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leiawritesstories · 2 days

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Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 19: A Day with the Kids (canon) @rowaelinscourt

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: none!!! enjoy the fluffy fluffs!

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“Mama?” A knock pattered softly against the half-open door of Aelin’s study, and a pair of irresistibly huge emerald eyes peered into the room. “May I come in, Mama?”

Aelin set aside the stack of letters she was reading through and turned in her seat, opening her arms to her youngest daughter. “Of course you can, my little love.”

Rielle Whitethorn Galathynius, all of seven years old, came slowly into the study, looking curiously around at the shelves of leather-bound books, journals, rolled-up maps, and scattered artifacts that lined the walls of the queen’s study. After a moment, though, she raced to her mother and all but threw herself into Aelin’s lap. Aelin laughed and caught her daughter, kissing her wild silvery-blonde curls. “Hi, lovey.”

“You’re so busy, Mama,” Rielle murmured, small hands curling into the soft cotton of Aelin’s loose blouse.

“Never too busy for my family,” Aelin promised. “What’s going on?”

Her daughter’s eyes glossed over with tears. “When are Dada and Lana gonna come home?”

Oh.

Aelin pulled her youngest close, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “Well, according to the letter that Lana just sent me, they should be home in a couple of days. Definitely by the end of the week.” Gently, she brushed a stray tear off Rielle’s cheek. “I know they’ve been away for a while, lovey, and I know Dada misses you too.” Rowan and Lana, their oldest daughter, had gone to Doranelle for a few weeks to visit Sellene and give Lana the chance to train at the Academy that the Fae Queen of the East had established for all young magic-wielders.

Rielle’s lower lip quivered. “I miss Lana,” she whispered. The oldest and youngest Whitethorn children had a close bond, even though they were nearly fifteen years apart in age.

Aelin kissed her baby girl’s forehead. “I know, lovey.” She glanced out the study’s wide, arching windows, looking down into the courtyard, and an idea sparked. “Do you want to go practice with me?”

“Practice?”

Nodding, Aelin curled a ribbon of golden flame around Rielle’s head. “Practice.”

The little girl beamed and jumped off her mother’s lap, ecstatic. “Yes!”

“All right.” Aelin stood up, reshuffled the papers on her desk, and left the study hand in hand with her daughter. Rielle chattered excitedly as they came out to the courtyard, where two of her siblings were already sparring with a mix of wooden practice knives and their magic.

Light as air, Charlotte danced circles around her brother Brannon, flicking ice darts against his shield of hard air even as she slashed at him with the wooden dagger in her free hand. Bran fended off each stroke, but Aelin could tell that her son was starting to flag under the constant strain of Charlotte’s offense. He broadened his shield, pushing wind behind it to propel him forward against her onslaught, lunging at her with the short wooden sword in his left hand, but she swiftly gathered her darts into a long ice sword and batted away his lunge.

“Watch your right, B!” Aelin called across the courtyard, and Bran flicked his sword sideways just barely in time to dodge the sly jab that Charlotte was sending towards his unprotected right side.

“That’s…cheating,” he panted, clenching his fist so that his shield shrank in size. He wove a breeze around one of Charlotte’s legs and tugged, yanking her off balance.

She swore at him as she wrenched out of his magic’s grasp. “Says the dirty cheat himself.” With a flick of her wrist, her ice sword shattered into tiny, bladed crystals that she shot at Bran’s shield. He grunted under the onslaught and focused hard enough on blocking that attack that he didn’t notice her swoop in with her wooden dagger and jab him hard in the thigh. He topped with a yelp, and she had her practice blade at his throat in seconds. “Do you yield?”

He grumbled in frustration and tried to wriggle free, but she pinned him with ice around his wrists and ankles. “Gods damn it! I yield.”

Charlotte retracted her ice and let Bran up. He shook out his wrists and begrudgingly gave her a short bow. “You would’ve had me if Mum hadn’t said anything,” she said graciously.

Some of Bran’s grumpiness—inherited directly from his father—ebbed away. “Yeah, I guess.”

Rielle tugged at Aelin’s hand. “I can practice too, Mama!” she declared. Aelin nodded encouragingly, and Rielle walked a few paces away, closed her eyes, and pressed her hands together in concentration. After a long moment, sparks flickered between her palms, and she carefully brought her hands apart, growing the ball of red-gold flame between them. Scrunching up her little face as she focused, she grew the flames into a sphere, then a ring, then two rings that turned in circles.

