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houseofhurricane · 3 years ago

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hearts bring back the light

Summary: The war is finally over, and Nesta Archeron spends solstice figuring out what comes next.

Pairings: Nessian with sides of Elucien, Feysand, Gwynriel, and Emorie

Word Count: 5,523

Notes: This is an @acotargiftexchange fic for @writtenonreceipts, who wanted Feysand, Nessian, and/or Elucien, and something at least moderately fluffy. I hope you enjoy!

If you'd prefer, you can read this fic on Archive of Our Own.

Nesta tries to pull her coat shut and fails, the thick wool refusing to stretch over her belly. Solstice is still a week away but Velaris is in the midst of an early cold snap, snow falling on a freezing wind. She scowls down the burgeoning abdomen that’s growing steadily more chilled, glad the child fluttering inside her can’t yet see her face, that they’re still shielded by her skin and blood.

She already regrets telling Gwyn and Emerie that she wanted to do her solstice shopping alone. In her mind, she’d stroll through the snow, peruse the windows lit by twinkling faelights, and instantly find the perfect, thoughtful gifts her friends and family deserve. Instead, she’s already freezing and her stomach churns ominously, and ten thousand stairs lie between her and her bed.

A shadow falls over her, a flash of crimson light, and Cassian stands next to her, his landing silent in the snow.

“I thought you had a meeting in Illyria,” she says by way of hello, though she can’t keep the smile off her face as she steps closer toward him, beckoned by his warmth.

His large hand fits itself over her belly, as it has for the past six months, ever since her scent changed.

“Emerie sent me on an errand.”

He holds out his other arm and there’s a large, flat box topped with a bow the color of Cassian’s siphons, dusted with fat flakes of snow.

“Who are we bringing this to?” she sighs, and he bumps the box against her arm.

“Emerie and Mor thought you might want to open their solstice present early.”

She bites back a smile and slides the box open, revealing a navy woolen coat and a fluffy red scarf shot through with silver threads. Cassian quickly removes her too-small coat and replaces it with the new one, and there’s plenty of space for the baby to grow. As he ties the scarf around her neck, Nesta realizes that she’s already warm.

She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, a silent thank you and an invitation.

“They thought I looked too big for my coat?” she asks after she pulls away, continuing in the direction of the shops.

“Everyone thinks you look perfect. Especially me. Where are we going?”

“I’m trying to find gifts for everyone tonight.”

“The House will do that for you if you ask nicely.” He flashes a grin at her and rests his hand on her back, his fingers over the exact place where it aches, and Nesta is sorely tempted to let him fly her home and remove her warm new coat.

Instead, she flashes him the look he’s dubbed the “I will slay my enemies” glare and points out, “It’s not the same if it’s the House and you know it.”

“Gwyn won’t mind as long as you give her a pegasus.”

“Azriel will make us keep it,” she retorts, pushing her boots through the snow.

He wraps his arm around her, pulls her close against him without missing a single stride.

“Then I’ll help you find a gift my brother won’t complain about.”

Hours later, Cassian is loaded down with bags and boxes he refuses to let Nesta carry, and they have bickered and laughed and drunk several mugs of molten chocolate and spiced cider, than gone frantically searching for a bathing room for Nesta, but there’s a gift for everyone except Cassian.

“I have everything I need,” he says when, walking through the streets that sparkle with faelights and fresh snow, she asks what he’d like for solstice.

Instead of answering, he pulls her toward him and wraps his arms around her, his hands over her belly. The child inside her spins and flutters under his touch.

“I’m sorry you think so,” she’d told him after she’d kissed him thoroughly. “Because I’m about to change your mind.”

Cassian only laughs and sweeps her into his arms, flying them towards home.

Below them, Velaris sparkles like a treasure, and Nesta finds herself wishing that the child could behold this sight, their home at its most brilliant.

Though the war finally ended a year ago, Nesta sometimes still wakes with nightmares, which have grown especially vivid with her pregnancy. She can feel Koschei’s magic crawling on her skin, hear Elain’s screams as she plunged into battle, heedless of the cost, smell the iron scent of Cassian’s blood outside his body. That they all survived, that they’ve entered at last into their hard-won peace, does not register in her sleeping mind. The old nightmares return, too: sometimes the Cauldron still laps at her, sometimes she still watches her father die, hears Cassian prepare her for their next life.

She wakes up, throat raw and cheeks sticky with half-dried tears, to Cassian’s embrace, her back held against him so that she does not feel suffocated. He knows, now, how to hold her, how to soothe her, how to bring her back to their life in peacetime.

“What if this is the dream?” she asks him, still half-asleep as she wakes in the night a few days before the winter solstice, when Velaris is covered in a blanket of snow that makes the darkness a luminous blue.

“Then we enjoy it until we wake,” he says, his voice low in her ear. He brushes the hair away from her face and runs his hand over her belly. The baby aims a kick at her lungs, the strongest she’s felt yet, and she exhales with a little gasp, controlled by the little being inside her.

Instantly, Cassian is looking her over for any sign of danger, placing himself over her body. As if he too is worried that this peace is an illusion, that malevolent forces still loom.

“It was the baby,” she says, her voice lowering, falling out of her panic, the dreams pushed further away as she settles her mates fingers over the place where their child lashes out with their tiny feet once again.

In the moonlight, she sees the joy and fascination on his face. Her Cassian, who has triumphed against enemies older and more powerful than Nesta can imagine, who goes to battle despite impossible odds, who will be the hero in countless legends, actually wells up with tears at the feeling of their child’s first fierce kicks.

“She’ll be just like her mother,” he says, kissing her even as she rolls her eyes. “Good for everyone that I’m fond of my Valkyries.”

Instead of answering, she pulls him toward her, easing his soft sleeping trousers off his hips, wanting the reassurance of him fitted tight inside her, and Cassian, her beloved, the best male in this whole beautiful sorry world, pulls off her nightgown and kisses her heavy breasts, her laden belly, the throbbing place between her legs before fitting himself inside her.

“You’re not dreaming, Nes,” he says when they’re breathless and sated, into the ringing silence. “We really saved this world.”

She cups the back of his head with her palms, his hair silken between her fingers.

“Then why does it feel like it could all be gone in an instant?”

“Because the world is always in need of saving in one way or another.”

He lifts her against him, so easily, and she rests against his chest, lulled by his heartbeat, the fortress of his muscled arms.

They had conceived the child in the Summer Court. The moment the final treaty was signed, Rhys had all insisted they relax, enjoy the peace, and Nesta and Cassian had thought up all the places they wanted to travel, in Prythian and on the continent. Without a battle or a mission or a war to prepare for, there was no hurry, and Cassian flew them everywhere, to a cabin in the sparkling mountains of the Winter Court, through the perfect sunrises of the Dawn Court, over the tulip fields of the continent, which made her think of Elain, already settling in at the Day Court. They visited a hundred markets and tried foods with spices even Nesta, the daughter of a merchant, had never tasted.

Nesta savored the sun on her skin and the wide open spaces of this world, the mountains and forests and oceans beyond anything she’d imagined when she lived in the cabin, or when she fought battles at the balls of human aristos. She’d wept in his arms over the fallen Valkyries, the losses in the unit of female Illyrians that Emerie had led, and felt his own tears on her skin as he mourned the losses of his men. She watched as the lines around Cassian’s mouth faded, as his grief wracked him less and less, felt the echo in her own body.

When they’d reached the Summer Court, sun-drunk and giddy over Tarquin’s forgiveness at Cassian’s past antics, they’d spent entire days on the beach, fucking in the water or sometimes in the sky above, Cassian alternately swimming and sunning his wings, and Nesta splayed on the sand while she plowed her way through dozens of romance novels. When the long days darkened into evening, they’d watch the stars appear over the dark expanse of sea, the waters sighing until they were both lulled to sleep.

It took weeks of that sultry peace before Nesta asked, “What do we do, now that the war is over?”

She’d been more and more aware of the fact that her gifts were meant for battle. For all of Gwyn’s research, the histories never recounted what the ancient Valkyries did during peacetime.

Cassian had kissed her and said, “We enjoy it, Nes. We build our new world as we think it should be.”

Later, she will be grateful that he didn’t press his own vision onto her, that he simply allowed her to think and dream for weeks. Her daydreams filled with a thousand futures, strengthening the women of the Night Court’s vast territory in every way she knows, lobbying Rhys until the laws reflect the equality they all feel in their bones, and fluttering around the edges of those visions are two small girls with Cassian’s dark hair and Nesta’s steel blue eyes, laughing just like her mate does. And Nesta realized that she was hungry for all of it, to fight until the peace is worthy of its name for everybody, to build her home with Cassian, with the children the Mother granted her. Still, she waited to tell him, wanting to make sure that she was certain. Because she knew that once she told him, she would not stop until this was her future.

So Nesta savored their lazy sunkissed routine, until one night, dining on fish and sea vegetables and the sweet indulgent fruits that only flourish in Tarquin’s court, she’d been unable to keep the words inside herself any longer.

She’d told him, among other things, “I want to have a child.”

Nesta had never seen such a smile on Cassian’s face as he swept her into her arms.

That night, she stopped taking the contraceptive potion, and, two months later, newly arrived in the Day Court at the invitations of Helion and Lucien and Elain, Nesta had vomited spectacularly at Helion’s feet. His new consort, Lucien’s mother, had tended to her with a calm manner and a knowing look, offering ginger tea and cool wet towels and fresh air, but it hadn’t been until the next morning, when her scent changed, that Nesta and Cassian fully realized what was happening. Despite the delays and complications the High Fae faced, Nesta had become pregnant almost as soon as they’d started trying.

The Mother, apparently, had wanted them to have a child as much as they did.

Despite her persistent nausea and exhaustion, Nesta found herself eager to begin her new life, and Cassian began snarling at every male who so much as glanced at his mate too long, so as soon as they toured the Day Court and she assured herself that Elain was well and truly happy there, with her mate and her sunlit gardens, she and Cassian flew to the Night Court.

Nesta breathed the air high above Velaris, cold and bracing even in the height of summer, and knew that she was home.

Now she wakes to sunlight on snow and a note from Cassian that her meeting with Rhys and Feyre has been moved to noon, a lunch at the river estate. She suspects that Cassian had suggested this, had known she would want to sleep late after her nightmare.

There’s a stack of books on her nightstand, the House’s latest smutty favorites, a cup of molten chocolate laced with peppermint, and a cheese pastry redolent with butter. As she heaves herself to sitting, she hears the faint strains of what she’s come to recognize as solstice carols.

“If I didn’t know better,” she says, “I’d think you wanted to celebrate the solstice with just the two of us.”

The blankets shift around her, perfectly covering her shoulders, and the smell of cinnamon wafts through the air, which Nesta takes as the House’s agreement.

She reads for hours, the child fluttering inside her, as if they too are following this tale of unlikely lovers bound by promises and protocol in the Dawn Court of centuries ago, though Nesta hopes they do not follow the sections on wing play, even as she decides she’ll try it with Cassian soon. She sips her chocolate, which never grows cold, and when she finishes her pastry, the House brings her fruit to nibble on.

Later, when she rises to prepare for her meeting, she finds that her wardrobe is stocked with new clothing, all soft and in her favorite colors, cut to accommodate her new and shifting body. There is a crimson dress which she supposes is intended for the annual solstice party, and the coat from Emerie and Mor is neatly hung with its matching scarf.

“Can you help me think of what to buy for Cassian?” she asks the House, but its only answer is to pull out a thick gray sweater for her meeting, which Nesta supposes is one way of saying she’s asked for a bit too much, this time.

When she arrives at the river estate, Nyx and Seren run to her, Nyx taking flight straight into Nesta’s arms, and Seren toddling across the marble floors, her violet eyes shining as she screams something at Nesta that she barely understands. She scoops them each into hugs and leaves smacking kisses on her cheeks, surprised as always by how easy it is to share this tenderness.

“I see I’ve been replaced,” Cassian drawls just as Feyre and Rhys appear.

“You’ll get used to it, brother,” Rhys retorts with a smile.

Meanwhile, Nyx is telling Nesta about a recent lesson in Fae history, an ancient king who went into battle with a shining sword, and how Papa and Mama have promised that he can have a sword for his next birthday.

“I’ll teach you how to use it,” Nesta promises as he wraps his arms around her neck, his wings tucked in against his shoulderblades, small and perfect.

“You aren’t very fast, Aunt Nesta.” His voice is sweetly matter-of-fact.

“Just you wait,” she says, trying to bend to pick up Seren with her other arm and failing. Cassian swoops her up in his arms instead and she lets out a perfect shrieking laugh, which makes Nyx jump out of Nesta’s arms and fly towards him.

Feyre quickly moves to hug her, then leads her to the meeting room where Nesta’s recommendations on changes to Night Court policy are waiting in a thick stack on the table. On top, the topic for today’s discussion, is a law to let all interested females out of the Hewn City before their freedoms are stripped away.

As they often have in the months since Nesta returned to Velaris, Rhys and Feyre agree with her in theory, but raise the practical implications, the matters of execution. Nesta is getting better at not rolling her eyes and letting out aggrieved sighs, and two hours later, after only a few heated arguments, three pointed glares at Rhys, and only one suffocated scream from Nesta, they’ve finished a platter of sandwiches and come up with a plan to offer more freedom to those who feel trapped in the Hewn City, the way Mor did.

The plan will still open to debate and amendment by Amren and Mor and likely there will be a mostly ceremonial discussion with Kier, but to Nesta it feels like real progress, reminds her of the inexorable tide of battles that win a war, and she lets herself sink into her chair with a contented sigh when Rhys rises, kisses Feyre, and leaves for another meeting.

“You’re coming to the solstice party?” her sister asks.

“I didn’t know I had a choice,” she says, softening the words with a smile, then adding, so that Feyre will know she’s not the villain in Nesta’s story, even for an evening, “Emerie and Gwyn will drag me if I’m late.”

Feyre grins back, then gestures at Nesta’s belly. “You’re feeling all right?”

“Happier than I thought I’d be.”

Madja had explained that pregnancy would make her crave strange food and scramble her emotions, but at these words, which aren’t quite an answer to Feyre’s question, her eyes fill with tears.

Because Nesta Archeron was born and trained for battle and misery and grit, even when her world was only as wide as the night’s ballroom. But here, in the peace she’s helped to win, she’s finding that she is not out of place, and it’s a marvel.

Her little sister rises from her seat and wraps her arms around Nesta, leans her head on her sweatered shoulder.

“You might get used to it.” Feyre’s voice is so sweet and sure that Nesta knows her sister, no matter what she accomplishes in the Night Court, will forever be written in Prythian history as beloved.

“Have you?”

“Maybe in a thousand more years.”

When she arrives at home with Cassian, the table is filled with delicacies and new faelights and candles twinkle all over the House.

“I think the House is spoiling you,” Cassian says, his eyes widening as he considers the table, the roast pork that makes Nesta’s mouth water, the fruits of every color, each one perfectly ripe.

“The House is always nice to me.”

As if to prove its point, a solstice carol begins somewhere in the background. Cassian sighs.

There are times when it’s easy to forget that Cassian needs anything from her, that there’s anything she can give him.

“How was your day?”

He rubs his temples, turning toward her, away from the food..

“Sometimes I wish I could unleash you on the Illyrian commanders,” he says.

“I’m not sure if I should be proud or wounded.”

“Proud.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, but Nesta doesn’t let herself become distracted by the touch or the compliment.

“You’re trying to change their world,” she says, thinking of her months of arguments and deliberation with Rhys and Feyre, how the progress so far has been small compared to what’s in her mind.

“You should see Emerie,” he says, his tone contemplative. “She always knows what to say at these things. I should put her in charge of Illyrian reforms.”

“You should.”

He smiles at her, rueful but accepting her words, and when he reaches for her, Nesta fits herself against him, his lips against the mass of her braids, her everyday crown.

“Part of me is worried I’ll get left behind. That I’ll become some wartime relic.”

“You’re more than the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian.”

“Well said, Lady Death.”

She rolls her eyes at the nickname and then asks, “What did you do the last time there was a lasting peace?”

“I never trusted it. And I was still young, then, proving myself in Illyria and the Hewn City. Nobody believed a bastard-born Illyrian could lead the armies of the Night Court.”

Nesta thinks of him, younger and more uncertain, standing before war-tried males who dared to look down on her mate, and her heart clenches in her chest. She wishes they had been born in the same moment, in the same place, so that she could have shielded him from everything he’s had to endure.

“Then what do you wish you could do?”

“I wish I could remake the world in the image of Velaris. Make sure everyone is safe and content and able to do as they will. That there were a way to let Illyria and the Hewn City have their customs without all the evil and brutality. That we could rule over all these principalities as one united court.”

She has never heard such a speech from Cassian, the words spilling out of him, sure and decisive, as if they’ve been curled up inside him for a long while.

She stands on her tiptoes so that her eyes meet his hazel gaze, the warmth and vulnerability in it.

“You could do all of it, you know,” she says.

He looks away, training his eyes on the sparkling city laid out before them, preparing for the darkest night, the ending of the first year of peacetime.

“I’m no courtier.”

“You’re something better.” At the certainty in his voice, he turns toward her again, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Like he wants to believe her. “Everyone already likes you.”

He laughs at those words, deep and musical, but she can tell he’s not dismissing the idea. Instead, they spend the next three hours making their way through the House’s feast and, bit by bit, as night deepens around them, Cassian tells her all of his ideas.

“Have you gotten a solstice gift for Azriel yet?” Nesta asks, raising a mug of spiced cider to her lips. Around them, the lights twinkle and the air is filled with the scent of pine and spruce, another gift from the House.

Gwyn’s smile is only subtly judgemental as she says, “Weeks ago.”

“Of course you did,” Emerie says, raising her goblet of mulled wine to her lips, the gesture just like Mor’s. “Don’t tell me you’re spawning too.”

Gwyn swats at her, laughing. “I had to fit it around a mission.”

After the Blood Rite, Gwyn had discovered a talent for spycraft. Nesta had sometimes gone months without knowing her exact location, only to have her return to Velaris or the war camps with shadows under her eyes and relief in her smile, her hand nearly always clasped in Azriel’s. Days later, there would be sudden changes in their strategy, or key figures on the continent would go missing.

Gwyn still works as a spy, and sometimes Nesta wonders at the former priestess she’d met in the library, at the secrets she keeps and the ways she’s transformed. Even if, when she’s in Velaris, she’s in and out of the library more than Nesta.

Now, though, she just rolls her eyes at her friend and says, “Just promise me it’s not a pegasus.”

“Or you’ll need one as well?” Emerie cuts in.

“I don’t want to hear Az complaining about it. Anyway, I have you and Cassian to fly me around.”

Emerie’s wings have been healed for years now, and sometimes Nesta finds herself taking it for granted that her friend can fly between Illyria and Velaris and Mor’s estate in the span of hours. There’s nobody, not even Cassian or Rhys or Azriel, who loves flying as much as Emerie does.

“Only if you get me a very nice solstice gift.”

Nesta’s groan as she rises is only a little faked, but she’s smiling by the time she returns with her friends’ gifts, which she’d ordered weeks ago.

Soon the jeweled bracelets, in the colors of the woven bracelets they’d made for each other years before, are fastened to their wrists, and Emerie declares that she will indeed fly Nesta wherever she likes.

Dawn still grays the horizon when Nesta startles awake with an idea and rises from her bed, then settles at her desk. Hours later, Cassian hovers in the doorway but she waves him away. In the dead of night, his solstice gift had come to her.

When she sees him at the training session above the House of Wind, now run primarily by Ros and Deirdre, the priestesses who survived the war, he raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve never seen you write like that,” he says as he racks the wooden swords, an old habit that Nesta knows the priestesses nevertheless appreciate.

She kicks at a drift of snow, wondering if she should have worn another pair of socks.

“I had an idea,” is all she has to say before Azriel and Gwyn fly in, followed by Emerie and Mor. It’s rare, now, that their old training group is fully reunited, and as grateful as she is for the interruption, she’s brought almost to tears by the sight of them. The fact that they all survived.

“I never thought I’d see the day when Nesta cried,” Emerie says with a smirk.

“You’ve clearly never seen her in--” Cassian begins, before Nesta covers his mouth with her hand. He licks her fingers.

“We survived,” is all she says, her voice cracking on the last word.

“Now we show everyone else how to do it,” Gwyn says, her own eyes bright as she wraps an arm around Nesta’s shoulders. Gwyn, who has never feared her. “But first, can any of you explain why no one has ever bothered to heat this damn ring?”

“I would’ve thought a Carynthian wouldn’t be so soft,” Azriel retorts, his smile taking the insult out of the remark.

“As if you haven’t tried to fit in Gwyn’s flannel-lined leathers,” Emerie points out. “We talk to each other, you know.”

“We’re extremely aware,” Cassian says, and Mor laughs, and although nobody will let her spar, and she swears, while running sprints and holding her lunge, that her child has doubled in size over the past week, and she’s half-distracted by what remains to be done for Cassian’s gift, all in all, Nesta spends a very pleasant morning in training.

Nesta will bring her daughter into the world on a spring morning when the air is filled with the scent of flowers, though she won’t smell their fragrance in those hours when she’s wracked by each contraction, when her body is tight as a bowstring, when Gwyn whispers prayers to the Mother and Emerie stands over her with cool towels for her forehead and Cassian holds tight to her hands, her shoulders as he tells her how strong she is, how powerful, how lucky their child will be to grow up with such a mother. Every word that arrives through the haze of pain seems to sweep aside all her fears.

At some point, Nesta will realize that the pain and the adrenaline and even the fear are more like battle than anything.

Except that when her daughter, slimy and squirming and already wailing, is laid on Nesta’s chest, she realizes that this victory is nothing like the battlefield, when winning feels so similar to loss.

Nesta will trace her daughter’s face with her fingertips, kiss her rosy cheeks and the top of her head, already covered with a fuzz, Cassian leaning over her shoulder to study their baby, and she will know that this moment will be held forever in her mind, perfect.

They will name her Fenna, which Gwyn has said means peace in the old dialects, and, right from that first moment, Nesta will promise her daughter a better world.

But now, the night of the winter solstice, Nesta rests her hand on her belly, nervous as she watches Cassian and Lucien discussing sports. For all the time she’s spent on Cassian’s gift, she’s still not sure if he will like it.

Elain appears at her elbow.

“I have no idea how they find so much to say about a ball hit back and forth,” she says, twisting her hands. The gesture is so unlike Elain’s usual cheerful elegance that Nesta reaches for her sister’s hands. Even now that they’re grown and Elain has come into her power, she still wants to soothe her sister.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta asks, instead of the clever retort she’d thought up, comparing sporting events to the ballroom.

Elain sighs and says, “I’m pregnant.”

There has been a rash of babies since the signing of the peace treaty, but Nesta has not felt such a clamor inside her as she feels now, when Elain gives her the news. Her sister always envisioned herself as mother to a large family, and Nesta has wondered why, in the years since her mating ceremony to Lucien, there have been no children. She wondered if the question was too painful, though, and so she didn’t ask it.

“Why do you sound afraid?” she asks, now, her fingers still tight around Elain’s. She’s aware of the expanse of her belly between them, the child that kicks below her ribs.

“This isn’t the first time. There have been-- I’ve lost them, early. And I’ve had visions of my children but I wonder if they’re false. If I’ll lose this one too.”

There is no real comfort she can provide to the anguish in her sister’s voice, no assurance she can give. A child lives or it does not, and Nesta has lost her powers to say otherwise. Only now does she think of that fact with regret.

“Have you seen a healer?”

Elain twists her lips into an expression between a grimace and a smile. “I’ve seen seven. Lucien and I -- we wanted to be sure, this time. Whether there was anything we should do. If we could get our hopes up. All of them have said the child is healthy and growing as they should. That I’m all right.”

“And how long has it been?”

“Nearly four months.”

Nesta looks at Elain’s gown, more closely than she has all evening, at the way it flows loose around her waist, disguising the slight but unmistakable curve of her belly, the way the neckline draws the eye to her sister’s breasts, full for the first time in Elain’s life. The way the deep green fabric could fool someone into thinking that the moonglow of her sister’s skin is due to the flattering color alone.

“I wanted to tell you--” Elain says, misinterpreting the look on her face.

“Shut up and let me hug you,” is all she says, and pulls Elain into her arms.

Over the course of the evening, the news circulates among them all, to laughter and hugs and wry statements that of course Nesta and Elain’s children would practically be twins, and it’s in this haze of merriment that she settles on the couch next to Cassian, sinking deep into the soft cushion.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up,” she grumbles even as she leans against him and his wing circles around her.

“Good thing your mate is a big strong Illyrian warrior.”

“You can say that if you win the snowball fight tomorrow,” she says, and then, because nobody is paying attention to them, she lays her gift in his lap.

It is a slim package, hastily wrapped, but Cassian smiles as he opens it to reveal the notebook inside. Half of the pages are covered with Nesta’s handwriting, which to her eye looks sloppy as he thumbs through the pages.

“I didn’t know what to get you. But this is our story,” she says, looking across the room, to where Seren is braiding Emerie’s hair while she had Mor gossip with Feyre. She doesn’t want to see a hint of disappointment on Cassian’s face.

“Did you run out of time to finish it?” he asks, though she can hear the smile in his voice.

“I wanted to leave room for the rest of it. For everything we’re going to do next.”

He does not speak and finally, Nesta’s curiosity overwhelms her. She turns toward him.

Cassian’s eyes are bright with tears as he reads the first page, where she’d written about his appearance in her home, the instant spark between them, the love and attraction she’d tried to deny.

“This is perfect,” he says, marking the page with a careful finger as he takes her in his arms. “This is fucking perfect, Nes.”

“I love you,” she says, an explanation and a declaration and a promise.

When he kisses her, she forgets that they’re in the middle of a party with their family and friends, about all her obligations and fears and dreams. There’s only Cassian in her arms, their child curled up inside her, and cinnamon and spruce in the air. Nesta thinks, pulling Cassian closer and relaxing into this moment, the peace she fought for and won, that maybe this truly is what peace and joy and home feel like. That it’s actually fucking perfect.

More Notes: I know this is kind of bittersweet fluff, but I hope you enjoy it? I had the Stars song "In Our Bedroom After The War" in my head when I was drafting it, which includes the line the war is over and we are beginning, and that really informed the vibe of this.

Also, I've never written Nessian as a focal couple before and I really enjoyed it! Writing Nesta's snark and their banter together is delightful.

@writtenonreceipts, if you hate it, please let me know, and I'll write you something better 🧡

Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a happy holiday season! 🎄

#acotar gift exchange 2021 #nessian #nessian fanfiction #domestic nessian #nessian pregnancy #elucien #feysand #gwynriel #emorie #acotar solstice fic #acotar fanfiction #nesta supremacy #nesta archeron #fluff and angst

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 years ago

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Dreaming of a White Christmas

Happy happy holidays and a happy belated sorry birthday to @moodymelanist from your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy this established relationship Nessian fic that features what you said was your favorite part of the holidays: buying a tree and decorating :) cc: @acotargiftexchange

The sound of a soft thunk has Nesta looking up from the current book she’s reading. She frowns softly at the large bin now sitting in front of the coffee table, Cassian walking in with another large bin perched between his hands that he sets down beside the first. Her curiosity officially piqued, Nesta places her bookmark between the pages of her book and sets it down. She sits up properly and adjusts the blanket currently securely wrapped around her legs and abdomen, hoping to sneak a peek as to what is hiding inside the bins. When Cassian walks in with a third bin, she can’t hold it in any longer.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“Christmas decorations,” Cassian explains, opening the first bin to reveal what looks like various wreaths.

“It’s barely December,” Nesta points out.

“You’re lucky I waited this long. Normally, I’m decorating before November ends.”

He tosses a wink in Nesta’s direction before peeling off the lids of the other two bins and setting them aside. Nesta watches as he rolls up the sleeves of the long sleeved tee he’s sporting today, teasing the tanned skin and ends of black swirled ink of his forearms, before he reaches up to gather his tangle of curls into a bun. The movement reveals another sliver of skin, just under the hem of his tee, that Nesta’s eyes zero in on. But Nesta’s thoughts are pulled fully back to the present as Cassian starts pulling things out of the bins and placing them into various piles. Clearly, he has a system.

