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danydragons21 · 2 years ago

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TSTS Chapter 31

The Shadows that Sing - an Elriel fanfic

Read it on ao3 here.

Chapter 31: Air

The heady scent of fresh flowers hit her the second her feet touched solid ground.

Blinking, she took in her surroundings. They were standing in the center of the forest clearing at Rosehall - the one rimmed with Night Roses. The last time she was here, it had been during the day, and the flowers were nothing more than translucent buds tucked into their own petals. Now, beneath the shimmering starlight, they were magnificent to behold.

“Oh my,” Elain breathed despite herself. The Night Roses were more lovely than she could’ve imagined; pearly white with a spectacular silver sheen, they seemed to glow of their own accord. There was no wind to speak of, but Elain could have sworn that the blooms swayed slightly, dancing to a melody only they could hear.

“Do you like them?” Azriel asked, his voice smooth and quiet.

“Like them?” she laughed lightly. “They’re exceptional.” Slowly, as if she might disturb a sleeping creature, she walked forward, studying the petals closely. Though aware that one should never touch the flowers with bare hands - the oils on fingers did not bode well for such delicate blossoms - she still had to fight the desire; they looked so soft, so lovely. But she knew some things were better left untouched.

She stepped away and faced Azriel. He was watching her from a distance with a carefully impassive expression.

“Thank you,” she said. “For taking me here. For showing me.”

“I told you that I’d bring you back to see them at night.”

She nodded, not sure what to say to that.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” he said after a moment. “I know that I do not deserve your time -”

“Don’t do that.” She held up a hand. “I told you I would hear you out, and you deserve the chance to explain. But please don’t…victimize yourself.”

He winced. “You’re right.” Clearing his throat, he started again. “I brought you here because this place brings me unparalleled comfort. It’s always been a sort of solace for me. A haven of serenity and solitude.” He paused. “Did you know that you’re the only person I’ve ever taken here?”

Despite herself, Elain’s heart jumped in her chest. “Not even Rhys and Cassian?”

He shook his head. “Not even them.”

It took all of the strength inside of her not to react to that.

“The first time I brought you here, I told you a bit about my past. About my mother’s past.” A pause. “But there is more to the story. I’d like to share it with you now, if you’re willing to hear.”

Unsure what this had to do with their recent fight but equally unwilling to pretend she wasn’t intrigued, Elain simply replied, “Okay.”

Perhaps someone who knew Azriel less would not have noticed the miniscule change in his countenance, but she knew this male - for better or for worse, she knew him - and she saw the way he steeled himself. The way his jaw set and eyes darkened and shoulders tensed, like he was preparing for battle. Whatever he was about to say was not going to be easy. For him to say - and for her to hear.

He took a deep breath. “Five years after they cut out my mother’s tongue,” he began, and the explicit and graphic statement had Elain inhaling sharply, even though she’d heard it before. But the blunt way he said it, so unexpectedly, so matter-of-factly… the abject horror of it all struck her anew.

“Five years after that, I had my first leave from Illyrian training camp. By then, Rhys and Cas and I had gotten exceptionally close. Close enough to go to the ends of the earth and back to defend each other; close enough to where we’d shared our deepest and darkest secrets with each other.

“Cassian told us about his bastard upbringing and the way the townspeople mistreated his mother. Rhys told us about how cruel his father was, how he feared for his mother and his sister’s safety in his absence.

“And I told them about my childhood. I told them about the cellar and the darkness and the lonely, freezing nights. About my father, step-mother and half-brothers. I even told them about what they did to my mother,” he said.

Maybe she was imagining it, but the temperature around them seemed to have dropped significantly; a chill raced down her spine.

Azriel cracked his neck in agitation. “By the time we got our first leave from camp, we’d already devised a plan. First, Cassian would go to his old village to free his mother from the hellhole she was in, with us following closely behind to ensure no trouble befell them.

“Unfortunately, we arrived much too late.”

“What do you mean?” she asked with trepidation.

“Cassian’s mother had been killed years before, apparently,” Azriel said, and there was no mistaking the tremor in his voice; the way his vocal cords clenched together in an attempt to stem the emotion. “Shortly after he was shipped off to training, we later discovered. There wasn’t even a body for him to visit. To give a proper send off. To say goodbye to.”

Cassian’s warm, friendly face swam in her mind. She had no idea such tragedy lay in his past. Had certainly never heard this story before. A fat tear dripped from her eye, and she was not surprised to find her hands were shaking.

“You can imagine how he reacted,” Azriel said.

Elain just stared at him. Yes, she could imagine. Gods, could she ever. But still, she needed to hear it straight from him.

Azriel met her eyes, a steely hardness glinting in his own. “Cassian did not leave many survivors. Nor did Rhys and I, by the time we arrived to help.

“And right after that, while we were still covered in blood, while the bodies of our victims were still warm,” he said in a forcibly blank voice, “we moved on to the second part of the plan. But this part of the plan was not about Cassian’s vengeance. No. It was about mine .

He took a deep, unsteady breath. “Originally, the plan was to bring them all to justice. To take them to Rhys’ father, tell him the details of my childhood spent in the cellar, and let the High Lord of the Night Court bestow a suitable punishment.”

“And you trusted Rhys’ father to deliver that justice?” From what Feyre had told her, the previous High Lord had not been a kind male.

“Rhys’ father was a cruel and sadistic prick, but he was also intelligent - and I think he could tell, even then, that Rhys’ powers would far outweigh his own. We were counting on him being too calculated and strategic to deny Rhys and his ‘dangerous’ friends what was a fair enough request. I had been abused. We simply wanted my abusers to be punished accordingly.”

“But the truth was, we couldn’t entirely rely on the High Lord to punish them properly. And by the time we left Cassian’s village…that sort of uncertainty was simply unacceptable.”

Her blood went cold.

“When we arrived at my father’s house, there was no chance of containing our anger. Least of all mine.” His voice was quiet and yet his words were spoken with aching clarity. “They were dead within minutes,” he said, closing his eyes for an expanded moment before opening them again, a dull sort of acceptance raging in the hazel depths. “All of them. My father. My step-mother. My half-brothers. All it took was minutes,” he repeated, his shadows a tempest around him.

He was watching her closely, carefully, as if he expected her to gasp or clap a hand over her mouth. Perhaps he was looking for any indication of fear or disgust or revulsion upon her face - looking for any reason to stop telling his story.

But he would not find one, not with her. Never with her. She simply kept on listening, her expression neutral, her eyes wide and her attention rapt.

It gave him enough courage to continue on.

“I watched as they suffered. Watched as the life drained from each of them. Then we threw their bodies onto a pyre. That was my idea, of course; a twisted way of paying them back for my hands, though by that time they were long dead and couldn’t feel the pain - but gods, it felt good, all the same. It felt good to know that I could do that to them, even in death. That the power and control was mine entirely.

“Perhaps the worst part of it all is that I’ve never regretted it. Not once. Not for a single moment. It’s not because I believe I was righteous in my decision - I was a child then but I am grown now, and I know that vengeance so vicious can only sow more seeds of violence.

“It’s because I wasn’t alone in what I did. My brothers were by my side during it all. They committed those terrible acts, too; the blood that stains my hands is splattered across them, just the same. And if we are together in something, no matter if it is right or wrong, then it is all going to be okay.

“I tell you all this not to scare you or remind you what horrors I’m capable of,” he said quietly, “but to try and somehow explain to you that Cassian is more than a friend to me. He is more than a brother. He is deeper than blood. We share not just friendship but centuries of joys, sorrows and sins. Of being each other’s true and chosen family. He’s seen me at my worst and I have seen him at his.

“That is why…that is why I was so distraught when I thought I might lose him forever. I was spiraling. It felt like that day all over again, like there was this uncontrollable rage rising within me, and I was helpless against it. It was terrifying. It was humbling . I thought I was losing him forever, and I thought it was all my fault,” he croaked out.

Emotion welled in her eyes, and she couldn’t help but turn away and hope he wouldn’t see. She understood what he was telling her, of course. What wouldn’t she do to protect Feyre or Nesta? What sorrow would overwhelm her if she lost Nyx? Deep empathy pulled at her gut.

She looked back at him. Took in his dark, handsome visage; the vulnerability etched upon his face so rare, so precious. What if something were to happen to him ? Fear and something far more dangerous clutched at her heart.

Yes, she understood all too well how he’d been feeling. And yet there was still so much hurt in her heart over it.

There were always reasons for actions, but that doesn’t mean those reasons were excuses . As obviously devastated as Azriel had been, it was certainly no excuse for the way he’d so callously insulted her. She was worth so much more than that.

She opened her mouth to tell him all of that, but Azriel hurriedly spoke before she could.

“I know none of this excuses what I said to you.” Well, he stole the words right out of her mouth. “I know that. Within seconds of you walking away from me in the den that day, I realized that l’d fucked up monumentally. Not only had I hurt you…but I’d also pushed away one of the only people in the world that I trust completely.”

Trust . Just hearing that word drip from his perfectly curved lips threatened to chip away at her mask of icy apathy.

“I realized something else important too.” He took a step closer. “Something I should have realized a long time ago.”

“What did you realize?” she asked, her voice blessedly steady despite the visceral way her body reacted to the increased nearness of his own.

He stepped forward again. “I realized that you are my family now, too,” he said. “That you are someone I trust not with my secrets but with my life . Someone who I depend on. Who I��,” he swallowed, courage threatening to desert him - but he was not a cowardly male, goddamnit, he was Azriel, Shadowsinger, Spymaster; he was all they called him and more. But more than all of that, he was brave.

And no one made him braver than the female standing before him.

“Who I care about more than I can adequately convey,” he said, not even thinking twice about how his voice shook slightly.

Elain’s face of forced indifference crumbled entirely. “Oh, Az,” she murmured.

Striding forward, a fervent, burning look on his face, he cupped her face in his hands. “You are my family, Elain,” he said fiercely. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. There is no limit to the lengths I would go to protect you. And if something were to happen to you, I would be just as distraught. Just as broken. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I hear you.”

“But do you understand?” he asked. There was an intensity in his expression that was utterly bewitching.

“Yes,” she said, interlacing her fingers with his own, captivated by his gaze. "I do."

And she did. He wasn’t saying he loved her. He wasn’t defining their relationship or calling her his girlfriend or providing any clarity to the secret things they did to each other in the dark.

