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crimsonwritings · 6 months

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His girl

Pairing: Cassian x female reader

Summary: Cassian finally makes a move on Y/N.

Warnings: reader being insecure about herself, slight mention of body shaming.

Words: 2.4k

A/N: This was written for @starfallweek hosted by @azsazz and @writingsbychlo. Am I entirely happy with it? No. Do I want to be part of this amazing event anyway? Yes.

378 years 4 months and 19 days. That’s how long Cassian had been in love with her. Ever since that day, when Rhysand came back from a visit at the Hewn City with her in his arms, saying that she would stay with them from now on. Her family had seen a potential threat in her, because of the powers she showed. Someone who disturbed the stability of their ridiculous culture. But it was the fact that nobody wanted to marry her that had made her father scream at her, blaming her for the blindness of any potential husband.

Cassian still didn’t understand how anybody could say no to her. Her face wasn’t pretty enough they had said. Her body not tender enough, her teeth not straight enough. As if she was a mare, ready for breeding. Nonsense. He had been captivated by her beauty since the moment he met her and if somebody would have asked him he would have married her right away.

Now he was standing at the bar in the House of Wind, to grab some drinks for himself and his friends and all he could think about was her. He wondered why she still wasn’t here yet. She loved Starfall and she wouldn’t miss it by any chance but maybe something had happened? Should he go check on her? No, she surely had a date anyway who would accompany her. They were probably enjoying some alone time right now before they would eventually show up. Cassian desperately tried not to imagine her kissing somebody else, their hands gliding down that beautiful body, whispering sweet nothings into her ear…

“You know, if you grab that glass any tighter it’ll break.” Cassian jumped at the voice of the shadowsinger behind him.

“Cauldron Az, could you stop sneaking up on me like that?” He turned around to the sight of an amused looking Illyrian.

“Oh believe me, I wasn’t sneaking. You were just so deep in your thoughts that you wouldn’t have realised if a whole army stood behind you.”

“Haha, very funny. What do you even want?” He hated to be moody towards one of his eldest friends, but the picture of the girl he loved in the hands of someone else was still to present in his head.

Azriel didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “Figured you’d need some help carrying five glasses. Though I guess Rhys and Feyre won’t drink something any time soon. They just left. Together.”

The prospect of his brother finally making a move on his mate filled Cassian with excitement. “So you think it’s gonna happen? Rhysie is gonna get his girl?”

Azriel only shrugged his shoulders. For any other person it would have seemed like he didn’t care about Rhysands love life but Cassian knew exactly that the shadowsinger was just as invested in it as him. “The odds are good. But if I were you I wouldn’t be worrying about him but myself. So, are you finally gonna make a move on her tonight?”

The fact that Azriel didn’t even use her name was indicator enough that everyone knew about the Generals hopeless feelings towards her. “Oh common Az, you know she isn’t interested in me that way. I mean we are friends! For almost four centuries we’ve been friends!”

“Really?” A smirk was creeping up on Azriels face as if he knew something Cassian didn’t know.

Frustration streamed through him, he had to put down the drink and hold on to the counter, fearing he might throw the glass at the next wall. “Yes! And it doesn’t matter anyway, because she definitely has a date for tonight.”

“Does she now? Well turn around.” As Cassian did he set his eyes on the most breathtaking creature he had ever seen.

Y/N walked into the room, in a dress that shimmered like the moon itself. It was hugging her beautiful curves, then flowed to the ground from right beneath her hips, getting wider the lower it got. Oh, what he would have given to be the one to help her out of this dress later on. Her hair was pinned up, leaving her long neck on display. Cassian wanted to mark every inch of it with his tongue and teeth, until all the males in Prythian knew that she belonged with him.

His heartbeat rose up at the sight of her. She looked like a freaking goddess, drawing all the attention on her. It seemed like everyone wanted to know who the beautiful girl was. Did she even realise how they were staring at her? Women, who looked like they either wanted to kill her, or be her? Men longing after her, just like he did right now?

If she had noticed the attention lying on her she ignored it, for she strode threw the crowd, chin up, her eyes scanning the room as if she was looking for someone.

But the prettiest sight, even though he hated himself for it, was the fact that there was no other man on her arm. “She is alone!”

Cassian had whispered the words to himself, still in trance from the sight of her. He had not realised that the shadowsinger still stood behind him.“Yep, she is. And I can tell you the exact two reasons why.”

The General couldn’t tear his eyes from her. He feared she would disappear if he did, as if she was only an illusion. Thankfully Azriel seemed to understand as he spoke on without a request. “You do realise that you are literally growling at every male that comes near her? It’s like you are her personal guard dog who is following her around everywhere.”

Now the frustration crept back into Cassian and he broke his stare, trying to ignore the physical pain he felt in his chest while doing so. “Wait, you are making it sound like it’s my fault! Oh great, so she is probably pissed at me too.”

Azriel wore that annoying smirk again, Cassian could have punched him in the face for it. He decided to look at her again instead. “Well, she should be pissed if she really wanted to have somebody else as her date. Yet, she isn’t. Which leads me to reason number two.”

“Oh yeah, and what would that be?”

“The fact that she is so absolutely disinterested in any of those guys that they can see it on her face. She might speak to them and smile at them, but her eyes only ever light up when she looks at you.” As if on clue Y/N’s eyes met Cassian’s and rested there. She was gifting him a radiant smile and her eyes…they glittered as if they held a thousand stars in them. It was that moment he realised that she had been searching the room for him. And that the man who was now laying a scarred hand on his shoulder had been right.

“Please, do us all a favour and go get your girl, brother.” With that Azriel grabbed the drinks for him and Mor and silently made his way back to where their friend was located.

Cassian started to move. He needed to get to her as soon as possible. She was like a magnetic force pulling him to her and it seemed like she might have felt the same as she took her steps in his direction. They never broke eye contact on their sheer never ending way to each other. When they finally met each other in the middle of the room he was so overwhelmed by her presence that he couldn’t say anything but a whispered “Hi”.

She grinned up at him, got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Hi”

Cassian could literally feel the blush threatening to reveal him. He decided to distract her from it. “Didn’t you want to bring someone with you?”

“No, nobody asked me to be honest. But I guess I should have considered that. It’s probably just me…I mean it’s always been that way, right?” Cassian knew that look on her face. He had seen it multiple times, whenever Y/N started to feel low about herself, started to believe those ugly words these men had spoken to her a lifetime ago.

It wasn’t his intention, to make her feel like this on maybe the most important day in her years schedule.

His brain tried to find a solution for the mess he navigated himself into. He wanted to cheer her up, to spend a fairytale like evening with her before he would confess everything he kept secret from her ever since the both of them met.

But his silly little heart acted faster than he could think about something. “I’m asking you!”

“What?” Now it was her turn to blush.

There was no going back now. There would be no perfect timing and no privacy. He would tell her right here, right now, with maybe a hundred people gathering around them, in the middle of the ballroom. And if all of Velaris would call him a lovesick fool by tomorrow so be it. He didn’t give a damn about it. “I’m asking you to be my date!”

There was utter disbelief in her eyes and something that looked like worry. “Cassian, are you drunk or something?”

“Yes I am sweetheart. Drunk on you. But if you mean drunk in the traditional way then no, I’m not.”

“Cassie…” Her bashful gaze dropped to the ground. There was a strain in her voice that almost sounded like sadness, because she was afraid. Afraid that the man in front of her was only playing with her, not meaning anything he said right now.

Another small gesture Cassian recognised about her. It felt like she was a mysterious book, written in a language only he could decipher.

He used his fingers to lift up her chin, desperate for her to see the truth in his eyes.

“I should have asked you that earlier I know that. I wanted to ask you but I was so scared that you would say no and that I would risk whatever we have between us. But tonight I’ve realised what an idiot I’ve been who misinterpreted everything, or at least I hope so because otherwise this could end badly. Well, even if it does I want to say it because you deserve to know how I feel about you and I want you to see what an amazing person you are.”

Cassian had rambled his words so fast, his lungs forced him to take a breath before his crucial statement. “I love you Y/N…So will you give me the honour and make me the happiest man alive by being mine? For Starfall and for eternity?”

Her eyes went wide in surprise, her mouth agape. She looked at him as if he came from another world, as if she had never seen him before. Cassian could almost see her brain trying to realise what he had just said.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood like this, but her silence was killing him. This moment, where he could do nothing but wait for her response that didn’t seem to come. Facing that thing under the library again appeared less stressful than the uncertainty he currently found himself in. “Sweetheart? Not that I want to sound rude, but I think this is the part where you should say something.“

The disbelief in her eyes turned into mischief and before Cassian could register it she was wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down and kissing him.

He had expected a lot of things. Tears, because he had ruined their friendship. Or that she would burst out into anger, maybe throwing a shoe at his head like Feyre did to Rhysand. That she would never want to see him again. Yet she was kissing him, in front of everyone else. As if she had planned to do it for the longest time. Just like he did.

Kissing her was like everything he expected it to be and more. A thousand butterflies erupted in his stomach, travelling through his body to kiss every part that was him awake. Her fingers tangled in his hair and he moaned into the kiss at the feeling of it. There was a soft voice in his head, singing over and over again. Mine, mine, mine.

The Illyrian already missed her lips when she pulled away, chasing after them to feel the softness again, to taste their sweetness. Cauldron, he was obsessed with her by only one kiss. In that moment she could have told him to jump from the balcony with his wings bound together, like once during the blood rite, he would have done it.

She started to leave soft kisses on his neck, travelling up to his ear, and if the act itself didn’t drive him crazy than her hummed word definitely did. “Yes!”

Cassian couldn’t help but growl at her answer and in the next second he lifted her up and spun her around, enjoying the beautiful sound that was her laughter.

When the music started to play he put her back on her feet. Her hair was now slightly out of place, face a little bit red, but for Cassian she was still stunning. He wanted to take her to his room, to show her just how gorgeous she was in his opinion, but this would have to wait. For this was Starfall and he wanted to spend it with her. So he performed a slight bow in front of her, taking her hand in his to put a light kiss on her knuckles. „Would you like to dance with me, my lady?“

He could have sworn her giggles lit up the whole ball room before she answered him. „I would love to dance with you, General. Until the sun creeps up behind the mountains again.“

And so they did. They were dancing the whole night, never breaking eye contact and only stopped to watch the magnificent sight of the souls travelling along the sky. Later, when the thoughtful celebration had turned into a party, they could be seen dancing with their friends, sharing their luck with them.

The whispers that could be heard throughout Velaris the next day were positive ones, stating what a beautiful couple the both of them made. Although some claimed to have seen the General tackling their High Lord to the ground when he returned with the cursebreaker, laughing and screaming while doing so. “Rhysie! I have a girlfriend now!”

Tags: @hellodarling1357

#cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian #cassian x reader #acotar #acotar fanfiction #starfall #velaris #night court

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cressidagrey · 3 months

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AO3 Masterlist

All of these link to my AO3, mostly because that's my personal favorite site to read fan fiction on, and it's much easier to make multiple stories into a series!

Unless otherwise noted, all my series/stories are ongoing, which means…if you have a prompt for any of them, shoot them my way.

The Court of Gold and Shadows*

you'll be made of ashes too

Elain Archeron makes the most beautiful bride.

Azriel copes.

for the first time, what's past is past

Of all the ways, Azriel expected to meet his mate, this wasn't it.

something good and right and real

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours

5 Times Cassian thought that Azriel had feelings for somebody and then the 1 time he finally met the girl his brother was in love with.

I breathe flames each time I talk

The story of how Oriana Fireborn Belmont, Third Daughter of the First Daughter, met her mate's family.

Also the story of how Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court finally recognises that by the cauldron, there is no fury like that of a female scorned.

Meanwhile, Azriel would just like everybody to get along.

The Unexpected Series*

“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.”

What if… Azriel actually takes Rhys at his word? And does exactly what his High Lord ordered? With unexpected consequences.

Unafraid

Azriel does exactly what his High Lord ordered him to do. (Well, kinda.)

Unprecedented

This is Azriel finding out about said unexpected consequences

Unknowing

This is the Inner Circle finding out about said consequences. Azriel is very good at keeping secrets

Indelible*

Indelible Scars

Azriel knew pain. So did Galena.

Also known as: Azriel’s mate is a healer and the first time they meet, he nearly dies on her.

Glorious Sunrise

So what happens after the mating bond snaps?

Well-meaning interfering family members, deep conversations and nights spent brooding on the roof like some kind of gargoyle…this one has it all.

(The Smutty Sequel y’all asked for ;) )

A Pocketful of Stars*

New Pursuits

The shadows decide that Azriel needs a hobby.

5 times when said hobby-related shenanigans didn’t end so well…and the one time where it may end up better than Azriel could ever have imagined.

Welcome to the World

The quickest turnaround time between finding your mate and having a kid anybody in the history of Prythian has ever managed

The Starlight Princess*

The Starlight Princess

There is a Pool of Starlight in the Spring Court. A piece of the Night Court that has no business being in the land of Eternal Spring. So how did it come to be?

Or: How the Spymaster of the Night Court starts hearing a voice, realises that no, he is not insane after all, frees a princess, kills a High Lord…and finds his mate all at the same time.

The Prophecy

Lightning in a Bottle

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Looked to the Sky

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Recipe for Love

Peach Cobbler

Azriel finds a bakery and creates his very own reward system.

Honey Cakes

The Beehive Bakery is out of Peach Cobbler. This leads Azriel to make some very impulsive decisions.

Don't wait for the Sky to Clear

The Fourth Archeron sister makes herself a life in the Dawn Court.

dust of your highest hopes

Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves, goes the idiom.

When Solana hears an admission from the High Lord of Day, she’s ill-prepared for it. She doesn’t believe in fairytales any longer, but maybe there was a happily ever after for Solana and Helion somewhere

The Ties that Bind

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

The Witching Hour

5 Times members of the Inner Circle get absolutely terrified by Azriel's...whatever she is, and 1 (of many) times Azriel thinks that his witch was the best thing that ever happened to him.

(Super pretty dividers thanks to @tsunami-of-tears !)

#Masterlist #acotar fanfiction #my writing

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

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Hey! I love your writing so much! Would you be open to write something about Azriel with a fae in Velaris who his shadows actively seek out and he has no idea why. I imagine that she works at a large library and that's where they meet because Azriel would go to figure out what was so special about her. Thanks!

pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: implied smut, drinking, men being gross at bars (doesn’t go into detail), mainly just fluff and awkwardness though :)))

a/n: I rlly like this one so I hope you do to!! comments are always appreciated, hope you enjoy <3

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Azriel was standing with Cassian in a small street in Velaris. The ground beneath him was cobbled and all the houses in this area were brightly coloured, the sun seeming to shine brighter over them. They were waiting for Mor as she demanded they help her buy Rhysand a birthday present, desperate to get someone, anyone a good present. She was in a small local shop after Cassian suggested that he would love something from any small business and Cassian let out a groan as he realised she had wandered deeper into the shop. They had already been waiting twenty minutes for her.

“I’m going to drag her out,” Cassian said pushing off the wall and Azriel huffed a breath through his nose.

“Please be quick, don’t let her scare you into staying.” Cassian threw a rude symbol over his shoulder and Azriel grinned reservedly.

He let his gaze travel over more of the houses, his gaze catching on a white house with blue accents, and a blue balcony where a girl sat sipping an orange drink from a large glass and reading a book. He observed her for a while, she was sat curled in a straw chair with a colourful cushion and there was soft music coming from her house, her hair was down and natural and her face was clear of makeup as she soaked in the sun, wearing a males oversized shirt and some knee high socks.

Feeling his stare on her she looked up, grinning cheekily at him when he flushed red and lifting her glass to him in greeting. He was saved from further embarrassment though when Cassian came out, dragging a triumphant Mor who was holding up a purple, silk shirt and bottle of wine. Cassian made a gagging face behind her back as she linked arms with both of them, dragging them down the road and chatting their ears off about the kind old lady from the shop.

As they left Azriel dared a final glance over his shoulder to the girl from the balcony who was still watching him, cocking her head, and waving as he left. As they walked home, choosing to enjoy the sun, he heard nothing of what Mor said, completely focused on the girl from the balcony.

When they got home Mor winnowed away to hide her present and Cassian made a comment about Mor’s unique ability to always get horrendous presents. They walked through the door and Feyre instantly looked up from her spot of the sofa, gaze narrowing at Azriel.

“You look different.” She said and Rhys looked up too, frowning when he saw Feyre was right.

“What did you change?” he asked as Amren walked into the room, her head tilting.

“Nothing.” He said defensively as everyone stared at him, not enjoying the way everyone was looking at him now and wishing he could be alone to daydream about the pretty girl he had seen.

“Haircut?” suggested Nesta but he shook his head.

“I haven’t changed anything!” Mor was back now too and had joined in staring, gasping when she realised.

“Where are your shadows?!”

“Ohhhhhhh, that’s it,” Cassian said, sitting down next to his mate as Azriel felt for the shadows that followed him, feeling a rush of white-hot panic shoot through him when he couldn’t feel them.

“Wait what? Where are they then?” Rhys asked and he shook his head, searching for them and frowning when he felt them far away.

“They’re still in Velaris, they must have just stayed somewhere,” he tried to explain.

“Is there another shadow singer in Velaris?” Amren asked and Rhys shook his head.

“Not that we know of,” Azriel felt a flood of relief as his shadows flew back in, almost sheepishly and settled around him, whispering complaints and apologies, as he wondered what had kept them.

You had frowned when the handsome, winged male had left, rather enjoying the eye candy. Your friend walked back outside and took her seat opposite you, as you placed down your book and picked up your Apperol Spritz.

“You just missed the hottest male I’ve ever seen.” You said, laughing at her as her face fell completely.

“Why didn’t you shout for me!” she screeched, and you flung an olive pit at her head,

“He would have heard me idiot!”

“Well did you at least get a name?”

“No but I made prolonged eye contact and I think he got the message.”

“The message being?”

“That I would like to marry him and have his babies.”

“Ah makes sense,” you were laughing together as she carried on with the story she had been telling you about the cute Faerie at her work when you felt a cold feeling settle around you, strange given you were still sat in the sun. She stopped talking, giving you a weird look.

“How are you doing that?” she asked as you shrugged.

“I’m not,” the feeling moved, and you realised you were surrounded by shadows, alike the handsome man you had just seen. Your initial anxiety slipped away as they started playing with your hair and caressing your skin alike a lover would. “Hot boy had shadows like this,” you commented, and your friend gasped, eyes wide and a hand over her heart as she sighed.

“Maybe you’re mates!” you rolled your eyes, relaxing into the shadows touch.

“I don’t think my commitment issues can take that,” you joked, and it was her turn to roll her eyes.

“That cynicism is going to be the death of you,” she said in a singsong voice before downing her gin, “Now onto important matters, Rita’s or The Marine?”

Two hours later you were completely dolled up, lips red and eyeliner smudged, heeled boots elongating your legs and your all-black outfit making you look intimidating enough that you wouldn’t be bothered by gross men.

“We’re fae, why do you dress like a vampire,” your friend asked, the two of you already slightly buzzed from pre’s.

“Cause vampires are hot and I’m hot so it’s a match made in heaven.”

“Also she has a blood kink!” your roommate shouted from the bathroom and you threw a shoe at her.

“Bitch.” You said, laughing as she came out and the three of you stood to leave.

“Am I wrong?” she asked, and you shoved her, muttering a small no under your breath.

The three of you made your way to Rita’s and got in the queue. You leaned against the cold, brick wall when you saw him again, similarly dressed in all black and somehow looking even better under the light of the moon, his tanned skin glowing in the pale light. He caught your eyes, his face barely changing as he lifted his hand in a half wave, you nodded your head up with a smirk. Your friends followed your gaze, both gasping slightly as they caught sight of him at the end of the queue with his friends.

“Is that hot boy?!”

“Uh huh,” you smiled cheekily at her, “And I call dibs.”

“I get why you want to have his babies,”

“Wait you know him?” your roommate asked, and you shrugged with a smile. “How the fuck do you know the high lords shadow singer?”

“I get around,”

“He was outside earlier today,” your friend translated as the three of you moved into the club, instantly heading to the bar for more drinks.

“That too I guess, shots?” the three of you ordered six vodka shots and you laughed at your friends’ reactions to them.

“How do you enjoy this,” your roommate squealed as you tipped your head back, smiling at the familiar burn.

“Feels good,” you said, taking your second.

“Sadist.”

Azriel couldn’t believe his eyes. There you were again, your bare face swapped for dark makeup, and loose clothes swapped for a dress he desperately wanted to see on his floor. At first he wasn’t even sure it was the same girl, your style so different, but it was. And he had waved. No cool head tilt like the one you gave him, no sultry eyes, and pouting lips, just a stupid wave. And then you had laughed with your friends and he decided he needed the sound bottled, something to keep with him at all times.

You had walked inside without so much as a second glance and Azriel had to refrain himself from slamming his head against the wall.

“Who were you waving at?” Amren asked, the small women appearing next to him.

“Just someone I met earlier.” He didn’t want to get into the details, especially not around Cassian who would tease him relentlessly if he heard. Amren, thankfully, dropped it as they moved into Rita’s, his eyes instantly finding you at the bar, two empty shot glasses next to you as you laughed with your friends.

He moved with his family to a table that pretty remained reserved for them as Rita came to get them some drinks and see if they wanted food. He only half listened, ordering a Scotch as he watched you as you and your friends moved to dance together, completely enamoured by you despite not having said anything to you.

Eventually he pulled his eyes away and focused on his friends and his drink as they laughed into the small hours of the night. He kept stealing glances at you, his grip on his glass tightening when he saw you leaning against the bar waiting for drinks as a male leaned too close to you. He almost stood to intervene when saw you lean in close to the man, meeting Azriel’s eyes over his shoulder and whispering in his ear. Azriel wished he could hear what you said but you were too far away, and the music was too loud, but whatever it was, the male turned white and scampered away, almost tripping over his feet as you giggled.

When it happened this time he noticed, feeling the coolness of his shadows leave and he watched as they travelled over to you, wrapping around you, and making you look like an angel of death. You turned and caught his eyes, winking at him before grabbing the tray of drinks the bartender had laid out for you and sauntering over to your friends.

“Is she a shadow singer?” Feyre asked, following his gaze and he shook his head, feeling a smile come over his face as he watched you interact with your drunk friends.

“No I think they just like her,” his high lady smiled at him,

“You mean you like her,”

“I haven’t even spoken to her.” He said drily and Nesta leaned over,

“Love at first sight,” she said in a singsong voice making him roll his eyes.

“This isn’t a romance book,” he said, huffing as a crowd moved in front of you and he couldn’t see you anymore.

“You tell yourself that,” Feyre said, patting his knee.

An hour later, when most the club was empty, you were standing, swaying slightly with your friend leaning on you.

“No baby, no more you’ll throw up again,” he heard you coo as she reached for a drink that was left on someone table. She huffed but you passed her into the arms of your other friend, and he sat up straight when he realised you were coming over to him.

You bowed your head slightly at Rhys and Feyre as all his friends turned to stare at you, your gaze unfaltering and your back straight as you looked at him.

“I think these belong to you,” you said, gesturing to the shadows swirling around your arms.

He tried to fight his blush, pulling them back in, “Yeah, thanks..?” he trailed off and you finished for him.

“(y/n).”

“Azriel.”

“Well Azriel,” his name sounded divine on your tongue, and you shot him another half-smile, “see you around.”

The next day, he was up only three hours after he fell asleep, desperate to find you. He wandered into town, usual leathers swapped for a white shirt collar peeking out of a dark sweater, his hands tucked into his pockets as he found himself wandering down your cobblestoned street. He looked up to your balcony and considered throwing rocks at the glass doors like in one of Nesta’s romance novels but paused when he saw all the lights were turned off.

Instead he chose to wander into the shop Mor had been in the previous day. The room smelt old, and he could see the dust moving in the morning light as he walked in. An old lady was behind the counter and she smiled as she recognised him.

“Hello, how can I help you?” she asked as he came to stand in front of her.

“I actually had a question,” she motioned for him to continue, “Do you know where I could find (y/n)?” he asked, and she smiled a knowing smile.

“Interested in my granddaughter are you?” she asked, eyes sparkling and Azriel rubbed the back of his neck, smiling nervously, “She works at the library in the square, I’m sure you’ll find her there.”

He thanked her and she waved him away, knowing she would get to hear all the details next Wednesday when the two of you met for tea. But until then she was happy to watch the handsome man leave to find you.

He flew to the library that your grandmother had mentioned and walked in. This was always one of his favourite places to come in the city. The bookshelves were tall and overflowing, candles covered the room, and there were huge glass windows on the far wall that cast the room in planes of light. He walked around for a while, letting his shadows lead him until he found you with a pile of books in your arms that you were going to return.

You smiled when you saw him, dressed in a black dress with lots of daisies on it that went halfway down your calf, a black cardigan, and black boots. Your hair was held back in a low bun, but you had strands falling out making you look impossibly cute, and he almost said as much as he moved to take some books from your arms.

“So are you stalking me now?” you had asked cheekily, and he stammered when he realised just how weird he looked.

“No, no I…”

“Relax I’m teasing, I’m glad you’re here actually.”

“You are?” he asked, relaxing slightly as you stood on your tiptoes to put a book on a shelf.

“Yes, you’re very pretty,” he laughed, and you smiled at him, your eyes creasing.

“Well so are you,” he replied as you turned to face him, “But you do keep stealing my shadows and I’m wondering why that is?”

“I’m stealing them am I? I just presumed that you were very mean to them and they wanted someone else,”

“They’re spoiled,” he joked, watching as they trailed up your arms and you giggled,

“You speak about them like they’re pets.”

“You’d be surprised how accurate that actually is,” he muttered as you moved to the next aisle and your laughter bounced of the walls, wincing slightly due to your drinking induced headache.