“You’re doing so good,” Aelin praised, and she spun out a ribbon of blue flame, weaving it through her daughter’s flickering flame rings. Her magic brushed up against her daughter’s power, greeting it warmly.

“Look, Mama!” Rielle’s grin was infectious as her flames fell apart into ribbons, and she wove them through the air. Her small fingers flexed with the strain of control, and she clenched her fists, trying to spool the flames back into a ball.

But the red-gold fire just winked out.

Frustrated, Rielle let out a half-sob, half-yell and slumped down to the sandy ground. Aelin snuffed out her flames and dropped down next to her daughter, tucking her fingertips under Rielle’s fallen chin and lifting her face.

“That was so good, Rielle,” she said, comforting her daughter. “Lovey, when I was your age, I could barely hold onto the fire for a few seconds, and you’re already making shapes.”

Rielle sniffled. “Really?”

“Really,” Aelin reassured her. “Can you show me again?”

Slowly, Rielle nodded, and she curled into her mother’s warm embrace as she clenched her small fist and brought forth a shuddering ball of flame. Aelin cupped her hand under her daughter’s and wrapped Rielle’s flame in her own wildfire, guiding the flames into the shape of a sword. Together, she and her daughter slowly brought the sword down as if striking a blow.

And it struck a shield of ephemeral silver flame.

Rielle’s flames flared bright and disappeared, and she shot across the courtyard in a blur of silver-blonde curls and eager shrieking. “LANA!” Indeed, her oldest sister leaned against the archway at the entrance to the courtyard, and as Rielle launched herself up, Lana caught her, hugging her tightly.

“That was so good!” Lana praised, grinning at her little sister.

“Really?” Rielle’s eyes were big and hopeful.

“Really,” Lana beamed. Unlike either her mother or her sister, the crown princess of Terrasen wielded flames of silver—moonfire, a gift that ran parallel to the Galathynius wildfire. A gift that had lain dormant until the goddess Deanna co-opted Aelin’s body that fateful day on the ship, leaving behind a remnant of her gift that had passed down to Aelin and Rowan’s firstborn.

“Lana’s right, little love.” Rowan wrapped his arms around both girls from behind.

Rielle shifted from her sister’s arms to her father’s embrace, beaming. “I missed you, Dada!”

“I missed you more, little love,” Rowan murmured. He swung her up into the air, and she shrieked with joy, a cascade of laughter echoing around the courtyard.

Lana crossed the courtyard to Aelin and wrapped her arms around her mother. Aelin smiled into her daughter’s hair, marveling at how she had grown so tall. “How was the trip?” she asked.

“It was…a lot, but in a good way.” Lana wove a thoughtful strand of sheer fire around her wrist. “Aunt Sel and the instructors at the Academy know so much, and I hardly had any time to absorb even a little bit of it.”

Aelin raised a brow. “And the rest of it?”

Pink crept into the edges of Lana’s cheeks. “The rest of it was fine.”

Aelin chuckled and took pity on her oldest. “We can chat about it later, if you want.”

“Hopefully without half the castle snooping on us,” Lana mumbled. She turned to go and greet the rest of her siblings—which meant spar with them, probably—but flashed her mother a sly wink and a little smirk. “I hope you won’t be too scandalized.”

“I believe your father and I are plenty scandalous enough already.” Aelin winked right back.

Lana groaned loudly and covered her eyes. “No!” She headed across the courtyard, seeking refuge from her mother’s naughty humor in the laughter and companionship of her siblings.

Have we not scandalized her enough already? Rowan’s amusement curled around the corners of her mind.

Never. Aelin winked slyly at her husband. One might think, though, that after twenty-two years and, perhaps a love of her own, our crown princess wouldn’t be quite so shocked.

Do not get me started on Lana’s lover—life. On her love life.

You know I heard that.

You’ll forget about it soon enough. Rowan slid his arms around Aelin’s waist, one broad hand landing squarely on her hip, his thumb moving in a languid, heated touch.

She dipped her fingers under the hem of his shirt, dragging her nails lightly across his smooth, warm skin and reveling in his tightly leashed inhale. Is that a promise, buzzard?

It is. That quickly, he turned her own game right back around at her as he brushed a teasingly light kiss against the side of her neck.

Welcome home, love. She rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him, and he cupped the back of her head, supporting her. We missed you.

Missed you more. He kissed her again.

