#Elain who’s always had her voice stolen from her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soulofapatrick · 2 months ago

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Bound by Starlight - Cassian x female reader

Summary: Cassian shows you Starfall for the first time since you’ve been changed and it changes something between you

Words: 2.8K

Warnings: none really

Y/N's POV

I remember the feeling of my humanity being ripped away—an icy, clawing pain that stripped me of everything I once was. The cauldron’s water had wrapped around me like iron chains, pulling me down, down, until I could barely breathe. I had screamed, fought, begged to be freed, but the King of Hybern hadn’t cared. To him, I was just another Archeron sister, another human in the way, and he’d tossed me in with the others like I was nothing.

Now, I live as fae, my once-mortal body transformed, immortal senses heightened. My soul, however… it lingers somewhere between what I used to be and what I have no choice but to become. Nesta withdrew into herself, anger simmering behind cold eyes, shutting me out with her silence. Elain, though kind as always, sank into her garden, her love for flowers the only piece of herself she could cling to. And Feyre… she ascended, becoming the High Lady, a role so immense that I rarely even see her anymore.

Velaris is beautiful, I’ll give it that. With its vibrant, bustling streets, the colours and scents so alive, it’s like nothing I ever knew as a human. At first, I stumbled around here like an intruder, the way people would stare at my still-soft, unsure steps betraying how new I was to this world. Yet over time, I grew accustomed to it, learning the rhythms of the city, the names of the shops, and even a few faces. I’d walk the cobblestone streets and marvel at the glow of the faelights, the hum of the city’s magic, the warmth that seemed to cradle Velaris even on its coldest nights.

But even though I’ve adapted to this new life, I never truly chose it. I’m here because the fates made me, a decision stolen from me the moment I was dragged to Hybern. With no family to ground me—Feyre’s duties as High Lady, Nesta’s self-imposed exile, and Elain’s fragile retreat into the comfort of her plants—I’ve been left to find my way on my own.

Almost.

There is one person who’s been there for me. Cassian, with his easy smile and ridiculous sense of humour, has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. Whether it’s pulling me into conversations, inviting me to training, or simply listening when I needed to vent, he’s somehow always been there, his presence steady and warm. He never makes me feel like a burden, or like I’m less for struggling to keep up in this world I never asked to join.

So when I hear the knock at my bedroom door, the heavy, rhythmic sound that could only belong to him, my heart tugs with a mix of irritation and relief.

“Go away, Cassian!” I call out, though there’s no real force behind it. I curl tighter under my blankets, fighting the urge to stay hidden in their warmth, in the comfortable darkness. I want to stay here forever, to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist, that I’m still just a human who never stepped into this tangled, chaotic fae world.

“Nice try,” he says, his voice muffled through the door. “But I’m not leaving.”

His determination stirs something in me—annoyance, but also a flicker of comfort. I sigh, closing my eyes, but the silence stretches on, tense and unyielding. He’s waiting me out, and we both know it.

I don’t answer, and for a second, I think he might give in and leave. But instead, the door creaks open, and I hear the heavy thud of his boots as he steps inside.

“Sorry, but I’m not letting you wallow,” he says, coming closer. I peek out from under the duvet and catch sight of him—standing there, arms crossed, his expression firm but gentle. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes, deep and intense, hold that same unwavering warmth I’ve come to rely on.

I grumble, “Cassian, go away,” my voice muffled beneath the blankets as I bury myself deeper, trying to escape the world outside. But he ignores me, of course. A quiet sigh reaches me before he crouches beside the bed, level with where I’m hiding.

The sight of him, even through the haze of my exhaustion, is almost enough to make me forget everything weighing on me. Cassian, with his wild, shoulder-length black hair half-tied back in a casual bun, his jaw dusted with scruff, and those hazel eyes that seem to hold sunlight and earth all at once. He’s massive, every muscle defined under the soft shirt he wears, and even at rest, his wings—massive and powerful—seem to radiate a silent promise of protection. He’s handsome, but in a rugged, arresting way that’s so different from the polished, refined beauty of Rhysand or the quiet, haunting allure of Azriel. Cassian is warmth and strength, solid and real, and even without saying anything, he fills the room with a sense of unbreakable steadiness.

“You can’t stay hidden in here forever,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. The words slip through my defences, wrapping around me like an anchor, steadying me in a way I don’t think anyone else could. He holds my gaze, his expression so earnest it makes my chest ache.

A scoff escapes my lips as I try to pull the duvet back over my head, though there’s no real force behind it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His eyes darken for a moment, a flicker of hurt he quickly covers with a smirk. “Maybe not,” he says quietly. “But I know what it’s like to feel out of place. And I know that hiding never helps.” His tone is soft, but there’s something so raw in his voice, an honesty that chips away at the walls I’ve built around myself, brick by painful brick.

He lets out a small, quiet laugh, and the sound is like warmth spilling over me, reaching places in my heart I’d thought long-buried. “You can’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug the blanket down, just enough so he can see my face. His eyes search mine, tender and steady, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just us in this room, his presence a steady, comforting warmth, like a fire on the darkest night.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a plea. “Just for a little while. I have something I want to show you.”

His words stir something fragile inside me, something I’ve been trying to ignore. There’s a gentle hope in his eyes, a quiet, unspoken promise, and despite myself, I feel that hope awaken in me too, as small and tentative as a candle flame. I sigh, tossing the blankets back, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cool air prickles my skin.

“Fine,” I whisper, barely audible. “But just for a little while.”

Cassian smiles, a soft, genuine expression that lights up his entire face. He extends a hand to me, his palm broad and warm, and I take it, feeling his roughened fingers curl around mine with a reassuring firmness. He leads me through the quiet halls of the House of Wind, his grip steady and grounding as we walk. I’m in nothing but a simple nightdress, my feet bare on the cool floor, but with his warmth beside me, I don’t feel the chill.

He stops before a set of tall, glass-paned doors that lead to a balcony, the curtains drawn tight. Without a word, he reaches forward, pulling them back with a gentle, sweeping motion that makes the light of the stars spill in like liquid silver, illuminating the room with a soft, ethereal glow. He glances back at me, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips as he leads me outside.

The night air is crisp, and a gentle breeze stirs the loose strands of his hair, catching the faint glimmer of stars reflected in his hazel eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, his voice soft as a whisper.

I lift my gaze to the sky, and my breath catches. Above us, the stars are falling—silver and white streaks of light arcing across the heavens in a breathtaking, shimmering cascade. It’s Starfall, the legendary event that fills the Night Court’s sky with magic, as if the stars themselves are dancing for us. The sight is beautiful, overwhelming, like the world itself is pouring out light and life to remind me of something I’d forgotten: hope, beauty, wonder.

“This,” Cassian says, his voice barely more than a murmur, “is why Starfall matters. It’s a reminder that even after everything, there’s something beautiful left to hold onto.”

I turn to look at him, my heart tightening as I meet his gaze. Cassian watches me with a warmth and tenderness that slips past my carefully constructed walls, cutting right to the raw centre of everything I’ve been trying to hide. I feel a lump building in my throat, heavy and tight, and before I can stop it, my eyes fill with tears. I haven’t cried since all of this happened, haven’t allowed myself to feel what’s been buried, too afraid that if I let even a little of it slip, it would all come crashing down.

But here, with Cassian standing so close, so steady, his presence strong and unwavering, something inside me breaks. My breath hitches, a sob bubbling up before I can swallow it back. The first tear spills over, and then another, until the tears are streaming freely down my face. I try to turn away, to hide it, but Cassian steps closer, his expression softening with understanding.

And then my knees buckle. The weight of everything—of the losses, the terror, the forced transformation—becomes too much, and I sink, my body giving out under the flood of emotion. Cassian’s arms catch me before I can fall, and he lowers us both to the floor of the balcony, his strong arms wrapped tightly around me, supporting me. I cling to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt as I bury my face in his shoulder, finally letting it all out.

The stars keep falling around us, casting their ethereal glow across the balcony as Cassian holds me, his hand gently stroking through my hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort I can barely make out over the sound of my own sobs. His other arm is solid around me, like an anchor keeping me from floating away on the tide of my grief and confusion. I feel the warmth of his hand as it trails down my back, grounding me, reassuring me that I’m not alone.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice rough but gentle. “I’ve got you. Let it out; I’m here.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, with me sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to him as though he’s the only real thing left in the world. His hand never stops stroking my hair, each touch soothing, melting the ache in my chest little by little. Gradually, the sobs turn to quiet gasps, the tears slowing as I breathe in his scent, warm and familiar, a mixture of leather and something uniquely Cassian.

When I finally pull back, wiping at my tear-streaked face, he watches me with a gentleness that steals the breath from my lungs. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only understanding and a tenderness that makes my heart ache with something I can’t quite name. He brushes a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and steady.

“There you are,” he says softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes hold me, like I’m the only thing in the world he sees right now, and for a moment, I almost believe that maybe I’m enough—just as I am, scars and all.

“There you are,” he says, his voice soft, a quiet warmth in his gaze as he brushes another tear from my cheek. His thumb lingers, a gentle stroke against my skin, and it feels like he’s holding something precious, something he’s afraid might slip away if he’s not careful.

His eyes—those warm, hazel depths flecked with amber—search mine, and I realise he’s looking at me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has. As though he sees past everything, past the pain and the shadows, to a part of me that even I’ve forgotten was there. His hand rests against my face, grounding me in his presence, and I lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against my cheek.

A strange sensation unfurls in my chest—a tug, an ache so deep it almost hurts. It’s as if something invisible has been there all along, waiting, and now, with every beat of my heart, it snaps into place. The bond. I feel it, so powerful and certain, weaving itself between us, binding us together in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar. My breath catches, and I can see it in his eyes too, the moment he realises what’s happened. His expression softens, the smallest flicker of wonder and relief breaking through his own surprise.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his voice almost trembling as he searches my face, his gaze so full of awe and love that I feel like I could drown in it.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak around the emotion swelling inside me. It’s overwhelming—this sensation of being tethered to him, heart and soul, in a way that makes me feel more whole than I’ve ever been. I don’t know if I’m crying again or if it’s just the intensity of the moment, but I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and Cassian’s thumb gently brushes it away.

For a heartbeat, we’re just staring at each other, neither of us daring to move, afraid to shatter the delicate, perfect thing we’ve just found. But then he leans forward, his eyes locked on mine, and I feel his breath against my lips. Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the distance, his mouth brushing mine with a gentleness that steals my breath.

The kiss is soft, heartbreakingly tender, like he’s pouring everything he feels into it—all the care, all the patience, all the love. His hand cradles my face, his fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against my skin as his lips move over mine, unhurried and soft, as if he has all the time in the world. I melt into him, letting the warmth of the bond settle around us like a blanket, wrapping us in something that feels as ancient as the stars.

Cassian’s other arm slips around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel his heartbeat against mine, steady and strong, grounding me. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering open to meet my gaze.

“I never thought…” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly as he searches my face, his expression so open, so vulnerable, that it makes my heart ache. “I never thought I’d find this. That I’d find you.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair, feeling the softness against my skin as I hold him close. “You saved me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a truth that I hadn’t fully realised until this moment. “In more ways than one.”

He smiles, a soft, beautiful expression that makes my heart stutter, and then he kisses me again—this time with a little more certainty, a little more passion, as if he’s making a promise. It’s gentle, heartbreakingly sweet, every brush of his lips over mine conveying the depth of his love, his commitment, and the quiet, fierce protectiveness that’s always been there.

When we finally pull apart, he cradles my face in his hands, his gaze so warm, so tender, that I feel my heart swell in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his voice rough but full of certainty. “Not now, not ever.”

And as I look into his eyes, feeling the bond humming between us, I know he means it. I feel the weight of his promise settle around me, grounding me, filling the empty spaces in my heart with a warmth I never thought I’d feel again. And for the first time in so long, I believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m home.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout

#bat boys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fluff #cassian smut #cassian angst #cassian acotar #acotar cassian #cassian acosf

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azrielandhisshadows · 4 months ago

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taste

pairing: former azriel x reader, azriel x elain

word count: 1.5K

summary: azriel left the reader for the elain and she is having trouble getting over him. she wants him to remember all their moments when he is with elain.

warnings: sexual tension, vengeful reader, and azriel not knowing what he wants

a/n: this is loosely based off 'taste' by sabrina carpenter and i've needed a fic written for it. the reader is in her revenge era! this is my first fic in a very long time so let me know what you think!

Oh I leave quite an impression, 5 feet to be exact. You’re wondering why half his clothes went missing. My body’s where they’re at

It’s been 3 weeks since Azriel ended your relationship to crawl back to Elain. 3 weeks that have left you confined to your bed unable to sleep, unable to do many things except cry about what could’ve been. The shadow of your former self haunted you - the person you were with Azriel. You were a bright star to his darkest night. You were at your happiest with him. He destroyed the happiness for a female who was mated to another male.

You reached into your drawer for the pieces of Azriel that you had hid away before the end of your relationship. Sliding on the oversized shirt, you were reminded of how you used to be the center of his world. The faint aroma brought a flood of memories—missed training sessions, family dinners—spent in the intimacy of his arms. Azriel’s instincts always seemed to overwhelm him whenever you wore his clothing, his desire evident.

You smirked at your reflection, a resolve hardening in your eyes. Tonight, you intended to make sure Azriel never forgot those stolen moments.

As you entered the dining room, a sudden hush fell over the table. Azriel’s breath hitched, his cheeks flushing with a mix of surprise and embarrassment as he took in your appearance. Elain’s gaze darted between you and Azriel, her confusion clear as she did not understand the significance of this moment. The room was charged with unspoken tension as eyes followed you, and you took your seat between Nesta and Amren, the weight of your gesture hanging in the air.

“y/n, the Shadowsinger looks as if he’s seen a ghost,” Amren remarked as she leaned over to you. Taking a sip of your wine, you smirk before saying back “That was the plan. To remind him of the ghost of our relationship and remind him of our best moments.” Amren leaned away, a small satisfied smile present on her lips.

Nesta looked at you disapprovingly before muttering, “I know that Azriel and Elain hurt you, but this is not the way to get over it. You are better than this, y/n.”

You looked over Nesta’s shoulder, relishing in the tension of Azriel’s jaw as he tried to regain his composure. His shadows swirled around him, revealing his inner turmoil. Azriel’s gaze met your own, his eyes dark with longing and regret. The memories you shared in this shirt seemed to haunt him.

“Nes, I don’t care. I need him to remember. For my sake and his own.”

Now I’m gone, but you’re still laying, next to me one degree of separation

The bedroom door shut behind Elain as she stepped inside. A chill coming into the room from the open balcony. The fresh air acting as a cleansing breath from the events that occurred at dinner. Azriel was already on the balcony, the moonlight highlighting his sharp features. His posture was tense as he rested against the rail of the balcony. He sighed, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Az, are you alright?”

His attention shifted to Elain as she stood expectantly as the door. “I’m fine,” Azriel paused, debating how much he wanted to share, “I can’t help but think about the past.”

Elain’s breath hitched as Azriel moved to the bed, his head slumped with sadness that made Elain’s heart break. “I saw how you looked at her tonight. Does she still mean something to you?” Elain’s voice trembled as she asked the question her heart dreaded to know the answer to.

Azriel’s gaze moved to the floor, “No.” Azriel’s voice was barely a whisper and filled with regret and sorrow. “Y/N was important to me. She helped me through some tough times. Seeing her in my shirt… it brought back some of our good memories. But, I’m with you Elain. I love you.” Elain stood between his legs and took his face in her hands. Azriel couldn’t meet Elain’s gaze as she lifted his face up.

“I want us to be happy, Azriel, like we were before Y/N. For us to work, I need you to be honest with me.” Elain pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. Azriel nodded and placed a kiss on Elain’s hand. Elain placed a gentle kiss to his lips and laid in their bed.

Elain stared at the ceiling, her mind uneasy with anxiety and sadness. She saw how Azriel looked at Y/N tonight. His gaze was filled with longing and she couldn’t forget his conflicted expression when asked about his feelings. Even his shadows were troubled by the events of the evening and Elain noticed stray shadows lingering around Y/N as everyone left the dining room.

Elain struggled to put thoughts of Azriel and Y/N’s relationship away. She couldn’t help but wonder how their relationship worked. Her mind drifted off to her version of their most intimate moments. She could picture Azriel whispering admirations in Y/N’s ear before he kissed down her neck and learned her best kept secrets. Elain could picture everything Azriel did to her and everything he said to her, but Y/N being on the receiving end of Azriel’s love and affection.

With a sigh, Elain turned to face Azriel who was asleep and her heart ached at the thought of Azriel sleeping next to Y/N. The thoughts of his former relationship clung to her thoughts, leaving her restless and uncertain.

I heard you’re back together and if that’s true, you’ll just have to taste me when he’s kissing you. If you want forever and I bet you do, just know you’ll taste me too.

The days following the dinner had been filled with tension through the Inner Circle. Azriel giving you the cold shoulder and shooting you withering looks from across the room only fueled your resolve and your need for revenge. Tonight, you were going to make your last impression unforgettable.

The cool and crisp air hit your face as you stepped onto the roof of the House of Wind, knowing Azriel came here to work out his frustrations. The sounds of fists hitting punching bags confirmed your suspicions. You hid in the shadows, watching the sweat drip down Azriel’s toned figure. Your heart fluttered at the sight of your former lover.

“Azriel,” you whispered, stepping out of the shadows, clad in another of his old shirts you kept at the end of your relationship. Azriel’s attention snapped to you. “What are you doing here, Y/N?” Azriel huffed, his surprise evident at your presence in the training ring. “I thought you could use some company. Remember all our late nights on this roof? Sometimes training, sometimes talking about our future, and other times, you having to cover my mouth so I wouldn’t expose our rendezvous to the rest of our friends,” you said as you brushed his hair out of his face.

Azriel stiffened, his desire overwhelming his scent. “You should go. This isn’t a good idea.” Azriel said, his tone lacking the conviction of his words. You reached out to him, your fingers brushing his cheek and his walls dissolving at your gentle touch. “Az, I’m not here to make things more difficult. I only want you to remember… us. I need to remember how much we meant to each other.

The air was thick with desire and longing as Azriel closed the gap between you. Your lips melding with his, the intensity matched the kisses you once shared. Your breath caught in your throat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, as if you would disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened, both of you pouring the years of passion into this single moment.

Azriel’s eyes were dark with sorrow as he pulled away, “Why are you doing this?” You lifted your hand to his cheek once again and stroked gently, looking into his hazel eyes. You breathed softly, still recovering from this moment you had longed for, “because, I need you to remember me when you kiss her. I can’t bear the thought of you forgetting what we had.”

“I could never forget you, Y/N.”

You gave him a small, vindictive smile before turning away. “Maybe that’s your problem,” you said over your shoulder. “You’re always clinging to the past. You were so focused on Elain while we were together, and now you’re haunted by me when you’re with her.”

You walked away, leaving him on the rooftop with his regrets and unresolved feelings. The cool night air felt like freedom, and you felt a sense of vindication. You had made your point and left your mark. Now, it was time to move on and forge a new path for yourself.

#acotar #acotar imagine #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel and elain #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel drabble

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shitwillnotbegiven · 7 months ago

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All of Elain mentions in Acosf 🌸

True hell, because that was Elain lying on the stone floor with the red-haired, one-eyed Fae male hovering over her. Because those were pointed ears poking through her sister’s sodden gold-brown hair, and an immortal glow radiating from Elain’s fair skin.

***

And the sound of that voice, the voice of the male who had done this to Elain …

***

The King of Hybern—he had done this. To Elain. To Cassian.

***

The Cauldron struggled like a bird under a cat’s paw. She refused to relent.

Everything it had stolen from her, from Elain, she would take from it.

***

Prologue

🌸

He sketched a bow, not daring to take his eyes off her. She’d emerged from the Cauldron with … gifts. Considerable gifts—dark ones. But no one had seen nor felt any sign of them since that last battle with Hybern, since Amren had shattered the Cauldron and Feyre and Rhys had managed to heal it. Elain, too, had revealed no indication of her seer’s abilities since then.

***

Feyre and Elain had tried to convince her to move. She’d always ignored their advice. Just as she’d ignore whatever was said today. She knew Feyre planned a scolding. Perhaps something to do with the fact that Nesta had signed last night’s outrageous tab at the tavern to her sister’s bank account.

***

It was the King of Hybern’s fault. She knew that. But it was hers, too. Just as it was her fault that Elain had been captured by the Cauldron after Nesta spied on it with that scrying, her fault that Hybern had done such terrible things to hunt her and her sister down like a deer.

***

Cassian held her gaze as he stalked for her, then reached out an arm—

And plucked the cerulean-and-cream scarf Elain had given her for her birthday this spring off the hook on the wall. He gripped it in his fist, dangling it like a strangled snake as he brushed past her.

***

Even their gods-damned father had a portrait on the wall along one side of the grand staircase: him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit. Sitting on a stone bench amid bushes bursting with pink and blue hydrangea. The formal gardens of their first home, that lovely manor near the sea. Nesta and their mother were nowhere in sight.

That was how it had been, after all: Elain and Feyre doted on by their father. Nesta prized and trained by their mother.

***

Like Nesta, Amren did not possess court-specific magic related to the High Fae. It didn’t make her influence in this court any less mighty. Nesta’s own High Fae powers had never materialized—she had only what she’d taken from the Cauldron, rather than letting it deign to gift her with power, as it had with Elain. She had no idea what she’d ripped from the Cauldron while it had stolen her humanity from her—but she knew they were things she did not and would never wish to understand, to master. The very thought had her stomach churning.

***

Where the hell was Elain?

***

Chapter 1

🌸

Rhys had laid a comforting hand on Feyre’s, squeezing gently before he looked at Azriel, and then Cassian, and laid out his plan. As if he’d had it waiting a long, long while.

Elain had walked in halfway through. She’d been toiling in the estate gardens since dawn, and had been solemn as Rhys filled her in. Feyre had been unable to say a word. But Elain’s gaze remained steady as she listened to Rhys.

***

Amren had suggested a few days in a dungeon in the Hewn City, but Feyre had simply said that the human world would be more than enough of a prison for someone like Nesta.

Someone like Feyre, too. And Elain.

All three sisters were now High Fae with considerable powers, though only Feyre’s were let loose. Even Amren had no idea whether Elain’s and Nesta’s powers remained. The Cauldron had granted them unique powers, different from other High Fae: the gift of sight to the former, and the gift of �� Cassian didn’t know what to call Nesta’s gift. Didn’t know whether it was a gift at all—or something she had taken. The silver fire, that sense of death looming, the raw power he’d witnessed as it blasted into the King of Hybern. Whatever it was, it existed beyond the usual array of High Fae gifts.

***

“Elain needs to be able to see me—”

“Elain agreed to this hours ago. She’s currently packing your things. They’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.”

Nesta recoiled.

Feyre didn’t relent. “Elain knows how to contact you. If she wishes to visit you at the House of Wind, she is free to do so. One of us will gladly take her up there.”

***

Feyre toyed with her silver-and-star-sapphire wedding ring. “I told you: it wasn’t that I didn’t care. We—everyone, I mean—had multiple conversations about this. About you. We— I decided that giving you time and space would be best.”

“And what did Elain have to say about it?” Part of her didn’t want to know.

Feyre’s mouth tightened. “This isn’t about Elain. And last I checked, you barely saw her, either.”

Nesta hadn’t realized they were paying such close attention.

She’d never explained to Feyre—had never found the words to explain—why she’d put such distance between them all. Elain had been stolen by the Cauldron and saved by Azriel and Feyre. Yet the terror still gripped Nesta, waking and asleep: the memory of how it had felt in those moments after hearing the Cauldron’s seductive call and realizing it had been for Elain, not for her or Feyre. How it had felt to find Elain’s tent empty, to see that blue cloak discarded.

