#Elizabethan AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 7 months ago

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Semper Eadem (V, ao3)

Chapter five: As the pageant nears its end, there are fireworks all around as Nesta and Cassian find themselves on the same page at last.

(The final chapter of Elizabethan!Nessian is here and posted for @nestaarcheronweek free day, which is incredibly fitting as chapter one was posted for Nesta Week last year 🥹 thank you to all of you who have put up with my ridiculous Elizabethan ramblings over the past year, and rest assured this will absolutely not be my last historical AU ❤️)

(Chapter one // chapter two // chapter three // chapter four)

The sea was a cruel mistress indeed, Cassian thought as he dragged his fingers, idle, through his bath water— but not half so cruel as Nesta Archeron.

After the trumpets and the fanfares of the Queen’s hunt had subsided, she had left him at the castle gates with naught but a parting smile tossed over her shoulder— one that had cut clean through his heart like a silver-tipped arrow. Cassian was no stranger to feeling at sea, to feeling the waves tip the world beneath his feet, but nothing could have prepared him for this; for the way his bones seemed hollow whenever she was near. Indeed, there was no storm or tempest that the seas could boast that could have had the breath in his chest failing quite like it had as she rode away. No sea sickness compared to this— to the way that just one look from her had him so consumed that the rest of the world simply ceased to be.

And just as each ship’s captain must ultimately yield to the almighty power of the sea, so too would Cassian surrender everything he was to her— ready and willing to lay himself bare afore a force too great for any mortal man to withstand.

Love.

A wry smile tugged at his lips as he watched the water shift around him, because yes— he loved her.

It was no false declaration, no game of affection, that had him feeling this way. In his bones he knew that Nesta Archeron was the only woman in the world for him, and as he watched each current and small wave lick against the wooden sides of the bathtub that had been hauled to his chamber and set before the hearth, he recalled the words that had set his world on fire.

I suppose, then, that you can be forgiven for ignoring my letters.

He hadn’t realised how desperate he had been to hear her say them until they had left her mouth. Until he was left on his knees, mouth agape, watching her as she rode away. And now the flickering flames housed in the stone hearth reflected and danced in the depths of the small tub, and as the glow glanced off the warm and fragrant water, Cassian watched as the dust and dried mud were lifted from his skin, marvelling at how much had changed over the course of a few hours— and how much every inch of that freshly cleansed skin now yearned for her touch more than ever before.

That’s not how I imagined you asking me to undress, he had drawled, but the bravado had been so false that his chest had felt tight. Not that Nesta had seemed to notice, but God— he didn’t think it was dramatic of him to admit that he’d been thinking of her divesting him of his clothes for months now, and though his fingers had been steady on the laces when Nesta had demanded he remove his shirt, his heartbeat had trembled, quivering like the plucked string of a musicians lute.

And he hadn’t missed how those tempest-blue eyes of hers had widened, dragging over his chest and dipping lower. A blush had stolen across her cheeks, beautiful beneath the dappled sunlight, and he had known - known - that whatever it was she had begun to contemplate, it was a thought far from befitting one of the Queen’s ladies.

The thought brought an easy grin to his face, a lightness to his chest.

Deep in the woods, Nesta Archeron had been almost as undone as he.

He might have lost the race with Eris, but he had won something far greater, and he allowed the thought to bolster him as he reclined in the water, allowing the heat and memory both to soothe his aches as best they could. At his back, a linen sheet lined the tub and prevented the wooden surface from giving him splinters, and as the warmth bade his sore muscles relax, he thanked the Lord for small comforts. One of the maids had even scattered lavender in the bathwater, giving the whole chamber a delicate fragrance that reminded him of the heather that grew by the northern borders; the lands he might have once called home.

Not that he hadn’t grown accustomed to discomfort. Months on a ship had calloused his palms and blistered his knuckles, and he was all too used to the feel of coarse rope winding around his hands, burning as it slipped through his fingers.

It all felt rather inconsequential, now.

Lifting his hands from the water, he watched the rivulets trace a path across hands scarred and marked by months at sea, and he thought suddenly that he didn’t want those hands to feel only the hilt of a sword or the bite of a rope anymore.

He wanted to feel her.

Wanted nothing but her skin beneath his palms for the rest of his life.

Her fingers had trailed lightly across his ribs, and in that moment Cassian had known that he would do anything to feel that touch again. He could have sworn he had died and ascended straight to Heaven, and if that made him heathen then so be it. The only altar he wanted to worship at was hers, anyway.

I forgive you.

Her words drifted back to him once more, just as precious to him as every jewel in the Queen’s crown, and just as glittering, too. Cassian had done nothing but stare after her as she had left, trying to find even a scrap composure, and once he’d risen from the mud and followed her - because he’d follow her anywhere - they had rejoined the royal party, where Nesta slipped away back to the Queen’s side, like nothing had happened between them at all.

But still Cassian felt the ghost of her touch lingering on his chest, her fingers skimming his ribs.

And when they returned to the castle, Nesta had reached the gates and turned back, searching for him in the line of courtiers trailing behind the Queen. When she found him in the crowd, she had smiled.

He always stopped breathing when she smiled.

The memory of it was the only thing that stopped him sinking back down into his bath and letting the heat seep into his bruised bones. He couldn’t linger— Nesta would be waiting, and the prospect of being on the receiving end of one of her smiles - or, indeed, one of her scowls - had Cassian rising swiftly from his bath, leaving ribbons of lavender-scented water behind as he reached for a towel.

