#feysand chapter

[blaircmorgan]

Numbers in ACOTAR

This is the first time I'm sharing a theory of mine... I had posted this before on tiktok and Instagram (November 24th, 2023) I am reposting it bc I wasn't satisfied with the layout and it wasn't as detailed as this one. Oh and also English isn't my first language so pls don't mind if theres anything wrong in the grammar or if im bad at explaining xx

There will be SPOILERS for the entirety of ACOTAR series and House of Sky and Breath aka HOSAB!

SJM is known for using numbers like 3, 7, & 13 as symbolic constants in her worldbuilding. They’re familiar, but they’re also intentional. She uses these numbers like most fantasy authors.

However, there are some additional numbers that she has used, which are unusual of her to use and that make them stand out. Let’s take a look at these numbers:

21 & 5

In ACOSF chapter 56 (I will get back to this number later on) Gwyn gifts both Nesta & Emerie a book at Solstice. She tells them both to look at chapter 21 and page 5 (will come back to this number too).

She then tells us that this chapter is about the Valkyries death & Rebirth (aka herself, Nesta and Emerie).

“At the top of the first page, it merely said, Chapter Twenty-One.”

Notice how Twenty-One is written in cursive? Coincidence? I think not. SJM wanted us to notice this.

I noticed the unusual use of number 21 & 5. This was the first time SJM had used these numbers, so I did as Gwyn said. I checked chapter 21 and page 5 of each ACOTAR books to see what the key points of each chapter and page were. Then I also did some research on the number (21) itself as well.

Symbolism of 21

The number 21 in literature isn’t just a number. The number has been found in various works like art, mythology and literature. The number has been used to serve as a symbol of “completion, transition, or personal growth.”  More so the number has also been used to portray “characters’ coming-of-age, spiritual evolution, or a turning point in the narrative.”

As we hear from Gwyn, she made Merill add the Valkyries in a book, in chapter 21. We see that there is a turning point in the narrative with the Rebirth of the Valkyries.

The number is also used in the Bible. It is associated with resurrection. Death and Rebirth.

Now let’s ask ourselves this: Which two characters are associated with Death & Rebirth in ACOTAR?

Answer: Azriel & Elain

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.” - A Court of Wings and Ruin

(Fawn symbolizes Rebirth)

CHAPTER 21

ACOSF

In ACOSF chapter 21 we see Nesta having a conversation with Elain. The conversation is about wether or not Elain should be scrying for the Dread Troves.

Elain wants to do it, but Nesta doesn’t want Elain to do it. With this they have an argument and Nesta says:

“Look at who decided to grow claws after all (...) Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

“Find me when you wish to begin.”

We see that Elain doesn’t want to just sit and be quiet anymore, she wants to do more, be more involved with helping. There is a turning point in the narrative here and perhaps even a hint at who the next book is about

Let’s also not forget the Feysand bonus chapter is right after chapter 21 so it could count as 21.5 & Feysand talked about Elain: “Let’s focus on helping one sister before we start on the other.” A hint to say  we will first read about Nesta, then Elain.

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer (…) Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hand dirty along the way.” “And thorn up by thorns” - Feysand Bonus

Feysand are talking about how there is more to Elain than we know.

ACOTAR

In ACOTAR chapter 21 we see Feyre at Calanmai.

“Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers, offsetting his pale skin and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me.”

This is the moment Feyre meets Rhys. This is the moment where we the readers get introduced to him as well. With Feyre meeting Rhys, there becomes a turning point in the story and as readers we knew Rhysand was going to have a bigger impact on Feyre’s story.

ACOMAF

In ACOMAF chapter 21 we see Feyre at the Weaver’s cottage.

“I froze, the ring now in my pocket of my jacket.”

Feyre gets the ring Rhysand’s mother had given to the Weaver. Rhys’s mother had said only his bride would be able to retrieve it from the Weaver (Which Feyre ofc did) and this ring ends up being Feyre’s engagement ring. Rhys had told Feyre about the ring after she had retrieved it. When they got engaged this ring was important (It’s even on the cover of ACOMAF). Feyre become the first High Lady wearing this ring. A turning point in the narrative; High Lady of Night Court.

ACOWAR

In ACOMAF chapter 21 we see Nesta is starting to train her powers (after being Made) with Amren. Not only that, but we also find out that Feyre is going to the Prison.

“To find my sister and Amren. To see which of them was still standing after their first lesson” “The fewer people who knew about my trip tomorrow to see the Carver, the safer it was”

Nesta training with Amren becomes important for Nesta’s character arc in ACOWAR, but it also becomes important for ACOSF. It also can be seen as a hint given by SJM about Nesta potentially getting her own book (Which she eventually got and again her training her powers were important.

And with Feyre going to the Prison, we get a climpse of Feyre’s future. The Bone Carver shows himself as her son to Feyre.

ACOFAS

In ACOFAS chapter 21 we get into Cassian’s POV for the first time (If we don’t count Wings and Embers). We see that there is something going on between Cassian and Nesta (hinting on the next book is theirs as SJM said; She put breadcrumbs in ACOFAS for the upcoming spin-off books in this book)

“He remained staring after her, that present in his hands. Cassian’s fingertips dug into the soft wood of the small box. He was grateful the streets were empty when he hurled that box into the Sidra.”

Cassian throws away the gift he had gotten for Nesta as she rejects it. This gift was important enough for Cassian to give to Nesta, but when she rejects it, he gets rid of it (seems familiar to another moment right?) The gift gets brought up once again in ACOSF.

(Added: Oh, I just remembered this; let’s not forget Feyre’s birthday is on the 21st of December! And she is 21 when she gives birth to Nyx! Again, Feyre’s birthday was a turning point in the world itself, if Feyre hadn’t been born that day, Prythian could still have been under Amarantha’s rule. with Nyx’s birth, we get a turning point in Feyre’s story, she’s having her own family with her husband/mate and the kid is the heir of Night Court —> Next High Lord)

PAGE 5

Cassian throws away the gift he had gotten for Nesta as she rejects it. This gift was important enough for Cassian to give to Nesta, but when she rejects it, he gets rid of it (seems familiar to another moment right?) The gift gets brought up once again in ACOSF.

