#cassian in the council meeting my beloved

[andorerso]

sorry to Mon but all I see is them

[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 32

Not a single moment was idle. A decree went out across the court; males were sent to every corner of the Autumn Court to announce the death of Beron Vanserra. Messengers were sent beyond the borders to every high lord in Prythian too.

With haste, a council meeting was held where Eris was adamant that this would set the precedent; his mother and his wife deserved a place at the table. Their opinions were invaluable. For every council member that groused about it, they would find themselves out of a role.

‘High lord,’ said one, Lord Roach whom Eris had always detested. ‘One must be cautious not to rock the boat so early in one’s reign.’

‘If we capsize, I am an excellent swimmer,’ replied Eris as he pulled back a chair at the table for his mother to settle herself in. ‘You’ll find, my esteemed lords, that there are many within the boundary of my court who should enjoy a position on the council - and the ample benefits associated with it – should you like to vacate.’

 It was a long-winded affair where they discussed how Beron should be laid to rest – not that he deserved it – and plans for any disloyal fae or any who opposed Eris’ rule then the plan for the official coronation. The meeting would go on long into the night, with the coronation and funeral to be held the following morning. Eris sorely wished he had been able to prepare Nesta better for it all, but then again, he had not anticipated that his beloved wife might kill the bastard. It was something that Eris had dreamt of since the day that his father first struck his mother. He was only partly jealous that Nesta had been the one to do it. Mother above, how effortless she had made it seem. How could a high lord’s power compare to the never-ending ocean that was Nesta’s magic? He reached for her hand beneath the table often although he would have preferred to hold her and reassure her that she was safe.

Although his body had been flooded with an onslaught of strange, new magic, it was still aching from his wound gained in the Prison. The lashes had healed, but he would have liked to have rested a while in his wife’s arms rather than be thrust into the role of High Lord. He had trained his whole life for it. Nesta hadn’t.

It was almost dawn and he had not had a moment alone with Nesta. His eyes stung with raw fatigue as tailors buzzed around him to prepare for the coronation. Courts would descend upon Autumn to acknowledge the passing of the mantle of high lord. Their security would be tight; a new, untested high lord could be too tempting for some to resist. The lesser lords of the court would arrive first to swear fealty to him then his equals. There was a knot of worry in Eris’ stomach about Cassian’s presence in his court – and what it could mean for Nesta.

The wife in question was sequestered away with his mother having gowns hurriedly stitched together for them both. They would have their place beside him on the dais regardless of what his council thought. Change was not a crawl. Change came through a whetted blade slicing through the rotting ivy that Beron had allowed to tangle and suffocate the court. Eris did not need to pussy-foot around and gain approval of his father’s council. He had made it clear that he had his own way and if they did not like it, they could either learn to like it or find themselves swinging from the gallows.

In the long council meeting, Eris had done his best to steal glances at his mother, but the focus had been on him, so he had been unable to give her the attention she deserved. At one point, he had held both females’ hands beneath the table; it was the only comfort he could give them in that moment. His father was a tyrant, but he had been a constant for five hundred years. The effects of his absence would be unknown on his mother until they unfolded. He knew Nesta would be a comfort to her. That was the only thing stopping him from seeking out his mother.  

A servant brought a council member, dressed for the morning’s coronation already, into Eris’ rooms. Not his rooms. The ones belonging to a high lord that his mother had swiftly been vacated from without his knowledge. She could have them, if she wanted them. Eris was quite happy with his rooms with Nesta. The thought of sleeping in a room haunted by Beron filled Eris with nausea.

‘High lord, I have the document. Are you certain-’

Eris cut the male off with a swift streak of fire that cut in front of his face. ‘Do not think to question my decision. I am certain that if you ever dared such a thing with my father then he would have had your tongue cut out of your mouth. I am every bit as cruel as he was; after all, he is the male who made me.’

The male kept his head bowed in submission. The decree hung limply from his hand.

‘Have it delivered to the Hewn City promptly. And another to the manor in the mortal lands. I do not know where he will be.’

***

Rain lashed at the window. The gloom swallowed the usually bright and airy dining room. Winter showed no signs of leaving the Night Court. Cassian blew across the surface of his drink, sending ripples to the other side of the cup before taking a sip to warm himself. He’d spent a night in Illyria monitoring a group of rebels. He’d stood guard alongside Az who was equally as tired following the previous night on guard duty in the Autumn Court. The shadowsinger had disappeared to the Hewn City at the behest of one of his shadows, leaving Cassian to go ahead to Velaris.