There was to be a grand banquet this evening. Fireworks, too. And if Cassian played his cards just right…

He smirked to himself as he eyed the doublet already laid out on his bed for the occasion. Crafted of a deep red velvet with blackwork embroidery at the edges, it was the most expensive thing he owned, the most courtly attire he could boast, and since he fully intended to get down on his knees for Nesta Archeron, he figured he ought to dress for the occasion.

He added a small ruff around his neck as he dressed, one that peeked only barely from the edge of his collar. The starched lace brushed lightly against the skin of his neck, and as he ran his fingers through his hair to tame it, he pulled gently at the pearl hanging from his earlobe. Even dressed in so much finery, Cassian rolled the pearl between his thumb and forefinger and couldn’t help but feel that something was missing.

His eyes landed on the ribbon lying on a table before the window, where he had left it before taking his bath.

Is that— my ribbon?

Nesta’s voice came back to him, and Cassian snorted at the memory before taking up the sky-blue ribbon and tying it around his wrist. It sat so smoothly against his skin, the blue satin shining against the dark skin marked by scars, proof of a life spent with a sword in hand. Softly, he brushed his finger along the length of that ribbon, and felt his heart swell behind his ribs.

It had never been just a ribbon.

Not to him.

His eyes shifted back to the table, catching on the box he’d set out beside Nesta’s ribbon. It was a small thing, wooden and lined with velvet to nestle the treasure inside. He didn’t need to open it to know— he’d already done so a thousand times, ever since he’d walked out of a jewellers in Portsmouth bearing it in his hands. What lay inside that box had cost him a small fortune, but it didn’t matter. Every gold mark that had ever crossed his palm was worthless to him now anyway. Months spent plundering the seas might have filled his coffers, but it wasn’t stolen coin that had made him rich.

He reached for the box now, dragging a thumb along the seam.

Flicking the lid open revealed a pendant of solid gold cushioned in the velvet, polished and shining like a beacon against the darkness of its wrappings. Crafted in the shape of a heart and studded with garnets that winked up at him as he traced a finger over the intricate pattern carved into its surface, the necklace was a thing of unparalleled beauty.

Well, Cassian thought as he paused to imagine the neck he planned to hang such a necklace around— the woman the jewel had belonged to ever since he’d bought it, even if he’d yet to gift it her. Almost unparalleled.

Suspended on a golden chain crafted of delicate links, a Tudor rose bloomed across the precious pendant, carved in fine lines and inlaid with crimson stone. An elegant scroll had been engraved at the bottom, surrounded by vines and golden leaves, and even though the inscription was in French - and Cassian had never been all that fluent in the language - even he had been able to decipher it.

Always yours.

Wasn’t that the fucking truth.

He had walked into that jewellers with nothing but a purse full of gold and bucketful of hope, not knowing what he was looking for. But he had seen that golden heart-shaped pendant and known.

Just like every last piece of him, it had seemed like it had been made for Nesta.

And as the sun beyond the window began to dim, Cassian dragged his thumb along the edge one more time, allowing himself to wonder how warm the gold might feel once pressed against Nesta’s skin. The thought was damn near enough to make his knees tremble, but before he could wax poetic about the beauty of the thing, a knock at the door had him snapping his head to the other side of his chamber.

A fist pounded, insistent and unimpressed, at the other side of the wooden door.

“Are you ready yet, Cass?”

Rhys’ voice was muffled by the thick oak of the door, but drifted through nonetheless. His brother sighed so loudly that even the solid inch of wood separating them did little to mask it.

“We’re already late, and the Queen will have me sent to the chopping block if we tarry any longer.”

With a grin, Cassian plucked the pendant from the box, wrapped it in velvet, and tucked it inside his doublet before closing the lid with a snap. He snorted as he crossed to the door, patting his chest to make sure the pendant was safely stowed before he pulled open the door and shouldered Rhys out of the way.

His brother’s fist had been raised to knock again, a look of abject irritation on his face, but it did little to smother the grin still plastered across Cassian’s mouth. They had agreed to meet in Rhys’ chambers and go down to the banquet together, but his brothers had, it seemed, grown tired of waiting. Cassian offered no apology as he stepped lithely into the stone hallway, but catching Rhys’ grimace, he gave the Queen’s councillor three irreverent pats on the cheek.

“And what a pretty sight it would be indeed,” he said brightly, “if your head were to end up on a spike. Decapitation would really bring out your eyes, don’t you agree?”

Rhys batted Cassian’s hand away with a muttered curse and a roll of those eyes, and leaning against the wall, Azriel snorted.

The Queen’s spy stood with one booted foot crossed over the other, his arms folded over his chest, with a dark half-cape slung over one shoulder. Where Cassian wore a pearl earring, Azriel sported a simple hoop of hammered silver, and there was a wry smile on his face as he pushed away from the wall.

“You took almost as long as Rhys to dress,” he drawled, “and that’s saying something.”

The councillor cut them both a dark look, brows dropped low over eyes so blue they were almost violet. Rhys said nothing, but he straightened his cuffs and smoothed a hand over his doublet as he walked away. Like Azriel, Rhys wore black— the colour so deep it was tantamount to his near-inexhaustible wealth. His golden collar of state was draped across his shoulders too, the only thing breaking up the black, and Cassian eyed it as Rhys led the way to the great hall, the gold glinting beneath the candles lighting the way.

He threw a grin to Azriel. “Well, I know who I’m trying to impress,” he said slyly, raking his gaze over Rhys’ immaculate state of dress. “What of you, brother?”