ACOTAR & ACOMAF

In ACOTAR, page 5 is where Feyre shoots the wolf (Andras) with her ash arrow. This becomes the beginning of the turning point in Feyre’s story. She shoots a Fae, which leads to her ending up in the Spring Court.

In ACOMAF, page 5 we see Feyre struggling and dealing after everything she had endured Under The Mountain. This also becomes a turning point in Feyre’s story, it’s important for us readers to see, to understand and feel with her. We see that she isn’t doing well mentally.

ACOWAR & ACOFAS & ACOSF

In ACOWAR, there isn’t any pages with the number 5 and that is because Part 1 of the book is there. The Part is called “Princess of Carrion” which is a title given to Feyre.

In ACOFAS, page 5 the twins Naula & Cerridwen get’s mentioned several times. (Who are they friends with? Elain. And who do they get trained by and work for? Azriel.)

And last but not least, ACOSF, page 5 does not exist once again. The fifth page is Part 1 of the book and the Part is called: “Novice”

Novice means: a person who has just started learning or doing something.

This is an indication to Nesta’s journey, her being a Novice in the beginning of her book.

NUMBER 56

(HOSAB SPOILER!)

Now let’s get back to this number before we conclude this whole theory.

Did SJM also give us a hint from HOSAB?

In HOSAB there is someone called BansheeFan56. Now look at the username/address once again... Number 56!

Again, this isn’t a number SJM typically uses and for some reason this number stood out and then I noticed something...

In what chapter did Gwyn give the Solstice gift of Chapter 21 to Nesta & Emerie? (and basically us)

Answer: Chapter 56.

I guess SJM do love to use numbers as a hinting tool

CONCLUSION

Now with everything we know about Chapter 21 & page 5, we can come to the conclusion of who the next book is going to be focusing on.

In ACOSF chapter 21, Nesta notices that Elain is growing. In the bonus chapter 21.5, Feysand talks about how they will focus on helping Elain, after helping Nesta. Nesta’s self healing journey has been written, but her journey may not be over yet. I do think we will see more of her, but I don’t think there will be huge focus on her again like in ACOSF.

It’s time for us to focus on Elain now and there is a lot to discover about Elain.

SJM did say each book in the spin off will focus on a couple and Nessian has had their book now, so I’m certain that Nesta won’t get another book or trilogy.

Numbers has become a pattern in the ACOTAR series.

3 brothers, 3 sisters, 3 stars, 3 peaks, 3 mountains, 7 courts, 7 High Lords etc, but now we can also add 21 & 5 into this.

Chapter 21 gives us a hint for something important that is happening or going to happen

page 5 shows us some turning points as well.

The 21st chapter becomes key to the book and the upcoming one. And the 21st chapter of ACOSF hints for the upcoming book to be Elain's and most likely have Azriel as the love interest since he got a bonus chapter in ACOSF, like Cassian got a bonus chapter in ACOMAF.

Plus both Bonus chapters are focused on Elain as well.

With all that said, I want to say thank you to my friends who has helped and supported me with this theory. And also thank you (reader) for taking your time to read about my theory about SJM’s use of numbers. I hope it makes sense for you guys as it does for me and I hope you enjoyed reading this <33

I also like to thank our Gwynie for giving us the hint that the next book is focusing on Elain <3

[highprincessofthenightcourt]

Feysand, Chapter 55

Art by gabriellabujdoso✨🌟💫🌙

[thesistersarcheron]

where we gonna go? i whisper in the dark, wherewegonnago? i think he knows...!

— the devil's in the details by miss_belivet

[l14099l]

“Smile again”

“You’re exquisite”

[romanticatheartt]

✨Yuri Feysand✨

🎨: miramirage.art on IG

[lady-embers]

Even if the Feysand Bonus Chapter hinted at Elain being next.... this is what was said within the first 2 pages of the Feysand Bonus Chapter:

Notice how Feyre remarks on how Elain had come into the house with several gashes in her hand due to a stubborn ROSEBUSH that had pierced her gloves and left SHARP splinters behind that needed to be pulled free?

Notice how Feyre "didn't dare mention" that if she bad been wearing the ENCHANTED GLOVES LUCIEN HAD GOTTEN HER NOTHING WOULD HAVE PIERCED THEM AT ALL?

Azriel gifted Elain a ROSE necklace. He used SHARP words in "This was a mistake" and left behind a hurt Elain to go talk with Rhysand.

Elain is currently staying away from Lucien, yes. BUT... Maybe, just maybe, if she entertained the idea of getting to know Lucien, she'd realize what a good male he really is. Lucien would protect her from any harm while also allowing her to grow and make mistakes or search for dangerous artificats......unlike a certain someone who said she shouldn't be exposed to the darkness of the trove and who is currently not seeing Elain strength and only sees a pretty face he'd like to fuck.

Lucien is the clear endgame. Mark my words.

[greenleaf777]

Thing of Secret Lovely Beauty and the description of the rose necklace given to Elain (specifically by her love interest) is just another way of saying what Rhys says about Elain in the Feysand bonus chapter. Just a metaphorical or poetic way.

BOTH bonus chapters set up Elains upcoming story and book. Her personal journey, her romantic journey with Azriel, her secret lovely beauty that will be given the chance to finally shine beyond the shell people shove her into and the shell she thinks she should force herself into to please others.

[cheekashmeeka]

i’m constantly forgetting that rhysand is a dad. like holy shit.. i just cannot imagine him wanting to do anything- any SINGLE task- except for become more powerful💀 i’m really stepping into my hater-self here, but when he smiled about the shared experiences of one-year-olds with ember in hofas, i kind of just wanted to punch him. irrational, perhaps, but honest.

[melgumbo69]

“I’d hunted at dusk often enough to see how animal eyes worked, how they glowed. Cool command had my own eyes widening, shifting— a temporary blindness as I winnowed between trees again, running down a wide branch and winnowing through the air for the next— I landed and the night forest became bright.”

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 11

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or: A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

We're back bitches!

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

If Feyre was being forced to live with the High Lord, she could begrudge that at least her room was a dream.

After scouring it for every hidden sign of danger—learning every entrance, exit, and hiding place—she paused in the center to marvel at the room she'd be staying in for… eternity, quite possibly.