The two younger Archerons were tucking into a breakfast; Feyre, with shadows ringing her eyes, managed two bites of toast before pressing her hand over her mouth. Concern marred Rhys’ expression as he carefully monitored his mate. Feyre’s pregnancy had moved into the realms of high risk now. There were still two months to go, but Madja did not believe the babe would wait that long. Feyre slept little. No position was comfortable. It did feel as though a storm was coming and Cassian wasn’t sure if they would be able to out run it.

Amren was hunched in a chair drinking black coffee. No longer needing blood to sustain her, she had grown fond of the bitter taste. If Varian didn’t ensure she ate, Cassian was certain she’d live solely on the drink.

A rumpled Mor shuffled into the dining room with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. ‘It is far too early for this many people to be awake.’

In the distance, a rumble of thunder could be heard. Elain stared wistfully out of the window. ‘There goes my plan for planting bulbs.’

It was an utterly miserable day, one which had already set Rhys on edge. The high lord said nothing, just kept an arm around Feyre, staring down at his cup of coffee. The tendrils of steam curled towards him though he did not notice the heat.

The front door clicked open then Cassian could make out Azriel kicking off his boots in a hurry.

‘A message. From the Autumn Court.’

At that, Rhys sat bolt upright, eyes going wide.

‘We’ve not had an official message from them since…’ Mor’s voice trailed off and a hand absently brushed against her abdomen. Cassian wished he could take the pain from her expression. ‘Maybe Beron got wind of Eris’ schemes and has hung the rat.’

Warily, Rhys opened the letter, scanning the lines rapidly.

‘Holy shit. Beron Vanserra is dead.’

Cassian’s stomach had turned to lead. The milk from his tea curdled in his belly. ‘Eris?’

‘High Lord.’

Never in any doubt, he thought bitterly.

‘We’ve been summoned to either pay our respects then accept or reject Eris’ rule.’

At the sound of the door knocking, one of the wraiths hurried to it. They all knew who it would be. Lucien was the only one with the manners to knock rather than waltz straight in, still not comfortable with them.

‘I take it you’ve heard the news?’ He clutched his own crumpled parchment against his chest. A few raindrops had blotted onto it. From the lines streaking his face, the messenger sent to the mortal lands had woken the male.

‘High Lord Eris. I’m sure he’s not gloating too much.’

‘Not just that.’ Lucien let out a breath.

There was a sickly feeling in Cassian’s stomach that Lucien might announce that Nesta was also high lady, to rival Feyre.

‘I’ve been pardoned. No longer exiled. A decree has gone out across the Autumn Court and if I am harmed, the punishment is execution to any who lay a finger on me.’

 What was Eris’ angle? Cassian had never been as good at reading people as Rhys was, but Eris was a different story altogether. Whenever they thought they had a good grasp of the male’s intentions, he did something that surprised them. He was too slippery to hold onto for long.

‘I suppose Eris might poach you as emissary.’

Lucien gave a sharp shake of the head. ‘My brother, Phelan, is emissary. He took on the role after Amarantha died. If you think Eris is silver-tongued, well, Phelan’s is coated in mercury. He’s quick talking, clever, and poisonous. He spun his own webs beneath the mountain to benefit the court.’

‘My sister hates him,’ added Varian from the chair beside Amren who had said nothing all morning.

‘General then,’ offered Azriel. ‘It was Eris’ position.’

Lucien let out a hearty laugh. ‘If I was made general of the Autumn Court’s armies, there would be no army left. They’d rather desert than follow me. No, Eris likely already had plans in place for the last two hundred years of who he would move into positions of power. I cannot understand why I am no longer exiled though.’

There was one question that nobody had raised. Cassian spoke up, ‘Did somebody kill Beron?’

Mor choked on her drink. ‘Do you think Nesta did it?’

‘Nesta?’ Rhys pressed his lips together.

‘That is a serious accusation, Mor,’ chided Feyre.

Mor just shrugged her shoulders without a care. ‘She lopped off the king of Hybern’s head with little remorse. Why should Beron be any different?’

The weight of the mating bond wrapped around Cassian’s neck like a noose, tightening in every second that he did not say something.

‘That’s not fair. It was war. The king deserved a far more painful death. Who in this room hasn’t killed somebody?’ Shadows crawled all over Azriel as he said the words that Cassian should have. ‘Don’t speak badly of her.’

It wasn’t only Mor’s brows that rose high; Elain and Amren both responded in kind to Azriel’s words.

‘Can tell you’ve had no sleep,’ muttered Rhys.

Azriel shook his head. ‘You have no idea, do you? Eris doesn’t need to be our ally now. He doesn’t need our support. He is high lord. He has an entire court at his disposal. He could decide that he no longer wants to offer his healer to save Feyre.’

