#Lady of Autumn

[gwynrieldreams]

Eris: I'm so hungry I could eat Helion.

LoA: 😒

[ronibartender]

Out of my mind

Summery: Part 2 of “Out Of My Control”

Disclaimer: I give no rights for my work to be replicated, adapted, translated or used for any means. If you have questions please feel free to message me.

A special thanks to @mirandasidefics for inspiring me with her own writing and her book theories that are just as unhinged as my own. Go read her fics on her page, they are amazing!

Reader POV

My apartment has never felt so quiet. Quiet enough that I can hear the people laughing at the tavern down the street. Quiet enough that I can hear the female playing the piano two stories below and the couple making love three stories above. I sigh and roll over in bed letting the cool night breeze from the open window cool me off.

He’s gone…

He’s gone and I’m the reason. I could’ve done more, I could’ve, should’ve, put up with Vena for us, for him.

I broke things off 10 days ago. For the first week he knocked at my door, came to my work, brought me flowers and begged, begged on his knees, for me to give him another chance. To which I told him that he needed no other chance. I told him he did nothing wrong.

“Vena doesn’t like me, Lucien. Have you thought that maybe that’s a sign? Kids can tell these things; when people aren’t good.”

“And you’re not good?” His eyes shine with tears.

“Maybe I’m not…” my voice cracks and I try to shut the door. He puts his foot in the way.

“I love you, (Y/N). And I’m not letting you go.”

“Please don’t make this harder for me-”

“For you? FOR YOU?! I got on my knees and begged you to stay. I told you I love you and that’s not enough. What do I have to do? What do I have to offer-”

“You’re not the one who has what we need to make this work,” more tears. From me… from him…

“I’ll talk to her-”

“That hasn’t worked the past 12 months.”

“I love you.”

“It’s not enough… not long term” a guttural sob breaks free from him and he leans on my door frame, chest shaking. My hand goes up to reach for his face instinctively but I stop myself.

“If I can make her like you… will- will you come back to me?”

“You can’t make her do anything. And the more you try to force it the more she’ll likely hate me. She’s your sister, she’s your whole world. Do this for her. One day you’ll find someone and she’ll love her too, and you’ll know she’s the one. Vena deserves a big sister that she loves.” It’s the truth. And it hurts, burns my throat like bile as it comes out but still; it’s the truth.

He nods, standing straight and running a hand over his face, pushing both palms onto his tear-lined eyes. “You don’t get it…” he sighs. “She isn’t my whole world anymore,” he looks down and we stand there a second until a sob comes from my lips and I close the door, locking it and sitting down against it. I don’t hear his footsteps walk away by the time I fall asleep on the floor.

I cry at the memory and go use the bathroom.

The first day after I ended things was spent in bed crying. The second, I spend scrubbing away his scent from my apartment; washing beddings and scrubbing down the bathroom and kitchen, even letting the fireplace burn bright despise the warm weather just to attempt at burning the scent away… but it lingers. Maybe it’s a trick of my own mind at this point but I still scent him everywhere.

When I come back I’m startled by something jumping in through my window. I yelp as a dirty, chunky cat looks at me. It has beautiful green eyes and doesn’t seem agitated so I crouch and reach my hand out not too close, allowing it to come to me. The cat takes its time but comes close enough to sniff my hand and that’s when I notice that it’s wet. In the dark room it’s hard to tell what it’s covered in so I take it to the bathroom and find that it’s covered in mud. I take the rugs out of the bathroom and lock the door, I fill the tub as the cat tries to lick itself clean. It’s docile as I trim its nails and only fights when I try to put it in the tub.

After a while of trying to climb out and get away it accepts its fate as I soap up its coat and rinse it off. It behaves besides some pained meows and a displeased look on its face. Once it’s clean I can tell that it’s a female, gray tabby. She sits by the fireplace to dry off as I try to find something it can eat. I put out a bowl with water and defrost some salmon since I’m out of tuna. I lay out some towels but I doubt it’ll know that’s where it’s supposed to release itself. I yawn as I spot the chubby lady by the fireplace, sleeping. She seems so docile… I wonder why it’s out on the streets, no collar but so obviously not an alley cat, not in this court. I decide to make that tomorrow’s problem and head to bed.

The next day I wake up early, curtesy of the big cat deciding to lay down on top of my face and stop my breathing. I go out to buy cat supplies once I decide my attempts to fall back asleep are truly futile, and ultimately deciding to keep the furry thing as my new companion. I get food and cat litter and dishes and I make sure the set up is good enough in my apartment before going to work.

I haven’t seen Lucien in six days when he decides to show up at my work during my lunch. “Lucien-”

He puts a hand up, “I know,” he sits in front of me. “I- I’m running out of things to say, (Y/N).”

“Then stop talking. We both know this won’t work and you coming to see me only hurts us both.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you want?” I mentally kick myself as my voice wavers.

“I want you in my life. I know it’s stupid and it’ll probably do more harm than good but I miss you. Not just because I love you but I miss your personality; the dark humor, the knowledge in that big brain, all your little fun facts and books and crafts and… I can’t quit you cold turkey.”

“What do you want?” I repeat.

“Company. Your company.”

I take a deep breath, weighing the possibility, “no.”

“(Y/N),” he gets ready to make another point but I stop him.

“I have to quit you cold turkey, because if I don’t… I’ll be an addict forever.” First I see sadness, then rage in his eyes as he slams his palm on the table and stands up, leaving. I put my lunch away and head back into the darkness of the library, having lost my appetite.

Lucien POV

I’m so steamed up that all I see is red all the way to the palace. I head to my studies, hoping everyone will leave me alone but as I round a corner Vena is once again running from her governess and towards me, a big smile on her face. “Lushy! You’re back! You’re back! Where’d you go?”

“Not now Vena, I have work to do.”

She looks confused and follows me, “ooo! Can I help? I’m a good helper! You always say so!”

“Not now Vena, I’ll call you later and we can play.”

“Oh! I learned something new today! Did you know that flowers-”

“VENA! I said not now!” I shout and immediately regret it as big, fat tears fill her eyes and her lips wobble. She looks down and runs away down the hall.

Shit.

I rub my face before following after her, “Vena? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell.” I keep walking, following the scent of her vanilla shampoo. I hear sniffling coming from a slightly open door.

“He yelled at me, papa! Lushy never yells!” She cries.

“Lucien is under a lot of stress lately, cut him some slack. People do and say things they don’t mean when they have so many negative feelings going on.”

“It’s that witch! She made him sad!”

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah! Her! She made Lushy sad and now he’s yelling at me.”

“Why do you think she made him sad? She hasn’t been around in weeks.”

“Because… because… because she’s a witch!” Vena huffs and even though I can’t see her I know she’s crossing her arms and pouting.

“Morning Star.” My father, ever soft spoken, says, “why do you think she’s a witch?”

“Because she is.”

“Ok, but besides that?”

There’s a long pause before Vena starts speaking, her voice soft and sad, “because she put a spell on Lushy. She made him not like me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” My father chuckles, “your brother loves you more than anything!”

“Not more than her. He stopped wanting to play with me and every time we were together he’d talk about her. I just want my big brodda back, papa. I miss Lushy before he met that witch.”

“Your brother loves you both. But in different ways. But that doesn’t mean he loves you any less just because he loves her. And you want to know a secret?”

“What, papa?”

“I promised your mother I wouldn’t tell you so you have to promise me that you’ll be a big girl and understand what I’m about to say, ok?”

“Yes, papa?”

My father sighs, “(Y/N) stopped coming around because her and Lucien aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend anymore.”

“Good. He got rid of her for good.”

“You said you’d be a big girl, Vena.”

“Sowy, papa. Keep going.”

“He didn’t get rid of her. She ended things with him.”

“Why? Lushy’s the best!” She gaps.

“Because she felt like she was getting in between you and him.”

“Well, she was…”

“No, Vena. She wasn’t. And I need you to be a big girl and understand that. You were mean and rude to that young female and you made her feel unwelcome, that’s not what us Spellclevers do. She felt so unwelcome that she left. And now your brother is heart broken.”

She gasps, “she broke his heart?”

“No, Vena. You broke his heart.”

A few seconds pass before she answers, “oh…so… I hurt Lushy by making (Y/N) wanna go away forever?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“If she’s gone… Why isn’t Lushy back to normal? If she’s not around then he can’t love her. So he should be my best big brodda again.”

“Love doesn’t go away with distance or time, Vena. I loved your mother for more than 500 years. I didn’t speak, write or see her for most of that time, yet my heart belonged to her. And nothing and no one else could or can change that. But just because I love your mother so fiercely, doesn’t mean I don’t love you, or Lucien.”

“So you can split up your love?”

He chuckles again, “no, my dearest. Love can never be split. It can only spread, and there’s no limit how much it can grow.”

“I think I understand, papa. But if that’s true… then I hurt Lushy… real bad.”

“I’m afraid you did, darling.”

She cries, “but I don’t wanna hurt him, papa! How do I make it right?”

“You can start by giving him time to calm down. Then maybe you can draw him one of your beautiful pictures and apologize.”

She didn’t say anything else and all I hear are the crackles of the fire in my father’s study. I silently make my way to my office and think about what I just heard, preparing myself to accept her apology even though I know it will change nothing. It’s done. She’s gone and Vena’s apology won’t change the fact that she doesn’t like (Y/N) one bit.

Reader’s POV

This cat will be the death of me. It’s eating 5 cans of tuna a day and it insists on sleeping in bed with me and I’ll wake up in the middle of the night as it lays on my face and suffocates me. At this point I don’t know if it loves me or if it’s trying to murder me.

