#i mean bryaxis IS a horse but still

[separatist-apologist]

Cowboy Like Me

Never thought I'd meet you here

Summary: When Nesta is stranded in rural Montana, she finds herself rescued by an unlikely pair.

Day 1 of @sjmromanceweek: Meet-Cute

Also, check out this art of Cowboy Cassian from @melphss

Read on AO3

Nesta was in hell. 

Who got married in Montana? Montana seemed like the sort of place you exiled people to die in lonely misery. She didn’t give a fuck about all the open sky, the clean air, or the nature that quite literally ambled up to her rental car looking for a snack. Nesta wasn’t built for this sort of life and maybe it said something about her that she couldn’t imagine anyone else who was.

She’d made a mistake, though. When she’d rented her airbnb, she’d just assumed it was an actual home, like the pictures had depicted, and not some ramshackle hovel with a literal hole in the ground for shitting.

For fifty dollars a night, she supposed she deserved that. Nesta thought that maybe she also deserved her twisted ankle. Heels on a gravel road had been an obvious mistake—was she supposed to go barefoot? She hadn’t brought anything else. Nesta emitted a soft scream of hatred for this new, cheerful place before propping herself up on the hood of her car to look at her swelling ankle.

All this for a wedding. The minute Nesta managed to get back into her car, she was going to book a flight home and block this friend forever. Why was she even trying to have friends outside of Gwyn and Emerie, besides? Nesta maneuvered her phone from her black skirt pocket only to find that of fucking course she didn’t have service.

She screamed again, irate with the whole endeavor.

“All right, ma’am?” a masculine voice called. Nesta whipped her head to the side of the long, gravel drive, intending to give that busybody man the middle finger for his trouble.

She hesitated. To start, the man in question was astride a large black horse. She had no quick comeback for a man who was pulling towards her shiny red sedan like he’d stepped straight out of eighteen forty six. 

He swung one of his long, powerful legs off the creature with ease, revealing himself to be at least six foot-five. Nesta had never considered herself a small woman, standing at five-nine without heels, but as he approached, his rough stubbled face hidden beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, Nesta felt positively dainty. 

He swept his hat off his head and Nesta wished he hadn’t. Holding it against the blue and green flannel of his shirt, he was like something out of a magazine ad for country living. Warm brown skin, hazel eyes, and dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders was a lethal combination on this man. His chiseled jaw, the stubble grazing his cheeks, and his rough features made Nesta think he had no trouble picking up women.

And that irked her, even as she swallowed with desire. He was absurdly stunning, the absolute dream of anyone hoping to marry a cowboy from a long-forgotten age. Those eyes of his, framed with ridiculously long lashes, swept over her, and then her surroundings.

“Tricked, huh?” he asked in a rich, deep drawl. “You wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last.”

“Someone should burn this place to the ground,” she hissed, one hand still gripping her hurt ankle. 

He chuckled. “I don’t think that would stop someone from tryin’ to sell it. You hurt?” he added, his eyes falling on her ankle. 

“I twisted my foot,” she admitted. He knelt, the sight emptying out all of Nesta’s thoughts. She could only stare at his thighs, bulging in his tight jeans. His hand was large enough to wrap fully around her ankle, and ever so slowly, he pulled her foot from her scuffed black heel.

“This is your problem,” he said, holding up her shoe with a frown. 

“Well I know that now,” Nesta hissed, “you must be a psychic.”

His eyes flashed. “Can you drive?”

“No,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I wouldn’t go around insultin’ the only person who can help…but that’s just me,” he replied. 

Nesta hesitated. “Are you a doctor?”

He snorted, rising to his feet again. His large, muscular body blocked the bright sun the way a tree might, and Nesta couldn’t pretend she wasn’t grateful.

“Cattle rancher,” he replied, “but I know a thing or two about tapin’ up a sprain. We’ll get you iced up and bandaged and on your way Miss…”

She sighed. “Nesta Archeron,” she half grumbled.

“Miss Archeron—”

“Nesta. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He smiled, setting her heart racing. “Miss Nesta, then. I’m Cassian, and I’m walkin’ towards you real slow because I don’t want to spook you.”

“Why would you—put me down right now!”

He shook his head. “And let you finish breakin’ what you started? No offense, darlin’, but carrying you is a lot safer than letting you hop on the horse—”

“Why can’t we drive?”

He looked down at her, his amusement plain. “And what would I do with Bryaxis?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nesta breathed, gripping Cassian’s neck until her nails dug into his skin. “I’ve never been on a horse.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Cassian replied. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She couldn’t help her squeal as he hoisted her up into the fine leather saddle. Nesta’s bare thighs touched the material, spreading her legs obscenely, though Cassian didn’t seen to notice or care. He merely swung himself up behind her. He put one hand on her hip, the warmth seeping through her silken skirt, before reaching for the reins.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?”

He nodded towards a saddle bag. “Needed a few things in town.

“And you took a horse?” she replied, trying to imagine where he’d even park it.

Cassian’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “Where are you from, Miss Nesta?”

“Chicago,” she replied, well aware she was proving every city slicker stereotype true. “Have you ever been?”

She felt him shrug. “Nope. I’ve been to cities before, but not so far south.

So far south. Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re not missing much, honestly.”

“No? Is Chicago not home sweet home?”

It was Nesta’s turn to shrug. “It’s where I live.”

If he had thoughts about that, Cassian kept them to himself. That was just as well—Nesta didn’t want to fight some stranger when she was currently on his horse, unable to even run. He’d left her shoes on top of her car and her suitcase in the trunk. Nesta was literally at his mercy, given the small, two-lane road they were currently traveling down had no hint of civilization besides the two of them. 

She’d done such a shitty job picking an airbnb. 

“What are you doin’ up here, then?” he asked after a moment. His voice had the most pleasant gravel, deep and dark like a star-flecked sky. Nesta knew she was leaning against the broad plain of his chest and found she didn’t care. 

“My friend is getting married,” she said. “I guess her fiance grew up out here.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, an obvious smile in his voice. “Married on a ranch?”

Nesta twisted in her saddle. “Don’t you dare—”

“Lots of people rent out my barn on the edge of the property. You can stay up with me, if you need a place. I’ll charge you a real fair price.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s that?”

“You ever mucked out a stall, Miss Nesta?”

She poked him in the ribs, turning back to face the endless expanse of cloudless blue. “Is that your thing, then? Humbling the city girl by making her clean up shit?”

“Maybe I think you’d be real pretty with a little mud on your face.”

Nesta swallowed. “I don’t do mud,” she said, looking at her immaculate nails.

“What do you do, then?” Why did he sound so suggestive? Nesta’s hands were clammy–nervous. When had a man ever had that effect on her? 

“Law,” she told him. “Corporate law.”

He made some soft, noncommittal noise that was, honestly, a lot better than a lot of the finance men she dated. Cassian acknowledged he’d heard her without feeling the need to cut her down in service of his own ego. 

“I don’t know much about that,” he finally admitted. Nesta could have kissed him for it, though she wouldn’t. 

“It’s pretty boring,” she said, earning another of his soft noises.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” he replied. “You don’t strike me as the type to spend your time sufferin’.”

“Well…I do get to humble really rich men with a fair amount of regularity,” she admitted with a smile. His grip on her waist tightened. 

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his breath fanning against the back of her neck. She shivered, unintentionally leaning further into him. She was acting like a cat in heat over a man she’d known for fifteen minutes.

“I’ll pay,” she breathed. Behind her, Cassian went stiff.

“Pay?”

“For a room,” she clarified, wondering what he was thinking. “If you were serious about your offer, I’d pay you for it.”

“Oh, darlin’, there’s no need for that. Just a little hel—”

“I told you I don’t do dirt,” she snapped. “You can have money or nothing at all.”

“I’m not takin’ your money,” Cassian drawled. “Just keep after yourself and don’t disturb the cats.”

Her heart stuttered. “Cats?”

“Yeah. My girl just had kittens and she’s real skittish, so if you see her, be real quiet and soft.”

Nesta could have died. “What's her name?”

She wanted a cat so badly. Her landlord expressly forbade any animals at all, and Nesta was too much of a rule follower to risk a secret cat. The thought of spending three days surrounded by a mama cat and her little kittens seemed like heaven.

“Cheddar,” Cassian admitted ruefully. “She’s orange. Dad must be black, though, because half her little beans are black, too.”

A soft squeak slipped from Nesta’s throat. “Do they have names?”

“Not yet. Maybe you’ll help me out with that,” he added with what sounded suspiciously like hope. 

She didn’t dare unpack that. Not as Cassian pulled off the road, steering his steady horse down another gravel path. Untouched grass stretched for miles in every direction until the sky met mountains in the distance. 

“Your friends will be down there,” Cassian told her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Accident, she swore, watching the point of his finger. “But we’ll be up here. I’ll walk you down for the wedding…keep you from wreckin’ that other pretty ankle of yours.”

“Does that work on the women around here? Your folksy charm, your aw shucks—”

Cassian laughed. “Are you askin’ if being nice gets me laid?”

“Does it?”

“My good looks get me laid, darlin’.  My folksy charm, as you so eloquently put it, is just called manners outside of the city. No need to pretend.”

“You’d be surprised,” she told him dryly. Cassian merely held her close, his eyes fixated on the two story ranch just in the distance. Nesta could have wept with relief. The saddle was rubbing against her inner thigh, chafing her delicate skin and the woodsy scent of smoke and pine coming off Cassian was threatening to throw all Nesta’s good sense out the window. 

His home sprawled against the Montana countryside. Built to look as if it was made of wood—and maybe it was, for all she knew—the house had to be worth a cool million in Nesta’s estimation. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at him, though. Didn’t dare acknowledge she knew this man wasn’t the simple, rural cattle rancher he was trying to embody. 

And Nesta certainly didn’t let him see that she was weirdly relieved. She liked an ambitious man. And unlike all the men she’d been dating back home, Cassian wasn’t slick. Nesta would have put all the money she had on Cassian being the sort who had his heart on his sleeve for all to see. She had no business thinking about that.

This wasn’t a date.

Cassian swung off his horse and gently pulled her back into his arms.

“Don’t you go runnin’ off,” he warned Bryaxis.

“Will he?”

Cassian merely shrugged as he took her up a stone laid path towards his glass and wood front door.

“If he goes anywhere, it’ll be next door to his girlfriend.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “Your horse has a girlfriend?”

“He’s a good-looking horse. Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend. I catch him all the time down by the fence nuzzlin’ her with his nose.”

“Like you, then?”