He went to help you with more books when his fingers touched your hand and the word hit him, mate. You looked up at him shocked before giggling.

“I guess that’s what the shadows meant,” you let out an ‘oomph’ as suddenly the shadows shot forward, pushing you into his chest and Azriel looked at you.

“I have a mate.” He repeated to himself.

“And I have commitment issues so this might be rough,”

“It’s fine I have attachment issues,” he replied, unable to stop the smile forming on his face, “Match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you joked as he leaned down to you.

“Can I kiss you?” he practically whispered, lips almost touching yours as his wings circled the two of you. You nodded slightly and the two of you stumbled back from the force of the kiss, his hands gripping your waist tightly as yours wove into his hair, grinning against his mouth.

“Azriel,” you muttered between kisses, pulling back slightly only to just be pulled right back in. You repeated his name again, successfully pulling away this time as his lips attached to your neck.

“Az, we’re in a public library.”

“So?”

“So we can continue this when I’m off work,” you shoved him off with a laugh as he grumbled, before pulling you in for a final kiss.

“What time?” he asked.

“My shift ends at three,” you smiled as he looked at the clock.

“It’s only eight,”

“Maybe wait at your house,” you laughed at his expression, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth before walking off, shooting him a smirk over you shoulder.

Only six hours, fifty-nine minutes left.

#acofas #acomaf #acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acowar #acofs #acosf #rhysand

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captainninej · 3 years

Text

my literary analysis of a rhysand stan/apologist got deleted, so here it is again bc i'm proud of it lol

lets pick this apart shall we

Before Feyre accepted the mating bond, Rhys was extremely upfront about why he did, what he did UTM. there were no lies or anything.

rhys being upfront about why he did what he did does not change the gravity of his action. a murderer confessing to murder isn't suddenly absolved of their crime - they still killed someone. the same principle applies here. he can be all moany and wishy washy as he likes, but he still did it.

He said 2 important things: the first was "I made the bargain so u wouldn't fuckin die and I needed Amarantha to think that you were my play thing" and the second was "I wanted to make Tamlin angry because he's the reason my sister and mother were slaughtered" and TBH??? Same bitch??

i see this around a lot, that rhys made the bargain with feyre so she would survive. but this falls apart pretty quickly when you start to wonder: how did parading around feyre and drugging her so she vomits and dressing her in pretty much nothing help her survive?? would she have died if he hadn't done that? probably not. none of it was necessary - not the clothes, not the drugging, not the trauma, not the twisting her broken arm. also, rhys didn't do it to save her life - in the same monologue you're talking about, he literally says he made the bargain 'to get back at [tamlin] for my mother and sister, and for...having you.' and that feyre was so hateful of him, somehow this meant he 'knew he had done his job well.' what job???

think about it. why did he need amarantha to believe feyre was his plaything? what did this prove? what did it contribute to freeing them?

If my mama and sister were slaughtered because of you I would literally do anything in my power to make u suffer??? Even if that meant parading your bitch around as my own?? Might I mention that Rhys didn't make Feyre do anything more than dance for him??

umm...

i'm not going to pretend any of us will know how we would act in that situation. but that's another conversation - what matters here is feyre. FEYRE DOESN'T KNOW ANY OF THIS. SHE IS AN INNOCENT THIRD PARTY HERE. regardless of personal history, rhys has no business implicating an innocent HUMAN girl in his beef with tamlin. that's between them, and it does nothing to change the ugliness of how he treated feyre. 'parading your bitch' hi the misogyny is showing

also 'rhys didn't make feyre do anything more than dance for him' and that's okay?? oh as long as it didn't go further than roofying, lap dancing without consent and dressing in cobwebs, it's fine?? i worry for you

Because like if I'm being completely honest I'd probably do worse??

i'm not even sure what to say to that

And Rhys was actually protecting her from more of Amaranthas weird ass punishments?? Like idk guys if you're anti rhys maybe ACOTAR just isn't for you and you can leave it at that.

was he? i would argue going through what rhys put feyre through was a form of punishment in of itself.

also, so if i don't like rhys acotar isn't for me...got it, acotar is for people who think this behaviour is acceptable. i'll make a note to stay away from them and keep them away from young children.

just a tip: when someone picks up a book, especially a popular one like this, they don't know what's in it before they read it. can you imagine a rape survivor reading through these books, seeing what rhys did to feyre, and then have to go through his explanations justifying all of it?? and have feyre forgive him?? what kind of message does that send??

Another point that's brought up a lot within the fandom is "choices" and how Tamlin didn't give Feyre choices, but Rhys did. And while I think that might be a point stressed in the novels, I don't think Feyre falling for Rhys is supremely entwined with "choices". I think what Rhysand gave Feyre more than Tamlin did was a voice and knowledge.

someone saying 'it's your choice' over and over while not giving you a choice doesn't make it any more true. just saying. you can say that rhys gave her knowledge and a voice, but two things: rhys only told feyre what he wanted to if it would serve his own purposes, see: him not telling her that he was using her as bait for the attor in acomaf, him not telling her about the mating bond, him not telling her that her own pregnancy will kill her. and the second: feyre doesn't need to be 'given' a voice. she has one. a voice is not something a woman needs to be given by a man, especially not some 500 year old creepo with a god complex.

Rhysand would tell her straight up, "look I can't tell you this unless you do this" and that's more an ultimatum than a choice. And we can go over the dynamics of ultimatums but Rhysand never bullshitted Feyre (ACOSF isn't canon oops) and ALWAYS heard her out. Rhysand always told her the dynamics of a situation. And more importantly, it was Feyres fuckin decision, and also it's fucking fiction so just be honest and say u don't ship it rather than trying to tank Rhys as a character.

um...and that's better than a choice? the fuck? think of the power in that sentence, that he wouldn't tell her something unless she did something. why does he have the right to withhold information from her?? why does she have to earn it, if they're such a pOwEr cOuPLe? rhysand's entire ARC is bullshitting feyre. he never once apologised for his behaviour. he only justified it while crying into soup. so if you don't want acosf to be canon, you know that rhys bullshitted feyre. you know that hiding medical information from her was a dick move. but it was completely in character for him if you notice the patterns in his behaviour right from the beginning of their relationship.

when did rhys tell her the dynamics of the situation?? when he traumatised her to beef with tamlin when she was human? when he made her agree to a bond for eternity when she was canonically with tamlin and was in no place to say no to the bargain? when he didn't tell her they were mates but told all his friends? when he used her as bait for the attor? when he hid her OWN PREGNANCY INFORMATION from her and told all his friends?

And more importantly, it was Feyres fuckin decision, and also it's fucking fiction so just be honest and say u don't ship it rather than trying to tank Rhys as a character.

you literally just proved yourself wrong in one sentence. 'it's feyre's decision and also it's fucking fiction' my dude you're right feyre is not a real person so you know who's making these decisions? the author. you know what the role of fiction is? to tell a story and spread messages, even unintentionally. people are reading this relationship and are guided to think that it's okay when it is literally textbook abuser behaviour. this shit has consequences. i read these books at 13 and didn't see a flaw in rhys' behaviour because the author told me not to and because i was too young to have any experience with relationships. i'm 19 now and i'm horrified to look back on these books i once loved.

you sound a lot like rhys there, 'it's feyre's choice'. no it wasn't. it was the author's choice to depict the relationship like this. all of us are being honest you fuckwit this is more than not liking a ship, it's pointing out alarming behaviour from a character who is portrayed as a hero.

i don't need to tank rhys as a character. the author and the fandom did it for me.

#anti rhysand #anti rhys #anti feysand #anti sjm #anti acotar

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feyredarlinq · 3 years

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“azriel feels entitled to elain / azriel only wants elain because she’s the third archeron sister” (don’t even get me started on the whole “he only wants her for s3x”, i’ve already discussed it here) as if azriel stared to care for her, understand her, have feelings for her, fall in love with her towards the end of a court of silver flames - because this is when both feysand and nessian are official together, and that makes elain the third/last/spare sister or whatever - but that’s not what happened at all, unless you want to ignore everything that happened before acosf (*coughs* four books* coughs*) i mean, just to make a few examples:

azriel / elriel in acomaf

a faint smile bloomed upon azriel’s mouth as he noticed elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork, but he kept silent (chapter 24)

elain said, “it’s all very disorienting.” “i can imagine,” azriel said. cassian flashed him a glare. but azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. her shoulders loosened a bit. (chapter 24)

rhys chuckled, cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and elain, noticing azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well. (chapter 24)

“and i think elain—elain would like it, too. though she’d probably cling to azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” i smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together. if the warrior ever stopped quietly loving mor. (chapter 49)

azriel / elriel in acowar

azriel smiled faintly. “would you like me to show you the garden?” she seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. the wings peeking over them. but elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once. azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. i couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “beautiful.” color bloomed high on azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them. (chapter 24)

“why not make them mates?” i mused. “why lucien?” (chapter 24)

“what if”—i jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden— “that is what she needs? is there no free will? what if lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?” (chapter 24)

the two illyrians paused their inspection of me long enough to note my sisters finishing up breakfast, nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, elain in dusty pink. both males went a bit still. (chapter 30)

i dragged a hand over my face before going to elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “can i set you up in the garden? the herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “i can help her,” said azriel, stepping to the table as elain silently rose. no shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as elain took his hand, and out they went. (chapter 30)

lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on elain, “should we—does she need …?” “she doesn’t need anything,” azriel answered without so much as looking at lucien. elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “we’re the ones who need …” azriel trailed off. “a seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “the cauldron made you a seer.” (chapter 32)

it made sense, i supposed, that azriel alone had listened to her. the male who heard things others could not … perhaps he, too, had suffered as elain had before he understood what gift he possessed. (chapter 33)

from the shadows near the entrance to the tent, azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “i’m getting her back.” nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. nesta said, “then you will die.” azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “i’m getting her back.” (chapter 64)

azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “are you hurt?” she shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “you came for me.” (chapter 65)

azriel still cradling elain to his chest. he dripped blood behind him the entire time—a trickle compared to the torrent that should be leaking out.” (...) rhys lunged for azriel, taking elain from him and gently setting my sister down. azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, “we need helion to get these chains off her.” (...) yet elain didn’t seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger’s cheek. (chapter 65)

elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in azriel’s scarred hand. the runes on the dark scabbard. “it has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” he gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “it will serve you well.” (...) “never,” rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. “i have never once seen azriel let another person touch that knife.” (chapter 69)

azriel / elriel in acofas

i don’t make a point of looking after his movements. “why?” not a flicker of emotion. “he is elain’s mate.” i waited. “it would be an invasion of her privacy to track him. to know when and if lucien sought her out. what they did together. “you sure about that?” i asked quietly. azriel’s siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. (chapter 7)

“do you think he can handle being around graysen?” az’s expressionless face was precisely the reason he’d never lost to us at cards. “why should I be the judge of that?” “you mean to tell me that you weren’t bluffing when you said you didn’t track lucien’s every movement?” nothing. absolutely nothing on that face, on his scent. the shadows, whatever the hell they were, hid too well. too much. (...) azriel only said coldly, “if lucien kills graysen, then good riddance.” (chapter 7)

azriel an a hand through his dark hair. “are we …” unusual for him to stumble with words. “are we supposed to get the sisters presents?” “no,” I said, and meant it. azriel eemed to loose a sigh of relief. seemed to, since all but a breath of air passed from his lips.” (chapter 7)

azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants. i felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. her throat bobbed. (chapter 12)

“pick on someone your own size,” cassian said to amren, shoveling roast chicken into his mouth. “i’d feel bad for the mice,” azriel muttered. mor and cassian howled, earning a blush from azriel and a grateful smile from elain—and no shortage of scowling from amren. but something in me eased at that laughter, at the light that returned to elain’s eyes. (chapter 12)

azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “i’ve never stayed in this room.” his midnight voice filled the space (chapter 16)

“i had madja make it for me,” (...) elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “it’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. since you rub your temples so often.” silence again. then azriel tipped his head back and laughed. i’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. (chapter 20)

elain smiled again, ducking her head. azriel mastered himself enough to say, “thank you.” i’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “this will be invaluable.” (chapter 20)

azriel and elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. whether he cared about such things, i had no idea, but i sent him a silent prayer of thanks for his kindness before rhys and i slipped upstairs. (chapter 22)

#as sjm said: I THOUGHT IT WAS OBVIOUS #elriel #pro elriel #azriel #elain archeron #elain x azriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #mp

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duskandstarlight · 4 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 26)

Notes: Enjoy! And let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list...

Chapter 26 Nesta

Solstice approached with terrifying speed. Somehow, Azriel managed to carve out time in what Nesta imagined to be a busy schedule to oversee her training when she was in Windhaven. Nesta did not know if that was simply because Rhysand did not want to hold true to his promise to train her himself, or if the Shadowsinger was doing them all a favour by keeping the two of them separate for a little longer.

Nesta could not say that she was disappointed. Whilst there had been a slight shift in the air between them, Nesta was not deluded enough to think that her sister’s arrogant mate had found it in himself to let go of the grudge he so obviously held against her. From the moment they had met in the Human Realm, Nesta had sensed his disdain and simmering anger towards her. Had dissected what he thought was a flawless exterior as something too careful, too polite. It had not quite been as if he was treading on eggshells, but as if he was having to use all of his power to reign in his own temper.

Yet, to Elain... that resentment and hatred had faded into acceptance and forgiveness over time. The same could not be said for he and Nesta. Even though it had been she who had fought and sacrificed her life in the war. Even though she had saved Cassian from the Cauldron’s blast. And even though it had been she who had killed the King, tracked the Cauldron and acted as Emissary, Feyre’s mate had been unable to hide the anger that Nesta had allowed her sister to provide for them when they were young.

So, Nesta had made it worse, testing the waters of that night eternal power to see how far she could go until he snapped completely. If their High Lord wasn’t going to bother to try and see the effort Nesta had made, then she would make life hell for him when she started to drown. She spent his coffers, banished her sisters and wrapped her words in thorns of steel. For some, it was not unlike the work of a petulant child desperate for a reaction. For Nesta, it was a method of slow, numbing destruction until she became nothing but a husk. It had been far more dangerous and much deadlier then any of them had imagined, and now Nesta was out of the other side, she understood why Cassian had look so ravaged when he had searched her face and assaulted her with words that should have been like spears to the heart but never hit home.

Even so, Rhys’s hatred of Nesta was a punishment she believed was deserved. Nesta knew that. And she would not take job offerings which were given out of loving duty and obligation to one’s mate. Nesta would only work for a court she did not view as hers if it was because she had worth and use. If she was needed rather than an irritant one wanted to banish.

This time had been different. The Illyrian cause was greater than the shattered pride Nesta would endure by assisting someone she did not want to be around. And Nesta had vowed to step out of the past and into the present. Had decided she would try with her sisters and start to rebuild who she wanted to be. Nesta did not want to be someone who selfishly stood on the sidelines whilst others suffered. It was true that she had been a victim and made others a victim of her trauma, but she was done weighing up old grievances and her many errors. She would bite her tongue and step forward into the present. And if that meant learning to be civil then Nesta would do it for the females and for Cassian, who she could not bear to make life harder for.

To think that Nesta might cause him to ache made it hard to breathe. So, should the situation demand it, Nesta had decided she would rise above it. She was strong. She was resilient. She was powerful.

She would protect and heal.

Nesta supposed her goals were the same as the rest of the Inner Circle, after all.

When it came to mastering her ability to read others emotions, Nesta found the power now came to her as easy as breathing. With the acceptance of her magic - the understanding that it was part of who she was and who she wanted to be - Nesta found it far easier to lower her walls.

Identifying and concentrating on one target was where she had difficulty, but in the end, even Azriel gave more and more praise in that solemn, cold way of his rather than constructive criticism.

“It’s all down to practice now,” the Shadowsinger had told Nesta after their last training session, as they walked through the camp back to the bungalow. “You know how to do it. It’s just a matter of tuning out the unwanted emotions of others and focussing on those that matter.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Nesta had replied, biting back a grimace. Sometimes she found the background ‘noise’ so overwhelming she wanted to vomit.

“It’s nothing you can’t master,” Azriel replied dismissively, in the way that Nesta had learnt to be a compliment. “As long as you hold on to something as a tether - something to ground you that will always pull you back and stop you from becoming overwhelmed - you will be fine.”

Nesta had glanced sideways at the Shadowsinger as they stepped up to the backdoor of the bungalow. Azriel often stayed for dinner after their training sessions, and Nesta found that she did not mind him joining she and Cassian’s shared space, mainly because it gave her the opportunity to witness the brothers relationship up close.

Whilst Cassian and Azriel might not have been related by blood, their interactions were bound in a way that melded them by flesh and bone regardless. And to Nesta’s surprise, she found that in a smaller group the Shadowsinger was not so quiet. He had a dry wit about him that often had Nesta biting back a smirk, especially as it was usually directed at Cassian, who would either gape in surprise or let out an unabashed bark of laughter that was so lovely it made Nesta want to both stare and look away.

“Do you have a tether?” Nesta asked Azriel curiously as she held her palm to the door. It was a blunt question that she only dared ask because she had no doubt that Azriel would swiftly cut her down if he did not want to answer.

“Of course,” Azriel replied as they stepped into the kitchen.

Cassian was by the sink, the sleeves of his tunic pushed up to his elbows as he washed some grains under the tap. He dared to wink at her as she entered, but he didn’t offer any other formal greeting.

Her blood heated and she ducked down to untie the laces on her boots.

“What is it?” She demanded.

Ariel had already made quick work of his boots, but he flung his wings out of the door to rid them of melted snowflakes. “What’s yours?” he had countered in that chilled way of his, knowing that she would not dare tell him. Would not tell anyone.

So, she had merely snorted in response, quickly disappearing in search of a hot shower before either of them could guess what she was thinking, dare her mask slip and render her readable.

On Solstice morning, Nesta found herself naturally rising with the dawn, even though Cassian had told her that it was the one day of the year that Illyrian’s did not train. Crawling out of bed to open the curtains, Nesta had sat in the window seat to stare out at the ethereal, low mists that shrouded the mountain pass and horizon in moving fog. Not for the first time, she wished she were already halfway up the mountainside; a part of the natural scenery rather than separated by glass, so she could see unhindered, the dusky streaks of colour painted across the sky and the yellow strip of light that signalled the sun was ready to start the day.

Nesta was first to breakfast. Cassian had been in Velaris the evening before and Nesta had not been awake to see him arrive back in Windhaven. He smelt distinctly of stale alcohol as he joined her in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of low slung pants and nothing else but wild hair and endless tan skin licked with ink that made her skin itch.

Sleepily, Cassian batted Nesta away from the stove as if she were an irritating fly, but she only hissed at him with such malice that he barked a hoarse laugh. When she thumped a mug of coffee by his side moments later, she did it with much more force than she usually mustered so early in the morning, and she caught his features soften for a fraction of a second, before he made himself busy at the stove.

They ate eggs and smoked salmon on toasted rye in relative silence, and Nesta watched Cassian proceed to eat two ginormous portions with a mixture of disgust and awe.

When Nesta loftily gave in to the temptation and asked Cassian whether he had considered saving himself for the Solstice feast, he had just snorted and told her that he was stretching his stomach. After that, Nesta was certain that he ate a third portion just to spite her, but even she couldn’t help but slide another piece of smoked salmon onto her plate, much to her chagrin when Cassian’s eyes glinted triumphant.

It was an hour later when a knock sounded at her bedroom door. Nesta was in the process of pinning her hair with the golden leaf pin Elain had sent her all those weeks ago, and she answered the door with one hand whilst the other held her hair in place.

“Are you ready?” Cassian asked as soon as the door opened.

For once, he was not leaning against the doorframe, but standing upright in a wide stance which highlighted just how broad and tell he was.

There was a look of impatience on his face, but Nesta paid it no heed and took a moment to survey how different he looked from usual. Today’s festivities had turned him out in dark pants and a shirt, the collar of which sat just below ink which whorled up the right side of his neck, stopping a few inches below his ear. The clothing made him appear the most human Nesta had ever seen him, if it had not been for the apex of his huge wings which he was holding high behind him.

As if they sensed her attention, his wings flexed in a movement that usually told Nesta that Cassian was either uncomfortable or nervous. They spread wide enough for Nesta to notice how magnificently they shone, as if they had been thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned for the occasion. Even Cassian’s hair gleamed, as if he had run a brush through it before it had scraped it back into a loose bun.

He looked unforgivably, heart-stoppingly handsome, not that Nesta would ever admit it out loud.

Ignoring the unusually apprehensive expression on his face, Nesta frowned and secured the pin at the back of her head. “Am I late?”

She had thought she had given herself plenty of time to get ready, but her half coronet had taken longer than usual. It appeared that three months of only wearing a simple plait had her out of practice. At least she had worn a loose braid overnight, which meant that her hair already hung in soft waves down her back. She knew that the Night Court dressed up on Solstice, and Nesta liked Lorrian and Frawley enough that she did not want to offend them.

Nesta had stayed with them twice since the kerit attack at Windhaven, where she had spent her days learning the art of the bow with Lorrian and practicing her healing powers with Frawley.

And the bow… Nesta loved it. It felt right in her hands, the way her muscles strained and trembled as she pulled back the string. Cassian and Lorrian had her working hard on her upper arm strength to the point that they felt constantly sore, but she did not care. Lorrian and Frawley had even taught her how to fly on Caerleon, with Lorrian insisting that when she was more able, they could practice shooting a moving target. Nesta had the sneaking suspicion that both of them had quickly realised that she hungered for the skies, but she did not mind that they had read her so easily. Being on the back of Caerleon, her fingers buried deep in the mane at his neck, was the most liberated Nesta had ever felt, to the point that she had laughed when the manticore had sent her into a nose dive and the wind had howled so fast around them that Nesta and Caer had become a part of the element rather than separate from it.

When Nesta had not been training with Lorrian, Frawley was teaching her how to harness her healing power. The witch had Nesta look inwards to her two strands of her magic, until Nesta could pick them apart with ease, summoning either silver or white at her palms. When she had mastered that, Frawley had plucked flower after flower from the forest floor, had them wither in her open palm and ordered Nesta to bring them back to life.

It wasn’t so much bringing things back from the brink of death that Nesta struggled with, rather it was knowing when to stop. The key, Frawley had told Nesta, was to constantly observe the patient as she healed. To understand what injuries were fresh and required immediate life-saving attention and what was old enough to be left well alone. The former always shone with a pressing light when Nesta’s magic passed over it, whereas the latter took on a dull, shadowy quality. There was also the matter that Nesta’s power reserves could swell to unprecedented levels, of which the bottom was determined by the energy she had sequestered.

The solution, Frawley had told Nesta, was to know what her reserves felt like, so that when her magic started to give out Nesta would know to stop.

That had been easier said than done, and it had taken Nesta hours to reach into herself and travel down, down, down to scrape the bottom of her own power.

“You will know when you reach it,” Frawley had only told Nesta with an infuriatingly mysterious air that had Nesta wanting to snarl.

But she had. It tasted like the last, bitter dregs of tea and metallic blood. It felt wrong and life threatening, enough for Nesta to pull away so sharply that Frawley had patted a shaking Nesta on the shoulder and passed her a steaming mug of energising tea.

But what Nesta hadn’t told Frawley was that she didn’t just sense white and silver when she looked within herself, but something else. Something hidden behind a veiled curtain which she couldn’t quite touch. A terrified part of Nesta wondered if it was the chunk of the Cauldron she had taken. The piece of inky black which sung of darkness and terror. Nesta had not found the words to ask Frawley about it. Was too scared about what it meant. That perhaps there was something rotting inside of her that would taint her soul and those around her.

It sung to her, the veil. It whispered reverently when she brushed against it. Her name over and over: Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

She had stayed well away from it, after that, but sometimes she heard it whisper softly, the sensation like her power turning over in her veins.

Like now, as Cassian stared at her rather than reply, his hazel eyes darkening as his pupils widened and pressed against his irises.

Nesta tried and failed not to feel self-conscious. She smoothed down her midnight blue dress and walked past him, her back straight.

“You’ll need to shield my hair,” Nesta clipped, as she headed to the hooks by the door and slipped on her coat.

When she turned, Cassian was still staring at her with something that Nesta almost wished was longing.

She wanted to bite her lip, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do it. “Aren’t we going to be late?” she clipped.

Slowly, Cassian blinked. Then, his gaze dropped to her feet. “Are you going to wear those shoes?”

Nesta scowled. “Yes.”

“They’re not practical for flying.”

“I’m not flying, I’m being carried. And is it not custom to dress nicely for Solstice?”

She stiffened as those sharp eyes dragged over her body with such intensity Nesta felt as if her skin were entirely bare.

“It is custom,” Cassian agreed eventually, his voice so impossibly low she felt it rumble through her bones. Even as there was a bite to his words that suggested he was holding something back.

Perhaps how she had not bothered the year prior.

Nesta nodded as if to indicate that the matter was settled and wound a scarf around her neck. “Don’t set me down in any mud or snow and I won’t find it in myself to set you on fire.”

A derisive snort but no jab or jest as he opened the front door. Cassian stepped onto the concrete step just beyond the threshold and with a flare of his siphons, light-weight armour clicked into place scale by scale over his dark clothes, the action like a ripple of water.

He held out his hand to her. Nesta glared at him but squeezed onto the step beside him. His hands wrapped around her, gathering her to his impossibly warm body and the steady, reliable beating of his heart. He smelt wonderful — of woodland and bracing blue sky which sung Illyria. Begrudgingly, Nesta held on to him, absorbing herself even more in his scent as he shot them into the sky.

They travelled in silence for a long while, Cassian unnervingly quiet. Usually it was he who struck up conversation and Nesta found it disconcerting to be yearning to speak with him rather than the other way around.