I gasp for air, pushing the fur ball off my face. I glare at her and stir, looking outside as the dawn breaks. One year… today would’ve been a year. My vision blurs at the thought and I stare at the ceiling and let my tears flow. It’s my day off anyway, I can sulk today.

A knocking at the door interrupts my sulking and I hold my breath, hoping whoever it is will think I’m either out or sleeping and go away but the knocking continues, rapid and persistent. After about three minutes I give up and go see who it is, “coming!” I roll out of bed and put on my robe, padding to the door and opening it; no one.

“Down here!”

I look down and there stands Venus. Venus?! “What are you doing here?!”

“I need to talk to you,” she shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world, the backpack she carries shaking with the movement. She walks in like she owns the place. “Do you know how long it took me to get here? And why do you live so high up? By the way, your front door doesn’t lock; the one downstairs to get into the building.”

“I- I know Venus,” I close the door. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No,” she shrugs off her little leather backpack, tossing it up and onto the island then tries climbing up the bar chair, I end up helping her and she huffs.

“How did you find me?” I pour her a glass of water and she takes it with both hands, drinking half of it. She reaches for her backpack and pulls out a large canteen.

“Can you fill this, please?” I comply, filling it and handing it back to her.

“How did you find me?” I repeat.

She smirks, the little devil. “I told my governess I wanted to send you a letter so we walked here this afternoon and I left it in the mailbox. I just wanted to know how to come here so I could come alone.”

“And why did you want to come here, exactly?”

“Because Lushy is sad and I don’t like it! And you have to fix it.”

I sigh. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?!” She demands, pouting and crossing her arms.

“Lucien and I broke up for a good reason. And I can’t go back on it.” She pouts and mumbles something, “what?” She mumbles again, “I don’t know what you’re-”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” She huffs and looks away.

“You’re… sorry? For what?”

“Papa talked to me about why Lushy’s been so angry and sad… I’m sorry I was mean. And I’m sorry I pulled your hair… and pushed you… and put ants in your purse.”

“That was you?!”

“I said sorry!”

I sigh. This changes nothing. She’s here because Helion talked to her, not because she’s ok with me and Lucien being together. “Thank you for apologizing, Venus. I appreciate it. Now let’s get you home.”

“No!” She climbs down from the bar chair and goes to the sofa, climbing up and laying down on it. “I’ve been walking for hours! My legs are tiny still, it took me forever to get here.”

“Don’t you think they’ll be worried about you?”

“I left a-” She gasps and practically rolls off the sofa and makes a bee line for my new furry friend. “I didn’t know you had a kitty!” The cat meows, annoyed as Venus hugs it.

“She wandered in through the window a few days ago.”

Venus pets the cat and pulls it to her lap, her little legs spreading to make room for the cat to lay between them.

“What’s her name?”

“I haven’t thought of one yet…” I get up and make coffee, “you wanna eat something?”

“Yes please! I ate all the cookies I took from the kitchen on my way here.”

I make her a little plate of crackers and cheese and pour her some orange juice. By the time I go to tell her the snack is ready she’s pulled out bows from her own hair and put it on my cat. The furry thing looks at me with an unimpressed expression and meows in a way that feels like it’s begging for help. “Venus, come eat.” She starts to pick up my cat to bring with her, “leave the cat.”

“Aweee,” she puts the cat down and comes to eat, and this time doesn’t fuss when I help her up onto the bar stool.

About an hour later later she falls asleep with a death grip on the cat that still looks the pinnacle of boredom. I untangle her little hands for the kitty and pick her up, gathering her things and slugging her back onto my shoulders. I walk her all the way back to the Day Court Palace. It’s about a mile and a half from my apartment to the palace. I can make it in about thirty minutes at a leisurely pace, but I can’t imagine how long it took Venus and her little legs.

Once I make it to the gates the guards pull Venus off me, taking her pack and my own bag too. They escort me to Helion’s office and I’m sure the only reason they didn’t cuff me was because I complied and they knew my history with Lucien.

(Helion’s office, soon after)

Helion sighs as he sits in his office chair, “what happened?”

“Didn’t your guards tell you?” My eyes are on my feet.

“All they said is they saw you approaching the palace with Vena sleeping on your shoulder. We woke up panicked today when we couldn’t find her.”

“She snuck out and came to my apartment.”

“How-”

“I don’t know. She said she tricked her governess into taking her there today to drop off an apology letter. Once she knew where it was she could go by herself.”

The High Lord rubs his face in desperation, “what did she want?”

“She wanted to say she was sorry for all the things she pulled…. And she wanted me to make Lucien happy again.” I swallow the lump in my throat, eyes down cast.

“(Y/N) I’m so sorry. I think I’m partially to blame for this; I told her she had to make things right and apologize to her brother but… Vena always has her own plans.” I nod and then silence. “You’re free to go, it was truly a pleasure to see you again.”

I nod. I can feel my nose go red and the sight of my shoes blurts as tears fill my eyes.

Helion rises from his chair and hugs me, at the contact I sob, “I’m sorry.”

“For what, my dear?”

“For everything… I had no business going out with your son in the first place and now… there’s this mess.”

“You have every right to date my son. And he has every right to love you,” I sob again and hold his arm as he hugs me while I’m sitting in the chair. “Which he does. Deeply.”

Once I gather my bearings I leave the palace as Helion looks after me with a pained look. I walk quickly through the halls I’ve become so familiar with, hoping I won’t bump into Lucien. I spend the rest of my day off walking through the park, picking up more tuna and eating junk food on the sofa.

The hardest part is the numbness. All emotions just remind me of him, as if my soul has completely intertwined itself with his in the short time we knew each other. But now everything is hollow, and I have no energy left, no strength to feel those things now.

I fall asleep in the tub and only wake up when I hear a thud come from the bedroom, I look out the window and it is pitch black outside. I register the freezing water a second later and get out.

Another thud.

What the fuck? I wrap a towel around myself and curse colorfully at not having brought any clothes into the bathroom with me. I pull the plug on the drain and open the cabinet door under the sink, pulling out a dagger; Lucien insisted on teaching basic self defense and part of that, apparently, was keeping a dagger in easy reach yet hidden in every room. I open the door and try my best to remember everything Lucien taught me, still very aware of the fact that I’m in a towel.

I round the corner and there’s no one in the living room or kitchen.

“In here,” Vena. I hear her voice call me from the bedroom. This little female is going to make me go out of my mind!

I stomp over and turn on the light, “what. Are you doing here?! Do you know that they dragged me to your father this morning? Is this another one of your jokes? Cause if it is this isn’t funny, Venus. I’m not with your brother anymore! Leave me alone!” I stomp off to put the dagger back in its place. I count to five and walk back to the room where Venus is laying down a cat bed and blankets. “What are you doing?”

“Your kitty is pregnant, dum dum!” She doesn’t even look at me and keeps making the bed. Oh… that makes sense.

“How do you know?”

“Don’t you know anything about animals?”

“Some… not really.”

“Papa’s prize Pegasus and his mate are having a baby. Papa’s been teaching me about animals and their babies and cat is showing all the signs of getting ready for having kittens.” She says, matter of factly.

“I appreciate it Venus but you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I wasn’t done this morning,” she crosses her arms. “I just fell asleep. But I brought coffee this time so that won’t happen again.”

“You’re not supposed to drink coffee.”

She simply shrugs and focuses and making the cat bed. “I want a truce.”

“A truce?”

She nods, curls bouncing. “Yep. I’ll try to like you better if you make Lushy happy again by being his lady friend.” She finishes the cat bed and turns to me, hands on hips.

“Why?”

She looks down and wrings her hands together, “cause I love Lushy. And I know that I need to share him now.” The little female closes her eyes, like this confession hurts her. I take a few steps closer and kneel down in front of her.

“Venus?”

“Yeah?” Her eyes still closed, hands still clasped tightly together.

“Can I hug you?” Her eyes shoot open and she looks at me, searching for any evil.

“Ok.” I don’t waste a second, scooping her into my arms and holding her like a babe. I hold her for a while until she hugs me back. I don’t realize she’s crying until I hear her broken voice. “Lushy yelled at me.”

“What?”

“He yelled… he’s been so angry since you went away… so sad. I want my brodda to be happy and I talked to papa, and I know that if I don’t like you then Lushy won’t be happy.” She hiccups over my shoulder, “but I don’t like you. You stole my Lushy away and I don’t like it at all! Papa said that love grows when you love more people but it’s like you stole all his love away! All he would talk about when we played was you!”

I cut in as she takes a breath, “he talked about you to me nonstop too, you know? He would always tell me how smart and kind you were, how you were creative and too clever for your own good. You make him so proud, Venus. And no matter what he’ll always be your brother. I can’t change that as much as I can’t change the stars in the sky.” She cries a while longer, once the smell of salt passes I continue, “I love your brother. And if you’re willing to form a truce then I’ll consider being with him again, but no more pranks, ok?” She simply nods. “Maybe we can find common ground?”

She pulls away and wipes her face, “what’s that?”

I stand to find tissues, “thing we both like. I like to read and paint and do crafts. I like ice cream and breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. Tell me some things you like.”

She sits on the floor in front of me, legs out and hands stretching to grip her covered feet. “Hmmm… my favorite color is purple but I also like green. I like to draw too and I like ice cream; cookie dough. My favorite meal time is dinner and I’m still learning to read but I like it when mama, papa or Lushy reads to me.” She smiles, accomplished.

“What kind of stories do you like?”

“Papa reads to me about animals, Lushy tells me stories of his adventures in the courts but my favorites are mama’s stories! She reads me stories about pirates and sword fights and damsels in distress! About rats the size of dogs and swaps so dangerous no one can pass through!” She vibrates with excitement, “stories about true love! My favorite is the Buttercup story!”