But he was telling her he cared about her. He was calling her his family . She knew how much that word meant to him, and she knew the courage it took to open up like this to her. This male, who frustrated and confounded her as much as he made her entire world spin, who struggled with emotions that had been pushed down for longer than she could possibly comprehend, had gone out of his comfort zone to give her comfort.

For now, that would have to be enough.

“I’m so incredibly sorry for what I said. For taking my anger and stress out on you when you did absolutely nothing wrong. Gods, I’m just so fucking sorry,” he said unevenly.

“I know,” she whispered back. “I know you are.”

Azriel leaned his forehead against her own. “Do you forgive me?”

She did not hesitate. “Yes. Of course I do.” Elain had never been one to hold onto grudges. It was simply not in her nature.

With a mix between a relieved groan and a heavy, rattling sigh, he let his arms fall to her sides. Then he wrapped her up in his embrace. They stayed that way for a long moment.

Then Elain leaned back, a serious look on her face. “But if you ever talk to me like that again, I swear to the gods, I’ll be done. I deserve so much more than how you treated me. Do you understand?”

He nodded solemnly. Earnestly. “Yes. I won’t ever say shit like that to you again,” he swore.

She nodded back. They were still wound around each other tightly, knotted together like ancient roots. Azriel’s firm, hot muscles tensed as she lifted a hand to cup the back of his neck. Her fingers lightly traced the bargain tattoo there.

A deep, rattling sigh escaped his lungs. “I missed you,” he murmured. “So damn much.”

“I missed you too,” she replied honestly, still caressing his nape.

He burrowed his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. Then his lips began to lightly trace the contours of her collarbone. Instinctively, her body squirmed beneath him, and she let out a breathy, desperate moan.

Their scents shifted in tandem, growing heady and sultry as desire overwhelmed them both.

“You keep making those noises and I won’t be able to control myself,” he said, raising his head and staring at her with dark eyes.

“Why would I want you to control yourself?” she asked, thrusting her hips into his. The evidence of his lust pressed against where she wanted - no, needed - him the most.

Azriel let out a deep, virile noise. He grabbed her hand and cupped it over his throbbing length.

“You want it?” he asked hotly, lips tracing the arch of her ear. “You want it right here, right now?”

“Please,” she said.

“Hells,” he rasped. Then, with graceful and enviable ease, he scooped her fully into his arms and laid her gently on the forest floor. He crawled over her, wings arching magnificently behind him.

They did not bother undressing; they did not consider that it might be too soon after such an emotionally-charged reconciliation to rush into sex. It had not even been a week since they’d last been together, but for the frantic way they clutched and pulled at each other, it may as well have been a year, a century, a lifetime. They were moving only on instinct.

Azriel shoved up her skirt, his breath uneven. She returned the favor by unbuckling his pants and pulling out his throbbing length wiggling out of her own underthings.

To her surprise, he held out a hand. “Mine,” he said in a tone that left no room for disobedience. Hand shaking, she passed over the silken garment. When he pocketed it, her face turned so red she thought she might just burst into flames.

Azriel’s cool, long fingers traced her cheekbone. “It never fails to amuse me how bashful and innocent you can get,” he murmured, “seeing as you’re the most irresistible, fuckable female I’ve ever met.” He tapped his hot member against her sensitive, slick center. She was absolutely soaking, and he couldn’t contain his groan at how good she felt beneath him.

Elain whimpered in response, her legs instinctively hooking themselves around his back. Then her heel brushed against his wing. It was an accidental, feathery touch that had him shuddering uncontrollably. He’d never wanted someone - anything - so badly. He wanted her like he wanted air.

“Fuck, what are you doing to me,” he moaned against her neck, hips still moving forward in a desperate, choppy thrust, the tip of his length sliding along her slippery folds.

“Az,” she panted, and now her hands were gripping his ass, pulling him toward her best she could.

“Yes, baby?”

“Need you,” she gasped out. “ Now .”

That was all he needed to hear. A second later, he was pushing inside of her, deep and hard.

It was unlike any other coupling they’d experienced before. From the second he was inside of her, there was no talking. There was no registering the world around them. There was only Azriel and Elain and what they were when they were together; something grandiose and mythological; something greater than the sum of its parts.

***

Azriel was buckling his belt when a shadow curled up to his ear.

The twins need to speak with you, the shadow said, Urgently .

Alarm shot through him. The twins knew better than to throw words like urgently around so casually. If they said it, they meant it.

Elain was watching him with narrowed eyes. “What is it?” she asked, clocking his concerned expression. As usual, she looked utterly delectable post-sex; her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were bright and her hair was adorably tousled. Though he had half a mind to throw her back on the ground for round two, he somehow managed to wield the iota of willpower that remained inside him.

“Nuala and Cerridwen have an urgent report,” he said. “Do you mind if they meet us here?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. Do you mind if I hear what they have to say?”

“Of course not,” he echoed. His gaze flicked down quickly, the corner of his lip turning up. “You might want to readjust your dress, though,” he said. His sultry grin grew wider as Elain blushed. As soon as she had laced up her gown, sadly covering her perfect tits, he gave his shadow the go-ahead to call for the twins.

They arrived seconds later, materializing in the darkness like they’d been there all along.

“Greetings, Spymaster,” the twins said in unison, their voices melding together like smoke, both wearing impassive expressions. Then they noticed Elain, and the nonchalance transformed into excitement.

“Elain!” Nuala said happily. She stepped forward into the shadows and appeared directly in front of Elain before bestowing a bone-crushing hug on her. “We didn’t know you would be here, too!”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Cerridwen said to Azriel with a dirty glance before embracing Elain as well.

He rolled his eyes. The twins loved blaming him for things he had no control over.

“What’s the urgent matter you needed to discuss with me?” he asked, getting right down to it.

“We have important information for you. For both of you, actually,” Nuala said.

“What information?”

“Do you remember how weeks ago, you asked us to find out why the Autumn Court soldiers were in contact with a recently-deceased Blood Oracle named Lady Margota?”

Azriel felt Elain look at him in surprise, but he kept his gaze focused on the twins.

“Yes. And?” he urged them on.

“Well, our network of spies has obviously had trouble tracking the Autumn Court soldiers. So we decided to try a different approach. We began focusing on finding Blood Oracles instead.”

Cerridwen took over. “A week ago, we found one living on a nearly-deserted isle on the Eastern coast of Prythian. A male named Corleys. He was rather unamused by our presence the first few days, but with a little… persuasion , we managed to get him to open up.” Nuala grinned wickedly.

“And open up he did,” continued Cerridwen. “He told us that months ago, Autumn Court soldiers found him. That they threatened him with punishments worse than death if he did not acquiesce to their demands.”

“And what were the demands?” Azriel asked.

“First, he was to tell them everything he knew about the history of the Blood Oracles. Where they originated from, how many were left, and where they resided. He told them all that he knew - and, of course, he told us all he knew, as well. Specifically that the Blood Oracles derived from an ancient tribe of Fae that has been extinct for centuries, and only a handful of Blood Oracles remain today.”

Nuala cut in. “The Autumn Court soldiers told Corleys that he was not to repeat his knowledge to anyone else. And then they told him that, if a young Fae female that possessed the rare power of fortune-telling was to come knocking at his door in search of information, and if she, he was to contact the Autumn Court immediately.”

“We are still working to locate any other living Blood Oracles and confirm that they too were visited by the Autumn Court, but we think it’s safe to assume that this is the same warning Lady Margota received.”

Azriel clenched his fists. Yes, he imagined that the warning was the same across the board.

“How would they know that Elain was to visit a Blood Oracle?” he asked through his teeth.

“We’re still trying to figure that out.”

With a growl of frustration, Azriel turned away. He wasn’t upset with the twins; of course he wasn’t. They had done very well in retrieving this important information. But there were gaping chasms in the story that he still could not fill; missing links that he didn’t understand. And until he fully understood, he could not properly protect anyone. Could not protect her .

“What was the name of the Fae tribe the Blood Oracles descended from?” Elain asked.

Something in her voice had him freezing in place.

“I believe he called them Celians,” Nuala responded.

If Elain’s sharply inhaled breath didn’t tell him what he needed to know, the way she refused to meet his eye would have.

“You’ve heard of these people before,” Azriel said.

She nodded numbly. “That night in the Mortal Manor library,” she said, “I was searching for something I’d seen in a vision earlier that day. A vision that showed Vassa writing something in a book. When I went to the library myself that evening, I located the book - it was something about royal lineages in the mortal world - and scribbled on a page was the word -”

“Celians,” Azriel finished for her. She dipped her head in affirmation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, doing his best to keep his anger out of his tone, but it was an impossible task: how could she keep something so important from him?

She shot him an accusatory look. “My apologies for getting distracted shortly thereafter,” she said, raising a delicate eyebrow. Suddenly, he recalled what had happened when he found her in the library that night.

He immediately shut his mouth.

Across the clearing, the twins exchanged a meaningful glance.

Oh, Gods above. Did they know ? He knew he’d done a masterful job of hiding his and Elain’s scent post-sex - it was instinct for him to do it now - but the twins didn’t need hard evidence to discover secrets. There was a reason they were his best spies.

“Vassa must know about all of this,” Elain said, the disappointment and disbelief in her voice pulling him from his worries. “She knows about the Celians, and the Blood Oracles, and how they all connect to-” she stopped abruptly. “Isira!” she said.

“Bless you,” Nuala said.

“No, Isira ,” Elain repeated urgently, her doe eyes bright and wide. “The Flame-Keeper from the Day Court.”

“The what? ” Azriel, Nuala and Cerridwen’s voices sounded together.

Elain smiled sheepishly. “I suppose there’s a lot I need to fill you in on,” she said, and then she was off, recounting her short but adventure-packed trip to the Day Court, the others interjecting sporadically:

“A secret bookshelf? How have I been a spy for three centuries and yet I’ve never found a secret bookshelf?” Cerridwen pouted.

“And you just waltzed into the room? The glowing room where an unknown presence lay beyond the door?” Azriel asked darkly.

“Lucien is Lord Helion’s son ?” Nuala gasped.

Elain nodded seriously. “Yes. But you cannot tell anyone. It was a surprise to Helion as well, and I don’t think they’ve spoken since, so who knows what’s going to happen. But Lucien would be in danger if Beron were to ever find out.”

“Us spies happen to be rather good at keeping secrets,” said Cerridwen.