She twisted her head up to look at him: the dark eyebrows that always made his hazel eyes stand out so brilliantly; the tan, freshly shaved face which took the ruggedness out of his features; the ebony hair pulled back into a casual bun that she had come to favour on him.

To his credit, Cassian had listened to her about her own hair, casting a shield that was void of the gentle breeze he usually allowed to filter through. Instead, Nesta was warm, the

gentle pulse of his siphons indicating that he was expelling his magic to alter the temperature for them both.

“You look clean,” Nesta observed, when she knew she had studied him for too long. He was deliberately not acknowledging her blatant staring. “Is this your first and only bath this year?”

Cassian snickered. “Very good, sweetheart. It’s good to see that the festivities haven’t smoothed over your sharp edges.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” Nesta remarked drily, watching the craggy terrain; the snow capped mountains and the stretch of pine ahead of them. “Consider it a Solstice present.”

A laugh then, soft and throaty. More like himself. “You’ll have to save that fire for the lords tomorrow, sweetheart. It is no way to speak to your beloved.”

Sharply, Nesta craned her neck up to find him smiling down at her. It was a wicked smile that Nesta suspected he had willed into existence solely to stoke her fire.

“What,” she spat. Demanded.

Cassian’s canines flashed. “Consider me your Solstice present. I’d have wrapped myself in a bow, but we were in a rush.”

Nesta glared at him with such ferocity she imagined him burning into cinders. “And when were you planning to tell me that I have to pretend that we’re...” She trailed off, suddenly at a loss to carry on.

“Dating? Courting? Fucking?” Cassian said the last word with a grin that turned feral.

Nesta snarled at him with such savagery that Cassian choked on a laugh. His hazel eyes flared amber.

“If you start smoking I’ll have to drop you,” he warned, as silver sparked from her fingertips. “And I planned on telling you now,” he admitted. There was no apology in his voice, if anything it only carried amusement and a faint layer of… something else. “I thought it best to tell you when we were suspended in midair for my safety.”

“Insufferable,” Nesta muttered under her breath, irritated that she could not let go of him and cross her arms over her chest. “Not only am I to be stuck in a room full of Illyrians, but I have to pretend to be bedding the most irritating of them all.”

“Feel free to boast about my technique to those assholes at any point,” Cassian snickered wryly, but then his playfulness dropped at his next words. Nesta suspected he’d glanced down and seen her solemn expression, “Think of it as an unpleasant few hours for the sake of finding out more information.”

“Who do you usually take?”

A beat of silence followed her demand. Then, “Nobody.”

A disbelieving frown pinched between her eyebrows. “Ever? Not even your friends?”

She craned her neck to look up at him.

“It’s partners only,” Cassian explained, but he was looking ahead of them with an intensity that told Nesta he was deliberately not meeting her eye. “I very rarely have one and never one who I think could hold their own amongst the vultures.”

Some tension bled out of Nesta. She would have thought that Mor might have accompanied him at some point. Those lines were so blurred Nesta had no idea what to make of them other than that she hated it. Would never not hate it.

The amusement had faded from Cassian’s features and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He suddenly seemed angry and Nesta didn’t know whether it was her reaction or another memory. And perhaps her reaction to pretending to court had wounded him, especially given their turbulent past. Sometimes Nesta did not know where they stood with the other. The bond strung between them made everything so complicated, so much more difficult than other narratives. To understand what was fact and fiction. Lust and love.

The thought of pretending they were together, even for two days made it difficult to breathe. It was another twist in their storyline - another complicated strand, which warped what was honest and true.

“Don’t worry, Illyrians aren’t big on public displays of affection,” Cassian assured her, breaking her out of her worrisome thoughts. His dark eyes found hers again, and they looked a little sad, as he admitted, “The males here don’t cherish females the way they should.”

It took everything in Nesta to suppress the shiver that wanted to crash over her body and remain silent. They were tiptoeing around today, using banter and sharp words to cover up what had happened last year. How she had dismissed him so brutally… so effectively. How she had heard the water splash and ripple as he threw her gift in the river. How he had followed her anyway until she lit a light in her apartment, his wings a steady beat as she sunk to the rickety, splintered floorboards utterly numb.

It was not Cassian’s cruel words from that evening that haunted her — not even hers did — but it was oddly the vulnerability in his expression as he finally let her leave that repeatedly churned in the forefront of her mind. That made her think that perhaps Cassian had been genuine. That he wasn’t embarrassed of her, even if his actions — the way he ignored her when his friends were around — insinuated that he did. That he truly had wanted her, enough to swallow his pride and follow her. To continue to flirt and fight for her, even now.

But when Nesta remembered how he had laughed as he held up the satin undershorts from Mor, red slid over her vision.

Cassian seemed to sense that displeasure, remaining silent for the duration of the journey.

Caer trotted out to meet them as soon as they landed outside Lorrian and Frawley’s, his tufted tail dancing in the shape of a question mark. Smoke billowed from the crooked chimney of the cottage and the smells that wafted towards them on the soft breeze were so divine Nesta’s stomach grumbled.

Frawley met them at the open stable door, and to Nesta’s surprise, she bent to place a swift kiss on each of Nesta’s cheeks. She was wearing another dark dress the colour of smoke, the underskirts laced with a misty tulle that shimmered beautifully in the light.

“Happy Solstice, Nesta,” Frawley said brusquely. “We’re being thrown to the wolves tomorrow so we’ll have to make today a pleasant one.”

Cassian’s laugh was low in Nesta’s ear. “If past experience is anything to go by, I’d predict that Nesta will be the wolf and they the sheep,” he corrected, as they both stepped into the warmth of the cottage.

Lorrian appeared behind Frawley as he stepped into the hallway from the living room. His chuckle was deep and delighted. “I’m looking forward to witnessing that.”

Frawley’s grin was terrifying as she levelled her gaze with Nesta’s. “Surely they do not still think you’re a witch after the kerit attack?”

“No,” Nesta said slowly, thinking of Devlon’s begrudging acceptance of her. How the Illyrians no longer looked as if they might spit at her. At the distance the males gave her, as if she were finally a threat rather than a pawn in their game. “They don’t know what I am.”

“That probably terrifies them more,” Cassian told Nesta with a devilish grin as they followed Lorrian and Frawley into the living room.

Like the rest of the house, fresh greenery had been wound into garlands around the room. Beautifully arranged teardrop swags hung beneath the faelights on the white-washed walls: bundles of pine, cones, holly and its ruby berries, ivy and honeysuckle vines.

“Mulled wine,” Frawley told Nesta, thrusting a large mug into her hand. “I’ve magicked it to remove the alcohol. It practically tastes the same. Lorrian likes it, anyway.”

“It’s the closest I’ve had to the real thing,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin as he finally moved forward to greet her. He bent to kiss both of her cheeks in an air of heat laced with sandalwood, the close cut of his stubble rough against her skin. “You look beautiful, as usual,” he told her.

Nesta’s snort was a soft dismissal, but she was secretly pleased. The dress she was wearing had hung off her months ago. She’d still had Mas take it in a little, but she saw her outfit as a symbolic triumph, having finally gained back the majority of the weight she had lost so dangerously after months and months of denying herself sustenance.

“Come,” Frawley beckoned to Nesta, “I’ve put your armchair close to the fire. You’re as bad as Caerleon. Sometimes I think he’d sit on top of the hearth if he could.”

Nesta’s lips twitched but she didn’t comment. It was true that now Nesta could light fires of her own, she could enjoy sitting by the hearth without fearing that it might send her into a downward spiral. Not that Frawley hadn’t taken care of that herself the two times she had visited, and as expected, the fire was already silently eating the glowing wood that had been stacked into the grate.

At the mention of his name, Caerleon padded towards Nesta just as she took a seat in the armchair and pressed his large head into Nesta’s lap. Burying her fingers into the beast’s soft, shaggy mane with her spare hand, Nesta huffed a laugh as the manticore let out a low whine in greeting.

“How do you usually celebrate Solstice, Nesta?” Lorrian asked conversationally, as he seated himself in the twin armchair opposite her and stretched out his long legs.

Nesta didn’t have to glance at Cassian from where he had settled on the low-back couch to know that his expression had turned tight. She felt the trepidation in her stomach. The more and more she dropped her emotional guard, the more keenly she felt him, even through the shield of fire he had resurrected around himself.

“Solstice isn't celebrated in the Human Realm,” Nesta replied in a way that she hoped came across as unaffected.

“Of course it isn’t,” Frawley interjected, glaring at her husband with an intensity Nesta was glad she was not on the receiving end of.

“Well, the good thing about Solstice is the food,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin. “If you need a motivation to start celebrating it.”

Nesta harrumphed in the back of her throat. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Speaking of food...” Cassian started hopefully.

Frawley rolled her eyes but dumped a plate of pastries unceremoniously into the warrior’s lap. “Lorrian made these solely to tide you over until dinner.” She tutted as Cassian began to tuck in with gusto. “I’ve never witnessed anybody eat so much and I live with an Illyrian. Did you train this morning?”

“No,” Cassian said around a mouthful of pie. His voice was incredulous — offended, even. “It’s Solstice, witch, or have you forgotten in your old age?”

“I would not put it past you to train three hundred and sixty-five days of the year,” Frawley snapped in retort, “for fear that one day off would have those muscles of yours shrinking.”

When Frawley’s ice blue eye rested on Nesta, it was not sparking with anger but amusement, even as her face remained impassive. She and Cassian often bantered like this; with Frawley seemingly infuriated and Cassian prodding insults. “Am I wrong, Nesta?”

Nesta did not try to fight the slight curve of her lips, she was too amused by Cassian’s mouth which had gone slack. Thankfully, it wasn’t full of food. “No, he preens and puffs like a rooster.”

Lorrian threw his head back and laughed. Frawley snorted with delight. Grinning, Cassian stood to offer Nesta a mince pie with twinkling eyes.

Surprised, Nesta cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.

What she had said wasn’t true. Cassian’s physique was all to do with being a cut above the rest. He trained with an intensity that sung of a determination to prove that he was worthy. He allowed his body to become battered and bloody, his knuckles bruised and his hands calloused. He wore scars as if they were armour… as if they were akin to the black tattoos that licked up his body. Symbols of luck and glory and proof that he would endure, above all else.

So much of Cassian was worn on the surface if you chose to look.

And she certainly wasn’t complaining about his figure. Even if just staring at the corded muscles of his body made her fill with a liquid heat that both embarrassed and thrilled her… She had wondered on more than one occasion what it might feel like to straddle the vast width of him… to allow her fingernails to bite into his sizeable shoulders as she sank down onto him. The way he’d groan, the sound guttural in the depths of his throat. She had dreamt about it more times than she’d like to admit. She knew what it felt like to have his phantom lips bruise her skin and his teeth scrape at her pulse point. Knew what it felt like for that relentless drive to hound her blood, each throb of her veins pulling her towards him.

But if her blood was desire, her mind was logic and she knew why she felt like that. Why he felt like it too, sometimes.

So she kept her ribcage close around her heart. It was a shield rendered with gaps but it worked just fine if she fortified it with ice.

Those glowing amber eyes did not leave hers as she took a sweet pastry dusted with sugar from the plate. For a terrified moment, Nesta thought that he knew what she had been thinking, but then he turned to Frawley and said with such casualness it took her a moment for the words to sink in, “Not all of us can look as effortlessly devastating as Nesta.”

Cassian didn’t look at her for a while, after that.

The day was not like the previous Solstice: full of gifts and banter that she was not a part of. Nesta did not spend her time shying away in the corner for fear that the fire would make her power finally roar.

There was food. Lots of variety without being excessive. Roast meat, potatoes and steamed vegetables. Battered savoury pudding, gravy and pigs in blankets. Nesta ate more than she usually would, each dish so delicious she could not help what she piled onto her plate until she was practically bursting at the seams.

Afterwards, Nesta helped Frawley to carry the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Lorrian had done the majority of the cooking and Frawley had woefully admitted that meant it was her job to clean up. Nesta had risen without thinking and in a blink of an eye she had her hands submerged in water and bubbles.

Frawley was telling Nesta that it was she and Lorrian’s anniversary the day before Solstice. That they had decided to become chroi on that day many years ago, and had the magic seal their intents a few hours later.

Despite Frawley’s fierce edges, the witch softened when she spoke of her husband in a way that told Nesta that the love ran deep. Not that Nesta couldn’t see that plainly before her whenever the two were in a room. They had a way of moving together that was completely at ease: respectful and kind and pure and accepting.

It made Nesta hungry for the love she had read about in her books. But she knew better than to believe she was deserving of it.

“How did you know Lorrian was the one?” Nesta asked curiously, as Frawley detailed how they had decided to intertwine their lives the same day in front of the other witches.

Taking a plate from Nesta, Frawley began to dry it with a seriousness that told Nesta that she was thinking hard. “I’ve lived a long life,” Frawley said eventually. “After a while, night and day become repetitive. Boring. I didn’t realise I’d fallen into a rut until I met Lorrian. He made me feel alive again.” She shrugged, the action unlike Frawley as she pinned Nesta with both her eyes. “And Caer liked him. Caer has always been an extension of me in some ways, so I knew that Lorrian was right. We fit like two puzzle pieces. We didn’t try to change who we were for the other, but our love made us happier, more content, even in the face of great challenges.”

Nesta wondered if Frawley was referring to their lost witchlings as well as Lorrian’s arm. She could not imagine losing something so precious. The thought made her heart ache with such intensity she wanted to run away for a moment, before she reminded herself that emotion was part of life. It was better than being numb.

Nesta wanted to see the world in colour, not in black and white. Training with Azriel had taught her that.

“It must be nice,” Nesta observed after a moment, “to know you both chose one another. That you had a choice.”

Both eyes swivelled to rest on Nesta’s face. The effect was alarming. Nesta was used to them moving independently rather than together. “Everyone has a choice in love, Nesta.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak but then Lorrian and Cassian entered the kitchen laden with more dirty dishes. Lorrian mentioned a dessert he needed to take out of the larder and Frawley turned to help him.

Whilst Nesta’s stomach was full in a way that was uncomfortable, her ears perked up at the thought of something sweet, as if it would cut through her savoury food coma.

“I have something I’d like to show you,” Cassian said into Nesta’s ear, as Frawley batted away her husband with a tea towel. He was trying to take the pudding she was carrying from her. “Will you come with me?”

Nesta cast a look at Lorrian and Frawley, but they were still both fussing over the Christmas pudding to notice them. So she nodded and followed him out the back door and into the crisp night air. Already a layer of frost dusted the greenery on the forest floor and pine needles, but Cassian quickly cast a bubble of warmth around them. It had not snowed, a rarity for this time of year Cassian had told her earlier, especially in Illyria which was usually deep in blankets of snow by now.

Gesturing to the outbuilding to the left of the cottage, Cassian walked ahead of her, his large wings bobbing behind him as he moved. They flared slightly as he slid open the huge wooden door, before quickly tucking themselves back in, no doubt to protect them from the bitter cold wind which was doing its best to cut through his shield.

It took Nesta’s eyes a fraction of a second to adjust to the darkness, her Fae eyes gifting her with far better sight than her human body ever had.

She stared around the barn — the bails of hay, the wooden rafters…

She twisted to look up at Cassian, a frown on her face. “What am I looking at?

“There," Cassian said with a jut of his chin. Nesta followed the direction he had pointed in and then her eyes went wide.

There, on a makeshift bed of hay was a manticore. It was not like Caer. There was no orange mane, only beautiful sandy fur and a handsome, elegant head, large ears and huge, almond eyes. Her leathery wings were smaller than Caer’s but in proportion to her body and tucked in tight.

Her amber eyes glowed in the dark, that regal head cocking as her gaze clicked into place with Nesta’s. That one look had Nesta’s heart thumping in her chest. It was not from fear, but utter awe.

“Do you know the associations surrounding manticores?” Cassian asked. His voice was low in her ear. Intimate.

Frowning, Nesta dragged her eyes away from the manticore with regret. “They are an apex predator known to devour their prey whole,” Nesta said, reciting what she had been told since she was young. “They are vicious and deadly and cannot be overcome by man.”

But even as she said the words, Nesta knew them not to be true, because she knew Caer. Knew his empathetic heart and the way he had comforted her when she was sad. “Obviously, that’s another human myth that holds no truth,” she finished with a lift to her chin, daring him to laugh.

But Cassian did not mock her, he only nodded. “Yes. Manticores are ruthless creatures and because of their ability to kill with such ease they have been labelled as bringing strife and suffering to the world. But that is not true. Manticores are rare and hard to come by because they are born from the blood of true sacrifice.”

Nesta wondered what Frawley had done to earn Caer’s loyalty. For him to serve her above all others. From what Cassian had told her, Caerleon had been with Frawley for so long even history could not pinpoint an exact date.

“Rhys found this manticore in the spot where you healed Mas.”

A long, long silence. “Frawley took her back to The Steppes to raise her. Manticores grow incredibly quickly, as you can see, but are incredibly vulnerable when they are young, largely because their wings are not fully developed. Fae and humans alike also have a nasty habit of trying to kill young manticores as it is when they are at their weakest. They try to damage their tails so they cannot take life from range and injure their wings so they never develop.

The thought made Nesta’s stomach roll. To harm something so beautiful and pure.

“Sala is only two weeks but she has already taken adult form. Only a fool would try to take her down now.”

“If manticores are so deadly, why isn’t she trying to kill us?” Nesta breathed, her gaze again connecting with the beast’s.

“Because we believe that she is yours, if you want her.”

“She’s mine?” Nesta asked sharply, too surprised to arrange her expression into one of indifference. “How do you know?”

At the words, the manticore raised her beautiful, beautiful head. Golden eyes settled on Nesta as leathery wings unfurled from the beast’s back — stretching — as if she had woken from a long sleep. She rose until she was on her haunches and then her four huge paws.

The beast padded towards them, her hips slinking, her head low and assessing. Yet none of it was threatening. Instead, Nesta only felt a rush of calm as the manticore moved towards them. She stopped in front of Nesta, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth of her breath on her skin, could see that close up the shimmer of gold in Sala’s eyes, the dotted muzzle and the long, pointed incisors.

And then, the beast hopped up onto her haunches, her impossibly large paws coming to rest on Nesta’s shoulders. Despite the enormity of the animal, Nesta remained grounded without having to brace herself. Mesmerising gold filled her vision. It was an ancient, omniscient stare that sung of wisdom and knowledge, of years lived and lived and lived.

And then Nesta saw herself: a reflection of silver-grey; of elegantly pointed ears; of pale skin and pink lips; as if she had become a part of the beast, their lives entangled. Bowing her large head, the manticore closed the distance between them and rubbed her forehead against Nesta’s.

The action was gentle — a familial caress — and when the beast was done, she kept her head against Nesta’s, the gesture solicitous and binding. They breathed together, their chests moving at the same time, and Nesta revelled in the softness of Sala’s fur and the affection that laced the movement. The implication behind it.

“A manticore chooses an owner it deems worthy. Someone pure of heart.”

Cassian’s voice was a low rumble as Sala dropped to all fours. When Nesta twisted around to look at him she found him leaning against the barn, as if he had stepped away to give she and Sala space. His smile was crooked and so beautiful Nesta wanted to touch it; to trace the lines of his mouth where it curved upwards. But most of all, to draw the lines that creased around his eyes that softened the wildness of his features.

“The tuft of her tail is made of silver fire, which is also a giveaway,” Cassian mused, his hazel eyes glowing with what Nesta dissected as amusement. Had she been staring at him a little too long? “Manticores take on elements of their partner.”

Nesta hadn’t even noticed Sala’s tail, but now she could see the trail of silver flame as the tip flicked slowly from side to side in the dark.

The ice that protected everything creaked and cracked at the sight.

Nesta let it. She wanted to refute it — to tell Cassian that he was wrong and Sala wasn’t hers — but the moment Sala had rested her heads on hers, she knew that they were bound together. The manticore made her blood sing, as if their paths were irrevocably entangled in such a beautiful way that Nesta daren’t question it. It was a similar feeling she had encountered when Cassian had delivered the letter in the Human Realm; that compelling pull of destiny.

After the war, Nesta had thought they were done. That she and Cassian had made history and were now travelling on parallel paths of a forked road. But now she was not so sure. She had not been sure for a while now.

“And what if I were of bad intention?” Nesta asked, smoothing her palm over the manticore’s head. The fur was as soft as the finest silk; the touch so divine that Nesta wanted to bury her face in the beast’s ruff and breathe her in again.

A frown worried itself onto Cassian’s expression. Nesta pushed it to the periphery, keeping her attention focussed on Sala.

Nesta had thought revenge would be sweet. Thought that killing the King would have rendered her new and swept away all of the regrets and the pain of the past, but it had only set a deep fear within her. What if her palms only sung death and destruction? What if she was evil and cruel and a thorn in the side of everyone she met? What if she was bloodthirsty and she would not stop until she had quenched that thirst?

But when she had dropped to her knees in front of Mas, Nesta had felt a different hum of power; a magic that had been pushed down and quieted but was wholly good. And as Nesta had forged herself anew, she realised that her magic had presented her with a choice. She could be death if she wished. She could cause destruction and wreak havoc but she could also protect and heal. And whilst Nesta had decided who she was, the knowledge that she had the ability to take away life as she pleased still terrified her. The kerits were different. They were not Fae or human. They did not look like her, did not think like her, did not have conscious thought. Their heads did not tumble right, and whilst life disappeared from the depth of their eyes, it was not akin to the way her father’s eyes had faded, his very being sputtering out until there was only vacant emptiness.

Nesta did not want to take life. Not unless she had to.

She was not a killer.

Scar-flecked fingers tilted her chin and urged her to look upwards. Nesta had not heard him move, but she registered his warmth and saw his earnest expression as she stared up into Cassian’s tan face.

“You are not of bad intention,” Cassian said, as if he somehow could sense her self-deprecating thoughts. His voice had dropped; the tone soft, like a brush stroking tenderly against a canvas.

“What would happen?” Nesta insisted. She needed to know. Needed to understand as surely as she needed to understand that she would wake tomorrow and he would still be there; her steady presence.

“Then Sala would disappear into the ether, as it were. An allegiance can be changed, after all. Manticores are highly intelligent creatures.”

Nesta did not know what to say. Yet, whilst she had no words, she knew with a fierce conviction that she would not allow herself to lose Sala. This beast… she was a gift. Sala was the first true blessing that Nesta had been granted in a life that had only been bleak and cruel.

Sala was hers just as she would be the beast’s. A companion in the grey of her life. Another flicker of light in the dark.

“I thought she would give you more freedom around the camps.”

Nesta blinked. Cassian had dropped his hand but remained close to her. His warmth seeped through her clothing, the sensation welcome in the shadows of the barn. Sometimes Nesta felt as if his warmth was directed solely to heat her limbs.

“I know you must feel limited in where you can go,” Cassian elaborated, stretching his wings slightly. He kept the one closest to her outstretched; a barrier against the cold.

To Nesta’s surprise, Cassian’s cheeks stained a faint pink and he looked away. “I can’t imagine being in Windhaven and not being able to fly,” he confessed. “Sala can carry you about if you want to taste the wind. She can also fight alongside you should you ever need it, both on ground and in the skies.” Another crooked smile as those dark eyes rested back on her, as if he were making himself do it. It nearly knocked the breath from her lungs, the vulnerability in his expression. “She’s not a steed, but perhaps she will become a close second.”

Nesta didn’t know what to do with her body. She felt self-conscious beyond belief, thrown completely by the repeated offering — of freedom. Cassian knew of her growing love of flying. He had truly listened when she confessed that the air rushing around her made her feel alive. That she hungered for it — desperate to gobble up the adrenaline that for the short time, made her feel awake. The rush was akin to an orgasm; the sensation of hot, silky skin sliding against hers as the wave crested and shattered on the shore. Better in some ways. Healthier. More attainable.

Even though words flashed through her mind, Nesta only asked, “Sala?”

Cassian’s lips turned up at the corners as if he were accessing a memory. “It means fire in Illyrian. A temporary name should you wish to call her something else. Although she is rather attached to it, as you can see.”

Indeed, the manticore’s round honey-coloured ears had pricked forward at the sound of her name. She tilted her head slightly at Cassian, as if she were waiting for him to give her a command.

Nesta bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears.

“But where will she stay?”

It seemed a stupid question to ask, but the words blurted forth anyway.

Cassian shrugged but the gesture appeared relieved. Had he thought she would turn Sala away? He must have asked Frawley to keep the manticore secret so he could show her the beast himself. “She can come into the bungalow if she likes. Manticores are needy creatures who bond fast to their chosen companion. She’ll like to exercise and hunt, but she’ll always want to come home to you. It is in her instincts to protect and serve.”

Silence fell. Nesta brushed her knuckles across the beast’s muzzle, just as she’d seen Frawley do with Caer. Sala’s purr was loud and she dropped to the ground as if she were in heaven, rolling onto her back and stretching her legs out.

Nesta mouth widened into an unstoppable smile at the sight — of the open display of trust and affection which Nesta found so difficult — and squatted down beside the manticore to ruffle her ears.

“Do you like her?”

Cassian’s words caught her, reminding her that he was watching her. His eyes were soft and wide when she twisted to look up at him. The faint ghost of a smile was still hovering on her lips.

“Yes,” she said, in a way that she hoped didn’t come out stiffly. “Very much.” Then she frowned. “What if I’m made to go back to Velaris.”

It was a possibility Nesta couldn’t cast from her mind. Even though Feyre had insisted Nesta could leave Illyria should she want to, Nesta could not help but fear that some event would call her back to their City of Starlight before she chose it herself. That her involvement in court matters would demand her presence.

Cassian’s expression hardened, showing a hint of the warrior she had been privy to earlier. “I promise you don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.”

“But what if—"

“I don’t care if it’s demanded of you, Nesta. You never have to go back if you don’t want to.”

The way Cassian spoke was short and dark… and troubled. He truly meant it.