Things had only gotten worse from there.

You have your lives, and I have mine, she’d said to Elain last Winter Solstice. She’d known how deeply it would wound her sister. But she couldn’t bear it—the bone-deep horror that lingered. The flashes of that discarded cloak or the Cauldron’s chill waters or Cassian crawling toward her or her father’s neck snapping—

Feyre said carefully, “For what it’s worth, I was hoping you’d turn yourself around. I wanted to give you space to do it, since you seem to lash out at everyone who comes close enough, but you didn’t even try.”

***

“The others are waiting,” Feyre said. “Elain should be done by now.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“She’ll come visit when she’s ready.”

Nesta held her sister’s stare.

Feyre’s eyes gleamed. “You think I don’t know why you’ve pushed even Elain away?”

Nesta didn’t want to talk about it. About the fact that it had always been her and Elain. And, somehow, now it had become Feyre and Elain instead. Elain had chosen Feyre and these people, and left her behind. Amren had done the same. She’d made it clear on the barge.

Nesta didn’t care that during the war with Hybern, her own tentative bond had formed with Feyre, forged over common goals: protect Elain, save the human lands. They were excuses, Nesta had realized, to paper over what now boiled and raged in her heart.

Nesta didn’t bother replying, and Feyre didn’t speak again as she departed.

There was nothing to bind them together anymore.

***

Chapter 2

🌸

“Did you keep those fighting leathers from the war?” Cassian said to Nesta by way of greeting as he stalked into the entry hall. “You’ll need them tomorrow.”

“I made sure Elain packed them for her,” Feyre replied from her perch on the stairs, not looking at her stiff-backed sister standing at their base. He wondered if his High Lady had noticed the disappearing servants yet.

***

Nesta shoved out of his grip the moment her feet hit the worn stones. Cassian let her, folding his wings and lingering by the rail, all of Velaris glittering below and beyond him.

She’d spent weeks here last year—during that terrible period after being turned Fae, begging Elain to demonstrate any sign of wanting to live. She’d barely slept for fear of Elain walking off this veranda, or leaning too far out of one of the countless windows, or simply throwing herself down those ten thousand stairs.

***

She wouldn’t have cared where she stayed, except for the convenience of the small, private library also on her level. Which had been the place where she’d discovered those smutty books, as Cassian called them. She’d devoured a few dozen of them during those weeks she’d first been here, desperate for any lifeline to keep her from falling apart, from bellowing at what had been done to her body, her life—to Elain. Elain, who would not eat, or speak, or do anything at all.

Elain, who had somehow become the adjusted one.

***

She had nowhere to go. Elain, mourn as she might for the life she would have had with Graysen, had found a place, a role here. Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens—she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. But those things had always come easily to her sister. Had always made Elain special.

Had made Nesta fight like hell to keep Elain safe at all costs.

***

It wasn’t until the sound faded completely that she took in the room before her, unchanged since she’d last been in it, the connecting door to Elain’s old suite now sealed shut.

***

Chapter 3

🌸

Mor took another bite from her pastry. “Lucien can’t be entirely trusted anymore.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Even with Elain here, he’s become close with Jurian and Vassa. He’s voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend.”

***

My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.

***

Chapter 4

🌸

A brutish male face grinning as he anticipated the trophy that would be pulled forth—

She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t save Elain, sobbing on the floor. Couldn’t save herself. No one was coming to rescue her, and these males would do what they wanted, and her body was not her own, not human—not for much longer—

***

Chapter 6

🌸

“No healer can repair them?”

Her face tightened, and Nesta regretted her question. “It is extremely complex—all the connecting muscles and nerves and senses. Short of the High Lord of Dawn, I’m not certain anyone could handle it.” Thesan, Nesta recalled, was a master of healing—Feyre bore his power in her veins. Had offered to use it to heal Elain from her stupor after being turned High Fae.

Nesta blocked out the memory of that pale face, the empty brown eyes.

***

Chapter 9

🌸

Elain had been stolen. By Hybern. By the Cauldron, which had seen Nesta watching it and watched her in turn. Had noted her scrying with bones and stones and made her regret it.

She had done this. Brought this upon them. Touching her power, wielding it, had done this, and she would never forgive herself, never—

Elain would surely be tormented, ripped apart body and soul.

***

Chapter 10

🌸

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just …” He struggled for the right word.

“Get along? Be civil? Smile at each other?” Feyre’s laugh was hollow. “It’s always been that way.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. I mean, it was always that way with us, and our mother. She only had an interest in Nesta. She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.” Resentment and long-held pain laced every word. That a mother would do such a thing to her children … “But when we fell into poverty, when I started hunting, it got worse. Our mother was gone, and our father wasn’t exactly present. He wasn’t fully there. So it was me and Nesta, always at each other’s throats.” Feyre rubbed her face. “I’m too exhausted to go over every detail. It’s all just a tangled mess.”

***

Chapter 11

🌸

“I took dancing lessons as a girl.”

“Really?”

“We weren’t always poor. Until I was fourteen, my father was as rich as a king. They called him the Prince of Merchants.”

He gave her a tentative smile. “And you were his princess?”

Ice cracked through her. “No. Elain was his princess. Even Feyre was more his princess than I ever was.”

***

Chapter 14

🌸

“My other sister, Elain—we were forced into the Cauldron and turned High Fae.” Nesta swallowed again. “It … imparted some of itself to me.”

***

Chapter 15

🌸

At night, exhaustion weighed so heavily she could barely eat and bathe before tumbling into bed. Barely read a chapter of a book before her eyelids drooped. She’d found a smutty novel she’d already read and loved in one of the trunks Elain had packed, and had laid it on the desk.

***

Elain was in the private library.

Nesta knew it before she’d cleared the stairs, covered in dust from the library.

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber.

Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves. Nesta knew she herself had looked like that at one point, even if Elain’s breasts had always been smaller.

She peered down at herself, bony and gangly. Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health.

Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.”

Someone had brought Elain here, since there was no way in hell she had climbed those ten thousand steps.

Nesta didn’t return her sister’s smile, but rather gestured to her body, the leathers, the dust. “I’ve been busy.”

“You look a little better than you did a few weeks ago.”

The last time she’d seen Elain—a week before she’d come to the House. She’d passed her sister in the bustling market square they called the Palace of Bone and Salt, and though Elain had halted, no doubt intending to speak to her, Nesta had kept walking. Hadn’t looked back before vanishing into the throng. Nesta didn’t wish to consider how poorly she’d looked then, if the picture she presented now was better.

“You’ve got good coloring, I mean,” Elain clarified, striding from the windows to cross the room. She stopped a few feet away. As if holding herself back from the embrace she might have given.

Like Nesta was some sort of disease-ridden leper.

How many times had they been in this room during those initial months? How many times had it been this way, only with their positions switched? Elain had been the ghost then, too thin, with her thoughts turned inward.

Somehow, Nesta had become the ghost.

Worse than a ghost. A wraith, whose rage and hunger were bottomless, eternal.

Elain had only needed time to adjust. But Nesta knew she herself needed more than that.

“Are you enjoying your time up here?”

Nesta met her sister’s warm brown eyes. When human, Elain had easily been the prettiest of the three of them, and when she’d been turned High Fae, that beauty had been amplified. Nesta couldn’t put her finger on what changes had been wrought beyond the pointed ears, but Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.

It was always that way between them: Elain, sweet and oblivious, and Nesta, the snarling wolf at her side, poised to shred anyone who threatened her.

Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mother’s gold-brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match.

Nesta had been twelve at the time. Elain barely eleven.

She’d absorbed every word of her mother’s scheming, plans for futures that had never come to pass.

We shall have to petition your father to go to the continent when the time is right, her mother had often said. There are no men here worthy of either of you. Feyre hadn’t even been considered at that point, a sullen, strange child whom her mother ignored. Human royalty rules there still—lords and dukes and princes—but their wealth is tapped out, many of their estates nearing ruin. Two beautiful ladies with a king’s fortune could go far.

I might marry a prince? Nesta had asked. Her mother had only smiled.

Nesta shook her head clear of the memories and said at last, “I don’t have any choice but to be here, so I don’t see how I could be enjoying myself.”

Elain wrung her slender fingers, nails kept trimmed short for her work in the gardens. “I know the circumstances for your coming here were awful, Nesta, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so miserable about it.”

“I sat by your side for weeks,” Nesta said flatly. “Weeks, while you wasted away, refusing food and drink. While you appeared to hope you’d just wither and die.”

Elain flinched. But Nesta couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “No one suggested you either shape up or be shipped back to the human lands.”

Elain, surprisingly, held her ground. “I wasn’t drinking myself into oblivion and—and doing those other things.”

“Fucking strangers?”

Elain flinched again, her face coloring.

Nesta snorted. “You’re living amongst beings who have none of our human primness, you know.” Elain squared her shoulders again, just as Nesta added, “It’s not like you and Graysen didn’t act on your feelings.”

It was a low blow, but Nesta didn’t care. She knew Elain had given her maidenhead to Graysen a month before they’d been turned Fae. Elain had been glowing the next morning.

Elain cocked her head. Didn’t dissolve into the crying mess she usually became when Graysen came up. Instead she said, “You’re angry with me.”

Fine, then. She could be direct, too. Nesta shot back, “For packing my things while Rhysand and Feyre told me I’m a worthless pile of shit? Yes.”

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

The words struck Nesta like a slap. They’d spoken of her, her behavior, her attitude. Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.

It was inevitable, Nesta supposed, stomach churning. She was the monster. Why shouldn’t the two of them band together and shove her out? Even if she’d foolishly believed that Elain had always seen every horrible part of her and decided to stick by her anyway.

“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”

Elain had chosen Feyre, chosen her perfect little world. Amren hadn’t been any different. Nesta’s spine stiffened. “There is nothing to explain.”

Elain held up her hands. “We did this because we love you.”

“Spare me the bullshit, please.”

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness. “It’s the truth. We did this because we love you, and worry for you, and if Father were here—”

“Don’t ever mention him.” Nesta bared her teeth, but kept her voice low. “Never fucking mention him again.”

She forbade her leash to slip completely. But she felt it—the stirring of that terrible beast inside her. Felt its power surge, blazing yet cold. She lunged for it, shoving it down, down, down, but it was too late. Elain’s gasp confirmed that Nesta’s eyes had gone to silver fire, as Cassian had described it.

But Nesta smothered the fire in her darkness, until she was cold and empty and still once more.

Pain slowly washed over Elain’s face. And understanding. “Is that what this is all about? Father?”

Nesta pointed to the door, finger shaking with the effort of keeping that writhing power at bay. Each word from Elain’s mouth threatened to undo her restraint. “Get out.”

Silver lined Elain’s eyes, but her voice remained steady, sure. “There was nothing that could have been done to save him, Nesta.”

The words were kindling. Elain had accepted his death as inevitable. She hadn’t bothered to fight for him, as if he hadn’t been worth the effort, precisely as Nesta knew she herself wasn’t worth the effort.

This time, Nesta didn’t stop the power from shining in her eyes; she shook so violently she had to fist her hands. “You tell yourself there’s nothing that could have been done because it’s unbearable to think that you could have saved him, if you’d only deigned to show up a few minutes earlier.” The lie was bitter in her mouth.

It wasn’t Elain’s fault their father had died. No, that was entirely Nesta’s own fault. But if Elain was so determined to root out the good in her, then she’d show her sister how ugly she could be. Let a fraction of this agony rip into her.

This was why Elain had chosen Feyre. This.

Feyre had rescued Elain time and again. But Nesta had sat by, armed only with her viper’s tongue. Sat by while they starved. Sat by when Hybern stole them away and shoved them into the Cauldron. Sat by when Elain had been kidnapped. And when their father had been in Hybern’s grip, she had done nothing, nothing to save him, either. Fear had frozen her, blanketing her mind, and she’d let it do so, let it master her, so that by the time her father’s neck had snapped, it had been too late. And entirely her fault.

Why wouldn’t Elain choose Feyre?

Elain stiffened, but refused to balk from whatever she beheld in Nesta’s gaze. “You think I’m to blame for his death?” Challenge filled each word. Challenge—from Elain, of all people. “No one but the King of Hybern is to blame for that.” The quaver in her voice belied her firm words.

Nesta knew she’d hit her mark. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t continue. Enough. She had said enough.

That fast, the power in her receded, vanishing into smoke on the wind. Leaving only exhaustion weighing her bones, her breath. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.”

Even during their squabbles in the cottage, fighting over who got clothes or boots or ribbons, it had never been like this. Those fights had been petty, born of misery and discomfort. This was a different beast entirely, from a place as dark as the gloom at the base of the library.

Elain headed for the doors, purple dress sweeping behind her. “Cassian said he thought the training was helping,” she murmured, more to herself than to Nesta.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Nesta slammed the doors so hard they rattled.

Silence filled the room.

She didn’t twist toward the windows to see who might fly past with Elain, who’d be witness to the tears Elain would likely shed.

Nesta slid into one of the armchairs before the unlit fireplace and stared at nothing.

She didn’t stop the wolves when they gathered around her again, hateful, razor-sharp truths on their red tongues. She didn’t stop them as they began to rend her apart.

***

When Elain burst into the dining room of the House, Cassian and Rhys were shaking off the frigid air that had been howling through Windhaven.

Her brown eyes were bright with tears, but she kept her chin high.

“I want to go home,” she said, voice wobbling slightly.

***

Cassian cast the memory aside as Rhys surveyed Elain, his violet-blue eyes missing nothing. “What happened.”

When Rhys spoke like that, it was more of a command than a question.

Elain waved a hand in dismissal before flinging open the veranda doors and striding into the open air.

“Elain,” Rhys said as he and Cassian trailed her into the dying light.

Elain stood by the rail, the breeze caressing her hair. “She’s not getting any better. She’s not even trying.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stared toward the distant sea.

Rhys turned to him, his face grave. Feyre warned her.

Cassian swore softly. Nesta is making progress—I know she is. Something set her off. He added, because Rhys was still looking like cold death personified, It’ll take time. Maybe no more visits from her sisters, for the time being. At least not without her permission. He didn’t want to isolate Nesta. Not at all. If Elain wants to see her again, let me ask Nesta first.

***

Rhys held his stare, the inherent dominance in it like the force of a tidal wave. But Cassian weathered it. Let it wash past him. Then Rhys shook his head and said to Elain, “I’ll fly you home.”

Elain didn’t object when Rhys scooped her up and launched into the red-and-pink-stained sky.

When they were a speck of black and purple over the rooftops, Rhys sweeping along the gilded river as if giving Elain a scenic tour, then and only then did Cassian enter the House.

***

His heart thundered, his chest heaving as if he’d run a mile. “What did you say to Elain?”

She leaned forward to peer at him. Then rose to her feet, a pillar of steel and flame, her lips curling back from her teeth. “Of course you’d assume I’m the one at fault.” She prowled closer, her eyes burning with cold fire. “Always defending sweet, innocent Elain.”

He crossed his arms, letting her get as close to him as she wanted. Like hell would he yield one step to her. “I’ll remind you that you’ve been the chief defender of sweet, innocent Elain until recently.” He’d witnessed her go toe to toe with Fae capable of slaughtering her without giving it a thought, all for her sister.

***

Chapter 17

🌸

“What did Elain say to you?”

She couldn’t revisit that conversation, couldn’t talk about her father or his death or any of it. So she shut her heavy eyes. “Why don’t they sign up for training?”

***

Chapter 18

🌸

Azriel chuckled, shadows skittering. “Did you listen at all last night?”

“No.”

“At least you’re honest.” Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.”

“It’s about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there.”

“It’s bad, then.” Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?”

His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.

Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn’t push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up.

***

Chapter 19

🌸

Nesta said nothing, unable to speak with the churning in her stomach. Who would be here? Which of them would she have to face, to endure them judging her so-called progress? They’d probably all heard of her fight with Elain—gods, would Elain be present?

***

Rhys and Feyre sat on the sapphire couch before the window. Azriel leaned against the mantel. Amren had curled herself into an armchair, bundled in a gray fur coat, as if the nip in the air today were a blast of winter. No Elain, no Morrigan.

***

“But Briallyn is Made,” Amren said. Nesta’s mouth again went dry. “When Briallyn was Made, it likely removed from her the Dread Trove’s glamour, for lack of a better term. Recognized her as kin. Where she might have glanced over a mention of the items before and never thought twice, now it stuck. Or perhaps called to her, presented itself in a dream.”

All of them, all at once, looked at Nesta.

“You,” Amren said quietly, “are the same. So is Elain.”

***

Cassian shifted in his seat. “So we track down the Dread Trove—how?”

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, “Using me.”

***

Chapter 20

🌸

Nesta’s head went silent as Elain’s words finished sounding in the room. Feyre had twisted in her seat, face white with alarm.

Nesta shot to her feet. “No.”

Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“The last time we involved ourselves with the Cauldron, it abducted you,” Nesta countered, fighting her shaking. She found the words, the weapons she sought. “I thought you didn’t have powers anymore.”

Elain pursed her lips. “I thought you didn’t, either.”

Nesta’s spine straightened. No one spoke, but their attention lingered on her like a film on her skin. “You will not go looking for it.”

Amren said coolly, “So you look for it, girl.”

Nesta turned to the small female. “I don’t know how to find anything.”

“Like calls to like,” Amren countered. “You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well, as Briallyn can. And because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.” A glance to Elain. “Either of you.”

Nesta swallowed. “I can’t.” But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety—

Amren said, “You tracked the Cauldron—”

“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.”

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.”

Feyre said, “It is Elain’s choice, Nesta.”

Nesta whirled on her, ignoring the warning flicker of primal wrath in Rhys’s stare. “Keep out of this,” she hissed at her youngest sister. “I have no doubt you put these thoughts in her head, probably encouraging her to throw herself into harm’s way—”

Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.”

Nesta’s pulse pounded throughout her body. “Do you not remember the war? What we encountered? Do you not remember the Cauldron kidnapping you, bringing you into the heart of Hybern’s camp?”

“I do,” Elain said coldly. “And I remember Feyre rescuing me.”

Roaring erupted in Nesta’s head.

For a heartbeat, it appeared that Elain might say something to soften the words. But Nesta cut her off, seething at the pity about to be thrown her way. “Look who decided to grow claws after all,” she crooned. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.

Elain’s eyes brightened with pain. Something imploded in Nesta’s chest at that expression. She opened her mouth, as if it could somehow be undone. But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

Nesta blinked, everything inside her hollowing out.

But Elain turned on her heel. “Find me when you wish to begin.” The doors shut behind her.

Every awful word Nesta had spoken hung in the air, echoing.

Feyre said to her, gratingly gentle, “It wasn’t an easy choice for me to ask Elain to endanger herself like this.”

Nesta twisted to Feyre. “Can’t you find the Trove?” She hated each cowardly word, hated the fear in her heart, hated that in merely asking, she’d exposed her preference for Elain.

***

Nesta said to Feyre, “Did you tell Elain?”

Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”

Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”

***

Rhys winked at her. Feyre rolled her eyes. But then she said to Nesta, “Elain will need time to dust off her powers to try to See the Trove. But you, Nesta … You could scry again.”

***

“What choice do I have?” Nesta asked.

If it was between her and Elain, there was no choice at all. She would always go first if it meant keeping Elain from harm. Even if she’d just hurt her sister more than she could stomach.

***

“How did he know?”

“I don’t know,” Feyre admitted, her hand again drifting to her stomach. “But I didn’t realize how much I wanted a boy until I knew I’d bear one.”

“Likely because having sisters was so horrible for you.”

Feyre sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Nesta shrugged. Feyre might say that, but the feeling was no doubt there. Everything that had just happened with Elain—

Feyre seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. “Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.”

“It was directed at me, not you.”

“I’ve been guilty of the same things, Nesta.” Sorrow dimmed Feyre’s eyes. “It was unfair for Elain to level that truth only at you.”

Nesta didn’t have an answer to that, didn’t know where to start. “Why not tell Elain about the baby’s sex first?”

“She discovered the pregnancy. I wanted you to know this part before anyone else.”

***

Chapter 21

🌸

“I hope so,” Cassian hedged. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Nesta putting herself in danger, but he understood her motivations entirely. If he’d had to pick between sending one of his brothers into danger or doing it himself, he would always—always—choose himself. Though he’d winced at every harsh word that had come out of Nesta’s mouth to Elain, he couldn’t fault the fear and love behind her decision. Could only admire that she had stepped up—if not for the good of the world, then to keep her sister safe.

***

“Nesta isn’t up for a scrying,” Cassian said. “We don’t even know what power she has left.”

But Elain had confirmed it for everyone: both sisters still possessed their Cauldron-gifted powers. Whether they were as powerful as before, he had no idea.

“You do know, though,” Azriel countered. “You’ve seen it—even beyond when it glows in her eyes.”

Cassian hadn’t told anyone about the step he’d found with the clear finger holes burned into it. He wondered if Azriel had somehow learned of them, the news brought to him on his shadows’ whispers. “She’s volatile right now. The last time she did a scrying, it ended badly. The Cauldron looked at her. And then took Elain.” He’d seen every horrific memory flash before Nesta’s eyes today. And though he understood that Elain had spoken true, claiming the trauma of that memory, Cassian knew firsthand the lingering horror and pain of a loved one stolen and hurt.

Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.”

Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

***

Chapter 22

🌸

Seeing them spar had been overwhelming. Their beautiful forms, tattooed and scarred and carved with muscle, gleaming with sweat as they fought with a viciousness and intelligence she’d never seen … She’d been sweating herself when they’d finished, wondering what it’d be like to be between those two male bodies, letting them turn all that lethal attention on worshipping her.

Elain would faint to hear such thoughts. And to hear that Nesta had already had two males in her bed not once but twice, and had enjoyed every second of it. But the males Nesta had shared herself with hadn’t looked like Cassian and Azriel. Hadn’t been Cassian and Azriel.

***

Chapter 24

🌸

Nesta had only felt relief when the old beast had died. Elain, who’d been spared the cruelties of Grandmamma’s tutelage, had wept and dutifully laid flowers at her grave—one soon joined by their mother’s stone marker. Feyre had been too young to understand, but Nesta had never bothered to lay flowers for her grandmamma. Not when Nesta bore a scar near her left thumb from one of the woman’s nastier punishments. Nesta had only left flowers for her mother, whose grave she had visited more often than she cared to admit.

***

Nesta had told herself that day that Tomas would take her in, if necessary. Maybe even Elain, too. But his family had been hateful, with too many mouths to feed already. His father would have refused to feed her, without question. She’d been prepared to offer the only thing she had to barter to Tomas, if it would have kept Elain from starving. Would have sold her body on the street to anyone who’d pay her enough to feed her sister. Her body had meant nothing to her—nothing, she’d told herself as she’d felt her options closing in. Elain meant everything.

***

“I always forget how similar human ideas of propriety are to the Illyrians’.” Emerie took another bite. “Would you have wanted to see the world, if you could?”

“It was half a world, wasn’t it? With the wall in place.”

“Still better than nothing.”

Nesta chuckled. “You’re right.” She considered Emerie’s question. If her father had offered to bring them on one of his ships, to let them see strange and distant shores, would they have gone? Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further. Feyre had talked once about the glorious art in the continent’s museums and private estates. But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?

***

Chapter 25

🌸

Nesta around Gwyn was a wholly different creature than who she was with the court. They didn’t tease or laugh with each other, but an easiness lay between them that he’d never witnessed, even when Nesta was with Elain. She’d always been Elain’s guardian, or Feyre’s sister, or Cauldron-Made.

***

Chapter 27

🌸

“Bad things happened the last time. The Cauldron looked at me. And took Elain.” She couldn’t stop her body from locking up. “I can’t endure it, risk it. Not even for this.”

***

“Helion is a last resort,” Rhys said, sipping his wine. “Which we may come to in a matter of days if Nesta does not at least attempt a scrying.” The last words were directed toward Cassian. “I’d have Elain try her hand before we approach him, though.”

Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around, but the male remained in the human lands with Jurian and Vassa.

***

Cassian countered, “Nesta will do it, if only to keep Elain from putting herself at risk. But you have to understand that Nesta was deeply affected by what happened during the war—Elain was taken by the Cauldron after she scried. You can’t blame her for hesitating.”

Amren said, “We do not have the time to wait for Nesta to decide. I say we approach Elain tomorrow. Better to have both of them working on it.”

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”

“But Nesta should?” Cassian growled.

Everyone stared at him.

He swallowed, offering an apologetic glance to Az, who shrugged it off.

Amren drained her wine and said to Cassian, “Nesta has a week. One more week to find the Trove with her own methods. Then we seek out other routes.” She threw a nod toward Azriel. “Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Cassian and Azriel looked to Rhys, who merely sipped from his own wine. Amren’s order held. As Rhys’s Second in this court, short of Rhys overruling her, her word was law.

Cassian glowered at Amren. “It’s not right to wield Elain as a threat to manipulate Nesta into scrying.”

“There are harsher ways to convince Nesta, boy.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair. “You’re a fool if you think threats will make her obey you.”

Everyone tensed again. Even Varian.

Amren’s lips spread in a sharp grin. “We are on the cusp of another war. We let the Cauldron slip from our hands in the last one and it nearly cost us everything.” Amren’s new Fae form was proof of that—she’d yielded her immortal, otherworldly self to remain in this body. No gray fire glowed in her eyes. She was mortal, in the way that High Fae were mortal. Varian’s fingers tangled in the blunt ends of her hair, as if to reassure himself that she was here, she’d remained with him. “We must head off this potential disaster before we lose the advantage. If we need to manipulate Nesta into scrying, even by using Elain against her, then we’ll do what is necessary.”

His stomach tightened. “I don’t like it.”

***

She’d failed at everything. But she could do this.

She’d failed her father, failed Feyre for years before that. Failed her mother, she supposed. And with Elain, she’d failed as well: first in letting her get taken by Hybern that night they’d been stolen from their beds; then by letting her go into that Cauldron. Then when the Cauldron had taken her into the heart of Hybern’s camp.

“You don’t have to like it,” Amren said. “You just have to shut up and do as you’re told.”

***

Chapter 29

🌸

Nesta said, “The Trove. And what happened the last time I scried.”

Feyre said, “We won’t allow any harm to come to Elain. Rhys warded her this morning, and we have eyes on her at all times.”

“Eyes can be blinded,” Nesta said.

“Not the ones under my command,” Azriel said with soft menace. Nesta met his stare, knowing he was the only one aside from Feyre who could truly understand her hesitation. He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain—he knew the risk. “We won’t make the same mistake twice.”

She believed him. “All right.” She scooped up the stones and bones. They were ice-cold against her fingers.

***

Chapter 31

🌸

Rhys sighed to the ceiling. “Shall we?”

Nesta glanced up the stairs past Feyre. Elain had again opted to remain in her room when Nesta was present, which was just fine. Absolutely, utterly fine. Elain could make her own choices. And had chosen to thoroughly shut the door on Nesta. Even as she fully embraced Feyre and her world. Nesta’s chest tightened, but she refused to think of it, acknowledge it. Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.

***

Chapter 32

🌸

What would Elain think, to see Nesta here with a friend? The thought bubbled up from nowhere. As if in opening her mind, it had rushed toward her. Would Elain be pleased, or would she feel the need to warn Gwyn about Nesta’s true self?

***

Nesta did so, focusing on the breaths and not Elain. I acknowledge this thought about my sister, and I am letting it go.

She was on her seventh breath when her sister appeared again. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.

Had Elain been right? Feyre had admitted she was guilty of it, too, but—Feyre hadn’t known Elain as Nesta did. Or, it hadn’t been that way before. Before Elain had chosen Feyre.

***

Chapter 39

🌸

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort. “And I came up here because Feyre said I should. I need to kill a few hours before I’m to meet with her and Rhys. She thought I might enjoy seeing Nesta at work.”

***

Chapter 40

🌸

Amren shook her head, hair swaying. “Nothing is a fluke. The Cauldron’s power flows through Nesta, and could use her as a puppet without her knowledge. It wanted those weapons Made, and thus they were Made. It wanted Rhysand to have them and thus the blacksmith brought them to you. To you, Rhysand, not to Nesta. And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has—is here. Feyre is here. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own. Feyre alone doubles your strength. Nesta makes you unstoppable. Especially if she were to march into battle wearing the Mask. No enemy could stand against her. She’d slay Beron’s soldiers, then raise them from the dead and turn them on him.”

***

Chapter 42

🌸

“I hate this place,” he muttered, flushing. “Allergies.”

Nesta swallowed a laugh. “You don’t need to hide it from me. In the human realm, I used to get so itchy I had to take two baths a day to get rid of all the pollen.” Well, before they’d gone to the cottage. After that, Nesta had been lucky to bathe once a week, thanks to the hassle of heating and hauling so much water to the lone tub in a corner of their bedroom. Sometimes, she and Elain had even shared the same bathwater, drawing straws for who went in second.

Nesta’s throat constricted, and she surveyed the swaying cherry blossoms overhead. Elain would love this place. So many flowers, all in bloom, so much green—the light, vibrant green of new grass—so many birds singing and such warm, buttery sunshine. Nesta felt like a storm cloud standing amid it all. But Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her.

Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place.

And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

***

She’d never forget that beast. How it had broken down the door of their cottage and terrified her to her bones. How all she’d been able to think of was shielding Elain while Feyre had grabbed that knife to face it. Face him.

***

She held his emerald stare, knowing silver flames flickered in her own. “I went into the Cauldron because of you,” she said softly, and could have sworn thunder grumbled in the distance. Cassian and Eris faded away into nothing. There was only Tamlin, only this beast, and what he had done to her and her family.

“Elain went into the Cauldron because of you,” Nesta went on. Her fingertips heated, and she knew if she looked down, she’d find silver embers flaring there. “I don’t care how much you apologize or try to atone for it or claim you didn’t know the King of Hybern would do such a thing or that you begged him not to do it. You colluded with him. Because you thought Feyre was your property.”

***

Chapter 43

🌸

“Valkyries?” Feyre asked from across the dining table in the river house, fork half-raised to her lips. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Cassian said, sipping from his wine at dinner that evening....

“We never heard of them in the human lands,” Elain said. She’d been as riveted as Feyre to hear Cassian tell of it: first of Nesta and the others’ interest, then of the brief history of the female fighters. “They must have been fearsome creatures.”

“Some were as lovely as you, Elain,” Rhys said from beside Feyre, “from the outside. But once they set foot into the arena of battle, they became as bloodthirsty as Amren.”

***

...Cassian added after a moment, “Nesta would have fit in well with them.”

“I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall,” Elain admitted. “She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two,” she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement. Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long.

Feyre at last took her hearty bite of food. “Nesta is a wolf who has been locked in a cage her whole life.”

“I know,” Cassian said. She was a wolf who had never learned how to be a wolf, thanks to that cage humans called propriety and society....

Elain leaned forward. “You only think you know—you haven’t seen her on the dance floor. That’s when Nesta truly lets the wolf roam free. When there’s music.”

“Really?” Nesta had told him once, when he’d dragged her out of a particular seedy tavern, that she’d been there for the music. He’d ignored her, thinking it an excuse.

“Yes,” Elain said. “She was trained in dance from a very young age. She loves it, and music. Not in the way I enjoy a waltz or gavotte, but in the way that performers make an art of it. Nesta could bring an entire ballroom to a halt when she danced with someone.”

***

“She wouldn’t have gone into much detail about it,” Elain said. “Nesta was only fourteen at the last ball we went to before—well, before we were poor …” Elain shook her head. “Another young heiress was at the ball, and she positively hated me. She was several years older, and I’d never done anything to provoke her hatred, but I think …”

“She was jealous of your beauty,” Amren said, an amused smile on her red lips.

Elain blushed. “Perhaps.”

It was definitely that. Even though Elain would have been barely thirteen at the time.

***

“Nesta spent a small fortune on her gown and jewels for that night. Our father was always too scared of her to say no, and that night … Well, she truly looked the part of the daughter of the Prince of Merchants. An amethyst silk gown with gold thread, diamonds and pearls at her neck and ears …” Elain sighed. Such wealth. Cassian had never realized what wealth they’d possessed and lost.

“The entire ball stopped when Nesta entered,” Elain said. “She made an entrance of it, perfectly cool and aloof, even at fourteen. She barely glanced the duke’s way. Because she’d learned about him as well. Knew he grew bored of anyone that chased him. And knew that the wealth on her that night dwarfed anything that heiress was wearing.”

Amren was grinning now. “Nesta tried to win a duke out of spite? At fourteen?”

Elain didn’t smile. “She lured him into asking her for a dance with a few well-placed looks across the ballroom. The same waltz that heiress wanted for herself, had boasted would be all she needed to secure his marriage bid. Nesta took that dance from her. And then took the duke from her, too. Nesta danced that night like she was one of you.”

“If you’ve seen Cassian’s dancing,” Rhys muttered, “that’s not saying much.”

Cassian flipped off his High Lord as Feyre and Az chuckled.

Elain continued, voice hushed with near-reverence, “The duke was vain, and Nesta played into that. The entire room came to a standstill. Their dancing was that good; she was that beautiful. And when it ended … I knew she was an artist then. The same way Feyre is. But what Feyre does with paint, that’s what Nesta did with music and dance. Our mother saw it when we were children, and honed it into a weapon. All so Nesta might one day marry a prince.”

Cassian froze. A prince—was that what Nesta wanted? His stomach clenched.

“What happened to the duke?” Azriel asked.

Elain grimaced. “He proposed marriage the next morning.”

Rhys choked on his wine. “She was fourteen.”

“I told you: Nesta is a very good dancer. But that was what my father said—she was too young. It was a graceful exit, since my father, despite his faults, knew Nesta well. He knew she had taunted that duke into making a marriage offer just to punish the heiress for her cruelty toward me. Nesta had no interest in him—knew she was far too young. Even if the duke seemed more interested in just … reserving her until she was old enough.” Elain shuddered with distaste. “But I think some part of Nesta believed she would indeed marry a prince one day. So the duke went home with no bride, and that heiress … Well, she was one of the people who delighted in our misfortunes.”

“I’d forgotten,” Feyre murmured. “About this, and about her dancing.”

“Nesta never spoke of it afterward,” Elain said. “I just observed.”

Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.

***

Elain nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “So I’m very pleased to hear of this Valkyrie business. I’m happy that Nesta finds interest in something again. And might channel all of … that into it.” That, Cassian knew, meant her rage, her fierce and unyielding loyalty to those she loved, her wolf’s instincts and ability to kill.

***

Chapter 44

🌸

“I walked away because you chose my sister.” Just as Elain had done. Amren had been her friend, her ally, and yet in the end, it hadn’t mattered one bit. She’d picked Feyre.

***

Chapter 46

🌸

She had been born wrong. Had been born with claws and fangs and had never been able to keep from using them, never been able to quell the part of her that roared at betrayal, that could hate and love more violently than anyone ever understood. Elain had been the only one who perhaps grasped it, but now her sister loathed her.

***

Chapter 49

🌸

A wave of words pushed themselves out of her. “I should have found a way to save us before then. Save Elain and Feyre when we were poor. But I was so angry, and I wanted him to try, to fight for us, but he didn’t, and I would have let us all starve to prove what a wretch he was. It consumed me so much that … that I let Feyre go into that forest and told myself I didn’t care, that she was half-wild, and it didn’t matter, and yet …” She let out a wrenching cry. “I close my eyes and I see her that day she went out to hunt the first time. I see Elain going into the Cauldron. I see her taken by it during the war. I see my father dead. And now I will see Feyre’s face when I told her that the baby would kill her.” She shook and shook, her tears burning hot down her cheeks.

***

Chapter 50

🌸

Cassian straightened before Rhys could even speak. “You’re not going to use her.”

Feyre glanced between them, and after a second, as if her mate had spoken into her mind, she demanded, “Really, Rhys?”

Rhys leaned back, and Nesta frowned, the only one of them apparently not aware of what this meant. Rhys said to her, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to. But Elain mentioned that you have particular skill on the dance floor. Skill that once won you the hand of a duke in a single waltz.”

***

Nesta crossed her arms, ignoring Cassian’s pointed glare, silently demanding that she dismiss this notion entirely. “You really think my dancing with Eris will solidify his loyalty?”

“I think Eris is our ally, and will expect to dance with a lady of this court at the ball no matter what. I won’t let Feyre within five feet of him, Mor might kill him, and Amren is more likely to scare him off than win him over, so you and Elain are the only options.”

“Elain doesn’t go near him,” Feyre said. “And you won’t let me near him?”

Rhys threw her a charming smile. “You know what I mean.”

***

Nesta shrugged, unable to find the words. She and Elain had rehung the door after Tamlin had broken it. Their father, his leg wrecked beyond repair and unable to bear weight, had watched them, offering unhelpful advice.

***

She nodded. They’d eaten here, some meals in silence, some with her and Elain trying to fill the quiet with their idle chatter, some with her and Feyre at each other’s throats. Like those last meals they’d had with her in this house.

***

Cassian ran a hand over the painted dresser, marveling. “She really did paint stars for herself before she knew Rhys was her mate. Before she knew he existed.” His fingers traced the twining vines of flowers on the second drawer. “Elain’s drawer.” They drifted lower, curling over a lick of flame. “And yours.”

***

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

***

She studied the calluses already building across her fingers and palms. “The debtors seemed gleeful when they came here—like they’d resented him all this time and were more than happy to take it out on his leg. I spent the entire time more terrified for what they’d do to me and Elain. Feyre … She tried to get them to stop. Stayed here with him while we hid in the bedroom.” She made herself meet Cassian’s gaze again. “I didn’t just fail Feyre by letting her go into the woods. There were plenty of other times.”

***

Chapter 55

🌸

Both sisters wore black. Both walked behind Rhys and Feyre, a silent indicator that they were a part of the royal family. Had mighty powers of their own. They’d planned it that way, wanting Eris to see for himself how valuable Nesta was. Cassian wondered if Elain and Nesta had broken their silence while waiting for their entrance. They hadn’t spoken to each other for months now.

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.

***

Feyre and Rhys took their thrones, and Nesta and Elain came to stand at the foot of the dais, between him and Azriel. Cassian didn’t dare say a word to Nesta, or even glance at her, at the body on display—the body he’d tasted so many times now it was a miracle no imprint of his lips lay against her neck.

***

Feyre nodded as Rhys took the box and set it beside his throne. “Use it well.” She smiled softly at Eris. “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me unwell enough that I worry about what so much spinning would do to my stomach.” It was the truth. Feyre had bolted from dinner three nights ago to find the nearest toilet. Now she made a show of looking between her two sisters. Elain gave a passable impression of appearing interested. Nesta just looked bored. Like they hadn’t just given away the dagger she’d Made.

***

Feyre noted the direction of Nesta’s stare. “My oldest sister shall take my place.”

Nesta barely glanced to Eris, who pulled his assessing gaze from Elain to stare at the eldest Archeron sister with a mix of wariness and intent that set Cassian’s jaw grinding. Or it would have been grinding, if he hadn’t mastered himself in time to keep his face blank as Nesta began walking toward Eris.

***

By the time Nesta and Eris finished their first rotation through the dance floor, Cassian had the growing feeling that Elain had rather undersold her sister��s abilities.

***

He twirled her again, the waltz already coming to a close. He whispered in her ear, “They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you outshine her tonight.” His hand stroked down the bare skin of her back, and she arched slightly into the touch.

***

Chapter 57

🌸

“You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. Gone was the ill-suited black dress from the ball, replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist. She glowed with good health. Except …

Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room, since Nesta knew Feyre and Rhys had invited him, but for that look to be directed at her …

They hadn’t spoken of their argument in the few minutes they’d had together before the ball’s procession, and then she’d avoided Elain entirely until the event was over. She didn’t know what she’d say. How to make it right.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Cassian said it might be … good if I came.”

Elain’s eyes flickered. “Did Feyre pay you, like last year?”

“No.” Shame washed through her.

Elain sighed, glancing over Nesta’s shoulder to the open doorway across the entry. The party within, only for their small inner circle. “Please don’t upset Feyre. It’s her birthday, first of all. And in her state—”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked.

Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, horror lurching through her.

And then Elain burst out laughing.

Howling, half-sobbing laughs that sent her bending over at the waist, gasping for breath. Nesta just stared, torn between questions and wanting to throw herself into the icy Sidra. “I— I’m so sorry—”

Elain held up a hand, wiping her eyes with the other. “You’ve never said such a thing to me!” She laughed again. “I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

Nesta shook her head slowly, not understanding. Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

“I was just checking on dessert,” Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger’s stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

***

And that was that. Nesta ignored the collective sense of relief that filled the room and pivoted, finding herself peering up at Lucien, who greeted her with a wary dip of his chin. Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get. Azriel remained in the doorway. “How’s the Spring Court?” Nesta asked. The fire crackled merrily to her right, and she let the sound ripple through and past her. Acknowledged the crack and what it did to her, and released it. Even as she concentrated on the male she’d addressed.

***

Nesta had been better tonight than last year. Another person entirely. She didn’t laugh freely like Mor and Feyre, or smile sweetly like Elain, but she spoke, and engaged, and sometimes smirked. She saw everything, heard everything. Even the fire, which she seemed to ignore. Pride filled his chest at that—and relief. It had only increased when he’d noticed that she’d cared enough about Az’s aloofness to go up to him to chat.

***

Cassian’s gifts were the usual odd medley: an ancient manuscript on warfare from Rhys, a bag of beef jerky from Azriel—I literally couldn’t think of anything you’d enjoy more, Az had said when Cassian had laughed—and a hideously ugly green sweater from Mor that made his skin look jaundiced. Amren had given him a travel set of spices—so you don’t have to suffer whenever you’re in Illyria—and Elain gave him a specially designed ceramic mug with a lid that he could travel with, bespelled against breaking, to keep tea warm for hours.

***

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Cassian could feel Nesta watching him, but when he looked, her face was unreadable. No one had gotten her presents except for Feyre and Elain, who had together given her a year’s worth of book-buying credit to her favorite bookshop in the city. It was capped at around three hundred books, which they seemed to think would be more than she could read in a year. Five hundred books’ worth would have been a safer bet, he knew.

***

Chapter 58

🌸

She had a vague sense of Cassian and Mor and Azriel nearby, of Feyre and Rhys and Lucien, of Elain and Varian and Helion. Of Kallias and Viviane, also swollen with child and glowing with joy and strength. Nesta smiled in greeting and left them blinking, but she forgot them within a moment because the stars, the stars, the stars …

***

Chapter 61

🌸

A hand slid into Nesta’s, and she found Elain there, shaking and wide-eyed. Nesta squeezed her sister’s fingers. Together, they approached the other side of the bed.

And when Elain began praying to the Fae’s foreign gods, to their Mother, Nesta bowed her head, too.

***

“Go into her mind to take the pain away,” Madja said to Rhys, who blinked in confirmation, then cursed, as if scolding himself for not thinking of it sooner. Cassian looked across the bed, to where Elain was holding Feyre’s other hand, and Nesta held Elain’s.

***

But Death hovered nearby. Nesta felt it, saw it, a shadow thicker and more permanent than any of Azriel’s. Elain sobbed, squeezing Feyre’s hand, pleading with her to hold on, and Nesta stood in the midst of it, Death swirling around her, and there was nothing, nothing, nothing to be done as Feyre’s breathing thinned, as Madja began shouting at her to fight it—

***

Death lurked near Feyre and her mate, a beast waiting to pounce, to devour them both. Nesta pulled her hand free of Elain’s. Stepped back.

***

Chapter 76

🌸

The room was a tableau of frozen movement, of shocked and horrified faces twisted toward her, toward Feyre and all that blood. Nesta walked through it. Past Rhys’s screaming, straining body, his face the portrait of despair and terror and pain; past grave-faced Azriel; past Cassian, gritting his teeth as he held Rhys back. Past Amren, whose gray eyes were fixed on where Nesta had been, pure dread and something like awe in her face.

Past Mor and that too-small bundle in her arms, Elain at her side, frozen in her crying.

***

Chapter 77

🌸

But none of the others were present on a warm day a few weeks later, when Nesta joined Feyre and Elain for a walk outside the city. Even a glance at the sky revealed no sign of Cassian, who had been keeping Nesta up until dawn with his lovemaking and had become utterly obnoxious about calling her mate any chance he got, except at their continuing morning training with the priestesses.

***

Nesta had stared and stared at her portrait, hung between one of Feyre and one of Elain, and hadn’t realized she was crying until Feyre had held her tightly.

***

Her heart thundered, and she kept a step back as Feyre knelt before the grave marker, showing Nyx to the stone. “Your grandson, Father,” she whispered, voice thick. And then Feyre bowed her head, speaking too low for Nesta or Elain, standing at Nesta’s side, to hear.

After a few minutes, Feyre rose, letting her tears run, as holding the babe kept her hands occupied. Elain went forward, whispered a few things to their father’s grave, and then both sisters looked to Nesta, smiling tentatively.

***

She found Feyre and Elain waiting halfway down the hill, Nyx now dozing peacefully in Elain’s arms. Her sisters beamed, beckoning her to join.

And Nesta smiled back, her steps light as she hurried down the hill to meet them.

***

Chapter 80

#elain #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #elriel #pro elriel #elain x azriel #elain will always be loved by me 🥰

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seleneprince · 2 months ago

Text

A Court of Shadows and Blood Chapter 1

Prologue

Nesta already expected the worst when she set off for the Wall.

But she couldn't have ever imagined this.

She's laying in a pristine, king-sized bed with sheets made of the most exquisite silk her skin has ever touched, in the middle of a massive room with some lit candles floating around, giving off an mysterious allure to the place. In theory, this should be a dream come true.

Except it's not.

Nesta grits her teeth, tugging futilely against the chain that keeps her bound to the bed by the ankle. The metal bites into her skin, and she feels the sting of each small movement, a constant reminder of her captivity. The luxury of the room, which once would've made her swoon, only added fuel to her anger now.

The elegance, the refined decoration around her felt like a mockery of her situation.

She scans the room, searching for anything that might help her break the cursed chain. The candles that hover mid-air cast a soft, golden glow, and the shadows they create dance across the stone ceiling. There are no windows, so the only exit is the door. Not that it matters; even if she managed to break free from the chain, there's no telling what—or who—would await her out there.

Her thoughts drift back to that damned Fae male, the one who’d dragged her here. His sharp, predatory smile, the cold amusement in his voice as he taunted her. She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her chin, the way his magic had restrained her so effortlessly. A shiver runs through her at the memory, but she quickly suppresses it, forcing herself to think clearly. She can’t panic. Panic is useless.

She pulls at the chain again, testing its strength, but it doesn't give, and her skin is already red from the many previous attempts. Frustration bubbles inside her, and she digs her nails into her palms, trying to keep her mind from spiraling. There has to be a way out of this. There always is.

She tries to think what would Feyre do. Knowing that little beast, she probably would've found a way out of this already, and the thought makes her heart ache.

Feyre. Wild, unruly, stupidly brave Feyre. Her little sister who took the burden that belonged to their father and carried the family on her shoulders since they arrived to that filthy cottage. Her sister, who in her task to bring them food, provoked a powerful Fae beast and was taken away from her house in front of them. In front of Nesta.

It had been worse when she realized neither Elain or their useless father knew the truth . The next day, Nesta was subjected to excited talks about how lucky Feyre have been to be taken by some rich aunt Nesta knew nothing of, how some winter breeze had shattered their door. It got to the point Nesta really thought she was going mad, that what she vividly remembered from that night never happened. But whenever these thoughts pestered her, she looked at claws marked on the table, and knew she was right.