It had been an easy decision this summer, moving in with Cassian. They had been dating for almost two years, despite knowing each other for longer, having first been introduced at Feyre’s birthday celebration all those years ago. From that first meeting, no one got under Nesta’s skin quite like Cassian. But no one understood her the way he did either. No one melted away those icy barriers she had used to guard herself for years until the only thing that remained was a soft warmth.

Then one night, they were curled up together under his sheets with Nesta’s head resting on his chest, with the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear, with Cassian’s fingers drawing senseless patterns across her spine. Nesta had teased that Cassian should give her a second drawer for her things at his place, and Cassian had told her she could just have half the whole place. Nesta had expected the fear, the nerves, to creep in, but they never did. All she had felt was warmth blooming deep between her ribs at the prospect of waking up next to Cassian every morning. So when Nesta’s lease had ended, that had been that.

Sure, even though Nesta had spent many a night at Cassian’s place before the move, there had been a slight learning curve. Like the fact that Cassian most definitely does his laundry incorrectly. Although, according to Cassian, Nesta loads the dishwasher incorrectly. And now, Nesta knows that her boyfriend is one of those Christmas fanatics.

“So are you going to help?” Cassian asks, a teasing smirk pulling up the left side of his lips.

“What if I just want to sit here and look pretty while you do all the work?” Nesta shoots back.

“Well, you’re definitely already succeeding there.”

Cassian leans over the coffee table, cradling Nesta’s jaw with a hand and sweetly pressing their lips together. Nesta sighs softly against his lips, leaning into him when he goes to pull away. Cassian chuckles, his hands sweeping down Nesta’s arms to capture her hands. He gives her hands a squeeze before pulling Nesta to her feet, pointedly ignoring the scowl Nesta settles him with, the raised eyebrow that lets him know she knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Don’t worry, Nes,” Cassian teases lightly. “I’ll take care of the outside decorations, so you don’t have to deal with the cold.”

“You’re not worried I’ll mess up your system?”

“You could never,” Cassian promises, setting the stack of wreaths in Nesta’s arms. “These go in the window. Easy.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she takes the wreaths and heads for the windows on the other side of the room to get started. She can hear the clink of bulbs as Cassian gathers up the strings of lights followed by the soft click of the front door opening and closing. Nesta works her way around the house, hanging a wreath in each window. She’s hanging a wreath in the dining room window when she spots Cassian outside, frowning down at the tangle of lights in his hands. Nesta snorts softly as Cassian spreads his arms, trying to figure out the current knot. She swears he must hear her because his eyes meet hers, the hazel of them bright under the December sun, and he offers her a soft smile.

When the wreaths are done, Nesta heads back to Cassian’s bins of decorations. She pulls out the garlands there, taking the time to wrap one around the railing and the other along the mantle of the fireplace. She’s setting up the different holiday inspired figurines along the mantle when the door opens again. She turns to find Cassian standing there, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold outside but his smile wide.

“All finished?” Nesta asks.

“Yeah, but we won’t be able to get the full effect until the sun sets.”

Cassian takes a step closer to her, but Nesta recognizes that mischievous glint hiding amongst the gold flecks of his eyes, so she takes a step back. The movement has a smirk moving across Cassian’s face as he takes another step forward.

“Don’t even think about it,” Nesta warns, holding her hand out and taking another step back.

Cassian rushes toward her, and Nesta barely has time to turn away and attempt to escape before Cassian is wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and pulling her off her feet. She squeals as Cassian slides his hands up under her sweater, presses his face against her neck, the cold of his skin sending goosebumps skittering across her own.

“I hate you so much,” Nesta quips, trying to squirm free from Cassian’s grip.

“Liar,” Cassian teases, replacing where his cold nose is pressed against her neck with his lips. “The place looks great by the way.”

“All that’s missing is a tree. I didn’t see one in any of the bins.”

Cassian sets Nesta back down on her feet, and when she turns in his arms, she finds Cassian looking at her with an unimpressed expression. Despite the affronted frown and pinched brow, that soft light never leaves his eyes, those swirls of greens and golds that always have Nesta’s breath hitching in her chest anytime they catch her gaze.

“Why the face?” Nesta asks teasingly, sliding her hands up to wrap loosely around Cassian’s neck.

“I can’t believe you would ever suggest a fake tree.”

“They’re cost efficient. You buy one and use it for years.”

“And you don’t get that fresh pine smell filling the house.”

“You also don’t get bugs and other critters living in the tree filling the house either,” Nesta protests through a laugh, but she recognizes that determined look on Cassian’s face. “We’re going to get a real tree, aren’t we? What happened to me not having to deal with the cold?”

“Don’t you want to watch me cut down a tree, Nes?” Cassian offers, sliding his hands along the small of Nesta’s back as he leans closer, pressing kisses along the column of her throat.

“You better be buying me so much hot chocolate to help keep me warm,” Nesta warns him.

“As much as you want,” Cassian promises, pulling back just enough to kiss her sweetly.

~ * * * ~

The tree farm that Cassian drives them to already has a number of cars parked in the graveled parking area, unsurprising for a Saturday afternoon. Nesta’s eyes dance across the lines and lines of trees all around them, some small and still growing while others are taller than even Cassian. Her attention catches on a family next to where Cassian parks trying to balance the tree they have on the roof of their car, securing it in place with bungee cords. They clamber into the car when done, but as they pull out of the spot, the tree starts to wobble. Nesta snorts softly as an arm snaps out of the sun roof to hold the tree.

When Nesta slides out of Cassian’s truck, he leads them to the large, red barn at the center of the tree farm. As promised, he buys Nesta a hot chocolate inside, and she sighs happily as the heat of the cup seeps into her fingers, at the deliciously sweet taste on her tongue when she takes a sip. Cassian goes over to talk to the man with the farm maps, so Nesta takes the time to explore the different Christmas knick-knacks and decorations being sold, little wooden reindeer and wreaths. There’s a table of stockings, and Nesta runs her fingers along the red, green, and white thread, traces the intricate patterns.

“We can stitch names in for you,” the woman behind the table speaks up, drawing Nesta’s attention. “If you write them down, we can stitch them while you’re getting your tree, and then you can just pick them up after.”

Nesta glances over her shoulder to where Cassian is hunched over the map before turning back to the woman. With a nod, Nesta digs her wallet out and pays for the stockings, taking the paper and pen from the woman to write out their names. Nesta is just handing the paper back to the woman when large, warm hands slide around her waist, a kiss pressed to her temple.

“Ready?” Cassian whispers against her ear.

At Nesta’s nod, they head back outside, Nesta clutching the warmth of her hot chocolate tighter against the wall of cool air they step into. Cassian goes over to grab one of the wheeled carts for them to carry the tree back in before returning to Nesta’s side. He holds his free hand out toward her, wiggling his fingers in encouragement. Nesta rolls her eyes at his antic, but she switches her hot chocolate to just one hand, sliding her other into Cassian’s and threading their fingers together.

It’s quiet further away from the main part of the farm as they make their way further in amongst the lines of trees. Just the soft crunch of their boots against the ground, the squeak of the cart wheels. Cassian’s hand is warm and steady in hers while he quietly hums some Christmas song, and Nesta finds herself smiling, finds that despite the cold bite of the December weather, there’s warmth flooding her veins.

“What about this one?” Cassian asks, stopping in front of one of the trees.

Nesta tilts her head slightly as she looks at it. “It’s lopsided.”

Cassian tilts his own head before humming in agreement, so they move on, continue to weave their way through the different rows of trees.

“This one?” Cassian asks again.

Nesta lets go of Cassian’s hand so she can walk around the tree, taking it all in. “There’s a massive hole where there’s branches missing,” Nesta points out, sticking her hand in the gap for emphasis.

“You hide that part in the corner,” Cassian defends, but Nesta just levels him with a scowl, causing her boyfriend to let out an exasperated laugh. “For someone who was talking about fake trees only an hour ago, you sure are picky.”

“It has to be the right tree,” Nesta replies haughtily, continuing on.

Nesta walks through the different trees until her eyes snag on one a little ways ahead. It's the perfect height, not too tall but still tall enough, and it's branches are full. She walks around the tree slowly, eyes sweeping up and down and her fingers trailing softly against the soft pine needles. The squeak of the cart wheels tell her Cassian's followed behind.

"The right tree?" he asks.

"You don't agree?"

"I think it's perfect."

Cassian presses a kiss to Nesta's cheek before he gets to work cutting the tree down. Nesta watches appreciatively as he works, as the muscles of his arms bulge while he works the saw through the tree's trunk, as his chest heaves when he lifts the tree into the cart. The smirk on his face tells her she's been caught, but Nesta doesn't care.

"Like what you see, Nes?" Cassian teases, tossing a wink Nesta's way.

"Always," Nesta shoots back without hesitation.

Cassian's smirk grows into a wide grin as he steps closer to her, wrapping his arm around her waist and hauling her into a kiss. Nesta slides her hand up under Cassian's hat, burying her fingers in the dark strands there, as their lips slide together. After a moment, Cassian pulls away, his eyes so bright and full of love that Nesta's heart practically flips inside her chest. Cassian presses a kiss to the tip of her nose that she's sure is pink from the cold then goes back to grab their now full cart.

They make the trek back toward the main part of the farm and their car. While Cassian gets their tree shaken and wrapped, Nesta heads back inside the barn to collect their stockings and to get another hot chocolate. She decides to take pity on Cassian and buy two. When she steps back outside, she finds Cassian loading their tree into the bed of his truck. He smiles sweetly when she holds out the hot chocolate for him to take, and she notes the way he eyes the back hanging from her elbow but doesn't say anything.

When they get home, and Cassian has set the tree up in the corner of the living room, Nesta has to admit it looks nice. She won't say it aloud, won't give Cassian the satisfaction of knowing he was right about a real tree. So instead, Nesta busies herself with hanging their new stockings over the fireplace.

"So, that's what you bought today," Cassian's voice comes from behind her.

"It is our first Christmas together in this house," Nesta reminds him, straightening the stocking with her name stitched on it so it hangs right.

Nesta turns around to find that Cassian has produced yet another bin, this one filled with decorations specifically for the tree. But Cassian's eyes are solely on her, glowing under the soft lights of the living room. His smile is wide but soft, the one Nesta knows is just for her. He reaches forward to thread Nesta's fingers with his own, using the grip to tug her closer and kiss her softly.

"They're perfect," Cassian whispers against her lips.

Nesta smiles and goes up on her toes, stealing one last kiss, before she breaks away and goes to the bin of decorations. Cassian fiddles with his phone for a moment and then Christmas music is blaring through the speaker as they get decorating. Nesta starts with the tinsel while Cassian works a string of lights around the branches. They start on the ornaments next, red and silver and gold baubles that they arrange on the tree.

Nesta goes back to the bin to grab more when she finds a handmade ornament tucked inside, pieces of macaroni and yarn glued all around the edges and glitter pressed in blobs along the paper. She can't stop the smile that pulls across her face at the sight of a baby-faced Cassian staring back at her from the center of the ornament. Before Nesta can even get a word out, the ornament is plucked from her hands.

"We are not putting that on the tree," Cassian says.

"We are most definitely putting that on the tree," Nesta tells him, reaching out to try and snatch the ornament back.

"No way. It's embarrassing," Cassian whines.

"It's cute. Plus, it's a good memory to have."

Cassian continues to pout, but Nesta pries the ornament free from his grip. She steps over toward the tree, trying to find the perfect branch to display the ornament.

"Where are all your old, embarrassing ornaments, so we can be even?" Cassian asks, rummaging through the bin.

Nesta pauses with her hands amongst the branches, swallows hard. "Our Mother always thought those things our school had us make were silly. She threw them all away."

Nesta breathes through the silence that follows the admission, focuses back on hanging Cassian’s old ornament on the tree. But then the warmth of Cassian’s presence presses along her back, hands sliding around her waist.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian whispers, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Nesta offers, leaning back against him.

They stay like that for just a moment longer, basking in each other’s comfort, each other’s warmth, and then it’s back to finishing up the tree. Luckily, that lingering tension dissipates quickly, especially when Cassian starts singing along to All I Want for Christmas. Nesta laughs so hard she practically has tears in her eyes as Cassian tries to hit the high notes along with Mariah.

The playlist switches over to White Christmas, and Cassian pulls Nesta close, settling a hand on her waist as they dance together in front of the finished tree. Nesta sighs happily, looking up at Cassian with a soft smile and finding the same expression reflected on his own face.

“I love you,” Cassian tells her, voice soft and just for them.

“I love you too.”

Cassian leans forward to press his lips against Nesta’s forehead, and Nesta lets her eyes flutter shut at the feel of them, lets her head rest against Cassian’s chest as they continue to sway.

“I have a feeling this is going to be a perfect Christmas,” Cassian whispers against Nesta’s hair.

“All that’s missing is the snow. A white Christmas.”

“Maybe if we’re lucky.”

“I already feel lucky.”

And she does feel lucky, feels happy beyond words. Wrapped up in this house, in Cassian. Wrapped up in the warmth of his arms and of his love. Wrapped up in his soft smiles and bright eyes, in the words he whispers just for her and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. Wrapped up in the way he makes her heart feel so full and light, her chest so warm in a way only he can. And even though Christmas is still a few weeks away, Nesta already knows that it’s going to be the best one yet, that she wouldn’t change a thing.

#my fic #acotar #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #acotar gift exchange 2021

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years ago

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Countdown to Love (1/4) - acotar gift exchange

Sooo this is a bit different from my usual content. I’ve never written for Nessian and the challange was certainly fun, so I really hope this is up to the fandom standard! I tried my best and I hope you enjoy darling @saphie3243. I took your college speed dating suggestion and tried to make something light hearted and fluffy. Merry Christmas! <3

Part of the @acotargiftexchange

Word Count:4787

Read on AO3

Friday, December 10, 1:00pm.

In truth, Nesta didn’t know what had prompted her to attend the campus speed dating event. It had started out as a joke, a passing remark thrown between her friends Emerie and Gwyn, the three of them giggling to each other about what manner of person they might find at such a place. The humor had been in how absurd it would be for any of them to go, for it was so outside the characteristics of their trio, least of all Nesta—who would typically rather drop dead than make awkward, rushed small talk with strangers for a couple hours.

Somewhere, though, the jokes became reality. It was something about the way the conversation had shifted from oh my god, how funny would it be to bring home a speed date for the holidays? to so what is your family planning for Christmas?

And Nesta had forced her pride forward, her ever composed exterior of nonchalance when she explained that her family likely wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas, that the Archerons rarely came together for such affairs. Nesta planned to stay on Campus and savor the quiet with a pile of books and a bottle or two of wine. The girls had been far from judgemental, had even extended invitations for Nesta to join them at their homes if she so wished, which Nesta had politely declined.

She wasn’t sure what, exactly, had bothered her. It wasn’t as though she longed for a corny Hallmark Christmas. She felt no sentiment for the holiday, found most of it to be gimmicky and forced. But as she listened to Gwyn and Emerie talk animatedly about their own holiday traditions, it struck her suddenly that she was… lonely.

When she walked into the event she certainly wasn’t expecting to meet her prince charming, just someone interesting that she might be able to grab a coffee with over the Christmas break. It didn’t even need to be something romantic, she thought, as she signed in and received her badge. She swallowed her nerves, admittedly some of her pride, as she went to sit at her assigned seat and waited for the rest of the people to flood in.

Fortunately, it was a small event at a decently big university, and she didn’t recognize any of the people in attendance. She knew it was silly, since the most Gwyn and Emerie would do was tease her if they found out, but Nesta couldn’t help feeling embarrassed for coming.

When the time started and a handsome man with a cloying smile sat down before her, she thought perhaps things wouldn’t go as catastrophically as she feared.

“Thomas,” he said, extending his hand.

Her smile was practiced, like an experienced hunter setting their snare. “Nesta.”

“That’s a unique name,” he commented, leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence. “Very pretty.”

“It’s Welsh,” she answered, almost instinctively. It was usually a question people asked, so she’d learned to beat them to the punch. “My parents traveled the Celtic nations on their honeymoon.”

His face shifted into a smirk that was not nearly so charming as Nesta was certain he thought it was. “So they picked a name from the same place they got knocked up?”

Ugh. Nesta hadn’t let herself think what the least appealing topic of conversation could be in a speed date, but Thomas had managed to find it within seconds. Not in any rush to accommodate discussions of her own conception, Nesta smiled as if he hadn’t said anything at all and asked, “so what do you study, Thomas?”

Unsurprisingly, her remaining time with Thomas were as dull and forced as their introduction, and she felt relieved when the organizers finally called time. She took a moment to mark him unfavorably on her score card and when she looked back up, she was met with a pair of warm, hazel eyes.

He was grinning, not at all like the smarmy, obnoxious smile that Thomas had worn in attempt to look alluring. This smile was sincere. The man before her was ruggedly handsome, but in an effortless and uncut sort of way.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, laughter dancing in his eyes as he craned his head to look after the man who’d just left. “At least I know the bar’s been set low. What was wrong with the guy, was he drooling too much?”

At Nesta’s scrutinous look, he laughed.

“What? I need to know what to avoid so I don’t crash and burn like the last one. I’m trying to figure out if he was a prick, or you’re just hard to please. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I don’t mind a challenge.”

Nesta crossed her arms, raised her brows. “And who says I’m not swooning after him?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen swooning. You look as if you could slip arsenic into his coffee without blinking an eye. Doesn’t exactly scream true love.”

She gave a sharp laugh, mostly in surprise. He was smart; she liked that. Less polished, but who had time for people who didn’t say what they meant?

“So what’s your strategy, then? Bad mouthing all the other candidates until you’re the only obvious choice?”

“Something like that. I’d planned for a battle royale, but then I got here and they explained that’s against the rules. So now I have to win your heart the old fashioned way—with words and petty gossip.”

“You must be pretty confident if you thought you could take all these men on in a battle royale.”

“I’m a personal trainer. When it comes to words, I might not be the strongest contender. But anything physical, that’s where I dominate.”

There was something about the emphasis he put on physical and dominate that made Nesta feel suddenly very heated inside, although his expression remained friendly, far from suggestive, and it made her wonder if she was the one with the dirty mind.

“So your methodology for dating is what? Brute force? It’s not much of an accomplishment if you need to be the last man standing before someone picks you.”

That smile never faded from his face. “You’ve got claws. I like that. What was his deal, then, couldn’t handle them?”

“Wasn’t interesting enough to even bother taking them out,” she said, the corner of her mouth twisting almost reluctantly, which she immediately regretted since it only seemed to turn him more smug.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say that was a compliment. Does this mean you think I’m interesting?”

His eyes were sparkling in challenge, practically begging for her to spar with him.

She scrunched her nose in feigned distaste. “It means you have a personality, at least.”

“Interesting and a personality?” He let out a long, low whistle. “You’re practically throwing yourself at me now, sweetheart.”

Though she tried to restrain it, she laughed—a short, startled snort through her nose, mostly impressed by his ability to turn the conversation to his advantage.

“You’re right,” she conceded, watching those hazel eyes carefully as they blazed like an open hearth. She marked the unchecked joy and humor they contained, thinking them so similar to a child’s eyes. Though, a child was not nearly so clever. “I better tone it down so you don’t get the wrong idea.”

He leaned forward, smile turning roguish. “And what idea might that be?”

“That you’re doing well enough to warrant that shit eating grin.”

Her words did nothing to deter him, the curl of his lips only deepening. “I think I’m doing better than the last guy.”

“Why are you so sure?” she asked cooly, raising a single brow in condescension.

“Because—the last guy didn’t make you laugh. He didn’t even get a genuine smile out of you. I have.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How would you know?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been watching you from the moment I came into this place. You’re the most breathtaking thing here, and I thought if I paid attention I might have an edge.”

Nesta cursed herself for the way her face heated at such an admission. It should be creepy, she told herself. This man was a complete stranger. “That’s a bit forward don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, not the least bit bashful. “But now I’ve also made you blush, too. And I’ve managed all of that without even knowing your name.”

Time was running out—she could tell by the way the event organizers were making their way to the center of the room, clutching their stopwatches.

“Nesta,” she said, extending her hand.

He made a sound of recognition. “That’s Welsh, right? I went backpacking around Europe, got to stay with a really lovely Welsh family and they had a daughter with that name. It’s cute.”

Cute. In her adult life, no one had ever been bold enough to describe her that way. But as the organizers called time, this man sent her a shameless wink and gracefully slid from the seat.

It was only as Nesta went to write his score that she realized she didn’t even know his name.

⟡⟡⟡

When she received an email from the event organizers, congratulating her on her match, she bit her lips nervously at the phone number they provided, no name attached.

And only moments later, her phone rang, loud and insistent.

She picked up on the third ring, not having spoken a word when a familiar voice on the other end cut in, “Is this Nesta?”

“How did you know I was your match?” she asked, almost startled by his confidence.

“Would you believe it was our undeniable connection?”

“I’d more readily believe that you did something to sabotage your other matches.”

He only laughed, no confirmation one way or another. “What are you doing for the holidays?”

“Nothing,” she said curtly, glancing over to her pile of books. “I’m staying on campus over break.”

“Perfect,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, too. We can keep each other company.”

“What’s your name?” Nesta asked, before he could weasel out of it with fanciful conversation.

There was a moment’s silence, and Nesta could practically picture him grinning on the other end of the phone. She almost regretted asking, for the ego boost it undoubtedly gave him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Haven’t had a name to moan while you’ve been thinking of me?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I’m hanging up.”

“It’s Cassian,” he said, the words rushed. She momentarily relished in knowing the idea of hanging up had panicked him. He swiftly recovered, however, voice once again sounding relaxed as he asked, “how would you like to grab a coffee with me tomorrow?”

She was silent for a long moment, just to keep him on edge, delighting as she imagined him squirming on the other end of the line. At last she hummed noncommittally. “I’ll think about it.”

He didn’t buy it for a second, damn him. “Great, see you at noon,” he chirped, hanging up before she could say anything contrary.

People were usually too intimidated by Nesta to give her this level of push and pull, and she’d be lying to say she didn’t enjoy it. She sat her phone down, telling herself the fluttering feeling in her stomach was not excitement for seeing Cassian tomorrow. She’d yet to have dinner, she was probably just hungry.

But still, Nesta couldn’t help but entertain the fact that maybe, just maybe, this year’s Christmas wouldn’t be a complete let down.

⟡⟡⟡

Monday, December 13, 12:00pm.

“So what’s your deal?” Cassian asked her at a cafe the next day.

He’d already been sitting at a table when she’d walked in, two coffee cups sat on the table before him. With a grin he’d raised one towards her, saying, “You look to me like a pumpkin spice girl.”

“I’m not,” she’d said, walking straight past him to order a coffee, black. Not because she particularly enjoyed it that way, but because she wanted to make a point to Cassian for being presumptuous enough to order for her.

When she’d sat back down, black coffee in hand, that’s when he’d sat back, face smug and eyes full of intrigue, and asked her what her “deal” was.

Nesta took a long sip of her coffee, holding his never wavering eye contact. Though she was intentionally keeping him waiting in answer, he hardly seemed bothered by it. From the glint in his eye, she could tell he liked the thrill of the game. She’d come across a few boys like him before, who were certain they could crack through her icy exterior to find the soft heart inside. They were usually left frostbitten and disappointed.

But she suspected if she tried to save Cassian the effort by telling him so, he’d only find it all the more exhilarating.

“What do you mean?” she asked finally, setting the coffee down at last.

“Oh, you know, your reason for why you aren’t going home for the holidays. People like us usually have some great tale of woe, right?” He pointed at himself. “Orphan. Can’t go home for the holidays when there’s no one to go home to. But you… you have White Suburbia written all over you. Shouldn’t you be home having some kind of Hallmark Christmas?”

She would have glared, but for all his casual smiles and brash mannerisms, it was obvious he was perceptive. If she got defensive, he’d see it from a mile away, and she wasn’t ready to show that much of her hand yet.

So she fixed him instead with her best poker face, raising a perfectly manicured brow as she asked, “Do you always speak without thinking, or is that something you’re doing specially for my sake?”

“Avoiding the question, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t know this was an interrogation,” she quipped. “Am I required to answer?”

“It’s a date last I checked. That usually involves getting to know someone. Y’know, asking them questions?” He picked up the pumpkin spice latte he’d ordered for her and took a long sip of it, something about the action obviously intending to draw a reaction out of her. What, she couldn’t tell. Maybe he just found getting under her nerves amusing.

“It sounds as though you’re judging me—and incorrectly, I might add. That’s hardly conducive to getting to know someone. Why don’t you stop making assumptions about me,” she gestured pointedly to the pumpkin spice latte, “and actually ask me questions like a well adjusted member of society, however difficult that might be for you.”

Cassian sighed, setting the coffee back down on the table between them. “So, Nesta,” he said casually, “why are you staying on campus over the holidays?”

“Better,” she said. “But I still won’t answer that question.”

“Fine. Do you have any siblings?”

She pressed her lips tightly together, which earned an arched brow.

“You’re so guarded,” he said with a laugh. This time, she did scowl at him, to which he put his hands up placatingly. “Okay, I get it. No personal questions allowed, clearly. Am I at least allowed to ask how you plan on spending your lonely month of solitude?”

“Reading, mostly.” She said, flickering her eyes down and hoping he didn’t notice it. Nesta couldn’t fathom why, but she felt suddenly vulnerable. Even such a plain hobby felt too close to her heart to reveal.

“You read?” he asked, voice conveying intrigue though she still hadn’t mustered the courage to glance up at his face. “I struck you more as the kind of person who spits on puppies and tramples kittens.”

“Ha ha,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This coming from the man who looks as if he demolishes mountains in his spare time.”

“You’d think so if you saw some of the men I train with,” he retorted with a grin that made him look very pleased with himself.

Nesta was almost certain he brought it up to make her imagine what such a scene would look like—Cassian training with a man of perhaps equal bulk, for she was certain no person could possibly be larger than the one in front of her, the two of them breathing heavy, skin gleaned with sweat…

Surely, Cassian was aware of the appeal of his job. It was obvious from the delight on his face as he watched her carefully, perhaps noticing her cheeks were a shade darker despite her otherwise impassive expression.

“So what kind of books do you read, Nesta?”

Fine. Let him think she was blushing, at least she could pretend it was from her admission, “Sellyn Drake novels, mostly.”

His mouth twisted in thought, which she had to admit was… endearing. “She’s a romance author, right? Like the steamy kind?”

She could have choked on her surprise. “You’ve read her novels?”

“No, but… ah, my friend’s mother used to read that stuff. We used to tease him relentlessly for it, do dramatic readings in front of him. Didn’t help that she was super hot herself.”

Nesta frowned, face scrunching in disgust. “Ew.”

Cassian shrugged. He was someone used to speaking without filters, she observed. Clearly thick skinned, unafraid to speak his mind even if it offended common sensibilities. Nesta could respect that, even if it lended to him being near insufferable.

“So what about you then? There might not be a home for you elsewhere, but presumably there’s one here, right? Will you be celebrating Christmas?”

“Something like that. My roommates—well, they’re more like my brothers—are staying here too. We usually have a big snowball fight on Christmas day and get rip roaring drunk.” She noted the way his eyes softened, just barely, and though it was sweet, it made her heart sink in her chest.

He was not as much a kindred spirit as he thought. Brothers he’d be staying with over the break, a home filled with love, from the look on his face.

“Sounds fun,” she commented, though the conversation now felt distant.

Cassian straightened, as if sensing it, too. “Whoa, what did I say wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, too quickly.

And the insightful bastard, he caught it immediately. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny, then his expression shifted to something smug and knowing. “You’re jealous aren’t you?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re pretending to be all indifferent, but it actually bugs you that you’re not going home for Christmas, doesn’t it? You’re jealous I have plans.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniped.

His smile only broadened, as though she’d hammered the final nail in her own coffin. But his eyes flickered to the coffee cup in her hand and lingered before he sat back with a frown. It was through following his gaze that Nesta realized she was holding the cup so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

“Guess you’re right, I have no clue what I’m talking about.”

She said nothing. Denying it at this point would just be lying to the both of them.

“You could always come celebrate with me and my brothers,” he said, sounding sincere. When she snuck a glance at his face, she saw that the mockery was gone. He looked kind.