Cassian chuckled. “I am very single, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she interrupted, breathless as he brought her inside. “The Miss makes me feel like someone’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Fine, Nesta. I, unlike my horse, am very single.”

“Any particular reason?” she asked, wishing she sounded snide and not interested.

Cassian set her on a long, dark leather sofa, He swept his hat off his head as he knelt in front of her again. 

“You want to know why I’m single? Maybe I work too much,” he said softly, sliding her his hand up  and then back down her knee. “Maybe I’m a shitty kisser.”

“I’ll bet it’s the second,” she replied. Cassian’s hazel eyes met her own, a smirk curving over his sensual mouth.

“And you? Are you a shitty kisser?”

“Terribly deficient.”

“I figured,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to her swollen ankle. Cassian grabbed a red pillow from the corner of his couch to prop up her foot. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll get us all set up, hm?”

“Okay.”

Cassian vanished long enough for Nesta to fire off several quiet texts and otherwise study his really nice home. The living room had a wall made of pointed windows, and though everything had that wood cabin aesthetic, it was cozy and cheerful and bright. She flipped through her work emails while she waited, dragging a knitted blanket off the back of the sofa over her lap. 

Was she insane for hanging out in a stranger's house? She would never have dared back home—her friends thought she was insane. And yet she was at the right place, and if Cassian wanted to hurt her, surely bandaging up her foot wasn’t necessary. She doubted his neighbors would have heard her scream if she stood outside and emptied her lungs of air.

Cassian returned nearly an hour later, balancing a glass of water and a plate in one massive hand, and her suitcase in the other.

“You got my things?” she asked him, surprised he’d bother. She’d assumed she’d have to hobble back out there for it.

“Of course, darlin’,” he replied, setting a nice sandwich and two ibuprofen down on the wood coffee table right in front of her. “Unless you plan on wearin’ that skirt the entire time? I don’t mind, but…”

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. That was really nice.”

He ducked his head. “Have somethin’ to eat before you take the medicine. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee today. Pain killers won’t settle well on an empty stomach and while you’re cute, you’re not cute enough to clean up puke.”

Nesta was rendered speechless. That was for the best. Everytime he casually said something nice about her, Nesta was far too tempted to crawl into his lap and repay him for his generosity in a different sort of way. Instead, Nesta remained perfectly still while Cassian wrapped up her ankle with a beige colored bandage and pressed a bag of frozen green beans against the aching bone. 

“Keep this elevated,” he insisted, taking a spot close enough that Nesta could have scooted forward and put her head in his lap. She was far too tempted. 

“Want to watch something?” she suggested. “Or are you busy?”

“Not too busy for you,” he teased, reaching for the remote. “How do you feel about history?”

Their eyes met, and in unison, they said, “Ancient Aliens.”

Cassian smiled with satisfaction. “Fuck yeah.”

They wasted the afternoon that way. Nesta inched closer and closer until her head was propped up against his thigh. Cassian kept his arm casual against the back of the couch, unconcerned as they giggled their way through each new show. He didn’t stop until the sun dipped low, bathing the room in shadow.

“Want to help me make dinner?” he asked, his voice gruffer than before. She looked up at him.

“No eating out?”

His lips curved into a sly smile. “Are you asking to be eaten out?”

She smacked at his stomach, heart racing all the same. “You don’t seem like the cooking type. Isn’t that something for your little wife?”

“Are you offerin’?” he joked. “I accept. C’mon, lazy bones. At least come talk to me.”

“Does anything bother you?” Nesta asked, unconcerned when Cassian lifted her back into the air. She winced at the jolt of pain lancing through her ankle, though she couldn’t pretend she didn’t like the ease with which he carried her through his house. Cassian was careful, setting her atop a granite kitchen island so she could watch over his attempts at cooking.

“So tell me, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta.”

“Nes,” he grinned. “Miss hot shot attorney. What do you think about my humble home?”

She looked around, pretending to survey with an arched eyebrow. “It’s a little rustic—”

Cassian’s fingers were between her ribs before she could stop him, tickling until she thrashed and gasped for a breath of air. 

“Stop it, stop—”

“Rustic,” he chuckled, pulling out a nice creuset pot and setting it atop the range. “You’ll have to work on your insults.”

“I think you just wanted an excuse to touch me,” Nesta replied. Cassian smiled.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “It’s not everyday a beautiful woman is waitin’ for me on the side of the road.”

“I wasn’t waiting. I was stuck.”

He shrugged. “Sure felt like you were waitin’ for me.”

“Maybe you were waiting on me.”

“Almost certainly,” Cassian agreed cheerfully. “Do you eat pasta?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Nesta agreed. Cassian nodded.

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

And God, but Nesta wanted to find out if that was true. Cassian had a box of recipes he’d inherited from his mother that he’d been more than happy to show her. While Nesta pulled the cards out one by one, Cassian made his own tomato sauce. She knew it shouldn’t have impressed her and still it did. 

He was nearly done when his cat, Cheddar, slunk into the room. Three black and orange kittens flopped just behind her, the third tumbling face first over the threshold from the hall to the tile. Nesta gasped.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“Where are the other four, mama?” Cassian asked his cat as she wound her way through his legs to rub against him. “What are those little demons up to?”

Nesta carefully hopped off the counter so she could scoop up one of the babies.

“Probably peeing in my boot,” Cassian grumbled, stirring his sauce with a wooden spoon. 

“Babies,” Nesta breathed, delighted when the three that had ambled in with their mother immediately bounded towards her. Her favorite, for no reason at all, was the one with the split black and orange face. She had the brightest blue eyes and when Nesta lifted her up to really look at her, the small creature meowed loudly. 

“Well now you’ve done it,” Cassian teased as Cheddar trotted over to see what the fuss was. “Be careful–mama cat has claws.”

Nesta scratched behind her ears. “Maybe for you.”

“I suppose like calls to like,” he grumbled. While he plated their food, Nesta played with the kittens until there was a snag in her skirt. Cassian offered Nesta a hand and when he pulled her up to her feet, balancing on one foot, he yanked just hard enough that she fell into his chest.

Into his lips. 

“Oh,” she whispered, unsure what to do. Cassian kept her steady with one arm, the kiss polite and chaste and just enough to make her want much, much more.

“Sorry,” he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair off her face. “Probably shouldn’t kiss the woman rentin’ one of my rooms, but…”

“It’s alright,” Nesta assured him, letting him lead her to the blocky table just outside the kitchen. It might have been awkward had Cassian not been so charming. So laid back and nice. He’d made her spaghetti and didn’t care when his cat spent the entirety of the meal winding her lithe, orange body through his feet and purring so loud Nesta felt like she was competing for his attention. 

Cassian kept the conversation going as if nothing had happened, but Nesta couldn’t get the feel of his mouth against hers out of her mind. He’d smelled crisp and clean and when her hands had pressed against his chest, he’d been all hard, toned muscle. 

“Why don’t I clean up down here, and you can get settled in your room?” Cassian suggested when Nesta had been silent a little too long. She was undressing him in her mind, and when she looked up at him, the little smile on his face made her wonder if he wasn’t aware. 

“Sure,” she agreed, if only to get out of helping with the dishes.

“I’ll carry you up,” he added, his eyes flashing. Nesta shook her head, her pride unable to stand being taken up and down the stairs.

“I can do it myself.

“Are you always this difficult?” he asked, rising to his feet. Cassian was a big man. Nesta had never felt small in comparison, had never once looked at a prospective lover and thought herself little. Cassian, though. Cassian exuded strength. In another life, he might have been a warrior prince worshiped by the masses. 

Nesta offered him a feline smile. “Maybe.” Back home, that refusal to yield would have earned her nothing good. With Cassian, though? A slow smile spread over his rugged face.

“Wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t, I suppose. Go on then, Miss Nesta. Yell if you need me…I’ll come runnin’.”

Nesta suppressed a shiver at his sensual tone. “Is that a promise?”

He looked her up and down, his expression suddenly ravenous. If Nesta had less pride, she might have hopped over to him, pressed her hands to his chest, and let him finish what he’d started. 

“It is,” he said simply, those hazel eyes finding her face again. 

It was shree will that made her turn. As if she had something to prove. And Nesta made it all of four little hops before Cassian was coming behind her and sweeping her up off her feet. Nesta gasped, unprepared to be so close to him again.

“C’mon,” he murmured, holding her like she was something delicate.

Something fragile.

And no one thought that about her. Nesta swallowed hard, biting back the urge to snap at him. He didn’t know what she was like and maybe that was a blessing, because Nesta didn’t have to put on a show for him. She could press her head against his chest and sigh, “Thank you,” without needing to scowl, to stare him down so he knew not to ever try such a thing again.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he drawled softly, taking that first wooden step. “But I’ve got the feelin’ that back home, you’re somethin’ of a ball buster.”

Nesta tightened, her hackles raised. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, ma’am,” he chuckled. “It’s just…I’m thinkin’ that most of those men up there don’t know how to act right when it comes to you. And because they can’t make hide or hair of you, they treat you bad. Try and break you, make you small? So you’ve gotta be real tough, don’t you baby?”

Nesta swallowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said crisply, careful to enunciate every single syllable which she knew only proved his point. 

“That’s what I thought,” he said softly, taking her upstairs. Nesta didn’t want him to let her go. I was a strange thing, to be so seen. To be laid bare by this man she didn’t even know. 

“Don’t get mad at me for sayin’ this, but you remind me of Bryaxis—”

“Your horse?”

“He was mistreated too,” Cassian explained. “Screamed at, whipped…you name it, he endured it. But all he needed was a soft hand. A little patience. I figure you probably aren’t too different.”

“Where are you taking me?” 

Cassian had opened a bedroom door that absolutely belonged to him. The dark masculine reds and blacks of the bed were a dead giveaway, along with the half-full glass of water on a wood bedside table and a stack of books dog-eared haphazardly. A leather jacket was hung from a chair near the open closet door, and though it was dark, Nesta could see an adjoining bathroom at the far end of the room.

“Where, I think, you want to be tonight. Tell me if I’m wrong—I’ll put you somewhere else.”

“This is your room, Cassian.”

She could see he was trying not to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tell him he’s stupid. Tell him he’s wrong. Demand he put you back in your own room and—

“Okay,” she whispered before she could talk herself out of it.

Relief all but crumpled over his features. He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like Thank the good lord, and set her atop his neatly made bedspread.

Nerves shocked through Nesta, rendering her silent for a moment. Cassian, for his part, seemed to have realized that he, too, had her in his bed and didn’t quite know what to make of that.

“I ah…why don’t I wash up the dishes and you can take a shower?”