A shower of snowflakes burst over the queen and king’s heads, abruptly yanking them apart. From the other side of the courtyard, their children were alternately catcalling or groaning with theatrical disgust, though they’d all long since grown used to their parents showing affection.

“Are you done yet?” Lana teased, snickering.

Aelin laughed. “She’s got the commanding voice, for sure.”

“She’ll be a wonderful queen one day,” Rowan agreed, his eyes soft, distant.

Naturally, Charlotte chose that moment to drop a handful of conjured snow down Bran’s shirt, and he shrieked like a small child and chased her around the courtyard and into the gardens, as if the two of them were children rather than nearly adults. Rielle, seeing the fun, hurtled after her older siblings, yelling “You’re it! You’re it!” and Lana, with a flash of a wildfire grin, followed suit.

“They’re a handful,” Rowan chuckled, pulling Aelin back against his chest.

She smiled, the warmth of it radiating from her face. “They’re our handful, love.”

~~~

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#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth2024 #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #rowaelin and kiddos #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #canon au #post canon au

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utterlyotterlyx · 2 months

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A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Two

Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - swearing, fluff, a little angst as always, mentions of blood, brother sister fluff 🥺

Part One

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

There was only one singular thing that Rhys wanted more than to be able to spend a moment alone with his long-lost sister, telling tales and swapping stories of what the last 500 years had held for them, and that was to see Tamlin cower at her perfectly painted feet.

Though, Rhys was sure, like the other High Lords, that Tamlin would not be making an appearance, not after what Feyre had done to his court.

Aelin leaned to the side, her eyes not once moving from the reflective pool in the centre of the chamber as she whispered to y/n, causing the raven haired female to grin in response. It was clear that the two other-worldly women were putting the High Lords of Prythian on edge, if not for their damning beauty then because of the suffocating power that waltzed around them, dancing in a phantom wind and casting a faint shimmer over their forms.

Azriel didn't blame either of them for wrapping a shield around themselves, though, he did get the feeling that it wasn't they who had decided it, it seemed to be Rowan's doing. The fae prince's gaze sauntered across the room, not wanting to indulge in the idle chatter of lesser-than beings, he was assessing and probably imagining all the ways in which he could cut them down without even blinking.

The only sounds that filled the room were polite comments and the gossip from Vivane and Mor, catching up after 50 years apart. All Rhys wanted to do was lean over and ask his sister a million and one questions about her life, where she had been and what the other world was like, but, upon gazing upon her monotonous features, he decided against that impulse.

Instead, the High Lord of Night peered across the pool to find Eris Vanserra in complete awe of her, and if she had noticed his lingering gaze then she did well to not let onto it. Y/N had most likely already known that if she was raised in Prythian then it would have been him who would have been given her hand, their father had always wanted a way into the Autumn Court. Rhys was glad that she looked so alike to him, but he couldn't help but notice a certain darkness within her eyes, like a chilled breeze in the midst of winter, unwavering and fatal.

He had so many questions, so many things he needed to know.

A gentle loop of wind coursed through the open arches from the east, sifting through y/n's hair and cascading her scent straight into Azriel's lungs, so blissful that even his shadows swarmed around the speckles of air for a taste. He had been trying to pinpoint the individual aspects of her scent for the last ten minutes, desperate to etch it to memory, but that last fell sweep confirmed it.

Y/N smelt like the calm before the storm, when the earth hazed by swelter was damp and eagerly awaiting the roaring from the skies during its last moments of peace; there was a slight ashen note to it, like lightening kissed trees that were crackling after being torn apart by the storms fury, and then all of that was combined with with the heavenly aroma of fresh petrichor from newly bathed mountain springs.

He tried to tell himself that he was following each of her movements out of the desire to protect his home from a cunningly beautiful stranger, but he was lying to himself, so much so that his shadows swatted against his back sternly at the thought of her being anything remotely evil. Azriel couldn't take his eyes off of her, he noted every tick of her jaw when Beron would open his mouth and every furrow of her brow when someone would say something that intrigued her, and then there was a familiar softness that consumed her violet gaze whenever Rhys would taunt and prod those around him. Her eyes were laced with longing and pride, like she was only then realising everything she had missed from the moment she had been sent away.