Another creak reverberated in Nesta’s ears as ice tumbled from a glacier. Cassian’s words had reminded her of what she needed to do — what Nesta had known for a while but did not want to admit. It was another path that had been cleared of vines and brambles, but remained laced with thorns. It was not an easy route, but it was what she had chosen. “I do want to go back.”

Everything stilled. The air went taut around them and Cassian’s angry expression shifted into something else entirely.

Nesta watched him open and close his mouth, the movement small but enough to indicate that she had stunned him. Eventually he said, “Ok.”

Another long, long pause. She watched him swallow, the column of his throat moving up and then down as he looked away. “We can move you back, if that’s what you want.”

Arrows formed between her brows as she frowned. Did he think…?

Stupid bat.

“I have no intention of moving back there permanently,” she clipped. “I have things I need to take care of. I’ll go back with you. You said you were going for New Year’s Eve.”

Again, Cassian’s lips parted. “You want to visit?” he asked with a disbelieving frown. “I’m going for a few days. I’ll return New Year’s Day.”

Dread twisted inside of her but Nesta did not let it show. Determination won out. She would not stray from her path. Her intention was bigger then her fear to return back to Velaris, to undoubtedly have to face member’s of the Inner Circle in their home — their territory. Where she had been broken and lost and so numb she could not remember the year that had slid by in a roll of bare flesh and the burn of alcohol.

“Yes, for a visit,” she confirmed. Then, she added, “As long as I don’t have to stay in that wretched new house.”

Cassian looked away from her. “Your apartment is still there.”

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Nesta thought of that cold and dirty apartment with its four locks on the door. She had never felt safe there. And it was not a place for her now. A different Nesta had lived there … and Nesta was not that Fae any longer.

“Where will you stay?” she asked.

“I usually stay with Rhys and Feyre or at the House of Wind.”

“Why don’t you have your own place.”

Cassian laugh was rough and throaty and it made the hairs on her arm stand on end. “Why, would you want to stay there?”

Nesta scowled, even as she asked, “How insufferable would you be if I said yes.”

“Very insufferable,” Cassian assured her, his eyes twinkling.

“No, then,” Nesta replied … and Cassian laughed. The sound was bright and so, so delighted that she couldn’t help the twitch of her lips.

“Shall I send word ahead that you’re coming?”

Nesta shrugged. “If you like.”

A pause.

“Elain will be pleased.”

“Yes,” Nesta said tightly. Already she was starting to backtrack, the thought of heading back to Velaris too much. But then she thought about her purpose and the courage it gave her made her stand that little bit taller. Stiffer… but taller.

“How about this,” Cassian offered, as if he sensed her trepidation. “We won’t send word ahead until the night before. Then you have the night to sleep on it. If you decide you don’t want to go back, nobody is any the wiser and it means you won’t overthink things.” His expression was carefully neutral. “You could even have Sala come to meet you,” he added. “The journey would help to strengthen her wings.”

Armour. He was offering her armour amongst her fire.

Nesta loosed a slow breath and played with Sala’s soft ears. “Ok.”

Then she looked up at him, those stormy eyes suddenly clearing to blue as a small smile crept onto her face — she was still in too much disbelief to control it. “She’s really for me?”

Cassian reached a hand downwards. It hesitated in midair, but when she did not move away his thumb brushed the dimple in her cheek with such reverence something inside of her glowed hot.

“She’s all yours,” Cassian assured her, his expression so soft he looked as young as her. “We can bring her inside now if you like. We’ll have to watch Caer, he’s taken a shine to her.”

Nesta woke the next morning in the small bedroom she had been allocated at the cottage with Sala spread out on the bed beside her. The manticore’s body was deliciously warm and Nesta raised a hand to scratch behind the animal’s ears.

Already the beast was Nesta’s steadfast companion.

Sala let out a deep rumbling purr that continued to vibrate as she knocked her head gently against Nesta’s in greeting, and Nesta allowed herself a moment to rest her forehead against Sala’s, holding her close and breathing her in.

The night of festivities had bled into the early hours, and Nesta had only dragged herself to bed when her eyelids had become so heavy she could barely keep them open.

Blearily, Nesta dragged herself to join her friends for breakfast before heading back upstairs to get ready to fly to Ironcrest. She was just finishing weaving her hair into a coronet, when a knock sounded at the door.

Cassian was wearing elaborate leathers that she had not seen before. He had scraped half of his hair back into a top knot tied tightly with leather and red cloth. The rest hung to his shoulders in gleaming ebony, as if he had deigned to run a brush through his hair yet again.

Nesta considered making a comment about how he had brushed his hair two days in a row but stopped herself at the last minute. There was a tense set to his shoulders that she had not expected to see given yesterday’s festivities. She doubted it was because he was hungover. Nesta had noticed that he had not gorged himself on wine like he had the year prior, only enjoying a few glasses over the course of the day, as if he knew he needed his wits about him for the luncheon. And, she imagined, so as not to drink excessively around her. Not that she hungered for a drink, any longer. She hadn’t for a long time.

The solidity to Cassian’s frame was the sort that he used to wear when she first arrived in Velaris. It was a stance prepared for barbed words and insults, even as he feigned casual joviality. A stance ready for a fight he did not want to participate in.

Perhaps he was worried about today… That was a possibility. She had heard him tell Rhys ‘no’ when he asked them to stay the night at Ironcrest. There had been no contemplation, just fierce, adamant refusal…

Nesta had a feeling it had nothing to do with his safety but her own. And even though Nesta had her silver flames and her beginner’s training in combat, she was still the female who craved four locks on a door before she could go to sleep. The bungalow was different, it had a magical protection that Nesta had cause to doubt, but in a camp where the General and their High Lord were out of favour…

Even as her power moved restlessly beneath her skin, Nesta hoped she and Cassian were sharing a room. She would gladly pretend to be seen as a couple if it meant she would not sleep alone in a strange place. Just the thought of it made her fire want to roar, even as the thought of sleeping beside him made her want to self-combust.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Cassian bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears with a large hand. “Ready to go?”

Nesta’s eyes snagged on the chain dangling from his other hand and her magic gushed through her veins as if it were a flood.

“What’s that?” Nesta asked with a scowl.

For a moment, Nesta actually thought Cassian was going to turn on his heel and leave. A muscle feathered in his jaw, but in the end, he only stepped so close to her she almost had to take a step back to steady herself.

Sala came to sit by Nesta’s side. The manticore stared up at them with her beautiful, almond eyes that shone gold as Cassian thrust a hand out. “Here.”

Nesta stared at the silver chain that dangled from his fist and the pendant that hung from it. It was so odd to see an impossibly broad warrior holding something so delicate that Nesta wanted to laugh — the first time the sound wanted to desperately bubble out of her in his presence— but she knew to do so would be a fatal move; a wound that could not be healed. So she swallowed down the sensation and tilted her head to study the necklace instead.

She hoped that he couldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating in her chest.

When she opened her mouth to speak, Cassian swiftly changed tactic, steering her around so her back was to him. The movement was abrupt and uncontrolled, designed to stop her speaking and laced with something that Nesta thought she detected as panic.

The firm touch of his hands on her skin made everything hiss, like steam as water hit a hot pan on the stove. And once she had her back to him and the room stopped spinning, everything slowed. Hyper-aware, Nesta felt the movement of air against the arch of her neck; felt the way her body betrayed her and covered her in goosebumps as his calloused fingers brushed her neck. The pleasure at being touched coursed through her and she stiffened, suppressing the shiver that wanted to sweep her away.

She hadn’t been touched intimately in months. Hadn’t been touched tenderly ever and she found she craved for it.

The comprehension made her both sad and angry: a double-edged sword plunged into the gut.

“What do you think—” she started to snap, but she broke off as a light weight nestled on her sternum, a few inches below her clavicle.

For a moment, the stone was cool, but then it pulsed against her skin, as if it were a heart and it had been kicked into life for the first time. The pendant was a colour Nesta had never seen before - not quite gold and not quite silver. Understated but undoubtedly beautiful.

Nesta snapped her gaze up to Cassian as all seven siphons on his ornate armour glowed softly.

He was staring at her with apprehension… and he looked strangely vulnerable, as if he were ready to take a step back. As if he were about to take a hit.

Despite that, Nesta couldn’t help to stamp out the intimacy of the moment, even as her mind chanted for more. His head was bowed slightly towards her and she was so consumed by his scent that too much derision flooded her voice, “You’re giving me jewellery? I’m touched.”

“Very good,” Cassian snickered. His wary expression was suddenly replaced with determination, the shadows shifting on his dark, untameable features.

“I know you don’t usually wear jewellery,” Cassian said with forced lightness, “but I thought you might make an exception. The stone is made of pyrite. Pyrite is revered in Illyria for its protective properties—it’s very rare. It provides a level of protection over the wearer.”

Nesta fingered the beautiful pendant, the stone which was still warm against her skin. It reminded her of safety: of being curled up by a silent fire with a storm raging outside; of a hot meal settling in a stomach carved out hollow from weeks of barely having enough to survive.

She should accept the necklace and get him to leave, Nesta knew that, but her curiosity had been piqued even as something warned her to remain quiet, “When did you have time to hunt down a rare protective charm?”

A muscle feathered in Cassian’s jaw. Suddenly he was not looking at her again but past her, as if something had captivated his attention on the wall. “A while ago.”

And somehow she knew from those three words exactly what this was: the Solstice gift he had tried to give her.

All the fight bled out of her, because somehow Nesta knew that he had found this for her so she would feel safe. So when she closed the door to her apartment at night with the four locks or walked home well after dark in an inebriated state, that it would offer her protection. That even though she had rejected him and he knew that she was fucking male after male, that no harm would come to her.

At the time she would have been furious at the gift — at the audacity that he thought he should protect her. But that wasn’t it at all. It was because deep down, despite all her sharp words and his confusing actions, he had cared. And whilst post-war Nesta would have been so blinded by rage and numbing grief that she would have been unable to see the gift for what it was… the Nesta here and now - the female who was slowly emerging out of the dark - felt as if dawn was peeking on the horizon.

A lump formed in her throat. Had Cassian dived into the Sidra to retrieve it? When she had been so cruel to him and he so cruel to her? When she had lashed out because he would not listen. Because he had ignored her and flirted with Mor in front of her face as she felt discarded in the corner.

“It will provide you with an added layer of security during our trip,” Cassian told her.

Even now, Nesta did not want to discuss what they had been. What they could have been. So she said, “You think I need it today?”

“I think that I don’t trust Illyrian males, especially Illyrian males from Ironcrest. I think that you are stronger and more powerful than any of them, but I would rather die than have something happen to you on the off-chance that they got closer than you’d like or if they teamed up on you.” His words were a low vigorous rumble that shook her bones.

Then he hesitated. “And Illyrian males give a piece of jewellery to females they are promised to — it’s a symbolic gesture. For the sake of today’s pretence, it would be good if you wore it.”

A long, long silence where Nesta could feel Cassian’s pulse thumping against the skin of his neck. For one true beat, their eyes locked. His eyes were so dark and intense that Nesta couldn’t bare it.

She was thankful when they shifted slightly to stare right past her rather than tunnel far inside of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she conceded, unable to voice what she wanted to say. There was too much churning around in her mind, so she stared down at the teardrop pendant that glimmered against her pale skin.

“Good,” Cassian said, moving away from her with such abruptness it was almost military with intent. “Put it on and come downstairs.”

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elriell · 4 years

Note

i love your meta posts and would really like to see your thoughts on nessian and maybe the next book in detail?? thanks

Thank you, I enjoy doing them. As usual this will be rather long especially with quotes but there is so much Nessian goodness to discuss so bare with me.

[MY FULL THOUGHTS ON NESTA]

We will get in to the good, the bad, and everything in between but let’s start with their future and them being mates. This is not an unpopular belief to my knowledge but let’s talk about it because I feel this will be a part of their arc next book, especially since ACOFAS was kind of setting up the bridge for the spin off.

So take a look at these quotes from ACOFAS,

“Cassian’s face turned uncharacteristically solemn, and he remained quiet for a moment before he said, “I get jealous sometimes. I’d never begrudge you for your happiness, but what you two have, Rhys …” He dragged a hand through his hair, his crimson Siphon glinting in the light streaming through the window. “It’s the legends, the lies, they spin us when we’re children. About the glory and wonder of the mating bond. I thought it was all bullshit. Then you two came along.”

“What about you?” I asked, pulling away after a moment. “Are you … happy?” Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. “I’m getting there.” A halfhearted answer.”

I believe this is just a little teaser for his future with her, there is so much foreshadowing about both of them being mates but also becoming something powerful, especially Nesta.

“What if I tell you what the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something—something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth.”

Cassian’s golden-brown face had drained of color, his wings tucking in tight. “What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?”

He is described as a leader, a prince and a god a few times but the foreshadowing for Nesta becoming a Queen/Leader is unparalleled. I know quite a few people are not fond of the idea but to be honest with all the written breadcrumbs I cannot imagine it going any other way... It is mentioned so often.

“Nesta was waiting at the head of the table, a queen ready to hold court. ”

“But she turned to Cassian, looked him over as if she were a queen on a throne, and then declared to all of us,”

“How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.”

“And proud as any queen, Nesta took Elain’s arm and led her from the guardhouse. Mor trailed behind,”

“A queen without a throne. That was what I’d call the painting that swept into my mind.”

“She kept her chin high, the portrait of queenly arrogance. “I’m not.”

“Talk to me. Nesta. Tell me—” She ripped her hand out of his grip. Stared him down. A mighty, vengeful queen.”

And I feel it will obviously be something to do with the Illyrians, as that is what is being set up. I believe they will become leaders of the Illyrians in a new way not currently present.

Mates

“And what about Cassian? He’s entangled—and enabling this nonsense.” A wry smile. “Cassian is going to have to decide some things, too. In the near future, I think.” “Are he and Nesta …?” “I don’t know. Until the bond snaps into place, it can be hard to detect.”

At this rate I do not even think it is questionable but let’s pretend we have to prove it, here are some key pieces of evidence,

Exhibit A)

Feyre painting the stars for her Mate, and her painting flames for Nesta.

“Nesta,” I said, starting on the other wing, “I painted flames for her. She was always angry, always burning. I think she and Amren would be fast friends. ”

“There was something rough-hewn about his features—like he’d been made of wind and earth and flame and all these civilized trappings were little more than an inconvenience.”

“A matching one lay atop his left hand; and twin red stones adorned Cassian’s gauntlets, their color like the slumbering heart of a flame.”

“So at odds from the male who had gone head to head with my sister, unable to resist matching himself against Nesta’s spirit of steel and flame.”

Exhibit B)

First potential scenting of it/Paralleling Rhys.

“He bowed at the waist, those wings vanishing entirely, and had begun to fade into the nearest shadow when he went rigid. His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock—pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled. “What is—” I began.” [Rhys] “But he did take a step closer, bracing a hand on the mantel, and leaned in close enough to breathe in that scent of hers. It hit him in the gut so hard her could barely focus, and it took five centuries of training to make himself meet her eyes rather than let his own roll back in his head, to keep himself poised there instead of burying his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder, to keep from moving closer, from… touching.”

“Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric …

Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.”

Exhibit C)

Feeling each others pain/worry without being there.

“He’d followed. She’d known it in her bones, her blood. He’d kept high in the skies, but he’d followed until she’d entered the building.”

“CASSIAN.” Amren reached for her, but Nesta roared, “CASSIAN!”

“Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit. Cassian had been right in the center of it. Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away.”

The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.” [...] But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.” I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?”

“Nesta’s screaming was the only sound. Cassian blindly lurched toward it—toward her, moaning in pain.”

“I whipped my head to Nesta as she went silent. The Cauldron righted itself. Cassian again stirred, slumping on the floor—but his hand twitched. Toward Nesta.”

“You’re hurt.” Rhys snapped to attention at that. [...] Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing— “You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely. “I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance. I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells.”

Underrated Moments?

“Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape.

Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.”

I feel like this is such an underrated moment between them, there is so much care and comfort in these moments I love it.

“Is she a witch.”

“She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no—she is High Fae.” LOL

“Nesta listened to the low-level Illyrian soldiers whispering about how Cassian had thrown that spear, how he’d cut down soldiers like stalks of wheat, how he’d fought like Enalius—their most ancient warrior-god and the first of the Illyrians. [...]

Nesta watched, and listened to it all, while the camp was built around us.”

This part of ACOWAR when she is settling in, helping out and listening to the tales of Cassian I think will come to parallel in ACOTAR 4. I love the idea that she just sat around listening to the legend of warrior gods...

Parallels

“Why do you bother, Cassian?”

His hazel eyes shuttered as we smoothly landed. And I thought he wouldn’t answer, especially not as we heard the others already in the dining room beyond the veranda,[...] But Cassian said quietly as we headed for the dining room, “Because I can’t stay away.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, trying to haul Cassian up once more. A broken sound of pain ripped from him. “Go! ” he barked at her. “I can’t,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can’t.”

*cries*

“But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line. “Where is he?” “Who?” Rhys crooned. “Cassian.”

I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer. As if she was worried.

“I was almost at the door when Cassian said, “Is …” He swallowed. I spared him the discomfort of trying to mask his interest. “Both sisters will be at the house. Whether they want to or not.” Cassian’s eyes flickered. “How is she?”

Rhysand just stuck in the middle probably thinking these fucking idiots ahaha

“Are you … happy?” Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. “I’m getting there.”A halfhearted answer. I’d have to work on that, too. Perhaps there were threads to be pulled, woven together.”

“Perhaps you should get a place of your own, then.” “I have one in Illyria.” “I meant here.” Cassian lifted a brow. “I don’t need a house here. I need a room.” [...] I chuckled again, but held in my retort. My suggestion that he might want a place of his own. Soon. Not that anything was happening on that front. Not anytime soon. Nesta had made it clear enough she had no interest in Cassian—not even in being in the same room as him. I knew why. I’d seen it happen, had felt that way plenty.”

had felt that way plenty

HAD FELT THAT WAY PLENTY.

HaD FElt tHAt wAY PLenTY

Perhaps this is really why they sent her to Illyria? Is this them weaving? Not sure how I feel about that really, but we shall see.

She only said, “Go home, Cassian.” He could count on one hand the number of times she’d used his name. Called him anything other than you or that one.”

“Cassian.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one.”

Their reactions to each other currently.

“No matter that she could scarcely stand to be around him. No matter that she had once, long ago, in a mortal body and in a house that no longer existed, let him kiss her throat. Being near him made her want to shatter things. As her power sometimes did, unbidden. Secretly.”

“But from the moment he’d met Nesta, the cold fire in her blue-gray eyes had been a temptation of a different sort. And now that she was High Fae, that inherent dominance, the aggression—and that piss-poor attitude … There was a reason he avoided her as much as possible. Even after the war, things were still too volatile, both within the Night Court’s borders and in the world beyond. And the female before him had always made him feel like he was standing in quicksand.”

Training

Quite a few people do not want her to become a epic warrior, and while I understand that especially after her quote in the books about there being other ways to be strong... but after SJM interviews and so forth I definitely think they will go in that direction...

“You’ll what?” Cassian crooned, trailing her at a casual pace as she stopped perhaps five feet from me. He lifted a brow as she whirled on him. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—”

“Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes. I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there. “Care to join?” Cassian purred. Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.”

“Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard—mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …”

Morrigan

Alright let’s move on to Mor, I am sure there are a lot of opinions on her/and her relationship with Cassian. I am going to try not to get in to detail about her personally and keep it too Nessian because I feel like that is a whole other can of worms...

“And then there would be the matter of explaining it to everyone.

To Mor. His blood chilled.”

This is a big reason for why I need both of their own POV’s because there is so much we are limited to being inside of Feyre’s head. But one thing is clear and that is that there is something wrong here, ^^^ that response is not normal for a “friend” to find out you like/whatever someone.

It is not a healthy dynamic at all, I am sorry.

I believe it also alters and changes the way Nesta perceives things, we as readers may know nothing is currently going on between them but as an outside party she would not know that and some of their scenes have got to raise alarms.

“You’re hurt?”

At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.

Case and point, this was a rather cold and heartless thing to do especially given that she is finally trying to help him and open up. Imagine being Nesta in this situation, it is sure to raise some alarm bells...

“Rhys chuckled. Cassian, however, didn’t smile, every pore of him seemingly fixed on Nesta and Mor.”

I really hope they expand on why he is so afraid of her reaction.

“Just what I always wanted.” He held up a pair of what seemed to be red silk undershorts. The perfect match to her negligee. With Nesta pointedly preoccupied with flipping through her new books,”

“Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead. Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.”

“The general of the High Lord’s armies stuck out his tongue. Mor returned the gesture. Amren scowled at Rhys. “You’d be wise to leave both of them at home for the meeting with the others, Rhysand. They’ll cause nothing but trouble.” His face was indeed controlled, but—a hint of surprise twinkled there. Wariness, too, but … surprise. I risked another glance at Nesta, but she was watching her plate, dutifully ignoring the others.”

I think it is very interesting that SJM put these scenes in here because as readers again we might laugh and enjoy the banter between the circle but she is making it a point to show that Nesta is bothered/has a reaction to these moments. I wouldn’t even call it jealousy per-say but rather wariness over someone she considers a player flirting around, raising red flags.

Especially getting matching underwear with someone, as an outsider how would you perceive that?

“Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times.”

I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it.

“He’s busy.” I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy.

Mor said flatly, “When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.”

“I tried not to look too obvious as I glanced at Cassian.They had not seen each other since Adriata.But the warrior only gave her a cursory once-over and turned toward Azriel to say something. Mor was watching both carefully—the warning she’d given my sister ringing silently between them. And Nesta, Mother damn it all, seemed to remember. Seemed to rein in whatever words she’d been about to spit and just approached me.”

“So you’re alive.”Cassian bared his teeth in a feral grin, wings flaring slightly. “Were you hoping otherwise?”

Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze.

I don’t agree with her at all, especially since she is a hypocrite because if anyone brings up her relationship with Azriel it is unacceptable and not their business. You can be a friend, you can be protective, as I am sure Az also is but you can keep it to yourself, or Cassian.

Her not wanting to loose her buffer is not only selfish but cruel to him.

“Your Solstice present.” “I don’t want one.” Cassian continued past her, tossing the present in his hands. “You’ll want this one.” He prayed she would. It had taken him months to find it. He hadn’t wanted to give it to her in front of the others. Hadn’t even known she’d be there tonight.”

This isn’t directly linked to Mor but it kind of falls under the same theme of him being shy/embarrassed(?) in regards to her, for whatever reason it doesn’t put things in the best light. We can only speculate about what was inside it, and boy do we, so we can’t say if it was personal or private but the idea that he didn’t want to display any... sentiment towards her publicly must rub her the wrong way especially since only Elain got her a present.

Touch

Not much to analyse here I just want to quote and appreciate these moments.

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.”

“Nesta was standing there, arms around herself, eyes wide. Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.”

“She let out a small, animal sound—like some wounded stag—as she saw him. As he landed so hard his knees popped. He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching—”

“Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated. Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before. Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back. And I marveled at the touch she allowed—marveled at it as much as I did the mud-splattered hand she held out. The concentration that settled over her face.”

“Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.”

“Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. “You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.”

“Her gloved fingers scraped against his calluses, but he held firm. “Talk to me. Nesta. Tell me—” She ripped her hand out of his grip. Stared him down. A mighty, vengeful queen.”

Watching

“He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.”

“When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well. I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing.”

“Cassian watched every bite she took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed.”

“Cassian had named about two dozen poses for Nesta at this point. Ranging from I Will Eat Your Eyes for Breakfast to I Don’t Want Cassian to Know I’m Reading Smut. The latter was his particular favorite. Suppressing his smile, Cassian gestured to the pretty piles”

“But Mor waved him off and moved to pass Cassian his gift; but the warrior didn’t take it. Or take his eyes off Nesta as she undid the brown paper wrapping on the box and revealed a set of five novels in a leather box. She read the titles, then lifted her head to Elain.”

“What are you?” Cassian didn’t seem to dare take his focus off Nesta. But my sister slowly looked at Lucien.”

“Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.” Lord Devlon, for once, nodded his approval. I wondered if Cassian noticed it—if he cared. His face revealed nothing, not as his focus remained wholly on my sister.”

“She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them. I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.”

“I do not want to be remembered as a coward.” “No one would say that,” I offered quietly. “I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. ”

“Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room.”

“Nesta had been beautiful as a human woman. As High Fae, she was devastating. From the utter stillness with which Cassian stood beside me, I wondered if he thought the same thing.”

Nesta blurted, “You didn’t come to—” She stopped herself. The world seemed to go utterly still at that interrupted sentence, nothing and no one more so than Cassian. He scanned her face as if furiously reading some battle report. Mor just watched as Cassian took Nesta’s slim hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. As he folded in his wings and blindly reached his other hand back toward Mor in a silent order to transport them. Cassian’s eyes did not leave Nesta’s; nor did hers leave his. There was no warmth, no tenderness on either of their faces. Only that raging intensity, that blend of contempt and understanding and fire.”

Can someone tell them both there are other people in the room? I don’t think they know...

Protect

“Tamlin snarled at her. Cassian snarled right back, “Watch it.” Tamlin looked between my sister and Cassian—his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorted. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

“Cassian had stationed himself by the doorway, I realized, to be closer to Nesta. To grab her if Amren decided she didn’t particularly care for where this conversation was headed[...] Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order. Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”

“Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.”

This is a personal favourite of mine because when it is truly dangerous she trusts and relies on Cassian completely. Also just the imagery of her peering over his shoulder is golden.

“Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.”

“I don’t think even the Carver knows what Nesta is. But I wanted to see—just in case.”

“Why?”

“I want to help.”

“How do I fix it?” she asked. Her hair had been tied in a loose knot atop her head earlier in the day, and in the hours that we’d worked to ready and distribute supplies to the healers, through the heat and humidity, stray tendrils had come free to curl about her temple, her nape. Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud.”