“That sounds good, Cassian.”

It sounded better than good, and though Nesta swore she wasn’t going to say so, she called, “Unless you think I need help in the shower?”

Cassian froze. For all his bravado, it was obvious he’d never thought he’d get this far. Nesta crawled toward the end of his bed with exaggerated slowness, holding his stare. He took a slow breath, those eyes of his darkening to almost black.

“Is it safe for me alone in there?”

The knot in his throat bobbed. “I reckon it’s not, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she reminded him, rising up on her knees so she could touch the hard planes of his stomach. “Do you think you could call me that, Cassian?”

“I…” his voice trailed off when her fingers found his belt and tugged. 

“You know,” Nesta continued with far more bravado than she felt, “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for coming to my rescue today.”

“You..” he cleared his throat. “That’s not necessary. I—Nes—”

“That’s better,” she crooned, having undone the button of his jeans. A lump was forming—hard and thick and Nesta was desperate to see what the cowboy had hidden in those black pair of briefs. 

“Nes,” he tried again, his hands resting on her shoulder. He wasn’t stopping her, and given the way his fingers curled against her, she thought he was trying very, very hard to be a gentleman.

That wouldn’t do. 

“I’d be a poor guest if I didn’t thank you,” she said, slipping past the waistband of his underwear. Nesta gasped when she curled around him—or, tried to. As she pulled Cassian out, she realized she’d need to rethink her plan to thank him with her tongue. Cassian was enormous, both thick and long. Hardly a grower, given he was still stiffening in her curled hand.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, each waiting for the other to do something. Deciding he was erect enough, she pumped him. Her fingers just barely fit around his shaft, and even with two hands she couldn’t have fully covered him. Nesta certainly wasn’t going to be able to fit him all in her throat.

But god she wanted to try. 

He exhaled a breath when she stroked him again, earning a chuckle from Nesta. “Tell me how you like it,” she murmured, softening her grip. Nesta had to hope that the cowboy liked it rough, because she wanted him to fuck her within an inch of her life. 

“Nice and slow?” she tried, making a sweet pass over that large cock of his.

Cassian shook his head, his dark tresses, whispering against his broad shoulders. What was he like out of control? 

“What about this?” she tried, pumping him harder, squeezing tighter. He shook his head again, allowing her to make a third, rougher pass. Nesta twisted her wrist against his head, her nails grazing the sensitive vein trailing his now very erect cock jutting from between two powerful legs.

“That's what I thought,” Nesta murmured, looking up through dark lashes. “Just like me.”

“Nes—” 

Nesta silenced him by taking him into her mouth. She had to use her hand to make up the difference and she didn’t care. A soft, strangled noise escaped Cassian as his fingers plunged into her hair. 

Yes.

This was what she needed. Nesta took him until she gagged, and then she took a little more, teeth grazing his sensitive skin, hand punishingly tight. Cassian moaned, tugging at her hair. Nesta sucked again, trying so hard to communicate that she could take it. He was holding back, practically shaking from the effort. 

Nesta took more of him, widening her jaw in order to accommodate the sheer size of him. That was all it took. Cassian made a rough, snarling sound, pushing her off him.

“You’re a lady,” he panted, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. 

Finally.

“And in my house, ladies come first,” he continued, eyes flashing as he shrugged out of that shirt. Nesta swore softly at the sight of all that gleaming, corded muscle. Nesta had never seen someone so effortlessly toned, so big.

Powerful.

“I seem to recall something about eating out,” she said breathlessly, swallowing hard when Cassian prowled toward her.

“I haven’t forgotten, darlin’,” he promised, hovering over her with his unbuttoned jeans and a smile that made Nesta’s heart race. “But first, I think I’m owed a kiss.”

“Just one?” she asked as his lips ghosted over her own.

“Let’s start with one and go from there,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of her head. Nesta had only her ripped dress between them, which provided no protection against Cassian when he pressed the weight of his body against her. 

In another life, she might have kissed him nice and slow—teasing it out, exploring him thoroughly. Right then, though, Nesta thought she might explode if she didn’t have his mouth directly on her, his tongue stroking, thrusting, tasting. He was just as excited, grinding himself into her while she pulled at the strands of his hair.

He tasted like snow kissed wind, somehow. Like the crackling of a fire and a frosted window—like some memory she’d long forgotten. Nesta dug her nails down the back of his neck and against his shoulder blades until he bucked into her, wild and nearly unrestrained. Nesta could not remember the last time she’d wanted someone the way she wanted him.

“Off—get this—off,” Cassian panted between messy, hungry kisses. He was pawing at her dress, trying to figure out how to take it off. Nesta arched her back into his chest, earning matching moans from them both as she yanked down the zipper

Nesta would never know how she managed to get that dress off her body given Cassian never stopped his frantic kissing. Nor did she figure out how her bra joined her clothes on the floor. She only realized she was nearly naked when Cassian licked down the column of her neck before burying his face between her breasts.

“Fuck, Nes,” he breathed, both hands covering them entirely—no easy feat, given how large they were. Cassian massaged them, callused thumbs dragging over her aching nipples until Nesta was certain she was making a mess all over his bedding. 

His mouth latched around her and Nesta was lost, ripping at his hair as her body bowed off the bed.

“Responsive,” he teased, his tongue tracing around the sensitive bud. “I wonder…”

“Cass—” she gasped when his hand made its way between her legs. Nesta writhed when he began drawing circles on her clit, teasing touches that weren’t even close to what she needed, even as he switched between her breasts, sucking and licking. She could feel it all in her pussy, like every nerve in her body was intimately connected.

She could have come from that—for the first time in god knew how long. At least, without her own hand, without assistance from a toy. Nesta couldn’t recall the last time a man had pleased her so easily, so effortlessly.

Cassian pulled back, wild and impossibly sexy. Holding her gaze, he nipped his way down her body until he found the red pair of panties still clinging to her hips.

“Aw, for me?” he teased, kissing against the fabric. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

Nesta pushed herself against his face, but Cassian was still licking against the lace. 

“I’ll bet you could come just like this. Couldn’t you?”

If he was doing it? Probably. Nesta merely whined, arching when he hooked his fingers into her underwear and peeled them off her.

He whistled softly. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Do you know that? I feel sick at the sight of you.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond. Cassian’s tongue slid down the center of her, rendering speech impossible. Nesta reached for something to hold on to, and found his hair for purchase. Cassian groaned, the sound vibrating against her. Her thighs tightened around his face, earning another groan of pleasure. 

Cassian’s tongue was everything. She realized, after a lifetime of thinking she was just difficult to get off—too fussy, too particular, too exacting—that what she really needed was someone who knew what they were doing. Cassian had her spread apart, licking and sucking her clit with the sort of expert precision that told Nesta he liked what he was doing. 

She regretted not sucking him more. Nesta was going to come apart in record time and she knew she was going to beg him to do this again in a few hours. All weekend.

For fucking ever. 

Release was gathering on her spine, burning hotly through her blood until Nesta didn’t recognize the noises coming from her throat. Cassian, too, was rolling his hips into the mattress, trying to alleviate his own arousal. Nesta nearly stopped him, if only to have that long, thick length in her body.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Cassian pushed one of his fingers into her. Nesta tightened around him and Cassian swore at whatever he felt, though he didn’t stop. He fucked and sucked in time, working her like she was an instrument only he knew how to play. Nesta built up, up, up, until she was fucking his hand, rolling all over his face like a wild animal. 

Nesta broke apart with a scream she couldn’t control, bucking against him as she shattered into fractals of starlight. Cassian didn’t stop, riding her through wave after wave with clear, obvious excitement. It was only when pleasure became edged with pain that Nesta released the grip her thighs had around his face and Cassian came up for a deep breath of air.

“Fuck,” he said, his lips gleaming from her arousal. “Fuck, Nes—”

“Come here, come here,” she panted, scrabbling for his shoulders. Cassian obliged, kissing her frantically. His tongue was coated in the taste of her, pushed against her own. Nesta liked it, wanted more of him.

“Condom,” he breathed, finally shucking his jeans to trip over to his dresser. Nesta propped herself up on her elbows to watch, admiring his firm ass as he went. Cassian was quick about it, rolling the condom onto his cock with what she swore were shaking hands. His eyes shone, and if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn Cassian could not believe his good luck. 

“You sure?” he asked, hesitating at the end of the bed. Nesta nearly laughed, given she was spread out and still trembling from his mouth. Any other man would have jumped on her, would already be balls deep buried in her.

He was sweet, she decided.

She wanted to keep him, though she had no idea how. She’d figure it out later. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” he said with another heart stopping smile. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

“Sure you do,” she offered in what she hoped was a sultry voice. “You’d have gone into the bathroom and used your hand.”

“That was my plan to start,” he agreed, settling between the cradle of her thighs. “But this is much better. Have I said how pretty you are?”

“Once, at least.”

“Well.” He pushed himself an inch or so into her. Nesta gasped loudly. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.”

He’d punched all the air from her lungs. Nesta didn’t think she’d ever been stretched against anything half as large as Cassian. It was the sweetest pain that, with each shallow stroke inching him in deeper, became wholly pleasure. By the time Cassian had fully seated himself within her, a bead of sweat was trailing down his temple from the effort it took to go slow.

“Good?”

“Good,” she agreed, gripping the back of his neck for a kiss. “Cass?”

He hummed in response.

“I’m not fragile. You can fuck me, if you like.”

Cassian pulled himself out before snapping his hips so hard the headboard above them rattled. “Like that?” he grunted.

“Yes—yes, Cassian—”

He did it again, groaning loudly when she tightened involuntarily around him. This was Cassian unrestrained, his hair wild around his rugged, handsome face. His muscles bunched and shifted from the effort, held over her just enough that she could incline her had and watch his cock slide in and out of her body. 

He wasn’t finished, and Nesta already wanted to have him again. 

And again.

Cassian reached for her knees, bending them up by her shoulders to drive himself deeper. Nesta moaned, eyes rolling up into her head. The balls of her feet were pressed to his chest pushing him with each slide out, only for him to return with twice as much force. When she’d said she’d wanted it rough, well…this was exactly what she meant. 

“Nes, fuck—” he panted, eyes rolling up into his head as she came on his cock. Nesta arched hard, every muscle in her body going taut all at once. She clamped around him and Cassian came too, clearly unbidden and unprepared for the force of his own release. She wanted to drown herself in the noises he made, in the frantic thrusting of his body driving himself deeper on instinct. 