But she wasn’t a charity case.

“Believe it or not, I’m content to snuggle up with my books. Christmas really isn’t my thing.” She scrunched her nose for added effect, which caused him to laugh.

“But you’re practically glowing with holly, jolly cheer.” The ice in the look she fixed him with was certainly anything but holly or jolly, which perhaps only fueled his humor. “Okay, a revised offer. Why don’t you spend Christmas with me? We can go on sleigh rides and do a bunch of other Chrismtas shit or,” he added, reading the impending rejection on her expression, “we could just stay in and read your smutty little novels together. Whatever you want Nesta, I’m just saying you don’t have to spend it alone.”

There was that horrible word again—alone. Precisely why she’d signed up for the damn speed dating in the first place. But still… it felt like too much to commit to.

Evidently, Cassian wasn’t going down without a fight. “How about a game, then?”

Intrigued, she smiled. “What kind of game?”

“Think of it like… a Christmas advent calendar. Every day, we come up with one task for each other. And if you can’t complete those tasks, then you have to celebrate Christmas with me.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “What kind of task?”

“Any you can think of.”

“No—there has to be rules. Otherwise it’d be too easy to make each other lose.”

He laughed. “I was thinking of light hearted stuff, like maybe giving a pumpkin spice latte a go,” he pushed the damned drink towards her with a raised brow. “Nothing crazy. Just something you might otherwise turn your nose up at. As a way to bring each other out of our comfort zones.”

She pursed her lips considerately, staring at the sugary coffee that suddenly represented so much more. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well for one, you get to come up with my tasks. Imagine all the embarrassing situations you could put me in.” From the expression on his face, Nesta was thinking it would be difficult to make Cassian feel embarrassed about anything. “And if you come up with something that I’m too chickenshit to complete, then… you can decide what you get. A favor from me, of any size you wish.”

Of all the men who’d been eager enough to rise to the “challenge” that was breaking through Nesta’s tough exterior, none had ever thought to challenge her in turn. She could admit, reluctantly and only to herself, that it was intriguing—Cassian was intriguing. Unrefined, sure. As direct and unflinching as she was, which was impressive in itself. Yet, there was warmth and kindness in him. He weaponized his honesty differently than Nesta, as a means of drawing people in rather than pushing them away.

She knew she was playing right into his hand, hated that he was clever enough to figure out how to ensnare her. Equally hated that she didn’t abhor the idea of letting him.

“Fine.” She said at last, saving face in at least sounding reluctant about it.

He gave her one last out. “You realize this means we’ll be spending every day together?”

“Trying to dissuade me so soon?”

Pretending that the idea of spending every day with him was unappealing was a bald faced lie. But agreeing to his deal was already stroking his ego beyond salvageable levels, judging purely by his smug expression.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

He slid the coffee closer, a challenge in his eyes.

“What, we’re starting already?” she asked, incredulous that he’d truly waste a task in trying to make her drink something as simple as a pumpkin spice latte. He only nodded, which caused her to hesitate. “But you’ve already drunk from it.”

“Who says that isn’t part of the challenge?”

“What are we, five? I don’t think I’m going to catch your cooties.”

His answer was only an insistent gesture toward the cup. With a huff, she seized it from the table and took a gulp. It was sweet and sugary—she didn’t mind it, which wasn’t at all a surprise since she drank them semi-regularly.

Still thinking it an absurdly easy task, she set the coffee down and looked at him. “Satisfied?”

“For a moment there, I swore I almost saw joy in those eyes,” he teased, laughing to himself as though he’d accomplished something far more impressive.

“Did it really offend you that much that I didn’t want your stupid coffee?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I went to the effort of doing something nice for you. And I took the liberty of asking the barista if she knew what you usually ordered. Aren’t a lot of Nesta’s around campus, y’know? Figured the name would stick.”

She was helpless to stop the way her face heated. All the composed expressions in the world couldn’t disguise her crimson cheeks—a tell she loathed, especially when Cassian smirked at having called out her spiteful lie.

“I know you’re not as dark and bitter as you’d like me to believe, Nesta.”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, knowing she was making it worse but unable to help herself. He’d outsmarted her, and now she felt too much like a cornered animal, loathing that she wasn’t in control anymore. She grappled for something to give her the upper hand again. “I still have to come up with a challenge for you, so I’d advise against putting your foot in your mouth.”

“So fiesty,” he said with a low whistle. “What would you like me to do, sweetheart? Wax poetic about your pretty eyes with a glare so sharp they could cut a man in half? Ah, there it is. That’s exactly the look I mean.”

“I could challenge you to keep your mouth shut for ten minutes and likely win this wager right here.”

“But where would be the fun in that? You’d miss my voice too much.” He winked, which caused her stomach to flip on itself though she told herself there was absolutely nothing alluring about it.

Deciding to test him, she went into her purse and retrieved the Sellyn Drake novel she’d brought, misjudging him as someone who’d be late. His eyes lit up at the sight of the book in her hands, eagerly accepting it as she handed it to him.

“Is this what you’re reading right now?” he asked, interest seemingly genuine as his fingers curiously paged through its contents. He paused at the page she had bookmarked.

Nesta watched him carefully as he read where she’d last left off, expression shifting from mirth to something wolfish. “Oh, this is filthy.” He sounded delighted by the fact. “You were going to read this in public?”

She offered a cool smile. “Are you saying you’d be too embarrassed to read it in public?”

“I’m reading it now, aren’t I?” His eyes trailed the rest of the page the way a driver might angle their head toward a car wreck.

“And what about one of your… how did you describe it, dramatic readings?”

His eyes flicked to hers, assessing her meaning. When he read the challenge she was certain was on her face, he flashed her a smile that showed off his teeth. “Oh, you’re brutal.” It was said like praise. “This will just encourage me to think of something equally mortifying for you tomorrow.”

“Bring it on, then,” she said, relishing in the tint of his cheeks as he cleared his throat and stood up.

The cafe was mercifully not very busy, many students having already finished for the semester and returned home, like Gwyn and Emerie had done. But there were enough students to turn their heads as Cassian stood on his chair and began reading in a voice that could have been drawn straight from a telenovella:

“His hips arced toward her, and he tilted back his head, exposing the strong column of his throat. She learned the shape of him through his pants, and pressed her hand harder, working him. He gritted his teeth, chest heaving like a bellows, and the sight of him coming undone had ehr leaning forward. Had her clamping her teeth onto his neck. Just as she rubbed him again, harder and rougher.”

He wasn’t shouting, but he was speaking loudly enough that the students and nearby tables were snickering to themselves. Despite not being the one on show, Nesta felt her face burn from association. Egged on by the attention, Cassian’s voice grew louder, reading smut like it was poetry.

“He hissed. With her name on his lips, his hips thrust into her hand with a strength that made her core throb to the point of pain, imagining that force, that size and heat, buried deep in her. Another punishing rub of her palm, a scape of teeth at his neck, and he erupted.

His wings tucked in tight as he came, and each spurt of his cock shuddered through his pants, echoing along her hands as she stroked and stroked him”

Face red as he sat back down, Cassian looked to Nesta’s heated yet smiling face, and chuckled, softly, despite himself.

“She made the poor bastard come in his pants,” he said, shaking his head.

Their eyes met, both equally flushed from the scene they’d just created—and that seemed to finally crack them. They both tipped their head back in laughter, a healthy dose of disbelief and embarrassment mixed within the absurdity of what he’d done. What she’d told him to do.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard—undoubtedly it had been with Gwyn and Emerie, but this… this was something different. Purifying, in a way, as though each gasping breath filled her lungs with helium so that she might float away, unburdened, free.

“Look, Nesta,” he said once they’d finally sobered. “I’m not saying this is going to be the best Christmas of your life—or even that I can change your opinion of it. But, at the very least, it’s going to be one that you’ll be able to tell stories about.”

#acotar gift exchange 2021 #Nessian #Nessian fic #Nesta x Cassian #holiday fluff #Countdown to Love #Nessian fluff #nesta archeron #Cassian #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #sjm fic #sjm

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thehaemanthus · 3 years ago

Text

where the love light gleams

This year, everyone descended on Feyre and Rhys's mountain cabin for the holidays. Nesta should have been happy. But though years may pass and hurts may heal, she still wondered how she fit into a big loving family.

Written for @acotargiftexchange for @littleloric. Hey bestie!!!! I hope you enjoy this fic. It turned out a little angstier than I anticipated, so I apologize in advance, but I hope it's satisfying and cute and filled with Big Family Vibes.

Read on AO3

The world was a blur of white, speckled with greens and blacks and greys. The roar of the engine was just shy of obnoxious, but it was not quite loud enough to eclipse cheery holiday tunes. Nesta gripped the steering wheel tight, not used to this vehicle. Warm air kissed her frozen fingers from the redirected vents, leaving her face a little chilled.

Velaris was a northern city, its inhabitants used to the cold. But Nesta was not in Velaris. She was on the winding roads leading out of the city up into the mountains. Thirty minutes ago, a herd of other cars had jostled around her, all hoping to get out of the city quickly for the holidays. But while they had peeled off to vacation cabins and resorts in the foothills, Nesta had kept going. A tiny sedan had fallen behind her a couple miles back, and Nesta absently hoped that they slowed because they were nearing their destination. She could not imagine such a small car navigating the icy roads.

She herself was in Cassian’s truck. He had gone up days earlier with his brothers for their snowball fight. Rather than make Nesta endure a road trip— albeit a short one— with someone else, Cassian elected to ride with Rhys and Azriel, even if it meant that he risked being stuffed in the backseat. The only reason Cassian owned a truck was because there were few other cars that he could comfortably fold into. If he had his way, Nesta thought he would probably own something sleek and sporty.

The boys had arrived first, opening the cabin. Then Elain and Feyre and Mor. Amren was spending the holidays with her partner, somewhere warm and tropical. Lucien was snuck with Gwyn and Emerie because he had to attend a family celebration that he did not want to subject Elain to, and that group should have arrived last night. And then there was Nesta, racing the setting sun.

Nesta huffed as a particularly saccharine holiday song started. She pawed at the dashboard until the song changed. Her charging cable was packed away, otherwise she would have plugged in her phone. The music options had dwindled from the radio in the city to that available in the rural mountains to Cassian’s holiday CD. Nesta was pretty sure he burned it a decade ago, adding anything remotely related to the winter season. There were a few gems, but Nesta was also certain that Cassian had put “Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel” on three times. Whether or not it was on purpose, she couldn’t tell.

The next song was not her favorite, but it was bearable. Preferable to the silence and enough to beat back a feeling of isolation.

She didn’t have to drive by herself. She could have gone with others, but there were other things to do. Work to finish, final preparations to be made and things to wrap up before she could be comfortable galavanting off into the wilderness. Nesta was busy.

The turns slowly turned familiar. Snow obscured most landmarks, and the landscape only looked vaguely recognizable. Still, Nesta remembered the sharp curve, the abrupt turn on the drive that Cassian had texted her no less than four times about. Late afternoon turned into dusk, and the headlights automatically blinked on to illuminate her way.

Part of her was relieved that she was at the end of her journey. A larger part started to churn with anxiety.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family. She did. Truly. There had been a time when she didn’t, but she could now say she loved her family and cared, at least a little, about the people that would be gathered at the cabin.

She loved her family, and they loved her, but sometimes she wondered if they liked each other.

Her spiraling thoughts were cut short when the cabin came into view. “Cabin” was a misnomer. No normal cabin had a separate garage for snowmobiles or enough rooms to house a dozen people. Exposed logs didn’t automatically make a dwelling into a cabin.. The property had been in her brother-in-law’s family for decades, remodeled and renovated and sometimes completely scrapped to start from scratch, each time pushing the boundaries of luxury.

Nesta pulled into a space to the side of the garages, knowing that Cassian wouldn’t mind his truck being left out in the snow. She turned off the car, hopping out and quickly rounding the cab to pull out her bag.

“Nes!”

A smile stretched her face. Had he been waiting for her?

“Hey,” she said simply, accepting the quick kiss Cassian bestowed and letting him take her bag.

“Come inside, it’s freezing,” he ushered her before him, despite the fact that she was wearing a jacket and he was not. “How was the drive?”

“Uneventful,” Nesta said. “Just a bit of traffic getting out of the city.”

“Good.” The hand on the small of her back was a light pressure. “We’re just getting dinner together. Wanna go freshen up?”

She hummed, not really paying attention. In the next moment she was engulfed with light and warmth. On one wall, a fire crackled in a great stone fireplace. Stockings crowded the mantle, overlapped and barely squeezing in. Cozy couches with woven throws slung over the back ringed the space with a fluffy white rug made of fur to protect feet from the chilly floor. The high ceiling showed off the warm wood and floor to ceiling windows provided a magnificent view of the snow covered forest. To the right, a large staircase led up to two more floors. Further in, Nesta could spot the kitchen and barstools lined in front of the counter.

And the home was filled with people.

“Nesta!” At least five people said. Whatever nerves she had evaporated. She accepted the hugs from those close enough, and maybe brave enough, to try, and traded a simple smile with the rest.

“You finally made it!” Feyre threw her arms around her older sister, grinning. “I thought we were going to have to send out a search party.”

“I texted you when I was leaving,” Nesta said dryly. She had arrived right on time.

“Tell that to him,” Emerie smirked, tossing her head at Cassian.

“Let me guess,” Nesta smirked. “He was waiting by the window?”

Gwyn cackled. “Like a puppy.”

“Leave me alone,” Cassian pouted good-naturedly. “I missed my wife.”

Azriel pushed through the group of ladies to greet Nesta. “What a sap. Hey, Nesta, can I get you something warm to drink?”

“We got this fantastic hot chocolate recipe!” Gwyn effused.

“And the booze makes it better,” Emerie added.

“Sure, I’ll take one of those,” Nesta said. “Let me unpack.”

Azriel nodded, turning to disappear into the kitchen. Nesta and Cassian went the other way, up the stairs to their bedroom. It has been Cassian’s room before it was theirs— all dark wood and clean lines and dark blue accents. The grey paint had always been there, but she had chosen the new comforter and had a say when the bathroom was redone.

Nesta flopped onto the bed with a sigh, eyes falling shut. Between the drive and the overwhelming greeting, it was nice to be still for a moment.

“Long day?” Cassian asked.

She hummed. “A bit. Drive felt longer than I’m used to.”

“Didn’t help that you were alone.”

Nesta opened her eyes. Cassian had unzipped her bag and began unpacking. “Don’t start.” She rose so she could help him.

“You can rest.”

“You’ll make a mess of my things,” she said flippantly, though Cassian probably wouldn’t. He was generally very tidy.

“Hey,” Cassian said as she was shaking out her heavy winter gear. He waited until she looked at him to continue. “You okay? The past few days have been fine?”

“Of course,” Nesta frowned. “Why?”

“I know you,” Cassian said with a soft smile. “You were tense when you walked in. You look tired. And you haven’t given me a proper kiss yet.”

“Oh, well, that can be easily fixed.” She tossed aside the snow suit with a smirk, wrapping her arms around Cassian and molding her body to his. “Hi.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he grinned. “I missed you.”

The world seemed to go quiet. Sound still floated up from downstairs, but to Nesta it wasn’t there. She didn’t hear anyone else, didn’t even hear the voices in her head telling her everything she still had to do or screaming her worries back at her in an endless feedback loop. Like snow that dampened sound, Cassian had the ability to mute the world. At least for a while.

He leaned down and kissed her gently, softly, a tender welcome home. Nesta parted her mouth so she could run her tongue along his lips, and with a groan Cassian deepened the kiss. They traded a few more deep kisses before Nesta pulled away with a gasp.

“If we don’t stop now, they are all going to know what we’ve been doing,” she said softly.

“Doesn’t bother me,” Cassian kissed her cheek. “But your hot chocolate might get cold.”

With that incentive, they finished putting her things away. Nesta took an extra moment to freshen up, trading jeans for softer pants and tugging on fuzzy socks with grips on the bottom.

When they ambled back downstairs, Cassian teased her about it. “Those are for babies, Nes. Literal babies.”

“Then why do they fit my feet?” she shot back. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of what? Freezing feet?” he said. “If my feet were as cold as yours, you wouldn’t let me sleep in our bed.”

Azriel, with his impeccable timing, appeared with her mug of hot chocolate. “Arguing already?”

“We’re overdue.” Nesta deadpanned. She took a sip of hot chocolate and almost spat it back out. “Damn, Az, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“He already got me tipsy!” Gwyn offered, raising her mug towards Nesta.

She scoffed, taking a more cautious sip and wandering through the living room into the kitchen. The sounds of Emerie trying to convince someone to play Yahtzee with her faded, replaced by the banging of pots and pans, bubbling and boiling from the stove, something sizzling in the oven, the thwack of a knife on wood.

“Nesta!” Mor was the first person to spot her. “Sorry I didn’t say hi earlier, I was a little occupied.” She waved her knife boldly, gesturing to the kitchen. A dark blue apron with a spoof of the presidential seal— Hail to the Chef— clashed with her blonde hair and ugly reindeer sweater.

Nesta lingered on the edge of the chaos. “Who let you cook?”

“We’re taking turns,” Rhys supplied. He was hovering at the stove. “The schedule is on the fridge.”

She snuck a look at the color-coded schedule, noting that each meal had at least one person who was able to cook. Mor’s abysmal cooking would be balanced out by Rhys and Feyre’s competency. As long as they kept her chopping garnishes.

Nesta stayed on the edge of the chaos as dinner was prepared. Azriel was already making a list of things they needed to grab during the next grocery run, calmly acting as a filter when the more ridiculous suggestions were thrown out. Lucien was on the phone, arguing with his father. The biological one, not the one they all thought was his father until recently. The normally cool man didn’t realize that he was letting Helion push all his buttons. Elain was trying to drown out that conversation and keep it “private” by turning up the volume on the music, which just made Gwyn screech her request for extra large marshmallows louder.

To anyone else, it might have been a joyous scene. And sure, maybe it was. It was nice to see her friends seamlessly fit into her extended family. Maybe too seamlessly. She sipped her boozy hot chocolate and curled up in an armchair, almost wishing she could retreat upstairs with a book.

“Go to sleep early tonight.” For as large as he was, Cassian had still managed to sneak up at her.

“I thought we were doing movie night?” Nesta craned her neck to look up.

“We are, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay,” Cassian shrugged. “Feyre and Rhys will cuddle under a blanket and end up doing something gross, and no one should be subjected to that.”

Nesta grimaced. Her little sister just couldn’t keep her hands to herself around her husband.

According to Emerie, the movie tonight was Die Hard. Questionable for a holiday movie, and not one of Nesta’s favorites.

“They’ll say something if I don’t stay down here,” Nesta turned away from Cassian, idly swirling the dregs of her hot chocolate.

Cassian sat in front of the armchair, and she moved her leg so it wouldn’t get squished. “Who’ll say something?”

“Just…” Nesta waved a hand. “I don’t know. Gwyn will get all worried, and Feyre will…roll her eyes and complain. Sometimes I think she’s still a teenager.”

“Maybe she’ll complain because she put a lot of effort into this trip and doesn’t like her plans being changed.”

Nesta scowled. “Whose side are you on? Just a minute ago you were telling me to go upstairs and sleep.”

“You should.” Cassian wriggled a hand under the blanket in her lap to squeeze her leg. “But if someone is upset about it, it’s because they care about you and want to spend time with you.”

She narrowed her eyes. Nesta did not like where this conversation was going. Cassian knew her, he knew her habits and tendencies. This was a conversation they had had in the past.

Years ago, Nesta pushed her sisters away. Years ago, they were so ground down by life that they had little energy for anything except day to day survival, never mind trying to do something as difficult as understand each other. The rift had been there between her and Feyre, but when time went on and things got worse for Nesta but better for everyone else…it had ruptured something that she was still trying to repair.

It didn’t matter that she had a good job at a prestigious law firm and enough money squirreled away to be safe. It didn’t matter that she had a husband, that her baby sister was happily married to a man who was, conveniently, unspeakably rich. Sure, they were happy and secure and surrounded by family now. But they weren’t always.

They weren’t always like this. And sometimes, Nesta wondered if her old form had been baked in the fires of adversity, strong but inflexible. She wasn’t some clay that could be molded, she was set and trying to cram herself into a life that was the wrong shape.

Was it any wonder that she felt brittle every now and again?

“You had a long month,” Cassian’s voice brought her back. “And there’s plenty of things to do in the next week. Sleep tonight. Spend time with everyone later.”

Nesta nodded absentmindedly. As long as Elain didn’t look at her with those sad eyes and Feyre didn’t pout, it would be okay.

“Dinner is ready!”

The stampede to the dining room rattled the floor. Lucien hung up on his father, Elain turned the music down and grabbed the bluetooth speaker, Azriel tucked away the grocery list. They filed into the dining room, taking whatever seat was available. The next few minutes were chaos as dishes were passed and people got up to grab something— the wine, an extra serving spoon, the wine bottle opener, another knife when an elbow knocked one to the ground. After the initial frenzy, things calmed a bit.

“So!” Feyre said brightly. “The boys already did their snowball fight, but I thought we could play outside in the snow a bit tomorrow. Maybe do snowmen and stuff!” She continued. “And there’s this hill not too far away that’s good for sledding.”

“I say we play it by ear,” Emerie said. “Just do whatever we feel like doing on a certain day. Everyone doesn’t need to be all together, ya know? Not with such a big group.”

“We need to get groceries,” Azriel reminded everyone. “And I’m not going alone.”

Nesta remained silent as potential plans were made. She would let everyone else figure out what they wanted to do and tag along with anything that seemed fun.

“...and I know that we were planning on driving back on New Year’s,” Mor said. “But I think we should tack on an extra day and spend New Year’s on a day trip. There’s this beautiful canyon a few hours away, and I bet it looks magical with the snow and ice.”

Nesta couldn’t help her scowl. Now they bring it up? It was all right for everyone else, who had the day off anyway and could go back home a day later. She couldn’t. “I can’t come, but have fun,” she said shortly.

“Then we’ll do it on a different day,” Mor shrugged. “Just an idea. And like Emerie said, not everyone has to come.”

Mor was just saying that if someone was not interested, they did not have to join. It was not a jab against Nesta. But after feeling primed for such a thing, after years of seeing any remark as a potential strike against her, she couldn’t help but react that way.

“Then don’t change your plans for me,” she said. “Go on New Year’s.”

“You won’t come?” Great. And now Feyre was looking at her with that frown.

It was tempting just to say “go without me”. But it would be for no good reason, without any logical deduction. Nesta swallowed the initial impulse. “I’ll think about it. Lucien, what was Helion doing to annoy you this time?”

With the table absorbed by the tale of Helion badgering Lucian about surreptitiously sneaking a Christmas present to Lucien’s mother— made a little difficult by the fact that it was two days before the holiday and Lucien was in the mountains— Nesta was free. She finished her glass of wine and poured herself another.

After dinner, Nesta helped with the dishes and then made her excuses. The sounds of people jostling for a spot in front of the TV and their lingering disappointment chased her upstairs.

Cassian had been right. No one had been happy that she went upstairs, but she would make it up to them tomorrow. There was a trail that meandered through this property, though Nesta had only seen it during the summer months. Maybe she would take Emerie and Gwyn for a short walk, catch up with them. And to prove she was useful, she could help out Az with the groceries. That would make Elain happy.

When the door to their bedroom opened, Nesta assumed Cassian was grabbing another sweater. She peeked out of the bathroom, but instead of layering up he was stripping off his clothes. “You’re not watching the movie?”

“I was right, Feyre and Rhys are close to getting frisky.” Cassian’s voice was muffled by his shirt. He tossed it into the laundry basket. “And I’d rather spend time with you.”

“You like action movies.” Nesta dabbed lotion on her face, looking in the mirror and rubbing it in instead of looking at her husband and saying what she really meant. Wouldn’t he rather spend time with his family? He got to see Nesta every day.

Cassian threw on an old t-shirt. It was too cold to walk around bare, but Nesta would make it known that the shirt was not welcome in their bed. “I like you better.” And that was that.

They were quiet as they went through nightly routines. Nesta was finishing up with some lip balm— the mountain air was always so dry— when Cassian spoke. “How are you feeling?”

The calm broke and crackled with irritation. Nesta snapped on the lid of her lip balm. “What is with you?” Nesta huffed. “Why do you keep asking me if I’m okay?”

“I worry about you,” Cassian admitted. “I’m your husband, it’s my job.”

She threw her hands out. “What have I been doing to make you worry?”

“I— forget it.” Cassian sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Is it because I snapped at Mor?” Nesta tried, really tried to beat back the surge of irritation. “Really?”

“No, it was the way you reached for the wine glass after.”

A volatile mix of shame and anger churned in her gut. “Unbelievable.” Her voice nearly cracked. Instead of addressing it, Nesta slapped the light off and stormed into the bedroom, diving under the covers.

Cassian didn’t leave her alone for long. “You can’t blame me for keeping an eye out.”

“I’m not an alcoholic, Cassian,” Nesta growled.

He rounded the bed, getting in on his side. “I”m not saying you are, but you’ve used it as a coping mechanism before.”

She laughed in disbelief. “Yes, I’ve used sex and alcohol and I’ve made mistakes. Sure. Fine. But you’re the one bringing it up. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Cassian lifted his hands to cover his face. “I’m going about this all wrong.”

“What happened?” Nesta demanded. “You don’t get to make me feel like shit and then pretend it’s because you’re looking out for me.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he lowered his hands with a sigh, holding out his arms in invitation. And though she was still angry, it was also cold. Nesta scooted over to snuggle into his side, but didn’t let him off the hook without a sharp poke, cold toes to his legs, and a snapped, “I’m waiting.”

“I know that the holidays in general aren’t always the best time of year for you,” Cassian said slowly. “But Rhys told me something else.”

“What the hell does Rhys know about me that you don’t?” she asked. They were friendly, sure, and though he was probably kinder than Nesta, no one could match her sly cruelty like Rhys when he really wanted to. But their similarities and strained friendship didn’t mean they were close.

Cassian’s hand was warm, heat bleeding through her clothes. He tapped one finger against her, lost in thought. “It’s more like what he knows about Feyre. And by extension, you and Elain.”

“Spit it out,” she ground through her teeth. Enough of this.

“Feyre’s never really liked the holidays, either,” Cassian said. “And we knew that. But she only just told Rhys about…about your father.”

Nesta didn’t think it was possible to feel colder, but his words proved her wrong. When she breathed in, she could still remember how the air had been cold that winter. So, so cold, all the time, with no relief.

There were many things in her past that she had not shared with Cassian. Things he inferred but she had no desire to expand on. Things that were so tangled and confused in her own brain that they could not leave just yet. Things that were connected to important wires and rooted themselves into essential systems, so ingrained that to cut it out now would be deadly.

That night was one of those things. Cassian knew her father had a shattered leg that didn’t heal properly because they couldn’t afford it. He didn’t know how it happened.

“Feyre shared that with Rhys,” Nesta’s voice was distant. She heard it, and she hated it. She hated that she could feel some animal part of her removing herself from the situation. “And then he shared it with all of you.”

“He shared it with me and Az, because we are his brothers and we love him and Feyre,” Cassian said. “He wanted us to know, to talk through his own feelings on it. And to ask for advice.”

“And no one thought to share this with me?” As usual. Last to know when the big decisions are made. Last to be consulted, if she was ever consulted at all.

Cassain put a hand on her cheek, turning her so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Sweetheart, I’m telling you now.”

“So what?” She felt dead. She felt blank, already gone. “You think you have it all figured out? That I’m traumatized and I can’t get into the Christmas spirit because of unreconciled pain from my father?”

“I don’t know,” Cassian stroked her hair. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

Was he? Or had he just made assumptions about her, about what it had felt like, about what she felt about it now. Cassian didn’t even know what happened. He had nothing to judge, and yet he had treated her like glass all evening. Because Nesta was Nesta, and she was cold and couldn’t handle extreme emotion and everyone seemed to know that.

She blinked, and then began to calmly relay the story. “I got home later than usual that evening. I was in a study group. When I walked up the stairs, there were some men arguing on the landing. I didn’t like the looks they gave me. I remember that.”