I chuckle, “I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

“Oooo! Mama will tell ya! She likes telling that one.”

I smile, “wanna hear one of my favorites?” She nods. “It’s a story I heard long ago but never forgot. Let’s get comfy,” we get snacks and I get her settled on the bed with me and then I start. “Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess, who loved her kingdom… very much….”

(Hours later)

Venus fell asleep deep into the story. She held out longer than I thought she would. But that story is long and I do not blame her. Once I was sure she was in a deep enough sleep, I once again gathered her things and set off to the palace. The guards didn’t drag me to Helion this time, the High Lord was up and simply summoned as they saw my approach.

“Again?” He sighs as he takes Venus and her pack from me.

“Yes, but this time went well… she wants to form a truce.”

“A truce?”

I nod. “I’ll be with Lucien again and she’ll be kind to me. We found some common ground and dare I say we even bonded a little.” I flush, the notion still foreign.

Helion simply smiles and kisses his daughter’s hair. “It’ll be nice having you around again, (Y/N).”

“Thank you,” I smile bright.

“Would you like me to summon Lucien for you? I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to-“

“No!” I cut him off, “no. No… I- I still have to think of what to say. Can I come by tomorrow morning before work?”

The High Lord of the Day Court looks amused as he chuckles and puts a hand on my shoulder, “you can come by at whatever time you’d like, dear.”

It’s no secret where Lucien gets his charm. I smile up at Helion and nod, “I’ll be seeing you real soon then.”

“I hope so, good night.” He takes Venus inside as I wave goodbye and turn to head home. How the Hel am I going to talk to Lucien? How do I unsay all I said? I made it so clear that I wanted nothing more to do with him. Told him to go, that I didn’t even want his company…

Fuck.

I get home, shower off the stress, feed my cat and plop down in bed.

Tags: @stressed-reader @owned-by-tiny-velociraptors @nana-nana2 @fantasydreamer420 @tele86 @havenhavoc @sophia-grace2025 @gamarancianne @browneyedbrunette101 @jaybbygrl

[pcuniverse]

The Lady of Autumn deserves so much better, both from Beron and from the narrative.

You see:

It’s been how many books, and we STILL DON’T KNOW HER NAME!!!!! This woman is not only the wife of a high lord, but also the mother of Lucien, who is probably going to have a bigger role in the next few books. She is important!!! Give her a name!!!

She is married to Beron Vanserra, a cruel man who canonically tortures his sons. It is certain that he is abusing her, probably both mentally and physically. Also, if we go off of Mor’s backstory, it makes sense if she was married to Beron as a teenager! She has had to live in fear of her husband for over 500 years! Someone please save her from Beron, please!!!

We don’t know anything about her other than the fact that she’s Beron’s wife and Lucien and Eris’s mother. I believe she deserves to have a deeper background and personality. Knowing SJM, this will likely never happen, but it’s nice to hope.

She lost children to her husband’s cruelty. Her favorite, Lucien, was chased out of Autumn for loving a lesser Fae, and two other sons were killed because Beron ordered them to chase after Lucien, and unfortunately got killed by Tamlin. And the other four sons have been influenced by Beron over the course of centuries. She has to watch her babies become horrible people because of her husband, and she can do nothing about it.

Please send fics about the LoA, I love her so much and she deserves everything. Also, GIVE HER A NAME, MAAS.

[olenvasynyt]

Autumn Court villages with colorful roof tiles that match the autumn foliage, and architecture with carved wood for window frames, gables, and fascias, and cool painted decor.

[silverflameataraxia]

One of the best things about Elucien and Neris is that the LoA would go from having no daughters to having two.

There's Elain, who is sweet and charming but has no problem resorting to murder to protect those she loves.

And Nesta, who is fierce and loyal and loves spectacularly beheading things to protect those she loves (or just to spectacularly behead unkillable beings, who knows? But it lowkey turns Eris on).

[surielstea]

Embers Entwined

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader was one of the most affected by Beron’s rule, after his death Eris was crowned High Lord and Reader became his personal servant by extension, what happens when she begins to recognize Eris for his kindness and not his cruelty?

Warnings: Beron being a right asshole as usual, and some kissing (*gasp* the scandal!)

A.Note: Sorry it’s been forever!! This one took me awhile but I’m pretty happy with it. Hope you guys enjoy too! Some Azriel smut coming out in a few days also! 💋💋

Word count: 7.9k

The ball was decadent, far grander than in previous years, though I supposed tonight warranted the excess. A special occasion, one that carried far more meaning than the usual frivolous gatherings meant only to remind the rich of their own wealth.

Tonight, the Autumn Court celebrated the coronation of Eris Vanserra. More importantly to me, we celebrated Beron's death.

I would never say such a thing aloud, never give voice to the hatred that simmered in my veins. But I knew I was not alone in my sentiments. Most despised that wretched male—just not enough to ever act against him. Beron had been cruel, but only to those within his grasp. His wife. His sons. His staff. Me, in particular—his personal courtier.

It had been my duty to obey him without question, to smile and nod and endure, no matter what vile thing he asked of me. The words he'd spoken to me, the way he'd toyed with me, broken me, forced me into submission—I would never find peace after him. I knew that.

I stood against the wall of the ballroom, my hands clasped in front of me, a pleasant, vacant smile painted on my lips. The same as always. My black dress marked me as staff, distinguishing me from the nobles twirling beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers. It wasn't an ugly dress—not physically—but the symbolism it carried made my stomach churn.

I was meant to be invisible. To stand for hours, heels biting into my feet, lips aching from feigned delight, waiting. Always waiting for the High Lord's command. That was my place.

But tonight, for the first time at an event like this, someone spoke to me. Not just someone. The newly crowned High Lord.

"Do you not wish to dance?"

His voice was smoother than I expected, rich and effortless, as though the words required no thought. When I turned my head, Eris Vanserra stood before me, resplendent in his deep forest green attire, gold-threaded embroidery glinting beneath the chandeliers. Rings adorned his fingers, catching the light as he gestured vaguely toward the center of the ballroom.

I had known Eris Vanserra since I was a girl—back when my father served as Beron's personal courtier and I trained under him, shadowing his every move. In those early years, Eris and I spent countless hours in the kennels, where I had been sent to feed the hounds, and he had sought my company. Even then, I knew better than to refuse a Vanserra. But it hadn't felt like an order. Not when he spoke so passionately about his dogs, his amber eyes alight with something rare and unguarded.

I had listened, quietly captivated, as he ran his hands through thick fur, naming each hound like they were something precious, something his father could not tarnish. And though I rarely spoke, I knew he never minded.

But time had a way of reshaping things. Our duties grew heavier, our paths diverged, and whatever thread had once tied us together frayed beneath the weight of expectation. I often wondered if he remembered—the girl who once sat beside him in the straw-covered kennels, listening in rapt silence as he spoke of things he loved. Or if I had faded into nothing more than a ghost of his childhood, long forgotten.

I snapped back to the present when I realized my hesitation, startled by his presence, by his question. By him.

I glanced at him only briefly before averting my gaze. I had long since learned better than to expect kindness from the Vanserras, Eris or not. "I'm working, my lord," I answered smoothly, forcing the usual mask into place. "Besides, the late Lord Beron was always particular about the servantry enjoying themselves at these sorts of things."

A flicker of something crossed Eris's face at my words. Perhaps it was amusement, perhaps something else. I wasn't certain. Then, he did something I never would have expected. He extended his hand to me, palm up. A silent command. I stared at it, my heart stuttering.

Was this a trick? A test? Was he waiting for me to disobey so he could remind me of my place? "Well," he mused, tilting his head, "I'm not Beron, am I?"

I swallowed thickly, but I did not take his hand. His amber eyes gleamed as he studied me, something unreadable lurking beneath their molten depths. "You were my father's personal courtier, yes?"

"Correct, my lord."

"And now that he's gone, you're mine." A statement, not a question.

I nodded.

"And you're required to do as I say."

Another nod.

"Then take my hand." His voice was softer now, quieter. "Dance with me." My breath caught in my throat. I hesitated. Was he attempting to humiliate me?

I had seen what his brothers were capable of, how they had reveled in Beron's cruelty, how they had wielded it against others for their own entertainment. I had heard the stories about Eris—his ruthlessness, his ambition, his callous disregard for those beneath him. I had no reason to believe he was any different.

Yet something about the way he stood there, hand still outstretched, gaze unwavering, made my stomach tighten. He wasn't forcing me. He wasn't demanding. He was patient. I hated him for that. For making me doubt my own certainty.

But in the end, I had no choice. With a deep inhale, I placed my hand in his. His fingers curled around mine—warm, steady. Not gripping. But I knew better than to believe in illusions.

Eris Vanserra was his father's son. And I would never trust him.

The moment my hand settled in his, a hush seemed to fall over the space around us—not total silence, but a ripple in the atmosphere, a shift in attention that pressed against my skin like a physical thing.

They were watching. The nobles, the courtiers, the sycophants who had spent years learning to fear and obey Beron, and by extension, his eldest son. They watched, likely waiting for me to make a mistake, waiting to see what game Eris Vanserra was playing.

I was waiting, too. But if this was some cruel trick, he did not let it show.

Eris led me toward the dance floor with unhurried ease, his grip firm but not forceful. A reminder, perhaps, that I was following him willingly. I didn't know what unsettled me more—that he had given me a real choice, or that, despite knowing better, a part of me wanted to believe he truly meant no harm.

The moment we stepped onto the floor, the nearest dancers shifted subtly away, giving us space without making it obvious. No one wanted to be caught in the High Lord's wake, in whatever he was planning.

He turned to face me, releasing my hand only to settle one warm palm against my waist, the other clasping mine once more. I stiffened beneath his touch, the weight of it burning even through the fabric of my dress.