At least it was big. Her bed was enormous, laden with ivory pillows and blankets of such divine quality she thought if she buried herself in them, she might very well sleep for a century. It was framed by four posters, with a canopy draped above them she could pull for privacy. The size of the bed alone would be more living space than she'd been accustomed to while living in the tavern, but then there was the hearth with its surrounding fur rugs and settees and the connecting chamber to the bathing room, where everything was made of porcelain and marble and the bath was large enough for an entire family.

It was luxury to the highest degree. Befitting of an empress, not a prisoner—or "servant", if they wanted to dress up the reality of her bargain. But all of the silks and velvet and elegant golden trim couldn't disguise the markings on her arm, and what they signified.

You're mine now.

Feyre burned when she stared at those markings. Rhysand lied to her. Manipulated her for his own gain. She'd done the same to him, admittedly, so why did it sting so much that he returned the favor? And more importantly, what did he want from her badly enough to trap her in this bargain?

She paced the room endlessly trying to answer that question. Rhys didn't return to taunt her about it—he'd been more riled than she'd ever seen him, and she suspected he probably retreated to brood in some dark crevice. She imagined he'd spend the night ripping the wings off butterflies, or some equally vile pastime, and would return in the morning to further her torment.

But he left the room unlocked. She'd tested it the second he was gone. There was nothing preventing her from wandering the House of Wind to find where he was and demand answers. There also wasn't anything stopping her from trying another hand at the stairs—apart from the bargain that would force her to return at his beck and call.

Feyre considered trying, anyway, just to irritate him. But her aching body begged otherwise. She was too worn out to do much else than eat the meal that the twins delivered to her room at dusk, then crawl into the big, fluffy bed and sink into the pillows until she was ensconced in darkness.

-

The world was swirling again. Around and around and around, like she was back in the stairwell, climbing up or climbing down—it didn't matter because it would never end.

"Seriously?" Asked an indignant voice. "You threatened her sisters?"

"I—" A deep voice tumbled out, then paused. The swirling continued, red liquid in a glass, a cyclone of contemplation. "I fucked up."

Someone snorted out of a sight. A female. "Majorly."

"It was the only way I knew for certain she would agree."

"Well, congratulations. She agreed, and now she hates you."

"It's… It's better for her to be here and hate me then to be somewhere I can't reach her."

There was a moment of stretched silence. Then, "You sound like your Father."

The swirling stopped. The change in motion was so abrupt, the liquid collided against the edge of the glass, nearly spilling over.

"Don't say that to me, Mor."

"Then stop acting like him. And stop taking your anger out on Az, while you're at it."

She was answered by a dark, rumbling growl. Like a storm rolling over the sea. "He's the reason I'm in this mess. If he'd minded his business—"

"You'd be in exactly the same place you were two weeks ago."

The glass clattered as it was set against the table. Feyre stared and stared into its depths, as if willing some answer to float to the surface.

"How do I fix this?"

She felt a hand on her back, sucking her awareness into a body that was larger and firmer than her own. There was a heavy, unbearable tightness in her chest.

"You'll figure it out," the female said with a consoling pat. "You always do."

"Provided she doesn't kill me first."

Her laughter was light and tinkling. "I know where I'd place my money."

-

A knock at her door hurled Feyre awake the next morning.

It was her second time waking up in the House of Wind, and yet its unfamiliarity still startled her. She wondered why her bed was so soft, why fog was floating through the open doors to the balcony, and why any of her sisters would wake her up before dawn.

And then she remembered where she was, and who that voice belonged to, crooning on the other side of the door, "I hope you're indecent, Feyre darling."

"Go away," she grumbled.

Rhysand opened the door despite her protest. "Ah, there's that perky morning attitude I adore from you."

She groaned, refusing to lift her head from the pillow. "Why are you here so early, Rhysand?"

"Would you believe I missed you?"

"More like you got bored drafting all your evil plans and decided to put one of them into action."

Rhysand chuckled. "Close enough."

He came to her bedside, balancing a steaming cup that he held out to her in offer. Feyre was grateful she decided to wear one of the more modest nightgowns from the selection in her armoire.

"What's this?" she said, holding it to her nose to sniff.

Its scent was earthier than the tea he'd served her last night, though not unfamiliar.

"Contraceptive brew," he said, a little too casually. "You don't have to take it, of course. The chances are slim that anything took. And if it did… Well, you might be less trouble if you were off your feet for 10 months."

Feyre's finger tightened around the cup. The warmth scalded her fingers, but the sting distracted her from the impulse to fling the drink into his smug face. It would be a waste, considering she had no interest in bearing his children. She was already far too entangled with him for her liking.

An enthusiastic swallow would send along that message, she hoped. The heat seared her throat, too hot for drinking, but she didn't dare lower the cup. Not when she could see Rhysand in the corner of her eye, observing her closely, ensuring she drank the contraceptive despite his proclaimed indifference.

Once she finished, she dared to ask, "Is that why you spared me, then? At the risk I was carrying your next heir?"

Rhysand shook his head. Satisfied the brew was consumed, he stalked to her armoire on the far wall. "I never had any intention of killing you, Feyre." He flung the doors open, retrieving a pair of fighting leathers from the selection of well made clothes that were all suspiciously in her size. "Nor your sisters, though I trust you've already determined that much."

The leathers slapped against the foot of the bed as Rhys tossed them over his shoulder. The reminder of her sisters made her feel as though they slapped her face, instead.

"Am I supposed to forgive you because the threat was empty?" Feyre demanded. Her throat closed a bit as she croaked, "I don't know even know where they are. Or if they're safe."

He said, without turning to her, "I have my spymaster looking for them."

Feyre snapped her head up from the empty cup. "Really?" She caught herself in her excitement, reeling it in quickly as she rationalized that Rhysand would only be looking for Nesta and Elain if he decided he had use for them, after all. She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"So that you can know if they're safe," he said with a shrug. "They can live here, if you want. Or somewhere else. The point is, I'll take care of them until your debt is paid."

"Until you decide it's paid," she corrected, not caring that she sounded bitter. "And how do I know that this isn't another lie to manipulate me?"

"Fine," he breathed, his back still turned. "I dug that grave for myself. You'll just have to wait until my spymaster finds them, and then you can see what happens."

She faked another sip of the contraceptive brew to avoid responding. He glanced at her over his shoulder, and there was something so searching about his expression that set her nerves on edge. So different from the furious, snarling High Lord from the day before.