Azriel was too keen not to notice the scar peeking from the bodice of her dress, though her hair did an exquisite job of hiding it, Azriel was placed in the perfect position to be able to count every scaled ridge. It extended from the tip of her pointed ear and slithered down her neck and shoulder before disappearing beneath the fabric of her dress, leaving Azriel to wonder two things, where the scar ended and what had happened to cause it. It was clear that they all had stories to tell, and Azriel was eager to know every snippet of hers.

"Forgive me for prying," Helion drawled, leaning forward in his seat and his lethally poised orbs staring directly at y/n, they trailed down her figure, from the ornate crust of jewels encapsulated around her head to the burgundy pumps on her feet, "But what exactly are you?"

The attention of the room shifted, the one thought on their minds having being thrust out into the open, and they all waited eagerly for her response. Y/N sighed and simply glanced to her right with a soft nod, bestowing a silent permission to her companion, Aelin, who grinned, knowing the floor was open for her, "Does the crown not do it for you? She's a queen."

"A queen?" Beron scoffed with a mixture of disbelief and amusement, his brown eyes wicked and untamed, he sneered at the jewels curling above her ears and asked, "Did it fall onto your head? How does a little girl like you get to call herself a queen?"

Rowan's jaw clenched, his top lip curling into a snarl, and he went to say something, to stand up for one of his two queens, but Aelin halted him with a firm hand on his forearm, "I killed my mother, not for the crown, but because-"

"She was an evil bitch?"

Y/N pointed to Aelin with her gaze stuck on Beron, unwavering, lethal, "That." Placing both hands flat against the arms of her chair, y/n rose from the seat, the sky darkening overhead and a violent gust soaring through the chamber, "I have not left my people to aid a continent that finds it acceptable to treat the only thing standing between them and certain death this way. I am over 500 years old, I'm not a little girl. I destroyed my mother and then eviscerated her body for extra measure, and if you think that I won't do the same to you then I would suggest thinking again. I am the daughter of one of the most powerful High Lords in your history, and I am also the daughter of a Valg queen whether I wish it or not. Choose your next words very carefully."

The air had grown heavy, swelteringly so, and the skies continued to darken with splotches of demonic grey; electricity surged through the space, causing the atoms to vibrate with tension. A faint rumble coursed in the distance, and sparks of blue lit up the skies which had once been a backdrop of serenity, even the ocean below could be heard crashing against the cliffside.

Despite his thunderous heartbeat, Beron couldn't allow his mask to shiver in response, no matter how much sweat had built up on his brow or cold had seeped into his bones. Before he could open his mouth and spurt another insult, two thick threads of lightening crashed through the dome of the chamber, landing on either side of him with a crack as they split open the stone under his feet. Thunder chuckled overhead, always thrilled to witness one of her spectacles.

Then, the darkness vanished, giving way to lazy beams of sun as she began her descent below the horizon, the air lightened and birdsong drifted through the room from the open arches. Still standing, y/n arched a brow and adorned a knowing smirk, knowing that a single effortless flash of her abilities had struck fear into every soul surrounding the reflective pool, "Next time, I'll let them devour you. My lightening enjoys the taste of snivelling old cunts."

I like her. Feyre's voice all but purred into Rhys' mind, her face was taut from attempting to hide her grin but it glowered in her eyes.

Hm. I don't think you're the only one. Rhys cocked his head to the side, causing Feyre to crane her neck to see Azriel staring down at her in total awe, though he wasn't even trying to conceal his smile, he let it shine for all to see.

Aelin looked practically giddy by the show, waiting for y/n to sit at her side once more before continuing on as if nothing had happened, "Carrying on," Aelin folded her hands over her stomach and leaned back, propping one of her legs up on the arm of her seat, "Y/N is the Queen of the Fae of Erilea," Aelin glanced to y/n with a level of adoration, "She gave up everything to aid us, there is no one I would rather rule beside than her," Rowan cleared his throat at the words, sending Aelin a deadpan and stern glare, "Oh, and birdboy over here."

"What a touching sentiment," the white haired warrior drawled, his eyes were laced with humour as he rolled them, his body language relaxing tenfold compared to when he had been assessing the males in the room earlier. Apparently he had deduced that none of them were a threat to him and his queens, not after y/n's recent display. "And," he looked to Beron whose orbs were trained on the steaming black cracks etched into the stone floor, "If you thought that was bad, then you should count yourself lucky that Aedion and Lorcan weren't here. Your head would be detached from your shoulders for that level of disrespect."

