Feyre and Rhysand politely greeted everyone except him. It wasn't surprising. She rubbed her big belly and he wondered for a moment whether that should have been his child. Surprisingly, the thought repulsed him. His heart belonged to one female only and she was probably asleep, in the sun, probably naked. He felt something deep within him ache as he hardened. A pleasure building deep inside him and washing over him. He smiled inwardly, knowing exactly what she was up to. He cursed under his breath, envying her hands, and the access they had to her body. Tamlin shook his head and tried to focus on calming himself down. Not from anger this time.

Before the blessing ceremony started. He glanced around the room once more and swept his magic beyond it. Members of all the courts and beyond were present, including Lucien. But there was no sign of Keir. Tamlin breathed a sigh of relief, he was unsure he would be able to control the rage he would feel directed at the male. 

The High Priestess addressed everyone and initiated the ceremony with a prayer. She offered Blessed Water to Feyre who eagerly took the required three sips, offering the last sip to her mate, Rhysand. Something tugged at Tamlin’s soul. Something was pulling at his skin. 

The High Lords were instructed to gather around the couple to be blessed and recite the Prayer of Blessed Birth in unison. Tamlin had been to one blessing ceremony before. It was equally as tedious. 

He looked around, his eyes darting towards every entrance as if expecting a danger to materialise. 

"You seem happy." Rhysand drawled pulling him away from his thoughts. 

Tamlin mustered up a look of interest, "Congratulations again." in between sips of tea. He sniffed around the food, he wasn’t interested in meals eaten without his mate. 

Rhysand bowed his thanks, "Your happiness, has it got anything to do with the Night Court fugitive you have been harboring?" 

Tamlin felt his blood run cold. He bared his teeth and Rhysand let out a low laugh, "You think I didn't sense her when I was there? Your glamor was too late. I can smell my own within an instant." He said, flashing his own teeth, "Kaira, right?" 

Tamlin swallowed, he couldn’t attack Rhysand here, what good would it do. He looked around, the Shadowsinger and the other bat brute watched him closely. Tamlin was outnumbered, as usual. "Please." He begged.

"Grown quite attached, have you?" Rhysand laughed, "Well, don't worry about me. She belongs to Hewn, not my jurisdiction." 

"She belongs to no one." Tamlin growled, unable to keep his claws inside. 

"That's between you and Keir." He replied, pouring himself a glass of wine. 

Something was wrong.

CHAPTER 11 - Kaira

Kaira stretched out her arms and legs, the enormous bed feeling empty without her mate. It had only been a few seconds since Tamlin left, but she felt the pull at her mind, at her soul, searching for him. She slipped her hand below the sheets, closed her eyes and thought of him and his sultry mouth. 

She wondered whether he could feel her pleasure all the way in the Night Court.  

She dragged herself out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, the female faerie, Muri was busy preparing her breakfast. Kaira greeted her happily, joining her side to wash some of the dishes, “My Lady, please sit down. I will bring you your breakfast in just a moment. Don’t bother yourself with the dishes. Moti will get to it.”

Moti, her brother, as if on cue, waltzed into the kitchen, a smile plastered on his face, “Good morning, my Lady.”

Lady was still a term she was getting used to. She looked down at the ring, one of the treasures his mother kept in the basement. Tamlin had gifted it to her in the middle of the night, when he dragged her out of bed and made her his wife.

She sat down at the kitchen table, staring at the empty seat where her mate usually sat. It wasn’t recommended that mates be separated this early into their mateship. She knew why. Every part of her screamed for him and she tried quieting it down, afraid it might alarm him and worry him. 

After breakfast, she strolled into the library. She would bathe and clothe herself afterwards, she had absolutely nothing else planned for the day and her High Lord mentioned that he had acquired some new reading material for her. 

The library was as she left it, except, on the desk lay the small leather notebook. The same notebook she had once seen him hide from her. Cautiously, she approached it. Unsure of whether he had left it out for her to see, or accidentally.  

Gingerly, she ran her finger along the leather. Her curiosity pounding loudly in her ears. She lifted the cover. She would just take one peek. Just read one word. Just to see. 

She lifted the cover and glanced down. 

I knew you’d snoop. Keep going.

She giggled to herself, filled with pleasure at the thought of him. 

She opened the notebook entirely. 

There once was a girl who entered my life She was small, quick and skilled with a knife My love is beyond measure Dedicated to her pleasure As soon as I could, I had to make her my wife

“Ha, I made you my husband, you asshole.” She laughed out loud, her cheeks flushed at the thought of her big beast sitting down and writing this. At the thought of him knowing she’d read it. 

There was screaming coming down from the kitchen. Muri was screaming. Kaira rushed downstairs, tucking her dagger beneath her gown. Quietly, she peeked into the kitchen. The floor was covered in blood, her breath caught in her throat. 

“Where is she?” she heard someone, a male aggressively shout. “Where is Kaira?”

“I’d rather die.” Moti whispered before screaming, his screams drowned out by that of his sister. 

“Stop!” Kaira shouted as she entered the kitchen. Moti was lying on the ground, the blood belonged to him, streaming out of an open wound as the male hovered over him with a knife to his neck. Another male leaned over Muri, ripping her skirt upward. Kaira recognised the look in his eyes, she knew what he’d do to her. 

Muri stared at Kaira, her eyes wide with fear, “Run, my Lady!”

Kaira recognised the male’s insignia. He was from the Court of Nightmares. He was here for her. “Let them go and I will come willingly.” her heart was pounding in her chest as she watched the life drain out of Moti. “If you continue hurting them, I will run, and I will escape and you’ll go back to your king empty handed. Your choice.”