"Relax," he murmured, amusement curling through his tone. "It's a dance, not an execution."

I forced my muscles to remain neutral, my expression placid, though I could still feel the weight of a hundred gazes searing into me. "That remains to be seen."

His lips curved slightly. "If I wanted to make a spectacle of you, I'd have chosen something far more dramatic." He guided me into movement, a slow, fluid step that I had no choice but to follow. "But I much prefer this."

I nearly scoffed, but reeled in my tone, replacing it with a polite one. "Dancing?"

His gaze flickered down to mine, something unreadable within it. "Yes," he admitted, voice quieter now. "It's one of the few things I enjoy."

I arched a brow at him, skepticism bleeding into my tone. "Truly?"

"Truly." A small pause, then, "My mother taught me."

His hold on my waist remained steady, his movements effortless as he guided me through the waltz. "She used to say that knowing how to dance was just as important as knowing how to wield a blade. Both would assist me on a battle field."

I couldn't stop the flicker of surprise at his admission. Not because I doubted his mother's wisdom—if anything, I had always pitied the Lady of Autumn, the horrors she must have endured under Beron's rule—but because I had not expected Eris to share something so personal.

And yet, before I could decide how to respond, he added, "It was the one thing Beron couldn't take from me."

I swallowed, focusing on my movements, on the way his body angled just to keep me steady, to keep the dance seamless.

He was watching me closely, I could feel it. I hated that I could feel it.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice quieter than before, as if the words might shatter between us.

His lips twitched, though there was something different in his expression now. A quiet sort of challenge. "Because you're expecting me to be my father."

I stiffened.

"I'm not," he continued, tone smooth, unwavering. "And I think you already know that."

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing down the retort that sat at the edge of my tongue. I wanted to deny it.

Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I had no reason to believe him, that I had no reason to trust him. That, after what I had endured, I had no space left in me for blind hope. But I couldn't. Because, for the first time, I allowed myself to see him—not the heir of Beron Vanserra, not the male who had stood by and done nothing while his father ruled with malice, but the High Lord before me now.

Eris Vanserra was dangerous, cunning, and far too quick-witted for his own good. But he was not his father. And as much as I hated it, as much as it made something twist deep in my chest—

He was also undeniably beautiful.

His russet hair gleamed beneath the chandelier light, his sharp, angular features like something carved from fine marble. And those eyes—deep amber, filled with fire and calculation, but not cruelty. Never cruelty. It unnerved me.

I averted my gaze, the pressure in my throat tightening. "I don't know anything."

His fingers flexed slightly against my waist, the only indication that he had caught the tremor in my voice.

"You will," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. A promise.

I did not know whether it was a comfort or a threat. But I did know one thing—

The game, whatever it was, had only just begun.

As the waltz came to an end, Eris's grip on me loosened, but he did not immediately step away. His amber eyes remained locked onto mine, searching, calculating—always calculating.

I did not look away. I refused to.

Even as my heart pounded against my ribs, even as my throat tightened with the weight of memories that clawed at the back of my mind, I held his gaze.

He exhaled softly, something almost amused flickering in his expression before he lifted my hand, his touch lingering just enough to send a sharp jolt of awareness through me.

Then, with a deliberate slowness that sent heat curling in my gut, Eris pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

A calculated move. A display of power.

And yet—his lips were warm. Gentle.

He let my hand slip from his grasp, stepping back with an air of ease, as though he had not just sent my already-frazzled mind into chaos.

"Thank you for the dance," he murmured, voice like silk and embers.

I said nothing. Because I couldn't. I simply bowed my head and turned away, ignoring the stares, the whispers that followed me as I slipped back into the shadows of the ballroom.

Eris Vanserra was dangerous. And not for the reasons I had always believed.

I had not been able to get him out of my head.

I hated it.

No matter how much I tried to shove the thoughts away—to remind myself of the horrors I had endured under Beron, of the way his sons had stood idly by for years, of the haunting whispers that surrounded Eris himself—I couldn't stop replaying that moment in my mind.

The warmth of his touch. The softness of his voice. The way he had looked at me, not with hatred, not with indifference, but with something else entirely.

It was a trick. Had to be. And yet, I found myself watching him more than I should have.

Every time he called for something, every time I had to be in his presence, I bowed low, just as I had always done for Beron. I kept my voice neutral, my head down, my routine unchanged.

As if nothing had changed at all. As if I had not danced with him. As if his hands had not burned against my skin. As if I had not spent the past few days wondering, against all reason, if perhaps he was not as evil as I had once believed.

I would not let myself believe it. Not when I had learned, time and time again, that kindness was a dangerous illusion.

So when one of the guards found me in the halls, stopping me with a clipped, "The High Lord is requesting you," a cold dread curled in my stomach.

Requesting me. Not a general summons for any courtiers. Not a task that could have been handled by anyone else. Me.

For a moment, I couldn't move. Memories crashed through me—memories of Beron's summons, of being called for with no warning, no explanation. Of standing before him, knowing what was coming but never being able to predict just how bad it would be.

My hands clenched at my sides. I swallowed hard, pushing down the panic, shoving it deep beneath layers of practiced control.

This was not Beron. I knew that. And yet, my body did not.

With carefully measured steps, I made my way to Eris's study, every inch of me wound tight.

My mind whispered warnings, my heart pounded against my ribs. I forced my hands to remain steady as I knocked once, then pushed the heavy wooden door open.

And there he was—seated behind a grand desk, amber eyes lifting to meet mine the second I entered.

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of Autumn.

And the male who, for reasons I could not begin to understand, had called for me.

I braced myself, preparing for whatever awaited me next. And prayed that I was not about to be proven a fool.

The door shut behind me with a soft thud, the sound too final, too reminiscent of a past I wanted to claw away from.

I stayed near the entrance, hands clasped in front of me, chin dipped ever so slightly—not meek, but neutral. Just as I had been trained to be.

Eris sat at his desk, one elbow braced on the armrest of his chair, fingers resting against his temple as he watched me. Not impatient. Not cruel. Just watching. Then, with that signature tilt of his head, he asked, "What's your name?"

I blinked. "My name?"

He arched a golden brow, the flickering candlelight making the sharp angles of his face seem all the more severe.

"I'd like to know who to call for to keep my company, so yes, your name."

Company. Was this a game? A test?

I studied him, searching for the trap, but found nothing except expectation.

I told him my name carefully, waiting for the moment his expression would shift, for him to sneer or mock or twist the knowledge into something mean.

But he only smiled slightly, a soft curve of his lips that felt almost out of place on a face like his.

Before I could think better of it, before I could convince myself to stay silent, I blurted, "Have you been lonely, my lord?"

Eris's head tilted further, amusement flashing in his amber eyes.

I stiffened immediately. "Forgive me for asking. That was incredibly impolite. I'm so—"

"I have." He cut me off smoothly, his voice quieter now, but no less firm.

I swallowed.

"I imagined being High Lord would be quite different," he mused, gaze flickering to the stacks of papers on his desk, the glowing hearth, the empty room around us. "Nevertheless, here we are." He nodded as if conceding something to himself.

My lips parted slightly, but I had nothing to say to that. Nothing that wouldn't cross a line I was still hesitant to even approach.

Instead, I dropped into another practiced bow. "Will that be all, my lord?"

His eyes snapped back to me, something unreadable stirring behind them.

"Eris," he corrected.

I hesitated.

"I am not my father," he said, voice quiet but edged with finality, as if he were daring me to argue. "Nor do I wish to become him. So please, call me Eris."

I nodded slowly. "...Well then, Lord Eris."

"Just Eris, my dear," he corrected again, leaning back slightly. "Like friends."

I didn't know what startled me more—that he wanted me to call him by his name, or that he had referred to me as a friend.

Still, I tried to ignore the warmth curling in my stomach as I forced myself to say, "Eris."

His lips twitched, something satisfied gleaming in his gaze. "Good girl."

The praise sent something unfamiliar down my spine, not in the way it had whenever Beron complimented me... this was different.

"Now come, get comfortable." He gestured toward the plush green chairs adjacent to his desk.

I stared at him. "You want me to sit?"

"Stand, lean, lay, I don't care." He waved a lazy hand. "Just relax."

"My lord—Eris," I corrected, still trying to wrap my mind around the strangeness of this entire interaction. "I don't get paid to... relax."

He smirked. "No, you get paid to follow my orders. And I am ordering you to get comfortable."

I stared at him for a long moment, my heart hammering in my chest as I tried to decipher the true meaning behind all of this.

But I saw no malice in his expression. No cruel intent. Just anticipation.

I swallowed and, slowly, I did as he said. I sat stiffly, hands clasped in my lap, my back straight as if Beron himself was still lurking behind me, waiting to scold me for stepping out of line.

Eris, however, did not acknowledge my rigid posture. He only let out a pleased hum, as if my mere presence was enough to meet whatever unspoken standard he had set for this moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he returned his focus to the parchment before him.

The only sounds in the room were the quiet scratching of his quill and the faint crackling of the candlelight.

I should have been grateful for the silence. It was better than savage words, better than commands meant to humiliate me. But instead, an odd tension settled in my chest, as if I were waiting for the real reason he'd called me here to be revealed.

Minutes passed. Then—

"You're staring," Eris murmured without looking up.

I blinked, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I am not."

His lips curved slightly, and he flipped to another parchment. "You are."

"I was merely looking in your direction." It was wrong of me to talk back, but something about him let my tongue a little looser, he didn't seem displeased by it in the slightest.

He hummed, unconvinced, dipping his quill back into ink. "And why, pray tell, were you looking in my direction?"

I hesitated. "...I was thinking."

Amber eyes flicked up from the page. "Dangerous habit."