‘Nesta wouldn’t-’

The shadowsinger silenced his high lord with a swift strike of his hand through the air. ‘You speak terribly of Nesta but still expect her on your side. She’s not a fucking doormat to be trodden all over. Eris being high lord changes the dynamic. He doesn’t need us. We now need him. Desperately. The stakes will change. If you can’t be decent to Nesta, at least consider the value in keeping them on our side.’

The food had soured. Nobody else touched another bite. Elain excused herself to dress properly for the morning that awaited them. Varian too departed to the Summer Court to arrive with his family to Autumn. Cassian had not considered the implications of their alliance breaking down before it had ever truly begun. They were the ones who would need Eris now. Nesta would never want Feyre to die, but Eris was a bastard who could be unfeeling. He’d shown that by leaving Mor in the woods.

Azriel wrung his head in his hands. He looked ready to drop down with exhaustion at any moment.

‘Did something happen in Illyria last night?’

‘No,’ he said, voice flat and cold. ‘Something happened when Cassian pissed off and left Nesta and the Harp unguarded the previous night.’

Feyre’s hand rested against her stomach. ‘What happened?’

‘She bathed the room in silver fire while she screamed. Because you two were having a verbal spat in your heads, I couldn’t contact Rhys. You left me exposed in the Autumn Court and then I could not even ask for support.’ His eyes flitted between Cassian and Rhys. ‘Me and the healer couldn’t help her. Eris was half-dead, but managed to get to her. Only his magic could calm her. But it’s not Nesta.’ He swallowed. ‘Her magic is sentient. It acts out of her control sometimes. If we go there today and you upset her, her magic might react independently of her will.’

‘Sentient magic?’

Cassian thought Rhys might be horror struck by it, but he had sat forwards in his seat, brows knitting together.

‘It has only ever happened a couple of times in all of history,’ said Amren, ‘and even then, rumours.’

Rhys shook away thoughts of Nesta’s power as best he could to focus on the day, but Cassian noticed his lips still moving slightly, pondering the implications of sentient magic in his mate’s sister. ‘We ought to go. Can’t be late.’

When Feyre made to stand, Rhysand shook his head. ‘No, Feyre darling. It’s too dangerous to have you in an enemy’s court when the babe could come at any moment.’

‘But I want to go there. Nesta is my sister. I am high lady. I should be there, Rhys.’

‘I will not risk you.’ He dropped his voice, but due to the proximity, Cassian could still hear the words. ‘Think of all the filthy things I will do to you when I get home. That will occupy your time.’

‘It casts us in a bad light if I don’t attend as your equal.’

‘You are pregnant with our son. I would rather not go to the Autumn Court either, Feyre darling, but I have to.’

Cassian left them to the discussion, promising to return swiftly once he had managed to tidy himself and his muddled thoughts.  

When Cassian returned to the estate, Rhys had won the battle. There was no sign of Feyre or Elain. Even Amren would remain behind to keep an eye on the high lady. Mor stood ready for battle. Her red dress was tight fighting, clinging to the curves of her body and baring her sculpted arms. A dagger was strapped to her thigh, exposed by the slit in her dress. A wearied Az remained in his leathers from the night before, but Cassian had showered and changed.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ muttered Rhys as he winnowed them to the periphery of the Forest House.

The sudden change of weather left Cassian disorientated. The Autumn Court was not in mourning, it seemed. Lucien tilted his face towards the wedges of sunlight broaching the golden canopy. It was a beautiful day. A faint breeze rustled through the trees sending more amber leaves drifting through the forest.

The massive wrought-iron gates of the Forest House were wide open for once though sentries, clad in gleaming silver armour with blood-red capes, guarded them fiercely. Their weapons had to be surrendered at the gates, even their siphons. Cassian felt naked without them. Although they would still be able to use their magic, it was not the same as having the comforting weight of a blade on their person.

They were led to an antechamber that was ornately decorated with gilded paintings of previous high lords of the court. Passing through the doors opposite were Tarquin and his family. Varian paused to give them a nod before journeying onto the main hall. They took a moment to canvass the walls, to soak in every detail that might be useful in the future. Like him, Azriel was scanning the exits, searching for weak points that they could exploit if needed.

‘Pay our respect, give our blessing to Eris, and we get the hell out of here,’ murmured Rhys.

Even Lucien appeared on edge. The sentries lining both entrances flickered their eyes over to him often in recognition. Without the scar and the eye, perhaps Lucien would have been less recognisable. He tugged at his collar, uncomfortable in the Night Court black in the place that had once been his home.

They were summoned next. Courtiers stood on the balcony overlooking the magnificent hall in their mourning colours. More mingled on the edges of the room, overseeing the ceremonies. At Lucien’s appearance, a few tittered in disapproval or shock.

Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta across the room. On a raised dais, the body of Beron was lying-in-state for citizens to pay their respect to. He had been wrapped in a burgundy cloth embroidered with the Autumn Court crest. Some wept for him. Others curtseyed or bowed then passed by. Behind him, Eris stood monitoring it all. For hours, they must stand there to show their devotion to Beron and the court. A plain, golden crown rested on his crop of auburn hair. It looked made of golden vines and twigs. On his left, Nesta wore the same. Her face gave nothing away. It was pale and thin, but devoid of emotion. Even their clothes were matching. A burgundy to match Beron with silver and gold patterns snaking from the wrists to the neck. Her gown was black at the bottom like rot spreading up a tree. Next to her, the previous Lady of the Court stood. She was dressed wholly in black with a netted, black veil obscuring part of her face. Her hand was in Nesta’s. Cassian spied the way Nesta’s thumb drew a small circle against the alabaster skin of her mother-in-law’s hand. Standing behind them with hands on weapons were the remaining Vanserras. Their expressions were tight, remorseful.

Lucien swallowed, eyes lingering on his mother. Pain tightened his expression.

Rhys stepped forwards, sweeping into an elegant bow. ‘Allow me to extend my sympathies on behalf of my court.’

‘We thank you,’ Eris replied, voice curt and cutting.

‘Despite a time of sadness, we look forward to your reign, high lord. May it be long and glorious.’

‘May it be.’

Almost without thought, Eris’ hand drifted to Nesta’s, gripping it tightly.

***

Beron did not deserve any of this.

Eris was exhausted. His legs were numb from standing still. He’d rather have kicked the body to the ground and threw a party filled with music and dancing than stand like a statue, pretending to grieve for the bastard who had made his life hell. Good riddance.

He kept his hand in Nesta’s, long after the Night Court had shuffled away. He had told his soldiers, Ashur especially, to watch them like a hawk. They would see this invitation to the Forest House as a chance to gather as much intel on the layout as possible.

Nesta shuffled on her feet slightly, trying to shake the blood to her legs after hours spent stood on the spot, thanking and nodding. Each court had attended. Each court had given their blessing – not that it truly mattered. To declare Eris unfit for rule would make them an enemy. None would be foolish enough to do it in an enemy’s court.

His stomach gave another rumble. Guests picked at the spread of food laid out, but as a family deep in mourning, they were forbidden from eating. Beron continued to haunt them.

Nesta glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.

‘I am starving,’ he hissed.

The corners of her mouth quirked. Pointedly, she jerked her chin towards one of the banquet tables where a decadent cake had not been cut into yet. That was what she had her eye on. He made a mental note to have the servants bring it to their room when this torrid affair was over. Wistfully, he looked to the window. It was a devastatingly beautiful day. Sunlight streamed through the window. It was a perfect day to take Nesta and his mother somewhere – for food, to bask in nature. Instead they were trapped here with the bastard’s corpse.

‘No high lady here,’ he muttered.

‘Too pregnant.’

‘Shouldn’t you like to be high lady?’

Nesta rolled her eyes but kept them fixed upon Beron.

‘Queen of queens then?’

Her nostrils flared as she exhaled.

‘You look as if you want to kill me.’ He tried to suppress the smile budding on his lips. ‘Two high lords in two days would be a record. Nesta Vanserra, always excelling.’

‘Eris,’ his mother said sharply, before shushing him back into silence.

He had never been a silent child. He’d always talked to much. Maceo, who had made the journey to the Forest House that day, had forever chided him on not being able to control his tongue.

Finally, when no more snivelling mourners entered the Forest House, Beron’s body was prepared to be taken to the crypts. The majority of the Autumn Court burnt their dead; their ashes would be given the heart of the forest so their soul would remain in the trees. Not for high lords. Every high lord had been entombed deep in the crypts, with stone effigies of their likeness marking their resting place.

Guests began to file out. Day Court was the quickest to leave; Eris was glad for that. Helion had been unable to tear his longing gaze from his mother all morning.

‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he murmured to his family.

Eris moved through the crowd, aiming for the Night Court, but his path was slow. People stopped him, bowing and fawning, offering their condolences once more. They were just as glad as he was that Beron was dead.

Eventually, he managed to graze his fingers on Lucien’s sleeve.

‘Lucien, you are invited to this. If you want to say goodbye to our father.’

‘Why should I want that?’

Eris didn’t particularly want it either. He’d rather toss Beron out of the window into the river but they had to keep up appearances that they mourned him.

‘You are welcome to stay – even if only for a night.’

Lucien’s lips pursed and he made to turn, but Eris gripped onto his jacket. The black did not suit him. He wasn’t made for darkness. Lucien was all mischief and laughter; his mother’s son through and through.

‘Mother would like to see you. I would like to see you.’  