Then that weird stranger appeared at their door and asked their father to invest his money for him with a too good of an offer. And when money started pouring in like old times, allowing them to move to a beautiful mansion, Nesta snapped. She couldn't handle living in that bubble of deceit her family seemed blissfully trapped in.

Her sister had been stolen away that night, yet everything went on as if it had never happened. It wasn’t right. It was utterly, completely wrong. And she was the only one aware of it.

Nesta decided it right there and then. She went up to that mercenary from town and hired her to act as guide through the unfamiliar winter woods. Towards the Wall. The woman insisted there was no way through, but Nesta was determined. That Fae had to go through that way to take Feyre with him. There had to be some kind of entrance. A hidden path, or a secret door. Something.

Then she heard a voice, calling her from afar—a soft, indecipherable echo that sounded a bit too much like Feyre, making her walk towards it without hesitation. Had she stopped to think for a second, Nesta would've have realized that the air was filled with the same energy as that Fae's spell at the cottage, which, for some reason, didn’t affect her in the slightest.

But she was tired and eager to see Feyre again, to bring her back home once and for all. Whatever shields had protected her before against the influence of a Fae had weakened. And before she realized it, a blinding light struck her face with force, making her trip and stumble backward. She opened her eyes to a dark forest that looked straight out of a nightmare, with no sight of Feyre or the mercenary.

She fell into a trap. Probably set up by the same horrible Fae that cornered her. Or maybe it had been her imagination, a product of her stressed mind leading her to disaster.

It doesn't matter anymore.

With a deep breath, she refocuses, taking in her surroundings once more. If she can figure out where she is—or at least what he wants from her—she might be able to turn the situation in her favor. She’s survived worse odds on her way to the Wall. And she refuses to be a helpless, weak girl to be saved by someone else. Not anymore.

Suddenly, the candles go off and the whole room is coveted in darkness. Nesta grasps the bedsheets instinctively, as her eyes can no longer see what's around her. She needs to ground herself, ignore the strong drumming of her heart that resonates in the room through the heavy silence that reigns now.

She goes still, blood freezing in her body. There's no way to know what's happening and it drives her mad. ¿Has her time finally come? Has that twisted man grown sick of keeping her alive? She still remembers the stories told of what happens to the humans in Prythian. Ripped apart and their remains wasting in some Fae's stomach. Is this how it ends for her, really?

Her body shivers. Something has moved right besides her. She holds her breath, waiting for her painful demise.

"Did you miss me, dear?"

It takes her some seconds to recognize the voice. Her fear is guttered with a wave of rage when that bastard chuckles.

The fireplace crackles with a burst of flames, bringing some light back to the room. Nesta makes a show of slowly turning her heard towards him, as if he's the most uninteresting thing here.

He stands there, leaning casually against the bed post, his silhouette outlined by the flickering flames. That damnable smirk is plastered on his face, his eyes glinting with mischief as he watches her reaction. He looks far too pleased with himself, like a cat that’s cornered a mouse, and she feels the urge to strangle him with the chain.

“Sorry, did I scare you? Forgive me.” he asks, voice low and mocking. “You looked so... tense. I wanted to surprise you.” He takes a step closer, his boots silent against the polished floor, the shadows curling around his feet like living things.

Nesta’s hands grip the sheets tighter, her nails digging into the fabric as she forces herself to maintain her composure. She can't let him see how shaken she is, how his little game rattled her. Instead, she cocks her head, falling back into the cold indifference that's part of her.

“What do you want now?” she snaps, her voice harsher than she intends, but it’s better than letting him hear her true emotions. “If you plan to kill me, just do it already. You're wasting both of our times.”

He laughs, the sound rich and infuriating, filling the space between them. “Now, where would be the fun in that, dear? Specially after the trouble it took to bring you here.” He takes another step forward , the firelight casting sharp angles across his face, highlighting the dangerous amusement in his expression. “You’re far too interesting to rot so soon. You see, it gets rather boring around here, day after day, and you'll help me with that."

She feels the chain tug against her ankle as she instinctively tries to shift back, the bite of metal sending a jolt of pain up her leg. She grits her teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her wince. Instead, she meets his gaze head-on, letting her fury show. “You should look for better hobbies."

He shrugs, the motion casual, but she catches the glint of menace beneath the veneer of nonchalance. “Maybe, but you're the first thing to truly entertain me in fifty years. You ought to be worried that it remains that way, little thing. If you can't, well..."

He doesn't continue, but Nesta knows what he means. If she can't be of use to him, there's no point in letting her live then. She's stuck being his personal plaything, and expected to act accordingly, or else she'll die. She doesn't know how it is dying by a Fae's hands but she knows it won't be merciful in her case. He'll take his time with her, surely to amuse himself until the end.

He squints his eyes at her, burrows furrowing. His expression turns more serious, focused even. As if he's trying to find something in her.

Nesta doesn't look away, shoving her fear back down from the millionth time and pulling of every fiber of stubborness within her to stand her ground.

He huffs. Then leans his knee on the bed, slowly moving closer to her until his face hovers inches above hers, the heat of his breath mingling with her own. She lays back on her hands, her breath falling short when she realizes she's caged between him and the damn bed. His violet eyes are piercing her, staring at her unblinking.

Nesta's heart stutters in her chest, but keeps her expression locked in a mask of indifference.

The bed dips slightly under his weight as he inches closer, the shadows casting dark, flickering shapes across his already inhuman features. Her pulse pounds in her ears, each beat echoing in the silence that hangs between them. But she refuses to flinch, refuses to give him any satisfaction of seeing how vulnerable she feels.

"Interesting," he mutters, cocking his head slightly. "I can't hear you at all."

Nesta frowns, reading his comment as another mockering, but pauses when a flash of confusion blinks in his eyes for a second.

"What do you-?"

"I felt something was off earlier, but I didn't think-" he shakes his head, somehow without interrupting his intense stare. "Sweet Mother, you're full of surprises."

Nesta blinks, unable to hide her confusion at the moment. He seems to notice and lets out a light chuckle. A sound almost human.

"Let me guess, do you see through glamours too by chance?" A hint of genuine curiosity in his voice, as if he's just asking about the color of her dress.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She doesn't like this. It feels like he's figuring out something about herself that she doesn't know. It unsettles her.

He lifts a groomed, dark brow. "Have you ever witnessed something really strange that you had no explanation for, but no one else noticed? Things that just didn't make sense in your mind?"

A shattered door. Claw marks on the table. A rich aunt Nesta never heard of before but suddenly everyone knows.

A roaring beast that steals little sisters away in front of their families and no one else remembers.

Her mouth dries up.

"What do you mean?" She manages to get out.

He clicks his tongue. "Stop it. You know exactly what I mean, don't you?"

"Frankly, I don't understand a single thing you say or do. Nor I want to."

He purses his lip. "I could peel your skin off from talking to me like that, little thing."

She gulps, lifting her chin up. "And what's stopping you?"

He sits up, creating some distance between them. Nesta feels like she can breathe again.

"There are better ways to discipline pets. Besides," he drawls. "I'll hate to spill blood in my bed."

She grits her teeth, terror and rage tangled within her. Of course, that would be the main concern for an egotistical, twisted monster like him.

Wait.

He said his bed.

Suddenly, the chain feels like it’s burning, and not because she’s pulling it. A wave of shame, disgust, and fury creeps over her skin.

"You son of a bitch." She doesn't even think how improper it is to curse like that, how dissapointed her mother would be. She lunges at him, catching him by surprise enough to wrap her hands around his throat.

Blood is rushing to her ears. His bed. He chained her up to his bed. It all dawns to her. Calling her pet. All those suggestive taunts. Getting all over her personal space.

It seems like men are all the same, regardless of the race.

She won't let it happen. Absolutely not. He's writhing under her, grabbing her wrists painfully hard, but she ignores it. He didn't see it coming, which gives Nesta the advantage she needs.

She'll kill him before he gets to lay a singer finger on her. Fae, deadly as they are, are still made of skin that can bleed. And bones that can be broken.

Nesta's fingers dig into his throat, her nails pressing against his skin as she leans all her weight into her grip. Her pulse thunders in her ears, drowning out everything but the single-minded determination to stop him—forever. The fury coursing through her is a potent fire, pushing aside all rational thought.

He snarls beneath her, his fingers biting into her wrists in an attempt to pry her hands away, but she holds on with a ferocity that surprises them both. His skin is warm beneath her touch, too human for someone like him. The thought only fuels her, and she presses harder, her knuckles whitening with the strain.

"Enough," he growls, his voice tight, his eyes darkening with anger. But she doesn’t stop; she won’t stop. She’ll make him pay for every single one of his twisted words, his taunts, his degradation. She’s done letting men think they have any right over her.

A flicker of something flashes in his eyes—understanding? Perhaps even a touch of respect? But he grins up at her, a cruel, sharp smile that twists his handsome face into something chilling. With a swift, forceful move, he shifts beneath her, breaking her hold and pinning her wrists above her head with ease, trapping her in place beneath him.

Nesta resists with all her desesperation, kicking and scratching, her efforts becoming obviously futile. He has an inhuman strenght, not to mention his powers, but it'll be a cold day in hell before she gives up.

"Well, well," he murmurs, a wicked grin in his mouth, "and here I thought you couldn't surprise me more."

She glares up at him, her fury still burning, her breathing ragged, unyielding. She feels no regret. Whatever happens now, she'll face it with dignity.

His grip tightens, but she doesn't waver.

"You think you’re so brave, right?" he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. It’s almost gentle, deceptively soft, but she can hear the threat coiling beneath it. She pissed him off.

He leans in close, the shadow of his breath against her cheek. His lips brush her ear as he speaks, the touch so light it’s barely there. "But I wonder… how much of that is real? And how much is just an act to protect your pride?"

Nesta swallows, her throat suddenly dry, but she manages to keep her voice steady. "Why don’t you try me and find out?" she bites out, her tone cold and daring, even as she feels the tremor building in her hands.

It's foolish, really. She has no way of defending herself, even if she wasn't chained. There's nothing for him to find out.

His smile widens, and she hates how he seems to find this all so amusing—how he treats her defiance as a game rather than a challenge. But there's a shift in his gaze then, something darker and more dangerous than the playful facade he’s kept up until now. His hand comes up to her face, but instead of grabbing her harshly, he traces a finger along her jawline, a feather-light touch that makes her skin prickle. Not entirely by fear.

She hates it.

"I just might, dear," he says, his voice dropping an octave, turning into a low, velvety purr. "But don’t worry… I’ve got all the time in the world."

She can feel the chain around her ankle pulling taut as she instinctively tries to edge away, but she forces herself to stop. Refuses to give him any hint of how much his words have shaken her.

Nesta matches his gaze with all the fire she can muster, letting her fury rise to the surface.

"All the time in the world to be disappointed, then," she hisses, eyes blazing as she looks into his, lifting her chin up. "Because you’ll get nothing from me. I'll never give you anything."

A beat of silence passes, and for the first time, she sees his expression falter, just slightly—a flash of something inscrutable crossing his features. His fingers pause against her skin, the warmth of his touch lingering as he studies her with an intensity that makes her feel as though he’s peeling away every layer of her resolve. Seeing through her.

But then, just as quickly, the mask of amusement returns, and he leans back, releasing the tension between them.

"Of course," he says simply, rising back to his knees. His voice carries a note of satisfaction, a promise of further games to come. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

He steps back from the bed, leaving her with the firelight casting long shadows across his retreating form. She can only stare at him, words dead in her throat.

"You can have the bed. Don't worry, we won't share it. I barely use it anyway."

He shoves his hands down his pockets, walking away in a nonchalant way. He turns his head at her one last time, his eyes connecting with hers. Something shifts in the air.

Nesta tenses.

"By the way," he snapped his fingers. "There. A little gift—for having the balls to try that."

It's only when he shuts the door behind him when she looks at the gift.

A trail of warm food placed in the table right besides the bed. Just by the smell alone, Nesta can tell last time she ate something like that was when her mother was still alive.

Hesitantly, she reaches out, fingers trembling as they brush against the edge of the tray. Her gaze remains fixed on the door, as if he might return any moment to snatch it all away, or mock her for daring to accept his so-called gift.

She picks up a piece of bread, bringing it to her lips, and nearly flinches at the warmth, at how it softens the edge of her hunger. She forgot how it was. The water is cool, soothing her parched throat, and each bite steadies her just a little more.

As she munches eagerly, a realization hits her:

She doesn't even know his name.

#btw if you can't tell #this is going to be a retelling of the hades and persephone myth #rhysand is going to be a little shit as well but that's how i like him #nesta and feyre are made of the same fire #it just comes out differently in each of them #nesta's violent reaction comes from a recent traumatizing event that's confirmed in the books and i've hinted in her thoughts #guess what #rhysta #acosab #rhysand x nesta #rhysand #nesta archeron #acotar #acotar au #acotar fanfic #pro nesta archeron #if it isn't obvious #also pro rhysand but only because he's going to be an asshole and the narrative won't paint him as a saint #a court of shadows and blood

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saraannereads · 7 months ago

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Elain's Version, an ACOSF BC Winter Solstice Fic

Thank you to everyone who left love on the first 2 paragraphs of my Elain Archeron centered fic! I've made minor edits and added a bit more to the work in progress here. My goal for this fic is to get to know Elain and really dive into her emotional state and inner thoughts as she deals with her feelings for Azriel and his rejection on Winter Solstice.

Comments and suggestions are always welcome and encouraged! Let me know if you have any questions, anything you want me to elaborate on or explore more.

@elriel-month

A Court of Silver Flames Winter Solstice Bonus Chapter (Elain’s Version)

This was a mistake

Elain could not believe what she was hearing. Azriel pulled away from her and visibly stiffened. How could this be a mistake? Had she imagined things between them? She could not shake the feeling that they had a connection, one she felt so deep within her that it was as though it flowed through her veins. When she looked at him and their gazes met, a sensation like electricity sparked within her entire body. She wanted him. She wanted him. She. Wanted. Him. And yet, he was standing before her telling her what nearly happened between them was a mistake. The first time there had ever been any unrestricted touching was an error. That she was a mistake.

She couldn’t breathe, like the very air in her lungs had been stolen. Searing pain struck her in the chest; every ache of this agony in her heart like a series of physical blows. Her tears welled, but she would not let him see just how badly he had hurt her. Elain tried to compose herself, tried not to let her face betray the convoluted emotions inside of her. And Azriel was looking at her with pity. And damn if that didn’t make her angry. No, she would not be pitied anymore. She was not something to pity, not by anyone and especially not by him.

He was speaking to her in his soft voice, a voice so few knew, but she couldn’t understand him. He may as well have been speaking another language. She wanted to tell him not to bother, to turn and run to her room. But in an instant, he was gone, and she was alone. As alone as she had felt in those initial moments after being thrown out of the cauldron and knowing there would be no turning back time. There would be no going back.

Elain didn’t know how long she had been staring at the spot where Azriel had stood. Something caught in the corner of her eye, pulling her from her reverie. The sounds of the night permeated the room, the fire crackling and winds outside picking up. Perhaps this had all been a dream, a hazy figment of a vision. Elain blinked, and realization dawned on her –this wasn’t a dream.

In the dead of night, when she thought everyone was asleep, she had snuck down from her room to leave her solstice gift for Azriel amid his other presents. She didn’t expect him to still be awake and looking at her as though he could see inside of her, his warring emotions laid bare for only her to see. When she learned he had also gotten her a present – a beautiful stained glass rose necklace – her heart damn near burst out of her chest from her happiness. Elain audibly exhaled, crestfallen and utterly exhausted as she went over every detail in her mind and made her way back to her room.

More to come, my loves! And thank you to @violetasteracademic for her continued encouragement!

#elrielmonth24 #elrielmonth2024 #acosf bonus chapter #pro elriel #pro elain #elain archeron #elriel fic #elriel endgame #pro elain archeron #elain x azriel #elriel

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velidewrites · 11 months ago

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Don’t Look Back

Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year. When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.

Chapter 3/15 || Read on AO3 || Go to Chapter 1

Lucien did not realise he had fallen asleep in Greysen Nolan’s jacket. It was the stiff, navy fabric that had stirred him awake, digging mercilessly into his underarms. Greysen’s build had not been frail by any means, Lucien was reasonable enough to admit—but he was also vain enough to decide that, whatever physical training the lordling had undergone in his youth, it could hardly compare to the decades Lucien had devoted to hunting in the forest.

It felt good to be back, strangely. He even missed the wet, cold ground that was currently serving as his bed, despite the undoubtedly luxurious chambers he could have had at the Archeron Manor in New Prythian. After witnessing the grandiose of the engagement ceremony, Lucien suspected the Merchant was a man who valued appearances above all else, which surely must have included appropriate accommodations for his son-in-law never to be.

Oh, well.

He would mourn the plush mattresses and feathery pillows later. There was something about being back in Old Prythian that filled Lucien with relief. A faint trace of magic still lingered here—untainted magic, so unlike the Merchant’s precious artifacts, all bearing a familiar, human stench. Here, in the forest he’d grown up in, Lucien could smell the Old Magic in the mossy earth, however wet it was. With the spring nearing its full bloom, the remaining signs of winter had almost melted away.

When he was younger, Eris would often tell him of the power that had once kept the seasons unchanged. In this part of the island, magic had stood still—the forests of Braemar had always grown in shades of auburn and gold, the waves warming the shores of Adriata had never reflected so much as a cloud above, and the lakes of the North had been nothing but pale, blue ice. Parts of New Prythian, Eris had told him, used to be nothing but rolling green hills, ruffled by a gentle, spring breeze. Today, they had become towns, industries—homes the humans had stolen from the Fae and made into their own, just like everything else.

The High Lords keeping that magic alive were long gone, though. Autumns in Braemar had become rainy and bleak, even the occasional sunlight somewhat pale as it peered through the trees. As if the very sun itself had fallen ill to the human sickness.

There was no sun shining above Lucien, though, as he made his way through the camp. The path snaked down to where he knew his brother would be—right by the stream’s muddy shore, the gentle whoosh of the running water muffling the voices ahead.

Thankfully, the sturdy bark of an oak tree provided Lucien with enough shelter to eavesdrop. Eris may have been family and—Lucien thought with some bite—his direct superior, but that didn’t mean the prick ever felt inclined to make Lucien privy to his plans and schemes.

And if there was one enemy the Vanserras had never quite managed to conquer, it was curiosity.

“…understand,” a familiar, male voice reached him, barely audible despite Lucien’s Fae hearing, as if its owner had deliberately hidden it in the crinkles of the water. Lucien’s attention strained. “I should have been made aware of the plan, and you know it.”

Lucien rolled his eyes—though the knowledge that even Azriel was not always entitled to Eris’s designs did, admittedly, provide him with some consolation. He leaned in a few inches to study the male, finding his tattooed arms crossed in expectation—and a pair of those menacing, bat-like wings tucked in almost as tight as his lips.

“And you know how important it was that the details of the plan remained discreet,” Eris responded, head angling slightly as he searched Azriel’s gaze.

“By the Cauldron, Eris.” Azriel shifted on his feet, those wings rustling heavily behind him. “I had no idea you would actually kidnap the girl.” Those strange, smoky shadows slithered around his feet—as though in agreement.

From the shelter of his tree, Lucien could practically hear his brother roll his amber eyes. “She’s fine, is she not?” Eris shrugged, his tone hardly inviting an answer as he surveyed the darkness slowly climbing Azriel’s broad frame. Then, “Why do you care so much?” he questioned.

Azriel sighed deeply. “I just…” A pause—as though he was weighing the risk those next words could carry. “I don’t like it when you don’t tell me things,” he finally said.

That makes two of us, Lucien thought bitterly.

He glimpsed a hint of a smile on Eris’s freckled face. “Well,” his brother countered, “I’m not exactly in the business of sharing my secrets with pretty shadowsingers.”

Lucien stifled a groan.

The shadows behind Azriel’s arms curled, the corner of his mouth following suit. “Pretty, huh?”

Eris opened his mouth—no doubt to tease his spymaster even further—but then Azriel halted, the smile dying on his lips before it ever truly began as he turned to the darkness whispering to his ear.

Great.

“We have company,” he told Eris, his expression sour.

His cover well and truly blown, Lucien stepped out of his hiding. “Took you long enough,” he said in a manner of greeting, reaching the pair in four long strides and turning towards Eris. “You may wish to reconsider your choice of a spymaster, brother. I can’t say I’m very impressed,” he added, not gracing Azriel with another look.

Eris crossed his arms, the bronze of his jacket catching some of that pale sunlight. “How fortunate for me that I make decisions here, not you,” he said, his tone carrying enough of a bite that Lucien braced himself for the earful he was no doubt about to receive later.

Eris turned to Azriel. “I’ll speak with you back at base,” he said, the words apparently enough of a dismissal.

Azriel’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Make sure that you do,” was his only reply, and he moved to walk away.

A few of his shadows lingered in place for a moment—as if hesitating. Only when Eris cast them a look Lucien couldn’t quite discern did they skitter back, happily following the quiet steps of their master.

Lucien arched an eyebrow at the strange scene. “Trouble in paradise?”

Eris’s attention cut to him. “You do not question me in front of my subordinates.” His brother’s face may as well have been set in stone. “Understand?”

“I do,” Lucien agreed. “That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t trust him.”

Eris straightened. “Azriel has been with us for six months now, and has proven invaluable to our efforts.”

“Six months is nothing,” Lucien countered. “What was he doing for the five centuries before?”

Eris ran a hand through his hair, the auburn glistening with the movement like liquid metal—Lucien couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it long and draped over his back. Eris had cut it shortly after Azriel’s arrival, he supposed, realising the past six months had indeed somehow managed to have stretched into near eternity. “I thought he was dead, Lucien,” Eris said, his voice tight. “The War took so many. His entire family is gone—they have been for a while. You want to know what he’s been doing since then?” he asked, and when Lucien offered no answer, he added, “The same thing as us. Trying to survive.”

“Strange that he’s chosen to survive with us, of all people,” Lucien grumbled, more to himself now than Eris.

His brother watched him closely. “There aren’t many of us left. I doubt he’s had a selection of choices,” he added. “Besides, he is of use to me.”

“I’ll bet he is.”

“Watch it,” Eris warned, a bright-red flame flickering in his eyes. “Or I’ll think you’re suggesting something.”

Lucien couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “Oh, I am,” he assured him. “I’m suggesting you’ve never been very good at keeping a sound judgement around your, ah…what did you call him?” He made a show of considering, letting his long claws drum on his crossed arms. “Oh, yes. Subordinates,” he finished with a smile he could only hope portrayed his smugness appropriately..

Eris’s gaze narrowed. “Excuse me if I don’t take your concerns to heart, little brother,” he said slowly, dragging out those last two words as if they were no more than an insult. “Your judgement has hardly been exemplary in recent days.”

“My judgement has been nothing short of impeccable,” Lucien huffed.

“I’m sure,” Eris crooned, a shit-eating grin sprawling on his own face. “Strange how Elain Archeron passed out on her father’s floor from one simple kiss on the hand,” he mused. “Unless, of course,” he added, “it wasn’t her hand you kissed.”

Bastard. “Are you questioning me, Eris?”

“Your ability to follow orders?” Eris asked. “Always.”

“I did follow orders,” Lucien pressed. “Nuan must have been wrong about the dosage,” he added, praying to the Mother and all her small mercies Eris hadn’t caught the hesitation in his voice.

Strangely, though, the Mother had never seen too merciful wherever Lucien was concerned. Most of the time, he could handle it: the anger, the frustration, the fighting. But there was just something about the disappointment in Eris’s face that made Lucien’s insides shrink with guilt as his brother told him, “Nuan has not been wrong once in the four hundred years I’ve known her.” A truth if Lucien had ever heard one—a rarity Eris was offering him. “She’s saved your life on more than one occasion,” he continued. “You’d do better showing her work some respect.”