Cassian collapsed on top of her, dropping Nesta’s legs carelessly. She hissed when her bruised ankle hit the bed. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, lips against her jaw. “And I’m not, at the same time. Nesta, I…”

“I know,” she agreed, because she was certain they were thinking the same thing. Something else had happened between them, something they couldn’t so easily walk away from.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, perhaps guessing those words were never going to come easy to Nesta. “I can hear you worryin’. Baby, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Nesta brushed her fingertips against the rough stubble of his face. “Promise?”

Cassian grinned. “I promise.”

[bookofmirth]

What/who do you think was watching Mor in Chapter 24 of ACOFAS? Do you think this might show up again in the future? I was re-reading the book and I completely forgot about this part until now.

But Mor scented nothing, saw nothing. The tendril of power she speared toward the woods revealed only the usual birds and small beasts. A hart drinking from a hole in an iced-over stream. Nothing, except—

There, between a snarl of thorns.

A patch of darkness. It did not move, did not seem to do anything but linger. And watch.

Familiar and yet foreign.

Something in her power whispered not to touch it, not to go near it. Even from this distance.

Mor obeyed.

But she still watched that darkness in the thorns, as if a shadow had fallen asleep amongst them.

Not like Azriel’s shadows, twining and whispering. Something different.

Something that stared back, watching her in turn.

[....]

The horse needed no further encouragement before launching into a gallop, turning them from the woods and its shadowy watcher.

Over and between the hills they rode, until the woods were hidden in the mists behind them.

What else might she see, witness, in lands where none in the Night Court had ventured for millennia?

I know some people have theorized that it was Bryaxis, but idk! I remember Mor seeming distracted and upset in acosf as well, and she kept going to Vallahan. I assume we will find out when we get her story! I kind-of hope it's not Bryaxis, just because we already know what he's like and I want to meet another cool monster 👀

Also during acowar, Bryaxis fought with them. Wouldn't that mean Mor would recognize it watching her? This seems like something different...

[starrynightofcontradictions]

A Court of Frost and Starlight:A Review

I’ve never been particularly active on here apart from reblogging stuff, but I recently decided to change that.

Furthermore, I am no longer in the pits of finals hell, so I thought I’d post my acofas review.

That being said, most everything I have to say about acofas has probably been said, but I don’t care.  The short version: I LOVED IT!!!

 The Long Version:

I know a lot of people like to nit-pick and analyze (I am occasionally one of them), but I can honestly say there wasn’t much about acofas that I didn’t like. Here are some highlights that have and have not been mentioned.

P.S. Please ignore my sub standard grammar. English is my first language, but I’m lazy at the moment. 

 The Hug between Cassian and Rhys – Pg. 21

           I am totally here for friendship and showing affection between men (males, in this case). One of the things I loved seeing in acofas was more friendship between Cassian/Azriel/Rhys. Everything from the hug to the snowball fight was straight up adorable!

 Feyre as High Lady

I love that we see Feyre sharing responsibilities with Rhys, but I also like that she’s earning her position with the people. In a lot of cases (the Illyrians, the Court of Nightmares) Rhys holds his position out of brute force. This probably has to do with the culture of violence. While I love Rhys, I’m glad Feyre doesn’t employ similar methods. She has high responsibilities, but she’s not above getting down and dirty and proving to the people she’s there to help, rather than lord over them. On a side note- I think if Tamlin wants to come back from the place he is in, he’s going to have to do the same. Start from the bottom.

 Rhys calling Tamlin out

Okay, so there has been of A LOT debate over Rhys and how he treated Tamlin. First of all, I think he could have been more civil with Tamlin. He could have kept it mainly politics, or he could have not mentioned their shared history at all. I do think he was a bit out of line. That being said, I am glad he acted as he did and here’s why: I think healthy character flaws are a good thing. I’m not talking about being expected to applaud a character who is clearly a jackass. I’m talking about Rhys letting his heart drive his head when it comes to the people he loves. In some cases, this can be a good thing. He’s willing to sacrifice everything for his court, which is the mark of a good leader (most of the time). However, Rhys can be a bit of a douche when it comes to people who have hurt Feyre. He’s biased-it’s understandable, but it can cause issues. The thing is, I don’t want to Rhys, or any character, to be perfect and neither should anyone else. I can’t stand it when a complex character falls in love and turns into an angel of fluff and adoration with the character complexity of a powdered donut. I think Rhys occasionally rides that fence and I was glad to see him show character flaws. The same goes with Feyre. As much as I love her, I was glad when Lucien called her out.

 Elain’s gift to Azriel

Whether their relationship is romance or purely friendship, I loved this scene! Not just because of Azriel’s reaction (which was priceless), but because it added depth to Elain as a character.  As far as Elain goes her character was pretty one-dimensional up to acowar. I think we can now add “sense of humor” to the list.  She was either joking around (more likely) or being innocent and either way it’s adorable.

 Mor’s POV

I’ll say it right here: after Mor’s POV I wanted to cry. That poor girl has been through it. She needs her own book. She also needs to ride into the Court of Nightmares on the back of one of her horses and bust some stuff the hell up. I figured that dark thing in the woods around the ending was probably Bryaxis, and now I want a scene where she and Feyre managed to rangle it back into the library like the badasses they are.  

 Eris is still a raging assnoodle

 I surprisingly liked Jurian’s emerging character complexity in ACOWAR, but Eris can bibbidi bobbidi the frick out of here. I don’t care if he’s morally grey or complex or whatever. I am not here to listen to an abusive, slut-shaming, twit get a redemption arc. I might be on board with Tamlin being redeemed if he’s willing to earn it. However, when it comes to redemption arcs, the redemption has to match the seriousness of the original “crime”. There’s nothing Eris could do to win me over, and I’m happy to continue on my path of feminine spite, thank you very much.  

 The Illyrian Conflict

I’ve never been a fan of how Illyrians are treated in the series. I’m hoping this next book will be a chance to address that and build on their complexity. So far, they have mostly been described as brutes. I want to see more positive-Illyrian representation.  I also hope Nesta and Cassian make some serious progress with the misogynistic culture they’ve been dealing with.

 Rhys and Feyre’s baby plan

 So I know this one has gotten a bit of backlash as well. I feel like if Feyre and Rhys were normal people they would be the adorable domestic parents with the house every kid wants to hang out at. They would be at every parent-teacher conference and every bake sale being straight-up adorable and making the other parents jealous. (They’ll probably also embarrass the hell out of their kid with the PDA). However, Rhys and Feyre aren’t normal people. They are running a court. If they are waiting for things to calm down, they will probably be waiting a long time. There may always be another conflict to deal with. It’s never going to be “convenient” in the conventional sense. I think Feyre figures this out. It’s okay for people to change their minds. Personally, I think Feysand will be great parents.

Things I Didn’t Like:

Kier and Eris are still alive

They couldn’t have died in battle or something? Come on...

Poor Nesta

I know I haven’t mentioned Nesta. Mostly because she’s been an acquired taste as a character for me. I’ve never been anywhere near the same situation Nesta has, but I understand self-destructive behavior. It was painful watching her deal with all the crap and feeling like she doesn’t belong with the IC. I wish Feyre would have thought to get her SOMETHING for solstice. I mean, come on...She’s your sister-get her a pair of mittens or something. I hope in the next book Nesta busts up in the Illyrian war camp and takes no shit. I almost feel sorry for what Devlon and the others have coming. Almost. 

So yeah, that’s about it. I really liked it, and I thought it was a good bridge between stories. 

[aelin-and-feyre]

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 8)

Feysand - Cinderella au

Fic Masterlist

It feels like we’re getting close to the end but there’s still four more parts left!

“I can’t believe it,” Rhys growls, pacing in front of his father’s desk on the morning of his birthday. The High Lord looks like he is about to interject but Rhys isn’t done. “Actually, I can believe it because it’s exactly you. Every chance you get you manipulate my life, first with the hunting, then with training, and now you’re making me get married! And you won’t even let me choose my bride!”

“Of course I’m letting you choose who you marry Rhys,” he assures calmly.

“No,” Rhys pins his father with a hard glare. “No, you’re not. You’re ‘letting me’ choose from one of your elite—a select few who you think would suit me but I won’t allow it! I want to choose the person I spend the rest of my life with, father. Why won’t you just accept that?” He exclaims.

Rhys was right, he wasn’t able to sleep last night, at least not well. His mind was buzzing with arguments and love notes, expletives and beautiful blue-gray eyes. So, as soon as word came that his father was awake, Rhys requested a meeting with him.

“I’m doing this because I need to know that I’m leaving the kingdom in good hands,” the High Lord sighs. He is clearly exhausted but Rhys refuses to back down.

He scoffs. “You mean royal hands. Just because someone does not come from noble birth does not mean they can’t handle the Court, father.” The High Lord drags a hand down his face and giving him a long, hard look. Rhys’ expression turns desperate. “Please father, as a birthday present to me, lift the invitation decree and allow me a night to introduce you to the girl I wish as my bride. Please.”

Finally, the man quickly scribbles a quick note and hands it to his son. “Give this to Azriel, he’ll know what to do. Happy birthday Rhys.”

The prince can recognize a dismissal when he hears one and bows, starting to back out of the room. “Thank you, father. You won’t regret this.”

“I better not,” he grumbles and Rhys pulls the door closed.

He practically flies to the library, his heart joyous and light. He runs in, startling the four inside and leaping into a chair next to his best friend.

“I’m guessing the meeting went well then?” Cassian muses from across the table.

Rhys smiles grandly. “Here, Az, a note from my father.”

The Spymaster takes the note and glances over it, nodding. “It says that I am to alert all staff to welcome the ‘mystery princess’ tonight as the Guest of Honor.” They all looked rather impressed with Rhys.

“How the hell did you swing that?” Mor questions.

Rhys shrugs humbly, but the grin is still plastered on his face. “A little yelling, a little guilt triping, and I may have started begging halfway though.”

Amren shakes her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. He even agreed to meet her!” Rhys feels like doing a little happy dance in his seat. Suddenly, he has an idea. “I’m going to meet her at the entrance and walk with her to the ballroom. We’ll make a grand entrance together.”

“Um, Your Highness, I don’t think that is wise,” Azriel interjects. “She usually comes late so you will have to fight off hundreds of maidens coming before her. I suggest you let me escort her and meet you at the ballroom.”

Azriel is right, Rhys knows he is, but he still wishes he could see her stepping out of that carriage for himself, walk through the halls with the Guest of Honor on his arm. With a heavy sigh, Rhys agrees, “Fine, I guess you’re right. Just, get her to me as quickly as possible.”

Az stands and bows his head to Rhys. “I’m going to go inform the staff.”