“Let’s hope so.” She took a deep breath. “Right before I left Helion’s office, Isira told me I needed to talk to the Queen,” Elain said. “She must be referring to Vassa.”

“I would assume so. There aren’t many other queens in your circle of friends,” Azriel said.

Choosing to ignore his teasing tone, she said, “I mean, I need to confront her, right? Need to convince her that it’s time she tells me everything she knows, whether she wants to or not?”

“What if it goes badly, though?” Nuala argued. “What if Vassa is secretly in kahoots with Koschei and this is all a part of an elaborate plan to ensnare you?”

Azriel shook his head at the same time Elain said, “She is not working with Koschei.”

“How do you know?” Cerridwen asked quietly. “You don’t want to believe the worst in your friend, but people do terrible things when they are afraid.”

“It’s not about what I want to or don’t want to believe,” Elain shot back. “It’s about what I know. I’ve lived with this woman for months now. I’ve become her confidant. Her companion. There are things she is keeping from me, yes - and I’m sure that fear is a factor in why she is doing so - but there is no way in hells that she is helping that monster. I would sooner cut off my hair than believe that.”

A thoughtful quiet met her declaration. “Don’t cut your hair,” Nuala said finally. “I don’t know if you could pull off a bob.”

“I could pull off any hairstyle I wanted,” Elain said, “but noted.”

Azriel, who’d been oddly quiet, let out a low chuckle. The twins looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head.

He cleared his throat. “Vassa cares about Elain. And she would die before helping Koschei. It’s probable that she hates him more than we do.”

The twins inclined their heads in tandem. “The two of you know best,” Nuala said simply.

“But I don’t know if it’s time for you to confront her yet,” he continued, directing his words to Elain. “Remember, the ball is approaching. We need the ball to happen. We’ve been planning a trap for Koschei for months, and it might be our only chance to defeat him. Forcing Vassa to share information she isn’t ready to share could backfire - and we can’t risk that.”

“So what should Elain's next move be?” Cerridwen asked.

“To do what she’s been doing all along,” Azriel said. “Lay low. Keep alert. Be her friend. If she tells you of her own accord, fantastic. But we can’t postpone the attack plan against Koschei any longer. Not if we want to end his reign of terror and ensure our safety once and for all.”

Ensure your safety, he wanted to say to Elain, but he knew she wouldn’t take kindly to being called out like that. She’d say he was babying her in front of the twins, or she’d accuse him of thinking she was weak. He knew she wasn’t weak, of course. In fact, he knew she was stronger than most. But he also knew that the mere idea of losing Elain had begun to infiltrate his thoughts day and night, and the sooner the threat of Koschei was eliminated entirely, the sooner he could breathe properly again.

“So I just keep pretending to be her friend?

“Are you pretending?” he asked.

Elain averted her gaze, a deep swallow working down her throat. It was an answer in and of itself.

She rubbed her eyes. "This plan sure better work," she said tiredly.

“Well, I don't know about that, but I do know one thing for sure,” Cerridwen said.

“What’s that?” Elain questioned.

“If Azriel’s going to stuff your panties in his pocket, he should learn to do it more stealthily,” Nuala finished for her sister.

Indeed, peeking out of the front pocket of Azriel’s pants were Elain’s silky pink undergarments, lacy hem and all.

Before either Az or Elain could do more than gape soundlessly, the twins vanished entirely, though not without one last, knowing smirk.

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popjunkie42 · 11 months ago

Text

I’ll find you in any universe. Is. My. JAM.

A Million Lifetimes

Happy holidays to @sideralwriting!! My dear, I appreciate your patience with me as I navigated life (& the gift swap) this holiday season. It has been SUCH a delight getting to know you these past few weeks and I look forward to hopefully staying in touch after the swap! I'm sorry this isn't my best work, but I hope you like it nonetheless. I tried my best to add small little details you might appreciate, and I know it's not great but I hope it may bring you some joy. <3

And the absolute biggest hug and thank you to @acotargiftexchange for being so patient with me - I'm sorry I had to be *That Person* this year. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart<3<3<3<3<3

No warnings to be found! Just silly feysand fluff and shenanigans.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Many people use the holidays as a time to reflect on all which has changed. Some measure how much they’ve grown as individuals, others use it as a way to mark the end of a long, grueling year - seeing the short break as a way to signify a year’s worth of change and prompt improvement for the months between the next holiday.

Feyre and Rhys, on a similar note, liked to use it as a way to track how many times they have found each other, over and over again.

***

This time the wind blew gently; not hard enough to urge people inside, but not so gentle that it went unnoticed. In the crowded holiday market of Velaris, two people huddled closer together, sharing heat and smiles.

“I’m just saying,” Feyre’s words formed between them as frosty clouds. “I still think that the winter we spent in Greenland was better than the one in London.”

“But Feyre darling,” Rhysand’s words were not as clear as Feyre’s, thanks to the scarf he kept tight around his face. “London!”

“Yes, London, but it was early nineteenth century London and we had just run into each other - quite literally - from slipping and sliding through sewage.”

“Oh, darling, you forget how I so smoothly saved us from certain doom.” He tugged the scarf away from his face, rewinding it around both of them.

“You didn’t save my shoes, that’s for certain.” She huffed. “All I’m saying is I believe you’re looking at it through rose-colored lenses.”

He chuckled. “I’m not going to win, am I?”

“No, my love. You’re not.” She offered him a pat on the cheek - a consolation.

They wandered between stalls of vendors, watching the holiday lights and decorations in quiet awe. Feyre itched to blend the colors together on canvas, perhaps make a mashup of every holiday she’d ever spent with Rhys. There would be golds and reds from the market they currently walked through, but there would also be greys and browns and greens. Light and shade, with a fair share of tears to balance out the smiles. It would be… chaotic. And perfect. A strange, haphazard image that perfectly depicted their lives.

She tugged on his hand, drawing them to a stop in front of a Bavarian craftsman.

“What about that christmas in Germany?”

“That was a pretty good year. Bloody cold though.” He shivered, as if just the thought of it sent chills down his spine. “I think it’s still one of my favorites of our firsts. It was refreshing to see you so at ease. Remember how simple it was that year?”

Yes, Feyre remembered that life well. It was among her favorites, she supposed; one of their cozier lives.

***

Feyre could feel the cold seeping through the window of the train even on the farthest side of her bench. Her lace gloves didn’t do much other than look pretty, and not for the first time she grew irked at women’s fashions for being so terribly impractical. Sure, petticoats galore were plenty warm in such low temperatures, but not very easy to maneuver; and narrow-heeled boots weren’t especially stable in slush and ice.

Nonetheless, she was enjoying her travels. Watching the world blur past the window was meditative - reassuring. There may not have been much left for her to escape, but being on the move was the only way to ensure peace and quiet - and the only way for her to feel less adrift in her search for… whatever it was she thought was missing.

The train drew to a halt, wheels screeching against the tracks as it stopped for a station in Munich. The hustle and bustle of people unboarding began immediately, luggage being jostled down the aisle and people rushing past. It was a wonder Feyre even noticed the booklet which tumbled to the floor - she wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t fallen from the pocket of a man with violet eyes.

She leaned over, snatching it during a break in the crowd while trying to keep track of her stranger. Right before he stepped off, his gaze found hers.

Her heart tugged, and before she knew it, Feyre was out of her seat - belongings snagged at the last minute - and braving the crowd to follow the man with violet eyes. The notebook couldn’t have been more than thirty pages or so, yet it sat heavy in her hand as she navigated the crowded station, ducking between people and dodging around suitcases. Feyre realized that she had lost sight of her stranger, but there was a sense of urgency she couldn’t shake. It wasn’t until she was panting for air and had almost certainly gone in circles that she slumped onto a bench, setting her things down with a clatter and letting the book fall open on her lap.

She knew it was rude to look, but it was unlikely that she would find the owner to return it. One peek couldn’t hurt; if it was a grocery list - well, nothing terribly personal there. If it was notes, or perhaps a novel in the making… She was an artist too. It would be fine.

Still, she wasn’t quite prepared for what she found on that random, worn page.

In that icy chill

Of those depthless blue eyes

I see only warmth

I wonder

How might it feel

To succumb to you

Adrift in your blue

“There you are,” A voice deep as night stood out over the din of the train station. “From the train. I’ve been looking for you.”

Feyre snapped the book shut with a resounding thwack and stood abruptly, only to be pinned in place by a pair of violet eyes.

“I’ve been looking for you too. For a while, I think.” She held out the journal. “This is yours?”

“Indeed. Thank you for finding it for me.” Their hands overlapped, making it impossible for Feyre to let go.

“This may sound odd, but for quite some time I’ve been looking for something I think I lost. You seem to be good at finding things,” She could listen to his voice forever. “Perhaps you could help me once more?”

Even as he asked, the pieces began to fall into place. Sounds of past lives ringing through to the present, urging her to hang onto him. Memories returned to both of them, and his grip moved from the journal to her hand.

“Of course.” She smiled, watching carefully for a crinkle around his eyes. “I would love to.”

***

“I have to admit, all those skirts were warm, but they sure were a pain to deal with when nature called.”

Rhys’ laugh boomed between the aisles of vendors. “And it made it much more challenging to undress y-”

“That’s enough!” She clapped a hand over his mouth before he could say anything too filthy. “We are in public, Rhys!”

He smirked. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Yeah, sure you weren’t.”

“I think it’s you who let her dirty mind get carried away.” His grin was impish.

“If I have a dirty mind it’s only because you’ve rubbed off on me.”

He put his hands up, surrendering. “Whatever you say, love.”

They wandered some more between vendors, debating over their favorite holidays together and which first-meeting was their best.

“I thought it was funny when your friend introduced us,” It was a memory that Feyre often thought of, no matter how plain it might have been. “Not sure if it was the best, but it was… normal.” Out of everything, that had to count for something, right?

Rhys laughed loudly, grabbing her hand even tighter. “And he kept meddling in our business no matter how clear we made it that we were together.”

“It was flattering to know he thought we went well together, at least.” She wagged a finger at him, laughing slightly. “At least it was better than the one where you saved me from being burned at the stake. That was pretty horrid, wasn't it?”

He pulled her close, teasing and hinting at a kiss. “At least I got to play hero for you.”

“Oh,” She dragged it out. “That’s right, because we were early in the game and I was, at the time, still half convinced you were a complete prick. Yes, you did need those extra points.”