Azriel snorted once more before looking pointedly to Cassian and raising a brow. Mischief glimmered in his hazel eyes as he said, “Lady Nesta’s sister has arrived for the banquet.”

“Oh?”

“Her youngest sister.”

Cassian wanted to throw back his head and laugh. “Has she now?”

The very girl who Rhysand’s father - bastard that he was - had an eye on for his son. Rhys scowled over his shoulder, undeterred by the chuckle Azriel let out under his breath, and pulling away from the elbow Cassian aimed at Rhys’ ribs.

“Are you trying to win an Archeron of your own, brother?”

Rhys blinked flatly, flicking his gaze to the ceiling in sufferance as they walked. “Hardly winning, if it’s arranged.”

Cassian shrugged, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Think of it— we’ll be brothers by marriage.”

Rhys ducked beneath Cassian’s arm and brushed a hand over his shoulder, as if to remove invisible dust.

“Lord forgive me, if she’s anything like her sister,” he muttered, lips twisting into a grimace, “then I’ll be on the next ship to Calais.”

Azriel took a step that brought him into line with his brothers, clapping Rhys firmly on the shoulder. Cassian grinned, and one hand drifted absently to his chest, where the jewel he had bought remained safe beneath his doublet. His fingers felt it beneath the velvet, and his heart seemed to soar. He shot Rhys a wink.

“Calais wouldn’t have you, you insufferable bastard. Besides, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Rhys sighed heavily, pinching his brow as though he had suddenly developed a fierce headache. “And what have I done to earn such teasing? I did as you asked, did I not? I distracted the queen at the hunt.”

Cassian sobered a little, a soft smile crossing his face. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Azriel dipped his head in acknowledgement of his gratitude, but Rhys only rolled his eyes.

“I beg you be careful, Cass. Elizabeth doesn’t look kindly on illicit affairs amongst her ladies.”

“Worry not,” Cassian answered breezily, waving a hand as his boots echoed on the flagged stone floor. Ahead, the doors of the great hall loomed, and the sounds of celebration already filtered out and echoed along the hall. Every step brought him closer to Nesta - to his Nesta - and there was no warning in the world Rhys could give that would dampen the joy taking root within his heart. He felt an easy smile spread across his lips as he inclined his head to his brother and said, “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

***

Nesta could have sworn the hall fell silent when he entered.

It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Distantly, she knew the musicians kept playing. Knew that a hundred different voices still continued to speak, drifting up towards the rafters. But there had been some kind of pull she didn’t understand when Cassian had entered, and she had simply stopped hearing all the rest. The world had faded, like nothing mattered more than the privateer who strolled towards the queen on her dais, Lords Rhysand and Azriel by his side.

Suddenly, the simple act of breathing felt like a labour.

“Is that him?” Feyre whispered beside her. “The one you spoke of?”

Nesta did not turn to look at her sister. From her place standing four paces away from the Queen, she kept her attention fixed on the hall ahead, and the three men who had entered as one.

“I don’t remember that I spoke of anybody, sister.”

Feyre rolled her eyes.

Her youngest sister had been waiting when the royal party returned from the hunt, in a chamber with their father. After bowing deeply to the Queen and hearing Lord Archeron beg the queen’s forgiveness for arriving so lately to the pageant, Nesta had departed to her chambers with Feyre in tow, leaving their father to skulk away into the shadows, already seeking, no doubt, a round of lords to share in a game of cards.

But if Nesta had hoped that she might pass off the hunt as entirely menial, she had been a fool. Her sister never seemed to miss anything, her eye too sharp not to notice the way Nesta seemed… distracted following the day’s sport.

There were whispers, you know, Feyre had said idly, toying with the ends of her loose hair. They reached us even in Kent. I heard that there was a sailor a few months back that caught your eye.

Nesta had looked at her sister without so much as a furrow in her brow. You know how the court gossips. Such rumours all turn out to be baseless in the end, do they not?

And yet you haven’t denied it, Feyre pointed out with a smile curving her lips. Nesta had shook her head, and set to deciding on which dress she would wear for the banquet.

And what of you, little sister? Nesta had asked instead. I thought you would be wed to Tamlin by now. Or did Father find him wanting?

Feyre had snorted, the sound so startlingly unbecoming for a noblewoman that Nesta raised a brow. But then— Feyre had spent her youth in the country, raised so far from London. She had spent so little time at court that Nesta often forgot how different their worlds were, how much more freedom Feyre had been afforded, especially with their mother gone. She had been set to marry an earl from the Devonshire coast, and for a time she had seemed happy, his lands so full of greenery and bucolic beauty that it had seemed a perfect match. Nesta wondered what had changed.

Both Father and I found him wanting, Feyre shrugged. She settled herself on Nesta’s bed, leaning back against her hands. When Father decided you would best matched with the Duke of Northumberland, he realised that there would be a… space available at Lord Rhysand’s side.

Nesta really did scowl, then. I can imagine nothing worse than having to suffer such a man as my brother-in-law.

Feyre’s head tilted. Is he truly so terrible?

Before Nesta had been able to answer, they had been interrupted by a sharp knock on the door— one that called Nesta to the Queen’s side and reminded her of her duties in readying Elizabeth for the night’s banquet. Nesta had shaken her head and departed, leaving Feyre with the promise to speak to her later, and now her sister stood by her side, watching as Cassian entered the great hall, Azriel and Rhysand with him.

“Even so,” Feyre whispered. “Is that him?”

“I should think you would keep your attention on the man you may end up marrying,” Nesta hissed.

Feyre hummed a little, straightening her shoulders. “Yours looks like a rogue.”