Despite any vicious words or silly mistakes they both care for each other, the second anyone becomes a threat or a problem to their counterpart a deeper more hidden feeling emerges. A protective instinct.

Brooding

“He very rarely allowed himself to think of her, anyway. It usually didn’t end well for whoever was in the sparring ring with him.”

“He was grateful the streets were empty when he hurled that box into the Sidra. Hurled it hard enough that the splash echoed off the buildings flanking the river, ice cracking from the impact. Ice instantly re-formed over the hole he’d blown open. As if it, and the present. had never been.”

“Cassian shut out the words. Shut out the image that chased him from his dreams, night after night: not Nesta holding up the King of Hybern’s head like a trophy; not the way her father’s neck had twisted in Hybern’s hands. But the image of her leaning over him, covering Cassian’s body with her own, ready to take the full brunt of the king’s power for him. To die for him—with him. That slender, beautiful body, arching over him, shaking in terror, willing to face that end. He hadn’t seen a glimpse of that person in months. Had not seen her smile or laugh.”

Understanding/Compassion

He may have his slip ups but thus far he has proven to be rather compassionate when it comes to Nesta and understanding where she comes from.

“Mother’s tits, Rhys,” Cassian cut in, wings flaring wide enough to nearly knock over the ceramic vase on the side table next to him. “You think we can just take over her family’s house, demand that of them?”

From before they even met he showed understanding to their beliefs about the fae.

“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

I think they both have their positive and negative attributes to face but overall they genuinely try their best for each other.

“Dresses aren’t good for flying, ladies.” Nesta didn’t reply.

He lifted a brow. “No barking and biting today?” But Nesta didn’t rise to meet him, her face still drained and sallow. “I’ve never worn pants,” was all she said. I could have sworn concern flashed across Cassian’s features. But he brushed it aside and drawled, “I have no doubt you’d start a riot if you did.”

No reaction. Had the Cauldron— Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”

The beautiful thing I love about Cassian is that he loves her wholly and without concern of her abilities, her walls.

“Would you be frightened of her, if Nesta was—Death? Or if her power came from it?” Cassian was quiet for a long moment.

He said at last, “I’m a warrior. I’ve walked beside Death my entire life. I would be more afraid for her, to have that power. But not afraid of her.” He considered, and added after a heartbeat, “Nothing about Nesta could frighten me.”

I swallowed, and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

These idiots are both as stubborn and silly as each other, “oh you didn’t say anythign to me!” “well neither did you” honestly, these donuts will be the death of me but I love them anyways.

“And you didn’t say one gods-damned word to me the entire night.

Not that he’d said a word to her. She’d made it clear enough in those initial days after that last battle that she wanted nothing to do with him. With any of them.

He understood. He really did. It had taken him months—years—after his first battles to readjust. To cope. Hell, he was still reeling from what had happened in that final battle with Hybern, too.”

But again he acknowledges her pain, her inability to cope and return to normal after her trauma. Which I dive in to a lot more in my Nesta post, but in short my frustration lies with him saying he understands but then in moments she is suffering he seems to forget occasionally and snap.

Funny/Little moments

“I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.”

“What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He stalked past me to the ring. “Is it Nesta?” “Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

“Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”

“Neither of us missed Cassian’s barked, filthy curse, though we didn’t deign to comment. Cassian was a general—the general of the Night Court. Surely Nesta wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.”

“Ready for some flying, Nes?” “Don’t call me that.” The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.”

“Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink. Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

“Cassian took a step away, but looked back at Nesta. Her face was hard as granite. He opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say.”

“He knew about the drinking, about the males. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t want to know who the bastard was who had taken her maidenhead. Told himself he didn’t want to know if the males meant anything—if he meant anything.”

Ownership

“His eyes widened, but the scent of his fear remained—not at her, but at who he’d heard at the front door. As he remembered who she was, both in the court, and to Cassian. She chucked his white shirt to him. “You can use the front door now.”

I think this is a big rub for Nesta, this feeling of ownership. I truly belive she knows and has felt the bond for a little while, for sure after ACOWAR. As we saw with her reaction to Lucien “claiming” Elain as his mate she is not here for this sense of entitlement fae males have.

It doesn’t further help when those around her and in Velaris all treat her as if she is his now. And she is most certainly not.

“Starting with the first male she’d taken here, who had no idea that her maidenhead was intact until he’d spied the speckled blood on the sheets. His face had gone white with terror—pure, ghastly white. Not for fear of Feyre and Rhysand’s wrath. But the wrath of that insufferable Illyrian brute.”

Is this Cassian’s fault? NO. But it probably will not help the situation for her.

“Yet as far as anyone was now concerned, the events of that last battle had bound them. Her and Cassian.”

Promises & Mistakes

“Cassian shook his dark hair out of his eyes, slightly longer than the last time I’d seen it. “I don’t think Nesta will ever forgive me for what happened in Hybern. To her—but mostly to Elain.”

“Your wings were shredded. You were barely alive.”

For that was guilt—ravaging and poisonous—in each of Cassian’s words. What the others had been fighting against in the loft. “You were in no position to save anyone.”“I made her a promise.” The wind ruffled Cassian’s hair as he squinted at the sky. “And when it mattered, I didn’t keep it.”

It is so sad that he feels that way when it clearly was far beyond his control, but I am glad that Nesta doesn’t really hold it against him and when it comes to it later on she trusts him yet again to protect her.

“It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.”

“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled. Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”

noooow for the scene we probably all equally cringe over...

“Stop following me. Stop trying to haul me into your happy little circle. Stop doing all of it.”

He knew a wounded animal when he saw one. Knew the teeth they could bare, the viciousness they displayed. But it couldn’t keep him from saying, “Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do. If you can’t be bothered to try for my happy little circle’s sake, then at least try for them.”

A void seemed to enter those eyes. An endless, depthless void.

Other than simply being hurt and frustrated I cannot for the life of me understand why he would say that of all things, it is such a hurtful but also random thing to say especially since he seemed to find plenty to like about her prior.

But again they are both akin to make mistakes, saying things they shouldn’t, Nesta certainly cannot complain as she can be very bad for it.

ICONIC.

“Nesta surged to her feet, staggering across the clearing, blood at her mouth from where he’d hit her, and threw herself to her knees before Cassian. “Get up,” she sobbed, hauling at his shoulder. “Get up.” He tried—and failed. “You’re too heavy,” she pleaded, but still tried to raise him, fingers scrabbling in his black, bloodied armor. “I can’t—he’s coming—” “Go,” Cassian groaned. Cassian grunted in pain, but lifted his bloodied hands—to cup her face. “I have no regrets in my life, but this.” His voice shook with every word. “That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” She didn’t stop him as he leaned up and kissed her—lightly. As much as he could[…]”

“And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian. And covered Cassian’s body with her own. Cassian went still—then his hand slid over her back. Together. They’d go together.”

“Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

Then, Mother above, Nesta shifted her attention to Cassian, noticing that gleam—what it meant. She snarled softly, “What are you looking at?”

Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall.” My face began heating, and I opened my mouth. To say what, I didn’t know. “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.”

Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely. Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.”

Nesta

“Nesta is different from most people,” I explained. “She comes across as rigid and vicious, but I think it’s a wall. A shield—like the ones Rhys has in his mind.”

“Against what?”

“Feeling. I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

And I think that is what makes one of the last things we hear from her in ACOFAS where she admits she isn’t feeling anything at all, a stark contrast from before the war. She is traumatised. Unfeeling,

“Until she drew her knees to her chest and stared into the dimness. Still the silence raged and echoed around her. Still she felt nothing.”

"Nesta struggles a lot with her mental health, with facing her past, with healing herself and learning to love herself and open herself up to other people." -Sarah J Maas

As for the next book I think it will be about both of them learning to heal, to grow, and face all the unspoken things between them. I personally cannot wait for both of them to do so, I love them both equally.

They are both flawed and complicated characters but that is precisely what I love about them.

As usual I say, I am always open to discussions and opinions, I love to chat but lets keep it calm and respectful. Everyones opinion is valid ♥️

#nessian #nesta archeron #ACOTAR #ACOTAR 4 #Cassian #Nesta x Cassian #A court of thorns and roses #mine #nessian meta #cassian x nesta #Anonymous

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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (2/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: This chapter, from Tamlin's perspective, required a lot of careful thinking and revising and research on my part, specifically on whether abusers can ever recover and what that looks like. Personally, both in real life and in the ACOTAR world, I do believe that recovery is possible, but that abusers must admit the harm they have caused, reckon with themselves to create new patterns of thinking and behavior, and make amends if possible. This has shaped the way I've written Tamlin here and in future chapters. I do think that in the ACOTAR novels and fandom, Tamlin gets criticized for his behavior in a way that other characters with similarly abusive patterns of behavior (Rhys, Nesta, Eris) do not. I also think that redemption is possible for him. All that said, if you don't agree, or if you find Tamlin triggering, I completely understand. You can find all chapters here.

There are footsteps in the darkness, and Tamlin follows them, the breeze disappearing from his skin as he’s surrounded, pulled from the scent of flowers by walls of stone. It is impossible to gnash his teeth in this form so he growls instead, the sound amplified and echoing in the hollow chambers of his estate. Once, they were full of his courtiers and servants, studded with visiting nobles who sought his favor or his counsel.

Now, only Rhysand waits for him, at home in the darkest corner of the great hall.

“What do you want?” Tamlin asks, his voice clotted, scraping his throat.

“I’d like to send Elain Archeron to your court as my emissary.”

“Running short of spies, Rhysand?”

“If I wanted to spy on you, would I be here asking your permission?” He drawls the words but Tamlin has been listening in the forests, his hearing even sharper in this form, and he can hear the slightly anxious pitch in the man’s voice. And it’s curious that he would send someone, let alone his mate’s sister, as if he hadn’t ordered Lucien to make regular visits to Spring. “I’d like to be assured that she’ll be safe.”

“My lands are none of your concern but the dangerous creatures have all been put in their places.” He feels a fraction of his old self when he’s hunting, the mission clear and certain. He loves the feeling of his body obeying his commands, the only being in Prythian in whom he can put his trust.

“I need your word that she will be safe here.”

“You think I’ll lock her up in a ruined castle and throw away the key?”

Rhysand, damn him, simply takes a look around, the gloom deep enough to make his tan face pale as milk.

“Does Lucien stay here when he visits you?”

As if he doesn’t know that Lucien winnows himself to that castle in the human lands when their meetings and councils are over, preferring to spend his time with that Band of Exiles than stay a night in his ruined bedroom, or search the estate for another room that managed to escape its High Lord’s wrath.

Sometimes, he looks back at the being he was during the war with Hybern and feels no spark of recognition. Sometimes he has to coax himself to admit that it was he himself at those moments, starting a war over a woman he knew, even then, did not love him. And sometimes he does not force himself to recognize the truth of his own actions because the realization is always an explosion inside of him, blinding and horrifying, destroying another part of him every time he realizes what he became. What he is, still. It’s partly for this reason that he avoids the face he wore in those days.

“When would you like the Archeron sister to come to my court?” As if he doesn’t know who Elain is.

“She would like to arrive as soon as possible. I believe she stayed up last night packing her trunks.”

“So eager to get away from you?” The pleasure he feels at saying the words catches in the throat of the beast, unused to speaking like a lord, smooth words concealing the whirling of his mind.

“All the members of my court are free to go where they wish.”

Rhysand must really want this outcome, to tread so lightly. Usually his response would have been along the lines of Fuck you, you imprisoned my mate, and now Tamlin watches as he coaxes his mouth into a line resembling a smile’s curve and, as he so often does, picks a nonexistent piece of lint off his tunic.

“What do you require for her?”

“Nothing too impossible, I think. A bed, a bathing-room, a door that locks. A guarantee that she’ll be fed at regular intervals. I did mention that Lucien and Queen Vassa would be joining Elain, didn’t I? So it will be three of everything.”

“Such confidence in their desire to reside here.”

Rhysand’s lip curls. “If you think this is impossible--”

He should decline, insist again that these lands are him, but compulsion pulls at him, a heady thrum.

“It will take at least a month to make this estate adequate to your needs.”

“Elain would like to be here sooner.”

“There is a cottage in the village.”

“If I assist?”

Tamlin lets the growl build in his throat. He’s not sure which is worse: Rhysand knowing the exact layout of his home, or having Rhysand’s people build it because Tamlin himself isn’t sure who would dedicate this kind of service to him, now that they’ve seen the rot at his core. At least they still fear him enough to leave his jewels untouched, or else are unable to breach the surrounding wards.

“Am I to believe that you would send your precious artisans to build the home of your enemy?”

“I’ve given you reason enough to believe anything of me,” Rhysand says, and the words are transparent, infuriatingly so: a person could see that he was truly good if only they were in the mood to look. That Tamlin had allowed himself to believe otherwise for centuries gnaws at him, even as he wants to believe that this decent version of the male is just another mirror, a trick of the light.

“If we begin with the kitchens and three bedrooms, a week will be enough.” He shifts from paw to paw. “Ask Elain what she would like to look at, what colors she prefers.”

“Elain likes the colors of flowers. Soft and delicate furnishings.”

“And she cannot speak for herself?” The words come out harsh, grating, nothing like the tone he’d envisioned in his head, which would, all on its own, indicate the irony of Rhysand taking an Archeron sister for granted, presuming her words. He would say, if there was anybody who cared enough to ask, that after so much time in this form, he has lost the art of modulating his tone.

“I’ll ask her,” Rhysand says, soft and dangerous, “my precious artisans and builders will arrive tomorrow at first light, then. Should I advise them to look for you in this form?”

“I’ll look as civilized as you.” He manages to match Rhysand’s tone. The control required is exquisite. “Though I’m sure you’ll be around to make sure they survive the morning.”

“Prove me wrong, then, Tamlin.”

Of course, Rhysand disappears before Tamlin can lunge for him, his claws snapping on nothing but laden air. The marble floor, dull with inattention, pounds his paws and then his joints as he, the beast outside and inside, hits the floor. The foundation of the estate rumbles in complaint.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

There are no mirrors to allow Tamlin to observe the face of his Fae form, but his arms and legs are only skin and muscle. If he were slaughtered and prepared as a meal, the diners would complain about the gristle of him, the sharpness of the knife required to make the meal palatable.

He finds a clean shirt and pants and boots which are not spangled with embroidery or jewels, and though the fabric gives off a musty scent, he doubts that Rhysand, his artisans, or his builders will get close enough to judge the stink. Tamlin knows the way that gossip travels across the seven courts, imagines there are stories about his haunting of the Spring Court forests, that they’ll only be surprised he doesn’t appear with fur and claws or else covered in dirt. With this in mind, he scrubs his face and body with water and the last gritty bits of soap until the skin squeaks clean under his fingertips.

After centuries of seeing his own reflection, Tamlin knows how he might look, but no matter what he envisions, the result is disappointing. Any beauty undone by the rot inside, which tears inside of him, an animal gnashing its teeth. The reason he prefers to be transformed, the creature outside matching the way he feels inside. He knows that he deserves this punishment, does not stop imagining Feyre’s wasted body, the sound of her retching, Amarantha destroying that weak and beautiful human frame while he was so careful to be still and silent. He deserves this feeling for Hybern, for calling Feyre a whore, for her sisters in the Cauldron and all the hurt he caused. The list is endless and he recounts each item on it, filling up the hours when his forests are silent, when all the monsters within are too afraid of him to stir.

Despite all his years as a warrior, he never thought that he was such a terror. For a time he tried to blame Feyre for this unleashing, then Rhysand, but too soon there was only the stark reality that he himself was the only one to blame. How he’d never noticed the horrible thing inside his chest is beyond him, a question that will tear him up for all the centuries remaining to him.

Still, in spite of the punishment he is owed, Tamlin is tired of lurking in shadowy corners, in the parts of his forests that made even Amarantha’s creatures hesitant. He does not know what will happen when he is not alone, but finds himself thinking that even the harshest punishment would be better than this life.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The builders arrive, the artisans and gardeners and even an architect, all peering over Rhysand’s wings to get a glimpse of Tamlin. He can see disappointment in her eyes, that he is all High Fae, and for a moment he wants to tell them how strange it felt, to spend the night so naked and unarmed. Then he thinks the sight of his estates will generate pity enough.

Then, beside Rhysand, the Morrigan appears, holding the hand of Elain Archeron, who does not break his gaze, not even when he feels the length of the stare, the blaze of his own eyes.

“Elain wanted to assist in the gardens,” Rhysand says, by way of introduction. “She has quite the talent for arranging flowers.”

“I see you will put anybody in your court to work for you,” he snaps back, just to watch the Morrigan lurch toward him, her beauty gilded with her fury. Rhysand’s court will bark at any slight towards their High Lord.

“I have heard about the famed beauty of the gardens of the Spring Court and I wanted to see them for myself.” Elain Archeron has dipped into a curtsy, the pearls at her ears gleaming in the first rosy fingers of dawn, her gown the colors of sunrise, rosy pink and coral and orange delicately interwoven. When she looks back up at him, her face is all serene, except her eyes, which stay fixed on Tamlin, assessing his expression as if a face could be a trove of knowledge. All he’s ever heard about this sister is her beauty, her kindness, her sweet softness, as though she were a statue made of sugar, but now she regards him like a goddess, piercing and certain amidst the glow of herself.

“Spoken like my emissary.” Rhysand nods at her and she aims a thin-lipped smile at him. “Elain will walk your gardens and propose a design for them. I think you’ll find her taste to be exquisite. And Laella has come with her proposal for renovations to your estate.”

The architect steps forward, scrolls in her hands, which she unfurls and explains to Tamlin without so much as a greeting. While she speaks, he realizes two things: that she is a dryad, and that her plans for the estate are lovely. She will polish the marble, working with the existing design, but add windows and open-air spaces so that those in residence can enjoy the breezes and the sunlight without having to step outside. Tamlin has never been to the palaces of the Night Court, but he cannot imagine that this design is a copy, and as the architect’s fingers scratch over her parchment, he finds himself nodding along. Laella has erased the border between indoors and outdoors. In such a house, he would not feel so surrounded by stone, so deprived of air. He could even imagine wanting to stay, always.

And if, in the end, he cannot bear to stay inside, it will give him a certain satisfaction to watch Rhysand’s reaction to the ruin.

“The complete renovation will take at least a month, but I will have a better estimate once I inspect your home and have your approval for changes.” The dryad’s voice rasps and moans, wind in the branches and the strain of the tree trunk beneath. Tamlin can feel Rhysand’s eyes on him, waiting for a slight, a show of prejudice against this faerie, not a High Fae, and while he aims a smirk at the other male, he nods over the plans.

“You are aware that I’m a beast?” He points, at random, to a large room made brighter and more spacious in the plans.

“Our High Lord has told us stories,” Laella tells him, a wisp of deep green hair escaping from its arrangement, her gray skin flushing in spite of her professional composure when she sees the talons that appear on the backs of his hands, summoned without a thought. “He also said you saved his life.”

“I imprisoned his mate in this place,” he counters, his voice rising, the artisans and builders and architects no longer straining to hear. Rhysand and the Morrigan have taken subtle steps to block Elain Archeron from view. “I had her sisters kidnapped by the king of Hybern. Ransomed my lands for an obsession with a female who rightly wanted nothing to do with me.” He can hear the ragged edge in his voice, the growl, and fears that in a moment he may turn animal again, that he has been cursed with an unwilling transformation without his knowing, an inversion of his powers.

“A truly evil person never believes they have done wrong,” Elain Archeron says, from behind Rhysand’s wings. Her voice is soft but pitched to carry. “From what I’m told, these lands are filled with beings who do evil deeds with no remorse for the suffering they leave behind.”

Rhysand has turned towards her, staring as if he’s never heard Elain say so many words. Everyone is staring at her. Tamlin feels the weight of their eyes fall off his shoulders, heaves a breath.

“Anyway,” she continues, more hesitantly, as if she’s aware that everyone is watching her, “I have to believe that the path to becoming evil is hard to distinguish. That we could get there with the best intentions.”

She flushes and goes silent, and he notices that she said we instead of you, and he thinks that maybe Rhysand’s sister-in-laws are not as moon-eyed over him as the rest of his court. The Morrigan squeezes her hand, and for a second Tamlin almost smiles; seeing the Morrigan out of battle and her armor will never stop amusing him, like seeing a jungle cat begin to sing.

“Are the plans to your liking, Tamlin?” Rhysand asks once it is clear that Elain will not say anything else. “I will pay for the renovations in exchange for one favor.”

“I have enough gold in my stores to compensate your people fairly.” He learned in the cradle, never to accept a favor as payment, especially without detailing very particular terms.

“You don’t know what I’ve promised them in payment.”

Tamlin growls and nods his head toward Laella.

“I offer double what your High Lord promised,” he snarls. “So long as you finish within the month.”

Those smiles are the first he’s received in years. No matter that he had to purchase them. The gold was sitting in his vaults, unused.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, Tamlin stalks the grounds of the estate. The builders have already begun basic repairs under Laella’s guidance, the artisans scouring each room for pieces which might fit the dryad’s vision. Noise echoes throughout the halls, a mirror effect that leaves him dizzy. He has spent too many days in the forest.

“Have you come to see my plans?” Elain Archeron asks, appearing at his elbow, breathing hard.

“You followed me.” He growls, wanting to scare her off. No good can ever come of an Archeron on his trail. He’ll tell this to himself until it feels true.

“Your gardens are too beautiful to be so overgrown.” Again, no malice and no flattery, only gentle confidence. “I’ve been making all kinds of plans”

“You want to change everything.”

“You have an opportunity to have the greatest gardens in all of Prythian, maybe all of this world, and you are letting them go in favor of thorns and rot. As a gardener, I’m honestly offended.”

Tamlin stops mid-stride and watches her, assessing the truth of the statement. Her hands settle on her hips, the parchment of her plans bunching under her fingers. One colored pencil, pink, is tucked behind her ear, and three more are tucked into the bodice of her gown, thinnest fingers of blue and green and gold reaching for her clavicle.

“Your sisters must have warned you about me.”

“Oh, I don’t think Nesta’s ever been afraid of you,” she says, a smile forming on her lips.

“I don’t mean Nesta.”

He can feel the strain in her as she keeps her eyes on his, her breath hissing past her teeth.

“I will not talk about Feyre with you. If she ever wants to see you again, she knows how to find your doorstep.”

“Then why is Rhysand sending you here?”

“Night Court business.” She’s trying to say the words smoothly, but she blushes, the tip of her nose going pink.

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t owe you every single morsel of the truth.”

“You’re on my lands,” he says, only realizing the menace in his tone when she takes one step away from him and then another. “Why are you here?”

“My sisters have often told me that I need to see the gardens of the Spring Court.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, catching a snarl so roughly that he has to hold back a wince. “That is a trip for an afternoon. Your High Lord sends you as his emissary and his gardener.”

“He -- I volunteered.”

“Tell me, Elain Archeron, are you Rhysand’s spy as well?”

“I would be a horrible spy if I told you that, High Lord. At any rate, do you think I have the skills for such a mission?”

“I hear you came out of the Cauldron with gifts, but their dimensions are vague in every recounting.”

She goes pale, as if she remembers who she’s speaking with, the calculus that made her Fae and took, he’s heard, a life story she deemed precious.

“You forgot for a moment that I ruined your life,” he says. He does not want to draw out the awkwardness. Let her walk away, let her leave, if she’s so inclined.

“Did you know that Hybern would capture us?”

“I believed the king. I thought that Feyre would be rescued, the enchantment broken, that we would live happily in my court for a thousand years.”

Elain snorts.

“You’re an idiot,” she says.

Tamlin just stares at her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some fearsome warrior?” she continues, crossing her arms at her chest, “Even someone with no idea of strategy could tell you that Hybern would have never honored your promises. Even a human could have told you that.”

“You have never been in love then. You’d believe anything. Give anything. Do anything, just to have your beloved in your arms again.” His chest is tight and yet his skin feels too big for his body. He wants to hug himself but wills his fingers into fists, feeling the strain of the claws against the muscles of his hands.

“You nearly destroyed my sister.”

“You need to--”

“What I want to know,” she says, as if she doesn’t hear him at all, has no regard for rank or even danger, “is if a part of you did it on purpose. If you saw her suffering and wanted it to continue.”

He holds her gaze, the warm brown like whiskey, strong and sparkling.

“You do not believe what you said earlier, then.”

“I want to know if it could be true.”

“Is that what brings you to the Spring Court?”

She sighs, then uncrosses her arms.

“First,” she says, unfurling the parchment between them, “I’d like you to tell me what you think about my ideas for your gardens.”

He decides to look where she’s pointing instead of breathing another threat. She speaks of hyacinths and peonies and ferns, the lilac and forsythia bushes, and cherry trees and weeping willows that will line the paths, under which she proposes he install benches for lingering.

“Who do you think will be staying in these gardens so long?” he asks, the words more melancholy than he intends. He hates the way this male sounds, all longing and self-pity and no action at all, but he can’t keep the noise from escaping him.

She rustles the parchment, making it thunder. “There aren’t any other residents of Spring Court?”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“Why don’t you try to keep them?”

“You think I could have done something different?” He’s daring her to make a list of her suggestions. Cauldron boil him, his own list is endless and ever-growing.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she says, sighing as if there is more to say but she is too weary to muster the words, and he cannot believe that Elain Archeron, with her soft voice and her poise, all the glow of her, would be ignored, but Tamlin keeps quiet, allowing her to speak. “Anyway, I haven’t shown you my favorite part of my plan. I want you to install a field of tulips where the grounds meet the forest.” She sweeps her hand in that direction. “Mor has promised to find bulbs on the continent. I grew up hearing stories of tulip fields that went for miles.”

“You don’t think it sends a message of weakness to our enemies, to greet them with flowers?” It’s the second time within the moment when he’s asked for her opinion instead of stating his own.