He hummed, half in amusement and half in agreement. “What about that one we spent at that inn? That was one hell of a time.”

“The place with the armadillos?” She shivered. “Unfortunately, I do remember that.”

***

Feyre did not like the high desert for two reasons. Reason one: The air was too dry, it hurt her skin and chapped the inside of her nose. Reason two: there were too many creepy crawling critters that wanted either to kill her, to eat her, or to steal her body heat.

It didn’t matter if it was winter and most animals had either migrated or gone into hibernation underground. She did not. Like. The. desert.

“Almost there, darlin’.” Rhys encouraged, ignoring the fact that she had just chewed him out in an hour-long tangent for “dragging her into the middle of nowhere for a single, stupid job in the blasted desert during a snowstorm”.

“I thought the desert didn’t get snow.” Feyre was pouting. She knew she was pouting. Unfortunately, she was too uncomfortable to care.

“This is the high desert, love. It’s a bit more dramatic than what we’re used to.”

“Rhys,” She pulled their horses to a stop and faced him. It was getting harder to see as the snowfall grew heavier. “Please tell me we’re close. I don’t want to cut this life short, I especially don’t want to cut this life short because of one stupid decision.”

“I promise you, darlin’, we’re not far.” He turned to face forward, pulling out his compass. “There’s a small town just around this bend. We’ll stay there ‘till this weather clears up.”

Feyre didn’t waste her energy responding - she wanted a hot drink and soft bed now.

Sure enough, Rhys hadn’t been lying. There was a town - small and rundown though it was, Feyre was just grateful they wouldn’t freeze to death in the most miserable place on earth.

Rhys held the door for her, the two of them stepping into an inn and stomping the snow from their boots and shaking the ice from their scarves and coats.

“Howdy there and welcome, I’m Shirley and I sure am happy to see you. What can I do for you lovely folks tonight?”

Feyre looked up from where she was struggling to undo her buttons, ready to charm the lovely owner for a room, before letting out a startled gasp.

The woman - Shirley - held an armadillo to her chest as one might hold a cat or puppy. A snake rested coiled on the hearth, another few armadillos trundled between tables at the restaurant. Other patrons sat at the bar normally, seemingly unconcerned with the lizards crawling around the counters.

“W-we um-”

“Howdy ma'am.” He stuck his hand out, not once looking at the armadillo the lady held. “The name’s Rhysand, this here’s my lovely wife Feyre. We got caught in the snow and were hoping you might be able to spare a room for the two of us?”

“Of course! I hope you two don’t mind cacti too much. Any concerns? You know what, doesn’t matter. I’ll grab a key and show you two on up!”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, ma’am.”

Not even thirty minutes later they had gotten a room and were getting ready for bed. Or, Rhys was getting ready for bed.

“Rhysand, you know I love animals. I adore animals. I do not, however, adore snakes. Or any desert dwelling creatures. They're gross, and dusty, and out to get you. Remember that Christmas in Australia? Boiling hot and everything was trying to kill us.”

“But darling, that’s Australia.”

“That’s irrelevant!” She huffed. “My point is, I want to celebrate our first christmas in this life somewhere other than an Inn filled with wild animals.”

He grabbed her hands, stopping her pacing and making her meet his gaze. “We will. I promise.”

Sure enough, the storm had passed by the time they woke in the morning. They were up and at’em in a hurry, Rhys’ compass taking them to the next town over in time for a holiday spent indoors, together, and most importantly away from wild animals.

***

“I think I still have that compass, somehow. I remember finding it again in an antique shop in that area a few lives ago, then I tucked it away for safekeeping - and the future. Sort of like you do with our rings.”

At the mere mention, Feyre brought hers up to the light. It glimmered beneath the street lamps, scratched and nicked from centuries of wear. Some people may have been bothered if their wedding rings had been so damaged, but Feyre just saw it as lives well lived and loved.

She shrugged. “So that may not have been my favorite, but it wasn’t the worst. In hindsight, it was a more entertaining year, so I can’t hate it.”

Rhys’ shit-eating grin dimmed, shade by shade. “I know which one was my least favorite.”

It was Feyre’s too.

They both sobered and held one another a little bit closer.

***

In all of their lifetimes, through dozens of centuries, it was the longest they had been apart; the loneliest they had ever been, too.

War had a tendency to do that.

In this particular life Feyre had been teaching art classes at an elementary school, biding her time while waiting for something. Someone. There was a pain in her heart amplified by a holiday season spent alone. It felt like every day the rain would just fall and fall and fall, unbroken by sunshine or snow. Even ice would have been welcome - anything to cut through the long, unending shadows.

She sat in a late night diner, avoiding returning to an empty apartment while sipping burnt coffee over a half-finished portrait of a man with raven hair and violet eyes. Something familiar, someone unknown. Behind the counter a server switched the radio to a news channel broadcasting the latest updates from overseas.

Had she known that her next life would be so much fuller, she might not have been so hopeless. Had she known that, a lifetime from then, memories would come rushing back and the stranger in her painting would not be so strange, she might have been less disturbed by the sheer number of renditions she had made of the same man.

Alas, she did not know these things. She didn’t even know the cruel twist of the universe - the war? - taking from her the man she didn’t know she waited for. And so for many many more nights she sat in silence with a tepid, burnt coffee (she preferred hot chocolate) and endless half-finished portraits, always hoping for the rain to stop.

***

Children rushed past them, dodging around holiday shoppers and festival booths with shocking agility. Silence hung between them like a clock’s pendulum at its peak, ready to come falling down at any second.

He squeezed her hand. “It made our next-first-meeting even better, I would say.”

Sparkling lights of all different colors turned to smudges in the background as Feyre focused her gaze on Rhys; on his violet eyes. Some things about him had changed, especially after the war, but his eyes stayed the same. The way he smiled with his entire being remained the same. Reliable. Constant.

“I think I would have to agree.”

***

With time their memories would fade. They would begin again, growing into new lives and apart from each other, but they were inevitably always nudged back together. And each time, they remembered one another a bit more easily.

So when Rhys settled in after the war and his new neighbor felt like home, all he needed was a light push in the right direction.

That day in particular had been windy and icy. Roads were closed, businesses were shut down, students were off of school. The universe handed Rhys an excuse to seek out his neighbor on a silver platter: the power went out, and Rhys knew his apartment was the only one with a classic wood-burning fireplace.

She answered after only the first knock.

“I have hot chocolate at my apartment and a working fireplace - if you need. Hot water too.”

Her gaze was soft, and she didn’t hesitate before agreeing.

They kept that year simple, soft, easy. It’s what they needed - something comforting. She stayed even many hours after the power had gone back on and the world had returned to operating in full-swing. They fell into easy company as years long since passed came rushing back, and a new promise was made to never be separated for that long.

***

They still had yet to break their promises.

“I thought that was very domestic, even for you.” Feyre grinned, exchanging a few coins for a small cone of roasted chestnuts.. “But I wonder if maybe we’d earned it. So many different adventures and lifetimes… maybe it’s good that we finally have the time for things like hot chocolate and wood fires. And roasted chestnuts.”

His lips turned up, the creases around his eyes softened. “Maybe you’re right.”

When it inevitably grew too cold outside and even their shared scarf and intertwined hands weren’t enough to keep them warm, the couple navigated through the crowded streets towards their shared townhouse.

Cozy, small, but most importantly - theirs.

He took her jacket, she put away his hat. He put the kettle on, she got their mugs and measured out the tea. They moved fluidly together, silently; familiar over so many different lives spent together. It wasn’t until they had settled in together on the couch, warmed pumpkin beside steaming tea on the coffee table, that Feyre spoke again.

“I still don’t know which of our holidays is my favorite. Maybe I don’t have one.”

Rhys reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind one ear, cupping her face with the movement. “My favorite one is the one with you.”

“That’s most of them - I don’t think that counts as any single one, as romantic as it is.” She placed a kiss on his cheek. “But you sure are a sweet talker.”

“Then it’s this one, right here, right now, with you. When we can finally have forever.”

***

In every one of their meetings and partings, Rhys and Feyre fell together into one single life. Whether it grew from eye contact across a supermarket, a quick handshake in a business meeting, or simply bumping shoulders on a crowded sidewalk, and no matter how it ended, there was another life waiting for them. Homes to be lived in and loved, holidays to be spent bundled up together in a bubble outside of time.

It was the general consensus between the two of them: The best lives were the ones spent together.

#Feysand destiny #any universe #making me cry #Feysand #acotarfanfiction

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violet-shadows · 2 years ago

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Careful

Masterlist

Summary: Azriel discovers something about his half-human mate that alarms him.

Pairing: Azriel x Half-Human!Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: mention of bruises from sex

A/N: This is just a little drabble I wrote when I couldn’t sleep. If you made a request, please know I’m working on it. Thanks for your patience!

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

You woke to the sound of rainfall on the cabin roof and the smell of crisp morning air. Despite the early autumn chill, you were warm, tucked into the side of your slumbering mate. Azriel laid on his back, one arm wrapped around your torso while the other rested gently on your hip. Both of you were naked, as you had been for several days now, ever since you accepted the mating bond. It turned out that the haze that followed, which some referred to as a “frenzy”, was not a thing of stories. Since the bond fully snapped, you hadn’t been able to get enough of Azriel, spending your days and nights with your bodies pressed together, addicted to the feeling of your skin on his. Before you left for the cabin, Rhysand said he didn’t expect you back for several weeks. At the time, you assumed it was hyperbole, but the bond had brought out Azriel’s baser instincts and he was yet to come down from the half-feral state. Not that you minded one bit.

To his credit, Azriel still made sure you two ate and drank somewhat regularly, taking care to run you a hot bath once you had your fill of one another, if only for a few hours. If it weren’t for his voice of reason, you might have been content to lay in his arms until the end of time. In this state of post-mating bliss, time and the outside world meant very little, your entire focus was on the merging of your two souls.

You didn’t bother to dress before walking towards the bathroom, content with the privacy your little oasis provided. When you reached the doorway, you jumped at the feeling of warm, gentle hands on your hips, pulling you to a stop. Azriel had sprung from the bed so silently he may as well have traveled through shadows. You grinned as you turned, moving to wrap your arms around his neck, but the look on his face gave you pause. Instead of playful hunger, your mate looked stricken, distress radiating down the bond. Your face dropped as he stepped back, looking up and down your body in a clinical manner, with only his fingertips ghosting against your waist.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, stepping closer to him. Even his scent was unsettled, tinged with a note of anxiety. Gone was the open and soft expression you had grown accustomed to, replaced by the mask of equanimity worn by the Spymaster. He remained quiet for a moment, as though lost in thought. “Azriel?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, he said finally, not looking you in the eye as he spoke. He withdrew his hands, tucking them behind his back like he did when you first met. His shadows were drawn in tight as well, snaking up his neck as if to hide his face from you.