“He is not mine,” she retorted, her words slipping through lips pressed tight together to mask the movement. Yet even as she spoke, she recognised the words for what they were. Falsehoods, bald-faced falsehoods uttered with all the skill of a courtier and yet still ringing hollow.

Feyre remained unconvinced. Nesta felt her sister’s sidelong gaze, and heard the whisper of a chuckle that left her lips. “So it is him.”

“You and I both know Father has his eye on Northumberland for me.”

“And you and I both know, too, sister, that if you had a mind to reject the match, you could do so far more easily than any other woman I know.” Her eyes darted to Elizabeth. “After all, one word to the Queen and she would close down all discussion of the union.”

Nesta pursed her lips, but her retort was banished as the trio of men approached the dais at last, all eyes fixed upon the Queen. The whispers ceased, and Nesta pretended not to notice how Cassian’s eyes strayed to her, taking her in from top to bottom, smirking with all the grace of a man who knew intimately the shape and feel of every one of his desires. It made her dress feel tight, and as she dragged her eyes away from the privateer, she pretended, too, not to take obvious note of the way Rhysand’s eyes flicked once to Feyre, widening with something that seemed to be surprise as Feyre met his gaze and stared him right back, studying him the way he studied her. Her sister’s eyes sparked beneath the candlelight, and Nesta felt herself groan inward as she realised that the look on Rhysand’s face had been pleasant surprise.

Elizabeth clapped her hands, snapping them all back to the present as Rhysand and his companions each sank to one knee, dipping into the lowest of bows.

“Your Majesty,” Rhysand said smoothly, his voice dancing across the candle-warmed stone. The Queen hummed brightly, and though Nesta tried to focus - honestly tried, futile as it was - she could not now force her eyes away from Cassian, with his head bowed and his hair hanging in loose curls to his shoulders, grazing the edge of his fine doublet.

At her side, Feyre tried and failed to mask the clearing of her throat. A sidelong glance revealed Feyre standing in her navy gown, five years out of fashion, tracking the path of the golden state collar across Rhysand’s shoulders. It had been a surprise to say the least to hear that their father had abandoned the betrothal to Tamlin and instead had an eye on Rhysand for his youngest daughter, and Nesta wasn’t entirely certain that the match was one she approved of. But the councillor, she noticed, glanced once more at Feyre, in a gesture so subtle she almost missed it. Though he remained steadfast beneath Elizabeth’s attention, those cold eyes that had so often glared at her from across the Queen’s chamber had somehow warmed a fraction in the presence of her sister.

“Good of you to join us, Rhysand,” Elizabeth drawled. The lord cringed. “The rest of my council arrived almost an hour ago.”

“Apologies, your majesty.” Rhysand cut a glare to his right, to where Cassian remained with his head bent. “I was delayed by my brothers.”

At his left, Azriel cleared his throat in protest.

Nesta fought a smile, and even the Queen seemed somewhat placated, her own lips curving in good humour as she reclined in her seat, arms braced on either side of her. Her diamonds glittered, her eyes sharp and piercing.

“And tell me,” she asked airily, dropping her eyes to Cassian, still on a knee. Indulgently, she tsked. “How fares my wayward bat? One hopes that it was not a longing for the sea that slowed you this evening.”

The privateer lifted his head at last, golden skin gleaming in the warm light. His eyes danced, as beautiful as a forest lake beneath an autumn sun. “Not at all, your majesty,” he said cheerfully, his voice reverberating, echoing in Nesta’s chest. “Your court has made me a happier man than I have been in a long time. I find I do not miss the seas at all.”

Elizabeth tittered, brushing a hand over her voluminous skirts. The praise had a smile crossing her thin lips. “I am glad to hear it,” she hummed. “Perhaps, then, you will tarry a while before next setting sail. After all, it would not do to rob us of so charming smile again so soon.”

Cassian grinned wider, giving the monarch a small nod. “As the Queen commands,” he said grandly, fisting a hand over his heart.

His eyes flicked to the side, landed on Nesta. He bowed his head once more, leaving her to wonder whether the queen he had spoken of was their blessed and anointed sovereign or… well, her. Indeed, from beneath his eyelashes, he looked up at her and tightened that fist pressed against his chest, as if he were swearing fealty to her from his place on his knees.

Elizabeth seemed not to notice Cassian’s distraction as he prostrated himself before her, merely clicking her tongue against her teeth in a sound of approval. Lifting her sharp eyes to the hall behind them, she waved a hand in dismissal. Others waited for the Queen’s ear, more courtiers gathering in droves as the hall began to fill.

“Go, sirs,” Elizabeth said airily, flicking her fingers towards the trestle tables lining the walls. “Enjoy the festivities.”

Nesta watched as her privateer rose smoothly to his feet. She watched as he backed away, watched as he took a seat at one of the long tables, slipping in amongst the nobility gathered beneath the hammer-beam roof. Watched, as he lifted his chin and sought her gaze.

She swore the air between them went taut, like a line stretched between them.

The air smelled like sugar, the sweetness like a fine cloak over the entire hall. The tables were laden with sweet dishes, candied fruit and gingerbread with sweetened cream. Sculptures made of sugar spoke to staggering wealth, and a grand version of Kenilworth itself had been constructed and wrought of sweets. But Nesta did not wish to taste any of it on her tongue— had no interest in the cakes drizzled with honey or the silver platters of fine desserts. The hippocras was sweet on her tongue when she sipped from her cup, but it wasn’t what she wanted to taste tonight.

She wanted so much more— wanted all the things she knew she could never ask for.