Desperate to evade the weight of that gaze, she took to studying the leathers at the foot of the bed. They were similar in style to the clothes he was wearing, though cut for a smaller, more feminine frame. She didn't want to venture the question of how he knew her size or when he'd had all the clothes in the armoire made—she dreaded thinking about how long he'd been planning all of this.

Instead, she said, "I assume you didn't just come here to deliver my morning tea."

"Deductive as always." He grinned as he fished out a pair of lacy undergarments, then flung those onto the bed, as well. "Today we're starting your training."

"Training for what?"

"Ah," he said, "If I told you now, there'd be no fun in it, would there?"

She sent him a withering glare. "How do you train if you don't even know what you're training for?"

"By trusting me," he answered. Feyre snorted, but he continued, "There are baseline skills that every person in my Court possess—knowledge, power, strength. If you're going to be living with us, it's important you have foundations of each."

"Why?"

"Because they'll keep you alive," he said, with a note of warning that prickled the hairs on her arms. She swore the shadow he cast on the floor doubled in size, as if consuming the light around it. "There are people who would seek to harm you purely out of your association to me, unwilling as it may be."

Feyre ground her teeth together, fighting the urge to scream. "Then why choose me?" She flung at him. "Why not choose someone more qualified, someone who actually wants to be here? There must be dozens of people in the city—"

"Maybe so." Darkness swirled over his shoulders, solidifying into a pair of large, sweeping wings. He stretched them slightly, and with it, she thought she could map the change in him—how the wings functioned as an anchor, calming something restless she couldn't see, but could feel gnarled deep in her chest, dissipating as he took a deep breath. "But you're the only one I trust."

"Trust?" Her laugh was a weak, hysterical gasp more than anything else. "After I stole from you? After you tricked me into this bargain? Tell me how we're ever supposed to trust each other, Rhysand."

He just looked at her in the way that she hated. Like his eyes were talons clawing straight through to the core of her, mental shields be damned. She was reminded of the moment when their magics combined, when she'd been able to see and sense and feel every fiber of his being perfectly entwined in hers.

It was the most vulnerable moment of her life, and she was willing to bet there were very few people he'd allowed into his mind that way.

Trust. That was what they'd granted each other, and the hours that followed were testament to how well that turned out.

If Rhys was thinking the same, he only gestured to the clothes, as composed as ever. "Start with getting dressed, Feyre. We'll go from there."

She glanced again at the leathers at the foot of the bed. She suspected they were Illyrian make. The scale-like plates of leather were of fine, hardy material, and the fleece lining looked designed to weather harsh conditions. These were clothes designed for warriors. She didn't have the slightest idea why she was meant to be wearing them.

"And which of those foundational skills, exactly, are we refining today?"

Rhys shut the wardrobe, a pair of boots dangling in one hand, her socks clutched in the other. When he turned to face her fully, she was able to fully appreciate the way he was dressed.

Before today, she'd only seen him in fine clothes, the kind befitting the grandeur of his title. The contrast of seeing him in fighting leathers was startling. They suited him better, somehow. As if the politics, the finery, was all a veneer to distract from the warrior beneath.

There was nothing distracting her from it now. Her mouth felt a bit dry as she examined the tight, dark leather sculpted to his legs. They revealed every inch of corded muscle gracing his calves and thighs—muscles that she recalled, with alarming clarity, were pressed between her legs not two days ago.

It was so tedious to hate him at the same time her body craved him. Even now, she could feel an ache of longing to peel those leathers off and admire his raw beauty.

Feyre took a deep breath, pulling her mind from the fog by trying to focus on other details. Like how, unlike her new leathers, his were worn. Scratches littered the leather plating over his chest, and the pieces of armor clipped to his shoulder and forearms were equally scarred.

He fought in the War, she recalled, thinking of the papers that hailed him a hero. Those tales were always reduced to triumphs of good against evil. The Prince of Night, vanquishing the enemies of Prythian with ease. The scars in his armor didn't necessarily contradict those tales—the gory details of battle weren't nearly as palatable to the public as heralds of victory and righteousness—but she wondered how much of it was embellished.

Curiosity nudged at her. She was filled with questions that she wouldn't dare voice. Not at the risk of sounding interested in his life. And not when he'd likely request something in exchange for the answers.

Still, when he flashed her an impish smile, she could see the glimpse of the cocky, fledgling Prince who'd fought in those battles. And she decided she'd like him better than the present day High Lord, who tossed her the boots and said,

"I figured if one of these days I finally make you snap, I should at least make sure you're throwing your punches right."

-

If Feyre thought it would be satisfying to practice throwing her fists at Rhysand, the novelty wore out by the time the sun was up.

Even with the brisk temperature from the altitude, she was covered in sweat. Her throat was ravaged and her breathing was too quick, not filling her lungs the way she craved. Worst of all, her arms were trembling so badly that her punches fizzled into light kitten taps.

Rhysand lowered the sparring pad. "I think it's time for a break."

She felt pathetic. They'd only been going for a few hours, walking through the basic steps of hand-to-hand combat, and Feyre was quickly realizing she was no where near as fit and coordinated as he was.

Her knees wobbled as she strode towards the stool where Rhys had summoned a pitcher of water.

"It will start feeling easier once you build up strength," Rhysand said, filling up a glass and handing it to her. "We'll keep practicing each morning, until you can go for an hour without breaking a sweat."

"Like you?" She said dryly. It gave her an excuse to run her eyes over his muscled form. She swore Rhys straightened under her appraisal.

"I've barely been moving," he pointed out. "It doesn't take much effort to hold up a sparing pad."

"It's not as fun, either," she said, only half joking. "You should put them down and let me practice on the real thing."

Rhys grinned at the challenge. "How about a little incentive, then?" Dread tightened her gut as he reached into his pocket, and she blew out a breath when all he retrieved was a crumpled note. "Remember this?"

She snatched it from his hand when he held it out to her, unfolding the paper to neatly scrawled words she couldn't begin to decipher. But she recognized the Night Court emblem stamped at the bottom of the page, and frowned.

"This is the letter you sent me." She looked up to him, a question in her gaze.

"You left it in my town house," he explained. "Do you want to know what it says?"

Feyre stared at him, waiting.

"Land a hit on me," he said, eyes glinting. "Then I'll tell you."

"Another bargain?"