Blaming it on Nuan had been wrong, and Lucien was no less of a bastard than Eris for it. But Lucien had worked too hard for this assignment, had spent too many decades fighting to be seen by Eris as more than a liability and a painful reminder of the family they’d left behind that he grabbed on to whatever lies he could to not be tossed aside again.

Perhaps that was precisely why even the Mother herself had abandoned him.

He wasn’t sure what to say—wasn’t sure if there was anything to say, in truth. He simply watched the stream ahead, unable to drag his gaze back to Eris’s as if its weight was too much for him to carry.

Eris relieved him of the burden. “Is she awake?” he asked, whatever emotion creeping in his tone earlier now replaced entirely by the voice Lucien had come to know far better. A Commander’s voice—a leader’s.

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Lucien simply replied, his voice as hollow as the echo the river carried into the forest.

“And the camp?” Eris pressed. “We should get moving within the hour.”

“Not nearly packed.” The small legion they’d taken to New Prythian with them had still been mid-breakfast when Lucien exited his tent.

Eris sighed. “Excellent,” he said, and from the corner of his eye, Lucien made out two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go help Nuan in her tent,” Eris instructed, Lucien’s shoulders straightening at the command. It was easier this way—to fall into the roles they’d been acting for as long as Lucien could remember. He finally turned to Eris, then, offering a short nod of acknowledgement.

I’ll get everybody else on their feet,” Eris added, half-looking over his shoulder as if his Fae eyesight could still somehow see the camp ahead. “I will notify you when she is awake.”

“Oh, good,” Lucien grumbled. Seeing her was exactly what he needed to make his morning even more miserable.

Still, he could’ve sworn a shadow of a smile passed through Eris’s face. “Lighten up, little brother,” he told him, reaching towards Lucien’s shoulder to fix some phantom crinkle in Greysen Nolan’s jacket. “I’m sure your fiancée will be delighted to speak with you.”

***

Elain dreamt of eyes so blue they must have been crafted from raw, hardened ice—frozen somewhere deep beneath a lake, perhaps never to come alive again.

She tried to reach for them, as if to make sure they truly were beyond saving, and yet every attempt at caressing their owner’s face only seemed to push her farther and farther away. Elain opened her mouth to call out his name, to cry out in desperation, but found her throat frozen, too, something like frost slowly creeping its way up the cords of her voice.

“Greysen,” she rasped, the word more a gargle than the syllables making up his name.

He heard, though, if the shift in those eyes was any indication. The ice cracked—snapped in half, ready to shatter into a thousand pieces—and revealed the true colours pouring out of the man’s piercing gaze. A liquid flame, a symphony of reds, golds and oranges, burning so bright Elain had to squint lest it blinded her entirely. She could practically feel it on her skin, feel the promise of its warm embrace as it moved in closer, closer…

The fire crackled—and Elain sat upright, the sound violently ripping her from sleep.

“I’m afraid Greysen is not here, Lady Archeron,” a smooth, male voice reached her. “A true disappointment, I’m sure.”

Elain blinked—then blinked again as she realised she had woken up from one nightmare to another.

She was in a tent, of some sorts. The canvas was roughened with what had to have been weeks, if not months of travel, yellowed by grass at the edges and stained with old, dried-out mud. In some places, Elain’s sleep-dusted sight managed to spot specks of a rusted shade of red, the unmistakable proof that blood had been spilled within the tent’s constraints on more than one occasion. Elain’s blood was likely to be next, if the owner of her newfound lodging was any indication.

The man half-leaning on the wooden pillar was smirking down on her, his mouth curled in a way that could only mean Elain was in more trouble than she had anticipated. It wasn’t his expression she deemed as her immediate concern, though—no, it was the actual, living fire blazing from his freckled, open palm, casting dancing shadows over the canvas beside them.

It was then that she noticed his long, arched ears, the hint of long, sharpened canines peering from that smirk of his. The fire was not burning him at all—it seemed to yield to his command, in fact, like a pet would submit to its master. In that moment, Elain also realised he was standing rather dangerously close to the flammable structure, even as he himself appeared entirely unbothered about the fact.

Elain swallowed something heavy in her throat. “You—” she tried, then cleared her throat. “You’re Fae.”

The faerie’s smile widened. High Fae, Elain understood, inspecting his every movement, every flick of fingers as the flames in his hand chased each other happily. “A cunning observation,” he noted, then looked to that magical fire of his. “And they say humans are short on wit these days,” he muttered, as though he was addressing those flames directly.

She must have been going insane. There was no other explanation—she was just at the ball back home, her own engagement celebration, kissing Greysen Nolan like her whole life depended on him. On her fiancé.

Right now, it seemed that her life was entirely in someone else’s hands.

She swallowed again. Hard. “Are you planning to kill me?”

“Planning,” the High Fae mused, his gaze still transfixed on his hand. “Plans, Lady Archeron, are very much like this fire.” The flames danced again in confirmation. “Unpredictable. Ever-changing. Easy to slip out of control…” The fire blazed, and Elain’s body moved back an inch of its own volition, and the man found her eyes at that. “If wielded by the wrong hand,” he finished, that secretive smile making its way back onto his lips.

“You’re the man in charge, I take it,” Elain simply said.

His eyes, like liquid amber in light of his magic, narrowed on her slightly. “Male,” he corrected, apparently offended by her words. “I am hardly the animal you mistake me for,” he added, that former aloofness returning to his tone. “But yes. I am.”

Excellent. “What did you do to Greysen?” she asked.

The man hummed, bouncing off the pillar at last. His flames skittered with the movement, then vanished entirely as he crossed his lean, muscled arms. As if they never existed in the first place. “I didn’t do anything to your pretty little fiancé,” he said, and, even though he hadn’t so much as moved a step closed toward her, Elain found herself pulling back.

“But you gave the order.”

He waved a hand. “Semantics.”

“Is he…” She couldn’t bear the question—not when the answer seemed so obvious. “Is he dead, then?” she managed.

“Oh, yes,” the man answered as though it was the weather she’d just asked him about, not the death of another man. “I am told he was rather easy to kill.” He met her gaze. “It was a swift and merciful death, if it brings you any comfort.”

It was as if all the air was knocked out of her lungs, a fire of her own replacing it completely—simmering, threatening to boil over. “Comfort?” Elain asked, the anger now rising through her throat. “You ruined my future!”

Not once did she ever imagine she would yell at a faerie and live to tell the tale. Perhaps she wouldn’t.

But all the man—male—did was scoff, looking at her in a way that made her wish she had canines of her own, if only to rip his throat out. “And what a bright future it was,” he said. “Married off and shipped to the far side of the world to be nothing but a weak lordling’s broodmare.” Something darkened in those eyes as he added, “I’ve seen it happen before. Trust me, such stories do not end well.”

“I would rather die than trust you,” Elain spat.

He studied his nails, short and perfectly trimmed. “That can be arranged.”

“You know nothing about Greysen Nolan.”

Something like amusement crept into his face. “Don’t I?” he asked. “I know more about your fiancé than you can imagine, Lady Archeron. I’d care to explain had you not just so loudly declared your distrust of me,” he added, his eyes returning to picking some invisible grain of dirt off his immaculate hands.

Elain found herself seething. “How dare—”

“Not another step.”

It wasn’t the bastard’s voice that had warned her, though—and perhaps it was what made her stop dead in her tracks.

Elain hadn’t even realised she’d rose from her bed at some point in her anger until a figure appeared before her, so large and imposing it nearly blocked everything else from view. She had never seen a man so—

Wings. He had wings.

Elain was going to die today.

“I am handling the situation, Azriel,” the fiery male said from behind him, his voice dropping to a lazy drawl.

If she was going to die, she might as well have gotten the last word. “I am not some object for you to handle,” Elain spat.

The male chuckled. “She’s feisty,” he said, auburn hair glistening with the shake of his head. “I must admit I’m growing quite fond of your company, Lady Archeron.”

“She’s his daughter,” the winged male—Azriel—rumbled, his voice like thunder in a midnight storm. “For all we know, she could be hiding ash weapons beneath her skirts,” he added, a disgusted grimace twisting his otherwise beautiful face.

Elain sucked in a breath. “You—”

“She isn’t,” the other male said, stepping closer towards them, Azriel’s wings rustling back as if to make space. “We had her searched,” he explained to his companion.

“You what?” Elain whirled to him, heat flaring red in her chest, her face. “You dared to—”

“I thought we’ve established I am not the monster you think me for,” the male told her, something like distaste filling his features. “I did not come near your tent until a few moments ago.”

“But someone did.” Someone had been in here while Elain had been sleeping,

He sighed deeply, Azriel’s gaze finally leaving Elain’s to dart towards the sound. “You’ll meet her soon. Have you not realised you’re not wearing the ballgown from the night before?”

“I—”

“Humans,” he sighed again, then turned to Azriel. “Did you have something to report, or are you just here to disturb me?”

Azriel’s wings shifted heavily behind him. “My job is to protect you, Eris.” That must have been the leader’s name. Elain catalogued it in the corners of her mind—in case the Queens of old somehow kept her in their favour, she would report it to the Governor once she escaped.

“Your job is to be my spy,” Eris told him, something in his stare telling Elain he didn’t exactly appreciate Azriel betraying his name, either. Still, he turned to Elain, smiling as though they were no more than two old friends catching up. “Illyrians can be so overprotective.”

Elain stilled. “Illyrians?”

I can already imagine his eyes light up as I hand him the pair of wings your sister had sent in from Hybern, her father’s letter said.

Azriel moved quicker than time itself.

In one moment, he stood right before her, the edge of his right wing nearing Eris’s shoulder, the perfect picture of his leader’s protector. The next, she felt a dark breeze whoosh past her, and a heavy, menacing presence appearing behind her—and a strange, cold pressure on her neck.

Azriel’s voice was colder than ice as the sharp edge of his knife grazed Elain’s throat. “Tell me what you know.”

It looked like she wasn’t getting out of here alive after all. “N-nothing,” she uttered, suddenly very aware of her heart thudding through every vein in her body. “Please.”

The knife did not move.

“Azriel,” Eris’s voice reached her, but even less than two feet away from her, he still seemed too far. As though Azriel had pulled her underwater, and, whatever Eris’s command was, it could not swim deep enough to reach them in time. “Azriel.”

But then the fire crackled again, the same snapping sound that had pulled her from her sleep, and everything ended as soon as it began.

Elain gasped, a long, raspy breath pouring into her chest, her lungs, her neck suddenly free of the cold steel and its owner. She blinked the blurriness away, like a fog lifting itself off her gaze, and Azriel appeared before her again, wings tucked in tight as he sheathed his blade somewhere deep into the leathers on his back.

For a male who played with fire, Eris’s stare was nothing but pure darkness as he looked at Azriel. “I think it’s time for you to go,” he said, no trace of that former theatrical laziness lingering in his tone.

A muscle jutted in Azriel’s powerful jaw. “Fine,” he grumbled at last, then dared another glance at Elain. “But I want to interrogate her later.”

“We’ll see,” Eris said, the words sounding too much like an agreement.

Panic rose through her again. “No,” Elain protested. “No, you will not—”

“See,” Eris turned to her, auburn brows knitting in a frown. “Now you’ve frightened our guest.”

“She has no reason to be afraid,” Azriel said. “Yet,” he added, meeting her gaze directly.

Elain felt her stomach tighten.

Perhaps, if she retched her guts out in front of their feet, they would let her go. What could a pair of Fae killers want with her, anyway? She was the Merchant’s daughter, but without him as a prisoner by her side, Elain was nothing. Had nothing. Anything they might have wanted from her father was left behind in the Manor—days away from wherever they’d hidden her, according to Eris, at least. So why was Elain here?

“She’s not afraid, shadowsinger,” someone said from behind Azriel’s wings—someone so familiar Elain nearly stopped breathing again. “No, I think our little fawn is angry.”

She knew that voice—deep and honeyed, the same way his hands felt on her waist when he’d pulled her closer into his arms, the same way his lips tasted as she searched them with her own. It was impossible—it had to be—but Elain peered over Azriel’s shoulder all the same.

Eris had told her he was dead. Killed, quickly and without hesitation.

And yet here he stood, in the same navy-blue jacket that offset his long, auburn waves the night before, the golden gleam in his eyes that reminded her of sunlight as they met her own. Beautiful.

Alive.

“Greysen?” Elain breathed.

Greysen smiled, then—and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

She wasn’t sure she would ever breathe again as a pair of canines, so similar to Eris’s yet even sharper, somehow, flashed at her from the smile. As a hand, broad and strong as it led her through last night’s dance, rose to run long talons through his hair, to tuck a loose strand of it behind an unmistakably arched ear. As the male she thought was a man looked at her in a way that told her everything she knew about him was a lie.

“Not exactly, Princess,” he purred.

“There you are,” Eris drawled like the world hasn’t just collapsed around them. “Lady Archeron,” he turned to her at that, “allow me to introduce to you my younger brother. Meet Lucien Vanserra, Seventh Son of the Autumn Court, Lieutenant of the Golden Leaf and former courtier and emissary.”

Elain could’ve sworn a mockery of a smile bloomed on Eris’s lips as he added, “And, evidently, your betrothed.”

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #my writing

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azulyrae · 2 years ago

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— Azriel/Reader Idea.

Right, so, I just finished the ACOTAR books, and came up with something. Although I don't like establishing characteristics to the Reader, this specific idea would need it for this to work.

Basically, Reader is the oldest Archeron sister. Now, I know this is over-used, but walk with me. Reader has always been quick-witted and socially aware, to the point where she was expected to inherit her father's business as the Prince of Merchants. During poverty, she learned that her words could no longer provide for her family, and had to resort to a brothel instead, a part of her life that left severe mental scars.

The Cauldron gave Elain's powers as a gift; it had powers stolen from Nesta; but the Reader managed to manipulate it into giving her something, too — because her words were once again her biggest weapon. Therefore, the Reader was granted the ability to command others through her voice, as a siren would do, and the ability to shapeshift, for the years in the brothel gave her the overbearing desire to be anywhere else but conditioned to her human body.

After the War against Hybern, the Reader isolated herself inside her room in the House of Wind. She left it to fly, whether it was as an Eagle or a Dragon, or to read more about Prythian's story and geography, since she was the head of the Archeron household when her father wasn't present.

Elain, who was deeply hurt, for her sister was hurt, decided to help. Now, Azriel had been trying to get near the Reader ever since she helped them come up with a strategy in the Mortal Lands, when the Archeron's mansion was to be used as a place for the reunion with the Mortal Queens. Reader avoided it all, uncomfortable with a male's proximity, yet craving Azriel's presence because of the undiscovered bond.

The story would happen PRE-ACOSF. Following Elain's suggestion, Azriel will train the Reader as a spy — since a shapeshifter with a commanding voice is madly useful — and their bonding moments will have that as a starting point, progressing to chess matches and conversations in the dark. I'd cover sensitive topics such as the consequences of prostitution; Azriel's own trauma; the reminiscent scars of the Reader's complicated relationship with her mother; and the whole healing process of both of them, as their proximity grew into shared-trust.

It wouldn't be that long, but not a one-shot either. Since I would place a lot of care into the writing and I'm basically a no one, I was wondering if anyone would be interested to read such a story. Thank you. 🙏🏻

#acotar #acosf #acowar #acomaf #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel / reader #azriel imagines #stan dragons for clear skin

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elliemarchetti · 19 days ago

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Neither Friends Nor Family (But a Complicated Third Thing)

My entry for @wintercourtweek's day 6 prompt (friends and family)

Part 1

Part 2

Words: 797

Plot: Here at the Winter Court, we believe in the importance of surrounding ourselves with people whose presence in our lives we are grateful for, but also in establishing new bonds, which can lead not only to fruitful alliances but also to lasting and sincere friendships. For this reason, for your third day of stay, we have instructed our staff to offer you dynamic activities to share not with your retinues but with anyone you may have common passions and interests with.

Tamlin wasn’t sure Kallias’ choice to divide the various delegations was the display of wisdom he thought it was. Seeing rulers, consorts, generals, and councillors bustle around the poor valets after breakfast to sign up to participate in this or that event sure had been a rather amusing sight, but the idea of having Elain far from both him and Lucien for the duration of the whole day left a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was a thought he would’ve once expressed aloud, a concern that would’ve pushed him to stay behind, in the company of females and local elders, brooding and snarling when there was probably no need to. He was a different person now, just not yet able to shush the paranoid voice in his head reminding him how everything could go south in the blink of an eye.

“Don’t worry about me,” Elain had reassured him a few hours earlier, as she bade them farewell on her bedroom’s doorstep. It was a strange scene to witness – the female with hair dishevelled from laughter wearing a simple room dress and a heavy pair of wool socks while they were decked out as if they were about to face a siege – justified only by the fact they had a convivial lunch in her quarters. Tamlin would’ve liked to not be so painfully in the way of Lucien’s courting, just like he had once done for him with Feyre, but something always prevented him from disappearing during their moments of tenderness, be it the pressing needs of their roles or some logistical reason. His friend, ever gracious, had never pointed it out, and Elain, who would’ve never voluntarily made anyone feel out of place, least of all the host who allowed her to dictate the pace as she explored her own powers and that world she had feared and despised for twenty years, was always happy to include him in all their plans, rendering him unable to deny the glinting hope in her eyes. Hours always slipped by deft as they drank and played pretend, and although he was still a little rusty when it came to lively settings, Tamlin was less and less able to deprive himself of those stolen moments.

“You should be the one concerned about our wellbeing,” had replied Lucien, his tone way more light-hearted than the stiffness in his shoulders proved him to be. “I read all the Valkyries had signed up for the hunt, and I know for a fact they are rather competitive.”

Tamlin, unlike Elain, hadn’t laughed at his joke, quite certain Nesta would’ve loved to stab and roast him instead of the wild boar, partly because of what he did to Feyre and partly because by now she must’ve been convinced it was his life mission to steal her sisters from her. All he could do was hope she had noticed his efforts to convince Elain in offering her an olive branch the previous evening and, blinded by the joy of reconciliation, may be inclined to overlook his past mistakes, although he strongly doubted it was a reaction fitting to her character.

“Won’t you miss us?” he had finally asked, immediately regretting how forward and patronizing his words must’ve sounded. Although young, and incredibly inexperienced with the traditions and unwritten rules of Prythian, Elain was an adult who had worked endlessly to make up for the time she had lost in the Night Court, when days and nights had merged in a single skein of pain for which he had to take a good part of the blame. All had been forgiven long ago, but every now and then guilt came back to kick him in the guts.

“I don’t think so,” she replied with a shrug and a sly smile, no sign of discomfort. “Thesan has promised to stick by my side regardless of how long I take by each stand at the market, and a maid I bribed with some harmless gossip said Lucien’s mother will be there too.”

“Give her my regards, if you have a chance to talk,” Lucien murmured, and before Tamlin could stop his arm, before he could remind himself to give his friend and his mate some space, he placed a consoling hand on his emissary’s shoulder, a familiar gesture, coming from a time when humans and Hybern and ancient death gods weren’t their concerns and they were just a male untrained to rule and a disowned seventh son. Many things had changed since those years gone by, and although Tamlin neither desired nor expected any grandeur from his future, something still bloomed in his heart once made of stone like a bud in the snow, oblivious to its odds of survival yet undaunted in its gentleness.

#winter court week #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #tamlin acotar #i know i'm probably the only one who likes to highlight the moments before the party #or the brief conversations you have as you stand at the side of the celebrations #but i think they're what builds lasting bonds more than what happens at the actual event #furthermore i'm soft for these three #and tamlin struggling to find his place #sure he should step back a little #when both lucien and elain want him around #they will kill me

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climbthemountain2020 · 11 months ago

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Hope of Spring - Chapter 14

Also on Ao3!

Find Chapter 13 here :)

Penny was a disheveled disaster when she woke up in the morning after only two hours of sleep, but she still absolutely sprang out of bed to send the parchment to Tamlin before the sun was even peaking over the mountains.

Hi, it’s me. I miss you. She scrawled across the sheet.

It disappeared in a wisp of smoke, and Penny waited with anticipation. She decided she might as well get dressed while she waited, but then she all but tripped over her own pants as she heard a curl of paper hit the desk in the room, trying to get back to it. She grasped the paper in her hands like a woman starved.

Hello, love. The manor is absolutely empty, as is my heart, while you’re gone. I miss you terribly.

She sat back onto the bed, giggling and blushing while she took the quill to write her response.

Has my mighty High Lord been turned to a poet in my absence? She grinned as she sent it off. Gods, she felt like a teenager again, kicking her feet wildly on her bed at the prospect of talking to someone she was interested in. How could he have such an effect on her?

You’d be amazed what poetry I could recite to you. The response came almost immediately.

I’d like to be amazed at what additional acts your mouth might perform. She sent it off before she could change her mind, cheeks already blazing despite the activities they’d spent the last week pursuing in their bed.

My, my. Penny Briggs, you rake. Come home to me and let me show you all the different ways I can recite poetry and where.

Penny’s blush deepened to a million shades of scarlet and held the parchment to her chest, forcing herself to take a deep breath.

Your offer is too good to refuse, my Lord. I will be home tonight–we’ve got some additional training today, but I can’t wait to be back with you. I love you. She sent it off and went to pull the rest of her clothing on, tying her hair back into a low braid and using the leather strap she’d stolen from Tamlin’s dresser to tie it off. She liked having a piece of him with her, regardless of where she was.

I love you too. Knock ‘em dead. She sighed, smiling like an idiot, and went downstairs to see who else was awake for breakfast

________________________

Feyre walked Penny out to the back yard near the Sidra to get past the wards of the River House.

“I let Rhys know we would be back soon to see what we can do with Elain’s power. This shouldn’t take too long–a quick detour!” She had that sly grin on her face again that Penny was quickly coming to associate with her and her mate. Feyre had a large bag slung over her back along with a bow and stash of arrows. She handed Penny a dagger. “You won’t need this, but just in case. We’ll be in the woods.”

“Wait, what–” She didn’t get the words out before Feyre grabbed her and winnowed. They landed roughly in a deep forest, moss and trees and lichen as far as she could see. Feyre was already setting out a blanket she’d brought, tossing two fluffy cloaks and a freshly headless chicken in a burlap sack onto it. Understanding dawned on Penny as Feyre stepped away, hands on her hips, appraising her set up.

“Are you summoning a suriel?” Before Feyre could answer her, a shiver crept up Penny’s spine. A voice that seemed to echo through the woods from no traceable direction spoke with the voices of countless others.

“Feyre Archeron.” The voices whispered. “We are always happy to assist.” A cloaked figure drifted from the trees to the waiting blanket and reached to thumb over the cloaks Feyre had left. Feyre threw herself down casually onto a nearby log as if this were the most normal, casual conversation she’d ever had, while Penny stood, gaping.

“I am seeking help for my good friend, Penny.” She gestured to Penny, who was practically vibrating at the scene unfolding just feet in front of her.

“Your friend is not of this world.” The suriel turned its depthless eyes on Penny. “Penelope Briggs. A traveler, indeed. A friend of the Cursebreaker is a friend of ours. What do you wish to know?” The suriel unclipped their current cloak and swung a new one upon their shoulders, as if they were simply old friends catching up over tea. Penny sent an unsure look to Feyre, who in turn gave her a reassuring nod as if to say go on then.

“My world. Uhm. My home. What happened? What sent me here?” Though the suriel’s face could not reflect emotion, Penny felt more than saw the sorrow in their eyes.

“The home you knew is gone. Your soul, departed. It was diverted here. Into this form in our world,” She gestured softly at Penny.

“Gone? What do you mean gone? The world itself?”