She remembered the yellow of one of their teeth, the smell of cigarette smoke that wafted from them. She remembered the way her thin fingers clutched the worn strap of her backpack and the leers like they were physical touch.

“Ten minutes later, they broke down our door. I grabbed Elain. I tried to grab Feyre, but she ran towards our father.” What a fool. She thought it then, and she still thinks it now. They were young girls, and nothing they could have done would have prevented what happened. “I locked Elain and myself in the bedroom. The screaming lasted five minutes. And then it was over, and I took my father to a hospital.”

Somewhere along the line, Nesta’s eyes had dropped from Cassian’s eyes to his chin. She gazed at skin and black stubble.

“That must have been horrible.”

She snorted. “It happened. And many awful things happened after that. Maybe it bothers Feyre more because she was there, but it doesn’t bother me. Not anymore.”

“I don’t believe that,” Cassian murmured.

“It’s just another layer of hurt,” Nesta said, matter of fact. “I don’t need you to tiptoe around it. And I don’t need you gossiping about it with your brothers either.”

Under her, she felt the way Cassian stiffened. “It wasn’t gossiping. Is it wrong to worry about you?”

“I’m your wife.” Something thaws in her chest. Nesta punches through the ice, because that is who she wants to be. She does not want to keep up the wall around Cassian, hasn’t for years now. “And I would tell you if something was wrong. I know I wasn’t always like this. But one day, you’ll have to start trusting me with myself.”

“I trust you,” Cassian’s voice is pained.

“Most of the time,” Nesta admits. “But I’m tired of people acting like I’m emotionally broken. And I don’t want you to be one of those people.”

Because she worked hard. Because she struggled and hurt, both herself and others. Nesta worked on the health of her body and mind, crawled out from a dark, deep hole that she had dug for herself.

Cassian had been the one holding her hand through much of that journey. And if he now acted like that journey had never existed? It might destroy her. He had seen parts of her that she couldn’t see herself. So what was he seeing now?

“I’m not saying it wasn’t a bad thing that happened,” she said slowly. She pressed herself closer to Cassian, as if the heat from his body could thaw the ice that had crept up, an old defense mechanism that Nesta was never sure would ever disappear. “I’m saying that…if I needed to say something, I would.”

“Okay,” Cassian said. “I trust you. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t.”

She traced aimless shapes on his chest, feeling the words slowly arranged themselves in her brain. It took courage to say it, vulnerability that was learned and practiced and sometimes imperfect. “I guess I can understand why. But when you tiptoe around me like that…”

“I know,” Cassian said quickly. “I should have just waited and not said anything until we were alone.”

“But you are a worrier.” Nesta’s lip quirked in an attempt at a smile. Cassian was normally very chill about most things, but he worried when it came to the people he loved.

He sighed dramatically. “That I am. And you’ll worry me into an early grave. I found a grey hair this morning.”

“You did not,” Nesta snorted.

“I did!” Cassian said. “Grey hairs, skipping action movies, going to bed early. I’m an old man.”

“Well.” Nesta slipped her hand under his shirt, fingers splayed on his stomach. “Hopefully not too old and tired.”

“Is this make up sex?”

“Did we argue?”

“Don’t know,” Cassian grinned. “All I know is that I’m not arguing now.”

Cassian was well and truly knocked out the next morning, the rumble of his snores practically making the bed vibrate. But Nesta was awake with the sunrise, slipping on one of his sweaters over her pajamas and tugging her wool socks over frozen toes. Her mind and body were primed for work, used to getting up early so that she could get into her office.

Everyone else was well and truly in vacation-mode. Nesta did not expect to encounter anyone in the kitchen. When she saw Rhys, she faltered.

Which was stupid. Because it was just Rhys. Her brother-in-law that she mostly got along with. Now, at least.

“Morning.” His tone preserved the hush of dawn.

“Hey.” Nesta loitered in the doorway for a second before taking a seat at the smaller kitchen table. “Feyre’s asleep?”

“Out like a light,” Rhys smiled. “Azriel got more of that hot chocolate in her.”

Nesta wrinkled her nose. “What was in that stuff?”

“I didn’t ask,” he chuckled as he fiddled with the fancy espresso machine. “Can I make you a coffee? Cappuccino? Latte? Americano?”

She looked at the machine dubiously. “You know how to do all that?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Latte, please.” Nesta watched as Rhys expertly pulled a shot and steamed milk. The sounds of the machine gurgling echoed through the empty house. A few moments later, Rhys handed her a mug and sat down at the table with his own.

“It’s a nice day,” he said. Rhys always felt the need to fill the silence when it was the two of them. They still made each other a bit nervous, even after all these years.

“Good for playing in the snow,” Nesta said. “Feyre will be happy.”

Rhys nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “You’ll join us, right?”

She hummed, sipping her latte and using it as an excuse not to speak. The silence stretched for a few minutes before she couldn’t take it any longer. The unspoken lingered in the air uncomfortably. “Why did you tell Cassian about…?”

“Your father?” Rhys asked, as if he had read her mind. “To be honest, I thought he already knew.��

Nesta blinked. “What?”

“I know almost all of the worst things that have ever happened to Feyre,” Rhys shrugged. “So I assumed that Cassian would know about the awful things that happened to you. I wanted to get his opinion on how he supported you through it.”

“Cassian said that Feyre only just told you about what happened.”

Rhys shook his head. “She was acting strange, so I only just found out that it happened during this time of year. But I had known what happened to him and that she was there. Something reminded her of it, so she told me. I’ll admit, I worried a bit too much.” He swirled his coffee in his cup, looking down with a rueful smile.

“I wish you hadn’t.” Rhys was normally a cool and collected person. Figures that his exterior calm would fall apart when it came to Feyre.

“Because you don’t want Cassian to know?”

“Because I don’t want everyone treading on eggshells around me,” Nesta corrected. “This past year has been…”

Indescribable. Truly. She felt happier than ever, and with that happiness came terror. What if it got ripped away? What if her friends didn’t want to stay in her life anymore? What if her family realized that the Nesta they got, pieced back together but still recovering, wasn’t what they wanted?

“I just don’t want to go back to…” She swallowed, looking away. “Anyway—”

“You don’t want people looking at you with pity, wondering if you are just really good at projecting a facade or if you are truly happy.” Rhys filled in her words. “You don’t want to linger in what ifs, don’t want anyone to bring it up and even invite the idea that it could all be temporary.”

Nesta stared at him with narrowed eyes. “When did you get to know me so well?”

“We have more similar experiences than you realize,” Rhys said blithely. But he didn’t let the subject go. “We are happy to have you here, Nesta, and we are happy that you are happy. We like seeing you whole. If we all are a little clumsy in showing it sometimes, that’s just because we’re human.”

Instead of snapping back, she let the words roll over her. It was nice to be wanted, nicer still to hear the words come out of someone’s mouth. Even if that someone was Rhys.

She did not scoff, or roll her eyes, or dismiss his words. She let them sink in and then offered a rare smile. “Thanks, Rhys.”

“You’re welcome.” A spark of mischief caught in his eye. “You’ll want to dress warm today. Mor and Emerie were talking about another snowball fight.”

Nesta shook her head. “I was going to help Azriel—”

“Let me do that,” Rhys gently interrupted. “Remember. We want you here and we want to spend time with you. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone.”

She scowled. “Stop that, it’s creepy.” He had seemed to know where her mind was going before she did.

“Finish your latte,” Rhys nodded at her cup. “I think I hear people stirring upstairs. Wanna help me make a frittata for breakfast?”

Nesta chopped fillings while Rhys whisked the eggs. Later that day, she got pummeled in the snowball fight. On Christmas morning she gave out the gifts she had carefully wrapped and cherished each one that she received in return.

She spoke instead of snapped, listened and calmed the instincts that told her to always be on edge, always be waiting for the moment when the sword would fall on her head. Some hurts would always be there, some traumas impossible to ignore.

But she was warm and safe, surrounded by people who she had learned to love. And they loved her— prickly, guarded, imperfect Nesta— too.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar gift exchange 2021 #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta art

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colteyes · 3 years ago

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Just a short ficlet of Nyx practicing some intricacies of flying under Rhys and Feyre’s watchful eyes. Best read with some festive energy 🎄✨ Note: ~1000 words. For @the-lonelybarricade, as her @acotargiftexchange secret santa :) T’was me leaving you obnoxiously long winded questions in your ask! And I finished early! Mwahaha. It was initially just meant to be the image, but I wanted to spin a scene that explained why Feyre wasn’t there. Happy holidays, I hope you like it <3

Falling

That’s what it looked like.

That’s what it felt like, when Nyx first began learning how to fly.

Feyre’s heart seized in her throat, her fingers clenching around the echo of the little hands that were no longer seeking her grasp, but instead were clutching for the stars as he fell, again.

His bruises and scrapes barely manifested before they were whisked away again, but no doubt it was their phantom sting that still brought tears to her little boy’s eyes. His flying lessons were already progressing much better than hers had, oh so long ago. He had been a natural at it, as per his Illyrian heritage, except when he pushed himself to do things that his little body hadn’t caught up to being just yet - such as strong enough to perform hard banking.

Steely determination shone from his face as he fluttered to the ground. “Again.”

Rhys turned his head towards Feyre, his smile a mix of pride for their child and reassurance for her, as he positioned himself next to Nyx.

“Now, tell me what you’re going to do differently this time.”

“I’m not going to fight the wind,” came the immediate reply. “I’m going to lean into it, gather it, and then when I need to turn, I’m going to slip below it, use the momentum to carry me through.”

“And?”

“Arms together knees together, feet pointed and head up so I don’t catch my toes or my chin.”

Rhys nodded once, and inclined his head over the cliff.

Feyre felt her hands clenching again as Nyx fixed his eyes on the horizon and shifted his lean young body into position. His lithe frame was already corded with the beginnings of solid muscle, which he stretched and twisted as he readied himself. He pushed himself two steps into a run, before the ground fell away and his next step hurled himself off the edge.

Rhys, arms folded, just watched him for a moment as he wheeled and flapped, feeling out the wind and sky, gathering momentum.

“He’s magnificent,” he said softly, the picture of fatherly pride.

“No more for tonight,” Feyre insisted behind him. Rhys looked over to her again, his eyes a reflection of the night sky behind him.

“He’s doing well.”

”No more practicing ,” Feyre clarified.

“I could barely stand the sight of your bruises when you came back from your flying sessions,” he grinned. “You would’ve smacked the sense out of me if I said anything to stop you.”

“This is different,” she insisted, coming to stand by him. They watched their son loop and glide through the night, his hair streaming behind him, joy and freedom emanating from every line in his body, his membranous wings stretched out wide to catch the chill night breeze.

Feyre felt Rhy’s hand smoothing down her neck, and she leaned into the warm kiss he pressed into her temple.

“Last one,” he agreed.

“Mor wants us back for pudding.”

“Mor needs to stop sleeping over after Christmas dinner if all she does is complain about what we do afterwards.”

“She doesn’t know what we like to do afterwards.” Feyre’s smile turned wicked. Rhys barked a laugh, his hand smoothing a warm line down her back to settle around her waist, pulling her in towards him.

“Have I told you today that I love you so, mate of mine?”

Feyre rose onto her toes and pressed her smile into Rhys’ neck, breathing him in, savouring the warmth of him, of having her family all around her.

“Dad! I’m ready!”

Rhys squeezed her hand before stepping away, shooting straight up into the skies.

Feyre wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him join Nyx in the sky, and walked over closer to the cliff’s howling edge as the two males lined themselves up.

Indeed the reason she wasn’t up there herself was that she had stuffed herself a little too full during the uproariously festive dinner - which only seemed to become more chaotic by the year - and it served as a good enough excuse when all she really wanted was to be in the best position to shield Nyx if he made the wrong move.

Nyx seemed so small, a tiny body suspended in the night sky as he waited for his father to join him.

He waited for Rhys’ nod before stilling himself, his wings cocooning around his body as he began plummeting to the ground.

His wings snapped open before he dropped too far out of sight, each wingtip straining away from his body as he fought to gather his momentum beneath him, funnelling the wind to torpedo towards the cliff face, his form as perfect as how he had recited it.

Feyre’s fingertips trembled as she gathered her magic, poised to shield him.

Closer closer closer, the ghost of a wind stirred Feyre’s hair as she got ready to shield, and then -

Nyx wheeled like a bird, his clenched teeth the only tell as he grazed the cliff face close enough to send smaller rocks tumbling, his body arcing to the side with the hard turn as he angled away from and then back down along the solid wall in front of him, chin held high as he dropped headfirst, his front almost flush with the rock wall as he swooped towards the ground, before peeling himself back away from it and levelling out back into the air.

Rhys cheered for his son, his whoops echoing through the night, his wings out in an easy glide as Nyx soared back up again, his fists out in victory.

“I did it!” he shouted. “Mom I did it!”

Feyre waved and smiled at her son, thinking of the many bruises and broken noses he had suffered to get to this point. She dreaded the day Nyx was old enough to go head to head with Cassian. Azriel knew better, but she knew even then it would be only a matter of time before Nyx cajoled the spymaster to tangle with him as well. The boy was voracious, and wanted to do it all.

Rhys touched down first, leaving Nyx to shout and somersault his success through the air alone.

Feyre leaned back into her mate, and Rhys welcomed her touch by enveloping her in a hug, his arms banding around her. With her back pressed along him, they both were content to watch their son careen joyously through the sky. Even the stars seemed to shine brighter.

“Merry Christmas,” Rhys murmured.

She smiled up at him. At the wonders they had created together. “And to you. May they all be merry.”

#Acotar #acotar fic #feysand #acotargiftexchange #Fic #ACOTAR Gift Exchange 2021 #Nyx #nyx archeron #feyre archeron #rhysand

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azrielbedara · 3 years ago

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Neris fluff

This is for @separatist-apologist who I had for Secret Santa

I apologize in advance.

She looked absolutely breathtaking

His nerves were more bundled than his thoughts and his heart was beating so loud he was pretty sure Nesta could hear them.

“Take a walk with me,” he hoped his voice hadn’t betrayed his emotions, but Nesta was always so quick to catch on, her sharp gaze never failing to every little detail.

She tilted her neck and looked at him for a few moments, “Now?” he nodded

“It’s a little late, don’t you think? It’s snowing outside.” Her face was scrunched up between confusion and amusement.

Could she feel the small velvet box in his pocket waiting to be revealed? Could she hear his self-deprecating thoughts and anxiety weighing him down?

“Come on Acheron. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little cold,” She was starting to crack, so he continued to slather it on thicker with fanatical experiences. “Think about it, it’ll be just like those trashy Hallmark movies you make us watch, there will be snow in our hair, we can drink some hot cocoa and warm each other with the love burning in our hearts”

Now she laughed “who are you and what have you done with the man who called every great romance story a scam and - completely unrealistic and immoral for the girl to give up her dream just so she can settle for living a peasant’s life in a small village- “

“Maybe I’ve just found the right peasant to give up my life for” Eris smirked, tying Nesta’s scarf around her neck.

Nesta rolled her eyes, “rich prat” she muttered. He slid her hand into his and smiled at him. It was this smile that made him fall in love with her all over again. Every. Single. Time.

They walked hand in hand as the snow floated in the air. Festive lights everywhere were lit and and it made everything feel alive even at this time at night.

“Come here let’s give our bookstore a little nighttime visit” he steered he over the their familiar route.

“It you’re looking for Selyn Drakes latest novel, I’m afraid to tell, you this, but the bookstore may be closed at this time”

“As I said, Acheron, I just wanted to take a walk with you. Your presence it always appreciated, your cheek, however, is not”

“You love my cheek”

“Sure I do, just not now” he responded.

They walked the rest of the way in silence and finally stopped when they got to the front of the bookstore, it looked different in the dark. They had been coming here separately for years, it was almost like fate for them to see each other. Eris had always been a firm believer in logistical things; fate and destiny seemed like useless faith in things that never came true. He had grown up thinking that true love didn’t exist, especially not for him.

“Looks like I was right Vanserra, I guess not even your money can keep this bookstore open”

Nesta looked at him teasingly and his heart stopped. He was always caught off-guard by her beauty, her freckled, the silver flames in her eyes, and he wished he could freeze this moment and pocket in into his heart forever. Somedays during the early mornings, he would contemplate his entire life, and wondered how he ended up here, how undeserving his happiness was, then she would wake up and look at him like this and suddenly he could see the entire world in color again.

This moment was like this, there were tiny speckles of snow in her hair there was a flush spread on her cheek, and he wanted to stay like this forever.

But he couldn’t because it was time now.

“This tiny bookstore has saved my life on multiple occasions now” He held both her hands in his hands and looked in the window.

“When I couldn’t bring myself to get up from bed because my thoughts were eating me alive, when I needed something to give me routine I used to come here and sit for hours and hours. When I couldn’t take the loneliness anymore, I used to sit here and look at all the happy families and know that I would never experience life like them”

Nesta smiled at him, and he knew she was going to say something to retaliate him so he spoke quickly, not giving her a chance

“And then you came, slamming into my life like a raging snowstorm, taking my favorite book and stealing my everyday couch, continuously arguing with me over the tiniest things and then I looked into your eyes and I could see in them the same kind of numbness I felt every day, and I never thought that I could ever meet anyone who could possibly understand how I felt. When I broke the ice and finally started a conversation, it was your intellectuality that me fall deeper in love with you”

She knew now, she was always so clever, his Nesta. Tears shone in her eyes, and they both took a quivering breath

“I should have known really that my life was not over yet, no amount of tutoring could have ever prepared me for the effect you would have on me” Eris chuckled lightly

“But I see you Nesta, I see you through all the wall you have put in front of your heart, I see you through you worst and your best, and I know that you see me too, like no one has ever in their entire life. I love you, even if you’ve burned my kitchen multiple times, even if you sing cannibal on the top of your lungs every morning and will love you forever. You love me too- whatever for I don’t know- but you do, and every time I see you, I feel hopeful for my future, and I know that you deserve more than me, but now that I’ve snatched you I plan on offering whatever little I have to you forever.”

Don’t fuck up now idiot

He sunk down on one knee in front of her, not caring that his designer pants were getting wet, and offered her the ring.

Nesta took one brief glance at him and went down on her knee too. He saw the look in her eyes was clear: we’re equals in everything

“If you are willing to have me, there is nothing I want more in this world than the honor of calling you my wife. Nesta Archeron, will you marry me?”

Silent tears trickled down Nesta’s cheek, and she was quite for a second. Eris felt no fear of rejection now, and he was willing to wait down with her for the rest of his life if she wished.

“Yes, I’ll marry you”

He gently slid the ring on her finger then Eris yanked her toward him so fast she almost toppled over and kissed his fiancée.

“Nesta Vanserra I am about to- “

“Nesta Archeron-Vanserra” she interrupted

“What?” Eris’s eyes widened

“Once Elain marries Lucien, she’s probably going to take his last name, and Feyre already had Rhysand’s last name, I’ve always wanted to honor my family name, it’s a big part of my identity, I preach feminism and as a lawyer people know me a Nesta Archeron, and giving up my maiden name would feel like I was giving away a part of myself, and I never want to feel like that”

“Okay then Nesta Archeron-Vanserra, let’s go home now”

So, they went hand in hand back home, this time as finances, ready to start a new chapter in their lives.

That’s it lol I’m sorry if this is really bad

@acotargiftexchange

#acotar gift exchange 2021 #nesta x eris #neris

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nestavipers · 3 years ago

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Same Old Energy (ACOTAR Secret Santa Fic)

Merry Christmas and Happy Acotar exchange to my @acotargiftexchange secret santa recipient @thehaemanthus!

I used the three keywords you gave me (Angst, Sisters, and Light) as inspiration for this fic. You mentioned that you prefer fics:

that are angsty,

that take place in canon/in the ACOTAR verse rather than an AU,

and you would prefer no mention of the Feyre/Rhys pregnancy plot in ACOSF.

This one-shot takes place immediately post-ACOSF but I basically wrote around Nyx so there’s no mention of the pregnancy or anything that follows.

“Home. Another word that made Elain want to scream. She lived at the River House, yes, but it would never be her home. She had a room there. Had been an occupant for nearly a year. But it was very clearly Feyre’s home. Elain would never be anything more than a guest.

Here, though. This majestic house with its red painted halls perched on the very top of a soaring cliff. Somehow, Nesta had taken the place she’d once viewed as a prison and transformed it into something completely new.”

Primary ships: Nesta/Cassian and Elain/Lucien

“Have you spoken with Elain lately?” Nesta asked Cassian as they got ready for bed. She watched his reflection in the mirror as she began the arduous process of braiding her hair for the night, her fingers nimble after years of repetition.

Now that the dust had settled after the Bloodrite (and everything that had followed with Feyre), Nesta had turned her attention to her middle sister. She’d seen through the smile Elain pasted on whenever she knew she was being watched, had observed the way it would slide off the moment Elain thought she was no longer being observed.

But there was a deep sadness in her sister that even the brightest grin couldn’t hide. A grief that showed through the cracks, no matter how often Elain spackled over them with a polite comment here or a quiet joke there.

Cassian grinned back at Nesta, his eyes hungry in the reflection. He ambled over to where she stood at her vanity and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. She swatted him away with a laugh, trying to focus on twisting the strands of hair together without losing her place.

“No,” Cassian said, a wicked smile on his lips, “though, to be fair, that’s always been Azriel’s domain more than mine.”

Nesta frowned, considering. Cassian was right; of the primary members of Rhys’s Inner Circle, Azriel had always been closer with Elain than anyone else save for Nesta herself. And after this past year, Nesta wasn’t even sure if she held that spot in Elain’s life anymore. She knew Elain and Feyre were closer now than they’d ever been back in the cottage, but Feyre had confided in Nesta that their relationship, while genuine, was still frustratingly superficial.

Nesta tried to remember the last time she’d even seen Elain and Azriel interacting together. It must have been Solstice, five months prior. There’d been a strange tension in the air between them then, though Nesta had been too distracted by her own anxieties to pay much attention to it at the time.

“I’m worried about her,” Nesta admitted, tying off her braid and finally allowing Cassian’s wandering arms to wrap around her. “Feyre’s got her family, now, and I have you and Gwyn and Emerie,” she paused here, pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek, “but she seems to be spending most of her time alone in the River House.”

Cassian tugged her towards the bed but didn’t make a move to undress her, choosing instead to pull Nesta close so their bodies were pressed together in a hap-hazard cuddle.

“I have noticed she seems quieter lately, not that she was much of a chatterbox before,” Cassian added wryly. “Why don’t you invite her over next time your friends are here? Has she met Gwyn and Em yet?”

Nesta pursed her lips, considering. Part of her wanted to shudder at the mere thought of mixing her two worlds—Emerie and Gwyn were her soul sisters, even if they weren’t biologically related—but she knew she’d have to get over it eventually. Her and Cassian’s mating ceremony was happening in less than two weeks. Her sisters (all four of them) would have to meet each other eventually. May as well ease into it ahead of time.

“That’s a good idea,” Nesta agreed with a nod. Her friends would be spending the weekend with her, reading books together and coming up with increasingly ridiculous requests for the House to fulfill. She could always invite Elain to spend the afternoon with them and see how things went from there.

Cassian laughed. “I’ve been known to have them from time to time.”

“You know this means you and Az will be outnumbered four to two, don’t you?” Nesta replied with a teasing grin.

“Make that four to one. I have to meet with Devlon in Illyria on Saturday.” Cassian’s voice was apologetic, but they both knew he wouldn’t miss the chance to spend time with Nesta and their friends unless it was for something truly urgent.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Poor Az. Though he’s welcome to join the bookclub portion of the evening. I know he’s the one who borrowed my new Sellyn Drake novel without asking.”

The bed shook with Cassian’s laughter. “Seems like maybe we should be calling you Spymaster instead of him. I can’t wait to tease him about that when I see him later.”

Nesta poked her mate in the shoulder. “Says the male who begged to borrow the very same book from me the moment I was finished with it.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow in response, completely shameless. “Ah, but I’m not reading your smutty books for my own pleasure.”

“Oh?” Nesta asked, her stomach flipping as Cassian’s hand dropped to the hem of her nightgown.

“Nope,” he murmured, nipping her bottom lip before moving considerably lower down her body. “I’m reading them for yours.”

Elain didn’t have many pleasant memories of the House of Wind. She’d been virtually catatonic during her fist stay there shortly after she and Nesta had been Cauldron made, and the last time she’d come here—after she’d ‘recovered’ (she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the word. Just because she was once again capable of interacting politely with others did not mean she’d gotten past what had happened to her at the hands of Hybern)—she and Nesta had fought viciously in the library before she’d begged Rhys to take her home again.

Home. Another word that made her want to scream. She lived at the River House, yes, but it would never be her home. She had a room there. Had been an occupant for nearly a year. But it was very clearly Feyre’s home.

Elain would never be anything more than a guest.

Elain didn’t know how her sister had done it. Could scarcely believe the change in the atmosphere of the house she’d last been inside more than half a year ago. What had once been sterile and cold was now well and truly Nesta’s home.

And Cassian’s, her inner voice added. Her sister’s mate.

Her stomach churned with the bitterness and jealousy she’d fought so hard to push down ever since she’d spied Nesta and Cassian embracing each other on the lawn of the River House after her ordeal in the Blood Rite.

Elain had known the two of them were in love with each other, just as she’d known Nesta would fight tooth and nail against it. It had shaken her, to see how easily Nesta had given into her feelings for Cassian. How vulnerable she’d allowed herself to be.

But then she’d caught the look on his face, the adoration in his eyes, the way Cassian seemed to constantly be catching his breath whenever their gazes met, and she’d realized her sister held Cassian’s heart just as carefully and dearly as he held Nesta’s.

So now here she was. A guest in their home. Elain could only assume she’d been invited to the girls night Nesta was throwing with her best friends out of pity.

She’d been so prepared to turn her sister’s invitation down; Elain already felt like an outsider around Feyre’s new family; she wasn’t particularly keen to recreate the experience with Nesta’s. But then she’d seen the look on Nesta’s face. The genuine desire her eldest sister seemed to have for Elain to join them. And she’d found herself nodding, unable to say no.

She had yet to properly meet Nesta’s best friends. Her sisters, Elain had heard Nesta call them, once again battling against the surge of bitter jealousy in her heart. Never mind that she and Feyre were her actual sisters.

Elain had seen Emerie and Gwyneth only from a distance, but it was clear they loved her sister as much as Nesta loved them. She was grateful that Rhys had left her on the terrace when they’d arrived at the House because she was sure he would have immediately picked up on the way her heartbeat spiked as she walked towards the library.

Three heads were tucked close together—one golden brown, one chestnut, and one copper—as they read the back of the book the Illyrian female—Emerie, Elain realized—was holding.

“The Suriel and the High Lord of the Dusk Court? That’s a bold pairing, even for Sellyn,” the redhead—Gwyn, evidently—muttered, prompting the other two to burst into a fit of giggles. Elain froze in place. Nesta giggling? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her sister laugh.

But something must have given her presence away, because all three heads shot up simultaneously, revealing three equally intense pairs of eyes focused entirely on her.

“Elain,” Nesta said, greeting her sister with a soft smile. “I’d like to introduce you to Emerie and Gwyn. Ladies,” she turned back to her best friends, “this is my sister, Elain.”

Gwyn practically bounced on the spot with kindhearted excitement, though Elain could see the wariness lurking behind Emerie’s eyes. She tried not to take it personally. She could only imagine the stories Nesta’s friends had heard about her spoiled and pampered younger sister.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Gwyn said with a grin. “Are you a romance fan as well?”

Elain could only blink at the bright teal eyes staring back at her. She’d overheard Feyre and Rhysand discussing Gwyn before, but actually seeing her in person was jarring in a way she hadn’t expected.

“I do read them from time to time. Mainly just the ones Nesta’s already finished with,” Elain replied, pasting on her own polite smile.

Gwyn leaned forward, reaching for the book they’d been giggling at only moments prior when Elain’s eyes landed on the necklace around her throat.

She would have recognized it anywhere. The gold chain, the rose amulet made of the finest stained glass. Bile rose up in Elain’s throat at the memory of the scarred hands that had secured the very same necklace around her own neck first during that cursed solstice dinner nearly half a year prior.