Once the Spymaster is gone, Cassian cracks his knuckles. “Okay, while you were gone, we started a list of all the things we know about her.” Mor holds up a piece of paper with a couple lines of neat scrawl.

“Well, what have you got so far?”

“Her alias is Clare. She has light brown hair with blue-grey eyes. She is probably starved but can still afford one-of-a-kind dresses. She can run super fast and knows the song from Prince Rhys’ childhood. That’s about it for right now,” Mor reads off and Rhys is impressed that Cassian remembered the song one, or maybe it was Az.

“She always disappears when the clock strikes midnight,” Amren mentions and they all looked at her, confused. “Oh, please tell me I’m not the only one who realized that.”

Now that Rhys thinks about it, both times Clare had run away from him was when she heard the clock begin to chime. In fact, now that Rhys really thinks about it, he can remember a lot of odd things that were connected to Clare in the last few days.

“I have an idea,” he says suddenly and they all looked to him, Mor ready with her pencil to mark down whatever he says. “I’m not letting Clare get away tonight.”

...

“’Clare’ better not make an appearance tonight,” Nesta mutters for the thirty-fourth time today—Feyre counted. Her mother shushes her and ushers the sisters into the carriage.

Before joining them, Amarantha turns back to Feyre, eyeing her suspiciously in the doorway. “Make sure not to leave the house tonight, Cinderella.”

Feyre smiles softly, innocently. “Of course, Stepmother. Have a good night.”

Amarantha looks at her for another half second before nodding to herself and entering the carriage.

Rumor had spread about the mysterious princess coming back last night but not making it to the ballroom. Someone from the kitchen had leaked all that had happened. Everyone in the Court now knows about her arriving with Cassian, the food fiasco, and her alleged name. The person had told of Prince Rhys but hadn’t elaborated on anything after he came which Feyre is grateful for.

However, all day, her stepsisters lamented that if they’d gotten another thirty seconds with the Prince, he would have fallen in love with them. Feyre subtly rolled her eyes but kept any comments to herself. Nesta and Elain were both very disgruntled at the fact that ‘Clare’ might come back tonight, ruining their last chance to win the Prince’s heart.

Feyre watches the carriage for a few minutes and then rushes back inside. She runs through the house to the back garden, stopping when she reaches the old bench. She rips a length of vine and sets a circle, then she sits and waits.

“Are you ready for the final night?” The Suriel seems to appear from nowhere, one foot in the circle trap.

“I suppose so.”

A look of confusion crosses the faerie’s features. “What’s wrong?”

Feyre lets her head drop to her hands. “Everything. I think Stepmother knows that it’s me, Rhys and Cassian are getting too close to figuring out who I am, I don’t think they’ll let me leave tonight, and I think I’m in love,” Feyre confesses all in one breath.

When the Suriel doesn’t say anything for a long while. Feyre finally glances up to find them looking at her thoughtfully. “You’re in love with Prince Rhys, right?” The Suriel asks after the pause.

“Of course!” Feyre exclaims, exasperated.

The Suriel nods, content with the answer. “Ok good, then I can help you with your other problems.”

“You can?” Her friend pins her with a dry look. “You’re right, I shouldn’t doubt you.”

One side of the Suriel’s mouth tilts up. “Amarantha just needs a little push in the other direction to veer off your scent so I’m gonna do something a little different with your outfit tonight. Cassian and Rhys have no idea who you are, trust me, so I don’t need to do anything about that.” Feyre nods but is still skeptical. “And what’s the worst that can happen if they do find out?”

“They will be mortified that Rhys wasted his birthday celebration on a servant girl and banish me for wasting their time and lying to them,” Feyre suggests.

“If they don’t know who you are then you’ll never be able to see them again anyway,” the Suriel reminds. “But it’s your choice. As for the not letting you leave, you’re very right. Rhys is going to try his hardest to not let you run off without finding out who you are so I’m going to give you a little something for any obstacles you may encounter.” They wait expectantly until Feyre gets the hint.

“Suriel, you are under my control and as such I have a request: I wish for a tool to help me escape the ball tonight.”

Satisfied, the Suriel clenches their fist and opens it to present a bracelet with five blue pearls on it. They hand the delicate jewelry to Feyre carefully. “The beads on this bracelet will serve as short magic bursts. When it is time to leave and you run into things on your way, grab a bead and throw it at the hindrance. It will be just enough power to get you past the object but won’t do much more. Do you understand?”

Feyre nods and slips the bracelet around her wrist. “Good,” the Suriel claps. “Now let’s get you ready for your ma– I mean Prince.”

In the same order as the last two nights, a new pumpkin morphs into a blue carriage, the mice shift into horses, Bryaxis becomes human, and the bunnies hop onto the back of the pumpkin as footmen. At last, the Suriel turns to Feyre.

“You’re going to have more eyes on you tonight than ever in your life Feyre, we have to make this especially memorable.” Flicking their wrist, Feyre feels a soft breeze swirl around her.

Feyre watches as her dress grows, fluffs, and wraps around her body. The color changes to a brilliant blue, hundreds of layers build in the skirt, and her feet rise as glass slippers form around them.

When the transformation is almost finished, Feyre feels something settle into her hair. She reaches a hand up to lightly trace a tiara placed atop her head. “You’re making me an actual princess for the night?” She asks softly, checking that the bracelet is still secure around her now gloved wrist.

The Suriel shrugs. “Why not? They all think you’re one anyway, except Amarantha. The tiara will point her in the wrong direction and away from you.”

Feyre nods slowly, although not sure if she wants Rhys to think that she is royalty anymore than he already does. “Thank you, Suriel,” she says at last, truly meaning it. “These last two nights have been the best of my life.”

“Of course, girl. I wish you a long and lovely life, Feyre.” A black, mottled hand grasps hers gently for a short moment and then Feyre gathers her skirt to ascend the carriage. “Oh, make sure you watch the clock very closely tonight Feyre. Those beads can do much but they can’t rewind time.”

Feyre nods against, a lump in her throat at the thought of her first friend disappearing again. “Goodbye.” The Suriel’s voice is already fading in the distance and when Feyre looks back, they’re no longer there.

Masterlist

[newlyfaenesta]

Last Unicorn/ACOTAR fic

Title: The Lady and the Unicorn

Rating: General

Summary: A unicorn sets out on a journey to find the rest of her kind and is accompanied by Cassian the Illyrian Magician and the mysterious (and grumpy) Nesta Archeron. Following a narrow escape from the monster Bryaxis, Cassian accidentally changes the unicorn into a fellow Fae. While Bryaxis may be the one chasing down Prythian’s unicorns, following him leads to even more danger: the King of Hybern and his adopted son, Prince Lucien. The king does not trust Cassian and Nesta’s companion, the Lady Elain, while Prince Lucien is more than willing to get to know her.

Chapter 3 Summary: Lady Amarantha wants to use the unicorn in her carnival, but her Illyrian magician has other plans.

Main overall fic characters: Nesta, Cassian, (Nessian), Elain, Lucien, (Elucien), and Hybern.

Disclaimer and all posted chapters can be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 3:

Her eyes felt heavy, her mind foggy, her mouth dry. The world slowly, meanderingly, came into focus but grew no less confusing as the unicorn could not understand why she was lying on such hard ground nor why she could not smell the sweet scent of lilacs drifting on the breeze. But as her vision cleared and her awareness returned, the unicorn sighed mournfully, feeling a mix of consternation and shame, two rare--almost nonexistent--emotions for unicorns to have, which only made her feel worse.

She remembered leaving her darling little lilacs for tall sycamores, but there were no tall sycamores here in this grove, nor orange and red leaves blanketing the ground. She then recalled trotting past the sycamore trees into a land of snow and ice, but there was no snow soft and quiet as goose down here, nor razor-sharp spikes of icicles suspended from bare branches in the frigid sky above. She then recollected racing through the land of softly falling snow before falling suddenly into a world of melancholy and despair. A world of sorrow and distress. A world of wretchedness and discomfort.

She had been caught, and no one had ever caught a unicorn before. It was unthinkable. She did not know what to do or how to react in such a situation as the mere idea was so far removed from the consciousness of her kind that the protocol simply did not exist.

The unicorn took a deep breath, inhaling slowly through her nostrils to stem the tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm her, and took in her new surroundings. Iron bars stood on all four sides of her with a metal roof above and dirty straw below. Her enclosure was magicked, she discovered, for the bars did not even dent when she kicked them with her strong hooves, and if a unicorn could not escape, surely magic was at work.

She snorted loudly and tossed her bright white mane, panic giving way, conceding just for a moment, to anger. How dare someone capture a unicorn! Did they not know her unique? Did they not understand the worth of a creature such as she?

Just then, a shadow fell across the front of her cage, and the unicorn looked up to see a Fae with red-gold hair that shone like the sky at sunset watching her with crossed arms. “Well, well, well,” the female said with a smile. “I’m used to catching coal with my little puca trap. Imagine my surprise when it dragged in a diamond.”

She paced in front of the cage, and the unicorn noticed for the first time a large caravan of covered wagons just beyond her own sitting in a half-circle, taking up most of their little clearing. A long black canvas hung across two of them, proclaiming in giant red letters, “Lady Amarantha’s Carnival of Nightmares.” Underneath that, in smaller letters, someone had written, “Venture under the mountain and witness Prythian’s dark side.”

The unicorn shivered. She would find no help here, nor kindness from these fae. She was only satisfied that her kin had not ended up in this carnival, though that did nothing to temper the sadness she felt over her current condition.

“You shall be my show’s newest star, my little jewel. I shall attract all sorts of audiences and everyone shall be in my thrall.” A slow grin spread across Amarantha’s face, for surely that must be she and this must be her carnival. “It’s not everyday that one captures a unicorn, much less sees one. I hope you enjoy your new home, darling.” She leaned forward, her bright red lips just inches from the unicorn’s nose, and lowered her throaty voice to a whisper. “Because you’re going to be here for a very, very long time.”

The unicorn narrowed her eyes but did not deign to answer. This Amarantha did not deserve to hear the voice which had once blown wind back into a butterfly’s wings and dripped starlight into the eyes of a chestnut owl.

Amarantha straightened and snapped her fingers. Almost immediately, two male fae appeared from out of nowhere. “Bring our new guest some more hay. I have no doubt she is hungry, and we must keep our star comfortable.” She cackled again, each shriek a knife-like thrust in the unicorn’s heart.