"You know I can't resist."

"And if I don't hit you? What do you get?"

His eyes flickered to her mouth. She thought she knew what he would ask for when he licked his lips. But he surprised her by saying, "You'll let me teach you how to read."

A familiar sensation of inadequacy crept up her throat like bile. She crossed her arms, snapping, "Why does it matter if I can or can't read?"

"It may come in handy later on," he mused.

"It sounds like you're going to make me learn anyway, then."

"Not if you win."

Feyre scoffed. "An excuse to hit you and avoid reading? Count me in."

She gulped down the water, relishing in the sweet relief of the cold against her raw throat. Then she set down her empty glass and followed Rhys back into the center of the ring.

Just one hit. It didn't need to be hard, or good. She just needed to land it. Should be easy enough.

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets—the arrogant prick—and said nothing as Feyre readier her stance in front of him.

"Ready?" she asked.

He grinned. "Give me your worst, Feyre Archeron."

Without wasting a second, she jabbed her right fist forward, aiming for his chest. Her knuckles were met with open air as he swayed out of the way. She pivoted, trying for two this time—left, right. One-two, just like he'd been teaching her.

As before, Rhys swerved and weaved out of the way, his body moving as if it was fluid, all while keeping his hands in those damn pockets.

"You're keeping too much weight on your back foot," he said in her ear, gliding out of the way of yet another futile strike. He tapped his toe against her heel, urging, "Try to stay on your toes. It will allow you to shift and react faster. You're going to be smaller than most of your opponents, so you'll need to rely on your agility."

Feyre lifted her heels, adjusting her weight to the balls of her feet. She did notice the difference as she turned to strike at him, smoother this time, like a bolt of lightening.

But still not fast enough.

"Is that all you got?" He crooned. "I thought you were supposed to be angry with me."

"I am," she gritted.

"Then hit me, Feyre."

She snarled as she lunged her fist where his face had been only seconds prior. He appeared behind her, so close she could feel his laughter tickle her neck. She whirled to face him, but he was already gone.

"Winnowing is cheating."

"Is it?" He asked in her ear. "Funny how that's never been a problem for my brothers."

Brothers? She could guess who he was referring to, but she hadn't heard him use that word. Didn't realize that's what he considered them.

"Your brothers," she huffed between uneven breaths, "are trained warriors."

"So you're saying I should go easy on you? Your opponents wouldn't." Dodging another blow, he lunged forward and slipped a hand from his pocket to tap her in the center of the chest. "And you'd be dead."

She lashed at his hand, grunting in frustration when he danced out of reach.

"Who's trying to kill me in the first place?" she demanded.

"You tell me. There was someone trying to kill you when we first met."

"That's because I stole from him."

"Yes, it seems you have a habit of doing that." She swore the was warmth in his voice as he crooned, "Little thief."

Again, again, again she struck her fists into empty air until she wanted to scream.

"What do you want from me?"

He appeared right in front of her face, lips inches from her own. She could taste every word as he growled, "I want you to hit me Feyre."

By the time she was grappling for him, he'd already rippled and vanished into smoke. She never wished she could winnow as badly as she did in that moment, desperate to follow after him and tear her claws into his flesh.

Feyre swiveled in the center of the training ring, trying to anticipate where he would appear next, trying to guess his next move because if she waited to react she knew it was going to be too slow.

She could picture his smug, stupid face, laughing at her as he ran through pockets of shadow she couldn't discern. But she could feel him. Through the tether of their bargain, which felt stronger now that they were bound indefinitely.

If she cast her net across the chord connecting them, she could reach the antechamber of his mind. Feel it smooth and solid beneath her talons. She scraped a claw down its exterior, to say hello, to gauge where he was.

She could sense his intrigue when a small crack opened for her.

What tricks are you up to? He purred.

Feyre lunged. Not physically, but mentally, lashing her power down the line between them.

And yelped as he closed that small opening just in time for Feyre to slam hard against his inner shield. The reverberations echoed through her as surely as if she'd rammed head-first into a physical wall.

Nice try, he said, appearing on the other side of the ring, his eyes sparkling with mirth. Sloppy, but still an admirable attempt.

He didn't move as she strode towards him, not until the last second, angling his head to the side as if it took no effort to dodge her punches.

Feyre was so tired of him always having the upper hand. Always laughing at her.

She dropped her mental shields and thought of the one thing that might actually distract him—the fantasy of dropping to her knees and taking him into her mouth.

Rhys faltered, just for a second. It was all she needed to slam her fist into the center of his chest. The blow wasn't as hard as she would have liked—not nearly as hard as he deserved—but she was still flooded with satisfaction from the sight of him stumbling back a step, before vanishing.

Unconventional, he praised. But effective.

He was on the other side of the ring, now, and in their minds, that scene was still playing out. How she'd start at the tip of his cock, licking at the arousal beading there, before mouthing her way to the bottom of his shaft. She'd start with long, broad strokes of her tongue—the same way he'd licked her. And only once he was squirming, his fingers turning to fists in her hair, would she swallow him as deep as she could—

Feyre gasped, pressing her hand to her chest as pressure mounted there, like a string going taut. Only, it wasn't her chest. And it wasn't her hand. Just like in those strange, recurring dreams, she was peering out of a stranger's eyes.

And she was staring at herself.

Flush cheeked and narrow eyed, she saw her own face glaring back, as if looking in an inverted mirror. It was startling in a way she couldn't describe. There was her father's mouth, its bow shape tighter than usual, pulled back into snarl. And there were her mother's eyes, burning as bright and cold as the stars over Ramiel.

Look at you, Rhysand said. Fierce and wicked and beautiful. Do you see now why I can't resist you?

As quickly as it had happened, Feyre was slung back into her own body, her soul left trembling from the journey.

She watched Rhys lift his head from his chest to his forehead, rubbing as if he could feel the absence of her. "How did you you get past my shields?"

"That wasn't a trick?" She demanded.

"No."

A one word answer. Evidence that he was as stunned as she was for a change.

He angled his head to the side, like she was some curiosity he wanted to study. "Has that happened before?"

"No," she said, answering too quickly.

"It has, hasn't it?"

"Only in dreams—"

He looked to be putting something together. "Ah. I had my suspicions, but—"

The wings. The hands. The voice.