Her nod is decisive, no sweetness in the gesture.

“Your enemies will know that the true terror is inside. Only the weak require a strong wall to hide behind.” He wonders if she’s thinking of her human lord, the one who left her. Tamlin has wandered as a beast for months, but the gossip of Prythian still finds him. Lucien has an ear at every door, and Rhysand’s monthly meetings are full of updates on political dealings that make Tamlin’s head ache.

“I’ll allow the tulips,” he says. “After all, you’ll be living here for a while, according to your High Lord. If my enemies are encouraged, you’ll see the result yourself.”

She nods, absently, no longer looking at his face but off into some middle distance. Probably considering a different arrangement of flowers, Tamlin thinks, deciding not to wait until she trains his eyes on him again. Instead he lets his feet carry him into the forest without only the smallest nod of goodbye.

He travels miles before he can rid himself of the image of her in his hall, rosy with the dawn light and fragrant as the gardens she dreams up. It is dangerous to think of an Archeron sister more than fleetingly, though, and so gradually Tamlin fills his mind up with the sights of the forest, the dappled light and the creatures that dart away when they hear him coming.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #elain is my queen #elain x tamlin #tamlin #tamlin redemption arc #tamlin x elain #lucien vanserra #queen vassa #vucien #vucien is goals #inner circle #nessian #feysand #post acosf #acosf spoilers #gwynriel

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msjr0119 · 4 years

Text

One Shot

Come Home

Congratulations to @ravenpuff02 - 💯 followers, YOU GO GIRL! 🙌🏼

I decided to do one of the prompts that you asked for- we both had the same idea about who would be suitable for this prompt 🤣

Book: The Royal Romance - based around the beginning of the second book.

Characters: Drake Walker, Riley Brooks, Maxwell Beaumont, Bertrand Beaumont (mentioned), Liam Rhys (mentioned) - *All characters belong to Pixelberry*

HIMYM Prompt: “Hey baby, it’s me. Can you bail me out of jail? I thought I saw big foot in Central Park so I tackled him. But it turned out to be Russell Brand.”

Word Count: 2100ish

Warnings: fluff, slight smut, swearing, bit of comedy, drama nope sorry not this time 🤣

Tags: @pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @yukinagato2012 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @queenjilian @texaskitten30 @kimmiedoo5 @axwalker @lodberg @rafasgirl23415 @cordonianroyalty @burnsoslow @desireepow-1986 @rainbowsinthestorm @hopefulmoonobject @cmestrella @nikkis1983 @ladyangel70

*****

Drake arrived in New York City, debating whether or not he would prefer to be here or on the engagement tour. Not knowing how she would react to his unexpected visit. That was if he could locate her. Not knowing if he would succeed in bringing her back to Cordonia. After all the Beaumont’s failed, when she was abruptly dragged out of the palace at the Coronation Ball. Thinking back to Maxwell’s words before he left for the airport- he felt like a failure. Not supporting his best friend during the most possible worse time of his life. Being engaged to Madeleine Amaranth- Countess of Fydelia. Or the worlds most; cruel, manipulative, snarky bitch within court- as Drake and others would describe her. To put her in a positive view, she was ambitious- which was an advantage for a future Queen. But Liam, hell anyone would deserve a chance at love rather than be forced to be with her.

“Hey dude. I’ve been thinking. You know because you’re like a nobody.. no one will notice that you’re not on tour. Why don’t you go to New York and try and get little blossom to return.” Fucking nobody, cheers for reminding me Beaumont!

“Liam needs me more now than ever. Brooks chose to not return. If her sponsors couldn’t persuade her to stay, I’ve got no chance.”

“We all need little blossom here. This is where she belongs. What ya say? I’ll tell Liam where you are, he will be forever grateful.” Providing Drake with puppy eyes, he couldn’t be bothered with Maxwell pestering him. Taking the risk, he packed a bag and headed to the airport. What’s the worse that could happen? He thought to himself.

Being back in the Big Apple brought back memories of Liam’s ‘bachelor’ party- the night that they had met her. Riley Brooks. The girl who had stolen everybody’s heart in an instant. Drake, as well as everybody else assumed that she would have been chosen as Liam’s choice at the end of his social season. As much as it hurt Drake to believe this, he was happy for the two of them. However things never go to plan.

“I choose, Lady Madeleine.”

The Beaumont’s tried their best at the airport to convince her that everything would be fine. As much as it could be. That she had the support of everyone including, Liam. Even if it didn’t seem that way. When they arrived back to the palace without her, Liam’s and Drake’s hearts sunk. Both feeling that they had failed her.

****

After hours of sightseeing, Drake decided that now was the time to get his arse into gear- somehow, some way- he needed to find, Brooks. Avoiding ringing or texting her due to her safety, he decided to go back to where it all began. The Dive Bar. Neither Riley nor Daniel that was there that night was working. He was at lost cause. Having a few drinks, there was a slight bit of hope that Riley would be on the later shift. But she wasn’t. Deciding to return to the hotel via a stroll through Central Park, he considered if it would be a better idea to look for her the following day. If the worse came to the worse, he would go to a shop and buy a SIM card- hoping that she wasn’t one of those people who would ignore unknown numbers.

Sitting on a bench, he did what he did best in Cordonia- people watching. There was a few joggers, a few people just having a walk, young teenagers meeting up with their friends.

“What the fuck is that?” He murmured to himself, wondering if his drinks at the dive bar had been spiked. He could drink whiskey as if it was water. Hearing two young women scream as the figure approached them, Drake’s superman ability kicked in. Running over, he noticed that the figure that had startled the women, was bare footed and extremely hairy. Almost impersonating big foot. Hearing a grunt, Drake tackled it to the floor. Not knowing why.

“What the fuck, man?” Drake looked at the man, soon realisation hit him. It wasn’t ‘big foot’ as his crazy imagination believed.

“I’m so sorry....” seeing the man look at him with anger in his eyes, Drake panicked- thinking about how to calm the situation down.

“Cause baby you're a firework...Come on show 'em what your worth...Make 'em go Oh, oh, oh!...As you shoot across the sky-y-y..... I love your wife’s songs.”

“Mate, she’s my ex wife... the bobbies are here. Thank god.” Bobbies? What is he on about? Turning around he muttered to himself. Fuck.

****

“Okay Walker, you have one call. Make it worth your while.” Drake shook his head, it was a mistake. The NYPD was treating him like a piece of shit stuck on the end of their shoe, as if he was a common criminal. Blaming the jet lag for his inconsiderate actions, he had hoped that there was no press following him around from Cordonia. This is all Liam needs, I can just see the headlines now. “King Liam’s best friend, the commoner Drake Walker has been arrested for attacking the British actor and comedian Russell Brand, in New York City.” Dialling the number, he was praying that she was available to answer. If not he was unsure as to who to ring.

“Hello?” Hearing her voice, he was relieved that she had answered.

“Hey baby, it’s me. Can you bail me out of jail? I thought I saw big foot in Central Park so I tackled him. But it turned out to be Russell Brand. Before you say it, no I wasn’t drunk. Well, I had a few drinks. But we all fuck up at times.”

“Drake?” Pausing, she was unsure as to why she questioned who it was. She would recognise his voice anywhere.

“Yup. Are you gonna help me or what Brooks?”

“What are you doing here? Is this some practical joke?”

“I wish it was... listen... I’m tired as fuck. This is something that Maxwell would probably get himself in to. Please, Brooks. Bail me out, somehow.”

“Fine, but you and I need to talk. If and when they let you out.” Hanging up, he had faith in her. Or so he hoped.

****

The officers allowed Drake to come out of the cell the day after. They explained that the charges had been dropped unexpectedly- if he was to do anything like this again, they wouldn’t be so easy on him. Lucky. That was the word they described him as- especially as he did what he did to a celebrity.

“Hey, marshmallow.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Hugging her, he was grateful to be out- even if she took her time getting him out.

“Why did you call me baby?” Randomly asking this, he had forgotten calling her that.

“I... Erm... I wasn’t thinking. But now that you’re here... pack your bags. I’m taking you back to Cordonia. Liam needs you.”

“Liam needs me? Is he the only one that needs me?”

“You know how I feel about you, Brooks. But Liam deserves you. Cordonia deserves you.”

“But I don’t need or deserve them....”

“Listen, the scandal... we are all figuring it out. We are all clearing your name.. then you can be Queen. The rightful Queen.”

“I don’t care about being Queen! I love Liam. I do. But....”

“But what? No buts. Stop being so stubborn and pack your bags- come home. To your real home.”

“My home is where you are...”

“Well then, Cordonia it is... stop stalling. The longer we take the further in to the engagement tour it will be.”

“Will you just shut up?” Drake was taken aback by her tone of voice.

“Please, just shut up Drake. Jesus, what happened to the man who would throw out a few sarcastic comments then remain silent? During my time in Cordonia, I fell in love instantly. I was going to return, I just needed time to think - away from everyone...”

“Okay, well why didn’t Bertrand and Maxwell explain that then?”

“Because I pleaded with them not to. It’s going to be hard going back... not just because of the scandal. But because of this whole situation... I love you.”

“You... love me?” After their kiss in the Beaumont study and at the Coronation Ball, he just assumed that there were slight feelings from her end. He never expected for someone like her to love someone like him.

“Yes. I love you, my grumpy marshmallow.” Liam’s going to kill me. Kill us. Why can’t I be happy for once? No. I can’t betray Liam.

“I... Brooks... I love you too, Riley.” Desperate to kiss her, he held off from doing this straight away. Instead he pulled her towards his chest. Holding her tightly, he believed that his heart was skipping beats- finally he had a girl return his feelings. Kissing her on the forehead, he inhaled the sweet scent surrounding her. His inner thoughts were battling against each other- wondering what future they could have together. Would Liam actually hate them for falling for each other? Even though they had said those three words, deep down he still needed confirmation from Riley about what she wanted. How they were going to break their friends heart. Would they return to Cordonia? Or would they make a new life for themselves in the states?

“So what now? I don’t know what to do, Brooks. Liam’s going to kill me... Maxwell said he would explain where I was and what I was doing.”

Riley laughed, knowing full well that Maxwell wouldn’t have informed Liam of the truth. The full truth anyway.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Maxwell has told Liam that you are in Texas, with your Mom. It’s a good job that you rung me rather than Liam... At the airport before I boarded the flight, they came up with an arrangement, for me to come back once they had found Tariq.” Opening her mouth she was about to elaborate on the arrangement, however they soon had company.

“I give you one task to do. Bring little blossom back. Not get arrested! And they call me the dopey one.” Hearing his friends voice, he immediately parted ways with Riley leaving a short gap in between the two of them.

“Max. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on the engagement tour?” Hence why you insisted that I came!

“Lord Maxwell Percival Beaumont is here in the flesh.” Dramatically bowing, Drake wondered if he was on drugs. “You can thank me for bailing you out. They are still at Fydelia. I won’t be missed. Have you both kissed and made up yet?”

“You know?” Drake questioned, wondering how many other people knew. Feeling like the shittest friend to Liam - in a way he regretted falling hard for Riley.

“I’m not stupid, Drake. You never smile. Ever since this one entered our lives you couldn’t stop smiling even if you tried to hide it by being a jerk towards her. I was just waiting for the two of you to confess it...Little blossom confessed her true feelings at the airport...” Riley blushed, her baby blues sparkled as she looked at him adoringly. Pulling her into his embrace, he knew that Maxwell would advert his eyes or maybe not. The Lord was a sucker for a love story. Drake’s hands drifted towards her hips, as they settled he pulled her closer to him. Leaning down, he kissed her softly to begin with. Before they knew it, their lips were in perfect sync and the kiss became more passionate.

“Aww you two... put each other down.” Breaking the kiss they both witnessed Maxwell wearing a goofy smile before pouting his lips towards them. Drake rest his forehead against hers as he cupped her cheeks. Both gazing into each other’s eyes, they were hypnotised- both hearts fluttering inside of their chests.

“Guys, sorry to break up the romance... but we need to figure out how we are going to tell Liam.”

Fuck.

#choices trr #trr fanfic #one shot #long post #drake walker #riley brooks #maxwell beaumont #drake x riley #tw swearing #fluff #tw slight smut

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creampuffqueen · 5 years

Text

Worlds of Fire and Darkness | Chapter Two

I have many chapters of this story already written out, as well as posted on AO3! Read this story (here)

Rowan and Aelin, as well as Feyre and her sisters, deal with raising Fae toddlers

------

"Lyria, get back here!" Aelin's shriek was likely audible throughout the entire palace, and Rowan looked up from his desk in his office to see his three-year old daughter, Lyria Nehemia Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, race past the glass doors that separated his office from the rest of the palace. The little girl was only in a diaper and she ran as if the winds themselves were pushing at her heels. Which, he realized a moment later, was accurate. A gust blew strong enough that he felt it through the doors.

A moment later his mate dashed past, her golden hair unbound, a shirt and pants clutched in her hands as she chased her wayward daughter. "Lyria!" She called, and Rowan stifled a chuckle. He glanced behind him, to the little boy who played quietly next to the couch in his office.

Sam Gavriel Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius looked like him, with silver hair, but with his mother's blue-and-gold eyes. He was two years old, but despite the closeness of his age to his sister's, he was nearly her complete opposite. He was the quiet to Lyria's loud, the wind to her fire, the music to her noise. At night he loved to listen to his mother read, while Lyria was often bouncing off the walls and begging to stay up later. And now, Sam was fine to play quietly by himself with his toys while his older sister caused a scene.

Despite his children's differences, Rowan adored them both. He hadn't ever thought parenthood would suit him, but so far he seemed to be doing a decent job. He hadn't messed anything up yet, and he hoped he never did.

"Daddy, look." Rowan turned to his son, whose voice sounded more like a whisper. The boy's face was scrunched in concentration, and after a moment of silence, a flicker of flame fluttered to life in his palm. The fire reflected the gold core of his irises, as well as the joy in his eyes. Sam's powers had been progressing slower than Lyria's. His daughter had both flames and wind at her beck and call, though her control over both was shoddy at best. Sam's powers seemed more inclined toward ice and snow, but an occasional flame made an appearance, as it did now.

"Good job." Rowan praised. "You're getting to be so good at that, Sam." His son's face lit up at the compliment. The flame guttered out, and Sam went back to his toys. Rowan turned back to the paperwork he was fussing over, but was interrupted when Aelin burst through the doors a moment later, a squirming Fae child in her arms.

"C'mon, you. You have to wear clothes and you know it." Rowan looked up at his wife and daughter, the later of whom was squirming desperately and trying to escape her mother's clutches.

"Lyria, it's not proper for a princess to run around without clothes. We have guests tonight, and you want to show them how grown-up you are, right?" Lyria considered her father's words for a moment before nodding.

"Then you will wear clothes. Your brother has on clothes, and you want to be grown-up just like him, don't you?" Lyria stilled, and then sighed and nodded again. Aelin gave her husband a nod of thanks before yanking clothes onto their daughter.

"The hair could use some work." Aelin said with a sigh. "But everyone will be here in a few minutes and we won't have time for anything fancy." Rowan nodded, then pulled his wife into his lap.

"It'll be fine. Nobody is going to judge you because your daughter's hair is a little messy."

"Yes, but people might judge her . She's the crown princess, after all."

"I'm choosing to believe that the people of Erilea are not going to judge a three-year-old princess for messy hair. I'd like to think they're better than that."

"You're right, I suppose." Aelin admitted. She picked Lyria up, then let Sam crawl into her own lap. Rowan breathed in softly, letting the scent of his mate and children settle over him. In all of his years, he had never imagined his life would end up like this. But here he was, with the people he loved more than life itself, in a safe world, about to have dinner with their friends.

A better world, Aelin had promised everyone all those years ago. And this was a better world indeed.

---

"Mommy. Mommy. Mommmyyyyy." I sighed, and turned to where my young son was tugging on my skirts.

"What is it, dear? Mommy's a little busy right now."

"I wanna paint." Cirrus Beddor Archeron, heir to the Night Court, was only three years old. And damn me, but I wanted to give him everything. This precious little boy deserved the world, and if that meant letting him into paints, so be it.

Cirrus looked exactly like the form the Bone Carver had taken in my presence, albeit a little younger. Same black hair, same blue-grey eyes. And despite the obvious power that radiated from him, Cirrus would never even hurt a fly. His eyes were wide and pleading as he pointed frantically at the paint palette in my left hand.

"I wanna paint." He repeated. I put down my brush and palette and scooped him into my arms, relishing the squeal that ensued. I spun him around, and every giggle had my heart lifting. I was still recovering from everything that had happened years ago, but every time I saw my son, at the perfect little boy me and Rhys had created, every bad thing seemed to go away, if only for a while. Cirrus was my joy. And he was Rhys's as well.

I set Cirrus on the ground and reached for the shelf that held the paints I used when teaching youngsters. As much as I wanted to give my baby boy everything, I wasn't going to let him ruin a set of good paints on a whim. I was gathering the brightest of the colors when the bell at the front of the store chimed to announce someone's entrance.

I put the paints down and hurried to the front, apologies about not being open already on my lips. But it wasn't just any customer. Really, it wasn't even a customer. It was my sisters. Nesta and Elain stood in the front of my store, their own children squirming in their arms.

"Oh." I said simply. "I wasn't expecting you two. I thought it was customers."

"No. Not today." Elain said breezily. She set her daughter, Elowen, on the ground. The little girl was two, with night-black hair and hazel eyes. She looked so much like Azriel that it was uncanny, her small wings only adding to the likeness. Elain was the only one who called her Elowen, though. To everyone else, she was Winnie. Winnie giggled and raced past me, into the back, where Cirrus was waiting. Cirrus had always been close with his cousins.

His other cousin was Nesta's daughter, Thessalia, who went by Tess. She had dark hair and hazel eyes, and with the Illyrian wings, she looked almost exactly like her father, Cassian. Tess was also set down, and a moment later she had disappeared into the back as well.

"We were going shopping." Nesta said simply. "We wanted to see if you wanted to come with us."

"The market likely has spring flowers." Elain added. "And Nesta needs some clothes."

"I'm sorry, but I can't. There's a painting I want to finish."

Nesta sighed. "Alright. If you're not going, would you mind watching the girls? You know how they can be at the market." I did know. The last time Winnie, Tess, and Cirrus were at the market, they had nearly decimated a stand that sold sweets in their excitement. Only some very quick thinking had kept the whole thing from collapsing. The owner was paid handsomely for the trouble, and had I not been the High Lady, the male might have insisted we never come back.

"Fine." I said, and my sisters nodded their thanks.

"If I see any new colors I'll be sure to get them for you." Elain promised. And with that, she and Nesta were gone as quickly as they had come. I sighed through my nose and went to do damage control in the back. My son and my nieces had been awfully quiet, and I was suspicious.

As it turned out, I had every right to be suspicious, because the paints I had been gathering for Cirrus to use were now all over the back. Or, more specifically, all over the children. Streaks of green ran through Winnie's hair, and Cirrus's hands were bright purple. Tess had orange paint splattered on her clothes, and even some on her wings. The rest of the paint was squirted from the tubes onto the table, the floor, and the walls. How they had made that big of a mess in just a short amount of time was beyond me.

"What do you three think you're doing?" I asked sternly. Cirrus looked up at me innocently, despite the yellow paint on his forehead.

"Painting." He said simply. He splatted his hand into a puddle of blue and, as I watched, ran it down his white shirt. I groaned softly and took the paint tubes from the childrens' reach.

"Paint does not go on little Faeries." I reprimanded. "Paint does not go on tables, or floors, or walls. Paint goes on paper, and paint goes on canvases. Do you all understand how much work you've just created for me? I have to clean all this up, you know."

Now they all looked guilty. Tess sucked on a tooth and rocked back and forth on her feet, wringing her hands in front of her. Her hands were covered in pink paint.

"Sowwy Aunty Fey-wuh." Winnie finally said. Despite the fact she was already two, some of her teeth were still growing in, giving her a lisp.

"Sorry Aunty Feyre." Tess echoed. I turned my gaze to Cirrus.

"Sorry Mommy."

"Alright, I'm going to get you three something to paint, and then I'm going to clean. I don't want you touching anything while I'm getting your stuff, do you understand?"

After another chorus of 'yes' all around, I turned to the shelves for more paint and for something for them to paint. Strangely, though, I was out of small canvases. I considered giving them one large one, but sharing was not a strong suit for any child at the moment. Then I saw the perfect thing. I had a collection of white ceramic mugs I had been planning to paint as Solstice gifts, but I'd never gotten around to it. I pulled three from the shelf and set them down on the table with the new paints.

"You're going to paint mugs. The paint goes on the cups, not on the table or on each other. Can you all do that for me?" Cirrus, Tess, and Winnie all nodded earnestly. I set them up with the paints and then turned away, to my own abandoned painting. As I descended into my painting zone, I drowned all other sounds out, even the quiet chattering of the children. I hadn't even noticed they'd gone quiet until I turned to get more paint for myself.

All three were fast asleep, heads resting on their arms, or in Winnie's case, directly on the table. Cirrus still had a paintbrush in his chubby baby fingers.

The mugs were painted, all with different colors. Cirrus's was purple and blue, Tess's was green and yellow, and Winnie's was orange and pink. Splatters of paint dusted their hands and hair, but they had amazingly stayed mostly clean.

I sent the image before me down the bond, to wherever Rhys was at the moment. A heartbeat later, a love-filled purr entered my mind to gaze upon our sleeping son.

This was what we'd fought for. This was what Rhys and I had both died for, though we didn't know it at the time.

I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I felt Rhys declare from the bond.

Me too. I responded. Me too.

#throneofglass #a court of thorns and roses #tog #acotar #feysand #rowaelin #children #generation 2 #legacies #fanfiction #ao3fic

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courtofshipsandillyrianobsession · 5 years

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November without you chapter 4

Azriel couldn’t believe it… He had a mate? And not only that it was the most beautiful female he had ever laid his eyes on… she was sweet and kind and simply adorable… But how could he missed this? He needed answers and he needed them fast. So he went to the roof hoping to clear his mind.

When he arrived, he was clearly surprised when he saw Cassian in there as well.

“Hey brother, what are you doing here?” Azriel stated.

“I should be asking you exact the same thing Az. What’s up with your face? You look like crap” Cassian responded.

“Thanks for your support bro…”

“What the hell are you doing here little brothers?” Rhysand exclaimed as he appeared next to Azriel

“Az was just about to tell us the juicy secret he discovered tonight… What is it bro? Perhaps lady troubles?” Cassian said with a confident smile on his face.

“Shut up you prick. But if you must know I will tell you… I think Elain… you know…”

“Oh is it about my mate’s sister? What happened? Did she heard about the wingspan theory and she asked you if it was true?” Rhys said barely keeping a serious face.

“You assholes could you be serious for one second? I am about to tell you that I think I have found my mate and it’s Elain and you won’t stop making stupid jokes about wingspans” Az said with a threatening tone.

“But she already has a mate. So, it can’t be possible right?” Cassian asked.

“Once… a long time ago, my mother told me it was possible. She told me that old legends stated that the cauldron didn’t care about status, logic or order in any way. She even told me about these high lords that had the same mate. When the female choose one of them, a war almost started between the courts but the abandoned high lord realized that the female would never be completely happy with him, even thought there was a mate bond, because she didn’t choose him on her free will. So, as a matter of fact, it is possible but the cauldron acts on mysterious forces that nobody understands brothers. The real question is: how can you be sure Elain is your mate?”

Azriel told them about the book he have just read and how it all fit perfectly with how he felt about Elain.

“I don’t know brother… I don’t think a book should tell you about who is your mate. To begin with: How does my cousin fit in all this? How do you really feel about Elain?” the night high lord asked

“I don’t know Rhys. I mean how were you sure Feyre was your mate?” the shadowsinger said.

“When Under The Mountain, she was killed indeed and in that moment I was completely sure because it felt like literally my whole existence was just taken away from me. It was as if my wings were teared up in pieces a hundred times. So, that’s why after that just knowing she was alive was a relief for me, even thought, she almost married an ass.”

“So… you are suggesting we put Elain under a completely dangerous situation and if Azriel feels mated we called it a day?” Cassian asked.

“You stupid, you are missing my point. I mean we need a strong emotion between them so we can be completely sure. Perhaps a situation where her life is on the line, a hug, a kiss or even something else. As for Mor, I think you should talk with her and you better get your feelings clear because Elain could find happiness with Lucien and if you are not going completely with Elain, you better not put another weight on her shoulders. I am not telling you this as your high lord, but as your brother” The high lord stated.

“I know, I feel like crap but please just let me be for this night. I need to sleep there were so many things for one day.”

“One would think that after Hybern’s battle nothing could shake the powerful high lord’s spymaster. Funny how it is a girl that yesterday asked me for help to open a pickle jar.” Cassian commented with a smile as he remembered how Elain was having a hard time with that pickle jar.

“May I remind you it was the same girl that killed Hybern and saved your illyrian ass on the same day?” Azriel said with a playful tone.

“Fair enough” the illyrian commander said.

“Thanks brothers, I really appreciate it, but I think that it was a lot to process in one night. I think I need some rest” Azriel stated as he standed up.

“Me too, Feyre’s being in a strange mood lately” Rhys responded.

“Aren’t you coming Cass?” Azriel asked as he approached his room.

“No, I think I just stay here for a little while more” the illyrian commander stated as his brothers left him. Cass was thinking about a certain female that left him enchanted since the moment he laid his eyes on her. She was fierce and unstoppable but she was stubborn as a goat, and what was worst: she despised him. As he was thinking about these, he heard a pair of steps approaching him. When he turned around, what he expected the least was seeing Elain with a sunflower pot, ignoring him.

“Hey, what are you doing here miss Archeron?”. She stumbled while she looked at him with with her brown eyes wide open.