Aedion and Lorcan.

Rhys made a mental note to ask about them later, and why saying their names aloud made Rowan's smirk turn positively feline.

"Don't forget about Manon," Aelin sang, and Rowan chuckled darkly at the thought, making Azriel think that he never wanted to meet whoever Manon was.

Y/N dragged her fingers through the lengths of her hair and sniffed the air lightly, her ears pricking as though they could hear something approaching from the distance, and just as the doors swung open did her eyes dart to meet them.

Eyes connecting with those of the intruder, Y/N shivered at the tremors of magic that coursed through the room from the High Lords and their entourages throwing their shields up, and she noticed keenly how the shield around the Night Court in particular became reinforced with rage, even if Rhys' face didn't show it.

The male before her eyes was not considered an ally.

Dressed in a green tunic and smiling so broadly that she could see each of his gleaming white teeth, the male sauntered forward into the stilled room with eyes dancing between Rhys and Y/N, picking apart every similarity between them until the realisation swarmed him.

Thesan rose to his feet slowly, his Peregryns ready to put him down if needed, but he really hoped that it wouldn't come to that, "We were not expecting you, Tamlin," he extended a hand to his quivering aids and ordered, "Please bring the High Lord a chair."

Despite his flickering eyes and subdued smile, Tamlin mainly kept his gaze on Feyre, staring directly into her soul, and by the looks of him y/n could tell that he was lethal in his own right. Feyre shuffled under his gaze, a gaze that sought to control and demand her, and y/n would be damned if she allowed such a thing.

"I have to admit that I am surprised you came, Tamlin," Beron drawled, somewhat recovered from the display of anger directed at him only moments before, "Rumour suggests that your allegiance lies elsewhere these days."

Still, Tamlin's gaze did not leave Feyre, it only moved downward to the band circled on her finger and then trailed up to the tattoo flowing and ebbing against her hand, finally ending on the crown lay atop her head. He exhaled through his nose and waited for the aids to place his seat between Beron's sons and Helion's clan; he had come with no generals, no family, no friends, he was completely alone.

The male didn't utter a single word as he sat, the air was tight, but he moved his gaze at long last and rested it upon y/n, narrowing his green eyes at her and tilting his head slightly as if he was trying to place her in his mind. Helion waved his hand, cutting through the ripe tension, "Let's get on with it then."

It made Rhys feel uneasy, the way Tamlin was looking at his sister and the way in which she was staring back, almost taunting him with her orbs of violent delight. He wanted to reach into her mind and tell her to stop, but her walls were strong, almost impenetrable.

Thesan cleared his throat, eager to move the meeting along so that the time spend with Tamlin was as little as possible. No one looked toward the High Lord of Dawn, not even Tamlin as he moved his eye back to Rhys and Feyre, eyes simmering with a hatred that y/n had only ever seen within her mother. He opened his mouth, and Feyre visibly braced herself, "It seems as though congratulations are in order."

Silence.

Only Rhys held his stare, and deep down, y/n could feel his wrath bubbling inside of him like a hot spring, he looked to Thesan and said, "We can talk of this matter later."

"Don't stop on my account."

Rhys' grip tightened around Feyre's knee, "I'm not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies." His gaze floated to his sister who was still staring down Tamlin, hands coiled around the arms of her chair and eyes blazing with a fury he didn't know she too possessed.

"No," Tamlin matched Rhys' tone with a certain level of ease, "You're just in the business of fucking them."

The room stilled with rage, the entire entourage of the Night Court seethed in silence, waiting for a single nod from their High Lord to allow them to tear this nothing-man into pieces.

A single claw slid from his knuckles, and the world became muffled to y/n, she wasn't focusing on anything or anyone other than him, the one making a clear threat toward her brother and his mate, her sister by law. There was nothing more sacred. Then she fell back into the room just as Tamlin smirked and angled his head at Rhys, "When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?"

Heat stained Feyre's cheeks at the question, one that sought to discount everything that she was. Beron beamed, and Eris monitored the situation carefully from his seat, but then-

Silence. A gentle kiss of breeze.

Azriel glanced to his right, expecting to see y/n sat there with hate-filled eyes, but she was gone. A wet gurgling pulled his attention, he followed the noise and his eyes widened with delight.

Y/N had winnowed right into Tamlin's lap, her elongated talons piercing the skin of his neck causing blood to trail downward and pool at the collar of his tunic. Her other hand was furled into his hair, tugging his head back roughly so that his eyes met hers. One wrong move and Tamlin was done, and he knew it, the terror clear in his panicked eyes.