"It's you," she whispered, horrified by the revelation. "All this time, it's been…" she stumbled back, recalling the last few dreams she'd had of that stranger. Of course it was him. She should have put it together sooner.

But… she'd been having those dreams long before their first bargain.

"I forfeit," she said mechanically. "You win."

"Feyre," he said, gently, moving as if he might reach towards her.

But she was already fleeing towards the door. It didn't matter where she was going as long as it was somewhere he wasn't. Somewhere she could think.

- At some point, Feyre's aimless stalking through the House of Wind was thwarted by a bone deep exhaustion.

It started in her calves, still aching from the endless climbing she'd subjected them to yesterday. The longer she paced, the more the ache spread as her adrenaline faded and the training this morning finally caught up with her.

Her knuckles throbbed from the hours she spent hammering them against the training pads. She'd kept them locked into fists at her sides, but now they were growing stiff, and she was beginning to worry they'd be stuck in that position if she didn't release some of the tension in her body.

She retreated to her room, in the end. Rhys would find her no matter where she hid in the house, she reasoned. At least she could lick her wounds somewhere comfortable until he sought her out.

It didn't take very long. By the time she'd changed out of the stifling, sweaty leathers and shrugged on a pair of billowing high-waisted pants and a matching top of a soft, peachy color, a knock sounded at the door.

Feyre stole a moment to glance at her reflection, frowning at what she saw.

Out of all of them, Elain would look the least out of place in the High Lord's palace. She had an understated elegance that would thrive beneath all these silks and frills, and they always teased that she could marry a prince, if she'd liked.

As for Feyre, she thought she just looked like a feral street cat who'd been shoved into a fancy collar.

"Feyre?" Rhys called.

Her gaze snuck around the room, searching for somewhere to hide on instinct. There was no where to go. She did briefly consider the balcony—was there another ledge close by that she could jump to?

The thought was quickly dashed when she looked down at her hands, angry and swollen. She didn't trust she would have the strength to pull herself up and even if she did, it would only delay the inevitable.

Rhysand was a persistent son of a bitch.

"I don't want to talk about it," she called.

He seemed to accept that as an invitation to enter. She whirled, anxiety spiking at the sight of him, and she knew she looked like a cornered animal when she scowled in his direction.

Those violet eyes assessed her, sweeping from head to toe. He frowned when she backed up a step.

"How are you feeling after training?"

"Sore," she groused, raising her hands to her chest defensively.

A mistake. His gaze zeroed in on her puffy knuckles, and then he was in front of her, prying them from her protective stance. Or trying to—he let go when she hissed a sharp breath between her teeth. He assumed it was from pain, and they did sting, but it was the scent of him that panicked her. She struggled to think clearly when he was that close.

"I'm fine," she snapped, scuttling backward another step. "They'll be healed in a few hours."

He stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. "Perhaps," he said blandly. "It's up to you."

Feyre's eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you mean it's up to me?"

"I came by to give you this," he said, producing a vial from his pocket.

She regarded it with the weariness anything that came from him was owed. "What is it?"

"A tincture," he supplied. "Illyrians take it during training to slow their healing. We need calluses to grow stronger. If those abrasion are healed good as new, then you'll just get them again tomorrow. This way, you can build up a tolerance."

Feyre blinked at him. She recalled the scrape of his calluses against her thighs—she'd been distracted at the time, but now it occurred to her how odd it was for High Fae to have anything other than smooth, flawless skin. Scarring tissue was typically only left from significant wounds, but a simple abrasion? They should be able to heal those in seconds.

"Illyrians take this?" She studied the black liquid, so unassuming in the glass vial and yet… an unnatural sense of wrong clawed at her gut the longer she stared at it. "But… what happens if someone gets seriously injured during training? They wouldn't be able to heal."

It sounded completely illogical to Feyre, but Rhysand only shrugged. "Most war camps have a healer to treat the worst of the injuries. But otherwise, it's incentive not to fuck up."

She shifted, agitated at just the thought. If she took the tincture, her knuckles would still hurt tomorrow, and it would be agony to go through the same drills again.

"I'm not an Illyrian," she said. "I don't need the calluses of a warrior. The only person I've ever wanted to punch is you."

"And you landed a pretty decent hit," he said, rubbing his chest, though she doubted he felt any pain there. "Left a few dozen scratches on my back, too, if you're taking stock of your inflicted injuries." He smirked. "Not many of my sparring partners can brag the same."

Feyre had only a vague memory of scrabbling her nails along his back during that night, but she didn't think he was lying. That made the humiliation worse. With an exasperated huff, she stalked away from him, heading toward the bathing chamber.

Her hand curled over the golden handle, but Rhys stretched his hand over her shoulder, sealing the door shut with the force of his outstretched palm. He was so gods-damned closed she could feel the heat emanating off him, trapping her between the door and his much larger body.

She refused to turn around, but that seemed to work just fine for Rhysand. He ducked his head lower, his breath tickling her ear.

"I won't force you to take it, Feyre. But it will help you get stronger."

Feyre ignored him, glaring at the hand he kept braced against the door. That stupid fucking hand, which she always saw in her dreams, clutched around drinking glasses and pushing dark hair out of his face.

Why was it him?

"I owe you something else," he said. She heard a crackling noise at her back, and then his other hand ventured into view, the tincture replaced with a worn letter. "A deal is a deal. Filthy tactics aside, you landed a hit on me."

"Why are you giving it to me?" She asked, refusing to take the letter. "I still can't read it."

"Just look at it, Feyre."

With an indignant huff, she snapped the letter from his grip and unfolded its familiar creases. As she did, she felt a talon scrape across her mental barrier. Reluctance sparred with her curiosity. Feyre didn't want him anywhere near her mind again, but she was dying to know what the damn thing said.

Against her better judgment, she created a small opening for him, and regretted it as soon as his triumph oozed through the gap.

Go on, he crooned, curling around her mind like a plump, satisfied house-cat.

Gritting her teeth, Feyre ran her eyes across the page and was met with the usual surge of frustration at all of those meaningless loops and curves. Until he tugged, like plucking a string, and the words began taking shape in her mind, reading out clearly in his voice:

Feyre Darling,

Imagine the scandalous letters we could exchange if only you allowed me to teach you how to read.

Hopefully this letter will tempt you. I know it will infuriate you not to know what I've written. I suspect you will be too proud, and too stubborn, to ask your sisters what it says.