***

The moment that Eris moved off the dais, Cassian took his chance. He might never get it again. Nesta might never appear in public, might never be allowed beyond the confines of the court.

She lingered near one of Eris’ brothers, speaking in short, sharp fragments of sentences. It was the same male who had danced with her, hurt her, previously.

‘Can we talk?’

Nesta’s brow pulled downwards. The brother stepped between them. ‘You’re not welcome here.’

‘Nes.’

‘Give me a moment, Phelan,’ she muttered, ushering Cassian towards a door. The sentries eyed him warily. Without a weapon, Cassian could still kill them both. Could fly Nesta out of here to safety.

Her heels clicked on the cold, tiled floor as she led him to a small room. It looked to be a study, with a couple of desks and shelves laden with dusty tomes. The thunder of the river could be heard through the open window.

‘Talk then.’

Nesta kept her arms folded, kept the distance between them.

‘Az said your magic-’

Her hand sliced through the air. ‘You didn’t come here to talk about magic. What do you want, Cassian?’

His heart was raw and bloody. Every day without her snarky wit, her excellent mind, the touch of her body beneath his, was empty.

‘Come home.’

Those grey eyes were cold, as cold as the depths of the earth. ‘I am home.’

‘This is what you want? To be Eris’ wife, to stand at his side in a court of vipers?’

‘Better to stand at his side than to be forced to walk behind him.’  

‘And if I demand a Blood Duel, what then, Nes?’

Her face fractured but he was too proud to take the words back.

‘Is that what you want? If Eris killed you, it would spark war.’

A callous laugh left his lips. ‘The only way Eris would ever beat me in a fight would be if I was blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back.’

Nesta stared at him with utter hatred blazing in her eyes.

‘And you want the alternative?’ She raised her chin. ‘You would want me as your mate because you believe you deserve me. You don’t care that it’s not what I want – as long as you get what you want.’

He tried to speak, to explain that he didn’t deserve her, but fate had decided that they were meant for each other, but Nesta screeched, ‘I am not finished. Do not interrupt me.’

She sucked in a steadying breath before continuing.

‘You would be happy that your mate is miserable – that you make her miserable. That she wilts more everyday because you broke her heart and killed the male she loved. I would never forgive you if you laid a finger on Eris. I would hate you for the rest of my life.’

How could Cassian explain that he wanted Nesta at his side, not to possess her, but because she was brilliant and had the heart of a warrior? They were perfect for each other. How couldn’t she see it? The Cauldron had known it from the moment she touched its waters.

When Cassian tried to speak again, the door slid open. Eris feigned innocence though the undiluted rage in his eyes suggested that he had been waiting on the other side of the door, listening to every word.

‘Happy conversation?’

He slid beside Nesta, a comforting arm going around her thin waist. Nesta leaned into his touch with utter ease. Their outfits had been cut from the same cloth, the crowns resting on their heads matching. They were equal to each other.

‘He’s threatening me with a Blood Duel.’

A paleness seeped across her skin; the very thought of the duel too much for her to bear. It hadn’t been a threat, it had been… What had it been? A way to coerce her to come home? He felt guilty already for suggesting it.

‘I wouldn’t fight you, Cassian. I wouldn’t do anything to bring my wife pain – that’s why we differ. I’d rather cut my heart from my chest than see her unhappy.’ He paused. Those chilling amber eyes had always reminded him of a bird. ‘If I truly believed that Nesta would be happy with you, and she wanted to be with you, I’d even pack her things myself. I love her enough to put her happiness above everything else.’

A thumb brushed against Nesta’s waist. Cassian caught the brief shutter of her eyes at Eris’ touch. She found warmth and comfort in it. He would have never been allowed to display his affection to her the way Eris did. A sickening feeling washed over him. That was a lie. He had tried once; he had held her hand after a battle and it had been cold and shaking against his. He had been the one to drop it, to reject her. Cassian was reaping what he had sowed.

‘You are her mate, but she is my wife. Nesta was shackled to you by some foul retribution from the Cauldron for daring to take its power. She chose to be with me, Cassian. The only reason she ever indulged you was because you locked her in a house and gave her no other options. You cannot ever call it love. She was vulnerable and you held power over her. You should be ashamed of yourself for seeing something to play with rather than a female in need.’

There was no kindness in that sharp face. It had strengthened Nesta too; her features hid behind a mask of indifference, letting her husband speak for her.

‘She does not want you. Get it through that thick skull of yours.’ The cruel high lord had emerged. ‘You are no longer permitted within these borders. You are henceforth banned from the Autumn Court. I would rather see my court fall to ruin and ash than ever see Nesta forced to be your mate. Remove yourself from this place, before I set the hounds on you.’