She wanted to taste his lips, wanted to feel the heat of his hand in hers. It was a touch that would have her condemned, a thought that would see her dismissed from the Queen’s service and left to bear the scandal, and yet still...

Nesta wanted.

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, and as their eyes connected across the room, the tightness in her chest grew, constricting until she found it hard to breathe. Edged by candlelight, his skin was golden and his hazel eyes were like embers, dragging heat along her skin as they roamed. She swore her heart lurched, and though she had never been one for sentiment, something in her chest had turned molten, and she allowed herself now - at long last - to admit that, God, she had been wanting him all along.

She dropped her eyes, thinking back to how she had been so incensed when he strolled in that first night of the pageant— how she had been so angry that he had sailed with the tide and left her behind— cast her off and made a fool of her.

She knew better now.

Lifting her eyes back to his, Nesta watched as Cassian took a drink that Azriel offered. Without even blinking, Cassian looked to her and winked, lifting his goblet in something caught halfway between a toast and a salute.

Beside her, Feyre murmured slyly, “I like him.”

***

The night was dark, and in the heavens above colours burst into life amongst the stars, flaming red and green and white.

Tudor colours for a Tudor queen; a livery in fireworks.

The cost must have been astronomical, but Nesta rather thought that nobody at all cared much how much the fireworks had cost the Earl of Leicester to import from the far east. All they cared was that the wine was flowing, the musicians continued to play, and as the night turned balmy, sparks ignited in the dark and bloomed against the light of the moon.

The entire court had been ushered out into the grounds after the banquet, left to gather before Kenilworth’s red-brick walls. Courtiers lounged now on the rolling lawns stretching before the castle walls, or stood by the lakeside, grouped on the banks. The Queen had commanded a spot on the bridge Leicester had constructed over the said lake— a grand thing, six-hundred feet long with carven pillars along the length, and beneath her in the water the fireworks were reflected, seeming to come from the depths themselves, as if Poisedon had commanded them. As above, so below they ignited.

Elizabeth stood a mere half step from Nesta, her face angled up to the sky. The colours flaring to life against the stars were reflected in the queen’s diamonds, the stones around her neck suddenly aflame with red sparks as they lit up the night above. Nesta was fascinated— entranced.

Fireworks.

A marvel from so far away, brought to light up the heavens.

Another firework exploded above them, and suddenly Nesta could think only of all the wonders the world might hold, wonders she would never see. Wonders Cassian had seen. The privateer was standing behind her, next to Lord Rhysand, and when she looked briefly over her shoulder, she saw his eyes drop from the skies and fix instead on her, like she was a wonder to him far greater than the artistry of the night sky.

He winked at her, and Nesta could only hope that the darkness masked her blush as she faced forwards once more.

The very air itself seemed alive with joy— with an excitement that seemed to shiver. She felt the promise of the night in her veins, and wondered where exactly it would take her before the sun rose at its end.

Her thoughts were broken by the brush of a hand against her wrist, warm and soft and hidden by the dark. Her eyes flicked to the side, even though she knew who she would find filling the space beside her. Cassian had crept upon her silently, finding the gap in the Queen’s ladies and slipping between them. His fingers had glided along the bare skin of her wrist, and Nesta had known his touch as innately as if it were her own.

Silently, she raised a brow.

Cassian inclined his head to the side. As the fireworks continued to bloom above, Elizabeth’s court began slowly to disperse through the grounds, disseminating into the darkness. It was easy to slip away under cover of night, easy to be overlooked when eyes were turned skyward, and as the Queen’s party on the bridge began to thin and musicians struck up from somewhere by the lakeside, Nesta turned her wrist, letting Cassian’s thumb brush against the base of her hand. A soft smile curved her lips as she stepped into him, her back brushing the hard lines of his chest.

“Walk with me,” he whispered, just like he had a few nights ago after his return.

This time, Nesta did not hesitate before saying yes.

***

There was something in the air, that night.

Nesta had walked the paths of Kenilworth’s gardens before, but something seemed different, now. Something had shifted, like the earth beneath her feet had righted itself after years of being an inch off-centre, and perhaps it was all in her head— perhaps the only thing that had changed was her, now that the thing she had been running from was no longer buried so deep within her chest. But as the skies were illuminated above, she didn’t think so. The world was more marvellous, more beautiful now, when she saw it with Cassian at her side.

The privateer meandered along the gravel paths with her, hands clasped behind his back, and every line of him was at ease, comfortable and content. When he walked, he was so close that his arm brushed against hers; a whisper of velvet that made her foolish heart skip.

She wanted more of him— didn’t think she would ever stop wanting more of him.

“Tell me,” she said as she looped her arm through his, drawing closer to his side. Even through the thick velvet of her dress sleeves, she could feel his warmth. “Tell me what it is like at sea.”

She was still thinking of the fireworks; of the wonders the world could boast.

Cassian threw his head back, inhaling the night air. Nesta watched, entranced, as the moonlight glanced off his jaw and coasted down the column of his throat. The pearl in his ear gleamed a white so bright it seemed to shine, the opalescent sheen seeming to glow against the darkness of his curling hair. He glanced down at her, eyes bright. For a long time he was silent, seemingly content to look at her the way she looked at him— as if he were committing every plane of her face to memory.

“Freedom,” he said at last.

When their eyes connected this time, Nesta swore there were fireworks of their own in the air between them. She could feel something bursting, sparks in her chest. Her lips parted when he smiled, her breath stolen by the sheer beauty of his grin, the lovely way his eyes lit up.