“Tell you what, love?”, you were growing more nervous by the second, unable to guess the reason for his sudden shift in behavior. His lips were pressed in a thin line and he continued to look up and down your bare form.

“That I was hurting you,” he whispered, his voice rough. You stepped forward and he flinched, his gaze still locked on your body. Finally, you looked down to see what he was so troubled by. Light, finger-shaped bruises decorated your hips and upper arms where he had gripped at the flesh as you made love. A glimpse of your reflection in the mirror revealed love bites and hickeys littering your neck and breast. It was not at all surprising, given the passion with which the two of you approached sex, but the marks were far from severe.

“You weren’t hurting me,” you told him. “You’ve never hurt me.”

“You’re covered in bruises!”, he choked. “Still! We’ve been asleep for hours and it looks like–”, his voice cut off and he turned, a hand coming up over his mouth. You followed close behind him.

“Azriel, I’m fine,” you tried to reassure him, genuinely puzzled by his reaction. The bruises were visible, yes, but they were faint and painless. In your mind, they were nothing to get worked up over.

He ignored you, fetching your robe to drape over your shoulders. As he did so, he examined your body again and grew paler. “I should bring you to a healer,” he declared, moving to pull on his pants.

“Why would I need to see a healer?” You asked quietly. Your mate didn’t seem to hear you as he moved swiftly about the room, gathering up basic supplies needed for a journey back to the city. You could feel guilt rushing down the bond, nearly choking you in its intensity. “Azriel!”

You finally got his attention and he froze, turning to you to reveal wide hazel eyes that were wet with tears. You walked towards him, taking one of his hands in yours. “I don’t need to see a healer, Az. I’m not hurt.”

“Y/N… Sweetheart…”, he started, speaking softly. “If you’re still bruised by now, who knows what kind of damage I might have done? Gods, how could I not notice?” He was spiraling again, tears of shame wetting his lashes. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me I was being too rough?”

Slowly, you began to put two and two together. Azriel was an Illyrian gifted with rapid healing abilities and his previous lovers had all been High Fae. For full-blooded Fae, minor bruises were gone within minutes and only significant damage would still be visible to the naked eye hours later. You were half-human, though, and while your healing abilities were superior to a full-humans, they were still far slower than Azriel was used to.

“Love, you forget I’m half human,” you began, offering him a gentle smile. He stepped away, taking a seat on the edge of the bed where he buried his head in his hands.

“I should have been even more careful with you. Fuck!” He exclaimed, hands moving upward to curl in his dark hair. You could hear his heart rate begin to rise and his breaths becoming shallow, a stark contrast to the pillar of calm you were used to.

“Azriel, no! I mean that I bruise more easily and heal more slowly. You didn’t hurt me, love. This is normal.” You dropped to your knees, forcing him to remove his hands from his face. “I just mark up a bit more than you’re used to and it takes longer to fade. I promise I’m not hurt.”

“But the marks…”, he looked down at your neck where a hickey peaked out from the collar of your dressing gown.

“Will fade soon,” you replied. “They just take a little longer. I don’t even feel them. I would tell you if you were hurting me, okay?” He nodded mutely, his rapid heart rate beginning to come down. You stood up, gathering the still seated male into your arms so that his head rested on your chest. You leaned down, pressing a kiss into the top of his head and he wrapped his arms around your middle, wings coming forward to circle you as well.

“You’re sure?” he mumbled after a few moments, his cheek still resting over your heart.

“I’m sure,” you answered, unable to contain your giggle of amusement. “I know what’s normal for me. And this is normal.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, his shoulders sagging in relief. He straightened and looked at you, giving you one final examination before asking, “You feel okay?”

“I feel amazing,” you replied, one hand coming down to ease his torso back onto the bed. “So amazing, in fact, that there is only one thing in the world that could make me feel even better,” you purred, moving to straddle his hips on the bed. Now that the anxiety had faded, your mate's eyes were once again alight with hunger.

“I think,” he craned upwards, pressing his lips to yours. His hands settled on your hips ever so gently and you made a mental note that you would have to work back up to the commanding touches you’d grown fond of. “I think that can be arranged.”

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Taglist: @answer-the-sirens @microwaveallthedemons @judig92 @wolfyland07 @donttellthecats @goldentournesol @mulansaucey @millionthingsihaventdone @starlit-terror @starrstrucked @bankerfrog @xxoverthinkxx @luv-xoxo @abrunettefangirlnerd @cameronsails (Please message me if I missed or messed up your tag.)

Likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated. Please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list for future fics. Click here to check out my other work.

#azriel x reader #azriel x oc #Azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfiction #acotar x you #Azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotarfanfiction #violet shadows writes #ff

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sostarvingforattention · 4 years ago

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Chapter 11 of my #Elucien / #Elriel / multi-perspective fic.

What even is an upload schedule?

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popjunkie42 · 1 year ago

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I love this fic!!!

You should go check out my new UTM fic where Feysand are trapped and through an angsty, smutty, slow burn, learn to love and trust each other despite the dark circumstances they find themselves in. You will see more of Amarantha’s cruelty and abuse and learn more of how Rhys’s trauma has effected him and the way he loves Feyre. It’s on Wattpad and AO3, linked below!

#feysand #acotarfanfiction #sad Rhys

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thespianbooks · 4 years ago

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A Quick word on ACOSF

Happy release day for A Court of Silver Flames!! 🥳🥳🥳

I just wanted to jump on here really quick and ask all you wonderful readers of ACONAS to please not send any spoilers in the form of comments in reblogs or ask’s! Because I live in the cold Arctic tundra that is Chicago, my pre-order of ACOSF has been delayed until this weekend 🥲

I not only ask this for myself, but for other readers out there who might not have their hands on ACOSF or won’t for a while! I’ve received plenty of comments that wonder how ACONAS might compare to ACOSF, so all I ask is we refrain from that for at least a month after today! I’ll be more than happy to talk about the creative freedoms I took with ACONAS in comparison to ACOSF, but for now I’d like to hold off!

Happy reading everyone! And if you’re also buried under snow, stay warm and safe! ❤️

#acotarfanfiction #aconas #ACOSF #I’m dying I can’t wait to read it

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musicallibrarian93 · 4 years ago

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Elain x Tarquin concept

I know this is such a niche pairing and I have no reason to believe this would happen but I was sick of reading posts about Elain as if she needed to be with a male in order to heal and find herself. So I wrote a different narrative where a strong and powerful Elain chooses to fall in love when it's right for her.

Here’s the Ao3 Link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978781/chapters/73803669

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popjunkie42 · 11 months ago

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Blossoming in Winter: Chapter 2

@witchlingsandwyverns - Chapter 2 is here for you! Thank you for your patience while I wrestle with my story. I'm quite enjoying it, but it has some very particular thoughts about the way it is told and I've been editing a fair amount! Chapter 2 was also getting quite lengthy, so I've split it up a bit and this fic is now 5 whole chapters.

Summary: An AU that takes place at the end of the first war with Hybern against the human-faerie alliance. In this story, Tamlin is young but of age, and took up arms against his own father and brothers, leading a rebellious Spring army on the side of the human-fairie alliance. Feyre, a fae of spring without any wealth or illustrious parentage, joined the rebellious army as a way to support her family, and quickly moved up the ranks into Tamlin’s archery guard.

As the war starts to turn in favor of the land of Prythian and those that would defend and release the humans from faerie rule, High Lord Thesan of the Dawn Court opens up his palace and access to his healers for the High Lords, their families, and those with wounds that cannot be cured by normal means.

Inspired by the story of Faramir and Eowyn in Lord of the Rings: Return of the King.

Blossoming in Winter (read on AO3)

Chapter 2: Maiden, Young and Sad

Rhysand offers a gift and a bargain. Feyre learns more about the Prince's role in the war, and entertains an unexpected visitor.

All the thanks to @temperedink, @witch-and-her-witcher and @wilde-knight for the beta read and encouragement! And thank you to @acotargiftexchange and all the organizers for this amazing event.

I'm also going to repost my playlist as I've been listening to it incessantly as I write!

Chapter snippet below the cut!

This night, Feyre was determined to ignore the Prince as his loud steps and the clip of his cane alerted her to his approaching presence. Her posture stiffened on the balcony and she fixed her eyes to the sun-bled horizon once again.

But a second, softer set of footsteps followed after him, and curiosity had always been one of her vices.

When Feyre turned she saw his wings first, those dark harbingers of nightmares casting shadows against the flickering torches along the balcony, now awkwardly tied and stretched open into positions for healing. And behind the bandaged male, a fae wreathed in dark smoke, her slender hands holding a folded cloak colored the deep inky blue of a summer sky just after sunset, covered in tiny gems of starlight.

The wraith approached and wrapped the cloak around Feyre’s shoulders, smiling lightly before she faded back into shadow.

“What is this?” Feyre asked, feeling the fine shimmering fabric beneath her fingers.

“It’s my mother’s,” Rhysand answered, taking her measure in it.

She looked at him and felt her heartbeat quicken under that keen gaze. She was annoyed at her impulsive reaction to his eyes that seemed to sparkle with stars, to the sight of his fine ridged nose and high cheekbones. She willed herself to look away. “Why do you have your mother’s cloak here?”

“My brothers were visiting from home and I told her I had need of it.”

“Why would you need your mother’s cloak?”

Rhysand’s face was amused, his lips twitching at the corners.

Feyre felt her face heat. “Oh.”

“You seemed to be chilled, the other night,” he said flatly, turning towards the night sky.

Feyre nodded and pulled the cloak tighter around her left side. The warmth was welcome but her blush deepened as she considered the fine gift. Coming from Spring injured and half-dazed as she had been, it seemed no one had remembered the seasons continued outside of their endless warmth and bloom. She had come to Dawn woefully unprepared in her light army fare.

“Is it ice that affects you? Your arm.” The Prince asked casually, as though inquiring about her breakfast.