We have 2 more chapters and an epilogue left after this :)

Tag list: @owllover123 @rarephloxes @this-is-rochelle @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff @sv0430 @embersofwildfire

[ekaterinakostrova]

How do you imagine Nesta's court, if she day ever has one? (could you describe their appearances and personalities?)

“The Storm is coming”…

It is interesting that Nesta is alwaysidentified and associated with the winter season. Even the Bone Carver saysthat she is beautiful as a winter sunrise, and the title of the novella byitself has  such word as “frost”,which also symbolizes Nesta.

«Nesta paused justpast the low iron gate, her face coldand pale as moonlight.

Beautiful. Even withthe weight loss, she was as beautiful standingin the snow as she’d been the first time he’d laid eyes on her in herfather’s house.

And infinitely moredeadly. In so many ways».

Since she was described as the moonlight - sheis the moon and the death. And Nesta is the moonlight that Bryxix wishes as thepayment for the Feyre’s debt. Elain might be the sunshine.

Speaking about her own Court. I’m not quitesure, I picture in my mind that she will have her personal Council consistingof the War Lords. I also believe that she can get along with Devlon, because heis described as one of the fairest leaders in Illyria, the rest of the WarLords would have tough times with the Queen, but they will respect and fear her,because of her will and strength. Devlon was the only leader among the leadersof Illyria to allow women to study martial art, how to fight and how to defendthemselves. And according to Rhysand and Cassian, they went to a lot oftroubles to make it all real. Remnants of traditions and attitudes towardswomen among the older generation of Illyrians have not disappeared, evencenturies has not changed that.

Nevertheless, many young and old warriorswithin themselves do not support this system, especially young warriors. Afterall, women are their own wives, daughters, sisters, mothers. In Chapter 8 ofthe novella it is obvious that Emerie was a beloved daughter. With such a greatlove Emerie’s father created their small shop (the shop has glass doors, andeven to install it in Illyrian impenetrable forests and in the mountains - itseems incredibly expensive), and daughter continues to support the paternalaffair, even after his death, she is not going to say goodbye to his shop.

I still hold the view that Nesta will be the Queenof Illyria. The Illyrians are scattered throughout the mountains and thenorthern districts of the Night Court, and they have never had a single leader forwhom everyone (both women and men would follow unquestioningly, withouthesitation). Many men among the warriors have a hatred for their real leaders -Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand hate the ancient traditions of the Illyrians andthe position that women occupy in this barbarous society.

Therefore, I believe that the Nesta’s personalInner Circle will consist not only of women, but also of representatives ofnoble families - men who will follow her, admiring her courage, selflessness.Nesta has that rigidity of character that can break these cruel traditions. Andafter breaking the wheel – thousands follow her.

Nesta is not only clever and educated person,she is intelligent, well-read, cunning, but most importantly, she is incrediblyattractive as a woman. Therefore, I think that many men, even among the Illyrians,will have real feelings for her, if only because of her destructive beauty.Nesta was interested to Helion, Eris and … even King Hybern, because in thethird book during their battle, he confessed:

“And when her eyeswere lifted to the king again … “I am going to kill you,” she saidquietly.

“Really?”The king asked, lifting a brow. “BecauseI can think of far more interesting things to do with you.”

Her power blasted thetrees behind him to cinders. Blasted across the battlefield in the low arc,then landed right in the Hybern ranks. Taking out the hundreds before they knewwhat happened.

The king appeared onthe ruins behind him. “Magnificent,” he said. “Barely trained,brash, but magnificent.”

As for women, well… among her loyal alliesthere will be three women warriors (Mor and Cassian spoke about them in thesecond book, they have already begun their training). In addition, it may bewomen from other tribes. In the end, I think Nesta will become the leader whowill be able to unite Illyria into one big nation. Illyrians should have aleader for whom they are ready to die, and for whom they can follow like aliving god.

I think that in her Council there will also bea woman who was the mother of a deceased soldier - one of those who raises arebellion among women.

In my opinion, these clues left in the novella areextremely important for the plot. When Nesta comes to Feyra for her birthday,the first sentence of the chapter begins with the phrase “The Storm iscoming”, and therefore Nesta by herself might become a symbol ofrevolution and insurrection, only her own revolution will swallow up anotherrevolution that the Illyrians support after the war against King Hybern.

Meet the death squad of Nesta Archeron Warriors!