“On the night of your great fall, Penny Briggs, a candle caught fire to your home while you slept. You were dreaming of adventure–dreaming of Prythian. Once your mortal body ceased to be, your soul diverted here, believing it to be a sanctuary. There is no home for you to return to,” the suriel’s curious voice whispered gently.

Penny thought she’d be more surprised, upset even, to find she had died. This wasn’t all some dream. She’d died there in her bed, dreaming of taking baby steps forward in a life that left her unfulfilled and sad. She was more relieved than anything. This was real–this was real now. She didn’t have to worry about finding a way back, or grapple with the lack of drive she felt to do so.

“Am I immortal?”

The suriel began snacking on the chicken, causing Feyre to smile broadly. “What do you feel?”

Penny considered. “Powerful. Beyond measure.”

“You are correct. If you wish to know of your lifespan, my advice is that you should stay with your High Lord,” they shot a pointed look at Feyre. “The one you’re already with, to be clear.” Feyre cackled. “I imagine the two of you have many centuries left together.”

Penny was filled with a joy beyond measure. Tamlin. Her mate. Her love. They would have that time together.

“Thank you. You have no idea what this means. Thank you.” Her voice was bogged down with rough emotion. Nodding at them both, the suriel made to leave with their cloaks and what remained of the chicken.

“Wait!” Penny shouted, as they turned to go. “What cloaks are your favorite? Just in case we see you again. Do you like fur or something lighter? Color preferences?”

The suriel let out a sound that Penny thought might have been a laugh. “You are going to leave this world a better place than you found it, Penny Briggs. Black, preferably, any material. Soft.” Penny nodded. “Until next time, High Lady.”

Penny looked back, expecting the suriel��s eyes to be on Feyre, but they were solely focused on her as a smiling Feyre winnowed them away.

________________________

Feyre and Penny returned to the River House in the late morning, finding everyone awake and discussing plans in the library. Rhys thought they might attempt to pass Elain’s power to Penny, then they could all settle in and have lunch, as Elain’s visions were not always frequent or timeable. Penny figured she might have some time to digest what she’d been told by the suriel, and perhaps she could even begin on Rhys’ list of questions.

She went upstairs to get her things together so they’d be ready to go when they finished up. The parchment on her desk lay empty from earlier, so she scribbled on it quickly:

About to begin practicing with Elain. I miss you so much. I’ll be home soon.

Penny changed back into her favorite leather pants, soft green tunic, and leather corset top. She braided her hair back into another plait with Tamlin’s leather, then nodded to herself in the mirror. She finished packing, went to splash some water on her face, then re-laced her boots, hoisting her bag over her shoulders to leave down in the foyer. The parchment hadn’t come back, but she assumed that at midday, he was probably out on border patrol so they wouldn’t need to worry about it when she returned this afternoon. She smiled–she felt silly for missing him so much after just a day away, but she was ready to throw herself into his arms when she arrived home.

Penny came back down to the dining area and set her bag by the door. Elain was already there with a plate full of food, and clasped Penny’s hand to bring her to sit with her. Things with Elain were easy–Penny felt like she was conversing with an old friend. Elain was kind and easy to like. She smelled like pears and lilacs and honey, and a bit of Lucien, too. The way he doted on her was amazing to watch, the two of them so impossibly in love with each other that it radiated through the room. Lucien always had a hand on Elain, and vice versa. She knew that this mating bond had taken time and patience, but it seemed to have paid off. She hoped her patience would one day do the same.

“I can’t stop eating, I swear. I’ve always sort of just picked through the day, but now I could put the baker out of business.” She turned to Lucien, eyes suddenly large. “Oh, speaking of, could we go to the baker later today? Maybe we could get some of those chocolate eclairs with the dollops of cream with the cinnamon?” Lucien just chuckled, but nodded warmly at her, running a hand down her cheek.

“Of course, love. We can go after lunch.” Elain smiled and leaned her head against Lucien’s shoulder. Penny’s heart clenched violently at the sight and she was almost physically overcome by the need to be with Tamlin. She wasn’t sure what was happening to her today that had her feeling the need to be back by Tamlin’s side so fervently. Was this just the mating bond chafing at her distance? She visualized the golden ribbon, swirling in the mists as usual, but it seemed to whisper go to him, be with him, go to him, be with him. She had read that the mating bonds were demanding, but this felt more urgent than just missing him. As soon as she had the vision, she was ready to be back home.

Suddenly, the room went quiet. Penny’s eyes whipped up to Elain’s, which had gone milky white. She gasped, but before she could get a word out, she was sucked back into a vacuum of dark space. For a moment, it felt like she was floating, but then she slammed into what looked like a live battle. Penny whirled around, immediately on alert as swords clanged violently around her and the screams of the wounded pierced her ears. Her breathing was labored as she spun wildly trying to figure out where she was and what had happened. Had she accidentally winnowed somewhere dangerous? She had never winnowed before–she wasn’t even sure how to.

She turned as a bird of flame flew through the sky above her, scattering embers on the wind behind her as she gave out a great cry. Vassa. She understood now–this was a vision. Vassa’s light illuminated the bloodstained snow on the banks of a lake as darkness flew out of a small, onyx box. At the last moment, Penny understood the box was in her hands, and then she catapulted back into her body into the River House. She gasped a deep breath into lungs that felt heavy as people gathered around her and Elain, who was clearly coming back more peacefully than she had.

“It’s okay, Penny. The first few transitions are rough.” Elain put her hand on Penny’s as she panted.

Rhys wanted to see into both their minds and compare the visions as they came back down, so he began with Elain. Penny was still thinking back, noting that onyx box she’d seen in detail. The shadows that burst out of it were nothing like Rhys or Azriel’s shadows.

When he was finished with Elain, he looked in to see Penny’s vision, allowing her to view it start to finish one more time. Someone shoved a glass of water into Penny’s hand and she sipped it, shaking violently, trying to steady her pounding heart.

“They’re different visions,” he spoke, casting them in sequence into the minds of everyone in the room. Elain’s vision had been one of Autumn Court soldiers marching over fallen leaves, then trampling on flowers, breaking the stems and leaving them smashed and dirty in their wake. Everyone seemed shocked, and Penny immediately began to worry that Elain’s vision meant an attack on Spring.

“We’ll have additional forces on standby ready to go into Spring if need be,” Feyre said. “I’ll go ahead and send the missives now to be on alert.” She got up to go to the study.

“This is good, though, right? Two visions means twice the Seer power?” Everyone nodded. “Now we just see how long it lasts outside of contact, and if it can sustain the distance.”

Elain took Penny’s hand again and nodded. “It is good. You did wonderfully, and you will be tired now. I was exhausted after a vision for a while once they started. Until I got used to it, at least. Let’s take a few minutes to breathe, and once we bring you back to Spring, you’re under strict instructions to rest.”

Rhys spoke up. “Yes, good plan. Elain and I can winnow you back to Spring together so she’s the last person you touch.” He turned to Elain. “Will that be okay for you? Just a quick winnow and back?” She nodded, and led Penny to the dining room.

Before she could approach the table, though, that vacuum pulled her back and the glass she was holding shattered on the floor. All eyes were on her as she came to with hysteria gripping her.

“We have to leave now.” She gasped out. “Tamlin is in trouble. They’ve breached Spring.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #tamlin #tamlin x oc #elucien #tamlin oc #feysand #gwynriel #tamdemption #tamlins hea #hope of spring

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wellwhatisnttaken · 2 years ago

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Through Miles of Clouded Hell

Part 5

* hi! Ok so i am working on getting this on AO3

Thank you all for your support and patience!!

——————————————————————

The king and his captain were deep into the mountains just west of the capital city when they decided to rest for the night. They had been riding since dawn and the moon was now well in the sky. Jurian tended to the horses while Lucien cleared the ground of debris and laid out their bedrolls. It was too dangerous to light a fire so far away from safety, so Lucien pressed his hands to the dirt and sent warmth flowing through.

“I can’t remember the last time you used your magic.” Jurian had settled their steeds, and now had his gaze focused on Lucien from where he was leaning against a near by tree that had long since died.

“Well, I figure we can’t risk a fire, it may spook the horses, and we’d have to worry about the light attracting danger, and the smoke, and a fire pit, and-“

“Lucien.” Jurian cut him off.

“You can talk to me. I know how hard it’s been for you.” Lucien didn’t meet his captain’s gaze, instead preparing himself to sleep for the few hours of moonlight that were left. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s simple.” Lucien sat back on his knees.

“When i was a babe, my fire burned hotter than even Eris’s. My ancestors stole fire from the heavens, set the very oceans alight, and battled gods. Now, this curse has corroded my magic to where I can barely warm the earth I sleep on. I almost wish it had taken my body as it did my brothers.”

A long silence stretched between them. Jurian wordlessly went to his bedroll and dragged it right next to Lucien’s, before plopping down next to him.

“Lu, your magic doesn’t make you who you are. It never did. And losing it, having it stolen from you, isn’t a reflection of your worthiness. Sometimes bad things happen, And that’s just that. Not all suffering is noble, just as not all suffering is punishment. Your magic isn’t gone, just sleeping.”

Jurian swung his arm around Lucien.

“Besides, maybe your ancestors were pretty cool,” he touched his forehead to his kings.

“But they’re dead, aren’t they? And you’re here. Alive. It seems to me you’re doing pretty well for yourself in comparison.” Lucien closed his eyes before pulling away.

“You dumb brute, how do you always know what to say?” He meant it as a joke, to lighten the mood, but his voice came out thick. Jurian tugged gently on a strand of Ruby hair that had fallen from its braid.

“Because I’m older, smarter, and prettier than you, you know this Lucien. Now get some sleep, we’re crossing into the Ivory Forest tomorrow. Ill take first watch.”

And so the king hunkered down in his bedroll as the captain sat back against the tree and scanned for danger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elain LifeBringer was awake. Not completely, but suddenly she was someplace else, unaware, and then she was here. Her mind reached for the mother, her ever present comfort.

Soon my child.

The king will awaken to save the forsaken.

The LifeBringer rises, will shed her disguises.

A choice will be made, to kill or to save.

The king and the goddess will rise from the grave.

~~~~~~

#acotar #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucien #TMOCH #jurian

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azsazz · 3 years ago

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Flame and Ash

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You are the fourth Archeron sister (between Elain and Feyre). When Elain had been thrust into the cauldron it was fear that consumed her, Nesta was fueled with anger, but you, you were filled with pure hatred.

Warnings: Smut smut smut. A Court of Mist and Fury spoilers.

Word Count: 4,634

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Everything you are raged in a pit of fire.

You were filled with pure anger. You’d always been a hot-headed child, blazing passion buzzed underneath your skin like electricity ever since you could remember.

Your mother had told you once that you were irate when you came out of her, a scowl on your face and quiet as a mouse. She swore she saw the darkness in you and she had shoved you out of her arms the instant you turned that flaming gaze upon her. She had wanted nothing to do with you, so you wanted nothing to do with her.

You hated your father too, because he hadn’t done a thing for years, when you and your sisters were on the edge of starvation, only to finally find purpose once your riches were restored. A true coward, he had been. Would always be in your eyes.

Your temper held hot throughout your childhood. Your sense of trust was skewed – by what you didn’t know – and you didn’t have any friends. You didn’t need them, as you preferred to spend time with yourself, making up your own worlds in your head, exploring the woods near your home, and when your family had given up, your mother gone and your father hurt, you had gone hunting with Feyre.

Older than her by ten months, you were nearly twins. She was pretty much the only one you could stand within your family. Her cold, stubborn personality rivaling yours like fire and ice. You both longed for something different, fueled by starvation and fear and hatred.

But she had left you.

Stolen away by a beast in the night and there was nothing you could do. You tried, tried to follow her but she had stopped you, told you to take care of the family. To take care of yourself.

And now she was back. A beautiful high fae standing in front of you. Her piercing eyes pleaded you to let her inside. She at least looked sorry as you stared at her, eyes lit with the fury of a thousand suns.

When Feyre had come to your home she was different. You could tell by the way she held herself, chin high and she stood as if she were an heir to something greater than the broken family you had become. Her features elongated, sharper somehow, and you had sworn you saw a point where the rounds of her ears should’ve been before Nesta swooped you away from her.

You should have taken me with you, her head bowed in shame as if she could hear you.

The males she was with must have noticed the look on your face, standing stiffly, keeping a cautious eye on you throughout the meal. You sat stock straight in your seat, seething, refusing to utter a single word. You had felt something crawling through your mind, but you had let your fiery hot flames lick against that scratch, and it had retreated just as fast. You glowered at Feyre’s mate, who’s brows furrowed slightly as he studied you.

The one with the blue stones encapsulated in his armor sat next to you, an ever watching eye. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair for a moment, those massive wings failing to fit properly against the tall back of the seat. You watched, amused only slightly. He was silent like you, and devastatingly handsome, though you showed no blatant interest in him nor the conversation happening around you.

They were seeking the help of you and your siblings. You nearly let out a harsh laugh at the silly request. Why did powerful high fae need the help of you and your mortal sisters?

They babied Elain when her words trembled, plastering reassuring smiles on their faces when they spoke, voices gentle as if they would scare off the terrified doe.

When the Warlord exploded, mouthing off to Nesta about how the lot of you did nothing while Feyre was the one who stepped up, your cheeks burned hot with rage. She had failed to mention that you were out there with her? That she was the key to your family's survival? Cruel, wicked sister. Your resolve cracked just a bit, clenching both your jaw and the fork in your hand at the admission, your glare cutting into the side of your sister's head, who refused to look your way.

The bob of her throat as she swallowed was her tell.

The male next to you, Azriel, tightened his own grip on the knife in his hand. You marked that as well.

It had been the decision of the oldest in the end, not to remove yourselves from your home in favor of the sister that had left. Elain was engaged and you were…whatever it was you were doing alone all of the time. You grit your teeth. Everything was always about Elain.

You and Feyre both knew that.

The glance the two of you shared, remembering the days where you’d be hunting, grumbling about your sisters came flashing into your mind. She gave you a knowing smile when your eyes lightened a bit.

She had tried to seek you out after dinner was cleaned up. Nesta had ordered you and Elain to your rooms while she showed the high fae to their own. The eldest stopped the two of you from speaking quickly.

As you were returning to your room from the library down the hall, a stack of novels next on your list piled high in your arms, you met the hazel eyes of the warrior, his face illuminated by his cobalt siphons. You kept walking.

—-------

The next time you saw Feyre was when you were taken. Bound and gagged like your two sisters, shoved harshly into the ground by the soldiers who had dragged you in here.

This was some new form of hell. The King that the High Lord had warned you of, the Wolf that had taken your sister from you, her mate, they were all here. You couldn’t help but notice the limp body of the Spymaster, something twisting in your gut as you took in the dark pool of blood he was lying face-down in.

You hadn’t gone a day without thinking of him since they had come around to ask for you and your sister's help. The straight planes of his face, sharp cheekbones and perfect nose, how his fighting leathers caressed every bulge of muscle. Those brutally scarred hands. You had imagined what those fingers would feel like against your bare skin more times than you could count. He had completely captured your attention against your will.

You burned for him.

When Elain had been dragged into the Cauldron she had been scared. Blatant fear as the icy cold water dragged her in. Her mouth opened in a gasp and the liquid rushed in, choking her. Her terror increased tenfold the longer she was held under. And in return, she had been gifted the power of sight. She could look into the future, the fear of knowing what no one else would until it was almost too late.

Nesta was all anger. She had taken what she wanted from the damned thing, a finger sticking up in defiance as she was plunged under, willing the powers of the cauldron into her as much as she could. If she couldn’t save Elain from this fate, she would sure as hell would try for you. Terrifying was the only way you could describe your eldest sister when she had fallen from the bath, her eyes white hot with rage and gone the moment next. You shuddered at the look.

The guards grabbed you but you did not scream, did not fight. It was futile, with how easily they had dragged your sisters in. You held your chin high instead, the piercing cries of your kin echoing off of the stone walls, much too loud for your ears. If this was how you were to greet death, in a cauldron filled with darkness, you welcomed it. Instead you burned inside for the excruciating end you knew you deserved.

Once your head had sunken under the water you exploded. Every ounce of hatred you had stored up rushed out of you. You thought about your neglectful mother, your useless father, everything and everyone who had wronged you. Feyre when she left. Elain and Nesta, who did nothing when all was said and done. You wanted to fight them all. You loathed the things they did. They were your family by blood only.

You were under so long your lungs burned, a welcome feeling you grasped onto, your body tensing as it convulsed for air. There was no oxygen here, only darkness licking hot against your lungs, a warmth you had not known you were missing. You yearned for this feeling your entire mortal life, and you were now finally alive.

Unaware of what the others were seeing, a cauldron of ink boiling into white waters, smoke rising. It burned so hot the blackness of its iron outside glowed red. You were under too long for any human to survive, and even when the King of Hybern himself ordered his guards to remove you from the water, one touch from the cauldrons liquids had them screaming in pain, their hands blistering from the scalding water.

You clamped onto the side of the tub, sucking in a harsh breath of air when your head broke the surface, and you were alight with flames. An inferno of blue and white fire, licking up and down your skin, lighting the room. The others could barely stand to look at you, you burned so bright. A shocked gasp was the only noise you made as you studied your hands, lit like matches and burning out just as quick.

Your nightgown was ash, floating in the blackened water you were still half submerged in. The soldiers didn’t dare make a move to remove you from the cauldron, so you stepped out of it yourself, hands covering as much of yourself as you could.

At least the fae males had the decency to avert their eyes.

It was the long red haired male – Elains…mate – that had shrugged off his coat and offered it to you, wrapping it around your shoulders and quickly moving himself a distance away. You swore you could hear the Shadowsinger growl, but when you looked over to the injured male, his eyes were closed, face contorted in pain as he held his leaking wound.

In the end it was the High Lord of the Night Court's cousin who winnowed you and your sisters away, wrapping the three of you tightly in her arms. The swirling mist stifled you like a suffocating flame. You struggled for air once more, and in an instant you were in the middle of someone’s warm home, legs shaky while your younger sister had been left with the wolf.

Nesta screamed her head off and Elain sobbed. You however, were silent, half in shock, half in fear for the Shadowsinger who was nearly dead. His breath rasped harshly as the High Lord winnowed himself and his brothers back to his home. Cassian’s wings were shredded to bits and Azriel barely looked alive. Rhysand himself felt like half of his heart had been ripped out of his chest with his and Feyre’s bond broken.

You observed as Mor winnowed in healers, one by one until there wasn’t any room around the Illyrians. You could hardly see as they worked on rebuilding the Warlords wings and used their healing magic on Azriel’s wounds. You curled into the coat around you, shaking, as everyone fought or cried or yelled while you sat frozen on the ground watching with terrified eyes.

He coughed harshly, turning his head and spitting up blood before taking his first full, unstrained gasp, the flame inside of you flickering back to life. His half-lidded eyes met yours for a moment, before they dragged down your body, baring his teeth as he noticed the tunic wrapped tightly around you. Your body was on fire as his gaze licked you up and down.

“Come with us,” a reassuring voice in your ear startles you. You look up to see a beautiful fae with a soft look on her face, “I’m Naula. My sister and I will help you get cleaned up.” She nods over her shoulder to where her identical twin is trying to collect Elain, but is met with a feisty Nesta standing in her way. You look back up at her with big eyes, gaze sweeping over the Shadowsinger’s exhausted face, before agreeing, taking her extended hand to help yourself up.

You didn’t see anyone except the twins for days.

It was strange, being high-fae. You often stared into the mirror at yourself for hours of the night, examining the unnatural smooth skin and elongated features, unable to close your eyes without seeing the hurt Illyrian lying in his own pool of blood. Your eyes were bigger, brighter, more devastatingly beautiful than you’d ever thought you could be.

You could hardly stand it.

Cerridwen had shown you to the library and you had been back nearly everyday since. It was the most beautiful room you’d ever seen. So many books there were, and you took them, devouring one after another.

You had run into Nesta once, as she had liked to read nearly as much as you did. It was the one thing you had in common with your older sister. You had stared each other down in the middle of the aisle, your next endeavor clutched in your hands.

“That one is good,” she had said and stepped around you, continuing on her mission to find her next novel.

You hardly ate, the fire that was a constant in your stomach made it hard for you to. You had been unable to yield the hot flame since you had been released from the cauldron. Not that you tried.

Staring into the hearth, your current read discarded to the side, tainted from Nesta’s recommendation.

You slipped off of your chair, scooting closer to the fire burning brightly inside the fireplace. You hesitated, hand raised in front of you, and sucking in a breath you stuck it into the hearth.

A pang of fear spiked in your chest but you did not feel a thing. The flames licked up your arm, crawling higher and higher and you scrambled back, waving it frantically, trying to put out the fire.

A scream crawled its way up your throat as the door burst open, Azriel standing tall in the doorway, a silhouette of darkness.

His eyes widened, alarmed. His memory triggered, flashing back to when he was a young boy, exposed to the same hot flame as you were now, except it had marred his skin forever.

His shadows shoot towards you like torpedos, wrapping around your arm furiously and stifling the flames out. He was kneeling close to you in the next second.

“Are you okay?” his words rattled through you, clanging around your head loudly.

You don’t think you’d ever been asked that question before.

It woke something in you. With that one sentence he had pulled a loose brick from the wall you had spent your entire life building and it had all come crumbling down in an instant. You choked out a wet laugh, studying your hands. They were flawless though they had been covered in flames a few moments before while his were…they were brutal.

It wasn’t fair.

“You should go,” you murmured, voice thick with tears. You didn’t want him to see you when the dam broke, “Lest I burn you.”

“I would let you.”

Your head snapped up, wild eyes meeting his own. His face was stoic but you could feel through his cool facade. He was a mess inside, an utterly terrified feeling coiling in his gut, you could feel the twin emotion in your own. There was something else, something that warmed you, hotter and hotter the longer he stared at you, the soft light from the hearth highlighting your features just right.

He would. He would let you burn him alive if it meant that you even laid a hand on him. He had avoided you as long as he could because he didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want you and him to end up like Elain and Lucien. But when you sent that feeling of utter fear down the bond, his resolve broke.

And all of a sudden it made sense.

“What is that?” Your voice trembled at the feeling. You could feel it now, a hot string inside of you. You grasped onto it and gave a gentle tug, watching as he flinched.

“We’re mates,” he admits, watching you cautiously.

You exhale at the admission, climbing to your knees to sit opposite him. “We are?”

You couldn’t believe it. How could you have gotten so lucky? You knew you had felt something when you had met his eyes after returning to Velaris.

All the Spymaster could do was nod.

You raised a hand, itching to reach out and touch his skin, but you hesitated. You were afraid you would burst into flame again. He saw the indecision on your face and quickly grabbed your wrist, gentle but firm. His heart raced as he pressed it against his own cheek, reveling in the feeling of your warm skin against his.

You held your breath. Seeing the reassurance in his eyes you slowly stroked your thumb across his cheekbone, watching his lashes flutter for a moment with the motion. He watched you as your eyes scanned his features, drinking in the sight of him as you murmured, “My mate.”

He had to clamp his hands harshly on his thighs to keep from ravishing you.

Instead, he turned his head slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your palm. Your content sigh and the fire in your eyes has him breaking.

He hauls you into his arms, ignoring the slight hurt in his chest from the wound that was nearly healed. That was the last thing on his mind right now. He lays you on the unmade bed, climbing over you and caging you in, kissing you, and stealing your breath away. His lips are soft at first, tasting, savoring, the taste of you buzzing beneath his skin.

Your hands tangle in his hair while he traces his up your nightgown, reading your body like the good little spy he is, trying to find the spots that drive you crazy. He wants to learn them and memorize them all.

His thumbs brush against your nipples and it causes your chest to rise up, press against his and the Spymaster does it again, this time earning a moan as a reward.

You snake one of your hands down his muscled torso, covered in the fighting gear you always saw him wearing, trying to tug his shirt up. Azriel pulls away, eyes alight with desire. He strips out of the garment and nods at you to do the same but you ignore him in favor of tracing the tattoos that litter his skin, the inky tendrils wrapped around his body like you’ll be in a few minutes.

When you look back up at him your eyes are dark and you lick your lips. He looks like he can barely hold himself back, grazing his eyes down your body. Your thin nightgown does nothing to hide your hardened nipples and the curves of your waist, rucked up so the tiniest sliver of your panties show.

Your smile is sultry when he finally meets your gaze again. You give him a soft nod and then he’s ripping apart the silky fabric, exposing you as you gasp, aroused. Azriel uses his fingers and lips to explore your chest, nipping and biting up, letting the noises you make map his way.

His mouth presses firmly into yours once more and your hands find the snap of his pants, fumbling to unbutton the tricky leathers. You get them loosened eventually after a frustrated minute where you knew your hands had become a blaze again, his cool shadows sweeping across your skin to blow them out. Your cheeks burn red with embarrassment and desire.

A reassuring kiss is pressed to your lips before he steps back from the bed. His eyes stay locked on you as he strips from his pants, peeling them off of his muscular thighs. His underpants go next. Your mouth dries at the bare sight of him, gloriously naked.

His cock is hard and aching, arching away from his stomach and you spread your legs to make room for him to settle between them. He kisses his way up your thighs and you gasp at the trails of wetness he leaves behind, his shadows breezing over them lightly causing you to shudder with arousal. He makes it up to your covered pussy, kisses you through the cloth, letting his tongue flick against the fabric, the warm wetness against your own leaves you panting.

He takes them off agonizingly slow, his blunt fingernails hooking around the sides of your underwear, digging into the sensitive skin of your thighs as he drags them down. You help him, impatient, kicking your legs out of them and he chuckles darkly, massaging your inner thighs before he’s spreading you open and getting his first taste.

You moan loudly, unashamed as he devours you, lapping your heat with his hot tongue. He hums encouragement against your clit and the sensation has you feeling dizzy. He jackknifes his tongue into you, feeling your walls clench around the muscle. He’s achingly hard, the sounds you’re making and the taste of you nearly have him rutting into the bed, but he holds himself back. He wants to wait for you.

“Please,” you beg when he stops, and Azriel loves it, the way your voice cracks as you plead, but he waits, hands firm on your hips to keep you from writhing like you want to. Your hands find his hair again and you push against his head, urging him back towards your pussy, needing so desperately to come.

“Do you want to come now or with me?” His voice is husky with arousal, eyes devouring every move you make.

“Why not both?” you whine, trying to buck your hips up.

A sinful smirk graces his lips as he comments, “Greedy.”

You don’t even have a chance to reply before he sticks a finger into you, drawing a long keening whimper from you. It’s bliss when he adds another and then his tongue into the mix.

There’s fire burning in your belly but it’s not a real flame, it’s the desire for your mate, for how he’s making you feel, teetering so close to the edge. You hope he can feel it, feel how he’s driving you absolutely crazy with each flick of his tongue, each stroke of his fingers.

His rhythm picks up and it isn’t long before you’re arching off of the bed with a warning on your lips. He doesn’t stop, somehow he goes even faster and harder until you’re coming apart at the seams, tipping over the edge into pure bliss.

He kisses your sensitive clit before making his way slowly up to your lips, tasting every inch of your skin, giving you time to recover. His hand follows, skimming over your thigh, stomach, breast, to rest against your chest atop of your pounding heart. He’s thrumming with arousal and the rapid beating of your heart only adds to it, enjoying the feeling of how fantastic he’s making you feel.

Azriel's lips meet yours, surprising a gasp out of you as you had your eyes closed, coming down from your high. Your lips turn frantic against him, you haven’t had enough even though you’ve just come but maybe it’s because his cock is rubbing against your pussy, continuing to tease you.

Your hands slip around his waist before he knows it, tugging hard so his hips cant into yours, his dick sliding harshly against your cunt, the both of you sharing twin groans.

He obeys, pressing in slow and smooth. He moves his hips, testing just once because you feel tight, and he’s hot, and you feel amazing around him. He thrusts again, moving nice and slow.

“Gods,” you whine, feeling utterly full. Azriel ducks down to kiss your neck and you hook a leg over his waist, craning your head to the side to give him more room once he finds that spot. You whimper when he sucks a mark, the pleasant burn of his lips lighting your skin up.

He feels so good with you wrapped around him, pulsing and hot, and he’s panting against the delicate skin of your neck. He moves in slow and steady strokes, striving to find that perfect angle, the one that will make you curse under your breath and clutch him tighter.

“I kept dreaming of what you would taste like, sound like, look like,” he admits after a particularly harsh thrust that has your nails biting into his shoulders. His voice is strangled from holding himself from letting go and pounding into you. “It’s so much better than I imagined.” He presses his face into your neck, kissing there.

You moan at his words, hips responding to his own. Azriel reaches up to grab your hands, fingers tangling together. He pulls his face from your neck, admiring his work before looking down into your beautiful eyes.

“Me too,” you confess, breathless. You press up into him, kissing him feverishly. The Shadowsinger finally finds the right angle, knows this by the noise you make and your fingers tightening around him. He locks it away in his mind for next time.

He starts to thrust with intent. He knows how dangerous fire can be, oh he knows all too well, as he flexes a scarred hand in the sheets. But he finds that he likes the feeling, the burning desire twisting in his gut at the sight of you, eyes rolled into the back of your head, mouth slack with ecstasy, your nails scraping down his back.

His shadows turned each and every one of your flames to ash. He could help you learn to control it tomorrow, but for now…he has some business that needs to finish.

The Shadowsinger jackknifes into you, and you’re begging. You don’t even know what you’re asking for but he does his best to give it to you, pressing into you like you were made for him.

And you were.

He lets your hand go, reaching down and teasing your clit once more. You’re so wet for him, and he uses that to slick his way.

His own orgasm is coiling in his stomach, so close. His thrusts are getting erratic and faster, his hand keeping pace on your bud. He wants to speak but he can’t, too full of the intimacy you’re sharing, so instead he leans his forehead against yours, pressing you further into the pillows.

You latch onto his lips, panting heavily and pleas of his name tumble from your mouth and his name must taste good, with the way you’re crying it before you’re orgasming, clenching around him while he fucks you through it and he’s pressing tight against you and coming with his own guttural moan.

You hold him close and he collapses on top of you, refusing to pull out of you so you can feel him throbbing inside of you. You exchange soft kisses between breaths, pushing his damp hair from his forehead. For once your eyes aren’t filled with fiery hatred, no, they are blazing with pure love.

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 years ago

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Elucien | Please Open Your Eyes

type: angst warning(s): blood, wounds word count: 1330

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was blood and there was a knife—a dagger to be more specific.

Elain shifted on the bed, her blanket already discarded on the ground, her skin damp with sweat.

Low groaning filled her ears, wailing, soft cries of pain.

Elain flopped onto her belly, fingers digging into the mattress.

A face appeared in her vision, but it was blurry. She could not make out who—

Lucien.

A scream ripped itself free and Elain sat up, clutching her left breast with the heavily beating heart underneath. In an instant she flung her legs over the edge of the bed, the floor was cool against her skin. It might be silly what she was about to do, but she could not stay away from him any longer—it had been too long. Barefoot and just in her nightgown Elain slipped out of her room, padded through the chilly corridor until she reached his room. She could barely find the door handle in the dimness. And then…she did not have to knock, Lucien would be in no condition to be able to answer.

Elain drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, closed her eyes and then pushed the door open. She held back from shrieking when she saw her mate’s body—he seemed like every ounce of life had been stolen from him.

Her throat constricted when her eyes landed on her mate’s bandaged chest. Blood already started to seep through in some places—Elain had to tell Madja to change them. But it was the middle of the night, it had to wait until the morning. Now all Elain had to do was be with her mate—having accepted the bond or not, it didn’t matter.

Weak steps carried Elain over to the bed, the only light in the room came from the moon shining through the window. It was cold, Elain shuddered and was worried that Lucien might freeze. Before sitting down she pulled the blanket up to his waist, not wanting to touch his chest. It would hurt him—there were so many cuts and wounds. Lucien’s chest was heaving slowly, his lips slightly parted and pain laced his features. Madja had done all she could, now it was up to him to heal fully. Sitting down next to her mate on the bed, Elain let her eyes run over him. He still was beautiful.

Tears filled her eyes and she bit down on her lip, her knuckles ever so slightly brushing her mate’s arm. “I am not sure if you can hear me, probably not, but—

Elain’s throat burned, eyes brimming with tears. She sniffed and brushed over her mate’s hand. "I will take revenge on all of them. For what they did to you. That is a promise.”

Lucien made no movement, his body so terribly still. The only thing that gave Elain comfort was that she could still feel Lucien through the bond—that she could still hear his heart. Her fingers curled around his cold hand when a single tear fell onto the mattress beside his body.

“Please open your eyes,” Elain breathed, pleading ringing in her voice. “Please. I want to see the beautiful russet of your eye again. The gold of the other one. I want to see your smile again. I want to see you laugh. You have the most beautiful laugh in the whole world, Lord Lucien.” Elain had to smile at herself at the thought of Lucien laughing from the bottom of is heart. The other day Cassian had said something funny which had made Lucien break into laughter. She had been mesmerised by his beauty but instead of staying with him she had left without a single word.

“I am sorry. I am sorry for never talking to you. I am sorry for always being so reserved. I wish…sometimes I—no it doesn’t matter.” Elain cut herself of and shook her head. But it did matter!

“Sometimes I wish I could turn back time. I wish we could start over again. I wish we had met under circumstances…things would have been different. We would have courted each other, you would have brought me flowers, I would have made you a cake which we would have eaten while drinking tea in the garden. We would have gone for walks, strolled through flower fields, bathed in ponds and fed the ducks there. I would have—“ Elain had to sob, tears blurring her vision. They rolled down her cheeks and tasted salty on her lips. Her thumb stroked over her mate’s hand and she exhaled loudly. It was so terribly silent in the room, not even Lucien’s breathing was audibly. His chest was heaving so slowly, his body was so lifeless. His skin seemed paler, his lips so dry.

“I would have kissed your cheek. You would have hugged me and asked me when I would like to meet you again and I would have asked if you would like to meet again the following day. You would have—“ “Said yes.” It was only a breathy whisper but Elain’s eyes snapped up to her mate’s face. A faint and weak smile plastered his lips, his eyes still closed.

“Lucien…” Elain breathed and leaned further over her mate, trying to figure out if she had imagined it or not.

“Lady Elain,” Lucien whispered, his lips barely parted.

“You are awake,” Elain stated and immediately felt silly. Obviously he was—he talked to her. “You have finally woken. It had been…weeks.”

Lucien tried to clear his throat, eyelids slowly fluttering open. “Weeks?” he queried and blinked his eyes. They burned—had been closed for so long.

“Yes, two and half to be exact.” Elain could only bring his hand up to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. “I thought…I thought—“ Her voice got hoarse, broke and she released another sobby breath. “I thought you would never wake up again.”

Lucien breathed a laugh that made his chest ache and he winced. “I am awake now, Lady Elain.” Through her tears Elain had to grin and kissed her mate’s hand once again, “That you are. Finally. Does it hurt badly? I can try to wake Madja and tell her to rush here quickly.”

Lucien fully forced his eyes to open and tried to search his mate’s eyes. “It is fine. Tomorrow, I would love to take you up on that offer. For now I would like only one thing,” Lucien whispered, eyes fluttering shut once again. He shifted on the bed, his whole body aching, but he made it work. He groaned, clenched his jaw. Elain tried to help him, wincing when seeing her mate in so much pain. “And that is?” Elain asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Please," Lucien mumbled, then inhaled deeply. "Stay here.”

“Of course, Lord Lucien. Of course,” Elain answered, her voice barely above a whisper, and turned slightly to lie down next to him. He had moved over because of that, right? Slight irritation coated her insides at that thought—maybe that hadn’t been his plan?

“Thank you, Elain,” Lucien mumbled and her heart filled with warmth—it was the first time he had just called her by her name. She smiled and rolled onto her side to look at her mate. “Everything will be fine. You will heal fully and we will start over again, what do you say?” Elain questioned, soft and calm, not wanting to wake Lucien if he had already fallen back asleep. But he was still awake and slowly dipped his chin, “I would love nothing more than that.”

A faint smile plastered his beautiful face, Elain lifted her arm and brushed her fingers over her mate’s forehead. She moved some strands of hair out of his face and then brushed her thumb over his scar. “Sleep tight, Lucien.”

She knew in that moment that for the rest of her life she wanted to say exactly that three words every evening when falling asleep in her mate’s arms.

“Sleep tight, Elain.”