Gwyn noticed Elain’s gaze and looked down at herself with a soft smile. “Pretty, isn’t it? I have no idea who it’s from. Clotho merely informed me that it was a gift from the High Lord’s court.”

Elain’s stomach churned as shards of glass embedded themselves in her heart. Gwyn clearly had no clue who the necklace had come from. Just as she was clearly ignorant to the fact that she had not been its original recipient.

Elain had given it back. But what else was she supposed to do? Azriel had rejected her. Taken her heart and stomped all over it. Of course she’d thrown his ‘present’ back in his face. Just because Nesta was the proudest of the three sisters didn’t mean that Elain wanted to be treated like a doormat.

Did she even matter to him? Or was she just another fixation for him, a pretty girl for him to pine over. She knew he’d had feelings—deep, enduring feelings—for Mor. But she’d thought that maybe he’d moved on. That he’d seen Elain for who she was, not just the beautiful face everyone always seemed so blinded by.

Based on the necklace that was now hanging around Gwyn’s neck, Elain had been nothing more than a distraction for Azriel until he’d found the next vulnerable female to obsess over ‘saving’.

“Would you excuse me?” Elain managed to choke out, ducking away from the group and scurrying down the hallway until she found the kitchen. It had always been her domain, after all, she thought bitterly as she grabbed a clean glass from one of the shelves, hurriedly pouring herself a glass of water as she fought to gather her wits.

She heard footsteps behind her and summoned a smile, hoping it would be convincing enough to fool her sister, or whichever one of her friends was coming to check on her.

But it wasn’t Nesta who stood in the doorway.

“Are you alright?” a familiar low voice asked. Elain fought the violent urge to hurl her glass directly at his head as she turned to face the very male responsible for her current emotional breakdown.

She and Azriel had barely interacted since that night, and the few times they had been forced to encounter one another since then, they’d both made excuses to leave.

But there was nowhere for her to go now. Elain couldn’t fly. She couldn’t winnow. And she certainly couldn’t climb down the ten thousand steps back to Velaris.

She was trapped here. Trapped in a conversation she didn’t want to be having with a man—with a male, she mentally corrected—who’d rejected and humiliated her.

“I’m fine,” Elain forced out, hoping the neutral expression on her face didn’t betray her anger and panic. She doubted it was as convincing as Nesta’s, but then again, her only goal was not to break down in tears in front of Azriel.

Clearly, the Shadowsinger was not convinced. He stepped cautiously into the kitchen, raising his hands up as though he was approaching a startled lamb when Elain took her own step backwards.

“We should talk,” he said softly, but Elain didn’t want to talk to him. She wanted him to be the one forced to go hide in his room for the evening while she finally spent some much needed time with her sister and her sister’s new friends.

“Nesta’s waiting for me,” Elain said, placing her glass back in the sink. Gods, she didn’t want to be here. She should have asked Nesta to come to the River House instead, just the two of them. Like the way it used to be.

Well, maybe not just like that. Elain was fully aware that the way it used to be hadn’t been a particularly healthy dynamic for either of them. But she missed the simplicity. The ease of how her relationship with her sister had been when their roles had been so much simpler.

She’d always been Nesta’s number one priority. Now she wasn’t sure if she made the top five.

Cassian. Emerie. Gwyn. Azriel, she added bitterly. That was Nesta’s family now.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said, taking yet another step closer.

“It’s been five months,” Elain hissed, anger filling her body like the wick of a candle set aflame. “You have had five months to apologize. To explain what happened that night. But you wait until I’m trapped inside this house with you, after I’ve already seen the necklace you first gave me around another female’s neck, before you decide to have this conversation?”

Azriel blinked, clearly not expecting the force of her outburst, but Elain was done with him. Whatever half-hearted apologies Azriel had in mind to keep the peace, she didn’t want to hear them.

He opened his mouth again, stopping abruptly as Emerie walked into the room. “Az, Nesta and Gwyn need your help in the library,” she told him, her tone light and breezy.

“Help with what?” he asked, confusion clear on his face.

“Nesta will explain,” Emerie said, a clear dismissal. She waited until Azriel had left the room completely, the low baritone of his voice echoing distantly down the hall before Emerie turned to Elain.

“The necklace Gwyn wears. It came from him.”

Elain could only nod, her eyes filling with tears of shame. Azriel had humiliated her, and she’d just stood there and taken it. She hated feeling like this. Like she was still the same naive girl who’d actually expected Grayson to honour their engagement even after she’d been Made.

“But he gave it to you first,” Emerie added, a look of understanding in her eyes as Elain jerked her chin in yet another nod.

“What a prick,” Emerie muttered, her own expression now filled with anger. But, Elain realized belatedly, it was anger on her behalf.

Emerie was upset because of the way Azriel had treated her. And Gwyn, of course, but right now Emerie’s ire was entirely in support of Elain.

“You don’t have to stay here, if you’re uncomfortable,” Emerie said. “Cassian’s in Illyria right now but I’m sure Mor or the High Lord or High Lady would be more than willing to come pick you up.”

It was tempting. So, so tempting. And for a brief moment, Elain considered it.

But her pride. Her stubborn, latent pride wouldn’t allow it. Because if she left now, if she ran away again and hid when things got to be uncomfortable, he would win.

Again.

And it wasn’t fair. Why should Azriel get to enjoy his evening, free from the guilt that Elain’s presence would surely bring, while her plans were the ones completely upended?

Elain felt like she barely knew Nesta anymore. She was tired of feeling like a stranger. She wanted to get to know the version of her sister who smiled and laughed easily, who had fallen deeply in love with Cassian and who wasn’t afraid of the intensity of her feelings anymore. Who had fought in the Blood Rite with her two best friends and had not only survived the experience, but conquered it.

Elain missed her sister. And she refused to let Azriel ruin things for her. Not anymore.

“No,” Elain said, forcing her gaze to meet Emerie’s fierce hazel eyes. “You and Gwyn are my sister’s closest friends. It’s long passed time I got to know you both better.”

If Emerie was surprised by Elain’s decision, she didn’t show it. Instead, a warm smile bloomed on her face.

“Come,” she said, holding her hand out for Elain to take. “Nesta has a whole pile of books put aside for you that she swears aren’t too scandalous, and I know Gwyn is desperate to get your shortbread recipe.”

A matching smile grew on Elain’s own face as she took Emerie’s hand. “I’ve heard nothing but compliments from my sister about your store in Illyria. She says the wares you sell are far superior to the shops in Velaris.”

Emerie merely laughed in response. “She has to say that, it’s rule number one in the best friend handbook.”

Emerie tensed as the words left her mouth, as if worrying that she’d accidentally overstepped. But the stabbing pain Elain expected at being reminded of the distance that now existed between her and Nesta never came.

“Being Made, having our lives torn apart and destroyed, it hasn’t been easy for either of us. But Nesta especially has suffered since coming to Prythian,” Elain said softly. “I’m grateful she has you and Gwyn. I’ve truly never seen her happier.”

Emerie’s answering smile was blinding. “If you’d told me a year ago what my life would be like now, I never would have believed you.”

Elain thought of where she’d been a year ago. She thought of bright red hair. Two eyes—one russet, one gold—both filled with concern. The heartbeat she still heard when everything else was quiet. The heartbeat she relied on to help her fall asleep at night, though of course she’d never admit that to anyone.

She pushed the thought away just as abruptly as it had come to her. Just because her sister—well, now her sisters—had found eternal bliss and perpetual happiness with their mates didn’t mean that she was destined to the same fate.

But a part of her, a part she fought to keep buried deeply, showed her a flicker of what it could be like if she only got to know him.

Her mate. Lucien.

She could love him. Could be blissfully happy with him the way Feyre was with Rhys, and now Nesta with Cassian.

But it scared her, too. Knowing that all she had to do was give him a real chance and her entire life—her very, very long life—would change forever.

Was she ready for that? Would she ever be?

Maybe. The word bubbled up to the surface of her mind, accompanied by the image of two hands bound together with ribbon. Hers and Lucien’s, she knew, even though she couldn’t see their faces.

But not right now. Not as long as she remained like this. Stagnant and afraid.

Elain took a deep breath and followed Emerie back into the library, her head held high as she joined her sister and Gwyn by the fireplace, a stack of books at their feet.

Someday, she would open herself up to the bond properly. Would give Lucien the chance she knew they both deserved.

But not yet.

For now, Elain thought with a grin, she was just happy to have her sister back.

#ACOTAR Gift Exchange 2021 #a court of thorns and roses #nesta archeron #cassian #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #gwyneth berdara #emerie #nessian #elucien #i am apparently angrier at azriel than i'd realized

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separatist-apologist · 3 years ago

Text

A Christmas Prince

Summary: When reporter Feyre Archeron is sent to the small European Principality of Aldovia to cover the upcoming coronation of Prince Rhysand, she's mistaken for a royal portraitist. Deciding to lean into the lie in order to get a better story, Feyre is caught up in the drama and politics of Rhysand's life with no way out that doesn't betray them both.

This is based loosely off the Netflix movie A Christmas Prince and was my first full length Feysand fic so be kind.

This was also my Secret Santa gift for @arrowmusings and I hope they enjoy it.

You can find it on AO3: Here

Rated T for some language

Part 1/4

There was something special about Christmas in New York. Feyre chose to see it through rose tinted glasses, determined New York wouldn’t break her. She chose to see fresh, white snow instead of the gray sludge that lined the streets, chose to believe people smiled as she walked, chose to believe the air smelled like pine and snow capped mountain peaks instead of trash and exhaust. Some days were easier than others and as Feyre trudged through the slick mess, her boots sliding over the pavement, she found she was struggling to believe reality was as lovely as her imagination.

She made it to her office just in time for no one but Lucien Vanserra to smile in her direction. In a city filled with millions of people, how was he her only friend? Not counting, of course, her older sister Elain but Elain was busy with her trendy cupcakes that had taken over Brooklyn and besides, sisters didn’t really count as friends.

“I got you coffee,” Lucien told her with a smile, sliding out of his office to hand her a still warm cardboard cup of what smelled suspiciously like a chestnut praline latte. She’d gotten him in her breakup with her long-time boyfriend Tamlin and Feyre was grateful for it. Despite two solid decades of friendship, the first time Feyre texted Lucien for help, sporting a black eye and split lip, Lucien had shown up with movers and, when Tamlin tried to beg for her back, his fists.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. He knew her too well.

“So my dad is bugging me to come home this year,” he continued, a grimace stretched over his tanned, handsome face. Feyre scowled.

“Did you tell him no?” She replied. Lucien’s dad had money, money money, and Lucien had been expected to fall in line and become some corporate drone. Instead Lucien worked as a copy editor, mainly to say he had a job. Feyre was well aware Lucien had an obscene inheritance that, despite his father’s anger, he had access to.

“Not exactly,” Lucien replied with a sigh, stopping in front of her desk in the little cubicle Feyre inhabited. He shook her little snow globe with a wistful expression, watching the snow settle over Cinderella’s castle. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to be on Christmas.”

“Want plans?” Feyre offered immediately. Her and Lucien had been a two person show for Halloween and Thanksgiving. Why not Christmas, too? “You might have to spend it with Elain. She’s not flying out to California to see Nesta this year.”

Lucien’s expression lightened a little even as he said, “I don’t want to intrude on your family time with your sister.”

She snorted. “It’s hardly intruding. Elain lives to cook, besides. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have one more mouth to feed.” “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not,” Lucien complained, tucking a stray piece of copper hair behind his ear. Only Lucien could get away with shoulder length hair, tied neatly in a ponytail, in an office that required men to wear buttoned up shirts and ties. “Speaking of siblings, you know my older brother Eris knows this guy who owns a gallery—”

“No,” she said quickly, refusing to get her hopes up. “No, Lucien, no favors.”

“Feyre, c’mon. What’s the point of this fancy last name if I never get to throw it around?” He teased, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“You hate when people think you’re a Vanserra,” Feyre reminded him patiently, turning to her computer monitor. “Besides, my art isn’t good enough—” “Your art is good enough for museums,” Lucien interrupted impatiently. “And I’m not just saying that because we’re friends,” he added, catching how her mouth opened to contradict him. “Trust me. I’ve seen some of the ugly shit people spend thousands of dollars on. Your work deserves to be seen.”

She couldn’t admit that since Tamlin, Feyre hadn’t painted at all. He’d ridiculed everything she’d ever put on canvas, had made her feel small and worthless. He’d torn it all apart, had sneered at her brushstrokes, had called it her hobby and Feyre couldn’t get his words out of her head even six months later. From the way Lucien looked at her, fiddling with the cuffs on his dark purple shirt, she suspected he knew why she didn’t want to paint.

“I don’t have time,” she said instead, gesturing towards her email inbox. Lucien only rolled russet-colored eyes, one of which had three angry red scars streaked through it, marring what was otherwise a truly perfect face. He’d been in a car accident as a boy, he’d said. He ought to have died and instead was just scarred and though Feyre had found it jarring the first time she ever saw it, Lucien swore it had never gotten in the way when it came to women.

She wouldn’t know anything about that, other than Lucien always seemed to find a beautiful woman when he needed one.

“Sure you don’t,” he said with a long suffering sigh. “Too busy re-writing articles and watching Netflix shows you’ve already seen?”

“Don’t you have a job?” She asked, annoyed. Lucien grinned and all was forgiven in that moment because, despite his irritating presence, he was still her best friend.

“Reading books and telling authors their plots don’t make sense is hardly a job, Fey. It’s my passion.”

“You know, they say those who can’t—”

“Teach,” he interrupted. “But I accept the insult all the same. Don’t let the journalists dick you around too much, hm?”

And with that, Lucien was gone. He sauntered back to his nice office with the glass window overlooking the city while Feyre watched, rolling her eyes at the way heads turned as he went. She knew he was aware of it, and while Lucien would never sleep with anyone in their office, she was certain he didn’t need to wear pants half as tight, either.

Feyre was a junior editor, a job she didn’t particularly love but had sort of fallen into by accident. There was upward mobility and she’d always been a good enough writer that she decided to aim for being an editor one day, which was the plot of every coming-of-age tale she’d ever watched growing up in Oklahoma.

It was well past noon when Feyre finally finished reading a too-long story about fashion week, frustrated that the journalist had just made up facts that would get their magazine in hot water if it ever ran. Feyre knew she’d need to completely re-write it, both to trim down the wordiness and to ensure that they actually discussed the actual designers who were featured in the show. She knew exactly who to ask for help, dialing quickly on her phone.

“What’s up?” Came Elain’s voice over whirring in the background. Feyre knew her sister well enough to know it was just the sound of a stand mixer and that Elain was likely covered in a fine layer of flour.

“Hey, did you watch fashion week?” She asked.

“Fashion week is my Super Bowl…or whatever it is where they pick players,” Elain said impatiently. “I bought a dress from—”

“That’s great. Do you think you could help me with an article I’m writing?”

The whirring in the background stopped. “Do you want to stop by for lunch or is that too far?”

Considering Feyre was in Manhattan and Elain in Brooklyn, it was definitely too far for a quick lunch. “Dinner?”

“Come to my place, then. I’m closing up at two today.”

“Oh wait, Elain! Can I bring my friend Lucien? We usually get dinner together.”

There was a pause. “Tamlin’s friend?”

Feyre bit back her sigh. “My friend,” she said firmly.

“Fine. But I’m not cleaning.”

“I didn’t ask you to and trust me when I say he won’t care. Thanks for this, Elain.”

Elain offered a mock long-suffering sigh. “I have a dress for you, too, you know—”

“I’m hanging up now byeeeee,” Feyre said quickly, disconnecting the call before Elain could try and set her up with one of the million beautiful men that seemed to follow her sister around. Elain was all the things a person moving to New York ought to be—she had a degree in fashion, had been president of her sorority, had a close-knit group of girlfriends and, though it shouldn’t have mattered, Feyre knew from experience that if Elain stepped off a curb and raised her hand for a cab, six lined up immediately. She’d always been beautiful, even when they were dirt poor in Oklahoma, and no one ever doubted she’d make something of herself. Of course, most of their town had hoped she’d make herself into a housewife for one of their lazy sons, but that was still better than the world’s expectations for her. No one had ever thought Feyre would amount to anything and when she went home to see her father, the people who stopped her acted surprised she’d done anything at all with her life.

Feyre was practically out the door when the editor stopped her. “Archeron. You got a second?” Feyre looked over her shoulder at Lucien, leaned against his office door to talk to some aspiring writing working in one of the cubicles. She was flushed while Lucien was clearly offering serious career advice. He never learned, she thought with amusement. They didn’t give a fuck about his career, only his pretty face and that powerful last name.

“What’s up?” Feyre asked, walking into the glass office to take a seat.

“What do you know about Aldovia?” Her editor, a chic woman named Amren with a dark bob and a beautiful set of ruby earrings, asked as she flipped through a stack of papers.

“Nothing?” Ferye replied, trying to recall where in the world Aldovia was at all. Europe, maybe?

Amren glanced up at her. “Aldovia’s King died last year, and the mourning period is about to expire. Their prince, Rhysand, is MIA and they need a butt on the throne by Christmas Day.”

Feyre just stared. Amren sighed. “If he’s MIA, who do you think will fill that role?”

Feyre just shrugged. She knew absolutely nothing about world politics. Amren sighed. “I need boots on the ground to cover this debacle. Our readers love anything to do with the playboy prince.”

“Why me?” Feyre asked, shooting herself in the foot.

“You’re young, you’re hungry, you’re smart…and none of my regular journalists can go. You’d be gone over Christmas.”

“Oh…I don’t know…” Feyre began but Amren waived her hand.

“I can give this to any other junior editor,” Amren snapped, eyes blazing. “Do you want to spend the rest of your career in that cubicle re-writing shit articles? Or do you want to write something of your own?”

Neither, she thought quietly, surprised Amren knew she was rewriting articles.

“Okay,” Feyre agreed, in part to keep Amren from offering it to anyone else.

“Great. I know you won’t let me down.”

But Feyre wasn’t so sure when she scurried out of the office half an hour later, her phone buzzing in her pocket with an email alert for plane tickets. Lucien was waiting, jacket slung over his shoulder and her coat draped over his arm.

“Fired?” He joked, handing her the dark, puffy coat that she aggressively wore despite his accusations it made her look like a marshmallow.

“What do you know about the Prince of Aldovia?” She asked him, sliding into the elevator beside him.

Lucien peered down at her with surprise. “That he’s got a reputation as a womanizer and a dick,” Lucien offered. “And he’s likely going to abdicate and fuck up a dynasty that’s almost as old as the British monarchy.”

“And that’s bad?” Feyre asked.

“Well, it’s not great,” Lucien replied dryly. “They don’t have another system just ready to go.”

“You know Lucien, you don’t have to be a dick about everything,” she mumbled. Lucien grinned, bumping his shoulder into hers.

“Aw c’mon. Why all the interest in Aldovia?”

“Amren wants me to go and cover the coronation…or abdication, I guess.”

Lucien’s whole face lit up as he held open the glass doors that led to the street. It was already dark despite only being five thirty. Lucien stepped off the curb to flag down a cab while Feyre jammed her hands in her coat pockets.

“Let me give you a crash course over dinner.”

Feyre groaned. “Speaking of that. I might have agreed to eat at my sisters tonight.”

He shrugged. “No worries. Tomorrow then—”

“Come with me,” she asked, turning to face him. “I kind of already told her you were coming.”

He flicked her in the cheek.

“Besides, I’ll bet Elain knows everything about a prince. This seems right up her alley.”

Lucien held open the door to a bright yellow cab. “Fine. But you remember what happened the last time I dined with one of your sisters.”

Feyre scowled before rattling off her sister’s address. “Nesta and Elain are polar opposites.” That much was true, anyway. Elain wouldn’t tell Lucien to go fuck himself like Nesta had when they collectively realized she had been on again, off again dating Lucien’s eldest brother. Elain would be polite even if she hated Lucien’s guts.

“We’ll see,” he muttered, wrapping a scarf around his neck. For the duration of the slow drive, Lucien offered Feyre the most in-depth history she could have ever wanted and Feyre took notes on her phone. Aldovia was a monarchy with a surprisingly bloody history right up until World War II, when they’d gone the way of the Scandinavian countries and become more collectivist. They were small and didn’t have a standing military which, as an American, always surprised her.

By the time Feyre reached Elain’s two-story brownstone, her head ached from all the information Lucien was trying to stuff inside. “Honestly, I might have a book—”

“Of course you do,” she muttered, ringing Elain’s doorbell. “I don’t need a book. You know magazine readers don’t care about history like you do.”

“Well the magazine readers are—” Lucien abruptly stopped the moment the front door opened. Elain was gorgeous as usual, her waist length hair curling softly around her softly made-up face. She wore black and grey checked pants and a white blouse tucked neatly inside, the top two buttons undone to offer the barest hint of skin.

She glanced at Lucien for a moment, unaware that he was openly staring, before inviting them in. “I made ham.”

“Of course you did,” Feyre replied, shrugging out of her coat. Elain’s apartment was gorgeous, each piece of furniture expertly chosen to be both functional and beautiful. Elain had that kind of talent and always had. Despite how much cream furniture she owned, everything felt warm and inviting.

“That’s your painting,” Lucien said with surprise, gesturing towards an ocean landscape Feyre had done for Elain years earlier when she’d been too poor to afford a birthday gift.

“It’s my favorite,” Elain said with a sigh, her heels clicking on the hardwood.

“I have Fey’s Autumn Woods in my living room,” Lucien told her sister, undoing his scarf to hang on the coat rack beside the door. Elain paused to look over her shoulder, a faint smile on her lips. “A man of taste, I see.”

“Stop it,” Feyre muttered, embarrassed but in this, Elain and Lucien were united even if they didn’t know it. Elain had been begging Feyre to let her set up an online store for her artwork since Feyre had lived with Elain as a junior in college.

Elain clicked her tongue and vanished down the hall to the kitchen. Lucien turned to Feyre, eyebrows raised.

Is she single? He mouthed moments before Feyre hit him in the stomach with the back of her hand.

“She’s out of your league,” Feyre whispered. Lucien merely grinned, trailing behind her.

“So, I wrote out all the designers who attended New York fashion week,” Elain said, tying a pale pink apron around her waist. Lucien was poking through Elain’s bookshelf in the living room, nosy as usual.

“This is great,” Feyre said with a sigh, sitting at the rounded wooden table in Elain’s expansive kitchen. She didn’t want to think what this place must have cost Elain, in part because Elain deserved good things. Her former fiancé, Graysen, had recently cheated on her before dumping her in a public, brutal fashion and Feyre knew how it felt to love a man that never loved you back…at least in the way she’d loved him. Elain made heartbreak look easy—if her sister had laid awake at night sobbing and eating her feelings, she certainly never showed it. Feyre, on the other hand, had only left her apartment when Lucien began dragging her out which was why they ate dinner together every night. Feyre knew he’d stopped dating for the time being to make sure she was okay and though maybe it was selfish, she genuinely appreciated that he was looking after her.

“Tell her about Aldovia!” Lucien called. Elain’s brows raised.

“Aldovia?”

Lucien strode in and Feyre bit back the scowl when she noticed his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was trying to be sexy. She’d murder him. Elain glanced at him, cheeks flushed and Feyre all but groaned.

“Feyre’s been given an assignment to see if Prince Rhysand is going to ascend to the throne.” Elain’s eyes lit up. “Fey, that’s amazing! Your first assignment! Oh my God, okay, let me go grab that dress I bought—”

“Elain!” Feyre protested but Elain stepped around Lucien to jog down the hall, unaware of how he leaned to watch her go.

“Do you mind?” Feyre hissed. Lucien only shrugged, clearly unashamed. A moment later Elain returned with a pale blue, sparkly gown she spread over the dining room table.

“I have others,” Elain breathed. “But this one has never been worn.”

“Where were you planning on wearing this?” Feyre couldn’t help but ask, fingering one of the jewels lightly.

Elain shrugged. “Maybe someone I hate is about to get married and I wanted to upstage her.”

Lucien snorted with laughter and Elain flushed with pleasure. “Feyre, you can’t go to a castle and not take at least one nice dress.”

“You should probably take like…five,” Lucien added, doing quick math in his head.

“Five?” Feyre gasped.

“Yes, definitely,” Elain replied, walking back to her bedroom. Feyre gathered up the beautiful blue dress, hugging it to her chest as she followed after Elain, sandwiched by Lucien’s large body. Elain’s bedroom was a space she definitely thought Lucien had no business in, judging by how he looked around with interest. Not that Elain noticed, vanishing into a closet as big as Feyre’s bathroom.

“Get it together,” Feyre hissed when Lucien walked to the large, cream colored bed and ran a hand over the blanket.

“I’m going to marry her,” he whispered in response. “We’re going to be family.” “I’ll kill you,” Feyre shot back moments before Elain walked back out, dumping a stack of gowns atop her bed. Even Lucien looked surprised by what he saw and if Elain was embarrassed, she didn’t let it show.

“Black, I think,” Elain murmured, pulling out another floor length dress that looked as though it had a slit cut to her navel.

Lucien reached for a golden one, pulling it from the stack to admire the fabric.

“Have you worn all these?” Feyre asked, flopping on Elain’s bed.

“Mostly,” Elain replied, studying her pile the way a scientist might examine something beneath a microscope. “Not that one. Do you want to take it?”

Judging by the way Lucien was staring at the dress, she decided she’d let Elain keep it and ruin his life by wearing it one day. There was no way in hell Lucien would ever get within touching distance of her sister. Elain had a very specific, very brunette type.

“No, I’m too pale for gold.” “True,” Elain agreed without malice. “Red, then.”

“You act like I’m going to marry him,” Feyre mumbled, letting her sister add clothes to her pile. “This is just an assignment.”

“What if you need to attend fancy dinners?” Elain shot back. “Or balls—”

“This is not a fairy tale,” Feyre insisted. “I have slacks.” Elain huffed, turning to her dresser to pull out nice dress clothes but Feyre stopped her. “Elain it’s fine. This guy dates supermodels, right? I don’t need to worry about impressing him. I’m not you.”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Feyre mumbled, catching the look Elain and Lucien exchanged.

“At least take these three,” Elain finally said, shoving each dress into her sister’s hand.

Dinner was fun and Feyre didn’t hate the idea of Lucien and Elain. Lucien was a shameless flirt, not that Elain noticed. Perhaps she was so used to men acting that way she barely registered it, though Feyre noticed that Elain watched him more closely when he got serious. Between Elain’s knowledge of fashion and Lucien’s knowledge of history, she thought there was no one better prepared to go to Aldovia. Feyre had hundreds of words written in her notes, had the dresses Elain had shoved on her folded neatly in a suitcase, and a book Lucien insisted she take tucked beneath her arm when she strolled into the airport.

It didn’t occur to her until after she checked in that she’d never thought to just google the guy. Pulling out her phone, Feyre saw she had another missed text from a new number that she would have bet her life belonged to Tamlin. The fact that he couldn’t leave her alone when he should have been grateful the worst, he got was his face bloodied by Lucien was just astounding to her. She blocked it without bothering to look at the message, but her hands shook a little as she typed in Rhysands name.

That was a mistake, she decided. He was easily the best-looking man she’d ever seen in her life. How unfair, she reflected. If he had to be royalty, the least he deserved was a weird looking face. Rhysand was beautiful in a way that made Feyre’s heart race. Blue-black hair fell into eyes so blue they were practically violet, off-set by sun-kissed skin. The first picture she’d pulled up was a blurry pap shot of him without a shirt on, adding insult to injury. His body was sheer perfection, the kind artists used to carve from marble. Of course, in the photo he was standing beside a blonde woman in a teeny bikini and that reminded Feyre that his good looks had likely made him an asshole.

With that in mind, Feyre felt much better stepping onto a plane to fly halfway around the world. She’d never meet him, would likely only see him from a distance assuming he showed up at all, and all of Lucien and Elain’s prep work would be for nothing. She was still safe.

With that in mind, Feyre slept for most of the flight, waking for a rough landing on the tarmac. It was her first time alone somewhere and with each new step, Feyre felt a sense of excitement. She’d been chosen, maybe because no one else could go, but chosen nonetheless. She fired two quick texts to Lucien and Elain separately, letting them both know she’d made it and urging Lucien to come join her perhaps a tad selfishly.