Maybe you're worried I've written something inappropriate. After all, you wouldn't want your sisters to know just how desperate you were to feel my tongue between your legs, would you?

I trust you'll keep this to yourself, and it will drive you to such madness you'll either teach yourself how to read, or seek me out for explanation.

I'm not certain which would delight me more.

Yours everlasting,

Rhysand

"That's it?" she demanded, crumpling the note in her tender fists. "That's all it was? A taunt to lure me back to you?"

He was still standing behind her, but she could feel the smirk tugging across his lips, if the smug presence in her mind was any indication.

"It worked, didn't it?"

Feyre's cheeks burned. Once again, she was being played the fool. This wasn't a reward, it was a chance for further mockery. And it was stupid, so stupid, to let his games wound her, but in the back of her mind she could hear all those dreadful things they used to spit at her in the tavern.

Uneducated, ignorant, half-breed, whore.

She clenched her jaw, shoving him out of her mind as she stared hard at the wall, holding back the sting behind her eyes. She dug craters into her palm, sharp enough to draw blood, as fought not to lose composure in front of him.

In the corner of her eyes, she saw his body, still hunched around her, go stiff.

"Feyre…"

"What do you want with me, High Lord?" She didn't recognize that voice, so small, so nearing defeat. "What's the point in all of this?"

He didn't say anything for several heartbeats, but she could feel him watching her, keeping her caged against that door with nowhere to escape.

"Maybe that would be a better prize, then, hm?"

Feyre refused to bite. Whatever it was, he would only use it as another way to poke and prod at her. She was beginning to think that was all Rhysand was capable of doing.

"A goal," he continued. "A way out of the bargain. That's what you want?"

And that… that was probably the only thing he could have said to convince her to look in his direction. He grinned, playing the spider who just discovered a fly in its web. His eyes were distant, though.

"I was thinking about this tedious little debt you owe me, and how best I should use your services to have it repaid." He leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret with her. "As fate would have it, I've been invited to attend a card tournament with the other High Lords. The prize is a magical artifact I'd like to ensure the others won't get their hands on. If you help me win it, I'll release you from our bargain."

That's it? A card tournament?

She felt anticipation twitching in her fingertips. She didn't realize her freedom would be so attainable. It felt like a trick.

"The prize," she said, licking moisture back into her lips. "What is it?"

"All you need to know is that once you help me win, you and I can go our separate ways."

"What do you even need me for?" She knew she was putting her foot in her mouth, but couldn't resist asking. "You're a better daemati than me. It's not like I can do anything you can't already."

"The difference is, everyone there knows I'm a daemati. There will be precautions in place to keep my participation fair. But you're a rogue element. They'll be so focused guarding against me, they won't even think to protect themselves from you."

Feyre drummed her fingertips along the door at her back, thinking. "Okay," she said. "When's the tournament?"

Rhys drew up, and she hadn't realized how suffocated she'd felt until she swallowed that first gulp of cold air.

"In three months," he said, regarding her through his lower lashes. "Plenty of time for us to prepare. Which is fortunate, because I think your skills still require some… refinement."

Asshole.

"What, for cheating at cards?" She balked. "I can do that in my sleep."

"Oh? And do you know how to blend yourself into High Fae society? How to address the royalty of other courts? How to navigate the laws if you get caught?"

He already knew the answers, so Feyre crossed her arms and spared herself the embarrassment of responding.

Rhysand clicked his tongue. "This isn't going to be some meager gamble with a drunk, Feyre. We're going to be competing against the most powerful players in Prythian, and many of them will have trained to protect themselves against daemati. There will be severe consequences if you or I get caught. So we need to be clever and discrete. Understood?"

Oh, she understood perfectly.

"So I get to con a bunch of arrogant High Lords and I'll never have to see your face again?" His nostrils flared. If anything, that made her grin wider. "Count me in."

[moonfalles]

Might potentially write a modern au fic where the Archeron sisters are WAGs. Would love to hear your thoughts or ideas on which sports their respective Bat Boys are in. Or maybe the Bat Boys are the supportive partners to the Archeron sisters as they dominate the sports industry. (Maybe I’ll go with a mix of both because I can totally see Rhys being a supportive cheerleader husband at every single one of Feyre’s competitions.)

Anyways, would love to hear some recommendations of sports you think would fit them!

[elriell]

“His smile faded into something awed, something … reverent, and I reached out to cup his face in my hands— To find my skin glowing. Faintly, as if some inner light shone beneath my skin, leaking out into the world. Warm and white light, like the sun—like a star. Those wonder-filled eyes met mine, and Rhys ran a finger down my arm. “Well, at least now I can gloat that I literally make my mate glow with happiness.”

Hands down one of my favourite Feysand scenes, which was brought to life by the incredible @artoffrostandflame <3 She was a absolute angel to work with and I adore this came out!

Don't repost pls.

[jacksdreams]

Feysand, center of the universe, and their beautiful moments pitted against each other in this poll.. once again proving that acotar is nothing without them

“But then she snapped your neck.” Tears rolled down his face. “And I felt you die,” he whispered. Tears were sliding down my own cheeks. “And this beautiful, wonderful thing that had come into my life, this gift from the Cauldron … It was gone. In my desperation, I clung to that bond. Not the bargain—the bargain was nothing, the bargain was like a cobweb. But I grabbed that bond between us and I tugged, I willed you to hold on, to stay with me, because if we could get free … If we could get free, then all seven of us were there. We could bring you back. And I didn’t care if I had to slice into all of their minds to do it. I’d make them save you.” His hands were shaking. “You’d freed us with your last breath, and my power—I wrapped my power around the bond. The mating bond. I could feel you flickering there, holding on.” Home. Home had been at the end of the bond, I’d told the Bone Carver. Not Tamlin, not the Spring Court, but … Rhysand.

vs

“And now I want you to know, Rhysand, that I love you. I want you to know … ” His lips trembled, and I brushed away the tear that escaped down his cheek. “I want you to know,” I whispered, “that I am broken and healing, but every piece of my heart belongs to you. And I am honored—honored to be your mate.” His arms wrapped around me and he pressed his forehead to my shoulder, his body shaking. I stroked a hand through his silken hair. “I love you,” I said again. I hadn’t dared say the words in my head. “And I’d endure every second of it over again so I could find you. And if war comes, we’ll face it. Together. I won’t let them take me from you. And I won’t let them take you from me, either.”