The unicorn put her head down and watched as Amarantha’s two helpers argued over who would take care of her. The older of two males, hair graying at his temples, pointed in her direction several times. Both their voices rose and fell, up and down in roars and whispers, but she did not care enough to pay attention to the words. Hay was hay and captured was captured. The who and why did not matter.

Eventually, the older male threw his head back in a grunt of frustration, shoved the younger male aside, and stomped away. The younger one pursed his lips in grim satisfaction, and then cautiously turned towards her, approaching her cage at a careful snail’s pace. Whether this was due to nervousness or a quick perception of her worth and abilities, the unicorn could not hazard a guess. But as he gradually moved closer, she observed the Fae with her usual detached curiosity.

He wore a tattered brown leather tunic under a midnight blue cloak, which bunched up in back over his muscled shoulders as if he carried a great pack with him. He wore his shoulder-length black hair loose, and though he held his bronzed arms still as he walked, she was able to catch a glimpse of something glinting, metallic, sheathed in a brown belt around his waist. He was strong, she could see that immediately, but something about the way he moved proved he was also prudent in the use of his strength. The most remarkable thing the unicorn noticed about this male, however, were the red gems he wore in various locations around his body. She did not know their purpose nor did they shine very bright, but she counted seven in total: two each on his wrists and elbows and two on his knees, with the last and largest of them all resting on his chest against his collarbone just under the clasp of his cloak.

The unicorn watched, ears back and eyes alert, but did not move or speak.

Once he reached about a foot away from the bars of her enclosure, he knelt down in the dirt. “I am sorry I helped to put you in this cage,” he said quietly. “You do not deserve this.”

The unicorn silently agreed, but continued to regard him warily.

He exhaled loudly and scrunched up his face, conflicted. “Look, I can bring you some hay, but--”

“Hay is for horses,” she announced loudly, her objection to hay much more important than her resolution to remain silent. “I am no mere horse so I do not eat hay.” She was unable too to keep the superiority from her voice, and tossed her mane from one shoulder to the other. “I eat but sparingly, but when I do, I sip from the reflection of the moon in mountain lakes and nibble on honeycombs from the bees whose pollen is harvested from the tulips of the low valleys.”

He blinked in surprise at her outburst, and then chuckled quietly. “I am sorry, my lady. We are not quite so prepared as that, so I can only offer you hay. To be honest, I don't think any of us expected to find you for we thought your kind to be gone from our land completely.” He cocked his head to the side; it was now his turn to study her, and the unicorn found she did not like it. “Forgive me for being rude, but are you the last---the last of your kind?”

The unicorn snorted, blowing straw out of her cage and all over the male’s lap. He grinned and held his hands up in surrender. “I suppose I deserve that. Which means you definitely do not deserve to be in this cage.” He sat back on his heels then, casting furtive glances to his left and right. “I cannot claim to be all-powerful, but if you trust me, I will help you escape if I can.”

The unicorn eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you that I should trust you so well with the life of the last unicorn?”

He bounced back on his ankles once before popping up to this feet and flourishing her with a large bow, bending low over his right arm while throwing his cloak back behind him with the left. “You may call me Cassian, my lady! Resident Illyrian magician, at your service!”

“I have not heard of an Illyrian before,” the unicorn responded indifferently, “but I once knew a vole who enclosed a caterpillar within a daffodil only to remove it a few seconds later from the mouth of a very surprised fawn.”

“Well, there aren’t many Illyrians left either, so I suppose we have that in common.” Cassian gave her a lopsided grin. “I try to perform tricks. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. Mostly I just argue with Keir over whose turn it is to feed the other creatures.” He shrugged in an offhand, disquieted manner.

The unicorn remembered the older man from earlier and how he had yelled and shoved. “I know I would not enjoy living like that. Why do you work for this Amarantha when I am sure you do not share her delight in this carnival. Can you not work magic elsewhere?”

If it were possible, Cassian looked even more uncomfortable with her bluntness. He grabbed the edge of his cloak and wrapped it around himself. “She feeds me and provides me with a place to sleep. The war was hard on many of us. I needed something to do, somewhere to go.”

The unicorn cocked her head to the side. The farther and farther she traveled from her lilac woods, the more she found she did not know about the world. “War? What is. . . war?”

Cassian stared back, and then began to laugh. “If only we could all live in such secluded lands as where innocent unicorns prosper. I envy you your ignorance.” He dropped his cloak, looked down at his wrists, and began polishing one of the small red gems. “I used to be a great warrior,” he said softly. “One of the best. Until King Hybern appeared and stole a prince from one of the other Courts. War broke out as war will when kings are angry and bored. We all rushed to volunteer to fight. And why wouldn't we? Hybern’s own kingdom was small, tiny, with no army to speak of. It was an easy win--or so we thought.”

He shook his head in disbelief before looking again at the unicorn. “Are you familiar with the Mother of All, my lady?” He did not wait for a response before continuing. “They say she created the entire world with a great cauldron. The cauldron is the beginning of everything and therefore many hold the idea of it sacred, though most consider the whole thing just a story, a myth. We never thought the cauldron actually existed.” Cassian dug his toe into the ground, drawing random lines into the dirt, and did not speak for several long breaths.

“Until Hybern rolled the damn thing out on the battlefield and took out half our warriors in a single blast.”

The unicorn could feel the waves of sadness and anger rolling off the Illyrian as thick as syrup, and she whickered in pain and sympathy.

Cassian cleared his throat. “We threw everything we had at him, but when we discovered he was using the cauldron to not only destroy but create. . .” Cassian tapped the red gem on his left wrist. It flared briefly before emitting a flickering red light and, after another moment, went out again completely. “His creatures were too much. I was lucky to leave with my life.”

He continued to stare for so long at the red gems that the unicorn laid her head down against the floor of her cage and briefly closed her eyes.

“Anyway,” he said somewhat loudly with a laugh, “you asked why I am here and that is why. I have just enough power left in my siphons for parlor tricks.” To illustrate this, he pulled a small red ball, a children’s toy, from his pocket and began juggling it between his hands. As the ball arced in front of them, flying through the air from one hand to the next, another ball appeared, and then another, and yet another. The siphons on his knees blinked sleepily until Cassian stopped, clutching seven multi-colored balls within his arms.

The unicorn gazed at Cassian sadly, wishing she had never even learned the word for sorrow let alone the bitter aftertaste it left in her mouth. “That is a very good trick, magician. I am only sorry I cannot give you your strength back. I fear one unicorn is not enough to counter the evil the cauldron has wrought.”

Cassian frowned as he took off his dark cloak and draped it over his arm. “I would be glad indeed if someone could fix my siphons but I would give that all up if I could just once fly away from this dreary world.” The unicorn’s brow furrowed, confused, and he gave her a stiff smile. “You should rest. I’ll be back later when the others have gone to sleep so we can talk some more. In the meantime, I’ll try to find you the best of our hay.” He gave her a small nod and turned to leave.

As the magician strode off towards the other end of the caravan, the unicorn immediately saw and comprehended his cryptic words. Free from the confines of his cloak, giant membranous wings hung limp from his back. They were almost completely shredded, the talons pointing at awkward angles. It did not take a unicorn's eyes to see that he would never fly again.

[rayonfrozenwings]

ANGELS

@rayonfrozenwings ACOTAR Fan Theory

Part 3:1 : Angels

Again I’m Gonna Apologise If I have this wrong because I don’t study the hella long book called the bible.

But random Triva fact - Sarah J. Mass did.

First - Sorry for the Way this is written, I found it incredibly difficult to get my head around and explain - part of the reason I have split this into parts, and why I have left sources for some ideas.

Mixed Histories - An Introduction of ideas between Prythian and the Bible.

“Watchers” sent to earth to watch humans.

Some “Watchers” sent to the prison for Laying with women (begetting the Nephilim/Illyrians) and for teaching humans their secrets.

God sends the “Watchers” who lay with women from heaven and the worst are confined to underground (The prison in ACOTAR/ Or the Court of Nightmares both options as being courts underground)

Angels who tried to Ascend Heaven with Lucifer were also thrown down underground (I think this must be the prison as Fallen Angels who want to get into heaven seems worse that those who just want to be with a woman or share knowledge with humans).

God sends 7 Archangels to earth to keep an eye on the “watchers” who remain above ground and did not sleep with women (possibly the ones who spread knowledge instead).

God Allows 10% of the Watchers to remain above ground.

God sends the Archangel Michael to guard those inside the earth (The prison/The Court of Nightmares - Could Rhysand be descendent from the Archangel Michael, i’ll look into it further on).

God sends a great flood to wipe the Nephilim from the earth. (Noah’s Flood/The Cauldron)

It does not wipe out all the Nephilim(Illyrians).

Nephilim are forbidden from sleeping with Angels and Fallen Angels(watchers) and humans.

High Fae are forbidden from sleeping with Illyrians in Prythian.

The Nephilim continue to grow because they are begotten from Nephilim x Nephilim relationships, and do not need angels to reproduce.

The High Fae of Prythian disgusted by Half-breeds (Nephilm/Illyrians). Is this because they are angels (the remaining watchers on earth) and are forbidden by god to reproduce with Nephilm?

Is Rhysand a Nephilm and Archangel Descendant, and is that why he is the most powerful high lord in history?

Are Cassian and Azriel the most powerful Illyrians in History because they are begotten by Nephilm x Angel combination. Are they considered bastards because no Angel will claim paternity and face being excluded from heaven by their god?

The type of Angels/Fae -

The Angels sent from god to protect mankind on earth

The fallen angels who were the watchers

Those Fallen Angels/Demons who follow Lucifer and fell from heaven with him.

The Archangels who were sent to keep the rest in line.

The Nephilim who are bred from the union of Angel and Human

Fallen Angels and The Prison

Amren was trapped in the Prison.

She bound herself to a human body to leave the prison.

She did not want to go back there.

We know that sjmaas has based Amren on an Old Testament angel as she has mentioned it when ACOWAR came out that this was her inspiration. We also know that Amren was in the prison. Is “the prison”, where the angels “are cast into hell and committed them to chains of gloomy darkness to be kept until judgement”.

So is Amren one of these watchers who was imprisoned for sleeping with the humans? (more on this further along).

This passage could relate to “Those in the prison” and also of “Those who make sure they stay in the prison” aka the archangel Michael and possibly his descendants? Rhysand maybe - read on to draw your own conclusions...

Enoch 10:11-12:

“And the Lord said unto Michael: ‘Go, bind Shernihaza and his associates who have united themselves with women so as to have defiled themselves with them in all their uncleanness. And when their sons have slain one another, and they have seen the destruction of their beloved ones, bind them fast for seventy generations in the valleys of the earth, till the day of their judgment and of their consummation, till the judgment that is forever and ever is consummated.”

http://www.metatech.org/wp/fallen-angels/nephilim-book-of-enoch-end-of-world/

I told you it was going to get juicy.