Afterall, it would have been nice to have a friend. She felt that when three men cut her in the taxi line, stealing the car she’d waited for without little more than a grin. “Hey!” She’d yelled, frustrated when the largest of the three turned to look at her, winked, and then slid in after the other two. No apologies, no explanations. It took fifteen minutes for another cab to roll up and by the time Feyre was checked into her hotel and on the shuttle to the palace, she was more than a little stressed.

The palace itself was built into a snowcapped mountain surrounded by tall evergreen pines. It was something from a Christmas movie, something only Disney himself could have dreamt up. She had her nose practically pressed to the glass window, drinking in the surroundings. Feyre had never seen anything half as lovely in her life—unblemished snow covered the ground just beside the winding mountain road they travelled, sparkling beneath a cold winter sun. She wondered what it would be like to live somewhere so beautiful.

How are things going? Lucien asked Feyre when she sat in a gray cushioned, hardbacked chair. Press badge around her neck, Feyre shook out her hands, pleased to be in the middle of the crowd. She didn’t have any specific questions, didn’t really care what the spoiled prince would do.

Not great, she sent Lucien back when a busy press coordinator came out to announce there would be no press briefing, rescheduled or otherwise. They were told to pack it up, that Rhysand was definitely accepting the throne, and practically kicked out of the palace.

She couldn’t go home empty handed. She wasn’t going to be stuck in a dead-end job for the rest of her life. She didn’t have to love writing in order to want to do well.

You’ll bail me out of jail, right? She texted Lucien, sideling away from the group to circle back towards the palace. She felt his immediate response, likely demanding she not do whatever it was she was thinking but Feyre was already half jogging up a flight of stone steps to a side door. Decorated with green garland and a massive wreath, it was both festive and somehow overdone. She didn’t know what, exactly, she was looking for—only that she’d know when she saw it. Feyre was surprised that the palace felt more like a museum or an upscale office. Red carpet and muted wallpaper with nondescript art hanging on the walls all leant itself to a space that was neutral at best, unoffensive at worst. She crept through the hall, coming to a large foyer decorated charmingly with suits of armor wearing curling red ribbons around their neck. She pulled out her phone, ignoring Lucien’s all-caps text demanding she rethink her life choices, and snapped a photo.

“What are you doing?” A masculine voice behind her demanded. Feyre turned suddenly, surprised to find herself looking at one of the men who stole her taxi the morning before. Tall, broad, and muscular, he looked like he wrestled bears for fun.

“Uh…” She stammered, trying to think of any good reason to be taking pictures of suits of armor. “I was…”

“Oh. American,” he said with a roll of his hazel eyes. “You’re the portraitist, aren’t you?”

The what? “Yes,” she lied automatically. Anything to keep herself from trouble. The broad man’s expression relaxed into an easy-going, handsome smile. He was young, tan, and decidedly rugged despite his well-fitted pants and his buttoned up shirt. Shoulder length brown hair was half tied from his face with a neat bun, leaving the rest to wave around a jaw carved from rock.

“Thank God,” he said with a smile. “We were starting to think you’d ghosted us.”

“Nope, no ghosting,” Feyre assured him even as her mind screamed at her to tell the truth and get out. “Just a long flight.”

The man glanced sideways at her, gesturing for her to following him through the foyer towards a grand marble staircase.

“Must have been some flight,” he murmured, his tone betraying that she’d been missing much longer than she thought. Feyre offered a half-smile, hands trembling at her sides. “Anyway you’re in luck. Rhys just got in and he’s not in a shitty mood. Do…whatever it is you need to…do you need paint or something?”

Fuck. “Uh…yeah but not today. It’s a process,” she said truthfully. “I’m gonna just…take some pictures and get a feel for you know…the room…and stuff.”

“And stuff,” the man beside her repeated. “Okay. You’re the expert, I guess. Just…no talking to the press, okay? They’re circling like eager rats.”

“Right,” Feyre replied, not bothering to mention that she was one of those rats.

“If you need anything, let me know. I’m Cassian, by the way. I was the one talking to your boss on the phone I guess…I thought you were going to be a man.”

“Sorry to disappoint?” Feyre asked, praying to every God ever known that the actual portraitist didn’t show up and blow her cover. Cassian shook his head, leading Feyre down a series of connected halls.

“Did you bring things with you?” “Yeah…they’re at my hotel,” she replied as though it were obvious. Cassian’s steps faltered.

“Hotel? You’re supposed to be staying here. What hotel? I’ll send Az to get your things.”

“That’s not necessary…I can get my own stuff,” Feyre replied, unsure who Az was or if she wanted him rifling through her stuff and accidentally letting them all know who she really was.

Cassian hesitated outside of two large, gold leaf double doors. “We really need this to go well. Az’ll drive you back into town for your things. Don’t tell anyone you’re working on a portrait, okay?”

“I won’t,” Feyre replied, hoping she looked sincere and not guilty. Cassian assessed Feyre one last time, biting his lower lip and then nodded.

“Painter is here!” He called, yanking open the door. Feyre was stunned momentarily by the beauty of the throne room Cassian had lead her into. It was open and airy, with white marble columns that matched the black swirled floors. Unlike the muted halls leading up to the room, the throne room seemed cut from decadence. Her eyes traveled to a gorgeous crystal chandelier overhead twinkling in the bright winter sunlight.

Sitting atop a dais, lounging in a golden throne, the most beautiful man Feyre had ever seen sat up, brushing a piece of lint from his black shirt.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” he told her, rising to his full height. The photos she’d seen of him on the internet didn’t do him justice—he didn’t look real, he was so handsome. He smiled, revealing two perfect rows of white teeth, his eyes so blue they were violet which contrasted nicely with his inky black hair.

She didn’t know what to say so Feyre let her eyes wander the room again, hoping she looked studious and not overwhelmed by how good looking he was.

“No paint?”

“Not today,” she managed to get out. “I’m going to take some pictures and then put together a sketch.” She didn’t have to lie, at least, about her ability to draw. She’d need to go to the local art supply store and get things to work with but Feyre thought she could put together a good portrait of him given enough time. He was certainly easy on the eyes.

He nodded, his gaze blazing and on her. Had anyone ever looked so intently at her in her life? It made her nervous, like he could see through her lies.

“Where do you want me?” He asked, gesturing around the space. His space. He’d be King, she realized…and she was supposed to be writing a story about him, not drawing his face. Maybe she could do both, she reasoned. After all, was it her fault if none of them background checked who came in and out of their lives? He was practically inviting disaster. She’d do a thoughtful, polite write-up, she decided. As an apology for her deception.

“Where would you like to be?”

“Far away,” Rhys admitted with a sigh. “But a long line of portraits have us on the throne and I suppose it would be bad form to defy tradition.”

Feyre gestured for him to sit, and Rhys did, back straight, hands resting on the arm. She pulled out her phone, opened the camera, and immediately began studying the way shadow and light fell on him. There was truly no better study for the human form than Rhysand.

There was something invasive and wrong about the photos she took and yet Feyre took them anyway. She was going to draw him, she promised. Rhysand didn’t move, seemed used to being photographed in this way though to Feyre it all felt very intimate.

“That’s…that’s all I need,” she murmured once she had a few from several different angles. “I can sketch something this evening and you could take a look tomorrow?” He shrugged, rising from his throne. “I don’t care, to be honest…” He looked at her expectantly.

“Feyre. My name is Feyre.”

“Unusual name,” he replied. “Anyway, I don’t care how it looks.”

“Why commission one at all, then?” Feyre snapped without thinking. Rhys raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised.

“Why, indeed? Let me show you to your room.”

“Is that something princes do?” Feyre asked snappishly, strangely annoyed he didn’t care how his portrait turned out. Rhys shrugged.

“This one does, though I could call Cassian back if you’d prefer?”

“He was nice,” Feyre murmured, more to herself. That made Rhysand laugh.

“He’ll be relieved to hear it. Come on, Feyre darling. I have other things I need to do today.”

Feyre nodded, swallowing hard. Following after him had the strangest feeling attached, as though she were walking to more than just a bedroom.

It was as though she walked towards fate.

#acotar gift exchange 2021 #feysand #feyre x rhysand #and some background elucien #because i cant just NOT write elucien #but its subtle #just a feel good #wholesome #christmas fic #that has the potential to have an added smutty bonus scene if anyone is interested #i was way nervous to post this

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highladydawn · 3 years ago

Text

No Shortage of Sordid (1/3)

Summary: When Feyre Archeron crosses into faerie lands to steal roses for her sister's birthday, she gets swept up into the rivalry between two ruthless high lords. [A Hades & Persephone retelling with hints of Beauty and the Beast, Rated E].

Read on ao3. // Next Part

This is un-beta’d, so mistakes are made unintentionally, but with love.

Lastly, this story is my @acotargiftexchange present for @feyrearcherons. I hope you like it, friend! Happy holidays.

Feyre.

Prythian was hell on the human senses. I felt the sickening effect of it behind my eyes, forcing myself to take deep breaths to lessen the dull throbbing. Ever since I’d crossed into the land of the faeries, it had been one assault after another—colors that were too bright and sounds that were too crisp. Even the fragrance of the Spring Court roses lost what should’ve been a tepid perfume in favor of a scent that bit my nose like wildfire smoke. But I pursued them anyway.

Halfway up the trodden path, I paused and turned my nose up to the wind to catch a trace of the meadow honey and fruit musk the roses were known for. The scent was stronger here than it was when I’d first crossed the border. I had to be getting closer—maybe only half a mile left to go. If I continued traveling against the wind, I’d happen upon them before dawn, leaving me enough time to slip in through my family’s back door. Then Nesta would never have to know where I’d found the rose for Elain.

Or at least, she’d never know for certain. Never have proof if she wanted to scold me.

“I want to get Elain nice things just as much as you do,” Nesta had chided me in the privacy of our shared bedroom. “ But Elain wouldn’t want you risking your life just to find her things that take up space we don’t have and end up wasting away. Besides, the faeries are vengeful. If they find you where you don’t belong, you’ll find just how quickly they forget the word mercy.”

Admitting Nesta was right would just be admitting defeat. Every year, Elain had wanted one thing and one thing only for her birthday: a bouquet of roses. Even when our father hoarded away a surplus of riches and we spent our days in the lap of luxury, it was all she ever asked for—not trinkets, not dressed, not jewels. Now, those storehouses of gold had run dry and Elain asked for even less. If I couldn’t find a single rose for her birthday, then that was the biggest failure of our poverty.

Chasing down the decade’s repeated wish of my sister was dangerous, but not impossible. Roses were scarce in the village this late into the autumn, but they grew year round in the faerie territories. I bet the immortals didn’t even appreciate them as much as my sister. What did they care if a few went missing? I didn’t fear the faeries, either. If they wanted to shower their retribution down on me, they’d have to catch me first.

Just then, something caught on the long sleeve of my cotton shirt, tearing me out of my thoughts. I unsnagged the fabric, my eyes lighting at the sight of a sharp thorn. It was just one of many protruding from a wild rose, and though the petals were wilted and brown, it promised more roses nearby.

Adjusting my pack closer to my side and away from the brambles, I stepped into the thorny brush. My socks and boots did little to protect against the hundreds of thorns that bit and clawed at my ankles, but I urged on, eyeing every flower I could find to see if it was bright enough for Elain. I crept on until the roses surrounded me on all sides, but no matter how far in I pressed, each rose I plucked up was blemished and dying.

I broke through the thicket empty handed, the stinging at my legs nearly unbearable. With a hiss, I tugged one of my pant legs up, only to find that thick beads of blood were dripping onto the marbled ground—marble that matched the smooth statues amidst manicured hedges and sectioned gardens of luminous spring flowers. My heart sank as I took in the rest of my surroundings. Healthy, bright flowers filled the yard all the way up a leaning hill, on top of which a manor was situated to surveil the expanse of the valley.

Well, shit. This was a garden of the gods and I was standing right in the middle of it.

Coming to my senses, I dropped to the ground behind one of the hedges, a hand still pressed against my bleeding leg. My other cuts and scrapes twinged at the movement, dropping more splatters of crimson onto the elaborate path—a stark contrast of human against a place so deathly immortal. My heart pounded against my ribs as I scanned the grounds around me once more.

If I was careful, I could sneak back into the forest without being detected, likely shrouded by the thicket of wild, decaying roses. I might get scraped some more, but it was a small price to—

My eyes locked on a polished plot of flowers further up the hill. But not just any flowers. Roses. Thousands upon thousands of silky, rouge blossoms. Each grown to perfection. Not a single imperfection in sight. There might still be time to trim Elain her bouquet, yet.

Slowly, I rose to a crouch and crossed the yard, keeping my back and shoulders to the hedgerows and out of sight of the manor. In my filthy clothes and splitting shoes, I imagined I looked the same way a rat does crawling across a mansion’s dining room floor hoping for a scrap. But this was for Elain—sweet, selfless Elain who never complained when my hunting failed us and left us hungry. Elain, whose determined heart was set on counting the days of daylight instead of the nights of storms and chill. Elain, who only ever asked for this one thing.

My fingers wrapped around the first rose I could get my hands on, nicking the pad of my thumb on another sharp spike in the process. But I had retrieved my hunting knife from my pack and severed the rose from the garden with impressive quickness, easily making up for the soreness. As if unleashed by my own greedy soul, I began to gather even more—as many as could fit in my pack.

“Who goes there?” a sonorous voice called out.

I froze, nearly dropping my blade in my surprise. I ducked out of the way, disappearing behind a particularly tall shrub to avoid the wandering gaze of a broad shouldered High Fae prowling through the gardens— his gardens, if his silken finery and golden coronet were any indication. I remained hidden as he passed, catching only a glimpse of his long, sun-bleached hair and straight nose.

One of the roses in my pack, weighted at a strange angle by its own striking petals, tumbled out and rolled into the open path—right at the High Lord’s feet. If I wasn’t stunned into silence, I might’ve cursed as he looked at me.

He didn’t seem to believe I was really there. I wasn’t sure I believed it either. What human was foolish enough to trespass in a god’s garden? Worse yet, steal his flowers? He bent at the waist to pick up the rose that had been crudely sawed at its stem, frowning as he appraised the damage. Startling green eyes slipped over to my pack, sharpening like deadly knives when he beheld that I hadn’t taken just one rose, but several. As many as I could fit in my pack.

“These were my mother’s,” he growled.

I expected him to raise his hand, unleash the furious wrath of his power and magic upon my human form. But he merely watched me with slow boiling hatred, curious to see what this foolish mortal would do next.

“My mother grew roses too,” I heard myself say, though the voice was not entirely my own. Fury still simmered underneath his skin, palpable in the chilly spring scented air, but there was something else too. Interest , I realized. It sparked his expression with a strange, enticed curiosity, as if he saw something of value underneath the battered, torn rags of my clothes. Whatever he read in my humble, terrified appearance made him forget that he was angry. It budded into something else entirely—something that put every muscle in my body on edge.

Just as he opened his mouth to utter the question lingering on his tongue, the ground began to quake and rumble. My hand shot out to clutch the hedge before I could topple over as little cracks spread like lightning under my feet. They coursed through the ground, fracturing the sturdy marble of the pathways from all sides until they finally met in the middle and burst open. Wind poured from the crater in the garden, roaring in my ears and sending the high fae stumbling back.

And then, through the opening came a winged man. He shot through the mouth of the earth, unfurling the expanse of his midnight wings. They blocked the sunlight as they kept him afloat, a rhythmic beating that sounded like thunder. Silhouetted by the daylight, I couldn’t make out the details of his face. Yet somehow, my instincts told me he was smirking.

“Why, you’re alive after all, Tamlin!” the winged fae taunted in a sickly sweet voice. His voice swung on its hinges, crazed and deep. It made me tremble. “I’m so relieved I could die.”

“I wish you would, Rhysand,” Tamlin sneered, fists balling together.

“A pretty sentiment—to die and take you with me.” My heart roared in my ears as Rhysand lowered himself from the clear sky to the top of one of the garden statues, the one directly beside me. He still hadn’t noticed me yet. “You see, when I hadn’t heard from you, I thought someone ran you through and stained your pretty marble with your blood. Which would’ve been so disappointing, since I’ve been pining for the honor myself.”

“Get out of my court.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue.

“You know what I want, Tam.”

“Do I?”

I could’ve sworn the daylight flickered, like a candlelight yielding to nighttime darkness. Rage and fury swirled around me, but I wasn’t sure whose was whose, or why I could even sense it in the first place. Rhysand curled his wings behind him so he wore the talons like a crown.

“Give them back,” he demanded.

“Or what? ” Tamlin shot back quickly. The gale of power swept his hair back, revealing every tense line of his face. To my human eyes, it seemed as though there was something laying in wait underneath his skin. Like some sort of beast who would bare fangs with a single wrong word.

Rhysand met the seething danger of Tamlin’s power, multiplying it so that it felt like needles in the air. When his voice rumbled from deep in his lungs, it turned my insides to tree sap.

“Give them back to me, Lord of Spring, or your court will be the first place I go when I’m free from my shackles. When I burn every blade of grass, every screaming mouth , to the ground, you will only have yourself to blame. And then, you will know what it is to really have something taken from you.”

The image threatened to shatter my composure, but I steeled myself against the temptation to let my fear show, lest they smell it. Down my knee, I felt another bead of blood trailing along my skin. I kept still, hoping it would simply drop into my socks. But I was not so lucky. I felt the very moment it landed on the ground beside me.

Rhysand’s nostrils flared, his fae senses telling him something I didn’t know—maybe he smelled the iron or heard the splatter as it hit the marble. But he spun to me, once more blocking the sun from my kneeling form and showering me in shadow.

“Perhaps you will learn so much sooner than I thought,” he snarled with delight.

He surged for me, too fast for me to dodge away. The last thing I felt was his hand of black swirls close around my neck before everything went black.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

I woke to a sticky, burning pain against my wrists. I cracked my eyes open to find the cause, only to bite back a groan at the blurry dizziness that clouded my mind. But as my vision shifted into focus, I found that my hands were bound by invisible wrappings to the arm of a chair. My feet were fixed to the ground, almost as if they’d been nailed there. I tried to kick them up, testing the movement I still had at my disposal, but hissed in pain.

It was magic. It had to be. And if it was magic holding me in place, then that meant I was very, very far from home. If my memories hadn’t altered, Rhysand was captor.

I scanned the room around me. Empty, dark, and well furnished, the space reminded me of a halfway point between the old extravagant manor of my childhood and the hovel I now called home. In the dark, I couldn’t quite make out the artwork hung on the walls or the design of the plush rug on the floor. By simply turning off the lights, Rhysand had lowered my chances of escape by leagues. It’d be much harder to plot a way out if I couldn’t see anything.

Just as a groan of frustration nearly escaped my lips, I heard a voice through the thin walls.

“I just can’t wrap my head around Tamlin taking on a human woman.” The speaker was female and clearly displeased with the entire situation—whatever it was.

“I can,” another voice replied with a scoff. This one I recognized as Rhysand’s. “He loves going through pretty, new toys like a child on Solstice. And the girl is certainly not hard to look at...in a filthy, mortal sort of way.” I frowned.

“You seem really confident that she’s good enough leverage to hang over his head.”

“It’s a smart enough wager. She may not be his favorite possession, but in my experience, Tamlin throws a tantrum anytime someone plunders his precious court. It’s his pride he cares most about.” He paused, long enough for a cork to pop. My dry mouth tasted of sand as he poured himself a glass. How long had I been out? Long enough that I’d likely been days without anything to drink.

My empty stomach sank. If he hadn’t fed me yet, maybe he wasn’t planning on ever giving me something to eat. I had to escape and I had to do it fast.

“Besides,” Rhysand continued. “The girl might be valuable for other reasons.”

“It’s not like you to find value in a human.”

“I bet she knows his secrets. I bet he tells them to her in a clumsy form of courting, lavishing her with faerie secrets to keep her satisfied and make her think she’s something special. If Tamlin is keeping two Illyrians under his roof, no doubt she’s seen them.”

“And just how do you intend to get her to betray that information?” the woman wondered.

“Why, by any means necessary.”

My blood ran cold. I had no clue of what the hell he was talking about. I didn’t know Tamlin, had heard none of his secrets. My only tie to the High Lord of Spring was that I had some of his roses in my bag. If Rhysand had come any later, he might’ve seen my torn limbs thrown haphazardly about the garden. There’d be no use in trying to tell him the truth now. Not when he was so certain that I knew something he needed—something he’d kill to know.

I struggled against the magical binds holding my wrists, biting my lip to keep from yelling out as they burned and tore my skin. For a split second, it seemed as if they were loosening. I pushed forward again, mind reeling at the intense pain. Yet through the unfamiliar magical ache, I could feel the bindings yielding.

Then I was free. Blisters of blood and oozing skin circled around my wrists like a twisted bracelet and the soles of my feet felt like they’d been dipped into an open fire, but I was free. If I wanted to stay that way, I needed to come up with a plan of escape and fast. I skimmed the darkness for any sign of my bag and few things inside that might help me—the hunting knife, the heel of a loaf of bread, some spare rope for climbing. But if Rhysand had taken my belongings, he was smart enough not to leave them in the room with me.

I could just sit and pretend that I was still lost in unconsciousness. What would I do, then, if Rhys was able to sense that the enchanted bindings were shredded? My best bet was to make it toward the open door and hope there was a hallway on the other side that could lead me back to familiar territory. Back home.

Holding my breath, I carefully rose to my feet. I thanked the Mother when the wooden floorboards remained soundless until each of my steps as I snuck across the room. My hand was inches from the handle when a swirl of shadow hurtled into my stomach, throwing me backwards and into an ornate tea table. Both me and the ceramic contents went tumbling to the floor with a loud CRASH.

When I looked up, he was already above me.

And I couldn’t breathe.

Whatever words I had left were lost. Rhysand’s beauty fell on me like moonlight, draping over every bit of my senses until there was nothing left. Nothing but the feathers of his midnight hair and starlight laden eyes. The violet color of them was vivid even in the dark as they roved over me, and though I should’ve been terrified, I found myself wanting just a few more seconds of that silence so I could look at him just a little longer.

Rhysand smirked, as if he knew.

I snapped to my senses with a start. How stupid could I be? Faeries were beautiful like this as a weapon and I would not die under the hands of a depraved fiend just because he blinked his long lashes at me.

Channeling as much strength as I could, I rammed my knee up between his legs. He growled in pain, doubling over right into my arms, lending me the opportunity to shove him off. I sprinted away as quickly as I could, only to be snatched back up into his arms. They circled my waist, lifting me off the ground.

“Let go of me!” I shrieked, legs flailing. “Let go, you bastard!”

My hands dug into the fabric of his shirt, clawing at whatever I could get my hands on. It was to no avail, though. Rhysand swept his arm across the wooden dresser, sending a tray of wine glasses and china plates shattering on the floor. A second later, I was placed on top of it, shoulders heaving as they pressed against the wall. His hand pressed down above my breasts, holding me in place, and black-lacquered nails clawed gently along my throat.

To my own horror, I stopped fighting. I searched for that familiar metallic scent of magic, but found only a sweet fragrance of rain and citrus.

And then he was looking at me again— really looking at me. I felt bare beneath his gaze as his eyes scoured across my torn pants, the swell of my chest, and the bow of my full lips. I expected his face to twist in disgust, but the judgement never came.

The intensity in those violet eyes, though...If I hadn’t been sitting, it would’ve brought me to my knees.

“I see Tamlin has been keeping the real prize of his treasures hidden away,” he appraised. I futilely fought a blush as it crept up my neck. “For a woman so beautiful, you’re either brave or stupid to try to escape here.”

“I’m not stupid,” I answered through the roughness in my voice, though I had trouble believing it. Intelligent girls didn’t trespass onto faerie land and steal a high lord’s flowers. They didn’t get themselves caught or try to escape without a plan, either.

Rhysand’s hand began to slide away from its position below my throat and down the side of my trembling frame. I shivered as his fingers grazed lightly against the underside of my breast, eliciting a strange shock from my core. His eyes followed the path of his fingers, drowning in some type of hunger, as if he wanted to see what lay beneath his touch.

“If that’s the case, then no doubt you will be very wise and answer my questions,” he purred.

I swallowed, gritting my teeth. Seduction was his game, but I couldn’t tell what was real and what was merely a mask worn to get what he wanted. At least I had some idea of what that was, though little good it did me if I couldn’t make sense of it.

If I could fake it, though, maybe he’d let me go. If I pretended to give him every last drop of my knowledge, he’d have no use for me once he’d learned it. And then I could go home.

“If you want honest answers, then back away and get your hands off of me,” I ground out.

Interest flickered in his eyes once more, but he did as I asked.

“Brave, indeed,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and taking a step back. I didn’t dare move a muscle, much less attempt to lower myself off of the dresser. Instead, I allowed a handful of cool breaths to quiet my mind. Then, I began to lie as though it was my life’s work.

“Ask your questions, Lord Rhysand, and I will do my best to answer them.”

Rhysand smiled.

“There you go answering my first one already. If you know who I am, then Tamlin must’ve mentioned me at least once. Good.” I lied my confirmation with my silence. “Then I suppose you already know who I am. Lord Rhysand of the…”

He trailed off like a teacher waiting for a student to supply the right answer. I wondered what would happen if I answered incorrectly. My mind drifted back to the darkness of his magic, the way it swallowed the day and glistened with starlight.

I hoped my guess wouldn’t destroy my ruse when I answered, “The Night Court.”

“Indeed,” he confirmed. Freezing dread dripped through me like a cold sweat. The Night Court was a nightmare tactic used by humans to scare children into compliance. Petty, childish crimes were met with threats to ship a misbehaving child to a place where death lurks at every corner and torture is the norm. It’s the Underworld, my father had crooned one day. Ruled by the cruelest of kings, The Lord of Death.

It was too late to hope it wasn’t true.

“What has Tamlin told you about me?” he continued.

“Nothing good,” I murmured.

“Rightfully so. Tell me.”

“He told me that...you have complete authority over who lives and dies,” I began, hoping my answer didn’t sound too much like childish ramblings. “That your wrath is matchless and to never incite your fury.”

“In your voice, it sounds so alluring. Go on.”

I bit my lip, searching my memory for anything I could remember for our legends about The Lord of Death. As my pursuit came up flat, I considered that maybe relying on myths would only make my explanations sound more forged.

“He said he had something of yours in his possession,” I said slowly, praying it was the right thing to say.

“Do you know what that is?” Rhysand’s tone was tipped with poison and I knew I had told him what he wanted to hear.

“The Illyrians,” I guessed, recalling the word he used earlier.

The indifference at the corner of his mouth dipped into an angry frown, but he remained perfectly still. I didn’t dare move either. If he asked me anything more about the Illyrians, as I expected he would, then I’d have to be very, very careful not to give myself away. If I couldn’t be any more useful to him, I’d have to paint myself as so innocent that even the Lord of Death would be moved toward mercy.

“What’s your name?” he asked lowly. There was no point in lying.

“Feyre.”

“How old are you, Feyre?”

“Nineteen.”

“That’s younger than Tamlin usually likes them,” he noted, but I failed to find any distrust in his tone.

“Something about me interests him, I think. Though I think he’s too prideful to tell me what it is.”

Rhysand scoffed.

“Well, that adds up.”

Just when I thought I was in the clear, that I could venture forward to ask for my release, he turned his chin to me.

“Where is he keeping them?”

“If I could tell you, I would,” I pleaded. That was honest enough. “But I really, really don’t know. I’ve never seen your Illyrians. Please, I...I just want to go home.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed into slits. He clicked his tongue three times in disapproval.

“You were doing so well, Feyre darling.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate not to look into his eyes when he unleashed his rage. When I slowly risked peeking my eyes open, I gasped—but no breath came out.

There he was, face inches from mine, the citrus scent of his skin drowned out by some magical spell that closed the air out of my lungs. I was suffocating.

“Let’s try this again,” he hissed, the air from his voice taunting my desperate, choking lips. “Where is he keeping my brothers?”

“I don’t know,” I wheezed, vision blurring with tears.

“Two strikes, Feyre darling. You get one more. ”

My hand felt around beside me, searching for anything that could save me. I gagged, trying to gulp in the air that I knew was around me, only to strain my ribs in the effort.