That small smirk still played on his lips, but something about it was softer than usual, teasing rather than taunting.

I frowned, not ready for this interaction to feel comfortable, for me to feel comfortable. "I don't find it particularly dangerous."

"That's because you've never played with fire." He twirled the quill between his fingers before dragging the tip across the parchment again. "Not the kind that burns."

I scoffed. "You forget who I served before you."

He paused at that, glancing at me fully and my heart rate spiked. Too far, I'd gone too far, just a few words and the walls I built were crumbling before my very eyes.

Something unreadable flickered in his expression, but it was gone before I could place it. Instead, he dipped his head slightly, understanding the point. "Then I imagine you know better than most that fire, when wielded incorrectly, only ever destroys."

I stiffened, his words striking something deep within me.

Is that what I was? A thing destroyed? Is that what he saw when looking at me, or himself?

Eris exhaled, shifting his focus back to his work. "For what it's worth," he murmured, quieter now, "I don't intend to wield it incorrectly."

I studied him carefully, as I had done many times before, searching for the game, for the cruel edge I knew so well from his father.

But there was no trick. Only a High Lord—no, a male—focused on his work, offering me something I had never once been granted in Beron's court.

Peace.

I swallowed, forcing myself to look away, to ignore the unfamiliar warmth creeping into my bones.

Minutes passed again in silence, but this time, it didn't feel quite so heavy.

"I was serious, you know," Eris mused, not bothering to look up as he broke the quiet.

I frowned. "About what?"

"Keeping my company." He flipped to another document, signing something at the bottom. "I'd prefer your presence over my advisors any day. They're old and dull. You, at least, have some spirit."

I scoffed. "I think you are confusing obedience for spirit."

"Oh no, my dear." His lips curved in a knowing smirk. "You and I both know you're anything but obedient."

I bristled, opening my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. "It's alright. I find it... refreshing."

I wasn't sure what unsettled me more—the implication, or the way my stomach twisted at his words. Beron preferred all the servantry to have a fiery spirit, which makes it more fun to break, but he never really could stomp my flames out, and now Eris was sparking the embers. It was dangerous, so dangerous.

Silence fell between us once more.

For a moment, I thought that would be the end of it. That I would sit there, a piece of furniture in this room while he worked, just as I had been in Beron's court.

But then, without looking away from his parchment, Eris murmured, "Tell me something, Fawn."

The way he said that nickname—so deliberate, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue—sent something sharp down my spine.

"Tell you what?" I asked carefully.

He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled in thought. "Something real."

I hesitated. "That's vague."

"Intentionally so." He arched a brow. "Consider it a challenge."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he only waited, watching me with that same expectant look, as if he truly wanted to hear something about me.

I exhaled. "I don't like the cold."

His lips twitched. "A courtier of Autumn who doesn't like the cold? Shocking, really." His voice was sarcastic, but something in his eyes told me he knew what I meant.

I shrugged, explaining anyway. "It reminds me of your father." The words left me before I could stop them, before I could think better of them.

Eris didn't flinch, but something in his expression shifted. "I hate the cold, too," he admitted after a beat.

I blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

He returned his attention to the paper in front of him, but his next words were soft, almost contemplative.

"It's why I keep the fire going."

And despite everything I had come to know about Eris Vanserra—despite everything I feared—those words stayed with me long after I left his study that night.

It became routine.

Every evening, after the day's duties were done, I was summoned to Eris's study. At first, I had thought it was some kind of test, some trick to lull me into a false sense of security before he reminded me of my place. But the days passed, and the cruel words never came. The taunts never sharpened into something harsher.

Instead, I found myself sitting across from him as he worked, the fire crackling between us, filling the silence in ways neither of us felt the need to.

And I was learning things.

Not just about him—but about myself.

I learned that despite being raised under Beron's thumb, Eris did not rule with a hand of iron. He listened—to his advisors, to the reports of the court, to me, even. And when I spoke, he truly listened, as if my words meant something.

More recently I learned that he was—Gods help me—attractive.

That fact had been easy enough to ignore when I hated him, when I thought he was just another Beron in the making. But the more time I spent with him, the more I noticed things I shouldn't—like the sharp angles of his face, the golden hue of his eyes, the way his hands moved across parchment with effortless precision.

It was incredibly inappropriate.

He was a High Lord, for the Gods' sake. I was a mere servant. A courtier, yes, but still beneath him in every sense of the word.

But there were moments—subtle, fleeting—where I felt that he didn't see it that way.

Like when he'd catch me staring and smirk, as if he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone. Like when his fingers would brush against mine as he handed me a book, a touch so brief it might have been an accident, but my traitorous body knew better. Like when he said my name—not the way Beron used to, as if I were an object, a thing that existed for his whims, but as if I were someone worth hearing.

It was dangerous. He was dangerous. And yet, I kept returning to his study, night after night, drawn to him in ways I did not understand.

I was comfortable around him now. Too comfortable. And I wasn't sure if that terrified me or eased me more.

The fire crackled behind him, casting golden light over the room as I sat at his desk, scanning over the trade agreements he had asked me to review. Eris stood in front of the hearth, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the flames with a contemplative expression.

"They're bleeding the smaller villages dry," I murmured, flipping to the next page. "The tariffs are nearly double what they should be."

Eris hummed in response, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "And what do you suggest, fawn?" His voice was rich, edged with amusement.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, biting back a smile at the teasing lilt in his tone. "Lowering them would be a start."

He took a slow sip of whiskey, then turned, his gaze burning even hotter than the fire behind him. "Very well. Lower them."

I blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." He smirked, as if amused by my surprise. "You have a sharp mind. It would be a waste not to use it."

A compliment. A genuine one.

I busied myself with the documents, ignoring the warmth that curled in my stomach. But before I could shift to the next matter, I felt it—him.

The space between us disappeared in a breath. Eris leaned over my shoulder, one hand bracing against the desk as he peered down at the papers with me.

His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, his scent—smoke, cedar, spice—curling around me, intoxicating. I stiffened, my fingers tightening around the quill.

"See?" His voice was softer now, smooth like velvet. "That wasn't so hard."

I swallowed, forcing my focus back to the parchment. "I assume the next set of reports won't be as easy."

His chuckle was low, deep. "Unfortunately, no."

We worked through the rest of it together, his proximity never wavering, his breath occasionally ghosting against my cheek as he murmured his thoughts. It should have been unbearable. It was unbearable. And yet, I didn't pull away.

Not even when he poured me a glass of whiskey.

I had refused at first, telling him I was technically working but he had simply raised an eyebrow and said, "I won't tell the high lord if you don't."

It burned going down, leaving warmth in its wake, emboldening me just enough to loosen the tight grip I always held on myself.

Perhaps that was why, when we finally leaned back in our chairs, the tension of duty momentarily relieved, I dared to meet his gaze with something close to ease.

"You're a better High Lord than I expected," I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty.

He turned his glass between his fingers, watching me over the rim. "High praise, coming from you."

I rolled my eyes, but the smallest of smiles played at my lips. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," he quipped, grinning.

I shook my head, but I wasn't fast enough to hide the way my lips twitched in amusement.

Eris noticed. Of course, he did. And he leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "Careful, fawn. Keep looking at me like that, and I'll think you actually enjoy my company."

I should have ignored the remark. Should have cut the moment short, should have reminded myself that this was Eris, that I was his courtier and nothing more.

But the whiskey hummed in my blood, and I found myself tilting my chin up slightly, arching a brow.

"Who said I don't?"

His gaze darkened, a flicker of something wicked dancing in those golden eyes.

The air between us tightened, the tension shifting into something heavier, something dangerous.

And for the first time, I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to run from it.

The room was suffocating with heat—not just from the fire, but from him. From the way he looked at me, like he could see through every carefully placed wall I had built around myself.

I should have left. Should have bowed my head, murmured a polite good night, and returned to the servantry quarters where I belonged.

But I didn't.

Instead, I stayed, rooted in place, watching the way Eris's eyes flickered between my lips and my eyes. The tension stretched unbearably tight, wound so thin that one more word, one more breath, would surely snap it.

And then it did.

One moment, we were speaking, our words slow and softened by whiskey. The next—I was in his arms, and his mouth was on mine.

It was a collision, a wildfire consuming everything in its path.

His lips were searing, his hands gripping my waist as if he couldn't bear to let go, pulling me flush against him. I gasped into the kiss, and he took full advantage, deepening it, his tongue sweeping over mine in a way that made my knees threaten to buckle.

He groaned, low and guttural, and something inside me snapped.

I met his fervor with my own, fingers tangling in his hair, feeling the silk of it between my fingertips as he backed me into the desk. The papers we had worked so hard on crumpled beneath us, utterly forgotten.

He exhaled a quiet curse against my lips as his hands gripped my hips tighter, and I—I didn't stop him. I arched into him, into the warmth, the danger of it.

And then—it happened.

A tether snapped into place.

Invisible, undeniable, unyielding.

My entire body locked up as a force stronger than anything I had ever known latched onto my very soul. The bond—a mating bond—solidified between us like molten steel cooling into iron, a force so absolute it stole the air from my lungs.

No, no, no.

I stumbled back so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet, my hand flying to my lips as if I could erase what had just happened.

Eris reached for me, eyes wide, something dangerously close to awe written across his sharp features. "Wait—"

But I didn't.

I turned and ran.

I ignored the way his voice followed me, calling my name, ignored the way my heart thundered in my chest, the way my mind screamed at me that this was impossible, that it couldn't be real, that it shouldn't be real.

Because if it was—if it was real—then it meant I was bound to him. To him.

Not just the male who had been slipping under my skin, infiltrating the cold emptiness I had built to protect myself. But Beron's son. Beron's heir. A Vanserra. A High Lord.