“What? Oh I didn’t notice you were here mister commander. Sorry I will be going” She said while Cas could imagine how badly Elain was blushing.

“No, no excuse me my lady. It’s your house too. I mean is there something causing you trouble that I could help you with?. It’s my duty to take care of you. And please, no mr. commander, Cas is fine”

“NO, it’s nothing mister… I mean Cas” the seer mumbled the last word.

“Look, mistress. We can do this: I will tell you something nobody knows about me and in exchange you tell me what is really going on. Really, I have been dealing lately with a lot myself and believe me, at some point you will explode. Going around carrying heavy burdens it’s not nice at all. Here it goes, when no one is watching, I go out to the a little restaurant where there serve a pizza and I always ask for one and I put chocolate syrup on top and I eat it by myself and I tell no one because Az and Rhys think is gross”

Cas felt relieved as he heard Elain’s laughter bursting in the middle of the night. He knew he it was a funny story but he understand it all when she whispered.

“I love putting ice cream on fries, but once Nesta catched me doing it and told me it was gross, since that day on, once a week I woke up in the middle of the night and go to the kitchen and prepare some vanilla ice cream with fries. Siblings are the worst”

Cas couldn’t hold it and started to laugh too. After that they started joking for a while, but Cas was still worried.

“Really mistress, can you tell me what is going on? I promise you I will tell no one, not even Rhys or Az… ” the illyrian stated as he emphasized the last part.

Elain hesitated for a long time. Cas stood there in silence. He was just about to tell her that it was fine if he didn’t wanted to tell him, but then she started talking.

“Days ago, Lucien brought me this sunflower, at first I thought it was no big deal. But this past few days I felt as if the sunflower was drawing me to it. I mean, I know it sounds crazy but last night I tried to use my seer powers on it and I think I invoked a sunray. I am no completely sure, I mean it could just be a vision but I came here to try to invoke sunrays again.”

Cassian was expecting a lot of things, except that one. He stood there with his eyes and mouth wide open. He tried to maintain serious once again when he stated:

“Look Elain there’s not much I can help you with, Magic is Az’s business. But I can be your friend, someone you can trust and if you let me I could hear you every time you need it. Also, Az told me about Lucien’s incident. If you want I could teach you a few basics to defend yourself. Even if you want to know about magic or anything else, I can show you the library”

“Thanks, I would really appreciate all the help I could get and please tell no one about this” the seer said. She was really surprised how fast this illyrian have managed to earn her trust but then she remembered how much he cared for her sisters and she assumed that in this moment, she could trust him more than in Nesta.

“Okay then see you tomorrow miss, have a nice sleep”the commander responded.

“Yes goodnight Cass. By the way; it’s Elain not miss Archeron”

“Well then goodnight, El”

masterlist: https://courtofshipsandillyrianobsession.tumblr.com/post/184016524579/masterlist-november-without-you-elriel-elucien

#Azriel #elain x azriel #elriel #elain archeron #elucien #fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of frost and starlight #acomaf

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hellas-himself · 6 years

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Where There Are Shadows Pt26

AKA in my feelings aka I am Lucien and Lucien is me (but that’s a personal problem)

The whole Dawn/Day got me fucked up. I had to fix it. DAWN JUST FLOWS BETTER. AND IT IS THE SAME DAMN THING. but whatever. not my world. SJM knows best.

I tried to play with what little info we got in WAR and then in the novella and make some sense out of it. I hope I did Helion justice.

-Lucien-

Son of day.

Elain’s voice had echoed in the darkness. Sometimes, I’d hear Rhysand crying, asking me to wake up. I might have heard Feyre describing the color of the sun. But it always came back to Elain.

She held the sun in her hands and gave it to me. And then I was falling, falling, falling. Until I was welcomed by a darkness so deep, so endless that I let it consume me.

I looked at Helion, High Lord of the Day Court. There was something akin to remorse in his eyes. He looked at me, expectant, anxious. Feyre and Rhys were still at my side, they had known. Somehow. I wasn’t stupid- yes, I was stubborn and at times I was dense, but it did not take much to put the pieces together… Even if some of them were missing. But for now, I did not care.

“I’m not Beron’s son,” I whispered, leaning forward as I brought my hands to my face. Beron and I- there was nothing there that bound me to him. Every childhood dream came to mind, the ones I’d confessed to Mor. However late, it was here. I was not Beron’s son. It was as if this terrible weight had at last been lifted from my shoulders, and I could breathe. I didn’t realize I’d been crying until Rhys pulled me into his arms. After kissing my tears, he took my hands in his.

“I’ve theorized that losing your eye awakened another sense, to see beyond what others see. The mechanical eye was a perfect disguise for it,” Rhysand said.

My eyes fell on Helion once more, his eyes were glossy. Had he been crying, too? Feyre and Rhys both took turns giving me a kiss and without a word, left us alone. Until of course, I heard him whispering filth into her ear as they descended the stairs. Prick.

“I’m certain you would rather be in the midst of that,” Helion said, “Than sitting here with me.”

“Unfortunately, I’m forbidden from any activity that brings me pleasure.”

He smirked. I expected some kind of inappropriate retort, and I knew that it was at the tip of his tongue. But it was as if he remembered himself, remembered what he’d admitted and all of that arrogance was gone.

“How… when?” I didn’t even know what I wanted to know, if I wanted to know.

“A year before she was sold off to Beron. There had been a ball, it was the Equinox, after all.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it.

“During the war, the first war with Hybern- I rescued your mother. And that… well, that was when we threw all caution to the wind.”

“But I wasn’t born during the war.”

He chuckled. “No. You were not.”

“So that means…” They had managed to have an affair far longer than I could have imagined.

He shrugged.

“Mother’s tits,” I muttered.

“He discovered our affair, of course. But to admit it, to admit that he’d been bested- humiliated by her. Beron could never survive such a thing. And he never saw her as anything more than a possession.”

I felt the power that threatened to escape him at the thought of Beron’s treatment of my mother. He unnecessarily smoothed his tunic and twisted one of the cuffs at his wrist.

“I never knew,” he said softly. “I never even thought that it was possible that I would sire a child. Let alone with Aurelie. We had never dared to dream of such things. And then she went back to him. Chose him. And I let her go.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Helion still held hope for her. I could see it in his eyes. In the way he spoke of her. The way I had once dared to hope for Feyre, even at Tamlin’s side. Helion still loved my mother.

“I know that my reputation is… well known across Prythian. But for her, for Aurelie- I would have given her the world if she’d asked it of me.”

“But she never did.”

My mother never fought against tradition. Never fought against Beron. Silent. Timid. Pawn.

“I am not too proud to admit that I’d begged her to leave him. Once. But she refused. Had I known that you were mine-” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Yes. No. It has and always will be Aurelie’s decision.”

“Even though it was a fucked up decision?”

I knew that my words were sharp, I saw in his eyes that I’d hit him low. But I knew that I’d made the same decision to stay with Tamlin and I only left because if I’d stayed my fate would have been worse than death. I sighed, running my fingers through my hair.

“I’m sorry, I should not be so short. I forget my manners.”

Helion smiled.

“You’re not wrong.”

“It took me this long to get away from Tamlin… I can’t blame her, nor you for Beron’s actions. As I cannot blame myself for Tamlin.”

Something vicious flashed in his eyes but was quickly replaced with… curiosity.

“I do not understand how I never noticed. How many times had you come to my court?”

I chuckled. “I think I’ve seen the Day Court more in the last few centuries than Autumn.”

“I suppose we’ll have to ask your mother about that conundrum, won’t we?”

I raised a brow.

“We’ll have to get her out of there first.”

Helion grinned and I realized how similar he and Rhysand were. I was not sure how I felt about that.

“Leave the scheming to me. Your only job is to get out of bedrest.”

I chuckled. “I think I can get out of that one.”

He raised his tea cup at me. “A fox, through and through.”

Side by side, Helion and I walked through the halls of Beron’s home, led by guards that had met us at the border. Wards were useless against him, but he’d given them the illusion of control. Helion walked as if Autumn were his, and I knew if he wanted it, it could be. Was that what Beron feared?

The throne room was perhaps as long as it was wide, trees lining it on either side instead of walls, breaking it up into various ‘rooms’ for other court matters. The leaves overhead kept out the sun… But one look at Helion and I knew better.

I saw my brothers… half-brothers standing near Beron’s throne, an old gnarled tree with roots that grew right into the stone floor. It always looked as if Beron’s magic had to fight nature from reclaiming its rightful place. As if it refused to submit to his will.

Beron looked as cruel and angry as he always did. But as Rhys had helped me into my fighting leathers, he’d told me not to falter. Not to let my eyes waver when he looked at me. So I stared him down as we approached the throne.

And there she was, sitting on her small seat below his. My mother was still, her eyes on the floor. Behind her glamour, I saw the bruising. Old and new.

Beron chuckled. “Lucien… I see we are still climbing the ladder. Was Rhysand not enough?”

“I am not here on Night Court business,” I said as proud and arrogant as I could. “I’ve come to deal with family matters.”

My half brothers laughed. Save Eris. He had managed to step back beneath the shade of the trees. Watching. Waiting.

“Family? You denounced your family after you chose that low born whore over your court.”

“Oh, forgive me, Lord Beron. I should have been more concise. I am here for my mother.”

I heard her little gasp, and I saw the way Beron looked down at her.

“The Lady of Autumn does not have leave to go anywhere outside of this Court,” he said to which my brothers and others in the room laughed.

I opened and closed my hands. How Helion remained so calm was beyond me.

“I don’t believe anyone was asking permission,” Helion replied.

Beron was now furious. I could feel it. I remembered the ferocity of his wrath. Everything that had made me happy had been burned to ash by it. When Beron rose to his feet, I fought the urge to step back as he stepped down. He grabbed my mother by the arm and forced her to her feet.

“To your quarters,” he growled at her, but was met with a low snarl that silenced the room.

“You will take your hands off her if you value your life.”

All eyes were on Helion now. It was grounds for war for anyone to take a High Lord’s wife. But he had promised this would go without bloodshed. And I wanted to believe it.

“You dare threaten me?”

“It is no threat, Beron. I have come to claim my mate and no one, not even you can keep her from me.”

The room might have held its breath. I was staring at Helion now. He had failed to mention that particular fact. But it was as clear as day now. My mother’s eyes were wide and she finally looked up at Helion. She had not known it either.

With a look of absolute disgust, Beron shoved my mother away from him, but she barely missed a step before she was rushing to Helion’s side.

Helion wrapped an arm around her, but his eyes never left Beron’s.

“You have committed acts worthy of death,” Helion growled. “What do you say, my son? How shall we address this?”

He finally looked at me, and I swore that my heart might burst in my chest.

“She has seen enough violence,” I said softly, but I knew everyone could hear me. “But if she wishes for his head on a platter, we will surely gift it to her.”

Helion grinned as he looked back at Beron.

“Your marriage is forfeit. Your claim to her and her lands, her wealth is forfeit. Your claim to Lucien is forfeit. They are mine by blood and bond.”

Beron was growing red in the face as he staggered back. A dog with its tail between its legs.

At once, whispers erupted in the throne room. Beron would now be humiliated. Shamed. He would lose an insurmountable amount of wealth and property without my mother. They whispered if I could claim both Courts, if Helion would wage war against Beron. Some were surprised that someone as timid as Aurelie could have an affair and get away with it for so long. What a fool Beron had been to keep her at his side all these years. But the whispering stopped when Eris finally came to the front. He gave them all a look of utter repulsion before his eyes fell on our mother.

Something silent passed between them before he looked at me and gave me a nod, bidding me farewell.

“Be sure to sleep with one eye open,” Helion said, before he reached for my hand.

Eris was smiling when we winnowed away.

I knew I needed rest. I knew that Madja would surely kick my ass when we went back home. I knew that Rhys and Feyre were waiting for us in Kallias’ palace. But I couldn’t move. Helion stood there, both hands cupping my mother’s face. Her glamour was gone, her eyes were lined with tears as she looked into his. And he… Helion looked at her the way Rhysand looked at Feyre.

“I’m sorry,” I heard her whisper. Helion shook his head.

“I should have told you… I should have killed him.”

Her nervous laugh broke my heart. And then she looked at me and she sobbed.

“Lucie…”

“Mother.”

When I held her in my arms, she began to weep.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“This was not your fault. None of it ever was,” I replied. I looked at Helion, and perhaps, my words were for him as much as they were for her. “I don’t blame you for any of it.”

If tears lined his eyes, I was not sure. Not when it began to snow and he begged us to go inside as he was only wearing sandals and his legs were too lovely to get frostbitten. My mother laughed, a true laugh, and let him take her by the hand and lead her away.

Our arrival was met with hugs and an assault of kisses from Rhysand, who only made my mother giggle. There were many tears. Far too many tears. But for once, they were of joy.

“I’ve never forgotten what you did for my son,” my mother said to Feyre who couldn’t seem to leave her side. They sat beside the fireplace, hand in hand. Rhys sat on the armrest beside them, listening as he drank from his glass. Feyre insisted on looking at my mother’s arm, but there was no evidence of that old hurt.

“We are fire made flesh,” she said to Feyre, looking at me with a glimmer in her eye that I’d not seen since I was a child. “It’s alright… He deserved what he got.”

“So, Helion,” Viviane began, crossing her arms as she unceremoniously sat on Kallias’ lap. “Your mate is the Lady of the Autumn Court.”

He poured himself a glass of liquor. “Yes.”

“Your heir is also the paramour of the Lord and Lady of the Night Court.”

He took a long sip before pouring again. “Yes.”

“So when Rhysand marries him, Lucien will be High Lord of two courts. Three, if you decide to get rid of that bastard.”

Helion shrugged.

“Lucien will have three titles! Three!” she shrieked at Kallias who sighed in a way that reminded me of Azriel. The sigh of the long suffering.

“Let them have their moment, my love. When it passes, we will discuss the matter then.”

“That’s what you said on Solstice.”

Helion put an arm around my shoulder, leading me away from the others. Now in white furs and actual boots for once, Helion looked as though he would survive the winter.

“You and your mother are free to do as you will,” he said softly. I knew none of the others could hear. Not even Rhys who was now charming my mother. “All that I said to Beron… It was all for show.”

I looked at him in disbelief. There had been truth to his words… But very much like Rhys, that choice was ours to make.

“What if that was what we wanted?”

He seemed surprised by that.

I looked outside, watching the snow fall, the fae playing in it. The ice of the windowsill was a welcome relief, and I was surprised it didn’t melt beneath my touch.

“I’d always dreamed of this. That her mate would find her and take us away. Like-”

A small ray of light in all the darkness.

“I dreamed of you,” I said out loud and felt my face go warm.

Helion set his glass down on the windowsill and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I was Under the Mountain… All those years. Knowing what she was to me, and ignoring it. She didn’t know, Lucien. What we were to one another. I had felt it right to spare her from what you and your mate have had to endure.”

“Her sons were all she lived for… Until they grew up to become worse versions of their father. And then you came along… I had never even thought that far. I had only wanted her to be happy. And we were so young. What the hell did I care for children? Except that when you were born and that news spread across Prythian I knew that I’d been lying to myself. It was deeper than the sting of her refusal to leave him. It was like an emptiness I could never quite fill.”

He sighed.

“You’re not a child, Lucien. I can’t raise you,” he said with a chuckle. “But the Day Court is yours, as much as it is mine. And I would like it very much if you went to experience it as my son. Nothing will be denied to you… Although I would prefer it if you kept Rhys away from the throne room. He might just charm the mirrors off the walls.”

We both looked at him as he spoke with my mother and laughed.

“I would love to go… But after my mother accepts the mating bond. Much, much after.”

Helion’s laughter brought all eyes on us, and by the look on my mother’s face, I realized that though many things were broken and unsaid, there was a chance for things to change. A chance for us to have the life we had only dreamed of and never thought possible.

@readingismycopingmechanism @fuzdog @gently-say-aha @highladyofherondale @alxanxah @city-of-fae @rhysands-highlady @myfeyrelady

If anyone would like to be tagged, please let me know!!

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aelin-and-feyre · 7 years

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Preferences: Rhysand

I’m almost done with writing my Preferences by category so I will now be publishing them by Character for anyone that’s feeling in a {Rhys, Dorian, Aelin, etc} mood. If you have a particular character you would like Preference’d, let me know!

First meeting/mate bond:

It seems like all the air is taken from his lungs when it first snaps. His heart is pounding rapidly in his chest and Rhys feels as if it might explode. His usual smug expression disappears until unrelenting determination and love shine through. He doesn’t even believe - can’t believe - that the Cauldron would grace him with such an exquisite creature as a mate. ‘Mine’ he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. You’re across the room so you don’t hear him and Rhys is pretty sure that you don’t know yet, so he decides to not tell you for a little while. However, that doesn’t stop him from murmuring quietly practically every time he sees you - a smile playing on his face - ‘mine.’

Kisses:

His hands cup your face lovingly as he leans in. Kisses with the High Lord almost always start off gentle, and end in passion. His mouth worships your own as he coaxes it open and explores inside. When it gains in intensity, his brow slowly creases with concentration as he restrains himself from losing control. Said restraint is reduced to smithereens when your fingers brush his wings and Rhysand’s tongue takes on a mind of its own - not that you’re complaining.

First ‘I love you’s:

He’s known it ever since he first saw you. He’s wanted to say it every day, every moment since then, but has reigned himself in, refusing to lose you because he can’t control his emotions. Finally, a good couple months after you are together, Rhys finally says it. You’re on a bridge of all places - Rhys says it was so he could jump off it if you had a bad reaction and you slap him for talking that way - and you are both looking out at the slowly flowing river and the sunset just beyond the horizon. His arms are curved around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder and he finally works up the courage to say what he has wanted to for what seems like forever. ‘I love you,’ he announces, tensing just a bit when you don’t respond right away. He awkwardly coughs, ‘just thought you should know.’ You chuckle, relaxing into his hold and leaning back into his chest a bit. “Rhys, I love you too, I didn’t think this was hidden knowledge.’ And that’s when Rhysand realizes that he wasn’t actually being as discrete about his feelings as he thought, and those three words don’t have to be said for both of them to know they are true.

Jealousy:

He barely ever gets jealous of potential suitors, because Rhys knows that neither of you have eyes for anyone else. Instead, the High Lord get’s jealous when you insinuate that someone might have a bigger wingspan than him. He will playfully act like he is hurt, and attempt to prove that your assumption is false. Of course, then he questions if you have ever even seen said person’s wingspan, to which you laugh until you realize he’s serious. You immediately deny, and Rhysand will roll his eyes. ‘Well then, I suppose you’re just going to believe me when I say I definitely have the bigger “wingspan”’ And the two of you spend the rest of the night confirming it.

Proposal:

Always the hopeless romantic, Rhysand proposes to you with rose petals. He makes a trail of them from the front door to your bedroom, where ‘Marry me’ is written out on the floor in front of your bed in even more petals. You gasp, tingles spreading down your spine as he comes up behind you, his arms circling your waist and pressing the ring into your palm. “Will you, darling?” He murmurs into your ear, sending even more shivers through your very bones. You turn around in his arms, pretending to think about it as you slip the ring onto your finger. After playful deliberation, you sigh, ‘I suppose,’ you finally answer, his arms tightening around you. His head tilts forwards and you smile against his lips. ‘You wicked thing.’ He accuses, then scoops you up and carries you to the bed, which is also covered in rose petals.

Wedding:

He lets you pick everything. Rhys wants the day to be everything you’ve ever imagined it would be. Except the rings, which he surprises you with the day of. They are intricately woven and the gem resting in the center seems to hold starlight inside. Rhys says in his vows that he will give you the sun and the stars if you ask for them, his gaze drifting towards the rings and you wonder if he already has. When the wedding is over and for many days after, Rhysand cannot stop murmuring ‘My High Lady’ over and over and over - mostly because it has yet to fail to make you blush.

Making Love:

When Rhysand decides he is going to bed you, he beds you. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter when, Rhys is a High Lord in the sheets and will not apologize for it. With his wings out, it is easy to make him bend to your will, however, and you take advantage of the fact as often as possible. Your moans only fuel his fire and Rhys can go for days on end, leaving you unable to walk for a good amount of time after you are both completely satisfied.

Cuddling:

Wings surrounding both of you, blocking out anything outside your little bubble, Rhys will completely encase you with his body. He will entwine your legs and wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly and firmly against him at the beginning. As you both start to drift to sleep, his hold will relax but he can’t stop himself from placing kisses all over whenever he can. Whether it be your neck, nose, chin, forehead, lips, cheeks, etc, Rhys has kisses you whenever possible. You love cuddling with him because he makes you feel adored and protected.

Domestic activities:

He stocks your closet with all sorts of clothes, both for you and him, and with each new assortment, the two of you have fun trying them all on and playing dress up for an afternoon. In a montage sort of sequence, you strut about with the different glimmering dresses and he swaggers around in his dark tuxedoes. You also help each other out of the clothes between each outfit and that makes for another kind of fun.

When on your period:

Cuddling. You and Rhys cuddle all the time, but when you are on your period, somehow it ends up happening even more. He wraps the two of you up in tons of blankets, like eight pillows stuffed around your heads, and allows you to figure out the configuration of your bodies. Sometimes, your legs can be entwined, other times your knees are up and you’re tucked under his arm. He lets you lay on top of him, using his chest as a pillow as he runs soothing patterns up and down your spine. It relaxes you to no end.

When they find out your pregnant:

You have been trying for a couple years…. okay a couple decades, and you and Rhys are becoming uncertain that it will ever happen. You’ve even had a couple miscarriages that almost destroyed Rhys. The two of you would stay up for days after you found out, holding each other and silently crying, trying to reassure yourselves that it would all be okay, even though it wasn’t. When the healer does inform you that you are with child, you keep it to yourself for a couple months, not wanting Rhys to have to go through the pain of losing another child. However, when you reach the end of your first trimester, it’s almost impossible to hide it from him anymore, plus it’s the farthest you’ve ever gotten. So, you tell Rhys and he just looks at you in disbelief, suddenly connecting the dots from the last three months, and it all falls into place. ‘It’s healthy?’ you nod. ‘It’s been three months?’ you nod again, suddenly feeling selfish for hiding it from him. But Rhys is so happy. He pulls you into his arms and buries his face in your hair and breathes in your scent that he knew had changed but hadn’t come to terms with yet, and he just holds you for hours, crying softly tears of joy.

Holding their first born:

Twice Rhys makes sure that you have had enough time holding the baby before he agrees to take it from your arms. She’s small, fragile, and drowsy, Rhys observes, noticing the fluttering of her eyelids and how tiny she is compared to him. Suddenly, her hand comes out and grabs onto his shirt, making Rhys gasp and look up at you in question. You wave your hand, telling him it’s fine, and he relaxes, shifting her weight to one arm so he can grab her little hand in his own, fully engulfing it. He sways, making various quiet noises to help her sleep. ‘Oh Cauldron, I love her so much’ he says to no one in particular. You slowly get up, aching just a bit, and Rhys tries to stop you, but you wave him off and stand in front of him, your daughter in between the two of you. You grasp her other hand, kiss her forehead, and then look up at your husband. ‘My whole world in four square feet of space’ he murmurs, not looking away from his daughter, a small smile on his lips.

Movie nights:

He will deny it to his grave but Rhys loves chick-flicks. The two of you have watched the Notebook and 10 Things I Hate About You so many times, you both know it by heart. You always have to make sure that there is an ample supply of tissues available because, no matter what, Rhys always cries – whether they are real tears or manufactured to convince you to comfort him with cuddles and kisses, you have yet to decipher, and don’t really care either way.

Training:

He knows how strong and capable you are. He knows that you can do absolutely anything you put your mind to. He knows all of this – but it doesn’t stop him from being careful and protective when training. It’s almost as if he’s scared to hurt you, which is sweet in a way, but also incredibly annoying. You can tell when he’s holding back and it only takes a couple growls from you and a few choice words for him to smile as if asking if you can really blame him, and then advancing with full force. Rhys would still never dream of harming you in the sparring ring – or anywhere else for that matter – but eventually he does match you swing for swing.

When you’re sick:

Rhys is the most attentive male when you are sick. He drops everything he is doing to take care of you. He surrounds you with pillows and makes sure you always have a large supply of kleenex with you at all times. Rhys makes sure you are comfortable and have everything you can possibly want. Ice cream? Already scooped. Tea? Hot and ready on your bedside table. He takes care of everything so that you can focus on getting better and never fails to make you feel cared for.

Holiday Season:

He goes over the top with gifts every time. When you wake up, there are mounds of presents waiting for you and each is more beautiful and heartfelt than the next. He always knows exactly what you wanted and never fails to make you scream with happiness when you open something new and exciting. It makes it hard for you to match his level of perfectness during the holidays, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, and Rhys loves whatever it is no matter what.

Category Preference Masterlist

#character preference #rhysand #rhys #high lord rhysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #preferences #sjm #sarahjmaas #sjmaas #my writing

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thelittleloverofbooks · 7 years

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Never Again: II

I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I’m definitely excited for the next one!

Hope you enjoy, guys. And thanks for the positive feedback!

By the time Azriel, Rhys, and I arrived, Amren—as well as Elain, Lucien, and Nesta—had made their appearance. I took my usual place beside Rhysand, glancing around at those gathered— the people that made up my family. Elain was sat between Lucien and Azriel, her hands quietly clutching both of theirs underneath the table.

It’s been nearly a century since Lucien and Elain discovered they were each others mates. Nearly a century since Elain and Azriel began developing whatever relationship they had. It was all a very complicated ordeal, one I hadn’t pushed Elain to explain so that I could better understand. It was none of my business, anyway. I trusted both men enough to not do something foolish, and believed in my sister enough to make whatever decision she felt was right.