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LEO! You’ve been accepted for the role of CASSIUS. Admin Kass: leo! words cannot describe how excited we are to have our cassius. the way you portrayed him was so raw, you really portrayed every aspect of his personality beautifully. he’s a difficult character to get, so multi-faceted, forged by a life he had little control in, desperate for control now, so dry and cold to so many, so desperate for power. you truly and completely understood him, i loved every second of your app, and i can’t wait to plot with you! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Leo

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | They/them

Activity Level | 5.5; I’m currently studying for the LSAT and I work 3 part-time internships.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  |  A member recommended it

Current/Past RP Accounts | Kingsley, Sirius

** CW for homophobia and drug use

In Character

Character | Cassius; Cassian Bhatt

What drew you to this character? | I read Julius Caesar when I was a freshman in high school, and Cassius has stayed with me ever since. How can someone be so consumed by jealousy? How can someone know exactly the right words to say to sway a man into betraying a beloved friend? And to what extent is Cassius’s hatred of tyrants real? I’ve always thought that in many ways, Cassius is motivated by conviction just as much as he is by his lust for power. Maybe his need to be in control is a side-effect of his will to impose his vision over Rome (and now, Italy).

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

ONE. He has forgotten himself more than once. It began when he was twenty-one. Entranced by the promise of a new world he could mold in his image, and fresh out of the University of Bologna, he followed the young son of a member of the regional council past Castelvecchio Bridge. The night was intoxicating, and he was drunk on the promise of his own power. So when the politician’s son offered to slip something in their pilfered wine, Cassian didn’t hesitate, and the river, the stars, and moon blurred until all was sugar-spun.

Later, he blamed the weakness on his father – an inheritance he never asked for. Even then, Cassian knew the rumors – the uncles who vacationed in Mykonos and returned pale and shaking, their hands forever reaching for shadows, his grandfather’s long trips to France and the “fits” of his young adulthood. Of course, he could never fully allow himself to continue the tradition. And so it ended that same year. Years later, a swallow carried a long-forgotten picture to The Dark Lady.

Cassian knows her as Queen Mab, collector of dreams and spinner of lies, but his new job has taught him that anyone can die. And Cassian knows one thing: he’ll be the one to do it. One day, she’ll watch her sparrows burn. Reckoning will come to all those who dared trade in his secrets, and Mona will be its epicenter. Amidst the chaos, the pieces are beginning to fall into place.

TWO. Beneath the jokes over cocktails and the cutting comments about austerity and Matteo Salvini, there is little more Cassian loves than Italy. As the son of Renata Bhatt and Luciano Esposito, two well-known patrons lovers of the arts, Cassian’s childhood was filled with Puccini, with Pico della Mirandola and Gentileschi. It’s no wonder he’s fooled himself into crafting the image of the perfect, concerned citizen. Even with his work for the Capulets, he’s never thought of himself as anything other than a firebrand liberal – a proponent of democracy at all costs.

And, despite his fascination with his own ability to wield words, has it not all been for a just cause? His campaign to save his mother, the whispers he clings to of contacts in South Africa, and his frenzied thoughts of expanding and using the Capulets’ network to the rest of Southern Africa, governments and armed groups alike, of tearing down the ANC  – yes, so what if blood is spilled? Is it not for a greater good? One could say that Cassian loves Italy, or even the world – that he’s egalitarian, and that he loves freedom. To some extent, it’s even true. After all, to love something is to possess it.

THREE. Lust is a strange shape that Cassian has never managed to glimpse. It suits him well. He has no need for uncontrollable fancies, so he built himself something sustainable: a history of brief, proper relationships with a few girls in college and his bar association, and a picture-perfect relationship with Lillian Wen. He’d be hard pressed to find a better partner. With his mother’s haughty demeanor and his father’s angular features, Cassian knows that he’s unapproachable, that he’s not quite as established as someone who was born into a life of wealth. But with someone like Lillian on his arm, he’s found that attorneys and executives who’d once shied from him now welcomed him with open arms. A man in love is always considered less dangerous than someone unattached.

There’s also the matter of his ambition. As a promising district attorney, there are few places he can’t go. But then his mother approached him with an offer, silencing his protests with a question that made him shiver. Are there many successful politicians without an opposite sex spouse? Already, she said, there were rumors that Cassian’s stances on gay marriage extended to his personal life. It was the sort of thing, she said, that ricocheted through entire governmental branches as a bargaining chip. With the matter so framed, it was impossible to say no. Besides, it is not as if Cassian has ever been attracted to members of any sex – so what does it matter?

Still, sometimes he wonders if his mission to push Lillian – if only to see how far she’ll go – is born from curiosity or from resentment.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! I’d be interested exploring how any version of Cassius deals with death.

In Depth

Para: “Leave Verona?” Cassian doesn’t exactly freeze, but he frowns. By the time he catches his slip of expression, it’s too late; he can tell that Professor Moretti has spotted his displeasure. Of course, it’s irrational to feel such an attachment to one’s hometown. Nostalgia has never done anything but dull the senses. But something about that shithole – its cesspool of invisible wars, the scent of blood that sometimes rises from the cobblestones after it rains, the lazy yellow moon over the murky water – a man can hardly be a man without his shadow. “Will you reconsider?”