Then, my fingers found a long taper candle.

“Tell me,” Rhysand growled, eyes wide and pouring into mine as if it were the contact point of his power inside me.

I wrapped my fingers firmly around the candle and jabbed it into his face with all of my strength. The attack took the high lord by surprise, nearly missing his eye. The magic strangling me released, allowing one huge breath of air to fill my desperate lungs. I didn’t have time to wonder if his hiss of pain was from the impact or the burn as I threw myself off the dresser and dashed toward the door. I yanked the chair I’d woken in and threw it in my wake, tripping Rhysand as he surged for me. He tumbled forward, using the momentum of his fall to throw his hands at my ankles.

His tight hold sent me crashing into the floor, and just as I opened my mouth to scream, he pinned me to the ground.

One second we were heaving in each other’s angry breath and the next the world flickered black. The hardwood beneath me had been replaced by a damp, freezing ground. The dark walls of artwork and fine drapes were now iron bars. I pushed myself onto my elbows, ignoring the reeling of my vision, only to meet eyes with the high lord.

“What have you done to me?”

“Besides winnow you into my dungeon? Nothing. I could’ve done much worse,” he sneered.

I lurched for the bars, shaking them in desperation. They didn’t budge, though. Not even a little.

“I’m not worth it!” I hurried. “Keeping me here...it won’t hurt Tamlin. I’ll just be a hindrance, a waste of your effort to take care of me.”

Rhysand scowled, my words somehow a disappointment to him, and turned to make his way up the hallway.

“Who said anything about taking care of you?” he called behind him. But something gave him pause as he glanced over his shoulder. “I should’ve known you were like every other human I’ve met,” he said indifferently. “Brave and stupid.”

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

I put every ounce of my strength into not rotting away in that cell. It was all I could do to keep my back rested against the wall and my eyes closed, thoughts focused on every damned reason to live—to see the day my father would be well again, to be the person to find Elain her roses, to reconcile my differences with Nesta. To cross the border of Prythian and never set eyes on another High Fae for as long as I lived. I couldn’t do those things if I was wallowing in my own self pity.

Rhysand didn’t keep his promise of not taking care of mine—if it even was a promise. A female fae visited me a day into my imprisonment, and maybe it was the cold or my own hunger, but I momentarily mistook her for the goddess of beauty. Her golden hair was silken and bright against the blackness of the dungeon, and her crimson dress dipped into the dirt as she knelt at the front of the bars.

With a flick of her hand, a tray of steaming food appeared beside a cushioned cot of silk blankets.

“I hate having prisoners,” she said. “Rhys makes callous decisions when he’s angry, but I figured you’ve been starving down here long enough. I give it a few more hours before he comes down here and frees you himself. Until then, eat.”

They could’ve been lies, but in that moment, I couldn’t find it in myself to care. I spooned a heaping serving of some spicy stew into my mouth, savoring that first, delicious bite, only to look up and find her gone. It wasn’t until after my belly was full that I felt I could lay back onto the soft cot and pass the hours with sleep.

When I woke, Rhysand was sitting on a stool. I don’t know how long he’d been there watching me sleep, but it was long enough that he was lost in thought as I stirred awake. I sat up and wrapped the blanket around myself, as if it might shield me from whatever horrible things he might try next. I was almost thankful for the bars separating us—choosing to ignore that he could evaporate them in a second, or maybe even walk through them.

Rhysand blinked, frowning when I finally captured his attention. I wish I had just pretended to stay asleep.

“I just can’t figure you out,” he admitted, crossing his hands beneath his chin. “First I find you filthy and dressed in mortal clothing with him in his garden. I thought maybe you were just some lovestruck mortal crossing the wall under some false notion that you’d stolen the heart of the High Lord of Spring.” I fought against the urge to swallow. “But you know about me and about what Tamlin has stolen from me. He wouldn’t have shared that with just anyone. Especially not with a human he considered disposable. No...he must care about you a great deal.”

My fingers gripped my blanket so tightly, they shook. My lie had been good enough that he believed it, but I wouldn’t be able to cling to that fabricated story forever.

“You have to know something ,” Rhys continued. “Tamlin probably has wards to contain my brothers wherever he’s keeping them, but they only restrict and smother magic. As a human, you should’ve been able to cross them without being noticed or blocked.”

“He’s probably keeping them somewhere a human wouldn’t dare to walk,” I said, annoyed to be so useless. Annoyed that I didn’t have the answers that could free me.

“But even then, you’ve heard nothing from the servants? Nothing from the courtiers?”

“No,” I spat. Another truthful answer. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did? Do you think it does me any good to keep information from you? Fuck what Tamlin says—I’d hate it if someone was keeping my sisters from me. I’m not interested in doing that to anyone else.”

If someone had stolen my sisters away, I’d do more than lock the suspects up in a dungeon and question them. I’d burn the whole world to find them. Tear apart anyone who got in my way, anyone who I suspected refused to help me find them. It didn’t make what Rhys had done to me right, but I had a strange respect for the man who could’ve torn me apart and instead let me live.

“What about the layout of the manor? Is there anywhere Tamlin forbade you from crossing into? Anywhere he might hide two incredibly powerful fighters?”

It would do no good to fall deeper into a lie I couldn’t keep up. Even worse to refuse to offer any answers. That left only one option left—one deadly, risky option. I had to tell him the truth.

I dropped the blanket and scooted to the edge of the bed. My whole body shook from some strange mix of anger and fear.

“Rhysand, I don’t know Tamlin.”

He scoffed, the sound echoing down the long corridors of this prison.

“How stupid do you think I am, Feyre? You were with him when I found you.”

“Yes, but—”

“You smelled of his court.”

“Because I was standing in it—”

“You knew his name. You knew mine. ”

“Because I’m not fucking deaf. It’s not my fault you underestimated me because I’m human !” I snapped, rising to my feet. I crossed the cell in three big strides. “You want the goddamn truth? Then why don’t you fucking listen to it?!”

“Watch yourself ,” Rhysand warned dangerously, but I had sat too long in his cold, dingy dungeon cell to care.

“I’m not Tamlin’s mistress or his human pet.”

“Then what are you?”

“Just a girl from a nearby village. I didn’t want any tie to Prythian, I wanted Tamlin’s flowers. For my sister, for her birthday . I intended to cross into the Spring Court for long enough to get a dozen roses and then leave and not come back. But that high lord you hate so much caught me in the act. He might’ve killed me for it, but he had more important things to worry about because that’s when you showed up.”

I grabbed the bars in front of his face, clutching so tightly my knuckles turned white. It was a demanding effort to keep my voice steady as I continued.

“Everything I do know, I only know because I overheard you say it yourself. Your name, Tamlin’s...even about your Illyrian brothers. I don’t even know what an Illyrian is. But you didn’t leave me a choice. You kidnapped me and choked me and held me against my will until I told you what you wanted to hear. I said what I had to say to survive. But I can’t tell you what you want to hear anymore, my lord, because I don’t know what that is. So if you’re going to kill me, just do it already and spare me the questions. Tear my skin from my bones, boil my brain inside my skull, I don’t care—just shut the fuck up!”

My chest was heaving by the time I was finished. It felt as if I had said each damning word in a single breath. As the silence stretched between us, horror grew in the pit of my stomach.

Oh no. Oh no no no no.

What had I done? I’d basically told the most evil being in all of Prythian go to fuck himself. What if he really did torture me? What if he didn’t stop there? What if he went after my village? After my sisters ? He could stamp out the entire human race and—

“I’m not going to skin you alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Rhys said, hiding his smile with his fist. “It’d be far too messy and my housekeepers hate the smell of human blood.”

I blinked, brow furrowing together.

“Aren’t you mad?” I asked carefully.

“Why? Were you hoping for a demonstration of my ability to boil your brain inside your skull?” This time a sputtered chuckle did escape his lips, much to my indignation. “I’m far too impressed to be angry. No one has ever stood up to me quite so ferociously before, human or fae.”

He stood, letting his fingers fall through the iron bars to caress the side of my cheek. I shuddered from a feeling much more pleasant than fear and found I couldn’t— wouldn’t— back away. Rhysand didn’t mind the dirt smudged along the apples of my cheeks, letting his fingers remain there.

“You tell me that I have done you very dirty, Feyre darling,” he said lowly. “And I see that you’re right. No human would be able to lie so passionately.”

“So you believe me, then?”

“I believe that you truly don’t know anything about my brothers’ whereabouts.”

“Then let me go.”

The light in his eyes drained, as if he wished I had asked anything else.

“I can’t do that.”

I swatted his hand from my face, though something deep inside me hissed at the loss of his touch. I smothered it back, putting a few steps of distance between me and the high lord.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because I think you’re under a spell that you aren’t aware of. It’s hard for you to understand, but humans are susceptible to these things. I think Tamlin played a trick over your mind to keep you from exposing his secrets and despite your best efforts to betray him, you can’t. The magic won’t let you. You won’t be able to remember anything about him, his house, or what he’s doing with my brothers until the spell is lifted. ”

“You bastard,” I swore underneath my breath, already sensing where this was going.

“There’s a chance you might know something. What if I let you go and your memories come back to you? You wouldn’t be able to get back here. Tamlin would keep you from me and I need that information.”

I clenched my teeth together to keep from spitting at his feet.

“So…what? You’re going to keep me in his jail cell until the spell miraculously breaks? What if I starve first?”

“You won’t,” Rhys insisted. “For one, Mor wouldn’t allow it.” I remembered the elegant fae that had fed me and urged me to be strong. After a sound sleep, the memory of her seemed too good to be true—almost as if I had been visited by an angel in the night.

“You’re also no longer my prisoner,” he continued.

Could’ve had me fooled, I wanted to remark, but before I could, he reached through the bars. His hand stretched just enough to wrap around my wrist, and before I could draw in a breath to gasp, we whisked away into the darkness.

When I peeled my squeezed eyes open, we were back in the same room I’d been tied up in. This time, though, the lights were lit, golden and warm. The chair that I’d been magically restrained to was placed back in its proper place next to the tea table, upon which fresh sandwiches were waiting with hot soup. In the daylight, I could make out the details of the space. Portraits, which had seemed ominous and looming in the dark, were revealed as simple depictions of a smiling family, a mountainside landscape, and a few pieces that were too abstract to be described.

“You’re now my guest,” Rhys announced.

“Your guest who can’t leave of my own free will?” I replied snidely.

“That’s a pessimistic way of looking at it.” He began to make it his way to the door, a subtle implication that the meal left on the table was mine. “Look at it this way. You’re my guest who has free reign over this entire house. Raid the kitchens, tear apart all my books in the library, do whatever you wish. I think you’ll find this place is much more agreeable than you expect. After all, it is my personal home and as high lord, I’m afforded certain luxuries.”

My eyes drifted to the steaming soup. It smelled of cream and potatoes, causing my stomach to lurch in yearning. When was the last time I had tasted anything so rich? Been in a place so lavish and elegant? I turned back to Rhys who examined me from the doorframe. The hall light haloed his sturdy frame, tugging something strange in the depth of my chest. If he was waiting for a thank you, he’d be waiting for a long time. But he wouldn’t hear further arguments from me. Not for now. Not until I figured out if this display of kindness was genuine or just another ploy to get what he wanted.

As if reading my mind, he sighed.

“I hope you believe me when I say this—I don’t want you to be unhappy here, Feyre, I really don’t.” Then he disappeared into the hallway on soundless footsteps. His presence dissipated like a shadow under candlelight until I couldn’t feel it at all.

I collapsed into the chair in front of the tray of food, exhausted all over again. I could figure out the strange desires of my captor another time. For now, I needed food, a bath, and a bed to burrow into.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

The next three weeks might’ve been three days for all I could tell. I learned so many things with such astounding speed that sometimes I wondered if I had simply imagined some of it. I discovered that the dizzying method of travel that threw me from one side of the world to another was called winnowing. I explored every room of the house, combing through every drawer I could find for anything I ought to know about. The high lord’s belongings were much more ordinary than I expected—which he teased me about relentlessly.

“Is my comb spattered with gore like you thought, Feyre? Any ghouls hiding behind my bookshelves? Any human bones hiding in the sugar jar?”

That was maybe the most important thing I learned about Rhys. He was not the demon of my bedside stories. He was insufferable, yes, and often vague explaining things I had every right to know. But his disposition could—almost—be described as kind. If it weren’t for the fact that he wouldn’t let me past the front door, I might’ve liked him.

That a fucking lie that was. I did already like him and I hated myself for wanting to see him. He had kidnapped me, thrown me up against a wall, choked me, and jailed me…and I wanted to see him. Because underneath that unpredictable exterior was someone no one knew and I had a feeling that if I searched long enough, I’d find him. And worse, I’d like what I saw.

Maybe humans really were as foolish as they said.

Rhys wasn’t home often. High lord business, he’d said, not that I knew much of what that entailed. But he left his cousin Morrigan, the golden haired angel, with me often enough. Her presence in the house was a comfort. Where I felt unsettled about trusting Rhys, I didn’t mind trusting Mor at all. She made sure I was well-dressed, warm and comfortable, and offered me many fine things from her own collection. Her kindness spoke for itself—that, I was sure of.

In the early days, I allowed myself to consider the possibility that Rhys was right. What if I did have some strange history with Tamlin that magic made me forget about? In some ways, I hoped for it. If I could tell Rhys everything he needed to know, every piece of knowledge he wanted to claw out of my head, then he’d let me go immediately.

But as time slipped on, I felt no different than I did when I first arrived. Even my wounds, which Rhys had healed my first day as his guest , were little more than phantoms in my memory now. If some sort of magical bonds were unraveling under my skin, then not even Rhys could sense it.

Eventually, Rhys sensed my boredom and gave me paints. I wasn’t sure just how he’d known—I didn’t tell him of my hobby. But the wooden case of oil pigments and canvases appeared in the parlor just the same, complete with fine horsehair brushes and angled scrapers. From the smell of them alone, I could tell they were expensive and refined. Certainly beyond the skill level of an impoverished human trapped in a high lord’s house.

One night, Rhysand found me leaning back, peering thoughtfully at a half-completed painting. He gave a small smile he thought I didn’t notice, likely amused that I was painting in the same chair that had once restrained me. The high lord greeted me with a nod, before settling on the chaise along the wall. I tried to keep my eyes fixed to the small details of my work instead of the finer points of the male in front of me.

He reclined back against the cushioned arm with a stretch and a sigh, before glancing back at me.

“Do you mind if I make myself comfortable?” he asked.

I blinked, unsure exactly what he meant. Would he…unbutton his pants? Slip off his socks?

“Not at all,” I replied evenly.

And whoosh, like a sail unfurling over wide masts, Rhys spread out a pair of giant, raven black wings. Even with his back turned to me, I could sense he was smirking as I gawked. But I could not force myself to turn away from his wings—not as they shimmered with opalescence all the way up to the sharp claws curving at the top. It took great effort to finally look away and turn my focus back to my painting. But there was an image I couldn’t shake from my mind—Rhys, tan skin completely bare, dark wings rigid and raised to match the tattoos that I knew lay underneath his shirt.

“How have you been enjoying your time here?” he asked casually, yanking me out of my thoughts like a bucket of cold water.

“As much as I can, all things considered.”

It was a quiet dig at my confinement. Rhys only turned the page.

“Good. I noticed you’ve been enjoying the paints. Please let me know if you need more or if there’s something else you’d like me to acquire for you.”

“The key to the front door?”

“Ha ha. As soon as you can cleave through containment spells, then we’ll talk.”

I rolled my eyes, removing my current painting off of its easel and switching it out with a fresh new canvas.

“I do have a question, actually,” I began, spreading thick white paint over the textured material. “If you’re not too busy reading, that is?”

“The world must be ending if you’re using manners with me!”

I plucked a rubbery piece of dried paint off my palette and flicked it at him. He laughed as he swept it out of his hair, shaking the feather-like strands this way and that.

“Just ask your question, Feyre! Spare me your wrath,” he chuckled.

I dipped my brush into my water cup, biting my lip.

“How did you know I liked to paint?” I asked after a pause of silence.

“Your pack didn’t have very much in it when you first came here. Your hunting supplies, all those damned roses…and one single paint brush. It was clearly used and loved, I knew it was more than just an occupational tool. I tried to order you the same kind of brushes, but yours was so covered in paint, I couldn’t even tell what wood it was made out of.”

I didn’t know whether to be frustrated that he’d gone through my things or flattered that he’d gone out of his way to find something I’d enjoy. In the spirit of crippling his ego, I went with the former.

“Normal people would’ve just asked me what I liked without going through my things.”

“How terribly dull,” he said with a yawn, flipping another page. Was he even reading ? Or was he just pretending so he could pester me while I was trying to work?

I chose silence over another snarky remark that might tempt the high lord into rescinding his generosity. Unsure of what more to say to him, I began laying the first lines of dark paint onto the primed canvas. I started with a sparse outline, letting my hands move entirely on their own to decide the fate of this piece. It wasn’t until the completed sketch of a strong back and folded pair of wings stared back at me that I realized just who I was painting. But the beginning was so much stronger than anything I’d completed before that I decided to continue, not letting Rhys know he was my new model.

We sat in silence together, warming and thinking under the light of the fire. I’d just begun stippling shimmers of metallic paint into the expanse of his wings when he spoke again, barely louder than the crackle of the fireplace.

“Have you had any discoveries from your memories in the last few days?” There was something in the way that he said it that told me I couldn’t lie to him. That if I gave him false hope, his heart would crack where it was weakest.

“I would’ve told you if there was,” I said honestly. I didn’t want to admit I doubted I’d ever find new memories to satisfy his questions. My paint brush hovered over my canvas for a long second before I asked, “Rhys, if you’re so powerful to be known as the King of Death all throughout the human lands, then why can you not go to the Spring Court and take back your brother’s on your own?”

“Tamlin is a high lord too, you know,” Rhys answered, not taking his eyes away from his texts.

“But Mor says you’re the stronger one.”

“Is that all Mor told you?”

“Is there…is there more?”

Rhys sighed, finally turning to me fully. My heart tugged at the sight of his face, honest and bare before me. Whatever mask he wore in the weeks past, it was gone now. In its place was a grieving male, a powerless one. But why?

He licked his lips, then folded his hands over his knees, wings still relaxed behind him.

“For some time, Prythian was under siege by a very powerful war general. If I am the thing of your human nightmares, she was the subject of mine. You can only imagine what horrors she wreaked upon this land. She drained us all of our power, siphoning it into herself for her own corrupt use. Many of the high lords that spoke out against her suffered dire consequences, though their people were the ones that suffered. Because of my power, many of them looked to me to bring an end to her. But I had to calculate every move and take a risky tactic.”

“What did you do?”

“I went into her bed,” he admitted quietly. “She’d had her sights on Tamlin first. But he wouldn’t do it. I wrote out everything he should do to seduce her and hand delivered it to him. I even offered myself as his personal defense. He just…wouldn’t do it. He sent his emissary instead, but Lucien didn’t want to do it any more than Tamlin did. Lucien went, I suppose out of some twisted sense of duty, but that damn bastard can’t keep his own mouth. Before he could even flutter those pretty autumn court eyes at her, he called her a depraved cunt. She took his eye.

“Luckily, he didn’t give away the plan entirely. I went instead. I spent years …” He shuddered so hard I felt it in the pit of my own stomach like a sharp stab of pain. “I fucked Tamlin right out of her memory. I made her forget he existed, made her want me instead.”

It was unbearable to listen to, but I couldn’t just hear these things looking at his wings. I placed my brush aside and crossed the room to the chaise. Kneeling on the floor, I gently placed my fingers over his.

“One night,” he continued, “she was so…lost in her own pleasure. I could’ve gotten up and left and she wouldn’t have noticed. So I utilized that chance, took my knife, and buried it deep in her heart. Then in every single rib I could reach. She screamed so loud, no one every forgot the sound.”

“And you never got your power back?” I asked quietly.

“No, I did. With every blow, I could feel my magic filling all the holes inside me where it’d been missing.” His eyes were wild as they bore into mine. “But she didn’t lose hers all at once? It trickled out of her with her blood. So with the last dredges of her magic, she placed a curse over me. A curse that she said would make me loveless. She chained my power to that curse and said it would only return when someone loved me. Genuinely loved me.”

It would be so easy to love him, I realized. How could such a thing seem so impossible to him?

“Anyways, that’s why I can’t go get my brothers. Because I’m cursed.”

My fingers had somehow ended up crushed inside his, but the touch was so pleasant, I only closed my other hand over top of them. He released a breathy sigh.

“Then why does Tamlin have them?”

Rhys chuckled mirthlessly.

“That’s a whole other story for a different time. The important thing is that he knew I was weakened and wanted revenge for a very old wrong. He came to kill me, but Azriel and Cassian stopped him before he could. He winnowed them somewhere and refuses to release them.”

“Even though you saved Prythian?”

He nodded.

“So now I’m cursed and he has my brothers. They could be dead for all I know.”

“They’re not,” I promised resolutely. I knew it, somehow, deep within my chest. Those Illyrian males were still out there alive. Still fighting. Still clinging to their strength like a lifeline. “You’ll free them. And if I can help you, I will.”

It crossed my mind that I’d probably regret offering my help later—especially to the man who’d made me a prisoner in his house. Judging from the sad smile on his face, Rhys seemed to be thinking the same thing. I couldn’t bear the mournful dullness in those beautiful, violet eyes, so I shook our joined hands.

“Who knew the King of Death was such a softie?”

“Oh, I’m the biggest softie you’ve met,” he admitted, laughing. He nodded down to the book he’d neglected, laying face down on the cushion. “This book I’m reading? A romance. A tragic, devastating tale about a soldier who travels across the entire world to find his lover, only to discover she died before he even set off. I plan to weep very soundly once I reach the end. If that makes me a softie, then so be it. Why? Did you want to read it next?”

“Why would I, you prick! You spoiled the whole thing!” I gasped, tearing my hand out of his, falling backwards onto my bottom in a fit of laughter.

“Are you sure? Because I can just leave it on your bedside table when I’m done. I don’t mind making such sacrifices for my guests.”

“Guest!” I scoffed. “What am I going to do with it when you already spoiled the ending? Pretend I don’t already know it?”

“Now there’s a half-decent solution! In that case, you’ll have the whole thing read in a day!”

I figured I’d spare him the sad knowledge that I was illiterate and instead said, “Oh please, I won’t be here long enough to get through a book that big. What are the chances they sell it in human bookstores so I can read it later?”

Rhys’ laughter fizzled out. And, damn it , that unreadable mask was back on his face.

“You won’t be here long enough?” he murmured. I froze.

“Of course not,” I said, trying my best to sound convincing. “My memories will come back before then.”

“Certainly,” Rhys agreed solemnly, as if he believed it as much as I did—not at all. “But...if they don’t?”

I wished he hadn’t asked.

“I’m not in a position to make that decision, am I?” I answered quietly. “I am your guest, after all.”

Rhys’ back straightened, his wings pulling in closer to his body in a strange protective movement. He was hurt, caught off guard somehow by what I’d said, even though it was entirely true. If he didn’t like the reminder that I wasn’t in his home willingly, then perhaps he shouldn’t have made me his prisoner.

“If it were up to you, what would you do if we found out the spell over your memories won’t break after all?” he asked, more evenly than I expected.

“Go home,” I answered honestly. Then seeing his brows furrow, I clarified, “To my home in the human lands. My family must be worried sick and I’ve already missed my sister’s birthday.”

It wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. I could see that on his face. But it was the only honest answer I could give him. Even with all the luxuries of this house—the paints, the food, the comfort of my bed—I still preferred my own home where I was free. Where I could rely on the certainties of my humanity and forget I’d ever been involved with the faeries.

“ But what about Rhysand?” my soul keened quietly in my chest.

I…didn’t know. There wasn’t an answer that made sense just as surely as there wasn’t an answer that would satisfy both my heart and mind. In the end, I would have to decide which would win.

“I see,” Rhys said darkly.

The room was suddenly freezing, despite the well-tended fireplace beside me. The high lord rose to his feet, wings almost knocking into me as they unfurled and situated themselves against his back.

“Goodnight Feyre,” he said from the door.

“Rhys, it’s not that I don’t like it here,” I said uneasily. “You’re keeping me here because you want to see your family more than anything. You want them back. It’s the same for me.”

He didn’t answer, only hovered in the doorframe like that golden haloed angel of death I’d seen him as when I first arrived. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something, but he never got the chance to.

“Night Rhys,” I said.

Then he was gone. As his footsteps traveled up the stairs, I had a strange feeling that Rhysand would let me go if I asked. Maybe not right this second, maybe not tomorrow, but if I waited for the time to be right, he would let me go.

And strangely, that made me want to stay.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

I woke from a nap the next afternoon to the sound of a thousand meteors crashing into Rhys’ study on the floor above me. As strings of his obscene curses shook the house, I realized it was not a meteor shower after all, but Rhysand having some sort of temper tantrum.

I crept up the stairs, careful not to step on the creaky boards, and poked my head around the corner. Just as I assessed that the coast was clear, a vase came flying out of an open door and into the hallway. I whirled out of the way just in time to avoid taking the pot straight to my nose, and it shattered into a thousand chipped pieces beside me. When it was clear no more projectiles were going to bombard me, I took one brave step into the room. The high lord was too lost in his fury to notice me.

“Cauldron fucking damn it!” Rhys seethed, clearing all the contents of his desk onto the floor with a single swipe of his arms. “Damn that piss-sucking bastard !”

“That’s a new one,” I called from the door. Rhys spun around, a cup of writing utensils in his grasp that he seemed ready to hurl across the study. “I’ll have to remember it for whenever you piss me off.”

Rhysand didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. He just slammed the container of ink pens back on his desk and tried to catch his breath. I wanted to saddle up beside him, run my hands down the sinews of his back until he was calm enough to tell me what was wrong. I wanted to press my lips to the furrow between his sharp brows until it smoothed away with his worries. But I was smart enough to stay in place and quirk a brow.

“Well?” I asked quietly.

Rhys scowled at the mess on the ground, kicking his foot through one of the piles until he found what he was looking for—a slip of light green parchment. He stepped over another heap of paper and handed it to me, silently inviting me to read it.

The day I give your brothers back is the day you give me back my parents. Good thing your brothers are immortals. They’ll be waiting a long time, won’t they?

I didn’t even have to ask who it had come from.

“He killed my mother and sister first, you know,” Rhys growled out. “He took their wings, Feyre. He was my friend! He killed them in cold blood and—” He clamped his teeth down over a trembling, choked sound. “My father killed his parents as payment. That’s why he hates me. Now he has my brothers and I’m completely powerless. If he kills them, it’ll be all my fault. But if he doesn’t, that’s worse , and it’ll still be my fault.”

My eyes fell to the shambles on the floor, then at the unkempt male before me.

“What are you going to do?” My voice was barely above a whisper. He couldn’t wait for the made-up spell around my memories to release forever.

Rhys staggered to his window, dropping his hands onto the cold marble ledge and bending his head down low.

“I don’t know,” he admitted brokenly. “What can I do?”

I waited for some stroke of genius to find him, for him to shoot around and with some epiphany and magical answer that would free all of us—me, his brothers, and even himself.

But Rhys was out of options. All except one.

When he did turn to face me, terrifying dread stole my breath away. I stumbled back a step.

“You wouldn’t,” I pleaded, trembling.

Rhys opened his palms to me.

“Feyre…I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t my absolute last resort,” he tried to reason. Tears filled his eyes first, then mine, as I took another step back, this time tripping on something he’d thrown. I stumbled into his bookcase, causing thin hardcovers to rain around my shoulders. “You have to believe me, I did everything to avoid this. But it’s my only option. You know it is. If I give you back to him, he might trade you for my brothers.”

Just when the thought crossed my mind that I should run away, the first magical binding slipped around my wrist. I cried out as it sealed me to the bookcase. My weeks being cozy and fed here had made me forget the sting of it, a mistake I cursed myself for making. Putting all my strength into my right arm, I pulled as hard as I could, but the bindings refused to budge.

“I told you, Rhys! I don’t know, Tamlin. I was just in his garden for a few minutes. I—I’m nothing to him! He won’t give you anything for me.”