"If you ever speak of my sister-in-law, or any female, in such a manner again," she spoke lowly, dangerously, like poison on the tip of a blade, "It will be the last time you speak. Am I clear?" Her talons dug in deeper, the blood staining the rings littering her fingers.

Tamlin nodded shakily, gasping for air, and y/n only smirked down at him before retracting her talons from his flesh and bringing her index finger up to her lips, painting the bottom with his blood and humming, "For a male who acts so mighty, your fear tastes delicious," she ground down on his lap and called to her companions, "I think we have seen enough, don't you?"

Huffing, Rowan rose to his feet followed by Aelin, and the pair rounded the pool, Rowan extending a hand to y/n on the way and not even flinching when her bloodied fingers used him as leverage to slide from Tamlin's thighs. "Pathetic," he spat, bewildered at how their help had been wished for when they couldn't even play nice with one another. They all needed some lessons on how to get things done.

The trio sauntered from the chamber, but stopped in place when Thesan rose to his feet and called out to them, understanding that their aid meant the difference between peace or annihilation, "Please, wait." Thesan took three steps toward the trio whose combined power rippling around them was enough to make them see stars, "Stay the night at least, allow us to prove to you that we are worthy of saving."

Without looking back like Aelin and Rowan had, y/n nodded stiffly and only once before she rounded the doors, disappearing into the palace to presumably be shown to her rooms for the evening.

And, after a fair few snarky comments and displays of power, the meeting concluded, and Rhys was the first one rising from his seat and rounding the opened doors, following that mesmerising mountainous scent all the way through palace until he met a pair of tall golden doors that were littered with engravings of clouds and stars.

The rest of the Inner Circle eventually caught up with him, panting, and Cassian especially cursing the day Rhys was born for making him rush so much. Before Rhys could even raise a fist to the door, to reunite with his sister in the way that he had dreamed of for 500 years, it opened for him, and he found Aelin lazily draped against the frame looking to him with an arched brow; she peered behind him at the rest of his family and smiled, "Come on in."

Aelin stepped aside and ushered the group into the lavish suite they had been gifted, Thesan had really pulled out all of the wonders to make their stay as comfortable as possible. Soft white walls encircled the room that was adorned with pillars of solid gold and intricate artworks that littered the ceilings, wide open arches gave way to skies caressed with oncoming darkness, and in the centre was a seating area that rivalled that of the River House, long deep rooted chairs and frilled pillows, a square glass table at the centre and a fire raging on against the wall.

Upon one of the many seats, the Inner Circle found Rowan, feet propped up on the glass and head craned to meet them, "She'll be out in a minute," he drawled, "She's getting used to how large her bed is."

"I was washing the blood off my hands, thank you very much," y/n waltzed in from the open door on the left, wiping her cleared palms against the deep blue skirt of her dress, "You make me sound like such a princess."

Rowan rolled his eyes and dipped his head backward, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing, like her testing his patience was a common occurrence, "I would like to remind you that you were one. For 500 years. And I've known you for half of that time."

Y/N straightened and shrugged, "Fair enough," she turned on the balls of her bare feet to face Rhys and angled her head to the side, waving her gaze from his feet to his crown, "Who would have ever thought that we'd end up like this?"

A High Lord and Queen.

Rhys' smile widened as he beheld her, as they all did actually, the dark monster vanquished into a sea of light leaving behind something airy and fresh, "Certainly not me. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Her smile faltered, "Me neither," she took a step toward him, "You gave me quite a scare you know, with that message."

Rhys matched her step, "That was never my intention."

"I know," she loosened her shoulders, "We'll help, even if the other High Lords of this land don't know the meaning of decorum."

Adoration flashed in his eyes, "Thank you, for what you did in there for Feyre. It was-"

"Terrifying?" Y/N moved like the wind, approaching her brother and taking his hands in hers, "I'll do anything to protect family."

And the Inner Circle knew that the protection she spoke of also extended to them, to the found family Rhys had formed in her void.

Snapping back into reality, Rhys placed a tender kiss on her brow and then angled his body to allow his family a chance to really see her, "Y/N," he began, tugging her to the jumbled line his circle had formed, "You know Feyre, my High Lady and mate, and this her sister, Nesta," the pair smiled warmly at one another whilst Nesta watched on, unphased, "This is Amren, my second in command. Cassian, the general of my armies. Mor, your cousin," Mor beamed at the sentiment, she was astounded to be related to someone so incredibly powerful and beautiful, "And then this is-"