[unforgivenyunjin]

I don’t think people understand that when the Inner Circle got mad at Nesta for giving away the Mask, they still didn’t know what the outcome would be.

I see people saying they got upset with her even though she saved another world and just not true. The scene we have of them all being upset with her is when she just gave away the Mask. When they were all unaware if Bryce did or did not win. They were literally just holding their breath and hoping that Nesta’s actions didn’t condemn them all so of course they would still be upset with her at that time. It just happened.

Nesta was not 100% sure about her decision and neither were they. They didn’t know if the next time a portal opened, it would be Bryce coming to give back the Mask or Daglan coming to kill them all. Rhys just witnessed his baby and wife die in childbirth and you’re trying to demonize him for being upset with a girl who put them in danger again. I don’t see anything about his reaction being unwarranted.

On top of everything I just said, if other courts found out about what Nesta did who do you think that would have fall back on? Who do you think they would have blamed for putting their entire world in danger? Definitely not Nesta. It would have fell back on Feysand because whether Nesta likes to admit it, she is a Night Court citizen. She exists under their rule and ultimately it would have been them suffering the consequences of her actions. If Nesta had done what she did in a different court, the consequences would have been so much worse.

Be happy all she got were words.

[lunaatthezoo]

The Light Between Sin & Salvation: Chapter 10

She's here 🥲 Ok I am actually so proud and excited about this chapter because I have NEVER written anything remotely action-y like this before and had no fucking clue what I was doing. But I think I like it? I hope you do, too! I'm just happy I tried something new.

Chapter 10: The Killing Calm

Summary: Azriel and his brothers fight for Elain.

CW: Explicit violence, including multiple k!llings in various manners; threats of sexual assault; kidnap/captivity

Rhysand answered after three rings. “What's up?”

Az’s voice was empty. Nothing but a messenger of death. “Elain has been taken.” 

Silence. Az strode out of the apartment and down the stairs. Nothing but a messenger of death. 

“FUCK!” Came Rhysand's answer. “Get over here right now.”

“Already on my way.” 

He drove home seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Feeling nothing. Nothing but a messenger of death. 

He walked into the house to find two sisters and two brothers waiting for him in the sitting room. 

Feyre sat in an armchair, hands shaking and face grim, Rhys's arm around her. She looked like she had seen a ghost. Her face was pale and drawn, her lips white. She was staring at the floor.

Nesta stood at the window, facing away from him, hands clenched so hard on the wooden sill Az could see the bones beneath her fair skin. Her body was unmoving, taut with tension. Cass stood near her but not touching her. Arms crossed. Staring at her. 

@elrielobsessed @julesvanslutta @lesolehabitantdelalune

[gwynethshadowsinger]

My Thoughts about the Bonus Chapter(s)

Feysand - Happens around Ch. 22 (I think)

I do think everyone has spent a long time assuming Elain is sweet and innocent and that we will end up seeing a different side emerge when it's time for her story to be told. I think she's a lot like Lucien. Willing to stand back, but won't be afraid to step in and show that other side when needed. She'll access her surroundings beforehand, though, and act accordingly. Almost like a sly fox just waiting for their moment 👀

Feyre is right. If Elain had been wearing the gloves Lucien had gifted her the previous Solstice, she wouldn't have gotten hurt by that stubborn rosebush. Is this particular phrasing some type of foreshadowing for Elucien? Will Lucien protect her from any and all harm if she's just let him in instead of running away?

I loved finding out where the baby's name came from 😍

Azriel - Happens around Ch. 58/59 (I believe)

Poor Azriel. He just wants a mate and what Rhysand and Cassian has 😭

I didn't much care for his interaction with Elain. It felt wrong and off. He's full of negative, only sexual emotions, and him being around her is not good for him.

Azriel shouldn't be trying to go after a female who has not rejected the bond, especially knowing how he holds the mating bond in regard.

I also didn't like how Elain was willing to let Azriel kiss her so close to her (supposed) sleeping mate. Both of them were in the wrong here.

That rose necklace..... Elain was hurt once again by something with roses. This is the second time Sarah has mentioned her being hurt by something with roses. That's gotta be intentional on her part. Maybe Elain will give Lucien a chance now? I doubt she'd end up hurt by him. He's done everything to respect her and is just waiting on her to come to him. I really hope she does.

Rhysand asked all the right questions 👏

The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another. Boy... you couldn't even say Elain's name?!?! The Cauldron also only turned two sisters. Not three.... so he's already way off base....

Azriel admitted he didn't get far with his planning, certainly never behond the fantasies he pleasures himself to after saying Lucien would never be good enough for her...well that absolutely killed any lingering thoughts I had about a potential pairing between him and Elain. Yuck. I'd want a man to think of more than just sex and for his own sexual purposes. Lucien so far is the ONLY male good enough for Elain.

He'd been so vigilant about keeping away from Elain as much as possible, and had stayed up here to avoid her, and tonight... tonight had proved he'd been right to do so.

His interaction with Gwyn was 😍😍😍😍

I LOVE the shadow's reaction around Gwyn. How they dance with her breath. How they were calm and content to sit on Azriel's shoulders after something restless settled in Azriel. How they SUNG BACK IN ANSWER!!! If that isn't major foreshadowing, idk what is.

I'm insanely proud of how far Gwyn has came to.

Again...the necklace.... while I HATE he regifted it... I love this ending to the bonus chapter. How he found himself in front of Clotho, unconsciously.. almost like he was drawn by something 👀

He might not consider Gwyn a friend, BUT.... I say that might change in a big way.

THAT ENDING!!! The SPARK ✨️ The PICTURING OF GWYN'S EYES LIGHTING UP. THE TUCKING THE THOUGHT AND PICTURE AWAY DEEP DOWN WHERE IT GLOWED QUIETLY. THE SLIGHT SMILE THAT ACTION CAUSED THAT HE HAD TO CONCSCIOUSLY ERASE... OMG ARE THEY GOING TO BEMATES?!?!?!

A THING OF SECRET, LOVELY BEAUTY!!!! AHHH!!!!

These bonus chapters totally made me 100% an Elucien & Gwynriel supporter.