The Bone Carver, Styrga (Weaver) and Koschei As Fallen Angels (not watchers)

Are The Bone Carver, The Weaver and Koschei who are all said to be brother and sisters, just Fallen Angels of immense power. Possibly Angels who fell at the time of Lucifer (So before the “Watchers” fell). We know that their power has been diminished by “the ancient fae long ago” who took a part of each of them and returned it to the cauldron. (If the Cauldron is a symbol for god, it was returned to god).

Chapter 29, referring to the second day of creation, before the creation of human beings, says that “one from out the order of angels”[26] or, according to other versions of 2 Enoch, “one of the order of archangels”[27] or “one of the ranks of the archangels”[28] “conceived an impossible thought, to place his throne higher than the clouds above the earth, that he might become equal in rank to [the Lord’s] power. And [the Lord] threw him out from the height with his angels, and he was flying in the air continuously above the bottomless.” In this chapter the name “Satanail” is mentioned only in a heading added in a single manuscript,[29][30] the GIM khlyudov manuscript,[31] which is a representative of the longer recension and was used in the English translation by R.H. Charles (fallen angels)

They were also confined at this time, so before this they roamed the earth, as Satan/Lucifer/the devil does. The Bone Carver was confined to “the bottomless pit” aka the prison. Styrga/The Weaver was confined to the middle. And Koschei was confined to a lake.

1. Abaddon - Angel of Death whose name means to “destroy”

Revelation 9:11 And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon. KJV, 1611

2. Apollyon Fallen Angel of Death, same as Abaddon

Apollyon (Απολλυων) is the Greek name for Abaddon, the spiritual being (or place) named as the destroyer (or place of destruction) in Christian apocalyptic theology

3. Andrealphus - Fallen Angel who can transform into humans and birds.

Andrealphus FALLEN ANGEL and 65th of the 72 SPIRITS OF SOLOMON. Andrealphus is a mighty marquis, who rules 30 LEGIONs. He first appears as a noisy peacock and then as a human. He can transform people into birds and make them very cunning. He teaches perfect geometry and everything pertaining to measurements, as well as astronomy.

(wiki search, 1, 2, 3)

Abaddon and Apollyon are both described as the same. They are seen as the same person/entity. Could this be why the Bone carver describes himself as a twin. To have two fallen angels with the same powers etc. Also Apollyon has a similar sound to Apollo (sun god in greek myth) so is that Styrga’s name because she was able to live in the middle with the sunshine?

After Decoding this via wiki pages, I found this is the book of revelations 9:

Then the fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star from heaven which had fallen to the earth; and the key of the bottomless pit was given to him. 2He opened the bottomless pit, and smoke went up out of the pit, like the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened by the smoke of the pit. 3Then out of the smoke came locusts upon the earth, and power was given them, as the scorpions of the earth have power. 4They were told not to hurt the grass of the earth, nor any green thing, nor any tree, but only the men who do not have the seal of God on their foreheads. 5And they were not permitted to kill anyone, but to torment for five months; and their torment was like the torment of a scorpion when it stings a man. 6And in those days men will seek death and will not find it; they will long to die, and death flees from them.

     7The appearance of the locusts was like horses prepared for battle; and on their heads appeared to be crowns like gold, and their faces were like the faces of men. 8They had hair like the hair of women, and their teeth were like the teeth of lions. 9They had breastplates like breastplates of iron; and the sound of their wings was like the sound of chariots, of many horses rushing to battle. 10They have tails like scorpions, and stings; and in their tails is their power to hurt men for five months. 11They have as king over them, the angel of the abyss; his name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in the Greek he has the name Apollyon.

     12The first woe is past; behold, two woes are still coming after these things.

Bryaxis and the Bone Carver and Styrga.

If some of the Angels who fell with Lucifer/Satan/Devil/Serpent roam, are they the “ancient ones who belong to no court”? Because that would include, the bogge, the puca and the naga.

Masterpost (this post), Part 1:,   Part 2: , Part 3:1 , Part 3:2 ,Part 3:3 , Predictions (final)

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[aelin-and-feyre]

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 7)

Feysand - Cinderella au

Fic Masterlist

“Rhys.”

“Clare,” the prince breathes, resting his forehead against hers and ignoring the odd looks from the people around them. “I didn’t think you came.”

“I almost left, Cassian stopped me though,” she whispers back and Rhys smiles, slowly wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Nuala also made me food, which was delicious.”

“They’re both pretty awesome aren’t they?” They laugh softly, breath mingling in the small space between them. Rhys feels ecstatic. This girl in his arms, so close to him he could pick her up and run away if he wants, makes him so happy he can barely comprehend it. “Why were you crying?” He asks quietly, the kitchen resumes it’s bustling behind them, politely giving them space. Cassian and the girls are sitting by silently, which Rhys is grateful for.

“I-” she is cut off by a loud bang above them. The clock tower.

Clare jerks from his hold, standing and moving around his kneeling form. Rhys catches her hand before she can get far, standing up as well. “Where are you going?”

She looks so torn, close to tears again and pulling against his hand. “I have to go! Please, I have to.”

“Why? Please, just tell me who you are, tell me how to find you!” Rhys begs as she continues to fight his hold.

“Rhys, please, I have to go. I will be back tomorrow I promise but please!” She cries.

“Rhys,” Cassian says quietly from behind him and a second of indecision is enough for Clare to pull free, darting away though the cooks. And as her fingers slip from his, Rhys feels it—a string connecting him to her that was so faint before, but is now pulling taught.

Without thinking, the prince darts after her, witnessing as she quickly pulls Nuala in for a hug, whispers something in the cook’s ear and then runs again.

Rhys sprints, pumping his arm as he chases her through the halls. A sense of deja vu hits him in the chest but he keeps running. He can’t let her go again, not again. And especially not now that he knows who she is, why he’s been feeling this way.

Cassian runs with him, a couple feet behind but she is fast, even in those delicate glass heels. They reach the front entrance and she is already halfway down the grand staircase, a golden carriage waiting at the bottom.

The horses have odd tails, Rhys notices, and the footmen have weird hats, sticking up in two places. Clare jumps in and they start speeding away almost instantly.

“No!” Rhys yells in despair as they finally reach the bottom far too late, the dust settling after the retreating carriage.

He stares after where the vehicle disappears into the night for what seems like forever. Eventually he hears Mor, Amren, and Nuala join them, all extremely confused. “So you really don’t know who she is?” Nuala asks and Rhys shakes his head distantly.

“But I know that she’s my mate,” he admits suddenly. The bond connecting them is pulling at his heart and making it hard to breathe. He doesn’t even know her name and he doesn’t think he can live without her. His friends gasp at the revelation but Rhys can barely hear them.

He let her go. Again.

“Would you like me to summon the guards? We might be able to still catch her,” Cassian suggests quietly when Rhys doesn’t move from his spot. He is still staring through the now black of night and hoping to see the carriage coming back, Clare hopping out and jumping into his arms, apologizing for running and promising never to do so again.

Rhys waits another thirty seconds before slumping down on the bottom step and putting his head in his hands. “No,” he answers finally. “She doesn’t want to be here with me and I can’t force her to be.”

Mor sits beside him, placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. After a couple more seconds the prince looks up to the hard gaze of Amren. He sighs, “Why am I being stupid now?”

“No offense, Your Highness, but you are absolutely blind,” Amren accuses and Mor nods, causing a perplexed look to cross Rhys’ features.

“What do you mean?”

She scoffs. “I’ve only known the girl for an hour and I can already tell how much she loves you. It’s especially sad because she is just as clueless as you, so confused when we suggested you were heartbroken over her leaving last night.”

“And so depressed when she saw you with all those other maidens.” Cassian interjects, standing in front of where they sit with his arms crossed. Nuala stands on the driveway still, wringing her hands and staring after where the carriage went.

“That was not my fault,” Rhys defends. “That was my father’s fault. In fact, everything that went wrong tonight was his fault,” Rhys groans and drops his head to his hands again.

“Not to pry but….” Mor starts hesitantly and Rhys opens one eyes to peek at her through a gap in his fingers. “Why won’t she tell us who she is? When Captain Cassian pushed earlier after the whole food thing she just burst into tears.”

Rhys fully lifts his head now and glares at Cassian. “You’re the reason she was crying?”

Cassian hastily raises his hands in surrender. “You didn’t see how she ate that food Rhys, like she had never eaten a meal in her life. You would have asked too if you had been there.”

“The Captain is right, Your Highness,” Nuala finally speaks up, walking over. “I have only seen that look once before, in the eyes of a stray who hadn’t eaten in days.”

Amren nods. “She started crying from happiness… I think. And then cried harder when she couldn’t tell us her name. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Your Highness, but this girl? She’s broken.”

“I know nothing about her.” Rhys frets. “I need to know everything, I need to be able to take care of her, put the pieces back and make her feel loved. I need to know who she is.”

“You’ll figure it out Rhys. Go shut the ball down and then meet us in the library after a good night’s sleep. We’ll put the clues together and figure out who she is, don’t worry,” Cassian assures and Rhys knows that he is right but he doesn’t think he will be able to sleep until his mate is once again in his arms.

...

Feyre and her carriage do not make it to her house before the spell falls apart. Bryaxis now races ahead of her, the bunnies around her feet, and four mice in her hands. They walk along the dirt road, the remnants of a pumpkin awhile back and any hints of the glorious dress forgotten but a long strip of gold fabric.

Feyre found a similar strip of white in her apron pocket that morning, another reminder that the night before wasn’t a dream. She hid it away under her mattress and plans to do the same with this golden piece. Small souvenirs of the dresses she wore on the best nights of her life. She will cherish them always.

The mice scurry up her arms and she grips the fabric tight so it won’t blow away as they keeps trailing along. Her stomach is full for the first time in more than a decade and Feyre feels heavy, almost wrong, like she shouldn’t have eaten as much as she did. Whatever the feeling is, Feyre brushes it aside because the food tasted so good, and she will not taint the memory of it by thinking it wrong.

After a little while Feyre realizes she is crying again, sorrowful that her time with Rhys was so short lived. She wants to spend so much time with him, wants to see him constantly, she even feels as if an invisible force is tugging her back towards the palace—back towards him.

The way he held her tonight soothed her worries and doubts for those few minutes and she wishes the spell hadn’t worn off so quickly. It hurts her to run away from him but she knows that it is for his sake as well as hers.