“Why?” Always with him, the question echoed in her mind.

“You seemed to react to the cold.”

Feyre lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

Rhysand turned his head to face her fully, his body remaining still as to not jostle his wings. “Fine. My spies and the gossiping nurses tell me that no one actually knows what happened to you in the Middle, or what you suffer from. You haven’t told a soul, at least not one that’s talking. Rare for war, when information is currency.” He said with an inquiring tilt of his head.

“So you want more information for your Night Court spies?”

Rhysand frowned. “I’m saying if you haven’t spoken of it yet, then doing so might bring you some comfort, and I’m happy to lend an ear. Soldier to soldier. And don’t you think you should tell the warden what hurt you? To aid in finding a cure?”

“There is no cure,” she said with certainty.

“How can you be sure?”

Feyre ground her teeth. He truly refused to leave well alone. “You said information is currency, which suggests I should put a price on my story. Hard to do if I share it willingly, soldier to soldier .”

His eyes sparked. “What would be your price, then?”

Something inside her recoiled at the thought of making bargains with silver-tongued Princes. Ones who thought they could buy information with gold. “If I tell you, they would be the last words you ever hear from me, as I’d require you to stick to your side of the healing wing for the rest of your stay.”

A low grumble came from the back of his throat. “What a terrible bargain to make on my side.” He tapped his fingers in a frantic pattern on the stone wall he leaned upon, then pulled back and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Is my company truly so offensive to you?”

Feyre scoffed. “Have you been trying to be pleasant?”

He stared at her, and she wished not for the first time that she could read his mind. “Fine. Perhaps I have been somewhat obnoxious.” His hands were out again, absently tracing the mortar on stone as he regarded her. “I told you Lady Feyre, I wish for us to be friends. And haven’t I helped you, brought you gifts, shown you I have only concern for your welfare?”

“And a Lord worth knowing further would expect something in return for all this?”

“Are you always this stubborn and willful?” She answered him only with a stare. “Fine,” he returned. “You don’t trust me, believe me to be a cad and a spy. But there’s little else to do here besides wander and feel our wounds dripping, so let me be the more interesting option. If we’re speaking of costs and bargains, how about this? Walk with me, twice a day for company, and you won’t have to answer a single question you don’t wish to. I’ll promise to be on my best behavior, and to prove it I’ll offer you one thought, one wholly true thing, in exchange for the same of you.”

To Feyre’s ears it had the makings of a terrible bargain. But just as quick the thought of her salve-scented room floated through her mind, and of the long, quiet hours where she felt her skin being devoured by the cold magic on her body. And inside of her there was a small, scared part that recoiled from the thought of being alone, so close to her end. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad, if she could escape from sharing too much with him.

“Once a day,” she answered. “And I’m not going to tell you about what happened in the forest.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Of course. Your choice.”

“And I won’t be tricked or bargained into revealing anything about Ta - Prince Tamlin, or the Spring armies.”

“You’re certainly the picture of a loyal subject. Is Tamlin writing to you so often, sharing secrets you must protect?”

Feyre ignored his obvious bait. Her brow furrowed as she ran through the words of the bargain in her mind. “You said you would tell me one honest truth.”

He cocked his head. “Is that your condition, and then you agree?”

She nodded. And then gasped, as she felt a warm, tingling sensation snake against her wrist. Turning it towards her, she saw the dark ink of a tattoo - a simple rose with the three stars of the Night Court atop it like a crown.

Rhysand shrugged under her glare. “It’s custom in my court for bargains to be marked on the flesh.” He motioned to her with a flourish. “Ask your question.”

(Read on AO3)

#acotarfanfiction #feysand #acotar #acotarfanfic #eowyn and faramir #lord of the rings au #first hybern war #acotar au #Spotify

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mystical-blaise · 6 months ago

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Chapter Six of MAGNUS is now up on Ao3. https://archiveofourown.org/works/54607093/chapters/142284238

Weekly updates will be every Sunday.

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poisonbooknerd · 7 years ago

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Rescue

so y’all remember this post....I did something....

Now I would like constructive critisism, please.

But no bashing. Thank you!

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Tagging @lace--leviosa

The pain that ripped through him was agonizing. People around him were looking at him in astonishment. His knees buckled and cracked against the floor. The damn idiot. THAT MOTHERFUCKING FUCKER. Not only was he responsible for the death of his entire family. But now he was about to let the woman he loved, regardless of whether she knew it or not yet, rip herself apart.

Tamlin, that boneheaded motherfucker, didn’t notice that Feyre was hurting. He didn’t notice that she was wasting away in front of his eyes. The tool didn’t even notice that Feyre had learned to read and write with him. No, Tamlin no longer noticed anything about Feyre except for what she knew of his court. Which, frankly, wasn’t a lot. Rhysand knew that Tamlin had been using Feyre to “spy” on him and his family. So, Rhysand made sure that Feyre wasn't going to be used. He made sure that nothing was said that might be used against any of them.

Rhysand was unable to protect her when she wasn’t in contact with him. And she never truly, purposefully contacted him.The cries for help in the past were always in general. Much like this one rocketing through his brain at this precise moment. But this one seemed more personal than the others.

Feyre was breaking.

And Rhysand, if he didn’t want to incite war; which was looking better and better, couldn’t do anything.

The helpless feeling was the worst he had ever experienced. It was tearing him apart. He couldn’t do anything. Or could he?

Tamlin had placed a shield over the mansion but Tamlin, compared to Rhysand, was weak. He had never been as powerful as some of the other high lords. Rhysand had never bragged about his powers and he wasn’t about to start now. Not when Feyre was seconds away from breaking and taking him with her. His outburst of emotion had brought his family over. Mor more than likely knew what was going on. He had told Morrigan about Feyre and she had met her. Not interacted with her the way that Mor had yearned to but they had met.

But, Amren, Cassian, and Azriel didn’t know much about her. Just that he was helping her the best way that he could and that was his mate. At one point, there was a stream of never ending teasing from Cassian and Azriel. Especially Cassian. But Rhysand took it all in stride. It had died down some but Cassian still remembered sometimes and it would explode once more.

Mor was trying to get Rhysand to talk, to say what happened, to tell her whether Feyre was OK. But all Rhysand could say was; “Help her. We have to get to her.”

Cassian leaned into Rhysand’s face as soon as he was standing and whispered menacingly: “Tell us how. Rhys. Calm down and tell us how.”

The words and tone of Cassian’s directions snapped him out of the trance he had become stuck in and shook his head.

Looking at his Inner Circle, Rhysand told him what he could of the situtation.

Which wasn’t much.

Feyre was in the drawing room at the Sping Court Mansion with the shield over the entire house. Rhysand assured everyone that the shield was the least of their worries. There were guards all around the house.

“What about Tamlin? Where is he?” Mor asked.

Rhysand glared at her, thinking about what Tamlin had said to her before he left. “No. He has gone from the mansion. And left her stranded there alone encased in that torture house until he returns.”

Mor, Cas and Azriel growled, enraged at the conditions the woman their High Lord loved had been left in.

Mor turned toward Cassian and Azriel and dictated their roles. Rhysand would destroy the shield. While Azriel and Cassian would take down any and all guards they encountered. They weren't sure where or how many guards there were at the Spring Court mansion. But they weren't worried about that. Mor was going to go in and find Feyre. Hopefully.

Rhysand could only see what Feyre was seeing. Not much more. And all he could see right now was darkness. Feyre had enveloped herself in darkness and made herself invisible to the rest of the world. But Rhysand could guide Mor to where she was in the room.

The longer they were talking things out, the closer Feyre was to breaking. And Rhysand couldn’t let her. Not for anything in the world. Not even if she stayed with Tamlin after everything was said and done. Rhysand interrupted whatever it was that Morrigan was saying and screamed.

"She's is about to lose herself! AND I AM NOT ABOUT TO LET THAT HAPPEN! SO GO! NOW!"

Mor and the Illyrians took one look at their High Lord and winnowed away to the edge of the Spring Court lands. Azriel took hold of Morrigan and flew to the manison with Cassian right behind him. As soon as they landed, the guards were on top of them. Mor dispatched some but hurried in to the room, all the while hearing screams. Agonizing screams that she had never before heard. Not once in her long, long life. She didn't even need Rhysand's guidance to find Feyre. No, she knew exactly where those screams where originating from.

Morrigan found a maid standing around in the middle of the drawing room looking at an empty space. She also found more guards. But she dispatched those quickly enough. The maid, however, was going to be harder. Mor wasn't prepared to see the worry in her eyes and hear the tremble in her voice when she asked Mor to take care of her.

Mor leaned down and took Feyre, whom had appeared from the darkness that had been cloaking her, lifting her up before turning to the maid.

“Consider yourselves very, very lucky that your High Lord was not here when we arrived.” She turned and left. Cassian taking her, making sure not to touch Feyre who seemed out of it. Azriel winnowing closer to the cave.

Cas and Azriel stayed behind Mor and Feyre for the entire trip to the cave. Tensing as Feyre started screaming, wanting to go help but knowing that it would have the opposite effect.

Mor calmed her down and strode on towards the cave on the edge of the Spring Court territory. The only place where they could winnow into and out of the territory.

Once there, the trio made their way back to Velaris, their home. And Feyre's home for the forseeable future.

#mywriting #fanfiction #acotar #acotarfanfiction #mine #rhysand #feyre #cassian #mor #azriel #writing #poisonbookqueue #please be kind

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danydragons21 · 2 years ago

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The Shadows that Sing Ch. 30

Read on ao3 here.

Chapter 30: The Day Court Part 2

Under different circumstances, Elain would have enjoyed being in the High Lord of the Day Court’s personal study. Opulent marble coated the floor; the walls were lined with majestic columns and arching windows that revealed a stunning view of the Day Court territory; a chandelier made entirely of delicate glass hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the surroundings in shimmery light. It was as lovely as the rest of the Court.

As it was, the only reason they were here was because they’d fucked up—badly—and were now being savagely (and deservingly) berated for it, so Elain found it difficult to fully appreciate the impressive architecture.

Helion was pacing back and forth in agitation, the gold trim of his pure white robes sweeping over the marble as he did so. Before him stood Lucien and Elain, their heads bowed slightly like two children who’d gotten caught doing something naughty. Behind them were Feyre and Ishira, who for whatever reason had insisted on coming along.