~~~~~~

tags: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional

dedicating this to @velidewrites (whose shadowban was finally lifted)

#elucien #elucien angst #pro elucien

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separatist-apologist · 3 years ago

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I Am Not A Woman, I'm A God

Summary: Elain Archeron only wants revenge on the man who jilted her and turned her village against her. On the Autumn Equinox, she decides to summon a demon and have her vengeance before leaving that village-and the life she'd once hoped for- behind. What comes for Elain is no demon. An ancient God of Chaos rises, binding her life to his. And when he speaks, he makes the most terrifying claim she's ever heard.

He says she's his wife.

TW: dubious consent (in both part 1 and 2). Fuck or die trope (part 2). Coercive language, Lucien as a (dis)respectful King. Light BDSM. Typos.

Part 1: I Am Not A Martyr | AO3

Elain scurried through the darkness, a basket slung over her arm. She glanced upwards at the full moon shining brightly, her feet bare against the cool grass. Wind ruffled her hair, urging her to turn back to her cottage, to go back inside and forget this plan of hers. Elain couldn’t, plunging further into the woods until she found the clearing she was looking for. Swaying treetops encircled the open, starry sky overhead while moonlight poured around her. Elain left the hood of her cloak up over her head as she set her basket on the ground. She pulled her things out one at a time, setting her spellbook at her feet.

Witch! His voice echoed through her mind. Graysen, her beloved, had exclaimed when he’d found the grimoire. You’re a witch!

She’d tried to explain her magic was light, was based in nature. She used it to grow plants, to tend to her garden. She wasn’t like the witches he’d heard stories of, who conjured demons and ancient, slumbering monsters to wreak havoc on the natural world.

Only, now she supposed she was. This night, Autumn Equinox, also featured a full moon. It was rare for the two to line perfectly but when they did, all manner of creatures could be compelled to come forth. Elain meant to call Lucius, a demon of vengeance, and have her revenge. She’d given Graysen everything, including her maidenhead and in return he’d ruined her. Broken their engagement, told the village she was no longer a maiden and a witch. She’d pleaded and begged and when none of that worked, tried to hold her head up high but the shunning had taken its toll. No one came for herbal remedies any longer, just as no one purchased her vegetables. She meant to leave entirely but before she did, Elain would see Graysen punished.

She chewed a mint leaf and began pouring her salt circle carefully. She’d need it to contain the demon, to compel it to do her bidding. She made it thick, passing several times as she chewed slow, swallowing only when she’d finished.

She reached for her tied lavender and eucalyptus, igniting them with her own magic. She’d woven honeysuckle and jasmine in between, hoping to entire the demon with something personal—they were her favorite scents.

Kneeling in the center, Elain hesitated. Her flowers burned gently in the grass beside her, the smoke curling upwards like a lovers caress, wrapping around her throat before vanishing into the night sky. It wasn’t too late to call the whole thing off. To back out. Elain bowed her head and then reached for her last item.

A long, jagged knife sheathed in leather lay harmless by her thigh. She pulled it out, examining the gleaming metal in the moonlight. Elain flipped open her book where she’d hidden the stolen, ripped page. She’d translated it herself, the language ancient and old. Her coven didn’t dabble in the darkness and as consequence, Elain’s grasp of the old language was only adequate. Good enough to read down a list of requirements to get her demon. Blood, to bind him, and then the evoking spell.

Elain took a breath. She assumed the demon would retreat once the full moon receded, but the blood would bind it to her will. If nothing else, Elain could always banish it back to hell, or wherever it came from. She tested the sharpness, not quite cutting her skin as she worked her way up to actually slicing her palm. The wind blew louder, a warning howl not to follow through with her plan.

Go home, she felt it beg. But Elain could not. She could not spend the rest of her life knowing Graysen lived, happy and carefree while she hid, terrified like a little mouse. She would make him feel her fear, if only for one night.

The blade screamed over her skin and Elain bit back a sob at the burning pain. Blood pooled over her palm, dripping over her wrist. She reached for the little opal stone, clutching the smooth, cool surface as though it might do anything to help the bite.

And then, without letting herself think of the foolishness of her plan for a moment longer, Elain began to speak the evoking words. Binding Lucius, demon of vengeance, to her. It was almost a vow, half prayer, half curse. Her will would be his, her life his. She spoke that final word, aeternitas. Until she willed it otherwise.

The ground beneath her shook violently and Elain waited, wondering if the demon would appear with smoke and fire, trailing the scent of brimstone and rot just behind. The rumbling stopped, leaving nothing but utter stillness in its wake. She didn’t move for what felt like hours, until the wind picked up and the world was normal again.

No demon. No vengeance. Elain let out a soft sob, rising to her feet furiously. She kicked the immaculate salt circle with her bare foot before gathering the rest of her things. Her hand throbbed from the blade and her feet ached from the unforgiving, rocky ground beneath her. It hadn’t been a guarantee, of course but Elain had been so sure the demon would come, if only out of curiosity. It wasn’t every day a nature witch called upon hell for vengeance, after all.

The walk back was longer. Elain let herself delight a little in the cool, autumn air fluttering around her. The world seemed different to her in a way she couldn’t quite explain and Elain was uneasy as she stepped from the forest. Gold seemed to hang in the air, glittering dust particles that shifted and danced in the moonlight. Behind her, the trees swayed and groaned, as though forced to move by a hand they were not used to obeying.

The air smelled crisp and yet older, somehow. She looked over her shoulder more than once, wondering if she was being stalked by her demon. It was bound to her, unable to harm her and yet the prickling on the back of her neck didn’t abate. She was relieved when she saw her cottage sitting alone on the hilltop overlooking her village beneath. Far from the villagers, just as they preferred. Tomorrow she’d pack it up entirely and begin the journey elsewhere, hoping for a fresh start in a place not so superstitious.

Smoke curled towards the violet, star freckled sky overhead, a cheerful omen that put Elain at ease. Over her door hung more jasmine and honeysuckle, the scent mingling with the crisp, cool air still dancing around her. Elain reached for the silver handle, adjusting the wicker basket on her arm.

The world stilled again as she turned the handle.

Run!

It was too late. Elain was not alone, not anymore. And whatever she’d summoned? Well, the shirtless man standing in the middle of her cottage was certainly no demon. His lips curled into a smile, revealing perfect, too white teeth. Wild red hair fell around his shoulders, braided in places, with little golden rings glinting in the firelight. Three ugly scars streaked across a golden eye, marring the otherwise beautiful brown skin of his face. His other eye was a strange brownish red, unblemished and flickering just like the flames from her fireplace behind him.

Every inch of him was hardened muscle, his bicep circled by a golden snake, his legs wrapped in tight black pants. And Elain knew viscerally he was something older, something far more dangerous than a simple demon.

“Who are you?” she asked, her spine cold with dread. Her voice shook with fear.

“You do not recognize your own husband?” he replied, that curling smile ever more cruel when he registered her panic.

“I…I am not married—”

No?” he interrupted softly, not moving from his place on the wood floor. His large, broad body seemed to suck up the space, making her feel small by comparison. “Did you not read the vows? Did you not pledge your life, your will, your soul? Did you not seal it in your blood?”

He held up his palm, revealing a shiny, matching scar on his own hand, a twin of her own. “I…no…I was summoning a demon of vengeance,” she tried to explain. His laugh was rich and dark with amusement.

“Oh, is that what you thought when you spoke of eternity?”

“Eternity?”

“Yes, little witch. Aeternitas. Eternity. Your life and mine, intertwined, inexorably bound.” She shook her head. “A mistake. I can undo it.”

His expression darkened. “No.” “Surely you don’t wish to be…bound to me, for eternity?”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Oh, but you’re wrong. I watched you walk into the woods, and I hoped you would see the words. I spoke them with you, I offered my blood. You are mine.” She took a step backwards, reaching for the door handle. It didn’t budge. “Who are you?”

His grin was sharp. Feral. “I will tell you my name only to hear you scream it later.”

That stilled her. “What did you—”

But he cut her off, unconcerned with her new, sharper fear. He straightened his spine, somehow taller. Bigger. A wreath of flame crowned him, bathed him in orange and red light and Elain knew what she had done the moment she the terrifying creature looking back at her.

He seemed old because he was old. Ancient. A God.

“Lucien,” he breathed, smoke pouring from his mouth. “God of Chaos.”

Elain couldn’t take another moment. She tried to gulp down air, desperate to hold on to reality.

It was no use.

Her vision blackened and the last thing she saw was his mismatched eyes watching her.

Feral with hunger.

~*~

Elain had the strangest feeling of warmth when she woke. She felt positively toasty, as though she were beneath the finest heated blanket instead of her own threadbare one. Comforted that she’d been trapped in a nightmare, Elain went to turn, her wrists aching from their position. Something hot tugged, holding her in place. Elain opened her eyes, back in her nightmare. Lucien was there at the foot of the bed, head cocked as he examined her and Elain realized the warmth was coming from his own strange magic, binding her around her hands and her ankles.

“Let me go,” Elain whispered, cognizant of the clothes still hiding her body.

“Will you run?”

“No,” she lied. Their eyes met and Lucien waved a hand, releasing her. And Elain scrambled from the bed, flying towards the door. Lucien caught her easily, chuckling. She felt his nose run against her neck, burying itself in her hair.

“I’m tempted to unleash you on the world and give chase,” he whispered, his words making her shiver. “Would you like that, wife?”

“I’m not your wife,” she replied, squirming against his tight hold. He didn’t release her, leaving her hoisted in the air, her back pressed to his chest.

“You are,” he disagreed, inhaling deeply. Still, he dropped her back to her bed and this time did not restrain her. “You feel it. Right… here.” And she did, felt the soft tug beneath her rib cage. Elain knew what magic felt like, understood how it bound things and people to the world. This was magic in its rawest, purest form, a thread tied to her rib that connected against his own.

“I didn’t…it was an accident,” she whispered, rubbing the spot he’d yanked just beneath her breast while he watched in that quiet, hungry was of his.

“Explain,” he demanded, spreading his legs, arms crossed over his bare, gleaming chest. Husband. The word clanged through her, rattling her bones. Could she truly marry a man without realizing what she said? Surely there was some loophole to this, a reasonable explanation he’d listen to. Elain steadied herself, certain this situation was just as upsetting to him as it was to her.

“My fiancé abandoned me,” she told him, keeping her voice calm and clear. “I only meant to summon Lucius…I was leaving in the morning.”

“And you still will,” Lucien replied dismissively. “I’ll handle the fiancé.” He took two thundering steps towards the door before she caught him, nearly tripping over the hem of her muddied dress to grab his muscular bicep. He looked down, eyes heated and Elain quickly released him. “Don’t do that.” “Why not? This is what you wanted.” But she knew the God of Chaos was allowed to play by his own rules, could do whatever he wished. The magic he possessed was unlike anything she could have dreamt of and there was nothing stopping him.

“It’s…”

“You are full of contradictions, wife. You vow yourself body and soul to me and then run away the moment I make good on your offering. You want vengeance but when I offer, you ask me not to.”

“I don’t want to kill him—” “Because you still love him?” Lucien sneered mockingly, turning to face her fully. She backed away breathlessly, too aware of how large his body was and how easy it would be to overpower her. He’d done it once and she knew he would do it again if she couldn’t convince him to leave. That was all Elain needed—if she could get him out of the house, she could come up with a new plan, one that took her far away from the chaos surrounded her.