Rhys would be mortified if he finds out that his mystery princess is just a servant, not to mention that she will be heart broken and probably disowned by Amarantha. So once again, Feyre resolves not to tell Rhys who she is, no matter the cost.

The rain begins falling as she nears the house, successfully disguising her tears. The mice crawl down to find refuge under the garden wall and Bryaxis and the bunnies speed ahead to hide in the garage. Feyre simply keeps walking, tucking the gold strip into her pocket and letting the rain wash away her sorrows.

Her dawdling costs her, however, when the sound of hooves come from behind. She runs into the driveway and realizes if she goes inside, she will have no excuse for why she is soaking, not to mention that Amarantha will throw a fit if she tracks in mud.

So Feyre goes to the garden, kneeling in the weeds and beginning to pull just as the Hybern’s carriage drives up.

The girls noisily tumble out, shrieking as they are pelted with rain and rush to the door. Amarantha walks solemnly through the downpour, a large umbrella open over her head as she avoids the larger puddles.

Before she opens the door, Amarantha’s head swerves to give a long look towards Feyre, a suspicious glint in her tired eyes. She finally seems to resolve herself and says, “Finish up soon Cinderella, but go in the back way. The house is filthy enough thanks to you. I’m going to bed.”

“Yes, Stepmother,” Feyre responds over the pitter patter of hooves retreating and the heavy rain on the concrete. Amarantha nods once and then proceeds into the house.

Feyre waits for five seconds after the door slams shut and finally lets out a long breath. She’s survived two nights without her Stepmother interfering—she might be able to accomplish a third, but only if she’s lucky. 

Masterlist

[aelin-and-feyre]

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 3)

Feysand - Cinderella au

Masterlist

“I am the Suriel,” the creature repeats when Feyre is too shocked to reply.

She had heard of Suriels—all-knowing beings who can grant any wish and answer any question if you trap them. They are known for being hideous beings who wander the woods outside homes in search of food. Stories of the Suriels were used to both scare and enchant children. But they were just a fairytale.

“Suriels aren’t real,” Feyre says when she finally finds her voice. The figure makes a sound like a clicking tongue.

The black, bony hand descends from her shoulder to grasp her fingers and pull Feyre to stand. “I am plenty real,” the figure counters. It draws back it’s hood and Feyre almost falls back in horror. “Is this real enough for you?”

She has half a mind to run back to the house and lock all the doors. But she doesn’t, simply takes a small step back in unconscious self-preservation. “What do you want from me?” She asks timidly.

The Suriel smiles, a generous term to call the blackened gums and crumbling jagged teeth the are revealed by the widening of thin, cracked lips. “You should be wondering what you want from me.” Grabbing a vine from the garden wall, the Suriel secures it’s bony ankle in a loose circle of the vine. “I am trapped, and thus your wish is my command.”

Feyre can’t help but raise an eyebrow skeptically. “Why are you helping me?”

The Suriel glances sideways at the farmhouse. “I want Amarantha Hybern to stop getting everything she wants.”

It’s good enough for Feyre. She brushes off her skirt and straightens to her full height, remembering from her childhood stories the words one must recite to a Suriel. “Suriel, you are under my control and as such, I have a request: I wish to attend the prince’s ball tonight.”

From thin air, the creature summons an invitation, addressed specifically to Feyre Archeron. She gasps and gratefully accepts the small piece of paper. The Suriel’s milky eyes narrow. “But that’s not all you’ll be needing.”

“It’s not?” Feyre’s utter confusion must show on her face because the Suriel just sighs sagely.

“You’ll need a way to get to the palace—like a carriage, you’ll need one of those,” the Suriel waits expectantly until Feyre repeats the wishing phrase. It then glances around the garden and spots a large pumpkin in the corner. “Oh, I suppose that will do.” It waves toward the squash.

Feyre watches, mesmerized as the pumpkin floats through the air. It lands on the driveway where it doubles in size, then triples until it is taller than Feyre. It’s vines twirl and shift to prop the pumpkin off the ground. It changes color and shape to create a gleaming carriage standing before them, stunning in the soft twilight.

“Woah,” Feyre breathes, the invitation still clutched in her hands like a lifeline.

“Woah, indeed,” Suriel laughs crookedly, “Horses come with the carriage wish—they’re a package deal.”

Feyre perks up. “We have horses in the barn,” she’s about to run get them but the Suriel shakes it’s head, looking around the ground.

“Ah, here we are.” It flicks it’s hand again and four mice scatter from the carrot patch as the magic hits them. They transform quickly, growing bigger with more muscles, pointed ears, and hairy tails. Feyre has to step back a couple feet so as to not be trampled by the four white steeds.

The Suriel rounds them up and easily attaches them to the carriage. The dog, Bryaxis, bounds over to them and the Suriel claps. “Oh, I do love dogs,” it exclaims in it’s scratchy voice. With one more flick of the wrist, Bryaxis is flying over to the carriage’s front seat. He morphs along the way into a well-dressed man, his suit matching his black fur.

“And finally, footmen to complete the deal.” This time, two bunnies morph into people who walked swiftly to the door of the carriage and open them towards Feyre. “Okay, off you go,” the Suriel instructs and begins to shoo Feyre away, already kicking the vine off it’s foot. Halfway to the door however, the Suriel stops short. “Oh no, that will not do,” it muses, glaring at Feyre’s dirty and ripped blouse and skirt. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the whole grungy, dirty thing is in style right now but I think we’re going to try something different tonight.”

Feyre leads the Suriel back to the vine. “Suriel, you are under my control and as such, I have a request: make me look like a princess.”

The Suriel rubs her hands together thoughtfully, looking Feyre up and down and weighing the options. “Okay…” With one more flick, Feyre closes her eyes and lets a cool wind whip around her.

When she opens her eyes again, she is no longer in her tattered, old working clothes. In it’s place is a beautiful white ballgown. Her hair is clean and curled, her body free of dirt. She lifts the skirt to see clear glass slippers.

“Glass?” She questions.

“Old trick,” the Suriel winks, “Perfect fit and super comfy. Now hurry you’re going to be late!” It guides Feyre into the carriage and the bunny footmen close the doors behind her, leaving a small window to see out of.

“Wait! What if Amarantha or the girls recognize me?” Feyre worries. The Suriel places one long finger on Feyre’s forehead and she feels magic wash over her.

“No one will recognize you that you don’t want to,” she assures.

They are about to go when Suriel gasps and summons the carriage to halt. “Oh, Feyre!” It feels weird to hear someone say that name again. “I almost forgot—this spell will only last so long. With the last echo of the last toll of the last stroke of midnight, the spell will break and everything will return back to what it was before, so you have to get out of the castle gates before then. Got it?”

Feyre nods. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

Suriel smiles again in that grim fashion. “You’re very welcome, now go see your violet-eyed stranger.”

...

Prince Rhys is panicking. The party has started, he’s been introduced, and now is expected to pick a partner for his first dance. The only problem is that his mystery girl isn’t here yet. He glances from face to face but she is nowhere to be found. Cassian and Az notice his distraught look and send him sympathetic smiles.

“Rhys, it’s time,” the High Lord reminds.

“I’m still contemplating, just give me a moment please, father,” he responds, frantically searching for the girl but to no avail. He is about to give up when a sound comes from across the room.

Rhysand looks up to the top of the grand staircase where the doors just slammed shut. There, standing in a beautiful white dress, stands his mystery girl.

She glances around the room, startled by the loud door and all the people looking at her. She’s nervous, he can tell, even as she smiles softly—the blush on her cheeks is visible from where he stands.

Rhys can almost feel his heart melt. He turns to his father. “If you would please excuse me, I think it is time for the first dance, is it not?” The High Lord nods and gestures to the dance floor impatiently.

Rhys looks back to the girl to find she is carefully descending the stairs, clear slippers peeking out from beneath her shimmering skirt. When she reaches the bottom, people are still watching her and she lowers into a curtsy, looking absolutely graceful and lovely.

She lifts her head and their eyes meet. His breath catches. She smiles wide, standing up to make her way towards him. Everyone looks in the way she is going and spots the prince who is smiling just as wide as he looks only at her. A path is created for them and then Rhys is standing there in front of her, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“You came,” he breathes.

She smiles shyly at him. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if I would make it but,” she chuckles, “here I am!” She talks to him in a familiar way, not in the way someone would expect someone to talk to the prince, but Rhys cannot care less. He is staring into her beautiful blue-gray eyes and all he wants to do is dance with her.

“Dance with me?” He blurts ungracefully and she giggles a little, then glances around the room.

“But no one else is dancing.”

“They are waiting for me. Will you please dance this first dance with me?” The prince asks more smoothly, holding out his hand and bowing. The rest of the room gasps, including the girl. Rhys can’t see her reaction when she figures out who he actually is but he is sure it’s priceless. 

It takes her a moment but he soon feels the weight of her hand in his and looks up to see her curtsying low.

Rhys’ smile is so wide that it hurts as he straightens. He places his other hand on the girl’s waist and draws her close to him, feeling completely right with the world. Her eyes are wide still and she is blushing furiously as Rhys nodded to the composer and the song starts—a very familiar song.

“Ten Minutes Ago,” the girl whispers and Rhys nods, humming the beginning and taking the lead in the waltz. They dance gracefully around the space the guests had cleared for them.

“I asked them to play it as the first dance because I knew I would be sharing it with you.” Rhys hopes it won’t just be the first dance but he can’t assume anything.

“You’re the prince,” the girl whispers as they spin, staring into his eyes like she can’t believe he is real. “I’m so sorry Your Highness, I was so rude yesterday, it was completely out of line-“

“It’s alright, darling,” he soothes. “It was actually a really nice change of pace. Everyone always tip-toes around me. Besides, I got to meet the real you, not the proper and respectful you. I’m Rhys by the way.” Rhysand’s smile is contagious as he tries to elicit a smile from his dancing partner. She finally cracks a small grin and he feels very proud of himself. “I still don’t know your name…”

The girl shakes her head. “I hate to disobey the prince but I would rather keep my name a secret please.” She looks solemn, almost scared and Rhys nods quickly to relieve her fear.

“Of course.” The last thing he wants is to push her away. “Is there something else I can call you then?” The girl thinks about it as they dance and Rhys watches her. They twirl and spin, their bodies perfectly flowing together. He hums the tune of the song again and almost forgets that anyone else is there as he looks at this girl like she is the only thing that matters in the world.

As the song ends, he bows and she curtsies while the attendees applaud. “You can call me Clare.”

Masterlist