The male stood up, a cruel smile spread across his face, “I do love a game of catch.”

“Do you enjoy it as much if you lose?” Kaira countered. 

The male stepped towards Kaira but was stopped by the other whispering something. They released Moti and Muri, grabbed Kaira and winnowed. 

To Hewn City. 

To Keir’s palace. 

Kaira stood in front of Keir on his throne as she had done many times before. Bile traveling up her throat. 

“My pet.”

“Fuck off.” Kaira snapped. 

“You seem to have made yourself quite valuable to the High Lord of Spring, which makes you even more valuable to me.”

She didn’t need to look around to know where the exits were. She spent countless nights mapping the palace, planning escapes. Escapes that almost always got her caught and then punished. Punished by the male who sat in front of her. 

And now she was back. Trapped. As she was for so many years and she heard her mother tell her again.

No one is coming.

CHAPTER 12

Tamlin felt fear overcome his entire body. Something was wrong. She was in trouble. Tamlin grabbed Rhysand’s shoulder, spinning him around to face him and pushing him up against the wall. “Where is she?” Tamlin growled, his claws digging into either side of the wall. 

Rhysand released his wings, pushing them away from the wall, releasing Tamlin’s claws, “I dont know.” He bared his teeth. “But my guess is that Keir collected what is his.”

Tamlin transformed into the golden beast and felt the strength of the other five High Lords pulling him back, away from Rhysand’s neck. Tamlin fell back into his own skin and winnowed away. Something was wrong. 

He landed in the Court of Nightmares outside the palace, the doors of the palace locked, he roared, “Open. Open. Open.” He kicked the doors, the metal bowing under his force and reforming instantly, he kicked continuously, screaming, his throat hoarse, “Open.”

Lucien appeared next to Tamlin and wordlessly started attacking the door as Tamlin had done. The doors opened and Tamlin ran inside, faced with Keir on his throne, Rhysand on the other with Feyre in his lap. Behind him, his entourage, a mixture of scowls and smirks directed at Tamlin. And then, at Lucien.

“Where is she?” Tamlin growled with what was left of his voice. 

“How does it feel to have someone you care for threatened? How does it feel knowing she is a prisoner to a monster?” Rhysand spat.

“I never hurt her, not intentionally.”

“I don’t care what your intentions were!” Rhysand shouted, “I felt every bit of her fear. Imagine she was your mate. Imagine the shared pain. The shared fear.”

“Where is she?” Tamlin asked again, his head spinning slightly. 

“Hope you enjoyed the tea.” Keir voiced and Tamlin cursed under his breath. “She is where she belongs, in my chambers. My little plaything.”

Tamlin launched himself forward at Keir but he was pushed back by a blow to his chest. Eris stood before him. The High Lord of Autumn arrived with Eris at his side. Lucien threw himself in between Tamlin and Eris, releasing his dagger in time to deflect another attack. 

Tamlin roared loudly, “Why?” He steadied himself as he felt the effects of the tea, “Why do you want her?”

“I will admit it was all just for a bit of fun, taking back what is mine… But, Lord Tamlin, why are you willing to go to these lengths for a mixed breed, a servant?”

Tamlin transformed into his beast once more. He would rip out Keir’s throat. He would rip out all of their throats. 

“One more step and I will kill her.” Keir said, standing up, Kaira appearing in front of him, pinned against his body, a dagger at her neck. “One more move, Lord, your choice.”

Kaira stood quietly, her eyes resigned, glazed over, until they met his own. She writhed in his grip as he slid a hand down from her neck, into her dressing gown. The rage burst out of Tamlin’s chest, sending furniture and paintings into a whirlwind around the room. Rhysand winnowed his pregnant mate out of the room and Keir loosened his grip as he shielded himself. Kaira pulled a dagger out from underneath her gown and stabbed it deep into his abdomen. Tamlin pounced but was met with The High Lord of Autumn, Beron who froze in his tracks, as Rhysand appeared, shielding Tamlin from Beron’s attack.  

Keir pulled the dagger from his abdomen and lifted it as Kaira crawled away, he pinned her to the ground and climbed on top of her. The Morrigan appeared behind Keir, another dagger shoved into his abdomen. Keir turned around and swiped his dagger at his daughter. Tamlin reached Keir and attacked, dragging his claws through Keir, ripping his skin apart, again, again, again, until the body that was left, was unrecognisable. 

He stood up, drenched in blood. Lucien at his side. Beron and Eris had fled. Rhysand stood up and faced him. The High Lord of the Spring Court and the High Lord of the Night Court stood face to face, once again, covered in blood as they did when they were boys, unwillingly crowned as High Lords and enemies.

“Let me in.” Rhysand whispered, “Please.”

Tamlin searched the room for Kaira and found her and The Morrigan staring down at the shreds that were left of Keir. 

“Let me in.” Rhysand asked again. “Let’s end this war between our courts.”

Tamlin cracked open his mental shield for just a sliver of Rhysand to slip through. He felt Rhysand's sticky darkness wrap around his mind and lead him into his own. 

Tamlin felt every bit of regret the High Lord of the Night Court felt. He felt the rage. The love for Feyre. He felt the same exhaustion he felt. The same fears. Rhysand showed him everything, all within the few minutes they stood in silence. 

Rhysand slithered out of his mind and Tamlin found Kaira in his arms, nuzzling her head deep into his chest. Repeating the same thing over and over. 

“Someone came. You came.”