"Azriel," the Shadowsinger interrupted, taking a single step forward causing y/n to crane her neck to get a better look at him.

Tendrils of darkness poked over his shoulders and combed through her hair, placing delicate kisses against her cheeks whilst she drank him in. Azriel was beautiful, dark hair and brooding hazel orbs, tattoos that crept up his arms and peered out of the collar of his second skin, a perfectly sloped nose and full lips, and a jaw so sharp she felt as though if she reached out to touch it then her fingers would return to her sliced.

"Azriel," the faint whisper sounded like a sonnet to his ears, and her offered a small smile, and she returned it instantly, unable to tear her eyes away from his until Cassian cut through the moment.

"Hate to break up whatever this is," he spoke with a wink in Azriel's direction who contained his growl to silence, "But we have to know everything about you. It's not every day that your best friend forgets to tell you that he has a sister in another world."

Shaking her head with a slight blush creeping up her cheeks, y/n motioned to the seating area, moving from Azriel and leaving his shadows pining after her to find a space in the centre of one of the four plush benches, "Sit. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Azriel moved first, wasting no time in taking the seat to her left whilst Rhys took the space to her right, the rest of the inner circle filled the other vacancies, Cassian puffing out his chest when he fell beside Rowan, the latter of who just grinned at the action, and Nesta partly cowering away from Aelin who watched her with a raised brow.

"How old are you?" Mor asked with a voice of wonder, she should have been angry at Rhys the moment she found out that she had another cousin that had been hidden from her, but for some reason she wasn't.

Y/N glanced to Rhys, "I'm 508, give or take a couple of years."

"So you were banished when you were a baby?"

"Yes. I hadn't even reached my second year, " y/n smiled sadly, "The Sidra flooded the city when I was born, our father said that an uncontrollable storm raged on for two weeks afterward. It was clear that I had a power that couldn't be tamed here, so I was sent to my mother in Doranelle, and she raised me."

"I remember that storm," Mor spoke faintly, brow furrowed as she recounted the night when the lightening cracked over the Court of Nightmares, causing the entire city to seek refuge indoors for four whole days and nights, "I didn't realise that it was you."

"Yes, well," y/n trailed, "It's not everyday a High Lord fucks a Valg queen but here we are."

Feyre suppressed a chuckle at y/n's tone, one that was light and attempting to find the silver lining of it all.

Rhys lay a sturdy hand on her knee and pulled her attention to him, unspoken words of an eon drifted between them, "If it's any consolation, I think that father sent you away because he knew that you were meant to be more than a High Lord's trophy wife. Males would wage wars to control a power like yours."

Feyre spoke next, asking, "What is it that you can do?"

Laying her palm open toward the ceiling, the room watched intently as blue sparks of lightening coursed over her fingertips and curled around her wrists, "I can mostly control the weather, storms to be exact, and water also answers my call."

"Tell them the truth, y/n," Aelin teased, "Stop trying to lessen your worth," she told y/n sternly, holding her gaze and sighing when she didn't elaborate, "She decimated an entire army with that power to save me, and the entire world. It nearly killed her. Erilea owes her a great debt. That's why she is queen, not because of her birth right, but because she sacrificed herself to make the world a better place."

"So, you control storms, huh?" Cassian cut through the pause, threading his fingers behind his head and leaning back into the seat, his face a mixture of impress and challenge.

Y/N raised a goblet to her lips, causing Azriel to wonder where exactly she had gotten it from, and drank slowly, "There's a reason that storms are named after women."

"Can you fight?" Mor asked, eager to know if she could train with her cousin, wanting to spend as much time with her as possible with the time they had together.

Rowan huffed and then frowned when Aelin dug her elbow into his ribs, but it didn't hurt him, not one bit. "You can thank me for that."

"He trained you?" Cassian asked with disbelief, his shoulders squaring and eyes narrowing at the white haired fae prince.

"I can show you if you'd like?" Y/N smirked through her lashes, eyes swimming with unmatched mischief as Cassian turned to her and grinned, thinking it would be an easy win for him. "If you're up to the challenge?"

"I would be honoured to show you how us Illyrians fight. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two." Cassian wriggled his brows at y/n but he failed to notice the glance she sent to Rowan who was rolling his eyes in her direction, and something told Azriel that Cassian would be eating those words once the morning came to pass.

Author's Note

Part 2 is here my lovelies!

As always let me know what you think!

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