“It’s freedom.” He pulled her forward, and with one hand pointed at the sky, at the horizon that was too dark to see. “When the sun breaks over the waves, when dawn stains the sky pink and purple…” He breathed again, eyes distant, as though he could see it. He shook his head and turned to face her, dropping the arm that was looped through hers and taking up her hand instead. For a moment he was silent, studying her face. “It’s beautiful.”

One hand held her own, his callouses sliding against her skin. And then slowly, his other hand lifted to brush against her jaw, his fingertips moving to map the curve of her face.

“But there are other things of beauty in this world,” he murmured, his gaze dipping to her mouth. Nesta canted her head to the side, letting his fingers wander still across her cheek, her jaw, grazing her neck as the tip of his thumb brushed the corner of her lips. Beneath her stays, her heart pounded.

“It is true that I love the sea,” he continued when Nesta did not speak, rendered silent by the brush of his fingers across her fevered skin. His voice dipped, a quiet purr intended for her ears alone. “But coming home has its pleasures, too.”

“Greater pleasures, I hope?” Nesta dared ask, the movement of her lips almost letting her mouth kiss his fingers.

A smirk pulled at his mouth, his hazel eyes darkening in the moonlight. He lowered his chin, leaned closer.

“Far greater.”

His hand fell to her neck, his palm splayed across her pulse. The heel of his palm rested on her collarbone, and beneath his touch her blood pulsed and pounded with reckless abandon. If he noted how it fluttered, how her heart raced, he said nothing. Instead his thumb swept across the column of her neck in a broad, languorous stroke. Despite the wine she had taken her fill of, Nesta’s mouth suddenly felt dry. Cassian leaned closer, the press of his hips shifting her skirts, and Nesta felt herself pitching towards him, like she were the ship and he were her anchor, the only solid thing for a thousand miles.

He smelled like leather and sea salt, with just the barest hint of something soft— like lavender. Nesta breathed it in, let it wash over her as she felt one of his hands move to her waist.

God, he was as intoxicating as the queen’s strongest wine.

All too soon, laughter echoed from somewhere far away. With a start Nesta jolted back, pulling from his easy grip and setting a distance between them that made something inside her splinter. Her eyes fell to the gravel beneath their feet, silvered by the moon.

“My father still wants me to marry Northumberland,” she said, if only because somebody had to.

Cassian shrugged, irreverently. “Oh, come now,” he said with a wave of his hand. “You’d hate it so far north.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “And yet you are from the north— your father’s lands are on the Scottish marches, are they not?”

“They are,” he shrugged, not allowing his air of irreverence to falter, even as his eyes hardened a little at the mention of the man who had fathered him. “That’s exactly how I know you’d hate it.”

Nesta shook her head, but found that somehow the space between them had vanished once more, like the both of them had been drawn to the other. He was close enough now that he when he dropped his head, his brow almost brushed hers. Nesta swallowed, daring to reach out and trace the laces of his doublet with the tip of her finger. She could have sworn he shivered.

“Nesta,” he breathed, his voice as rough as the gravel they stood upon. He seemed to steel himself, eyes dropping once more to her lips. Above them, more fireworks bloomed in the sky but this time, Nesta could not drag her eyes away from the man before her. Once again his fingers sought her skin, both palms rising until he held her face cradled in his hands.

“Marry me instead.”

Nesta Archeron blinked.

The emerald-green and ruby-red of the fireworks were reflected in Cassian’s hazel eyes, sparking as she blinked once more, more fervently this time. She pulled her head back an inch, just enough for his hands to drop. Her head began to spin, and Cassian did not retract his touch but left it lingering at her jaw, his fingers curling beneath her chin. Smoothly he urged her face up, brought her eyes to his.

“Have you lost your wits?” she asked, half afraid she wouldn’t hear his answer over the pounding of her own heart. But her voice didn’t come out as sharp as she intended, nor as incredulous.

Cassian only shrugged. “I have money enough,” he said. “Lots of it.”

Stunned, Nesta searched for something to say and came up empty. Cassian brushed his thumb along her jaw once more, as if to remind himself that he could, that she hadn’t drawn away.

“I’m sure I can get the Queen to give me an earldom, at least.”

At that, Nesta laughed. “No, you really have lost your wits.”

“One of my oldest friends is a member of her privy council,” he countered easily, as if they were discussing the weather. “Another is part of her extensive intelligence network. I rather think they can pull some strings.”

“Then you don’t know our queen at all, if you think the words of some men could sway her,” Nesta scoffed, taking a step back, outside his reach. “Lord Rhysand has been trying to settle a match between her and the Duke of Alençon for months and she isn’t prepared to listen. What makes you so different?”

“Ah,” Cassian grinned, stepping back into her space until the distance between them was nothing once again. “Because if I am the one to marry you, she gets to keep you too.”

Nesta frowned.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it sweetheart?” he said, his voice a fevered whisper accompanied by glinting eyes and a self-assured smirk. “If you marry Eris… well, you’d have to move to Northumberland wouldn’t you, and that’s so frightfully far away. I don’t think our darling queen would be happy at having to lose you.”

She could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart, the way it fluttered in her chest like a sparrow’s wings.

“My father might have lands in the north,” Cassian continued when Nesta said nothing, too bewildered to speak, “but it isn’t as though I will be the one to inherit them, bastard as I am.” He shrugged, like his illegitimacy was nothing to him anymore. “I have enough set aside to buy a house in London. I hear the queen favours Greenwich— I am certain we can find a nice little manor to make our own near there. You need not leave her service.”