“You were welcomed into our Court with open arms, you were given access to our libraries, and yet you decided that was not good enough,” Helion said, continuing on his rant that had already lasted several minutes. “You decided to take advantage of our hospitality and venture into areas prohibited to guests!”

Elain gulped. “I can understand that,” she said in a meek voice, “But to be fair, there was no one or nothing that told us we were specifically weren’t allowed to follow any secret passages we might find.”

The High Lord glared at her with such ferocity that she felt herself shrink backwards a little.

“The Caverns of the Keepers hold some of Day Court’s most honored and classified troves of knowledge,” the High Lord said hotly. “It’s not only disrespectful in the highest degree to take it upon yourself to peruse through the caverns—it is forbidden.”

Feeling small and useless, Elain spoke in an even quieter voice. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you. I was just following the voices in my head.”

It took only a second after speaking for her to register how positively insane she sounded. From Helion’s wary look, she was sure he was thinking precisely the same thing.

“Ishira told us that we were meant to come down there,” said Lucien, speaking for the first time since entering the High Lord’s study. “I understand that we broke your rules or whatever, and we are sorry, but clearly this is something that was destined to happen.” He shrugged in that casually confident way of his. “When both a Seer and a Flame Keeper receive intelligence from higher powers that force them to meet, it seems like it’s something that should be forgiven. Especially in light of the bigger problem here that we are all trying to solve.”

A snarl formed on Helion's face. “How insolent,” he seethed. “Both of you,” he nodded toward Elain, “are young and foolish and irresponsible— ”

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Lucien fiercely.

Helion strode forward until he was face to face with Lucien.

“I’ll talk to her however I want in my own home when—”

But as Helion lifted his arm in an angry gesture, Lucien seemed to take it as a threat, rather than just the way the High Lord was talking expressively, and he raised his hand in response.

A beam of golden light exploded from Helion’s outstretched hand at the same time a lick of crimson fire came from Lucien’s. Both looking utterly shocked, as if they had no control over the magic whatsoever.

Though Elain knew that the magic emitted by Helion couldn’t possibly be fire (it was, after all, a gift of the Autumn Court), she couldn’t help but think that the High Lord’s glowing beam looked suspiciously like a flame, mimicking Lucien’s own so very closely.

The flame and not-flame danced together, twisting and curling in a way reminiscent of Azriel’s shadows, wrapping around each other as tightly as a lover’s embrace and burning bright as the Night Court stars before vanishing into utterly nothing.

A chill of realization ghosted across the nape of her neck as a memory—no, a vision— from months ago swam to the forefront of her mind. This was not the first time she had seen the dancing flames.

“What the bloody hells was that?” Elain surprised even herself by asking, but she could hold the question in no more than she could ignore the sense of foreboding growing stronger with every passing moment.

No one replied. Confused, frustrated, and slightly concerned at the lack of response, she studied each of her companions’ visages. Lucien looked as stunned and puzzled as she; Ishira had an expression of grim acceptance; Helion was absolutely frozen, his eyes wide as saucers. She wasn’t even sure that he was breathing.

But it was Feyre who confirmed Elain’s suspicions that something incredibly meaningful had just occurred. And it was Feyre, her sister, who she knew better than almost anyone else in the world, standing there with the strangest look of anguish, resignation and apology written across her face, who spoke next.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “This is not how I wanted you to find out.” Her eyes, wide and beseeching, swiveled back and forth between Helion and Lucien.

“Find out what?” the red-haired male demanded, his vexation now mixed with frustration. Helion, on the other hand, remained in his state of shellshock; he had yet to move a single inch.

Feyre opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Ishira cut her off.

“What you’ve just seen is a rare, albeit not unheard of, magical manifestation that occurs in the most unique of circumstances.”

“Like calls to like,” Feyre murmured under her breath, closing her eyes.

“Precisely,” the Flame Keeper said.

“What might those unique circumstances be?” Elain asked slowly, but Ishira had turned to look at the male beside her.

“Lord Lucien,” she said, “You have been told a lie your entire life. You are not the son of Beron Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court.”

A heavy, pulsing silence reverberated through the room.

“What?” he breathed finally. Then he shook his head. “What are you playing at? Of course he’s my father.”

But Ishira shook her head right back. “He is not, Lord Lucien,” she said. “Yes, your mother is the lovely Lady Elvinye of the Autumn Court.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Helion finally move, his whole body shuddering when the Flame Keeper said Lucien’s mother’s name. But Elain did not turn her attention to him; she could not keep her eyes off Lucien. Something in her very blood told her that to leave him unattended at this moment would be a grave mistake.

“But your father—your true father—is none other than High Lord Helion of the Day Court,” Ishira’s clear voice rang out.

All the breath vanished from Elain’s lungs. She felt the thread in her chest grow taut as across from her, Lucien went utterly still.To her right, Helion’s head collapsed into his hands, a position of sorrowful defeat.

Her head was spinning with questions. Lucien was Helion’s son? Helion? How could that be? If his mother was truly the Lady of the Autumn Court…did that mean Helion and Elvinye had once been together?

Most importantly, what did this mean for Lucien? And what would his “father,” Beron, do if he were to ever find out?

The thread in her chest tugged again, pulling her from her thoughts. She focused on Lucien. He wore an expression of the utmost animosity, his teeth gnashing together.

“Is that true?” he demanded, looking straight at Helion. Slowly, the High Lord removed his hands from his face.

“I…It’s possible,” he finally croaked out.

The anger on Lucien’s face became even more pronounced. “It’s possible ?” he repeated in a low growl. Then he turned to Feyre. “You knew about this?”

“I suspected, yes,” she said, her voice rather hoarse.

“For how long?”

Briefly, she closed her eyes; when the youngest Archeron sister opened them again, tears swam in the blue depths.

“For a while,” she answered honestly. “That’s why I came here. To tell Helion of my suspicions.” She grimaced. “Of my very strong hunch.”

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?” Helion asked angrily. “We’ve been together for hours today, doing nothing of importance.”

“I was working up the courage.”

“The courage?” Helion repeated incredulously. “We spent three hours petting the pegasi, for godssake!”

Elain turned to her sister. “You saw the pegasi without me?” she practically wailed.

“Now is not the time, Elain,” her sister hissed. Elain closed her mouth. She had a point.

“You didn’t think to tell me before, perhaps?” Lucien said angrily to Feyre, his voice harder than she’d ever heard it. “As your longest friend here in this Fae world, you didn’t think it was something I deserved to know?”

“I had to know if it was absolutely true before I told you,” said Feyre pleadingly. “I know I messed up. I know I should have been more proactive about getting to the bottom of it. But if you believe anything, you must know that I had no intention of hurting you—of hurting either of you,” she added to Helion. “This is not how I wanted you to find out. And I’m so, so sorry for it.”

Lucien scoffed and then directed his attention to Elain. And while the anger blazed in his eyes for a brief moment, the longer he looked at her, the dimmer that flame became, until suddenly it was replaced entirely by an undeniable exhaustion. A tiredness that seemed to emanate from his very core.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked, once again speaking without truly thinking about what she was going to say.

But she knew she’d said the right thing when he nodded right back at her. “Yes,” he answered.

“Go to the Night Court,” Feyre said. When Elain met her gaze, she saw both her younger sister and High Lady staring back. “Please,” she added softly.

Elain nodded once. Where else would they go, after all—the Mortal Manor, where Vassa and Azriel were, two people she was hesitant to speak to for different reasons, and where they would not be expected to return so soon? The Autumn Court, where Lucien wasn’t even a full-blooded heir, if the crazy secrets revealed in the last few minutes were to be believed? Where else besides the Night Court would they be safe?

She nodded stiffly at her sister. Lucien crossed the room and grabbed her hand.

The last thing she saw before they winnowed away was Ishira staring at her with a meaningful look on her wise, ageless face.

Talk to the Queen , the Flame Keeper mouthed. Then she tapped the center of her chest three times.

Before Elain could do so much as blink back, they were winnowing away, twisting between the folds of time and space.

Mere seconds later, they stood in the foyer of the River House. Dropping her hand, Lucien let out a bone-weary sigh. Her heart clenched in sympathy at the defeated look on his face.

She straightened up. “Wait here,” she said. A few minutes later, she returned to find him still standing in the same spot, clearly not having moved even an inch in her temporary absence.

She held up two large bottles of wine. “Want to forget about all this shit for a little while?”

The corner of his lips turned up in the smallest possible smile, but she was thrilled—a smile was a smile, and she had succeeded in putting one on her friend’s face against all odds.

“I’ve never wanted to forget anything more,” he replied.

***

A few hours and several bottles of wine later, Elain and Lucien were wonderfully drunk and roaming through the Night Court garden. It was full of winter blooms, which naturally were not as bright and vibrant as their summer cousins, but she found them just as enchanting. She wasn’t sure who had been tending to the garden in her absence and was equal parts pleased and sad about it—pleased that the plants were being cared for, sad that they thrived just as well without her. She knew it was a silly thing to be sad about, but she couldn’t help it.

Thankfully, she had much more important things to worry about. Like the red-haired male at her side, who was significantly drunker than she, and had taken to singing randomly at the top of his lungs.

“Stop!” she said at the end of a particularly painful rendition of "The Fae Who Got Away," even as she laughed at his antics.

“You don’t like my voice?” he asked, mock-offended.

“No, I do not tend to enjoy the sound of a dying squirrel.”

He laughed loudly in response, then started swaying slightly.

“Ooookay, let’s find a place to sit,” she said, tugging him toward a nearby bench. He plopped down, uncorking the half-full bottle in his hand and chugging.

Sitting next to him, Elain curled her legs beneath her and gazed up at the sky. It was quite late in the day, or perhaps early in the morning; it had been early evening when they were still at the Day Court, though that had been hours ago, so she couldn’t imagine what time it was now. But she wasn’t tired at all, the wild events of the day keeping her mind busy and her stimulation piqued.

“What am I supposed to do next?” Lucien asked out of nowhere. He seemed to have shed the drunken lightness like a second skin and now wore a forlorn and dejected demeanor.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he took another gulp of wine as he gathered his thoughts, “What in the bloody hells am I supposed to do next? Do I tell anyone? Do I tell no one? Do I start referring to Helion as Daddy?”

The snickered together, though Lucien’s expression sobered up quickly.

“Do I let my mother know that I know the truth of my heritage, the truth she has kept from me all my life?” Some of his sadness was replaced with anger as he shook his head. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”

“She was trying to protect you.”