It’s not like he’s asking for too much. Moretti’s lips have thinned into a line of worry. And it’s true, the local press is inundated with reports of gang violence. But he’d planned for this in asking the university’s biggest pacifist to write his letter of recommendation. Cassian only needs to be patient. But God, these professors are made of nothing but cobwebs and soft spines. He counts to five, pauses, then softens his tone. He’s the top student of Bologna, after all, and there is little that he ought to be denied. “I understand your concern, Sir, and I know that there are many more opportunities awaiting me in Rome.”

Here, he widened his eyes and lowers his voice. There – that will do it. Old man Moretti has always had a weak spot for earnest do-gooders, and Cassian has long-since learned to remake himself in a kaleidoscope of ever-changing images. “But I can’t abandon my hometown. My mom is there and so is my dad.” Cassian looks down, as if it’s hard to meet Moretti’s eyes. He twists his hands till his knuckles turn white. “I want to be there for them when they grow old. And it’s like you said in your first lecture. What good’s a law degree if I can’t make a difference where it matters?”

There – he had him. Even with his eyes trained on the falling dust, Cassian can sense a change in the air. Finally, he meets the old professor’s eyes. They are blue-grey, he notices, blurred by years of reading and writing. He decides that Moretti is admirable, in his own way. “Besides, what danger would I in, as a clerk?”

Extras:

INSPIRED BY:

Satan (Paradise Lost by Milton)

Eve Polastri (Killing Eve)

Milo Minderbender (Catch-22)

Fyodor Dolokhov (War and Peace)

Tywin Lannister (A Song of Ice and Fire)

PERSONALITY TYPES: ENTJ, Type 8

[theladyofbloodshed]

Wait i though tamlins parents hated eachother and the same thing with rhys parents.....can u help clear that up please lol

To be honest, I don't really know. I can't find evidence that they hated each other. Rhys' parents had tension which came from Illyria/their son.

Okay so here's what I could find from a quick sweep of ACOTAR

Tamlin's parents were mates. His father was cruel. In his words, he was worse than Beron - and his two elder brother's were just as bad (Rhys also shares this sentiment, that Tamlin's brothers are worse than Beron's brood). They kept slaves and did horrible things to them.

His mother was the only one he mourned for when they all died.

His father planted the rose garden for his mother as a mating present.

“My mother—she loved my father deeply. Too deeply, but they were mated, and … Even if she saw what a tyrant he was, she wouldn’t say an ill word against him".

"He didn’t reprimand me for taking one of his parents’ roses—parents who were as absent as my own, but who had probably loved each other and loved him better than mine cared for me." I literally don't know how Feyre decides that Tamlin's parents loved him but were also absent, when all he has previously told her his family were awful, he joined the war-band because the only thing he was good at was killing, and lots of his father's council left when he became high lord.

Onto ACOMAF:

Rhys' mum was a low-born seamstress who worked in a camp in the mountains. Her period finally arrived around 18 after she'd starved herself etc to delay it. She tried to flee Illyria but warriors caught her. She was thrashing like a wildcat when Rhys' father winnowed in for a meeting. Took one look at her and the bond snapped so he took her back to Velaris and she became his bride that night. At this point he is already high lord (no age noted) and she's only 18.

There seemed to be tension between them as she begged him to ban the clippings in Illyria but war was coming so he needed the Illyrians on his side.

Rhys's description of his parents: My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met.

He says that his mother ended up hating the father but was always grateful that he had saved her/her wings.

She wanted Rhys to learn about Illyria so took him to a war camp aged 8 and stayed there, tutoring him in the evenings. Then they took in Cassian and eventually Azriel. Mor claims it was to keep Rhys out of "his father's claws".

His father shows up after twenty years and realises how powerful Rhys is and that's he's allied with Cassian/Azriel so split them up during the war so they couldn't ally against him.

(If they don't see Rhys' father for 20 years, when was his sister conceived? Mum plants the ring in the weaver's cottage before his sister is conceived. Mor sleeps with Cassian when she's 17, visiting Illyria for a couple of weeks. Rhys and his mother return to Velaris during that time, but don't actually see his father while they're there? There's no mention of his sister which suggests she wasn't born until after the war when Rhys is 28.)

After Rhys' mother and sister are killed by Tamlin's family, they go to Spring. Rhys kills Tamlin's brothers. His father promises he will not touch Tamlin's mother, swearing they were not those sort of males (but can allow clipping because they need the army) but kills her anyway. Tamlin then kills him with one blow and power transfers to Rhys and Tamlin.