“It’s true enough that she doesn’t take well to losing her ladies when they wed,” Nesta said slowly, a breathless kind of feeling blooming within her, one that felt dizzying in its exuberance. And then, pointedly, she added, “She stabbed one through the hand once, when she married without permission.”

“We wouldn’t do it without permission though, would we?” Cassian took her hand, lifted it to his lips. “Think on it, at least. This whole event is put on in honour of the queen— she’s in a good mood. I think Leicester half hopes she’s going to propose to him by the end.”

Nesta hardly dared breathe.

It was madness.

Madness.

Her father would be furious, and every man the length of England would hear of the scandal. But it wasn’t enough to stop her longing to accept, to let Cassian sweep her into his arms and take her to the church right now to make her his.

Before she could speak, Cassian lifted a hand to his doublet. From inside, he pulled out a small parcel wrapped in black velvet. With the moon high in the sky overhead, and the stars joined by the fireworks bathing Kenilworth in red and green, Cassian held out the parcel with a steady hand. Only when Nesta took it, only when he lifted his fingers to tuck back behind his ear a strand of hair that had escaped his tie, did she think she see him tremble.

Unfolding the velvet revealed a heart of solid gold. It shone burnished even in the low light, and the pendant was heavy in her palm. Inlaid with garnets, there was a flowering rose studded with gems and beneath, carved in an elegant scroll, the inscription read, in French, ‘always yours’.

Nesta swallowed, tracing a thumb over the smooth surface of the shining garnet. “The Queen will have your head,” she whispered.

Cassian scoffed. “You heard her. She likes my smile too much.” When Nesta raised an eyebrow, the privateer’s smile turned lupine. “Oh, she might throw me in the Tower for a month or too, but nothing too serious.”

Nesta shook her head, but as she watched Cassian’s smile turned soft, his eyes growing earnest as he took her hand, closing her fingers over the pendant he’d given her.

“I bought it from a goldsmith as soon as we reached land,” he said, his voice sober. “My French was never as good as Rhys’, but I know enough to translate. I saw that pendant and felt the truth of those words in my bones, because I have been so many things in my life, sweetheart - bastard, nobleman, pirate, privateer - but above all else I have been yours from the moment I met you. I signed my heart over to you that very first day, and I don’t want it back.”

His fingers squeezed hers, tight around the golden heart.

“Marry me,” he said again, his tone carrying a shade of desperation. “Marry me, because I have and always will be entirely yours. There shall never be another for me, sweetheart. It has always been you, and you alone.”

Somehow Nesta found the strength to glance up, into the face that was lined with honesty. His eyes bored into hers, his lips parted with his confession. God, she couldn’t say no to him. Didn’t want to say no to him.

“The Queen…” she began again, but her protest was weak now, and Cassian waved it away with a hand.

“She likes me much more than she likes Eris,” he said. “And I’m sure that if I get down on my knees and beg her to see how desperately I love you, she’ll understand.”

Nesta’s hand fluttered to her chest, where she could feel her heart beating. She knew her limits as well as any woman, and already felt her knees beginning to tremble. She was seconds from falling into his arms, mere moments from demanding that he tell her again exactly how much he loved her.

But she didn’t get chance. Before she could open her mouth, Cassian extended his arm and pushed back the sleeve of his doublet. There, tied against his skin, was her ribbon. The one she had given Eris at the joust. With deft fingers Cassian untied it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and lifting it between them until it was level with Nesta’s eyes.

“I want to be the one wearing your favour for the rest of my life,” he said, in a voice that was solid and steady. “Every joust, every tourney, every dance.”

“I still can’t believe you found it,” she muttered.

Cassian raised a brow as he tucked the ribbon inside his doublet. “Well, I wasn’t going to let Eris leave something so precious lying on the tiltyard floor now, was I?”

“Precious?” Nesta asked flatly. “It’s a ribbon.”

“Your ribbon,” he countered. “Precious.”

“To who, exactly?”

“To me,” he answered simply.

More fireworks burst into beautiful colour above, but for once Nesta did not turn her face to the sky. She felt the ghost of Cassian’s touch lingering on her skin, and as his hands drifted to her hips, his face was brought so close to hers that it would take only the barest movements for their lips to touch. And oh, Nesta wanted their lips to touch. She had never craved a kiss as much as this, had never wanted to feel the warmth and heat of another as much as she did now. Cassian dipped his head, his nose grazing her cheek.

“Nesta,” he whispered, like her name was a prayer to him.

Her hands travelled along his doublet, smoothing over the hard muscle of his chest. She curled her fingers over his shoulders, rising to her tiptoes to bring them closer. He groaned against her, his hands falling to her waist. It burned— his touch burned.

“If I said yes,” she murmured, her eyes falling to his lips, “would you kiss me, sir?”

“If you said yes,” he answered, a hitch in his voice, “I would kiss you until the stars dropped to the earth.”

His hands tightened on her waist, his grip one that Nesta didn’t ever wish to be free of.

“And then?”

Cassian let out a rough laugh, even as his head fell to hers, his lips grazing the corner of her mouth when he spoke.

“Then I would go to the Queen this very night, fall to my knees and beg her to let me have you. I would move Heaven and Earth and not rest until she gave her assent.”

Nesta fought a smile, winding her arms around his neck. Against her cheek, his own lips curved into a smile that he didn’t fight at all.

“And then I would kiss you again— and again, and again, until there is no breath left in me.”

Heat bloomed deep inside her, the blush on her cheeks flaming.

“What a pretty picture it is that you paint,” she breathed.