By the time I reached the servantry quarters, my breaths were ragged, my hands shaking as I shoved my door closed behind me, locking it with trembling fingers.

I pressed my back against the wood, squeezing my eyes shut.

This couldn't be happening. It was a mistake. A trick. A cruel, cruel joke.

I was nothing.

A courtier, a servant.

I did not get to have mates.

And certainly not him.

I curled onto my cot, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress as if I could anchor myself back to reality. I forced my breathing to slow, willed myself to forget the feeling of his lips, the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the way his hands had fit so perfectly against my waist.

I did not sleep that night.

I had been avoiding him.

Days had passed, and I hadn't stepped foot in his study again. I hadn't so much as looked in his direction, even as the court whispered about me, about us, about the undeniable scent of a bond snapping into place.

They all knew.

I could feel their stares, the pity in some, the amusement in others. I knew what they thought—that it was only a matter of time before I bent, before I folded myself into the neat little role fate had carved out for me at Eris's side.

I refused.

I stayed tucked away, keeping to my duties, bowing as I always had when in his presence, keeping my head low, silent. I had done it for years under Beron. I could do it again.

Or at least, I thought I could.

The bond had other plans.

It had been clawing at me, a sick, twisting thing in my chest, gnawing at my ribs every time I kept my distance. The more I ignored it, the worse it became, a restless, aching pressure that built until my hands trembled with the need to do something—run to him, scream, sob. I didn't know which.

I was too caught up in my own mind, too focused on fighting the invisible thread tethering me to him, that I didn't notice the male approaching me until it was too late.

"You've been rather elusive, haven't you?"

I turned sharply, expecting him, expecting Eris—

But it wasn't him.

It was Kyden.

My stomach twisted.

Kyden Vanserra had always taken the most after Beron compared to the rest of his brothers, cruel for the sake of cruelty, sneering down at those he deemed beneath him. Which unfortunately included me.

His smirk was slow, predatory. "I almost mistook you for one of the nobility, standing there all stiff and proper. But then I remembered—you're just a servant, aren't you?"

I forced my body not to react, not to let the memories claw their way up my throat. He had that same look in his tawny eyes that Beron always had on one of the particularly hard days.

Kyden stepped closer, voice a lazy drawl. "And yet, despite your lowly position, you managed to ensnare a High Lord." His lips curled, eyes gleaming with something dark. "Or rather, the bond did. Funny, isn't it? How fate makes fools of us all."

I kept my chin high, my hands at my sides. I would not cower.

He leaned in, his breath brushing against my ear. "You reek of him."

I flinched. Kyden chuckled. "It's amusing, really. Eris, of all people, shackled to someone like you." His gaze flickered over me, assessing, and I knew that look—I had seen it before, a lifetime ago, picking apart my worth, deciding how best to use me.

"What do you think he'll do?" Kyden mused. "Surely, you don't believe he'll actually keep you. A High Lord's mate should be powerful, worthy." He tutted. "You are neither."

The words hit their mark, sinking into my skin like tiny blades, because deep down I knew he was right. This is why I've been avoiding Eris, avoiding having that confrontation that will only result in rejection and sorrow.

"I wonder," he continued, tilting his head, "how long it will take before he grows bored of you. Before he realizes you're nothing more than the same little courtier Beron used to—"

A deep, guttural snarl split the air.

And then Kyden was no longer in my space, no longer crowding me like a looming shadow.

Eris had him by the collar, dragging him back, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl beside his brother's throat.

"Say another word," Eris hissed, voice like fire crackling over dry wood, "and I will tear out your fucking tongue."

Kyden, to his credit, did not flinch. He only grinned. "Touched a nerve, did I?"

Eris's fingers tightened, the flames in the nearby sconces flaring wildly.

"Walk away, Kyden," Eris said, voice quieter now, deadlier. "I raised you better than this."

A beat of silence. Then Kyden huffed a laugh, shoving Eris off him with a roll of his shoulders.

"As you wish, brother." He turned to me, and there was something smug in his eyes, something knowing. "See you around, little courtier."

And then he was gone.

Eris exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair before turning to me.

"Are you—"

I shook my head, stepping back. "Don't."

His jaw tensed.

I couldn't do this. Not here. Not now.

The hallway was silent except for the distant clatter of pots and the hushed murmurs of servants slipping past us, their eyes darting away the moment they caught sight of Eris. I could still feel the ghost of Kyden's words slithering over my skin, the way he had looked at me, spoken to me. But more than that—I could feel the weight of Eris's gaze, burning into me as if he were unraveling every thought in my head.

I didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to feel the way I did when he looked at me.

His amber eyes flickered with something unreadable, something heavy and tense. He hadn't moved since Kyden left, his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was still fighting the urge to chase his brother down and finish what he started.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. We stood nearly a yard away from each other in the servants' passages, the house was so vast that to get from place to place quicker in the manor there were secret paths to take. It was odd for the High Lord to even know about them.

I swallowed hard, then whispered, "Why are you here?"

Eris blinked, as if startled by the question. And then, with the ghost of a smirk, he drawled, "It's my house, isn't it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You know what I mean."

More silence.

His smirk faded.

"I was looking for you," he admitted finally.

I stared at him, heart hammering against my ribs. "You could've called for me."

His expression darkened, and he took a step closer. "Would you have come?"

I said nothing.

He huffed a bitter laugh. "That's what I thought."

I clenched my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. "It's my job, Eris," I whispered.

His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach for me, wanted to touch me—but he didn't. Instead, he just stood there, looking more defeated than I'd ever imagined a Vanserra could.

"Can we go somewhere more private?" I asked, my voice quieter now, because we were standing a distance apart with maids and cooks scuttling silently past us, pretending they weren't listening, pretending they couldn't see the invisible string between us.

Eris studied me for a long moment, then nodded. Without another word, he turned on his heel, leading the way.

I followed.

The room he brought me to was small, tucked away in one of the unused wings of the estate. A study, maybe, or a reading room—the kind of place someone could go to disappear.

He shut the door behind me, and then we were alone.

Eris exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Are you alright?"

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "I don't know."

His jaw tightened. "Kyden—"

"I don't want to talk about Kyden."

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Then talk to me about something else."

I let out a breath. "About what, Eris?"

He stepped closer, slow and careful, as if I were something fragile. "About why you've been avoiding me."

I scoffed. "You know why."

"I want to hear you say it."

I met his gaze, and the heat in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. "Because this—" I gestured between us. "—isn't supposed to happen. Because you're a High Lord, and I'm a servant, and this bond—" I swallowed hard. "It's cruel."

Eris's expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched again, and I wondered if he even realized he kept doing that—kept stopping himself from touching me. "You think the Mother is cruel?"

I hesitated. "I think fate is."

Eris exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Do you hate it that much?"

I didn't answer.

Did I?

Hate was easy. Hate was something I understood, something I could hold onto. Hate had kept me alive under Beron's rule, had hardened me, protected me.

But this? This tether between us, this thing that hummed in my chest, that made my body ache to close the distance between us—

I didn't have a name for it. And that scared me more than anything.

Eris watched me carefully, as if searching for something in my expression. He let out another sigh and retreated, taking a seat on the small leather couch adjacent to the popping fireplace. I watched him silently, still standing by the door.

"I never wanted this either," he admitted, voice softer now. "I spent years ensuring I would never be bound to someone who could be used against me. And yet..." His lips quirked into something bitter. "Yet here we are."

My throat felt tight. "Do you hate it?"

His amber eyes burned. "No."

The breath I took was unsteady.

"You never answered?" he looked up at me.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Shook my head. "I don't know."

Eris nodded once, as if that answer was enough.

Silence stretched between us again.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You don't have to accept it," he said. "Not now. Not ever, if that's what you choose." He met my gaze, something like resignation flickering in his eyes. "But I won't apologize for it."

He wanted to keep it? Wanted me to accept it?

I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

He tilted his head, considering me. "So what now?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "That's twice now."

I scowled. "Shut up."

He chuckled. "I suppose I should be grateful I got anything out of you at all."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no bite to it.

Eris studied me again, quieter this time. "I meant what I said," he murmured. "I was looking for you."

I looked away. "I know."

Silence settled between us again, but it was different now. Less suffocating.

More dangerous.

Because I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep pretending I didn't want him to find me. I approached his side quietly and sat.

The leather couch was cool against my skin as I sank into it beside him, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. The bond thrummed like a second heartbeat, relentless and inescapable.

The son of the man I loathed most in this world was the one I was expected to love beyond reason.

Fate was a sick, twisted thing.

I sighed, tired of thinking, tired of fighting, tired of everything. Slowly, hesitantly, I tilted my head, letting it rest against his shoulder. His body stiffened for a fraction of a second before he relaxed, exhaling a breath I might've imagined.

It was enough for now.

"I'm High Lord," he said after a beat.

"Painfully aware," I murmured.

"Meaning—there are rules of the Autumn Court that I can... simply get rid of."

I huffed a soft, tired laugh. "You're a lord, not a king."

"Mm, true," he mused, tilting his head back against the couch, "but if Rhysand can bend the rules to marry his mate, so can I."

I hesitated. "His court is much more pliable. Autumn is notorious for its... old-fashioned ways."

"Well, the Autumn Court has a new High Lord." His voice was steady, sure. "Let's just hope I'm changing it for the better."

I smiled faintly, my eyes fluttering shut. "You are, 'Ris."

The name slipped out before I could think better of it, before I could remind myself that familiarity with him was dangerous.

His body went still beneath me.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he looked down at me, amber eyes burning with something I couldn't name.

We stared at each other for a long moment, really seeing each other.

And then, quietly, almost reverently, he murmured, "I'm going to kiss you now."