“You don’t know that for sure!” he insisted desperately, a tear leaking out of his eyes. “He might…He might trade with me and break the spell he has over you.Then you’ll remember how much you loved him. Don’t you feel it inside you even a little bit?”

I ignored him, fighting through the burning and blood to yank myself free of the magical binding. Just as I spent the last of my strength, the other binding pulled my left hand back like a magnet and sealed it to the case.

“You won’t be able to break free. Don’t hurt yourself trying,” he said brokenly.

“I broke free the first time,” I spat. The back of my throat burned with unshed tears.

“You broke free because I let you,” he admitted gently. “I wanted to see what you would do.”

I groaned out a sob of frustration. He began to draw closer and I kicked my legs up at him to drive him away.

“You horrible, hideous, beastly assblight!” I screamed through grinding teeth.

“See, you’re more creative than I am,” Rhys said lightly, eyes pained and red. “Feyre, it’s going to be okay. This is what you wanted all along, right? For me to take you back to where I found you?”

“I wanted you to let me go! Not put me in the hands of someone who could kill me for stealing from him.”

My words fell on ears that refused to listen to me—and I knew why. Rhys knew that I was right. Or at least, he knew there was a good chance that there was truth in what I said. He wanted to drown out my words so that only his faulty logic remained. It would come at my expense.

Rhys came before me, magic now sealing my feet to the ground to keep me from kicking him where it would hurt. His hands cupped the underside of my jaw, turning my human face to look at his fae beauty. It spoke to me in a language I didn’t know I understood, a silent turn of phrase that buried deep into my soul and told me everything he’d been trying to say with a single gaze.

He didn’t want to do this. Somehow, I had planted myself deep into his heart and he had taken root in mine. Now he had to make the impossible choice between the brothers that he had spent centuries with and the human girl he’d temporarily taken into his care. There were promises—promises to protect his family, promises to never make the same mistake twice. Promises he hadn’t made me. Not yet.

But that didn’t mean this didn’t cost him. If it were anyone else other than his family trapped in the Spring Court, he would’ve chosen me.

I knew this—I even respected it—but I wouldn’t agree with it. Not if it meant denying me my freedom.

“If you’re truly unhappy there, I’ll come for you,” he promised. But even I knew what an empty promise that was. He might’ve intended to keep it, but how could he save me before Tamlin did the unspeakable to me if he couldn’t even save his own warrior brothers?

I fixed my eyes to the ground, refusing to look at him.

“Try to understand,” he begged, thumb caressing my jaw.

“I understand,” I said quietly. He didn’t tear his eyes away, but let out a slow breath of relief. I jerked my jaw away. “But understand this, Rhysand. If you hand me to Tamlin...If you use my life as your selfish gambling token, I’ll never forgive you. One human may not matter to you—”

“You do ,” Rhys insisted.

“—But it’ll be my blood on your hands.”

One last tear trickled down the hard planes of Rhys’ face.

“I’m sorry, Feyre. So, so sorry.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against my own tears.

When I opened them again, I was alone in my room. And the door was locked.

I sat on the cold floor, unmoving and numb, for hours. There was no point in wasting my time trying to escape. Not when magic was what barred me in like a jailbird. I could only wait for the high lord to make his move.

When it finally came, shadowy restraints reformed around my wrists, a leash that Rhysand held the other end of. They cuffed my skin much gentler than they had the first few times, almost as soft as a caress from Rhys himself.

It made my stomach churn, though not because I resented Rhys’ twisted kindness like I thought. But because I craved it.

I had looked at the Lord of Death in his devastating eyes and made the choice not to look away. I ignored every warning begging me not to trust him and had instead let him slip his shadows through the open cracks of my heart. I had foolishly believed that I had rooted into his heart too. Maybe I had—but it wouldn’t be enough.

And now I would leave him. He’d hand me over to Tamlin and forget about every tender word we’d exchanged, every charged moment of touch and closeness.

A knock came from the other side of my door. I stared at it from the floor across the room, arms resting on my knees and head leaning against the wall. Rhys cracked it open for a second, as if plagued by second thoughts, only to. My face was numb and expressionless when he peered down at me, and I held up my wrists to show him the shadowy manacles.

“It’s time,” he said. Not, Are you ready to go? Not, I’ve changed my mind, let’s talk it over.

I must’ve hesitated for a second too long because he held out his hand and murmured, “Please don’t put up a fight, Feyre.”

I wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t go willingly either. I wouldn’t take that hand, no matter how much I craved his touch, nor would I pretend he hadn’t broken the trust between us. Maybe forever.

Rhys waited a few seconds, probably hoping I’d come to my senses. When I didn’t rise to my feet and present myself like a lamb to the slaughter, he crossed the room and crouched at my side. My eyes were resolutely fixed to the gentle grain of the wooden floors, but I still felt Rhys wrap his fingers around my wrist, thumb caressing over the swollen skin.

Then we winnowed away.

#feysand #feyre x rhysand #feysand fic #acotar gift exchange 2021

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littleloric · 3 years ago

Text

ACOTAR Gift Exchange - I Know pt. 1

Happy Holidays!! This is my contribution for the wonderful @acotargiftexchange for @nesgoddessofdeath!! I hope you enjoy this as it's fully made me team Elucien, and since it's the first time I've written fanfic in god knows how long :) and I kept changing my mind on everything until literally yesterday. This actually going much more in depth than I thought and I continue to keep changing my mind on the second half, which is why it'll be broken out into two parts with hopefully the second part posted next week!

Summary: After months of writing to each other, Lucien and Elain finally meet again that this year's Solstice celebration. Will the months of getting to know each other without the physical aspect of the bond change anything for them? Or will they go find themselves back to awkward encounters and missed opportunities?

Word Count: 2,532

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Elain blinked as the laughter in the other room brought her back to the cookies laying in front of her. How long had she been day dreaming? The icing on the cookies was almost solid, and a hint of warmth from them said she hadn't been in her own world for too long.

Especially since no one had popped their head into the room to see what had been taking her so long. Which was a blessing, because she didn't want to lie and say she'd been having a vision - and even then, it had been ages since she'd had one of those.

And if she told the truth...

No, she didn't want anyone to know she'd been thinking of this evening - of him. Didn't want to deal with any of the questions that would come from that.

This Solstice would be the first time she saw him in person since... since running into him in the halls of the River House months ago after he visited to give Feyre and Rhys an update on progress in the Mortal Lands and in Spring Court.

He had seemed even more withdrawn in that moment than Elain had ever seen him, as though the weight of everything he carried had been crushing his shoulders for so long that he was nearly to the point of breaking under it all.

And though she still felt awkward around him, though she didn't know how to dance around the thread that tied them together without losing herself entirely, she wanted to offer some sort of... something. Anything.

"Elain," he greeted, giving her a slight bow.

"Lucien," she returned, inclining her head towards him before dropping her eyes. If she looked at him too long, if she allowed the part of her that craved him to take hold for too long, she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep her resolve.

But he didn't deserve it. Look at him. Look at herself.

They could continue to dance around it, and it would continue to eat them alive.

He stared at her a moment longer, before nodding more to himself than towards her.

"I was just about to take my leave," he said, giving her a forced smile before continuing towards the door behind her. "Good day, Elain."

Elain's heart fluttered as he passed. If she let him pass, let him leave... who knew when the next time she might see him. She couldn't let the opportunity pass again, even though she herself didn't know what she truly wanted from him.

"Lucien-" she nearly gasped as she whirled around to face him before realizing she had no idea what she would say. He had turned to face her as well, clearly not expecting for her to continue any attempts at a conversation between the two.

Which was her fault. She had no illusions about that.

Which also meant it was up to her to lead the way forward.

"How..." Elain scrambled for words that could appear casual enough to cover the nerves coursing through her. "How are things?" Good job, Elain. How are things? she cursed at her poor attempt to keep him from leaving so soon. Though, if he noticed, he didn't show it as he adjusted his stance to show his full focus was no longer on making as quick of an exit as he had initially planned.

"Things are... well, things are much as you'd expect them to be, I suppose," Lucien replied. His hands folded behind his back, the gesture formal but not as... stiff as it might have once been. Elain's own hands were grasped in front of her, wringing her fingers together as she tried to navigate this new territory between the two of them.

"So, not that good then?" she asked, a wry smile on her face that brought out a mirroring one on Lucien's.

"Unfortunately," he confirmed. He hesitated as though he was debating how far he could press his luck with this conversation. And Elain couldn't blame him - he didn't know how determined she was to melt the icy wall she had built between them.

If Nesta could do it, then certainly Elain could at least try.

"The Mortal Lands are doing as well as they can in the wake of everything," Lucien continued, and Elain kept a conscious effort of not letting her eyes trail from his. She couldn't let the butterflies in her stomach continue to make him think that the reason she couldn't look at him for long was because of him. "And Tamlin is... Tamlin."

At that, Elain couldn't hide her wince. Though she truthfully had few to no real interactions with the High Lord of Spring beyond the night he claimed her sister, that in itself was enough to confirm everyone else's views of the male. But Tamlin had once been Lucien's friend as well.

"I suppose some things don't change," she said, perhaps the best way to acknowledge Lucien's statement without sounding hostile towards mention of the male that had changed the sisters' lives so irrevocably.

Not that she wouldn't mind the opportunity to give the High Lord a piece of her own mind. Especially with his recent treatment towards her m-

"Indeed," Lucien replied, a more genuine if slightly smaller smile gracing his features. Elain was overtaken in that moment by how handsome he could truly be. Even in this brief moment, his stature had changed from forcibly holding himself straight against the invisible weight bearing down on him to almost casual but hiding an energy he hadn't seem to experience in she didn't know how long.

"I am afraid, unfortunately, that I really must be leaving now," he continued, and Elain could see in his eyes that he was nervous to break this tenuous something between them that hadn't been there before.

Elain didn't want it to break either.

"It was good seeing you," she said. Truly, it was. She could feel him - hear his heartbeat - constantly, even when he was across the island in the Mortal Lands. But still, it reassured her to see that he was still going on despite everything that had happened both before she had met him and everything that had happened since.

"And you." He gave her another small smile and a bow, as he turned once more to leave. Even though she knew it would happen, that this moment would end, her heart raced as he reached towards the door.

"Lucien," she interrupted his exit once more. "How... would... well, I was wondering-" Pull yourself together, Elain. Lucien turned back towards her once more, removing his hand from the door handle to give his full attention towards her and Elain had to keep her knees from buckling under the intensity of his gaze. The soft smile he offered her encouraged her to find her words and continue.

"I know that... that we haven't- that we don't really... know each other that well," she began, cursing herself again for how poorly she was phrasing her words. Elain dropped her eyes from his gaze, unable to hold it as she tried to get the words - the feelings - out of where she'd been holding onto them for so long. He deserved to know how she felt. Her fingers were beginning to ache from how hard she squeezed them to try to alleviate some of the tension she was feeling in that moment. "And I know that that's been my choice. That it's- that it's been hard, ever since..."

"I know," Lucien said as she trailed off and her gaze instantly snapped back to meet his eyes. "I understand."

Elain felt herself deflate at the clear defeat she could see Lucien attempting to hold back and her heartbeat quickened.

"What I mean is- I know you have to- you have duties, and a job and that takes you from the Night Court," Elain continued, not allowing herself to drop his gaze again. She took a step closer towards him, still a respectable distance away but enough to show her concentration on Lucien in this moment. His gaze turned curious as he waited for her to finish what she started. "And I've been meaning to ask- well, for a while now but this is the first real chance I've - that we've had - to see- to talk to each other and- would youwanttoexchangeletterswhileyou'reaway?"

Elain couldn't place the look on Lucien's face immediately following her rushed question, and the silence after seemed to stretch and she couldn't hold his gaze anymore because he was going to say no, that this was a stupid idea, he was going to say that it was too little, too late, and he had already moved on with another female he had met during his travels and why would he continue to wait on a wo- a female who hadn't given him the time of day over the past few years and maybe he would let her down gently or maybe he would-

"You..." Lucien began, and her eyes snapped instantly back to his own. What was he thinking? She wasn't familiar enough with the thread between their souls to be able to read it. "You would like to write to each other?"

A blush creeped along Elain's cheeks as she realized how insignificant this gesture could appear. Surely, exchanging letters as a method of getting to know one another was too human to be truly meaningful to Lucien when their souls were already tied together.

But no. No, she wouldn't second guess this.

If Lucien had ever really cared about her, he wouldn't mock her in this even if it didn't match Fae mating customs. She wasn't even sure if it wasn't, as her the only mated couples she knew were her own sisters and those were most definitely not examples of a typical mated pair.

"Yes," she answered, resolved in her desire. Lucien could reject her, as he had every right to do. But she wouldn't do it for him.

"Yes, if you like," she said, holding his stare. "I would like to get to know you."

Elain couldn't name the look in Lucien's eyes as he replied, "I would love nothing more."

Tonight would be the first night they'd seen each other again since that last meeting. Months had passed, letters exchanged about any topic under the sky they could think of.

Some letters were as simple as updates on Lucien's work as emissary or Elain's progress with her baking skills or garden.

Some would contain stories of their lives, like the time Jurian and Vassa convinced Lucien that it would be a good idea to use his flames to make Vassa's entrance to a delegate meeting even more dramatic.

Others would give each other pieces of their pasts - Elain's childhood always being the buffer between Nesta and Feyre or Lucien's memories of walking the grounds of the Forrest House with his mother.

A few would find them focusing on their deepest wishes.

Lucien's desire to have a home that couldn't be taken away from him.

Elain's need to feel loved and accepted even without a smile on her face.

Nuala and Cerridwen were the only Night Court members who she had told of her letters to Lucien, and helped the two with their correspondence. Whether Lucien had told anyone about them, or whether the twins reported to Rhysand or even Azriel of their assistance, she wasn't sure. She could safely say neither of her busy-body sisters had found out as evidenced by the lack of either of them cornering her.

Which would be quite the interesting conversation that she wasn't sure she really wanted to have.

It was safe to say however that Elain was excited to see Lucien again, whereas previously she had anxiously dreaded his visits, though last time the anxiousness had been for a completely different reason. She hoped Lucien was also excited to see her, though she didn't know how they would respond to each other now in person that they had already bared their souls to each other in their letters.

After all, letters were much more easier - at least to Elain - to be articulate and ensure she could say everything she wanted to.

But being surrounded by her family - his friends - would throw another variable into the mix when they thought Elain and Lucien couldn't bear to be in the same room together.

Which would definitely be an interesting conversation that was certain to happen tonight.

More laughter in the other room finally spurred Elain to grab the now finished tray of carefully decorated cookies and make her entrance just as Nesta and Cassian took seats on the sofa nearest the table Elain was now heading to place the cookie tray - no doubt purposeful so that Cassian could be the first to try her newest recipe.

Smiling, Elain greeted her sister with a quick kiss to the top of her head as she passed, grateful that they had been able to work through everything that had happened recently to be able to enjoy each other's presences. Placing the tray on the table behind them, Elain turned to survey the scene in front of her.

Nesta and Cassian casually relaxed on the sofa, Cassian's arm thrown around Nesta to keep her close to his warmth. Feyre was closer to the fire, helping Nyx play with some of his new toys she seemed to have let him open earlier this evening. Amren and Mor were gathered around the dining table while Varian shared a story about that year's Summer Solstice. Rhysand and Azriel were huddled in a corner, locked in a game of chess that didn't seem to be progressing at any sort of speed as they weighed each move.

Even seeing Azriel didn't hurt as much as it might have previously, the thought of everything that had transpired between the two becoming just another footnote in what was soon to be a very, very long life. Something that she was still getting adjusted to thinking about.

The only thing missing was announced by a knock at the door before it opened, revealing the person she was truly anticipating. She could feel her sister's no-so-subtle glances at her, gauging her reaction as her mate entered the room.

She paid them no heed. Couldn't even remember why she had initially thought of continuing the facade of icy indifference as her eyes locked onto his, a small smile much more genuine than her usual, everyday mask, greeting him and once again mirrored on his face.

"Lucien!" Feyre exclaimed as he entered, clearly noting Elain's different reaction to the male but not able to bring attention to it in the moment, and a chorus of greetings from the rest of the occupants accompanying her.

It was as though Lucien couldn't hear them, couldn't see them or acknowledge them, as his eyes were still on Elain's.

"Happy Solstice," she greeted, quiet but loud enough that he could hear the words solely intended for him. His small smile grew into a joyfully smug smirk, as he replied loud enough to be intended for the room but his focus was entirely on her.

"Happy Solstice."

#acotar gift exchange 2021 #elucien #elucien fic #merry Christmas!!!!#my fic #I Know

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prrcyjacksons · 3 years ago

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Merry Christmas @talkfantasytome 🎄✨ and hearty thanks to @acotargiftexchange for hosting this!

Here's a playlist for your amazing fic - Did You Know you have a Freckle? (which I fell in love with) Hope you have a wonderful time this holiday season!

#hehe haaaiiii #iM YOUR SECRET SANTA #and im super late to the gift giving for which i'm terribly sorry!#uni has been hectic and we didn't have any holidays for christmas so i couldn't interact with you properly #but i hope you like this!#acotar secret santa #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #acotar gift exchange 2021 #i absolutely loved all your fics and believe me when i tell you it was Hard to pick a favorite.#i ended up picking this one because im such a sucker for soft!nessian #but anyway #HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years ago

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Countdown to Love - (4/4)

Summary: Nesta is alone for the holidays, and she's totally fine with that... right? When she attends a speed dating event, she tells herself it's just to meet someone she can grab a coffee with over the break. What she gets instead is a Christmas experience unlike any other.

The final chapter of CtL! This contains possibly the least explicit smut I've ever written? Haha I hope you enjoy, lovelies! Thank you so much for reading my first Nessian fic, I had a lot of fun!

Part of @acotargiftexchange for @saphie3243

Part I/Part II/Part III ⟡ Holiday Masterlist ⟡ Read on AO3

Friday, December 24. 3:00 pm.

It was Christmas Eve, and Nesta hadn’t heard anything from Cassian about where to meet him. He usually texted her a time and place the day before, but he’d been radio silent since their tense drive home yesterday.

All morning she’d been debating texting him, wondering if she’d well and truly fucked up. How many times could she expect Cassian to keep coming back after she pushed him away? He was more determined than most, sure, but even he must have his limit.

Nesta chewed her lip as she glanced at the time for what was surely the fifth time that minute. She’d already drafted and deleted several texts messages, ranging from apologetic to asking him if his silence meant he was forfeiting their bet. She hadn’t worked up the courage to send any of them.

Suddenly there was a knock at her door and she practically ran to answer it, finding Cassian on the other side.

He looked a bit more tired than usual, but not as guarded as she expected, still mustering a handsome smile as he raised a handful of boxed DVDs.

“Watch these Christmas movies with me.”

She raised a brow. “Who uses DVDs anymore? I don’t even think I have something we can play them on.”

“Then we’ll watch them online,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But still, your challenge is to watch them with me.”

She frowned, searching him warily. “That’s all you want?”

“That’s all I want, Nesta.”

He’d been trying so hard to get her to cave in the buildup to Christmas, it seemed a bit anticlimactic. She wondered if maybe their stint yesterday had anything to do with that—perhaps he’d decided he didn’t want to spend Christmas day with her, afterall.

But he was here now, and she’d spent most of the morning worrying he wouldn’t be. So she managed a smile as she led him to the couch, while she hunted down online versions of the films he brought. Then, ignoring the fluttering in her chest, she settled into his side on the sofa.

Cassian looked surprised by her willingness to snuggle—and, really, she was too. Nesta couldn’t remember the last time physical affection hadn’t needed to be coaxed from her. She wasn’t a hugger. But Cassian… Cassian was like a giant teddy bear. It felt good to curl up against him, especially as he wrapped his arm around her waist and practically pulled her into his lap, so her back lay against his chest.

It was more forward than she’d expected him to be after yesterday. Nesta two weeks ago would have bitten his arm off for doing it. Now she’d reluctantly admit that it was exactly what she’d hoped he would do.

They didn’t speak much. Nesta absently wondered if he’d chosen to watch movies for that very reason, to avoid the topless elephant in the room. As his thumbs rolled absent circles where they rested at her hips, she thought he didn’t seem mad. Nor did he seem defeated.

He chuckled, softly, and because of their position she could feel the vibration of it rumble through his chest. It was a deep, rich sound, and it would have sent her stomach tumbling if he wasn’t laughing at her.

She whipped her head towards him, startled to find that his face was much closer than she’d anticipated, causing their noses to brush. She narrowed her eyes as he smirked.

“What?”

“What’s up, Nesta? I can feel you overthinking. Could you even tell me what happened in the last five minutes of the movie?”

Her silence was telling. She hadn’t been paying attention at all, knew so little about the plot that she couldn’t even guess. He laughed again at the silent admission.

“Your challenge was to watch the films, y’know. Can’t believe it would take something as easy as watching movies to finally crack you.”

Nesta moved back a bit, so she could see his full face. She followed the sharp planes of his face, his sharp jaw marked by feint stubble that made him look uncut and unbearably rugged. He was so far from the prince charming she’d imagined for herself as a little girl. That man had been smooth face and polished, primped and preened and well educated. Nesta would have torn that kind of man apart. He’d never be able to challenge her the way Cassian has.

“Why did you choose something so easy for the final day?” she asked, searching his face.

Those warm hazel eyes cut to hers, perhaps reading her uncertainty. He shrugged. “I just wanted to relax and spend the day with you.”

Was it pathetic that such a simple concept blew her mind? That Cassian enjoyed her company enough to just… want to savor it? She supposed she could give in to something like that. Satisfied with his answer, she snuggled back into arms, properly turning her attention to the film.

After the fourth film about discovering the “true” meaning of Christmas, Nesta felt about ready to gouge her eyes out. It was starting to get late. Cassian made no sign of leaving and she felt no urge to encourage him. Eight hours of Christmas films, it turned out, were perfect for a healthy dose of self reflection, especially since she related to so many of the characters who had closed their heart off for Christmas.

What was she so afraid of, really? She knew the answer. That she was terrified of letting Cassian in, because what if she did and then he decided to leave? Nesta had found losing people so unbearable that she’d decided it was better to just not have anyone to lose. Being alone, though, wasn’t any better. That’s why she’d gone to that speed dating event, because a part of her was hoping that maybe she’d find someone who was worth it.

And really, wasn’t she too far gone with Cassian? As much as she’d tried to resist it, she’d ended up falling for him. If she pushed him away now, it would still hurt to lose him. The guarded part of herself argued that it would hurt less to do it now, before she loved him so much it consumed her. But maybe she was tired of keeping her foot on the breaks.

She glanced over to him.

“Cassian?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

No thinking, just—jump.

“Kiss me.” There was a stagnant pause as he turned his head towards her, assessing her earnesty. “That’s your challenge. Kiss me, and don’t stop.”

A slow smirk bloomed over his lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She shifted in his lap so that she was straddling him. For a moment, they just stared into each other’s eyes. The few times they’d kissed had always been in the heat of the moment. This… somehow felt more meaningful.

Cassian reached up and swept a lock of hair out of her face, hazel eyes never leaving hers.

“Didn’t you say that you usually spend Christmas with your brothers?” she asked, softly. Christmas Eve might just be another day to Nesta, but Cassian… he was probably missing plans.

“I wanted to be here, Nes.”

She wouldn’t have believed him if not for the earnesty burning in his eyes.

Slowly, his warm, calloused hand slid across her cheek until his fingertips brushed the nape of her neck. She felt the press of his fingers, urging her forward, and she gladly followed his pull until their lips were a breath apart.

That fire was burning inside of her, but as hungry and wanting as she felt, Cassian kissed her slowly. Nesta’s eyes fluttered shut, savoring this gentleness she’d so sparsely allowed herself. Her fingers found his silky hair, pleased he decided to leave it down today. As her mouth parted over his, she tried to convey her apology for all the times she’d pushed him away—willing him to understand that he meant a lot to her and that was terrifying.

Cassian grunted like he understood, tasting her like he was trying to memorize it. As though it were his own way of saying that he’d take whatever she was willing to give him, that if this was the only time she’d allow him in then he’d relish every moment of it.

Somewhere the tender touches dissolved into something more desperate, frenzied. Unsurprising, considering their two week buildup of sexual tension. But even as the kisses turned more heated, she sensed his hesitance. Even as she broke away to trail open mouth along his neck, nibbling and licking at his throat, his hand stayed chaste and gentle in her hair.

Nesta understood it was the result of her own skittishness, but she didn’t want him to hold back. On more than one occasion, she’d thrown her whole self at Cassian and he hadn’t flinched once. She could handle the same in turn.

“Cass,” she murmured, earning a groan from him as her hands dipped under his shirt and explored the hard slope of muscle. “Give me more. Give me everything. Please.”

He seemed to shudder at that, and then his hands were all over her—tracing the shape of her hips, kneading and caressing her ass, using his grip there to pull her hips closer against his. They both moaned as she ground against him.

Then she was pulling his shirt over his head, desperate to feel the fever-like heat of his skin flush against hers. His lips, his scent, the prickling warmth of his body, they were like her own personal lotus fruits, drawing her in, willing her to stay.

She gasped as he wrestled her shirt over her head in one thorough motion, fingers undoing the clasp of her bra with similar ease.

Then she was topless, exposed to him like yesterday except now his eyes were open. And he was staring at her as though she were something priceless in a museum. He made a sound halfway between a groan and a whimper before he ducked his head into her chest, tongue and teeth exploring the sensitive skin until she was keening against him.

She tugged hard against his hair and she felt him smile like he loved it, touching her like he was desperate to elicit more noise from her, growling his encouragement when her hips bucked against his involuntarily.

Then he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, question in his eyes when her legs hit the mattress. She only smiled, spreading her knees in invitation—one he seemed to gladly accept as he buried himself between her thighs like his own personal Christmas feast. Nesta would have been mortified by the noises that escaped her if she wasn’t so thoroughly undone by him.

There was no urgency in the way Cassian explored her. He drew her pleasure with his tongue until she was a shaking mess below him, and then he crawled over her on the bed, eyes warm and tender as they stripped away their remaining barriers. They interlaced their fingers as he entered her, kissing each other deeply, thoroughly with every languid stroke. As though they were far less focused on the physicality, and more on the connection that seeped and grew with each reverent touch.

Sex had never felt like this—like something pure and golden, like coming home. He was staring at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, eyes soft, lips smiling when they met hers.

He whispered her name, so like a prayer, as he buried his head in her neck, and she said his name in answer, like a thing of wonder. Something she’d always been looking for without even realizing, and had stumbled upon entirely by accident. It was only ever him and this golden, glowing string that ebbed and flowed between them, as blazing and brilliant as he was.

Nesta lost track of time, but eventually they collapsed into each other, pulses and breath stuttering, and she snuggled into his side, feeling warm and safe as she fell asleep in Cassian’s arms.

When she opened her eyes the next morning, she was nearly convinced it had all been a dream. But the mammoth of a man whose body curled over hers like a thick blanket was testament otherwise.

He looked so peaceful when he slept, Nesta thought, rolling over to get a better view of his face. She could feel each of his exhales like a gentle puff of air against her head. As she marveled at how calm she felt, Cassian stirred, cracking one eye open. When he saw her, the most adorable smile spread over his face, thoroughly cracking her heart in two.

It was game over from there, Nesta thought. She’d never be able to resist that smile ever again.

“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, voice still thick from sleep, but he managed to open both eyes now, and they were fixed on her with an unparalleled tenderness. He shuffled closer, nuzzling his face into her hair. There was nothing subtle about the deep inhale he took as his hands began idle strokes down her back. “Looks like I got to spend it with you, afterall.”

She snorted in disbelief, but felt too content to care about their stupid bargain. It was the best Christmas she’d ever had. And for the first time in a long time, she felt happy. And had the sneaking suspicion she might stay that way.

⟡⟡⟡

Taglist: @littleloric @angelic-voice-1997 @c-e-d-dreamer @vasudharaghavan @sayosdreams @swankii-art-teacher

#Countdown to Love #acotar gift exchange 2021 #Nessian #Nessian fic #Nesta x Cassian #Nessian fluff #holiday fluff #Nesta Archeron #acotar fic #acotar fanficition #sjm fic #extremely mild smut

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