“No, I don’t love him—” “That’s lucky for him,” Lucien murmured, reaching a broad hand to brush a piece of hair from her face. “I’d kill him for it.”

She steepled her fingertips in front of her body, hating how he watched her every minute gesture, as if everything utterly fascinated him. “Surely there is a loophole to this…marriage?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Lucien erupted, his rage made manifest by flame. Elain scrambled to the bed again which, in retrospect, was a mistake. Her arms yanked over her head, bound by warm flame and tied to the headboard. He’d left her feet unbound and she wondered if he didn’t like her resistance, up to a point.

“There is no loophole,” Lucien murmured, the flames receding back into his body until the man remained. He rolled his neck, glossy, molten hair falling around his face. “I made my vows to you gladly.”

“You don’t know me,” Elain pleaded, tugging against her restraints. “Please. Let me go.”

The shake of his head was imperceptible, practically unnoticeable. “If I let you go, will you run from me?”

Her whole body shook. She didn’t know if it was fear or the new thread of arousal that had spiked, so foreign that she immediately squashed it. She had the feeling he could sense those feelings and might pounce the very second she made any hint of her interest known.

“I think you would like if I ran,” she whispered as he approached again. He reached for one of her flailing legs, gripping her ankle tightly in his too large hand. She tried to kick him once, aiming for his face but his hold was ironclad. Calloused fingers rubbed against the inside of her calve, pulling her closer and closer until she realized he’d unrestrained her hands. She could have twisted, could have thrashed…but when he ran his nose along the inside of her knee, inhaling again, Elain could only watch with burning fascination.

“I would like very much if you ran from me,” he admitted. “I would like to have you among the leaves and rot.” “There will be no having,” she informed him shakily. He smiled, mouth pressed to the skin of her leg. Elain tugged, then, reminded that she was far too compliant for an unwilling bride but Lucien only held tighter, lowering himself until his head was between her legs.

“No?” he murmured, his breath hot against her body. “Your scent tells a different story.” “Stop it,” she whispered, fisting the sheets in her hands. The rough pads of his fingertips slid further up her legs, parting them with ease.

“Let me convince sell you on this union.” His murmured words were curling smoke, wrapping around her neck until Elain could only smell crisp night air and the blooming fire that trailed him. Heat, bright and golden, wrapped itself around her and for a moment, she let him stare down at her half naked form, his lips mere inches from her body. “Let me taste you, wife.”

The word settled in her stomach like a warning. She kicked him, then, the flat of her foot connecting with his lovely face. He staggered back and Elain flew off the bed, reaching for the door handle so she could run through the night, back to the woods where this had all begun.

Her hand throbbed at her side, her feet crunching over strewn leaves. Wind blew her hair behind her, the cool bite sharp against her overheated skin. It didn’t occur to her until she reached the tree line that he must have opened the door. The same one he’d locked.

And he’d be coming for her. Giving chase.

Just like he’d wanted.

~*~

Running back into the woods was the worst idea Elain had ever had. It seemed as though all her ideas backfired on her. Leading him into further darkness, where she’d be at his mercy, where no one would hear her if she screamed…Elain stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t see anything in the dimness surrounding her. Clouds obscured the once moon bright sky, leaving her to scan her surroundings with her own poor vision, looking for his looming presence in the dark. She couldn’t see him and yet she could feel his eyes watching her, waiting to see what she’d do next.

Elain shivered, the memory his mouth on her leg forcing her to clench her thighs tighter. Magic, she lied to herself. It was only his magic.

She could try and get back to her cottage and find some way to keep him out. A spell, perhaps? A lock? None of it seemed strong enough to prevent him from just strolling back in when he tired of their game.

The woods were a non starter. She knew what would happen out there…and wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t want to find out what, exactly, he could do among the leaves and the rot, as he’d said. She knew he wouldn’t hear her if she said no…and suspected she might not ask him to stop if he ever managed to do the things his hands and eyes were promising. If he believed her to be his wife now, what would he think once they’d consummated things?

That left one option. Her sisters lived just beyond the village, further out closer to the sea. Elain had moved inland to be closer to Graysen. She thought if she could find shelter among the village residents and take off in the morning, she might be able to shake him. Perhaps he’d tire of waiting once he realized he could not lure her from others.

She took a breath, her heart pounding. The villagers did not trust her, believed her to be the cause of all their problems. Surely, though, someone would be sympathetic. Someone would take pity on her, would remember that she’d delivered nearly ten babies during her time, had sat with the sick, had helped bury loved ones.

The wind whistled around her softly, a familiar warning. Don’t, it seemed to warm, pushing against her face. Shoving her towards the trees, as if the woods were somehow safer. She knew what was lurking, what manner of monster meant to claim her if she turned around.

She smelled the burning wood before she ever saw the massive fire, built in the middle of the town square. From her position at the village gate, Elain watched with fascination how the flames licked towards the sky, smoke blotting out the twinkling stars. It was far too late for such a bonfire and for a minute, she thought something had caught fire. She didn’t notice, from how far she was, the people who kept it going, stoking it with wood and other material until the flames reached far higher than anything Elain had ever seen. What could they possibly need with a fire so big, so hot?

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice whispered, fingers curling around her upper arm. Elain started, surprised to see one of the midwives holding her. Elain let her drag her into shadow, hiding between the thatched homes that were arranged so neatly within the village. The smell of tallow and lavender told her they were just beside the soap makers. Elain had delivered one their babies. “You need to run.”

“I need help,” Elain tried to explain, her eyes desperately searching in the dark for some ounce of kindness. “Please, I am being hunted—” “I am aware of what hunts you,” the woman interrupted. “Go to the woods where it is safe. They won’t follow you in there.”

Elain shook her head because of course Lucien would follow her in. He would dance into that tree line singing as he undid his trousers, determined to claim something that did not belong to him. “Listen, it’s only for—”

“You found her,” Graysen’s voice cut through Elain’s plea and the woman released her grip with a shove, pushing her towards Elain’s once beloved. Elain stepped into a silvery beam of moonlight, suddenly able to see. Graysen looked down at her, his brown eyes steely and unforgiving. He radiated a coldness that made her shiver in the Autumn chill, fear slithering up her spine. “I was just about to pay you a visit.”

In the distance, the fire cracked menacingly. “A visit?” Elain asked, looking over her shoulder at the midwife. Her face betrayed apology though she said nothing. She would do nothing to stop what was happening, would only hope Elain understood that today it was Elain but tomorrow it could be any one of them.

“More cattle are dead, Elain. We have begged you to stop and still you afflict us with your terrible curse.”

“I’m not killing cattle!” Elain protested, dodging when Graysen lunged for her. “You know I’m not!”

“I don’t know you at all. You bespelled me to—” “I did not such thing!” she shrieked angrily, rising her hand to strike him. He caught her wrist roughly, twisting until he threatened to break the bone. Elain’s indignation became pain, letting him pin her arms behind her back. “Graysen, you have to know I didn’t…” “It explains everything,” he grunted, dragging coarse rope over the delicate flesh. Her palm seemed to scream in agony at this new intrusion, the wound still too fresh to take any further abuse.

“If I truly had you in my thrall, how did you manage to escape?” she demanded, wincing against how tightly he bound her.

A crowd was gathering, murmuring abusive comments and other words of encouragement to Graysen. At her question, they fell silent, waiting to hear. How had he managed? Elain waited for whatever vile bullshit he would offer up, lies the crowd would devour in their thirst for blood.

“I am stronger than you,” he finally retorted, yanking on her hold as though to demonstrate the truth of his claim. “It was only a matter of time.”

“Yes, how convenient it happened after you compromised my virtue!” she spat.

“That was more of your doing!” he snapped and she hated him in that moment, hated so much she would have done anything to be free of her bonds, to face him if only to spit in his lying, cowardly face. “You have brought this all on yourself. Who knows what might have happened to a lesser man—”

“You are a lesser man!” she screamed as he began to drag her towards that cackling, roaring fire. It’s use was now apparent to her, her demise so laughably obvious she wondered how she had not realized sooner. “You are a coward—”

His hand struck across her face and the crowd roared its approval. Chaos, it seemed, reigned in the village that night and Elain was merely a slave to its will. She dug her heels into the dirt, determined to fight Graysen every step of the way. She would not go quietly, would not let him force her into the role of martyr so he would be absolved of what he’d done. No one could force him to honor his promise to her, to hold up his end of their night together, if she was dead. Elain wished she could scream in the faces of every villager, of every woman that hungrily cried out for her dead.

And so she did. “What happens when it is your husband who tires of you?!” she screamed, legs flailing against Graysen’s hold on her body.

The world stilled so suddenly Elain was jarred by the silence. The bonds on her wrists vanished, leaving her the only moving thing in a portrait of promised violence. The wind whipped again, warmer than before and behind her, flame erupted furiously. Heavy boots stomped loudly in the darkness, bringing Chaos himself before her. Eyes burning, his brilliant red hair wreathed in flame.

“When I told you to run, this was not what I meant,” he complained, gesturing at the frozen crowd scattered around her. “Would you rather die than be mine?”

“Are those my options?” Elain retorted, forgetting the danger that surrounded her for a moment. His expression darkened, half hidden in the inky night. “Yes.”

“You’d leave me here?” she demanded and Lucien’s resulting chuckle made her shiver. It wasn’t fear slithering up her spine anymore. She hated the reaction he provoked, wanted to know how he managed it. Was it magic, like Graysen claimed? Or was it something else?

The thought was too terrifying to comprehend. She had enough problems in the moment.

“Oh no. If you choose death I will merely endeavor to change your mind.” “Then why bother giving me a choice at all?” she asked, exasperated. He cocked his head, a smile curling over his handsome face.

“You want a choice. I am content with what I have, sweet wife. Now…I believe I have been summoned, this evening.” “I didn’t mean—” she began to protest, but he held up his hand.

“They have summoned me and if they are not careful, will draw the attention of War and Vengeance as well.”

Elain turned, her horror returning in full force. “You can’t…they’re innocent.”

“Each of them,” Lucien began, his words silky and dark, “Hopes desperately your death will be drawn out. Painful. A show for them to watch, to discuss in the morning. How they dress it up as justice, but I can see their desires, I can read their hearts. They suspect this one,” Lucien paused before Graysen, lips curling into a sneer, “Is lying so he might marry the blacksmiths daughter. He was caught with her and swore to uphold her honor…a hard task given he was already betrothed to another.”

Pain lanced through her chest. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t care enough about any of this to lie,” Lucien snapped. “What would you have done had you summoned your demon correctly?”

Elain looked to Graysen, frozen in the firelight. His face, twisted with hatred, his cowardice so apparent. She’d assumed he just…never loved her at all. She supposed that was still truth. To hear he’d been with another, that her death paved the way for him to marry that woman, well… “I wanted him to die.”

It was the ugliest thing she’d ever admitted. Lucien’s featured twisted with satisfaction and she realized he must have known the truth of the matter all along. He circled her body until he stood behind her, his back to the crackling flames. His fingers curled one by one over her shoulder. He lowered his head, his breath hot against her neck. “Let me give my new wife a gift.”

Heat bloomed through her body. “I’m not your wife,” she reminded him, ignoring his dark chuckle.

“Not yet. Just as soon as I end this pathetic man’s life.”

She hesitated as time picked back up. The crowd was still humming, their noise rising and then immediately falling when they realized something wasn’t quite right. Graysen spun, looking for the prey he’d just held in his arms. She wondered what it must feel like to blink and realize the God-like status you’d assigned to yourself could be so cruelly snatched by an actual God. Lucien’s presence was imposing, the smile on his face cruel and beautiful with equal measure. Graysen stumbled backwards at the sight of the crown of flames licking across his forehead, a near match for the ember in his eyes.

“What have you done?” Graysen whispered, turning to look at Elain.

“Mortal,” Lucien’s booming voice was condemnation, was hell on Earth and the most terrifying thing Elain had ever heard in her entire life. Surely it had not come from the same man? Her heart pounded even as his fingers dug sharper against her shoulders, reassuring her she was the only one safe from his promised wrath. “It is you who have summoned me here with claims of a witch.”

The remaining color drained from Graysen’s face. “I...I…she has been killing cattle—” “I would not lie,” was Lucien’s only declaration, each word dripping with promise should Graysen not heed the warning. Lucien stepped around Elain, his steps echoing in the ground beneath them. The crowd skittered backwards, their fear heady in the bonfire rich air.

“Take it back and I’ll spare you,” Lucien whispered when he approached Graysen. The heigh difference between the two men was hardly noticeable and yet Lucien’s broadness, the musculature of his frame and the raw power he seemed to exude made him seem twice as large. Graysen cowered in his presence.

And Elain knew, before Graysen ever whispered, “I take it back,” that Lucien would kill him no matter what. He would kill him for the lie or Lucien would kill him for his cowardice. Lucien looked at her, waiting for a moment. Teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

And she ran for the second time that night.

~*~

This time, when the trees appeared in Elain’s line of sight, she didn’t hesitate. She plunged into the darkness, her feet flying over the branch and leaf strewn floor. She ignored the ache in her feet and the pain in her hand, listening for the sound of screams. They came all at once, a symphony of fear and pain…and then stopped all at once. Her stomach lurched, not in horror at what she’d signed off on, but anticipation. If he was done in the village, he’d turn his gaze to her.

The wind murmured its agreement, blowing swift and cool around her too hot body. He was coming.

A smarter woman would have given in. It occurred to Elain, when she heard the sound of his walking steps behind her, when she smelled that rich, crisp scent, that she was better off stopping where she was and giving in. Accepting her fate was the only reasonable choice and still Elain decided she would keep running, past the clearing that had started it all, further into the dark until the spidery veins of the now empty trees swayed a silent warning beneath the Autumn moon.

Lucien caught her roughly, the force of his body knocking the wind from her lungs. The pair sailed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He panted though if it was his own exertion or desire that stole his breath, she didn’t know. The two struggled for dominance until he had her arms pinned over her head, one knee firm between her legs.

“It’s over now, wife,” he breathed. “Stop fighting.” “I’ll never stop,” she retorted hotly, ignoring the way her body pulled towards his. She squirmed, gasping when he ground hard against her, the hardness of him heady and terrifying all at once. “You are mine.”

“You can’t own a person,” she whispered against the brush of his lips, attempting to angle her hips away from his. It only caused more friction, which in turn brought more heat. She was panting now and couldn’t pretend some of it wasn’t desire…at least a little. “Get off me.” “No,” he replied, his hand sliding down her still clothed body. “I made you a promise. If you didn’t want me to uphold it…why did you run?”

She closed her eyes. “You frighten me.”

The kiss he leveled against her mouth was part assault, part brutal claim. He gathered her aching wrists in one large hand, keeping them pinned atop her head, freeing himself to tangle the other in her hair. His tongue pried against her teeth and when Elain bit against his lip, hoping to cause him pain, he merely groaned loudly and bucked his hips, letting her know she’d pleased him by accident.

And the kiss itself? Electric. Elain could claim some sort of magic infused his lips, settled against his tongue. She writhed against him, unsure what she would do if she managed to free herself even as she kissed him back, drawing blood in her desperation to punish him. His tongue slid over the roof off her mouth, sending a pulse of heat lightning hot through her body. The arousal threaded over her skin, making a mockery of Elain’s protests.

“Don’t,” she whispered at the feel of his hand, touching her breasts through her dress until he found her peaked nipples and pinched. The rustle of the fabric only heightened the sensation, drawing a gasp from her throat. “Lucien, stop.” “I can smell you,” he groaned, ignoring her protests to thrust against her, his nose buried against her neck. “You are the only thing I can smell and it is driving me insane.” Fingers curled around the hem of her dress, pulling it over her hips. “Lucien—” he silenced her with another punishing kiss, claiming her with his mouth. The taste of him, heady and golden, coated her tongue until her pulls against his grip were to free herself, not for escape so much as to thread her fingers through his hair.

It was wrong, so very, very wrong to let him have her this way. He was a stranger whose claim was dubious at best. For all she knew he’d merely seen her in the woods and decided to debauch the maiden for fun. She needed clarity and perhaps some proof of his claim before she woke alone in the forest floor covered in his emissions, ruined for the second time by a man.

“Lucien—” her protest slid into a gasp as his fingers pulled aside her under garment and slid the length of her. He hissed, eyes flying open to look down at her with accusation. His hand returned to her face, brushing the wetness against her own lips.

“Liar,” he crooned, invading her mouth with the pads of his fingers so she could taste her own arousal. “Beautiful little liar.” She whimpered, not from the intrusion but from the loss of his touch. She arched against him, saliva sliding down her chin when he pushed his fingers deeper, forcing her to inhale the musky sweetness of her body. His breathing was labored, eyes almost frenzied as they watched.

“I’m going to release you,” he warned, squeezing his hold along her wrist for just a moment. “If you fight me, I’ll take you while you kick and scream.” She shivered at the thought, nodding while she watched, his face still inches from her own. “Don’t make me regret this,” he all but begged, grinding his cock against her wet core with the same desperation she was pretending she didn’t feel. “I need to taste you, I beg of you—” And the thought that a God might beg her for anything was heady, made her feel powerful for the first time in her life. Elain nodded and his grip vanished so he could hoist himself over her, caging her beneath his larger, more powerful frame. He brushed his thumb over her lip, the wound on his palm catching in a silvery slip of moonlight.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered as he slithered down his body, unconcerned about the cut he, too, bore on his palm.

“We will deal with that later,” he grunted. He settled on his knees between her thighs, holding the edge of her dress in his hands. Ripping fabric shattered the peace around them, sending several lingering birds screaming for safety. She gasped, suddenly extremely exposed, not just to the cool bite of Autumn air but to his burning, possessive gaze. Her hands flew to her breasts and Lucien shook his head.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” he warmed, his good palm flickering to life like a candle. He reached for his pants. Panic flared to life and Elain scooted backwards, dragging leaves with her. He tutted, his irritation plain. He snapped his fingers, and her hands were rebound in soft, almost tickling flame that roped her to a nearby tree. He cocked his head to the side, admiring her as he freed himself from his pants.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy restraint,” he murmured, rising to his full height to shed himself of his boots. He held his thick, large cock in his hands, the head beaded with moisture. Her gut tightened, a mixture of fear and desire warring from dominance. He was the largest man she’d ever seen, the tip of his cock stretching towards the dense trail of hair covering his taut abdomen. In his overlarge hands, it seemed threatening and Elain squirmed, tugging on the magic bonds she knew she could not escape from. Wind blew over her naked body, eliciting a shivered moan she could not hide from his ever-watchful gaze.

“Are you frightened, wife?” he asked, stroking himself again. He lowered himself to his knees, still holding the base of his shaft in his hand.

“Yes,” she admitted truthfully. His eyes rolled backwards for a moment and he inhaled, reassuring himself that whatever fear she felt was punctuated by desire. Or perhaps he did not care if she enjoyed herself at all. Perhaps her fear was enough. He released his hold on his body to reach for her legs, smiling when she offered a halfhearted kick to his chest. Firmly, with more force than was warranted, he spread her apart. Eyes burned, twin flames of red and gold in the dark. While shadow danced over his golden-brown skin, lit softly from whatever fire burned just beneath his skin, she sensed he could see her with perfect clarity. His eyes cut through the dark and allowed him a perfect view of what he sought.

“I am going to enjoy you,” he whispered, lifting her hips until he held her in broad hands, his biceps bulging as he arched her off the ground, bringing her pussy mere inches from his lips. Elain panicked again, writhing against her restraints. No one had ever—

“Wait—”

He did not wait, sliding his tongue over her in one long, broad, wet stroke that silenced her for a moment. It was wrong, her brain screamed even as her struggling shifted, not to escape, but to bring her closer to the heat of his mouth. “Stop,” she whispered, her plea no longer believable to even her own ears. He merely laughed, licking again with a delicious slowness.

“You are so wet,” he groaned, so loud even the trees stopped their rustling to listen.

“It’s you,” she protested with a gasp, refusing to admit she liked how soft his tongue felt against her body, how good those slow circles he was making against the trembling nub of flesh made her feel.

“Liar,” he whispered, breath curling against her skin. “Struggle for me, little wife.”

And she did, yanking against the bond until his face was buried against her, his tongue flicking back and forth, lavishing attention over a part of her body she’d never given a terrible amount of consideration to. Perhaps he knew, had pulled the memory from Graysen before he ended his life, looking at the quick, otherwise forgettable night they’d spent together. She’d once thought it special but now, tied to the forest floor as she writhed against his face, Elain thought it rather plain.

Embarrassing.

Lucien moaned against, the sound threading through her body. His fingers dug into her thighs until she was certain he’d left fingertipped sized bruised dotted against her skin. Leaves rustled beneath them, muffling the wet sound of his lips sucking, licking, tasting ever available inch and then redoubling his efforts.

Pleasure, bright and hot, ripped through her body, urging her towards an unknowable end. She could not say a word, her lips pressed together to keep her from betraying herself, from begging him to keep going. Nails dug into the dirt, anchoring her to the earth below her, blanketed in a dusting of gold and ash and still he didn’t stop, until her world was a mere moment, pinpointed in the space between her clitoris and his mouth.

She screamed involuntarily, splintering into pieces. Her hips bucked and he spread her wider, his tongue faster, hotter than before. It was perfect for one blissful moment. She was outside her body, practically floating as she lost herself, stuck somewhere in the place where pain and pleasure mingled and met. She attempted to pull herself from his grasp, to let him know she was coming down, but Lucien did not stop. He yanked, one arm settling over her pelvis so he could continue his feast, utterly ravenous.

“Lucien,” she gasped, over sensitive and desperate for relief.

“Scream,” was all he said, his word a command. “I need to hear it again. Music.” “Stop,” she begged, pleasure rebuilding, too hot, too fast. Lucien held her against the ground, ignoring how she writhed until she did exactly as he demanded, screaming her plea even as her thighs clenched, her body locking around his head. He was lost and she knew it, determined to take every ounce of pleasure he could without a care as to how he got it. A tear slid down her cheek, her body shook. It was too much, each new orgasm ripping through her anew, robbing her of breath.

And then, when she thought he meant to torture her with his mouth all night, he pulled back. Resting on his haunches, he looked down at her, his cock bobbing between his legs. Gingerly, he reached back between her quivering cunt and spread her wide, as though trying to gauge what he thought she could take.

He snarled softly, releasing his hold on her to look up at the sky overhead. Violet had given way to a dusky rose, betraying the suns eminent rise. Relief pooled through her and Elain relaxed for a moment despite her runaway heartbeat. Reprieve, if only for a moment. She was exhausted, wrung out and still in pain. Her legs ached from all the running, her wrists chafed from constantly being bound and her palm, still bleeding from the knife, oozed a trickle of blood that was beginning to worry her.

Lucien snapped his fingers and tickling fire vanished, dropping her wrists back to the cool bed of leaves. She watched him yank on his pants, his irritation apparent.

“What’s going on?” she asked, suddenly afraid he meant to abandon her. He said nothing until his boots were back on his feet. With a wave of his hand, a cloak fashioned from dark fibers draped itself over her body, fluttering to earth like the sweetest feather. He let her sit up amid the ruined, ripped tatters of her dress, wrapping the soft, warm fabric around her overly sensitive body.

He didn’t wait for her to clamber to her feet. He merely scooped her up against his hot, bare chest and began walking further into the woods, his back against the rising sun. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, twisting in his arms in an attempt to look over broad shoulders.

He frowned. “Where else would I take you, wife? I’m taking you home.”

“Home?” she repeated. Lucien’s smile was blinding, beautiful and cruel all at once. “Yes, wife. Home.”

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elain x lucien #please check the TWs before you read #and let me know your thoughts #im just so far out of my wheelhouse lately #first with slow dancing in a burning room #and now this #who even am i?#idk

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