I nodded.

And then he did.

His lips pressed against mine, slow and deep, as if we had all the time in the world. As if the bond wasn't something to be feared but something to be savored. His hand lifted to my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone before sliding into my hair, tilting my face up, pressing deeper.

I sighed into him, gripping the front of his tunic as the bond pulsed between us, as the warmth of his body and the scent of campfire and rainy mornings wrapped around me like something familiar, something I could fall into.

It should have scared me.

But all I could do was kiss him back.

Eris pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. My heart pounded, my thoughts a chaotic mess, but the bond hummed in quiet contentment—as if it had known all along that this was inevitable.

His fingers stayed tangled in my hair, his other hand still cupping my jaw, holding me there, keeping me grounded. "We'll figure this out," he murmured, voice low, steady. Sure.

I let out a slow breath, my hands still fisted in his tunic. "You make it sound so simple."

"It doesn't have to be complicated."

I swallowed hard, my mind already spinning with the realities of what this meant, what it could mean. But as I looked at him, at the quiet determination in his gaze, at the warmth that had nothing to do with the firelight flickering around us, I found myself wanting—just for a moment—to believe him.

So I nodded, just barely.

His lips brushed my temple, lingering there for a heartbeat before he leaned back, his hand finally slipping from my hair. "One step at a time, my dear."

I exhaled, my pulse still thrumming in my throat, and echoed, "One step at a time."

And maybe, just maybe, we'd find our way through this. Together.

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[emiliamildner]

"You came back to me"

I need her to finally give adult mature people a happy love story. Come on.

Also this is the best artwork I've painted this year. I don't think I can make anything better.

If you'd like to support my work, check out my Patre0n for early access, exclusive spicy art, work-in-progress of future paintings, printable files and more! ✨🗡️

Inspired by ACOTAR series by Sarah J. Maas

[eatsbooksarchive]

eris vanserra being young and small and wondering why his mother cannot quite bear to hold him. (he doesn’t know it yet, but he — more than being betrothed to beron, more than getting married, more than conception — has sealed her fate. the first born boy. the heir. she is now the mother of a baby beron will ruin, and she can never leave him, but she can never save him. the illusion of choice is taken from her in his first breath.) eris vanserra watching the same thing happen with every baby after him; kept at arm’s length, left to governesses and wet nurses and tutors, chaste smoothing of hair and infrequent kisses to the crowns of heads but no more. (he was so excited for the first brother and incrementally less so with each subsequent. he knew what his father would turn them into; he knew that his mother would not be able to love them.) ((in this way, he is not so unlike his mother, even if he cannot understand her.)) eris vanserra having to mold himself in his father’s image to be able to protect his mother and thus incurring more of his mother’s disgust.

eris vanserra being an adult and watching his mother cradle the final brother, lucien, to her chest like he is something precious, like he is something sacred. eris vanserra still not understanding what made him different at birth than this brother, what made him unlovable. (he knows why she does not love him now, himself seeing only his father in the mirror anymore, but he still cannot quite figure out why she did not love him then.) ((even when he does find out, he will not understand, not fully. he did not choose his sire; she did. how is it his fault that he carries beron’s blood and lucien is fortunate enough not to?)) (((even so, he knows that lucien needs to be protected at all costs. he has never seen his mother so happy, and that is all he has ever wanted for her.)))

[geniemillies]

day 5 - home for @lucienweekofficial

i don't care what anyone says autumn is his home. he will always be an autumn boy. and i will ready the tissues when he reunites with LoA ♡

"mom, am i still young?

can i dream for a few months more?"

was listening to an hour loop of this song while drawing :D👍:

[onlymexsarah]

Burning Flames I || Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!reader Summary: Since you became High Fae there were only two things that scared you: your deadly power and your attraction toward the male you should hate most after Tamlin, Eris Vanserra. Warnings: less Eris than what you might expect, but with the next episode you'll forgive me; and english is not my first language :)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

The first time Eris saw you was at the High Lords meeting. As soon as he had entered the room something flickered in Eris' chest, something warm that made his eyes looking around, a bored look on his calculated face, as he studied where the source of that flicker was. Then, his eyes laid on you, and oh gods if he had to call all his five centuries of practise to keep his breath from catching.

Before his eyes was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. He felt an unknown urge to know your name, your story, what had brought you there. Your eyes were on his father, studying him as the Vanserras had entered the room.

Eris took a second to realize that you were seated between the High Lady of the Night Court and another bautiful female. All three of you looking oddly similar to one another, and it was that moment that he realized who you were. You and the female at your left were two of the three High Lady's sisters, turned High Fae by Hybhern. Twins, he realized as he looked at the two of you. So close you looked like fire and ice. Your features were warm, even the colors of your hair, skin and eyes were a warm contrast to Nesta's cold features, all sharp and icy.

Your eyes scanned all his brothers until they fell on him, and Eris kept a cold face as you studied him, his posture, how his brothers obeyed to him.

Your eyes flickered quickly to Mor, then on him again and Eris could tell the exact moment that you connected who he was, because you grimaced and turned your face in a cold and dismissal expression. Of course the bastards would spread what happened with Mor; he thought with bitter humor. He gave you a lazy, mocking grin before turning his attention on Thesan, who now was talking to welcome everyone.

It was when Tamlin appeared that he felt that warm flicker inside him again, and when he curiously looked at you what he saw pietrified him. It wasn't cold that shimmered in your eyes. There were pure, burning flames in them.

Two punds of raging, wild, unforgiving fire were now locked on the High Lord of the Spring Court, and for a moment Eris was thankful that you have just watched him with dismissal distain, because what you were giving Tamlin was a promise of slow, painful death.

“It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.” A sneer from Tamlin toward you and your twin. “Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?”

Eris saw your hands gripping the arms of the chair, your knuckles white from the strenght. You were going to kill him, he was sure of that. You were going to kill Tamlin someday.

***

You could feel your power, rising in your body, begging to be lashed out.

As you watched Tamlin's smug smirk a lovely imagine formed in your mind. Tamlin's body burning from the inside out, his blood boiling with your flames, his flesh coming down slowly and painfully while he begged to stop. Yes, more you looked at him and more that imagine gave you comfort.

He was the one who had sold you and your sisters to Hybern. He was the one who locked Feyre inside his house, who forbade her from doing anything she wanted. He was the one who responsible for your sisters' traumas, and you were going to make him pay.

You wondered if you were imagining his sweat on his forehead, his hand coming to adjust his shirt's collar every now and then, his breath heavier with every minute. It was if for once your power had listened to you and was now doing what you wanted.

Careful, for how much I'd like to see his blood boiling up it wouldn't win you many alliances to defend the humans. Rhysand's velvet voice appeared in your head, making you blink few times before lettiing go the arms of your chair and calming your breath.

Sorry. You answered him, not feeling ashamed at all. Tamlin was targetting Rhysand too, the male who saved you and gave you a place to call home, promising you that he would keep your sisters safe.

“You’re insane,” Feyre breathed to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” Your sister pointed toward you and Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae, after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!”

“Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress, I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” said Tamlin with a scoff.

"It seems like you love to insinuate what an Ancheron girl want in her life and what she doesn't." You said slowly, your voice burning with fire as you locked your eyes with his. "I hope the trait doesn't ruin in your court. If you had any left after you let Hybern in their houses."

Tamlin snarled at you, and you only lift your chin higher not feeling scared or intimidated even for a moment. Many things had changed since he had come and wrecked your cottage, and now he was the one who had to be afraid.

"You'll find out, Tamlin..." said Rhysand with a bored voice. "That nothing good come out from telling an Archeron what to do. But you should already know that."

You could feel the flames inside you ready to be leashed out, but you kept them at bay, knowing that all it needed was for Tamlin to make a move toward you or your sisters and you would let them out. It wouldn't matter if you burned too, you would make sure to incinerate Tamlin.

“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.” snorted the male you had recognized as Eris. Your eyes snapped to met his and you found him already looking at you.

As soon as he had walked inside the room your brain had gone silent for a moment. He was, with your deepest annoyance, the most beautiful male you had ever seen, and that thought alone was enough to make you ashamed. You had needed few seconds to recognize who he was, and as soon as you put the name on his face you had grimaced at the thought of have called him beautiful in your mind.

You narrowed your eyes, your hands hitching from the unleashed power you were keeping inside your body. If they did as much as to hurt Elain you would incinerate all of the red haired family in front of you.

Eris seemed to understand your look, because he only smirked amused at you before Mor's voice caught his attention. “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.”

You had barely widened your eyes, disgusted by his words, as a flash of blue light passed in front of your eyes. A moment Eris was seated, the next he was on the ground, Azriel over him.

You hid a smirk behind your hand as you watched Azriel's hands around Eris' throat, and the heir of Autumn running out of air. It didn't matter if you had a secret alliance with him, he had no problem into proving how horrible he was.

When the alliance had been forged the Inner Circle had proceeded to tell you and Nesta what kind of person Eris was. How he had left Mor die because she had refused to marry him. How he had hunted your sister and Lucien when they were escaping the Spring Court.

So, the show that was now in front of your eyes made you amused for the first time since you had been taken from home. Your sister, Feyre, stopped Azriel and invited him to sit beside her, making all of your shift of one chair.

He sat at your right, and after a careful speech from Feyre, Eris apologized with Mor. It was curious that the Lady of the Autumn Court, Eris' mother, watched him with an approval look as he apologized. Maybe not everyone in the Vanserra family was horrible.

Around you everything was going down. Thesand had proposed an antidote for the faebane and while the Night Court was willing to try it, Beron threw free insults to your sister and Rhysand.

Thesan asked, “And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?”

“Its queens sold us out,” Nesta said. She lifted her chin, poised as any emissary. “For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.” Nesta looked to you, to Feyre, to Rhys. “Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact … Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.”