Amren was seated in her familiar place beside Lucien—the two had taken to each other quite well after Lucien had returned from his journeys following the death of the King of Hybern. Neither had told me what, exactly, had transpired between them, but I believed it had something to do with the trials Lucien was forced to endure during his time away from us. He had gone through things...seen things we couldn’t begin to imagine. I’d never forget the pain in his eyes when he’d returned.

He’d shown up on on our doorstep, soaking wet from the rain that had yet to let up that day. Cuts and bruises decorated every visible inch of him, and those familiar russet eyes —even the metal one— held clashing emotions of agony and hatred and fear. Amren had taken one look at him before grabbing his arm and leading him away. She hadn’t said anything, but the lines of worry on her face…

Amren’s face now, however, was set in its usual, quiet fierceness, but there was something else there. Something so rarely seen in Amren, an emotion she never let anyone see.

Fear.

Cassian and Nesta wore mirrored looks of tension and unease, his hand discreetly placed over hers in a rare display of affection. Their relationship was just as confusing as Azriel, Elain, and Lucien’s, only a hell of a lot more amusing to watch and puzzle over. Despite possessing obvious feelings towards one another, both seemed determined to prove to the world that it was otherwise.

Nesta was able to piss Cassian off in a way no one else could, and Cassian seemed to so easily be able to get under the steel-plated skin Nesta was so famously made of. They chased each other about like cat and mouse and argued with each other like children.

Still, there seemed to be some sort of mutual agreement between them. I had caught Nesta sneaking away to Cassian’s rooms in the middle of the night or early hours of the morning plenty of times, despite how careful she thought she was being. I was not aware of what went on between them when she visited his rooms or vice versa, nor had I confronted her about it. Again, it was none of my business.

The last time we had all been gathered at this table, Rhysand and I had been whooping everyone else’s asses in a drinking game we’d created for our weekly game night. Cassian couldn’t hold liquor to save his life, Elain despised the taste, and Lucien had tapped out in the first round. Nesta was out after round seven, Amren in round nine, and Azriel had eventually surrendered after round thirteen. I had tapped out before then, leaving Rhysand the technical champion.

Afterwards, drunk and content, we’d headed to the backyard, lied down on the grass, and slept underneath a canopy of stars.

Now, the air was so thick with anxiety you could have placed it on a platter and served it.

Rhysand allowed a moment for everyone to settle in before nodding in Azriel’s direction.

“While I was out scouting I discovered something...unusual in the northernmost parts of our lands. Nestled deep in the mountains, about seventy miles east of one of the smaller towns,” Azriel began. “I was on my way back from scouting the area when I suddenly felt strange. The winds spoke differently to me there, pulsed with an ancient kind of magic.”

“Like the magic from the Cauldron.”

Azriel shook his head at Cassian, holding his gaze as he continued. “No. This magic was different. More primal, if that makes any sense. I do not believe it is of our Realm.”

Amren interjected, “So you think this magic belongs to someone else...some other place?”

Azriel nodded. “Yes.”

“If this magic is indeed of the foreign sort, then that leaves quite a number of questions,” Rhys murmured.

“Where did it come from, who brought it here,” I finished. “And how.”

“Perhaps they found a weak spot somewhere in the Human Realms and crossed over into the Night Court,” Elain suggested.

We all sat in silence, mulling over this one of a thousand possibilities in our heads. Trying to find the weak links, connecting it to other possibilities, why it would and wouldn’t make sense...

“No,” I finally disturbed the silence. “If whoever planted this magic decided to travel from the Human Realm, that means that they also would have had to travel on foot through the rest of the Courts in order to remain undetected.” I paused, still thinking. “They would have had to go through the rest of the Courts, and much of our own, to get to where you found the magic, Azriel.”

Lucien nodded, agreeing. “It’d be a complete waste of time to go through that much trouble, unless…” He trailed off, russet eye whirring as fast as our minds were. “Unless it wouldn’t be a waste of time,” he finished after a moment.

“What are you saying, Lucien?”

“I believe he’s saying,” Cassian interjected, “That travelling through all of the Courts would have been beneficial if they were replicating their acts. If they were planting whatever magic this is not only in the Night Court, but in others as well.”

Azriel nodded. “It’s a strong possibility. If we were unable to detect any disturbance in our lands, it’s doubtful that any of the other Courts would have picked up on it either.”

Which means we could already be too late. To travel on foot through all of the Courts...it would take weeks, possibly even months. Whoever has been planting magic had to have started some time ago.

And all without having been detected.

“We have to alert the others about this.”

“Cassian, Azriel, I want to two of you to thoroughly search as much of the Night Court as you can between now and tomorrow afternoon. We’re going to call an emergency meeting with the rest of the Courts.” Rhysand went on to give the rest of the Inner Circle instructions, each of them filing out until only he and I were left.

As soon as the last person filed out, the calm, assured facade of a High Lord melted way like candle wax. Rhysand stood up, hands running through his hair as he looked out at the open balcony. The sun had already begun to set, vibrant pinks, majestic purples, and bright orange hues serving as the background to the twinkling city of Velaris.

“Talk to me,” I softly encouraged. I wanted to follow him, to reach out for comfort, but I had learned with Rhys that sometimes he didn’t need my touch to comfort him. Sometimes, all he needed was space and for me to listen and try to understand.

“We’ve become complacent,” he murmurs. “I have been keeping check on the Night Court—ensuring our borders, eliminating any potential threats, making sure our people are happy— but not like I used to. Not like when the King of Hybern, or even Amarantha, was a threat.”

“I think you’re confusing complacent with happy, Rhysand. For the first time in centuries there has been no foreseeable threat. There has been nothing that we’ve had to constantly watch out for, no person we’ve had to be five steps ahead of.”

“I shouldn’t have let my guard down, Feyre. Even if we did believe that the worst threats were behind us. The moment I stop guarding every possible corner, from every possible angle, is the moment someone creeps in and steals this...all of this, everything we have away from us.”

“That is not your burden alone to bear anymore, Rhysand,” I said quietly. My heart ached for him.

Throughout the past century, Rhysand had slowly begun improving with allowing myself and the other members of our Circle to help shoulder the weight he had been so accustomed to bearing by himself. It was hard for him, to allow other people to take responsibility for certain things that kept the Night Court running smoothly.

It pained me every time he and Cassian would get into an argument about it. They’d yell and scream at each other for what seemed like hours before Rhysand would finally accede. And once he had, he’d stay up half the night pacing back and forth across the room, his hair a mess from fingers repeatedly running through it. His eyes swimming with emotions of fear and disquiet.

Those violet eyes held the same look in them as he finally turned to me, his chest heaving with invisible sobs. “Feyre,” he swallowed, shaking. “I just can’t—I won’t...Cauldron boil and damn me.” He held his hand out to me, and I stood from my seat, walking over to him.

“Rhysand, look at me,” I whispered, taking his hand and raising it to my lips. His eyes met mine...haunted. Plagued with the memories of a time where Amarantha had stripped him naked, had taken everything but a sliver of hope and a hopeless dream.

“We are going to be fine, all right? We are fine. Our family...we’ve been through so much already, but we’ve always made it out alive. Not without our scars, but we survive. We live. So much of our happiness is because of you. You have sacrificed so much,” I paused, my heart clenching at the thought of the lengths this beautiful, broken man would go to to ensure the safety and happiness of those he loves. “But this isn’t just about you anymore, you narcissistic asshole. Okay?” A small smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“What would I do without you, Feyre, darling?”

I smiled, leaving a whisper of a kiss along his collarbones. “You’d become a drunk, no doubt. And what good is a drunk for a High Lord?”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. “It’s a good thing you’re here, then.”

I nodded. “You know, I’m still quite hungry.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm. Rumor has it a new item was recently added to the menu.” Eyes flashed a brilliant violet.

“Really? And what, exactly was added?”

I only laughed, winnowing out of his grasp to stand at the edge of the balcony. “Guess you’ll have to come find out.” With nothing more than a suggestive look thrown over my shoulder, I jumped.

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getalittlecountry · 7 years

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First Time Again (8)

I have been slightly slacking with fan fic writing lately. Mostly because I started another new story of my own. Thanks for the reads and the comments, they def make me keep writing these!

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

Chapter 8

Cassian pulled me closer. I clung to him, my nails biting into his skin. I couldn’t imagine losing him again, not after what we had found together. "I know I'm new but that's not possible is it?"

Rhys shook his head, "no. Not normally. But he's using a shadow so we don't know what's possible. You two have to stay together. You haven't gotten your abilities so you'll be safer if he tries anything."

Cassian nodded, then wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I felt his lips press against my head and I tried to take the comfort he was offering me. But it was hard to relax when the thought of losing each other was still there looming over our heads, "I'm not letting you out of my sight Nesta."

My eyes went to Feyre who had come back from the kitchen and sat there listening. Her eyes were huge, "uh what the hell are you guys talking about?"

I pulled away from Cassian, who’s full attention was now on Rhys asking him about Tomas and what their uncle was doing to get his son in line, and went to my sister. I took her hands in mine and swallowed.

"I uh. I have to tell you something Fey. But you have to promise you won't call me crazy or tell anyone else. My life and Cassian's depend on it."

"Nesta. Did he do something? Did Tomas do something?"

I shook my head, "no not yet. But he's trying. Cassian and I imprinted, bonded. We're souls who have been together since the beginning of time. And we're apart of a bigger world. Meant to keep the shadows out. It's why he comes here every morning. Because without him I start to get sick. And Tomas is trying to break our soul imprint and force one with me."

Feyre let out a whoosh of a breath, "wow. That's uh. A lot."

I laughed slightly, "tell me about it.”

Feyre’s eyes were wide as she looked at me, then to Cassian and back again, “aren’t you freaked out about this? You seem so calm, the sister I know wouldn’t just take this supernatural thing and be completely okay with it.”

“I was freaked out a few days ago when it happened. But now. Now I love him," my voice was low so he wouldn't hear, "and I think I always have, even before this happened. When were seven and he pushed me into the mud. Maybe I knew back then. I don't know, but I feel it. It's real."

Feyre pulled me in, "I'm happy you've found someone. Especially since I was so worried about you. I'm leaving and Elain has started to look to her future. I was worried about you, what you would do when we left. But now I don't have to because Cassian is here," she smiled as she pushed my hair out of my face, "and I promise I won't tell anyone and I won't tell Tomas anything. You're my sister."

I let out a cry as I hugged her. My heart must have picked up because Cassian stopped talking and came over. He looked worried, until he realized Feyre and I were having a moment. He went to step away, but my sister caught his arm. She smiled, as if she was accepting him back into our family. As if this had been the real test.

Feyre sighed, "I think Cassian should stay here. With us. If Tomas is really trying to hurt you, it would be safer. Plus then I wouldn't jump every morning he comes barging in."

I laughed at my little sister, another flood of relief swept over me. I hugged her again, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders. She was okay with this, with us. Even if she didn't truly believe me at least she believed in how I felt for Cassian. Cassian reached for my hand again, he was panicking over my changing heart rate.

"I'm fine," I said pulling away as he tried to take my hand, "we're just having a sister moment."

Cassian smiled as Rhys looked at Feyre, "you two look so much alike. It's crazy," he sighed as Cassian pulled me in and without thinking brushed a tear off my cheek.

"We all look like our mother," I leaned into him and some of my emotions let up, "thank god. Our father didn't have charm or looks."

Feyre laughed and Rhys looked amused. Cassian laughed, the vibration hitting me through his chest, “so it’s settled then, right? You’re going to stay here?”

“If you’re okay with that,” he pulled back and brushed his knuckles against my cheek.

“I want you to,” I smiled, holding onto his hand, “I like falling asleep with you. Waking up with you.”

Cassian blew out a breath, "I'm going to get my stuff from my uncles house. I'll come right back okay?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress Cass. I can handle a few minutes away from you."

He kissed me softly, "but I can't stand to be away from you.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away from me, watching as he followed his brother out the door. Feyre smiled, shaking her head. I already knew I would never hear the end of it, but for the first time I was okay with that. Because Cassian was my soul bonded, the other half of me. I didn’t care about anything or anyone but him.

——

After he went home and got clothes Cassian brought Rhysand back with him. They were both wearing smirks, like they were in on something we weren't. He kissed me again, as if we had been apart for longer then half an hour. Then he put his stuff in my room while Feyre watched us with raised eyebrows. I sighed as Cassian came back out and pulled the dinner he had already made back out and warmed some up for me.

And he ate again.

"This is good even reheated," I sighed as he sat beside me, his free hand coming to my knee, "I think you're some kind of fairy. Like how does one person cook this well?"

He laughed, "I had a foster mom would actually gave a shit for a minute. And she taught me the basics. I learned the rest as I got older, I got tired of eating like a bum."

Rhysand's smile fell slightly when his brother brought up his foster home. I leaned into him, "do you hate those memories? Do you hate the fact that whenever I ask you something you remember a foster home, more than one family?"

Cassian chewed his food as Feyre watched us. Maybe there was something different about us, now that she knew the truth. Maybe she was just amazed that I had finally opened up for someone else.

"No," he finally answered, "it's my life. Sure I hate the fact that I wasn't here, that they took me away. But if they hadn't I wouldn't have held onto you so tightly. I believe everything happened the way it was supposed to."

I pulled my head off his shoulder and looked at him. I kissed his cheek, "yeah. I think it did too."

"Everything except Tomas," Rhys muttered.

I finished eating, "well yeah. There's him."

Feyre sighed, "tell me what he's doing. What does he want with my sister? What is this imprint and you didn't just fall asleep with Cassian the other night did you?"

Cassian clasped my hand, I squeezed his fingers. I wasn't sure where to even start. I bit my lip, thinking back to a few days ago when he came back. There's so much to go through and yet it had only been a few days.

"We were crafted for each other," I winced as the words fell out, "a long time ago. Cassian and I are soul mates, in the line of supernaturals that his family is. We bonded and now we're connected. His soul is the other half of mine, we protect each other. We are meant to protect this world from the shadow world.”

Cassian smiled at my sister, "it's the reason my mom sent me away, because she didn't want me to become one of them. But it's not something you become. It's my blood, it's who I am. It's who Nesta has always been to me."

"And Tomas has decided that he wants to break us. To break our bond and take me away from Cassian. He's always been obsessed with me. I was good at ignoring him, pretending he wasn’t there,” I blushed as Cassian pulled me closer, "but that Cassian is home and we imprinted, now it's gotten worse."

Feyre stared at us. But she didn't look scared or in disbelief. She was smiling, watching Cassian and I tell our own pieces of the story we had barely formed together. She always did love a good story. Especially one that had romance and mystery. Her eyes sparkled as she watched us together, Cassian’s skin always touching mine. Rhysand was smiling too.

"Wow. I think. I've never seen my sister like this," Feyre shook her head, “I know she missed you a lot when we were younger. Every story she told us was about you and her. But I never realized it was more than a childhood love. I mean, this is real. I can see it, I believe it. I’m really happy she found you again Cass."

I laughed as he kissed my temple. "I'm really glad I found her too."

"You're not going to tell me I'm crazy? Because when this all first started I thought I was."

Feyre laughed, "I think it's sweet. I think it's wild. But I can see the truth. You've always held a piece of Cassian in your heart, maybe because you already knew this day would come. You never looked twice at anyone or cared for a relationship. You always told me it was because you had me and Elain to watch. But I knew it was because your heart, your soul would never consider anyone but Cassian. I was a baby and I could still see what you two had was more than real."

Cassian wrapped his arm around my shoulder. For a moment I let it all settle around me. My little sister didn't care that we weren't completely human. All she cared about was that we were happy. I smiled as I saw Rhysand staring at her. It was like he was seeing her for the first time.

"Thanks Feyre. I'm really glad I told you.”

I finished eating, Cassian’s hand slipping between my thighs. As long as he was touching me I didn’t worry about Tomas and whatever he was trying to do with the shadows. I didn’t worry that Feyre would no longer see us as cute, or that we wouldn’t make it to the end of the summer. I didn’t worry as long as I had my mate, my best friend beside me. It was nice, the silence that filled me whenever he was there.

It was a break from reality.

"So Nes," Feyre sat up straighter and changed the subject, "you promised me we'd go shopping for stuff for my dorm, if I got in. I know you're off tomorrow and well. Can we go?"

I knew it was coming. I tried to remember how much I had saved for this moment but I couldn’t. It had taken me so long to save for anything, I was surprised the number didn’t pop up in my head. But I had been so busy with Cassian and this new life I forgot about the responsibilities I had.

"I suppose we can venture into the city. But we aren't buying everything at once," Feyre smiled and clapped her hands, "I don't have enough money to buy you everything."

"Don't worry I saved some too big sister," she jumped up and kissed my cheek, “thank you! I really do love you, Nes."

I squeezed her hand, "yeah. I love you too."

Feyre went into the living room and Rhysand followed her. I gathered the plates and put them in the sink. I started to wash mine and Cassian came over to stand beside me. He tried to help but I waved him away.

"You cooked, which means I clean."

He shook his head and leaned against the counter to watch me instead, "you're a great big sister," he said softly as I scrubbed at the dirty plate, "if you need any help, getting Feyre anything for school. Just tell me okay? She's my sister now too."

I nodded, my cheeks burned from his offer, "I'll manage. I always do."

Cassian pulled my chin up and looked at me, "you don't have to manage alone anymore, Nesta. You've got me now too."

I offered him a smile and nodded slowly, "yeah. I know."

My hands were covered in suds but I still stood up on my tip toes and kissed him. He smiled as I pulled away feeling the tether pull tighter as we looked into each other's eyes. Mostly because we were both thinking about the moment we had shared before we left my room. The moment that I wanted to repeat and repeat with him.

I couldn’t help but wonder if I would ever stop feeling so much for him all the time.

"Nes!" Feyre broke the spell and ran into the kitchen, "Nesta. Cassian's brother just asked me on a date."

Her eyes were shinning. My entire body jolted back to reality and I turned away from my mate. I grabbed a towel and turned to look at my sister. She couldn't go on a date with Rhysand. Because he was supernatural too. Unless he imprinted with her, but I thought he would tell me. Or at least tell Cassian.

"Feyre you can't," I whispered softly, "I don't think you should."

"Why not?" Her face fell slowly.

"Because he's also supernatural. Which means there is a chance he'll imprint one day. I don't. He shouldn't even want to take that chance with you."

"I didn't come to seek your permission. I came to tell my sister about the date I was asked out on."

"Well you can't go," I snapped back, our nice happy moment from earlier was gone, "end of discussion."

Feyre's eyes got wide, "you aren't my mother."

That hurt. All my life Feyre had looked at me as if I was her mother. She held my hand, she cried until I held her. In all sense of this life she had been my baby. Hearing those words broke a piece of my soul off. Cassian tried to reach for my hand, but I pulled away.

I didn't want his comfort. Not for this.

"Feyre please. Just understand this is dangerous. Rhys isn't the boy next door and you're going off to school in a few months. If you think about it, getting into a relationship right now isn't the best for either of you."

She stood up taller. She had always been taller than me, "it's just a date. I didn't say we were getting married."

I ran my hands through my hair and used my mom voice. The one I hadn't used since she was five years old. "I said no okay? I just don't want you to."

Feyre stomped her foot and crossed her arms, "Nesta please? I haven't wanted to go out with anyone since Tamlin."

"You don't understand," I didn't want her to see Rhys because I didn't want her to be heartbroken when the imprint happened with someone else. What were the chances they'll be mates too?

"Come on Nessa," Cassian let out a breath, his voice dripping with sweetness. He was hurt I wouldn’t let him comfort me. I almost broke and reached for his hand, until he took my sister’s side, "let them be kids and go on a date. What's the worst that can happen?"

My eyes went wide and my chest throbbed. I didn't want to fight with him, but I wasn't about to let him take her side.

"You of all people should understand," I glared at him, "don't you take her side Cassian. I'm her sister, you aren't related to them. I've gotten them to eighteen alive and well. So you stay out of this."

"Whoa," he threw his hands up, "sorry."

Feyre had tears in her eyes, "Nesta please. I just want to go to dinner with him. What can happen with that?"

"I said no. End of discussion."

Feyre stuck out her lip, "well I'm a big girl Nesta. I asked in consideration of you and Cassian, more so Cassian since they're brothers. But I don't need your permission."

I curled my hands into fists, "Feyre please I told you about the imprints. I don't want you to get hurt, after—"

She held her hand up, "don't say his name. I am fine Nesta. I have been fine for the last year.” Her eyes went from me to Cassian and back again, "Cassian can you talk some sense into her? For me?"

"Feyre." I stopped when I saw Cassian give her a sympathetic look and I shook my head, "you two have fun conspiring against me."

I pulled opened the front door and walked out before I could even consider how bad of an idea that was. I walked out into the evening light and went towards the street. My body fought me, it wanted to turn around and go home to Cassian. But my mind told me to ignore the pain, the anxiety that flooded through me. We never fought and now I understood why.

Because it was as painful as being in withdrawal.

I didn't stop though. I walked through the empty streets and towards the field. I just needed a minute to process the fight I had with Feyre. She wanted to go on a date with Rhysand. Why was Cassian on her side? He knew if they started something and he imprinted with someone else she would be left heartbroken.

After what Tamlin had done to her I couldn't bare to see my sister hurt again. Why didn't she understand that? Tears choked me as I wandered into the grass, trying to stay angry instead of hurt. I felt Cassian pull on the imprint.

I shut myself off. I wasn't even sure how but I couldn't feel him pull on my chest anymore. I felt his heartbeat and that was it. I sighed as I sat down in the field and pulled my legs up under my chin. I hated fighting with my sisters. I hated feeling like a parent instead of a sister.

But I wouldn't let someone hurt Feyre again. I had turned a blind eye to Tamlin, I had let him hurt her for months without realizing she was slipping away. And I hated myself for that period in her life. That's why I tried so hard to bring her back to us. To make sure she would never go through something like that again.

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against my knees. I took in a few deep breaths and slowly my anger faded. I wasn't angry, just upset that both of them ganged up on me. Mostly because Cassian had ganged up on me. Because he knew what this imprint was, what it did to us.

He should've been the one to say no.

"I know you worry about me," Feyre stood behind me, her voice was small, "but I'm not a little girl anymore. And I would never agree to a date with another Tamlin again."

She sat down beside me and pulled my arm until she was holding it in her lap. She leaned her head on my shoulder, "I worry about you, Fey. You were in such a bad place after what he did. It took you months to come back to us."

"I know," she whispered softly, "and I love you so much for being my sister, my friend. For being there when I was mean and hard to love. But I don't need you as a mother anymore. I needed you when we were younger yes, but now I need you as my friend."

I nodded, "I'm afraid you'll get in too deep and Rhys will imprint with someone else. I don't want you to get hurt because of something he can't control."

"I'll take that chance," she whispered softly, "because I like him. After Tamlin I thought I'd never trust someone or want to date someone again. But Rhys is sweet and funny. I want to try again Nesta. That's good."

"It's amazing," I smiled as I turned and looked into the eyes we shared. The eyes our mother had given all three of us. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I walked out."

"It's okay. Cassian went crazy though, I had to stop him from following you. When you closed yourself off, whatever that means, he started pulling at his hair. I physically stopped him from pulling it out of his head, because his hair is too pretty."

I laughed, "Feyre."

"He said it was dangerous but I said you needed space. So I came instead."

I leaned into her, "I guess we should go back so the brute doesn't have a heart attack." Feyre laughed as we stood up, "I'm sorry for being so controlling. I know you aren't five anymore. But you'll always be my little girl."

Feyre hugged me tightly, "And I'm sorry for being a brat."

We walked back to the house together laughing and our fight was gone. The front door flew open the minute we got back to the house. Cassian came running out and Feyre smiled as he hugged me tightly.

The pain and anxiety left me as he held me, "I'm sorry Nesta. I didn't mean to make you mad. I promise I just thought. Like Feyre and Rhysand might be friends."

I nodded, "I overreacted. I'm sorry for walking out. I don't like fighting with you."

"Yeah. I don't like fighting with you either."

He leaned in and kissed me softly, "but hey we officially survived our first one," I said softly before he wrapped his arms around my waist. I leaned into him.

"Yeah. We did," he kissed my temple as we walked back into the house, “can we never do it again?”

I laughed against his chest, “I can’t promise that. I’m pretty stubborn.”

“You’ve got that right.” His eyes flashed, “so what do you say we have desert now? Elain just got home, she's in the shower. Then we can watch a movie or something."

My stomach agreed, "I say yes please, boyfriend."

"So," I sighed as Cassian started gathering the rest of the dirty plates and put them in the sink, "when's the date Feyre?"

My sister laughed, "tomorrow. Rhys said he uh. Made reservations. And told me to wear something pretty."

She was still smiling and I shook my head. I could already see how taken she was with Cassian's brother. I bit my lip and wondered if maybe. Maybe this was what she needed. If this would help her completely fight off the darkness Tamlin had brought with him.

Cassian laughed, "Rhys is a good man, Fey. I've only known him as long as you all, but I can tell he's good."

I stood up and walked around the counter. I wrapped my arms around Cassian's waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, "not as good as you."

Cassian's eyes flashed as he pulled out the cheesecake he had made while I slept. My mouth watered, it was chocolate, my favorite. He even somehow added mousse to it. And chocolate chips on the back. It's like he knew my weakness was chocolate everything. He laughed when he heard me marveling over his creation.

"I made it for you," he cut off pieces as the showered turned off, "you're sure you're okay with Feyre and Rhys?"

"No." I sighed as he handed me a fork and I took a bite. It tasted heavenly. I moaned, "Cassian. This might be better than what you did with your mouth earlier."

His laugh was deep, but his eyes were dark, "I'll have you reconsidering that later tonight," he said softly, taking his own bite of cake.

The night turned into a normal one with my family. My sisters thought Cassian was funny, they indulged him talking to the screen when we all settled in to watch a movie together. And me, well there was nowhere else I wanted to be. I was perfectly happy curled up on his chest, my heart beating in time with his.

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