“A pretty reality, sweetheart.” Cassian straightened, looking down into her eyes with an intensity that almost made Nesta weak. “Say yes to me, and I will lay the entire world at your feet.”

“And if I don’t want the world?”

“Then what else would you have of me?”

Nesta shrugged. “I would have you— just you.”

His smile was wolfish, hungry. Suddenly his arms were around her fully, sweeping her to his chest. He lowered his face to hers once more, his lips hovering maddeningly above her own. So close— so close. When he spoke, his breath drifted across her lips.

“I already told you, love,” he murmured. “You have me. Wholeheartedly, you have me.”

Gently, Nesta lifted a hand and pressed it against his cheek. The privateer closed his eyes, like her touch was the only thing that could undo him. Her heart swelled, and on her tongue she felt the words begging to be spoken— and one word that mattered more than all the rest.

“Then how could my answer be anything but yes?”

He stilled. “Truly?”

Silent, she nodded.

And before she could blink, his lips were on hers. Slowly at first, gentle and explorative, like he wished to trace every inch of her and familiarise himself with it. And then it turned fevered, his hands grasping at her waist as her fingers curled against his neck. With a palm flat against her spine Cassian drew her closer.

Nesta knew, distantly, that if they were discovered everything she had would be ruined. If she were caught kissing a privateer in the gardens, whatever reputation she had would be so utterly destroyed there would be no coming back. And yet as Cassian’s lips danced with hers, she no longer cared.

Let them find her.

Let them see.

Let them know that the only man she wanted to meet at the altar was this one, the only ring she wanted to bear on her finger his.

Her lips parted, a gasp leaving her as his hands travelled south. Her skirts felt heavy, the fabric between them too much, and she was cognisant of nothing but his lips as he backed her against a nearby tree, bracing his hands on the bark as one leg slipped between hers. Nesta felt herself unravel. Her bodice felt too tight, the air too thin. Her hands travelled across the broad stretch of Cassian’s shoulders, clinging to him as the skies above them continued to burst with colour.

“How shall you have me, wife?” Cassian asked, nipping at her lips as Nesta shivered in his arms. “On my knees?”

Her heart stuttered.

Wife.

Still, she forced herself to arch a brow, even as his hand moved to her thigh, palming the fabric of her dress.

“Is there any other place a husband should desire to be, when before his wife?”

Cassian grinned at her. He leaned close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as his hips pressed against hers. “No,” he breathed, grazing his teeth along her jaw. “No, there isn’t.”

She tipped her head back, watching the fireworks illuminate the sky. Cassian’s hands travelled along her thigh, above the fabric of her dress. He had called her wife, and she had called him husband, and even though there had been no vows exchanged or no priest to bless the union, she knew that the match was all but sealed. If he went any further, if his hands strayed beneath her dress…

Shaking her head, Nesta placed a hand on top of Cassian’s own, stopping his touch from roaming any further.

“Perhaps some things should be saved for our wedding night,” she whispered.

He blinked, squeezing her thigh once. Desire clouded his eyes, hunger written all over his face. As Nesta watched, he reined it in. With effort, he took back his hand, pressing a single chaste kiss to her cheek before drawing back.

“Then let me away to the Queen immediately,” he said, his voice glimmering with laughter. “I’ll beg her to let me marry you tomorrow.”

She batted at his shoulder. “Rogue.”

He grinned, catching her fingers and bringing them to his lips. “A rogue you have agreed to bind yourself to forever, sweetheart.”

He pulled away, but extended a hand to bring her with him. Nesta took it, feeling her fingers slip between his as the warmth in her chest settled. The heat did not vanish, but rather turned into something else, something far more tender, that warmed her bones. Cassian led her back through the gardens, towards the celebrations.

“Come,” he said, bringing her to his side and winding his arm through hers. “I must tell the Queen how you stole my heart like an expert thief.”

“If anyone is the thief, sir, I rather think it would be you,” Nesta countered tartly.

He laughed, and the sound had her already anticipating the moment he slipped a ring on her finger. He paused, turning and pulling her to his chest, his head dipping for one more kiss.

“Then deem me guilty,” he murmured, smiling as he lowered his mouth. “And condemn me to a life at your side, for you will find no happier convict.”

Nesta hummed and did not answer, winding her arms around his neck.

And as the fireworks overhead continued to set fire to the night, Cassian kissed her again, tender and soft and filled with a lifetime of promise. The privateer murmured her name against her lips, whispered his love against her as he held her to his chest, and Nesta felt herself secure in his arms, more cherished than she had ever been before.

“You’re certain?” he whispered, dragging his lips to her cheek.

Nesta smiled softly, delving her fingers into his hair. His hands held her steady, fingers splayed at the small of her back, and as she looked into his eyes she knew with unfailing certainty that there would never have been another for her— no man to compare to this one, with all his rakish charm and rugged beauty.

“I’m certain,” she whispered. “Marry me, sir.”

Cassian grinned, his eyes sparking as he lowered his lips to her jaw. His voice was a rasp against her skin when he spoke, a heated whisper. His hands fisted the fabric of her dress as he kissed his way to the corner of her mouth, still smiling against her as he said, with no hint of irony or care for consequence…

“As my queen commands.”

Taglist: @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @andrigyn @beansidhebumbling

#nessian #as per there is a very lengthy historical note on ao3 so if historical detail is your thing then do check that out #this one includes tidbits on the real entertainments at the pageant and the food served at the banquet #and also the inspiration behind the pendant #which is *real* and gorgeous and you should absolutely check the authors note where there is a link to an article with pictures of it #nestaweek2024

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