“The fate of the humans below the wall,” Beron cut in, “is none of our concern. Especially in a spit of land with no queen, no army.”

"There are people." You said angryly while the fire run hotter inside your body. All you could see was Beron's disgusting face and his arrogance. "There are families. A moment ago you were all horrified about Amarantha killing the Winter Court's children, but now since they are humans its different?" You asked looking to every High Lords in the eyes, watching them shocked and uncredoulous. "Humans children are less than yours?" Your eyes locked with Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court.

"Careful with your accusation." said Kallias with a low voice.

"Careful with your next actions." You said back, letting him see the fire in your eyes, calling back your emissary voice. "How many parents had died trying to protect their kids from Amarantha?"

It was Viviane who answered, her hand closed thighly around her mate's. "All of them."

You rose your chin high, watching her right in the eyes. "Every human will fight againsgt Hybern. With or without your help, they will fight for their children, their families. And they will die too, without your help, hoping for a better future."

“So go waste your own soldiers defending them,” Beron said. “I will not send my own forces to protect chattel.”

Your eyes snapped back on him. “You’re a coward,” Feyre breathed to the High Lord of Autumn. Even Rhys tensed.

At some point Feyre hit Beron with her power, breaking his shield and trapping him in a bubble of water. Your eyebrows rose, surprised to see your sister's full powers.

Let us out, your flames begged. We will end him.

No. You couldn't let them out. Your power felt too descructive to be leasshed in a room full of people. It was better burning from the inside out rather than burning everyone you cared for.

Your sister seemed to calm down after a while, letting Beron breath again with your displeasure. How could someone so horrible be still alive after centuries? Why no one had never killed him?

The display of Feyre's power got the High Lords tensed up. She had showed them she had all their powers and not all of them were too happy.

“The power belongs to us. I think it is,” Beron seethed making you close your hands on your laps in tight fits. if he did as much as take a step toward your sister he would find that your fire was hotter and more dangerous than his.

You could feel them, the flames, starting to come out from your hands. Beron would let the humans die for his own benefits, he will never see reason.

But it was when your sister apologized to the Lady of the Autumn Court and Beron called her human filth that everythink around you exploded.

You felt your power lashing out, and as much killing Beron would only bring you happiness, there was one thing you wanted more. and it was for him to be afraid of you. So when your fire lashed out you stood up and directed it to the chair on which Beron was seated, making him fall on a pile of burning wood.

He yelled in pain. Your fire was circling him like snakes ready to strike, and it felt so good to let it out finally. The room fell quiet, everyone was looking at you but your eyes were fixed on the High Lord of the Autumn Court who now looked at you with a promise of death in his eyes.

"We are here to discuss an imminet war against Hybern." I said deadly serious while every inch of you fought to control the flames that now were out and extremely close to the Vanserra's other memeber. "But talk to my sister like that again, and next time I won't be aiming at the chair."

Beron shot to his feet, his hand still tring to make the little flames on his clothes stop, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

"This meeting is not over." said Nesta raising on her feet.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of them. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

Your eyes studied all the Vanserra sons, marking how Eris gestured for his brothers to sit and how his eyes met yours again. You expected to find challenge, rage for what you did to his father, but instead something fickered in his eyes. Something like...pride?

Your confusion must have shown on your face because his expression become amused, and you quickly looked away from him. You didn't want for the heir of Autumn to study you, to think you cared what he thought of you.

“You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.” said Nesta at your side.

“And you know this how?” Beron sneered.

"We went into the Cauldron." You said, pushing away the horrible memories that came back. “It showed us his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

Nesta looked to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shook her head. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at you and Feyra. “Were it not for my sisters… I would be among them.”

She was right. You and Nesta might have been twins, but you were born few days before her and that made you the oldest, and as the oldest you had taken upon yourself to provide for your family when the money had ended.

"We are not asking you to protect them." You said firmly, taking Nesta's hand in yours while you watched every High Lord in the eyes. "We are asking you to give them a chance to survive. To fight together for your lands. They have spent centuries starving and dying while you were here with every comfort. They hate you? Yes. They will ask for your help? No. That's why we are here, because without you there will be no human left after this war."

Thesan cleared his throat. “While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.”

"Because they are scared of you." You said. "Because most of your kind have enslaved them for centuries. And they are afraid that if they let you close it will happen again. Show them they are wrong. Show them your strenght doesn't have only evil ends, but it can help to build a future where no children, human or Fae, will have to worry ever again."

"You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” Nesta scanned the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?”

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering, impressed, even, by your and Nesta's speech. You met Eris' eyes again, and you looked at him determinated. He needed to convince his father to fight together, because otherwise the human lands would be reduce to ash.

You thought you had imagined it as he gave you a subt nod, masking it with his hand under his chin. What was it? A promise? Did he understand the gravity of the situantion and actually cared? Or was it only to ensure his alliance with the Night Court?

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.” A look at his family, and they vanished.

Eris stood behind just for few seconds, his eyes scanning all of us, his expression unreadable. His eyes fell on the pool in front of us, then on you and then on the pile of ashes beside him where his father had been seated. Something sparkled in his eyes as if he was understanding something, then with one last curious look toward you he vanished too.

You let out a breath you hadn't realize you were holding, and you seated on your chair again, feeling the tiredness that the leash of power left inside you. Your eyes fell on the pool, and, even if impossible, your blood froze.

There was no water left inside the pool.

That's what Eris had been looking. That's how powerful your flames had been. They had made the magic water evaporate into nothing. You looked over Thesan apogetically, but he just waved a hand as if to dismiss it while water appeared again.

At least now they know who is fighting with the humans. Maybe it was what they needed to convince themself, Rhys' voice appeared in your head with a calming tone, as if he had sensed your terror at what you have done.

What if I hurt someone of our army? You asked panicked in your head, trying to keep a neutral face while your sister was speaking to the High Lords.

I'll make sure it won't happen. Rhysand said firmly and yet kindly. I promise you.

[lady-selenee]

The High Lords' meeting proved that Sjm doesn't know how to write politics. What do you mean a ruler, his wife and his family / advisors (Rhysand, Feyre, the inner circle) insult other rulers, attack the wife of a High Lord, and nobody cares about it. The attack on LoA should have been a declaration of war. Like, even after the greater threat (Hybern) was taken care of, Night and Autumn should have been at war. Or, at least, there should have been consequences.

Take an example from history. Roman senators assassinated Julius Caesar. What happened? Those loyal to Caesar started a civil war against the assassins. Those senators were forced to flee Rome, some took their own lives after being defeated, and those who were still alive after a couple of years were granted amnesty after a peace treaty.

But what are the consequences of what the Night Court did at the meeting? It seems that there are none, especially as all the High Lords resuscitated Rhys at the end of the war. Where is the logic in that?

[rainingriversofyou]

Helion x Lady Autumn

A Court Of Thorns And Roses

Artist: hancorinne_

[jules-writes-stories]

Eris Week | Day 2 | Childhood | There had been joy, too.

"His mother, who had adored dancing and hired musicians to perform at the Forest House. Her flames had once been a rosy gold when she lit the nursery’s hearth, a blanket to warm their shivering faeling bodies after a day at the swimming hole...It was melted down chocolate and hazelnut on a crisp morning." --Just Enough Light to Cast Shadows

Thank you to the talented Poppy for creating JEL's Amma and young Eris for me.

Art by @/poppypola and commissioned by me for @erisweekofficial

[acourtofaudacity]

Both completely irrelevant and relevant to current discourse in the fandom. I had a dream that the ACOTAR book was announced. Everyone was expecting it to be about specific ships but it was called "A Court Of Your Mom" and it was written entirely from Helion's POV to Lucien about Loa idk man I thought it was funny.

[olenvasynyt]

I want The Forest House to have LOTR vibes. Mirkwood Forest, Elven King’s Halls…just trees and nature and art nouveau architecture that’s eery and beautiful and fae!

[ysmtttty]

Do you think that sometimes Eris thinks his mother hates him?

For his bloodline, for being Beron’s son. That sometimes he envies Lucien so damn much it hurts. He loves his brother, loves him very much. But sometimes, a very ugly part of him wishes to have what Lucien has.

Eris would think Lucien is their mother’s favorite son. Of course she would say there were no favorites. But he would still think that. He would look at his brother’s eyes, how he glowed, how he smiled, and see Helion. He would see love. The result of pure, genuine love.

And then he would turn to the mirror and see something ugly. Something cruel, monstrous, vile.

He is a living reminder of centuries of abuse. He was their start. Eris loathes himself for that.

Beron would know that too. He would say that as both praise and cold jab at dinners, making comments how Eris reminds him of himself. Beron would say that in front of LoA on purpose. And hours later, Eris would stare at the mirror trying to convince himself he is not Beron.

Eris would envy shapeshifting magic. He would want to change his face, form, and body. To something else entirely.

Once Eris becomes a High Lord, he would spend more time in beast form just to never see himself in the mirror.

LoA would break into tears once she finds out how he thought of himself. She would put her hands on his cheeks and cry, calling him her precious beautiful boy. Eris wouldn’t cry. But he would start a very slow path of healing. To accept his appearance.

Sometimes, he would still think how much pain he brought to his mother. How his decision of asking Tamlin for help cost her lives of three sons. Eris was at fault. Sometimes, he would think how his methods, calculated and coldly measured, reminded her and his brothers of Beron. Sometimes, he would think how his mother would never look at Lucien and think of Beron. Never. Eris always wanted the same.

Sometimes, Eris would think they all fear him. And that were the worst nights when he thought of that. Because he had no idea how to fix it. How to fix himself.

Eris thought he was unlovable and that was his price.