“I know that. Gods, I know that. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.”

“No. No, it doesn’t,” she agreed quietly.

For a while, they both sat in silence, sipping on wine and lost in their own thoughts. Soft Fae lights were strung through the branches of the trees that formed a sort of canopy above the bench, casting a warm glow over them.

“You should ask the voices in your head what I’m supposed to do,” Lucien said.

She gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think it works like that.”

He sighed and faced her fully. “I didn’t think so, either. Worth a try though, eh?”

She smiled wider. She admired her friend - she really did. Even in the face of such a life-changing discovery, even after finding out that his entire existence has been a half-lie, he still tried to keep things light and humorous. Sure, it was most likely a defense mechanism, but she liked it all the same.

Elain was suddenly distracted by his eyes. They were really quite enchanting, one russet, one gold and mechanical. She admired them for a moment unabashedly, feeling as bold as the wine she’d been drinking all night.

“You’re staring at me,” he said.

“I am,” she agreed. It would be silly to deny it.

The enchanting eyes in question widened at her response. “What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“You almost never look at me. At least not like that. Not so…fully.”

She blinked, his honesty scalding as boiling water. Just as painful was the knowledge that there was a kernel of truth in the statement. Whether it was the wine or the guilt she felt, she decided to return his honesty with a little of her own.

“I know,” she replied finally. “I am...sometimes I look at you, and I feel like I am drowning.”

“Drowning in the cauldron?” Lucien asked quietly.

Elain stilled. Breathe , she reminded herself.

“Yes,” she whispered. “That, and also just drowning in you .”

“I can relate to that,” he said, shifting a bit and glancing away. A thick swallow worked its way down his throat. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To feel so connected to someone that you don’t know that well?”

She nodded in response, watching two fireflies circle each other. “We know each other now, though,” she said. “But you’re right. It was so strange to feel that…that tug in my belly, that indescribable pull, the very second we made eye contact that night. It feels like that moment just changed everything, you know?” She was talking mostly to herself at this point, contemplating and reflecting on how that evening in Hybern had turned her entire world upside down. But here she was on the other side, still alive, still moving forward. Stronger and surer of herself than ever before.

Lucien’s soft voice pulled her from her contemplation.

“Elain,” he said. When she looked at him again, she was shocked to see tears falling swiftly from his one good eye. “I have never truly apologized for that night. Though I swear to you that I had no idea Hybern was planning on doing that to you and your sister…” He inhaled sharply, and through the bond she felt his guilt, heavy and suffocating.

“I am so sorry. For the Cauldron. For the things I said when the time was clearly not right. For all of it.” He was still crying, his regret palpable. Unconsciously, she reached out and grabbed his hand. Watched as he froze when she began rubbing her thumb over his palm in small, soothing circles.

“I forgive you,” she said. “I forgave you a long time ago, actually.”

He smiled then, gratitude glowing in his eyes, and she found herself smiling back. They continued to smile at each other as Lucien intertwined his fingers with her own. The fae lights hanging overhead reflected against his brilliant crimson hair; for a moment, he looked luminescent.

“Growing up Fae…you hear about mates as if they are legends,” Lucien mused. “Myths, practically. That might not make sense to you, since both your sisters are mated, but it’s true. Mates are so rare, so precious. I never expected to find mine. And…and after I met Jesminda, I never really wanted to,” he admitted in a rushed whisper, as if he didn’t know if he should be mentioning his deceased lover.

“I heard what happened to her,” she said quietly, watching as Lucien stiffened. “To your…to Jesminda.” A pause. “I cannot imagine the pain and sorrow you endured. That you continue to endure. As someone who has lost a loved one, too…I know that just because they are gone, it does not mean the love you feel for them is gone. If anything, it just exacerbates it. Brings it into higher definition.”

The red-haired male inclined his head. “Exactly,” he said. “It took decades for me to even look at another female after her death. And it took even longer for me to feel anything more than lust or physical desire for one.”

“When I became Fae, and Greyson did not want me anymore, I was convinced I’d never love again,” she confessed. Almost involuntarily, the corners of her mouth turned up. “How glad I am that I was wrong.”

Something flashed in Lucien’s eyes at that, and maybe if Elain wasn’t so tipsy, she would’ve realized her slip-up. Would have realized the danger of her words. Would have realized she was a liar and a sneak and a spy , and she had just accidentally divulged a threateningly-personal piece of information. For either Lucien would assume she was talking about him… or he’d discover she was talking about someone else.

As it was, though, Elain did not realize any of this. She continued smiling in blissful unawareness.

Lucien’s face had gone rather slack. “It was you, you know,” he breathed.

“What?” she replied, just as breathlessly, taken aback by the sudden intensity in his gaze. They were moving closer together, their chests nearly touching, drawn like magnets. She could count every freckle on his nose.

“You were the first female that made me realize I could…could feel that way again. Could love again.”

Elain sucked in a breath, apprehension mixing with something different, something far more dangerous. The rational half of her brain told her to run. The other half—the half ruled primarily by the aching in her chest that had been there since the day of Cassian’s healing—begged her to move closer.

“I took one look at you,” he whispered, “and I just knew.” Her heart was pounding. Those words...wasn’t that what every girl wanted to hear?

They were so close now she could taste his warm, sweet breath. What would it hurt, she thought, to give in to this? To finally allow that thread within her to pull her toward what it so clearly wanted?

Just one kiss, she thought, head heavy with wine and want. Just one kiss, to see what it was like.

But as she began to close the distance between them, her eyelids drooping down in tandem with Lucien’s, something caught her attention. Their two figures, bent forward and nearly intertwined, were backlit against the fae-lights, creating a shadow that spanned across the ground.

Shadow .

It was with a great, heaving gasp that she pulled away, her entire body suddenly cold. Her hands covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She would have liked to say it in a normal voice, but her throat didn’t seem to be working right.

Confusion and hurt warred across Lucien’s golden face. All he said though was, “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No. No, you shouldn’t. Please, don’t apologize to me.” She stood up. “I have to go.”

Without waiting for a reply, she raced away, thankfully encountering no one else on the way. When she finally reached her bedroom, she collapsed on the bed, stuffed a pillow beneath her face and screamed.

Why couldn’t she just be happy with Lucien? Why did the sight of a goddamn shadow make her feel guilty for nearly kissing someone who was as single as she - the same someone that the stupid godsdamned Cauldron had decided was meant for her?

If she was smarter, if she wasn’t so drawn to an emotionally unavailable shadowsinger who had yet to explicitly admit his feelings for her, none of this would be an issue. If she didn’t let her heart make every damn decision, she wouldn’t be feeling so hollow and helpless. Wouldn’t have hurt someone else in the process.

Fucking Azriel. She should have known she'd never be able to get him out of her head.

***

Elain remained at the Night Court the next day, opting to return to the Mortal Manor the day afterwards in order to spend some much needed time with Nyx. Feyre had arrived back from the Day Court at some point the previous evening but had wisely given Lucien some much-needed space, so Elain still didn’t know how the rest of her conversation with Helion went.

Speaking of the red-haired male, Elain had not seen him since her disastrous departure in the garden. She expected he was avoiding her. She certainly could not blame him for that, and was secretly glad of it—she, too, needed some time to consider just how to approach the situation. Merely thinking about their almost-kiss had her stomach hurting like she was about to start her period (which, ever since she turned Fae, was quite possibly the most painful thing she’d ever experienced).

Thankfully, Nyx was the best cure for her stress. After a day full of belly kisses and baking cookies and trying to keep him from flying into the walls (she succeeded, for the most part), she felt infinitely better, and tucked Nyx into bed that night with a weight lifted off her shoulders.

She had just entered her bedroom and was looking forward to washing her face and curling up with a book when there was a light knock at her door.

Assuming it was Feyre with Nyx, who almost always requested multiple goodnight kisses from his Auntie Elain, she opened the door with a playful smile on her face.

It vanished almost immediately as she beheld Azriel.

“What are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly, hating the way her mind went to the previous night with Lucien, beneath the fae lights, and even though technically nothing had happened…heavy guilt churned through her belly.

The corner of his jaw ticked nervously. “Well, Lucien arrived back at the Mortal Manor early this morning. Said you and Feyre were in the Night Court and then left immediately after to go gods-know-where.”

She nodded slowly, then frowned. “If you’re here, who’s guarding the Mortal Manor?”

“Mor,” he replied, surprising her. Then, to her greater shock, he blushed. “I, well, Vassa seemed like she could use a girl friend to talk to, and I’ve always thought she and Mor would get along great, and Mor has been wanting a break from Valhalla for a while now -”

“So you set them up,” she asked, unable to stop the corner of her mouth from turning upward as Azriel blushed even deeper, the high contours of his cheeks a dusty rose color.

Her good humor was short lived as she remembered the awkward tension that still lingered between the two of them. The small smile on her face disappeared, replaced with wariness.

Sensing her change in demeanor, Azriel grew somber. “ Elain,” he said in a rough voice that reverberated through her body all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

She closed her eyes. It was truly unfair how his very presence affected her so significantly. She was trying so, so hard to be aloof. Cool and collected.

Thankfully, despite his affect on her, she said nothing. She would not give him the words he so desperately sought. He knew better than to expect her to fill in the blanks for him.

“Can we talk? Please?”

“We are talking,” she replied evenly.

“Somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“I want a chance to apologize. In depth, this time.”

“Apologize for what?” she said calmly, lips slightly numb. “The cruel and unwarranted words you said to me, or the way you threw my insecurities back in my face?”

Azriel swallowed. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yes, all of that.”

She gave no reaction, just continued to look at him with those big brown eyes.

“Elain, he said again, and maybe he was a selfish bastard for using her name (because he knew the effect it had on her), but he would do anything to win her back right now. Would throw all his cards on the table.

“Do you remember that day in Rosehall? When I told you why my mother cannot speak.”

“Yes,” she said after a moment.

“I never finished the story.”

She blinked, her surprise evident, but she remained silent.

“I’d like to tell you now, though. Will you please go somewhere with me to hear it?”

“Where?”

He held out a hand. She eyed it for a long moment.

A thick swallow worked its way down the column of his elegant throat. “Trust me?” he asked quietly, a vulnerability in his expression that she’d never seen before.

Oh, gods. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling her resolve crumble around her.

Besides, there was only one honest answer.

She opened her eyes. And she took his hand.

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